#which in turn dilutes the spices… which were already a little old :(

[rurinnfane]

Finally got around to making my own masala chai that’s allergen-friendly (which is much easier to do than I expected!)

It’s the first cup of masala chai that I’ve had in ages so of course it’s AMAZING, but I’m sure I can do better. I need to keep experimenting to find my proper balance of spices/oat milk/sweetener.

If anything it’s an excuse to use the mortar and pestle and feel like a wizard more often

[tiesandtea]

SUEDE: Style & Substances

Alternative Press, May 1997 (no. 106). Mag cover. Written by Dave Thompson. Archived here.

Suede Give Us A Glimmer...

Bleeding through the debate about vocalist Brett Anderson's sexuality and rumored drug intake, the overall glamour with which society equates a fucked-up lifestyle drapes Suede like a second skin. Dave Thompson travels to London to discover why Suede are one of the few bands that matter in an age of stars who are "just like you."

Brett Anderson leans against an amplifier, hands in pocket, shoulders hunched. To his left, the rest of Suede are playing Fleetwood Mac's "Albatross"; to his right, a television crew is fiddling with camera angles. He wants a cigarette, but he never smokes this close to showtime. Instead, he swings a keychain and glowers into the monitors. It's rehearsal time in Studio Four, a theater-sized room as the BBC, and the only person who's enjoying himself is an increasingly rotund-looking Jools Holland. He's the host of this evening's show, and he's away in another room entirely. 

Later...With Jools Holland is a British TV institution. Less than three years old, it has nevertheless sewn up a comfortable niche somewhere between the chart-conscious grooviness of Top of the Pops and the more indulgent pastures of MTV Unplugged. It's a showcase for bands to run through a handful of new songs, play a favorite or two and give a taste of their live prowess without boring the unconverted senseless. Boring themselves senseless, of course, is another matter entirely, and as Suede are counted into the third rehearsal of their opening song "Trash," you can almost sense the desperation in Anderson's face. Then the action starts, and he's utterly transformed. Though he's barely moving and scarcely singing, he's conveying an intensity that explodes from his very presence, drawing the most disinterested eyes in his direction. Even the soundmen look up from their meters, and the camera crew compete for his undying attention. If Anderson weren't a rock star, he'd make a great lunatic. But because he is a rock star...well, he's probably a lunatic anyway. You would be, too, in his shoes. If the 1990s have given us anything, it's the demystification of the rock star. From the boy-next-door Weezers to the angst-ridden whiners, the message is the same: I'm no different from you; I'm no better than you; and, of course, I'm just as screwed up as you. Enter, or more properly, re-enter Suede, with their third album, Coming Up (Columbia). And all that hard work reducing idols to idiots counts for nothing. Because Suede couldn't be "just like you" even if they wanted to. Bleeding through the "is he?/isn't he?" debate about vocalist Brett Anderson's sexuality and the "does he?/doesn't he?" of his rumored drug intake, the overall glamour with which society equates a fucked-up lifestyle drapes Suede like a second skin. The scent of teen spirit clings to them, the doomed romanticism of consumptive youth which peaked on their last album, 1994's Dog Man Star, and peeks through the stunning Coming Up. Suede deal in emotional extremes, from the A Clockwork Orange apocalypse of their "We Are The Pigs" video in which armed hooligans howl through a burning industrial landscape while Suede gaze down from giant video screens, to the incandescent loneliness of the current "Saturday Night" video, in which a London subway station is transformed into a rave to which the band have not been invited. The band's junkie chic is as apparent in the stoned immaculate presentation of their latest wasted-youth album-cover artwork, as it is in the gorgeously gaunt frame which Anderson angles for the television cameras. Add a live show that oozes subversive glamour; couple that with the fearless decadence of Anderson's greatest lyrics, and whether it's all an act or not, Suede are a walking advertisement for the joyful sins of sleaze. Backstage in the bowels of the BBC, Anderson sighs. He's heard all this before. "Yeah, you can look at it like that, but that's other people's interpretation of it, and that's their problem. You can't look at yourself through other people's eyes, then worry about what you say through their ears; you've got to have some self-belief in what you are." Which is, right now, the biggest thing on 10 legs. Across Europe and the Far East, Coming Up charted at No.1 and has already outsold both its predecessors. Three singles have kept the pot boiling ever since, and the current Suede line-up (their fifth on record since their 1990 "Be My God" 7-inch single debut) is their strongest yet. Like Brian Eno's departure from Roxy Music, founding guitarist Bernard Butler's exit did not so much rid the band of one creative spark, as open the door for the flowering of another. Anderson's unequivocal grasping of the reins, only partly aided by the recruitment of guitarist Richard Oakes, may have diluted Suede's overall sound, but it has sharpened their vision to a razor's edge. The further addition of keyboardist Neil Codling fills the gaps that teen maestro Oakes couldn't plug; the Simon Gilbert/Mat Osman rhythm section is a thunderous roar that never lets up; and Coming Up is unmistakably the sound of the same great band that recorded Dog Man Star. The difference is, Anderson affirms, they've stopped pissing around. "After Dog Man Star, everyone thought we were going to do an operetta or something like that. But you get things out of your system. We wanted to refocus the band, the fact that we were virtually starting again; we wanted to readjust the basics." And did it work? "You can't completely divorce yourself from your past. I haven't got the memory of a goldfish; I was aware that I'd made two albums before it. But it felt fresh, and it felt as though we were making the record away from a lot of the crap you have to deal with, away from the spotlight, which was great. Plus...", and here he gestures to new arrivals Codling and Oakes, "... there's less of an obsession with self-importance, which was definitely a change in the band. The last two albums were quite precious and self-important, and that can be good and that can be bad." Ah, preciousness. Plough through five years of Suede press and the buzzwords leap out: "superficial", "fake", "David Bowie" - three hollow sides to the same soulless coin. But most of the people who call Suede "pretentious" are the same ones who fancy the Spice Girls. And the closest those cynics get to class is the corridor outside the school room. "It does bother us a bit," says Anderson. "People always want to polarize bands into camps, and what I always find objectionable, even with journalists who are pro-Suede, is, they always want to write about us as an alternative to this good, honest musicianship going on elsewhere, which kind of implies that there isn't any good, honest musicianship going on within Suede." Anderson resents that implication, just as he resents the accusations of vanity that are flung at him with equal frequency - the two go hand in hand, after all. "People ask, 'Are you vain?' Hang on, let me turn the question around. If you were going to appear on television in front of five million people, you'd probably look in a mirror to see what you look like. You'll brush your hair and put a bit of make-up on because you don't want to look like a pig. Does that mean you're vain? I don't think it does. "Ninety-nine percent of my career thought is dedicated to thinking about music; a very tiny percentage is spent on image. I may go shopping once a month; but while I don't think we're the honest blokes down the pub, we're not kooky weirdos either. We're just what we are." A decent image, though, is still worth a thousand songs (ask Marilyn Manson), and if it's not their Englishness that holds Suede back in the U.S., then it has to be their appearance. They look weird. Catch the "Beautiful Ones" video: Codling apes the same abstracted pose of diffidence and boredom that once made a star of Sparks' Ron Mael; and Osman and Oakes look like they're trying to extinguish a particularly persistent cigarette end. Their singer is fey. Imagine Bryan Ferry if a stick insect stole his trousers. Their music is arty. And they come on like they're somehow special, so special that America poses little interest or challenge to Suede. Other bands make no secret of their desire to crack the country, nor do they hide their disgust when they fail. Suede, though, never seemed bothered. Past U.S. tours (three so far) have been languid affairs, barely publicized flirtations which almost gratefully acknowledge that as far as most people are concerned, Suede might as well be a lesbian performing artist. Anderson dictates the band's Stateside manifesto: "I don't give a shit." "Don't get me wrong: please don't portray us as some sort of anti-American thing, because we're not. But as far as America is concerned, you can talk about airplay and videos, but all it really boils down to is the fact that America doesn't like Suede. And I'm not going to knock it, if they don't like it, they don't like it." And what don't they like? Kurt Cobain had a tummy ache, and a nation felt his pain. Trent Reznor's dog died, and a nation held his hand. Brett Anderson wrote songs about holes in your arm ("The Living Dead") and pantomime horses ("Pantomime Horse"); he equates love with flyaway litter ("Trash"), and he's never been in rehab. "I hate that rehab shit! That's one place where America get really suckered, with those rehab rock bands. Let me explain what going into rehab means. It means you're cool because you used to do drugs, but now you're a good lad, and you're really '90s, so you want to give them up. But it's a complete excuse, and anybody who says it or does it is a complete careerist. I don't think the public shoulg go out and buy records by people whose record companies have told them to say they're going into rehab. You want to talk about fakes and falseness in the music business; I think this rehab rock thing is such a lot of dog shit." So you don't just say no? "I can't sit here and honestly say that drugs are bad for you, because I don't believe that, and I don't think anybody with a brain believes that." He elaborates: "Smoking a bit of pot and taking a bit of LSD can open a few barriers in your mind, although I certainly don't think taking smack, taking coke or taking crack does anything. I know I've taken drugs before and looked back on it and said, 'That's fucking crap; you should have got your act together and stopped taking them.' They just numb you and turn you into a wrong-thinking fucking idiot. "But that's the whole problem with drugs, isn't it? You can't say 'drugs' because there's so many different factes to it. 'It's an aid to creativity.' Well, some of it is, and some of it isn't. You can't paint everything with one brush." As for the veneer of glamour which Suede's own observations convey, the danger that, to quote the new album's "The Chemistry Between Us," "we are young and easily led," Anderson remains equally adamant. "There's no point in trying to filter things like 'Don't talk about this, don't talk about that.' Lots of times when I'm talking about drugs, I'm talking in a pedestrian context. I'm not trying to make it into a big deal; I talk about it like I'd talk about anything else that's in this room." And though he agrees there is a moral question, he also believes it's impossible to do much about it. "The only way you can set yourself up as something moral is in the broader sense, by not treating music as this completely throwaway, meaningless thing, and not treating the sentiments expressed in the music as completely throwaway, meaningless things. "That's where I see my position morally, someone who can write a love song and actually bring a degree of warmth to someone else. You can't act as censor in your words; you just have to be positive about what you're doing and see that making records that people love, that people cling to, and that help people through sticky patches in their lives is, at the end of the day, a positive thing to do. There's very few things I think that are positive in the world, but music is one of them." And that is that. In an age when a star is only as big as his last three videos, and most stars are as interesting as a line at the post office, Suede are three albums into a career that means more to more people than any of the bickering of Suede's petty, wormwood competitors; and certainly far more than the bitter, twisted harping of their detractors. Stars shine, shit stinks, and the lowest common denominator is nothing to be proud of. No one really wants to watch Hootie feed his blowfish, but Brett Anderson spends "Saturday Night" moping around on a subway train, and it's the best thing on MTV this year. Who cares what else he gets up to? Turning as he heads for the soundstage, Anderson won't be drawn. "My drugs of choice are ginseng and chamomile tea, but don't worry. I'm going into rehab soon."

[helshades]

Tip of the Nose: Eaux Thicker Than Water

Today, in our great series on the history of perfume(ry) that nobody really asked me for, I reply to a simple comment and manage to make it into a very long lecture on perfume concentration. Stay yourselves with flagons!

Eau de toilette or eau de parfum, perfume is never sold pure but diluted in a water-alcohol solution. In principle, the percentage of actual perfume determines the commercial appellation. In principle.

In any case: mind the French! Your reputation may depend on it.

——————————

@katbelleinthedark​:

Yes good. I have a lot of eau de toilette(s?) as I'm #poor&cheap and I never wear that as I always forget to use it. I once had the same bottle for 13 years.

Well, I occasionally wear perfumes from bottles issued in the 1970s and 1980s, so if the old bout of snobbery catches you off-guard sometime you can still pretend it is ~vintage~ juices you’re keeping. I’ve just placed a bid on EBay for a ‘perfume extract’ bottle of Jean Patou’s mythical Joy (definitely not the horrid recent Dior release of the same name) that was left unopened in a shoebox for decades, meaning there’s no way to tell if it’s actually wearable or not. I have issues. Mostly with my banker. [Edit: as it turned out, in a cruel twist of fate, that the bottle in question was actually a dummy. The seller, overtaken by doubt, finally broke the seal open and confirmed his worst suspicions. No Joy for me this year.]

In any case, it will be eau de toilette or eaux de toilette, not eau(x) de toilettes or you’d be suggesting that you’ve been lining up jars of toilet water on some cupboard shelf for years—not that I be judging, but still. Others might.

Although, technically, les toilettes in reference to the crapp... er, the loo, has only been a plural since the 20th century, and it isn’t necessarily true of all variants of French since the Belgians for instance still speak of la toilette. In any, the euphemism is transparent: it’s the equivalent of ‘the lavatory’. The French version mostly comes from the locution cabinet de toilette, referring to the small, private room specifically used (by rich people) to ready themselves for the day, and gradually, as hygienic practices progressed throughout the 19th century, for hygiene purposes as well: in other words, the equivalent to the English ‘bathroom’—and indeed it ended up being replaced by the latter’s literal equivalent, salle de bain.

Jean-Baptiste Fortuné de Fournier, Le Cabinet de toilette de l'Impératrice Eugénie à Saint-Cloud, 1860. Or when you realise that First Empire style is basically Donald Trump’s bathroom meeting Regency fashion.

   No, the toilette of eau de toilette is a more direct reference to the cosmetic aspects of a noble’s routine, as la toilette since the end of the 17th century has referred to the act of preparing oneself to appear in public. If the word literally translates as ‘small towel’, it’s only because the toilette, between the 14th and 16th centuries, had come to refer to the fine cloth that was laid on the table where one would set all utensils meant for personal adornment. By metonymy la toilette was then used to speak of these utensils, then the piece of furniture in question (the ‘dressing table’ in English), then, abstractly, the various acts by which nobles readied themselves to appear in public. A number of paintings have portrayed ladies ‘at their toilet’.

The eau de toilette as it’s known today appeared in the early 1900s, thanks to the ‘flappers’, fashion icons of the Roaring Twenties who sought perfumes they could wear easily all day long. Technically, an eau de toilette is lighten than an eau de parfum, which is lighter than the most concentrated extrait de parfum, which used to be the only concentration available, prepared on demand for a wealthy clientèle; in more ways than one, the eau de toilette started perfume’s democratisation as perfumers began selling their products in different concentrations; for example, Chanel commercialised the already-revolutionary N ͦ  5 (created in 1921) as an eau de toilette as soon as 1924. Of course, a lesser concentration meant that the resulting product was cheaper, sometimes considerably.

Perfume extracts contain 20–40% essences diluted in almost pure alcohol (90° at least), meaning that only a dab suffices to perfume someone for most of the day. If the product contains rare essences (which is to say, when raw materials were scarce or if the extraction process was particularly delicate), a dozen millilitres may cost ten times the eau de toilette’s price! Jean Patou’s Joy, first released in 1930 to exorcise the 1929 crisis that deprived the famous French couturier of most of his American clientèle, was advertised as ‘the costliest perfume in the world’—a slogan created by American columnist Elsa Maxwell, a good friend of Jean Patou (and incidentally a pioneer of the treasure-hunt party game, for those interested). A bottle of only 30ml of perfume extract required 10,600 jasmine flowers and over 300 roses, and these only were the main ingredients! Current price of the extract: €1,000 ($1,121)... In passing, the two top consumers of natural jasmine today are houses Chanel and Patou, which both have their own private jasmine fields in Grasse.

Traditionally, perfume is described following three stages in the perception of particular ‘notes’, that is to say, the most discernible odours which tend to be more easily scented right after spraying, or on the contrary ones that can be smelled on the skin long after the others have evaporated: the ‘head notes’ (notes de tête) or ‘top notes’; the ‘heart notes’ (notes de cœur) or ‘middle notes’; and the ‘base notes’ (in French the notes de fond, ‘bottom notes’. The unfortunate yet I suppose unavoidable comparisons with a certain portion of human anatomy may well have decided that English-speaking perfumers should stick to a plainer term). Certain molecules are extremely volatile and can only be perceived for a few minutes after spraying, others are rather more tenacious and serve as a structure for the whole assembly. In a typical extract, top notes will make for 20% of the perfume, middle notes around 30%, and base notes, 50% of it.

On the other hand, the normal composition of an eau de toilette today will be around 50% top notes that evaporate almost immediately, 30% middle notes that last for about fifteen minutes, and 20% base notes that won’t last the whole day. This can also be explained by the fact that an eau de toilette only contains 10% maximum of concentrated perfume, diluted in a 50°–60° alcohol solution. Closer to the extract is the eau de parfum, which contains 7–14% perfume, dissolved in 90° alcohol (almost as much alcohol as in the extract). Head notes make for 40% of the fragrance, the heart is 30% and at the bottom, 30% as well. The beginning is usually intense but the scent will still fade quicker than in an extract... Nevertheless, still more affordable than any extract.

By the way, the real reason why we have eau de parfum in the first place isn’t so much the need for a middle ground between extracts and the lighter eaux as... the delicate matter of French taxes on luxury goods, which passed the 33% threshold in the late 1970s. To circumvent it, in 1978, Cacharel released its new perfume Anaïs Anaïs in two distinct concentrations, the regular eau de toilette and the novel eau de parfum version. An interesting side effect of it was that with this new concentration, the fragrances weren’t quite identical, either. For example, the eau de parfum version of N ͦ  5 which Jacques Polge created in 1986 was made following the traditional recipe of the extract, except the accrued sweetness of the vanilla noticeably emphasised the vivid citrusy head. Some women got into the habit to buy both versions of a perfume, reserving the more concentrated one to the evening or special occasions, for instance. Although, quite frankly, in the 1980s, the eaux de toilette were many things, but ‘office-friendly’, they were not. (Will elaborate, one of these days.)

Alembics and a bed of roses at the Fragonard factory. House Fragonard, founded in 1926, is one of the oldest perfumeries in Grasse, the oldest being Molinard (est. 1849, which makes it one of the oldest in the world).

   I’m sure @thatiswhy will be thrilled to learn (or be reminded of the fact) that the mother of all alcohol-based perfumes is known as ‘Queen of Hungary’s water’, l’eau de la reine de Hongrie, maybe created in 1370 as a consequence of the European discovery of ethyl alcohol, or to be more accurate, the invention of the double distillation technique allowing one to separate in the alembic the ethanol from the foul-tasting esters. Before that, distillers added to their spirits such strong spices as anise or juniper berries, for instance, which covered the bad taste. In passing, the process of boiling a distillate several times is called cohobation, borrowed from alchemical lexicon (the etymology of Medieval Latin cohobare, as often is the case in this domain, is Arabic: كُهْبة, cohba, ‘brownish’, referring to the darker tint of the distilled liquid).

It is entirely possible that the initial recipe was based on an old formula for a rosemary tincture: the flowers were macerated in alcohol, but there was no distillation. This recipe was notably recommended by famous physician (and religious reformer) Arnaldus de Villa-Nova (c.1240–1311), who taught for many years at the prestigious Montpellier School of Medicine, before moving to Paris. He is, incidentally, credited with translating a number of medical texts from Arabic. He wasn’t the inventor of alcoholic maceration, of course, but his writings are an excellent illustration of what learned people thought to be good for the health at the time. Most often, there was little distinction made between substances that smelled good and remedies, and even in the 18th century perfume could still sell as an in-and-out panacea. The term elixir (borrowed from Arabic as well though the etymology is Greek), initially referring to a medicinal powder, was used in alchemy to speak either of the philosopher’s stone or a substance liable to cure all ills. Eventually, elixir came to refer to any alcoholic maceration of herbs, spices or fruits later distilled, to be employed as a medicine.

Historians have passionately debated which Hungarian queen exactly this miraculous ‘water’ was made for. It may have been Elizabeth of Poland (1305–1380), wife of Charles I Robert of Hungary. A popular legend had it that Queen Elizabeth obtained it from an angel and that it was so efficacious that she received a marriage proposal from the king of Poland at age 72—but historians have suggested that the confusion might stem from the fact that Elizabeth was named regent queen of Poland by her son in 1370...

Yes, alright, the legend might have been made up by perfumers who made an augmented recipe into a speciality of Montpellier during the 17th century; indeed, the first mention of it is found in 1660 savant books, at a time when the eau de Hongrie has become a favourite at Louis XIV’s court in Versailles. By that time, the old rosemary elixir was a more complex preparation, including marjoram, sage, lemon balm and cedrus. No matter the recipe, though, the use was unchanged: it was meant to be consumed or rubbed all over one’s skin, and expecting to heal migraines, various feminine vapours, rheumatisms, tinnitus, gout, palpitations, jaundice... (list far from exhaustive) up to the plague itself! Not to mention, of course, its many cosmetic advantages.

Note that such prestigious reputation isn’t completely unwarranted: ethanol is known today as ‘rubbing alcohol’ and ‘surgical alcohol’ for a good reason. Even though it is ineffective against bacterial spores, ethyl alcohol works well as an antiseptic against most fungi and bacteria, as well as a lot of viruses, killing organisms by denaturing their proteins and dissolving their lipids. This is a reason why spirits are known in several languages as ‘waters of life’: compare French eau de vie with Irish uisce beatha, for instance. In passing, alchemists were only trying to discover the recipe for an elixir of youth, you know.

   Actually, the closest the perfume world can get to the infamous ‘Kit Marlowe really was Shakespeare’s plays unless it was all De Vere’ cross-century quarrel may well be the neverending bickering between the respective heirs of the Feminis and Farina families, since we may never know who invented the eau de Cologne, only that it became a huge sensation without ever needing to hire a very bored-looking, starving, overpaid actress to pout next to a bottle of it for it to become the talk of several countries, and a bit of a misnomer.

Versions diverge and (oddly credible) documents abund, but here is the most diplomatic variant of the story: one Giovanni Paolo Feminis, born in 1666 in northern Piedmont, emigrated to Germany where he opened a distillery in Cologne in 1693, in which he sold diverse scented waters, including a special aqua mirabilis (‘marvellous water’) made from rosemary, melissa, bergamot, orange blossom, lemon and citron essences in spirit. The true origins of this formula are unknown, but it’s hard not to think of the Florentine basilica of Santa Maria Novella, where the Dominican monks opened a perfumery in 1612 (which still exists today, making it the oldest perfumery in the Western world) in addition to the mediaeval apothecary office where sold essences, elixirs, balms... This pharmacy was already active in the 1300s, when historians found traces of rose water being sold by the friars to help repel the plague. Dante Alighieri (1265–1321) was a frequent customer of the time.

The convent's most prized product was probably created to honour Catherine de’ Medici when she left for France in 1533 to be married to the future King Henry II (she would be Queen of France from 1547 till she was widowed in 1559, after which she ruled France as a regent for her second son Charles IX, officially and officiously. She was an impressive bitch, Kate was) and took with her an Acqua della Regina in which citrus essences predominated, bergamot in particular. This is, indeed, very reminiscent of the ‘marvellous water’ which the Feminis distillery sold in Cologne in the late 1600s as a digestive and hepatic remedy, an antiseptic and a painkiller. Business was successful and Feminis was even named an honorary member of the Cologne Chamber of Commerce. Nevertheless, the perfumer died heirless in 1736.

In 1709, Piedmont-born Giovanni Maria Farina (he came from a village which his family co-founded near Feminis’ hometown of Crana) came to Cologne, where his brother Giovanni Battista traded luxury goods; Giovanni Maria was meant to lead a subsidary of their export company dealing toiletries imported from Italia: soap, perfume, face powder, and also wigs, lace, silk stockings, tobacco boxes... In that time, Cologne had the enviable status of a ‘free and imperial city’, which is to say it was subordinate only to the Holy Roman Emperor, as opposed to territorial cities which had to answer to territorial lords. What that meant for commerce was that by the time the Farina family established themselves in Cologne, Catholic foreigners trading in luxury goods—which meant gold, silver, silk and perfume—were welcomed with open arms. The privilege was abolished under French occupation (1794–1814), meaning that anyone could settle; one of the direct consequences of this was a significant rise in eau de Cologne forgery!

The famous ‘John Maria Farina opposite Jülich's Square ltd.’ perfumery (one of the oldest active perfumeries, too) notably sold an Aqua admirabilis whose invigorating freshness contrasted with heavier classical perfumes. A hydrolat (a result of steam distillation alongside essential oil, ‘flower waters’ are less concentrated than the latter and ideal for use as a lotion) added with brandy (eau de vie), Farina’s ‘admirable water’ contained rosemary, thyme, absinth, marjoram, melissa, lavender, angelica, hyssop, fennel, juniper berries, anise seeds, nutmeg, clove, caraway, nutmeg, clove, as well as lemon peel and bergamot oil... In spite of the impressive list of aromatic herbs, the Admirable Water is led by a sweet yet fresh citrusy scent. ‘I have created a perfume which is reminiscent of a spring morning following a soft shower where fragrances of wild narcissi combine with that of sweet orange flowers. This perfume refreshes me and stimulates both my senses and imagination’, Giovanni Maria wrote to his brother back in 1708.

By the time the Faculty of Medicine of Cologne officially recognised the great healing property of that perfume in 1727, Aqua admirabilis was renowned across Europe as Eau de Cologne, adored in every royal or imperial court. The first delivery to Paris was made in 1721 but the perfume became very largely diffused in France during the 1733–1735 War of the Polish Succession (between the Habsburgs and the Bourbons, and France was heavily involved because contender Stanislas I, disgraced former king of Poland, happened to be King Louis XV of France’s father-in-law...), thanks to French officers.

Under the reign of Napoleon I, when Cologne’s privileges were abolished, suddenly there were Eau de Cologne counterfeiting everywhere in town—it bears reminding that there was no such thing, at the time, as intellectual property... In the space of a few decades, nearly 2,000 forgeries were sold! Emphasis was put on the supposed medicinal virtues of the perfume, in an attempt to distance the concurrence. However, that did little to damage the success of the original preparation. In 1806, a grand-grand-nephew of the creator, Giovanni Maria Giuseppe Farina (also born, in 1785, in the family town of Santa Maria Maggiore) founded a perfume shop in Paris, rue Saint-Honoré, as ‘Jean-Marie Farina’. Quite interestingly, in an early brochure he claimed to be the great-grandson of Giovanni Paolo Feminis; which was, in all likelihood, meant to shut down rumours that the rights to the original Eau de Cologne should go to Feminis’ legal benefactors. True or not, Jean-Marie—who was one of Honoré de Balzac’s sources of inspiration for his character of César Birotteau—obtained in 1806 a contract to make and sell an ‘Eau dite de Cologne’, a ‘so-called Cologne water’, which was met with immediate success. Two years later, he had become Imperatrice Eugénie’s official perfumer, and he famously made for Napoleon I the ‘Emperor’s roll’, a special bottle that he could slip in his boot.

‘Cologne water is usually employed pure, or mixed with water or wine, depending on the circumstances. Its quantity must vary as well, for internal use a few drops with sugar or water, a teaspoon. For external use, doses are more considerable. It is used in liniments, frictions, unguents, localised or general baths, enemas and injections. For bathing the whole body, one may pour up to three bottles. In a foot bath, one should suffice. In an enema, in injection, one or two spoonfuls.’

— from a 1825 brochure...

In 1851, the authentic Eau de Cologne is sold in these small, slim bottles containing about one seventh of a litre, sealed with a cork and wrapped in printed paper with Jean-Marie Farina’s signature as well as an embossed stamp and a green wax mark bearing the arms of Prussia both on the box and on the bottle. Each bottle sold for one franc and 50 centimes, which mightn’t sound so impressive till you realise that at the time that was worth an entire year of a civil servant’s salary!

House Farina in Cologne still sells the original preparation as Original Eau de Cologne, but prestigious Parisian perfumery Roger & Gallet acquired the rights to the rue Saint-Honoré house in 1862 (which is how they became Roger & Gallet in the first place. They quickly made a name for themselves selling luxury soaps and quality scented waters), and they still sell an Eau de Cologne extra vieille. After winning a lawsuit over the right to use the name Farina in the first place, of course.

If the price is considerably less steep than what it used to be, one should also consider the fact that nowadays, eau de Cologne is a commercial appellation used to refer to an even lighter concentration of perfume than in an eau de toilette, 4–6% essences only. It is intended to be used as a lotion, a tonic for the morning, which may be a refreshing version of a perfume and worn at the same time as the latter. The citrus extracts do possess astringent, circulatory properties, not to mention their fresh, tart smell. The Extra-Vieille was advertised by Roger & Gallet in the 1960s as ‘a good friction for a good day!’ Glamourous. By that time, cologne had lost its aura of luxury. For decades it remained extremely old-fashioned, and not in the ‘retro chic’ sense... Then, in the early 2000s, fashion shifted and people began looking for ‘authenticity’, for natural smells, as well as simpler perfumes. Which, as always, is relative, since perfume overall is a luxury product and cologne by Guerlain (Eau de Cologne impériale, Eau de Cologne du Coq) for instance won’t be that ‘democratic’ an issue.

Still, my personal favourite shall remain Institut Très Bien’s Cologne à la russe, because I am weak. Also snobbish. And the perfume version, Très Russe, is one of my ultimate favourite scents of all time and space.

[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

[greatdrams]

Tokyo whisky bars GreatDrams

Whisky culture in Tokyo is vibrant, vivacious and very special with each bar, regardless of size, steeped in history and simply oozing craft stories that many brands and bars in the west would be more than envious of.

Service too is impeccable, as you’d expect from Japanese culture, with every bar effortlessly creating experiences through seemingly small touches that all layer on each other to create something rather indescribable. From the vocal welcome each person is given upon entry to each establishment, to hot towels to freshen and enliven, to different traditional refreshments to snack on with your whiskies these bars take whisky enjoyment to another level.

Did I mention the smart, white-coated bartenders? And the occasional bartender wearing white gloves so as to not ‘harm’ any of the many bottles he is likely to touch during his shift? What about how the bartenders carve prefect spheres of ice each for each whisky you order from massive chunks of ice without missing a chip and without fault, something that no matter how many times you see, is still incredible to witness. Such great theatre, such great experiences.

Some, but not all bars are well stocked with fantastic Japanese whiskies, stuff you have and have not heard of, but they also proudly stock bottles of bourbon, Scotch, Irish and other world whiskies too nowadays to cater for most flavour requirements.

A few of the bars will charge a cover charge amounting to around £7.50, which instinctively feels like a tourist tax, but once you’ve sat down, been hosted and enjoyed wonderful whiskies, you will see it as a worthwhile investment.

Be prepared too to be turned away from bars even if there are seats available; these are private members bars and are not keen on non-regulars taking the seats of those they I know.

Below are some of the best bars in Tokyo, but it is by no means an exhaustive list as some are hidden away in office and apartment blocks and in nondescript buildings, making them both hard to find, and thoroughly rewarding to discover. I found people on the street to be incredibly helpful when it came to finding these bars. There was one guy who walked five blocks in circles asking people until it was clear it was impossible to find the place, then there was the guy who walked back from where he was going to discover the bar was on the 8th floor of his apartment block and he never knew. Be prepared to clock the steps in trying to hunt them down.

Shinagawa Highball Bar

Address: Exit Shinagawa Station using the East Exit and walk about 300 metres straight ahead of you, you cannot miss it.

This was an unexpected bar find as I had not planned to go out, but had a lot of time to kill and it was very close to my hotel. And I’m glad I did, I was hugely impressed. Simple, small, easy concept but executed perfectly. As always I sat at the bar, which is also the kitchen, and enjoyed a few different highballs with different whisky components to understand the variances in flavour. Some, if asked for ‘strong’ came with a measure of the component whisky on the side which was helpful to experience as well as when diluted in the Highball.

I would highly recommend ordering the house serve ‘Black’ Highball, served from a device like a soda gun you see in bars, but also try the others on page two of the menu as well as the seasonal serve which is a rotating guest bottle. I did not try the flavoured Highball, could not bring myself to do it as I felt it would mask the whisky flavour too much.

The food looked and smelled fantastic, although I didn’t have any as I had dinner plans, and the walls were lined with bottles of whisky that you can enjoy in the various highball serves. Note you can only try these neat if served with a highball, which is a confusing yet thoroughly appropriate serving method as this is not a ‘shot bar’ at all.

Cost: £

Experience: 3/5

Bar tending staff: 3/5

Opening hours: 5pm - 11.30pm

Go for: The atmosphere as well as the menu of different highball options to compare and contrast different whisky flavours when made into this simple, refreshing drink.

  [gallery type="rectangular" link="file" ids="32714,32715,32716,32717,32718,32719,32720,32721"]

Bar Suzuki

Address: 東京都中央区銀座5-4-15 ソニー通り西五ビル　４Ｆ大きな地図を見る

This is a whisky drinker’s bar; bottle after bottle, barely any logged on the ‘menu’ the English are presented with limited editions from distilleries all over Japan, Scotland and even Ireland being well represented.

The bartender spoke highly of his love of the highball, advising that he likes his with peated whiskies such as Laphroaig and Ardbeg; something I’ve never considered - and it was too early in the night for anything peated - but will be trying when I’m back home, that’s for sure.

My highball used Chita grain whisky as the spirit component and I must say it was incredibly refreshing, very light, but the whisky flavour held strong in there to produce something very nice indeed.

Following this I just had to indulge in a Hibiki 21 Year Old as the price was very reasonable compared to back in England, ~£14 for a measure, and wow was it smooth. An unparalleled premium Japanese whisky experience.

At 8.30pm on a Friday night I expected a few whisky drinkers to be there already, but I was the only person there - apparently it gets a lot busier later on in the evening.

Cost: £££

Experience: 3/5

Bar tending staff: 2/5

Opening hours: 6pm - 2am

Go for: Some hidden Japanese gems and to see what a forty year old whisky bar looks like in Tokyo.

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Hibiya Bar Whisy-S II

Address: 8F Noco Building 5-6-5 Ginza, Chuo-ku

Upon arrival I was asked incredibly politely whether I was ok that this was a Suntory bar, bemused I advised it would be more than ok and requested a seat at the bar. This place was rocking, with a buzzing, vibrant clientele.

Laughter all around through the time I spent there... it looked like small groups of coworkers were out together with each table having fun and letting loose after a long week. Being 9.30pmon a Friday night I expected it to be busy, but with only one person on the bar, the bartender so busy we barely got to chat until the last few minutes.

As with each bar I visited for this feature, I started with a highball, this one being a classic highball made with their own blended whisky mixed in with lemon zest, very refreshing but the lemon overtook the whisky component somewhat leaving it a bit anonymous.

As you’d imagine, this place houses a great selection of Japanese Whiskies, may be more on the standard side to locals but for the occasional dabbler in Japanese whisky, and non-domestic resident, it was fun to explore what we don’t get back home, even if a couple of them, Suntory Red especially, were a bit lighter than my regular taste.

When the pace of his pours calmed down, the bartender talked me through different bottles and the old recipes they’ve revived in Suntory Original Reissue Kanu, which was a great example of a typically harmonious blend but with complex spices integrated into it. Went well with the food I ordered too, smoked hamburger and Hakushu-infused sausage; literally combining two of my favourite things... whisky and sausages, these were only small side dishes and are just about enough to keep you going if you’ve already had dinner. My main meal was  a smoked shrimp meat toasted sandwich - not only was it full of flavoursome shrimp, but this has gone down as hands-down one of favourite sandwiches of all time.

A neat Hibiki 17 was just what I needed after the meal to cap a great bar experience.

Opening hours: 5pm - 11.30pm

Cost: ££

Experience: 4/5

Bar tending staff: 3/5

Go for: The food and the very reasonable whisky costs, not the Highballs as these were good, but not standout.

  Butler Ginza Branch

Address: 8 Chome-7-7 Ginza, Chūō, Tokyo 104-0061, Japan

Great little bar. Just what I was looking for, and a great barman who wanted to talk about the bar, the whiskies, why I was in Tokyo and he was so proud of what he was doing it was lovely to see.

Asking for a recommendation, he poured me a rather large Taketsuru 17 Year Old, named after the famous Mr. Taketsuru who effectively kick started the Japanese whisky production methods we know and enjoy today following six years being spent as an apprentice at the Longmorn distillery in the early 20th century.

The highball serve here was with Dewar’s 12 Year Old, and, like the Chita serve at Bar Suzuki, the refreshment level was through the roof, but this time a lot more of the whisky character cut through which was highly enjoyable.

The bar itself is super-small, only around ten seats and limited space for bags, just like the classic Tokyo bars typically reserved just for members.

The bar owner / manager / bartender, Naoya, is a real whisky person who is doing this both as a business and for the love of it. Really great to see his excitement when talking whisky with me and other punters and he definitely knew his stuff too.

Opening hours: 5pm - 11.30pm

Cost: £££

Experience: 5/5

Bar tending staff: 5/5

Go for: An intimate whisky experience from a fellow whisky lover.

  Tokyo Whisky Library

Address: 〒107-0062 Tokyo, Minato, Minamiaoyama, ５丁目5−24 南青山サンタキアラ教会

This place is all about whisky and infusions; their highballs, and many of their other cocktails are made with whiskies they have infused in house with various different waters and fruits to create some special flavours unseen anywhere else in Tokyo.

With a full wall of bottles, elegantly racked up in themes, this bar is a shrine to all things malt, blends and grain. You can literally get lost for ages just staring at bottles and looking at the packaging of whiskies you will probably not see in many bars, as well as a healthy bulk of the regulars you’d expect to see.

They are not the most flexible if you want to change cocktail ingredients, such as requesting your own choice of base whisky, but they will do it after a little battle… just make sure you give them your menu back as they only have a few for some reason, and don’t like you to spend too much time making your decision!

Opening hours: 6pm - 3am

Cost: £££

Experience: 3/5

Bar tending staff: 2/5

Go for: The range, the infusions and to gawk at the pretty bottles on display.

[gallery type="rectangular" link="file" ids="32762,32763,32764,32765,32766,32767,32768"]

Bar Benfiddich

Address: 〒160-0023 Tokyo, Shinjuku, Nishishinjuku, 1 Chome−13−7 大和家ビル

Now I know what you’re thinking, as I was thinking the same thing but having had it explained to me by the owner, the name if is not necessarily a rip off of a certain Scotch brand close to my hear, it is the English name of the owner Hiroyasu Kayama.

Still, a bit close, eh? And one guy whilst I was in there asked where the Benfiddich distillery was, swearing blind that he had been there despite me enlightening him to the contrary and that he was thinking of Glenfiddich.

This one took an age to find as there is literally no signage suggesting it exists, I had to ask five people until one guy walked with me until we found it but when I eventually got in, I was pleasantly surprised. ‘Ben’ is not a bartender, he is not a mixologist, a showman who only likes to create the best possible drink for everyone who sits in front of him.

I panicked so had a highball to start, which was greeted with a confused ‘don’t you know what I can create?’ look, but at that point I did not so felt a little intimidated. With drink two though I got him into his flow when I gave him a brief of ‘Japanese whisky cocktail, all other ingredients are you choice’. What did he do? Stirred Yoichi with a special sake vermouth that is not available commercially and wow was it incredible. Might try whisky and vermouth when home, or whisky with sake, although it will never taste the same.

The glassware here is bonkers, no two glasses seem to be the same, something that would stress me out, causing the mild OCD to twitch ferociously. And the main man is aided by two support staff who seem to be briefed not to speak and to spend their whole evenings passing around wacky ingredients and washing random glassware as Mr Fiddich works his magic.

My final drink was spiced old fashioned, and I must say I preferred his cretinous creation, although this was good, it was a bit too floral for my liking given that it was created using many, many herbs all rolled and crushed together on a pestle and mortar. The theatre is captivating, almost as much as just eyeing up his amazing tools.

‘Ben’ told me that he has been a mixologist for around fifteen years and if he wants a day off he just closes, and if he wants a year off he closes. That will be why two cocktails and a highball cost about £30 then.

Definitely a great place to drink alone in; I bumped into two bartenders from the American Bar in The Savoy, London and got Hartung to a university lecturer who now wants my master list of Tokyo bars to visit when he’s back on holiday... I told him to look out for this article in due course.

Opening hours: 6pm - 3am

Cost: ££££

Experience: 5/5

Bar tending staff: 4/5

Go for: Mixology theatre at its absolute best, a maestro of flavour and a good spot to enjoy a cocktail amongst other people drinking alone or with a partner. A true experience.

  Hermit Bar West

Address: 〒160-0000 Tokyo, Shinjuku, 新宿3-26-3 コンワセンタービルB1

Having not visited this bar since last in Tokyo in 2008, this was an essential visit on my itinerary. My overriding memory of this place was my feeling of it probably the one bar in the world I’ve spoken most about in the last ten years as it left such a profound mark on both me as a person and me as a whisky geek, not to mention each whisky being served with an ice ball hand-crafted in front of you.

This one is relatively easy to find although you will walk up what feels like hundreds of stairs to be presented with two barrel ends drilled into the wall, one saying ‘Scotch lovers’ with an arrow pointing left and one with ‘Bourbon lovers’ with an arrow pointing right.

Once you’ve made up your mind, hint; go left, you walk in to a bar that has no mixers, no non-whisky spirits and nothing but bottles everywhere you look, from rare distillery releases to rare independent bottlings of all manner of global whisky.

Now, sadly for me this bar had changed in the last decade; no longer are the ice balls done by hand, they were all pre-batched. They still have an amazing selection of whisky, that’s for sure, but you know what they say about meeting your hero.

The bottles are mostly limited edition Scotch Whiskies (hence ‘Scotch lovers’ on the barrel, but not many Japanese, and the selection was barely represented on the English menu presented to me, so save yourself from reading it and just look at the shelves as you’ll find some gems there, including some of the Kariuzawa Playing Card Card Series, although I did not partake in that myself.

I won’t lie to you, I was disappointed by the lack of Japanese options on the menu given that last time they made up a sizeable portion of the bar, although I understand global supply and demand dynamics have changed in the last ten years making that harder to maintain and keep populated. Shame though.

Here I had a Dewar’s 12 Year Old Highball, Hibiki Harmony over ice and a Nikka 12 Year Old which was very nice indeed.

And if you’re peckish afterwards, literally next door is one of the finest sushi bars in the world; as amazing this time as it was ten years ago, and likely using the same crockery on the conveyor as nothing here has changed, that’s for sure.

They have a sister bar called Hermit East, which is nice enough, a small bar you need to book into, but watch out; I left after one drink as the bartender tried to rip myself and another tourist off advising on super-expensive whiskies to put into their highballs. Put it this way; when a local asked for a highball, in English, they used Dewar’s 12 Year Old without asking, but when I asked I was offered Yamazaki 18 Year Old at £22 a measure, when highballs are not really the place for drams like these.

Opening hours: 5pm - 2am

Cost: £

Experience: 3/5

Bar tending staff: 2/5

Go for: A wide array of previously unseen Scotch whisky from independent bottlers, or a cheeky Kariuzawa dram.

  Zoetrope

Address: 7-10-14 Nishi Shinjuku | 3rd floor, Gaia Building #4, Shinjuku 160-0023

Described as “the best whisky bar in Tokyo”, this bar is a safe haven from the hustle and bustle, a small bar with a menu that will leave all whisky geeks twitching with excitement . This is one that is best left for you to discover on your own as the range is bordering on ridiculous, and the bartender here is a maestro of whisky knowledge. Just make sure you’re there well in advance of closing as they stop letting people in about half an hour before closing time.

Opening hours: 6pm - 11.30pm

Cost: £££

Experience: 4/5

Bar tending staff: 4/5

Go for: The range of whiskies otherwise unobtainable.

The post Tokyo whisky bars GreatDrams appeared first on GreatDrams.

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[cathrynstreich]

12 Smells Homebuyers Hate

Ahhh, time to sell your house. You want to get the best price for your house – and you want it to happen fast! But the competition out there can be stiff…especially if there are lots of great properties for sale in your area. So how do you give your home the edge?

When it comes to selling your home, you’ve got to think beyond how pretty it looks, how nice the shrubs are outside, and whether the paint color on the front door is a turn on, or a turn off.

It’s no secret that you’ve got to appeal to their sense of sight – after all, we perceive up to 80% of our information through vision.

If you want to sell your home fast (and at the best possible price, of course), you also need to pay attention to is smell.

It’s true… stinky homes sell slowly. Sweet-smelling homes are much more desirable!

Even though it may seem like common sense, many sellers can overlook it because it’s not just the obvious smells that make potential buyers run away holding their noses.

So read on to learn about 12 scents that potential home buyers hate as well as how to fix them. Then read further about what smells home buyers love.

Smells homebuyers hate

1. Smoke

Back in the day, it was pretty normal for some homes to have a smoky smell. Restaurants had smoking sections, cigarettes were sold in vending machines, and many people smoked inside their house.

Nowadays, however, smoking is practically verboten, so this smell is a big no-no. Whether yours is from a small fire, a smoking habit, or overzealous fireplace usage, you can get rid of it by wiping down surfaces with vinegar, steam-cleaning your carpets, and washing the draperies. If that’s not quite enough, use an ozone generator – it’s a wonder tool when it comes to eliminating smoky smells.

2. Pet odors

Plenty of people have pets and love them. Your potential homebuyers may even have pets of their own. Does that mean they’ll love the smell of your pets? No.

Whether you have dogs, cats, hamsters, birds, or hedgehogs, you’ve got to address the odors they leave behind before a single potential buyer walks in.

Depending on what kind of pet you have, there are many options to try. For instance, FurryFreshness (available on Amazon) gets great reviews, and Angry Orange (also on Amazon) promises to take out even the most barnyard-iest of smells. But certainly search around for a product you feel comfortable and confident in using. Use cleaning products such as those on your flooring and upholstery, and if you’re about to have a showing or an open house, consider removing cages and food dishes entirely.

(Pro Tip: If you have it in you, finding a temporary place for your pet to live while your house is on the market will help you keep the odors from coming back.)

He’s sorry about the carpet. Kinda.

3. Cat urine

Yes, pet odors were just mentioned, but cat urine gets a listing of its very own because it is so universally hated. It gets into carpets and pads and even into the subflooring, so it’s really hard to completely remove. Even if Fluffy is out of the house, her leftover wee-spots can still trigger a reaction if your potential buyer is allergic.

If cat urine is the aroma you’re trying to abolish, you’ve got your work cut out for you. Start with the flooring by using cleaning products like the ones mentioned above. If that doesn’t work, call in a carpet cleaning pro – they can take out smells and stains a homeowner can’t get to with their pro-grade equipment.

Next, you’ll have to move on to the walls – yes, the walls. Cats can mark vertically, so wipe down the walls with diluted vinegar solution, and if that doesn’t get it, you can move onto the strong stuff like Kilz. Beyond that, there’s always repainting! Keep at it until the cat stink is gone – it’s worth any time, effort, or money you put into it.

4. Cooking smells

If you’ve ever worked in an office, you can probably relate to a coworker microwaving leftover FISH for lunch. You can practically feel the stinky fish particles sticking to your clothes and hair and the inside of your nose! Guess what – your home has those same particles after you cook. If your cooking method of choice is deep-frying, they’ll stick around even longer!

Yuck.

The good news is this isn’t too hard to fix. The best way to get rid of cooking smells is to wipe down your appliances and surfaces, and then set a pot of vinegar, water, and lemon rinds on to boil. If you still have a lingering odor after that, you can leave bowls of baking soda out – baking soda will absorb the smells in the air just like it does in your fridge. OR, you can just get take-out for the duration of the selling period. How about that for a good excuse to order a pizza?

5. Dirty laundry

Let’s be honest – laundry is the most exhausting chore. You’ve got to sort, wash, dry, sort, fold and put away… and even then, the clothes that you’re currently wearing will be in the dirty pile by tonight, so this chore is literally never done. You’ve got to take care of this, though, because dirty laundry is an icky smell – and it’s even worse when the clothes you’re smelling are not your own.

Get the laundry done ASAP, and then run a cleaner like Affresh or OxyClean through your washer, too. You don’t want the laundry room smelling like an old gym bag when Mr. and Mrs. Buyer come in, do you?!

6. Kid funk

If you’ve got kids, you’ve got smells. And the worst part is you’re with them so much, you might not even notice it! From old French fries stuffed into the couch cushions, to diaper pails, to less than perfect aim in the bathroom, kids really know how to bring the funk.

Unfortunately, there’s no easy fix for this because kids will keep making messes until the day they move out. Try to keep it down to a dull roar with regular cleanings – especially in the bathroom areas. While your house is on the market, keep Clorox Wipes at the ready so you can do a quick wipe down everyday, and vacuum once a day. A sprinkle of baking soda on the carpet before vacuuming helps with any lingering odors, too.

7. Mothballs

You might think that mothballs were a thing of the past. Nope, the mothball market is alive and well – there are hundreds of mothball products on Amazon alone. While keeping bugs away is always a good idea, the odor that mothballs leave behind is an undesirable side effect.

You can banish the smell with vinegar or activated charcoal, and when it’s back to smelling good again, hang sachets with natural alternatives like cedar. You’ll get the same bug-banishing effect and none of the “this smells like a gross old house” byproduct.

8. Incense

To some folks, incense smells relaxing and reminds them of getting a massage or going to yoga. To others, though, incense reminds them of head shops and all things Reefer Madness.

If you burn incense, when you put your house on the market, put away the Nag Champa, clear out all the ashes and burners, and open up the windows and air the place out. Even if you like the smell, you never know who’ll be looking at your home, so clean it up. Knowing your home will sell faster will bring back any Zen feeling that removing your incense takes away.

Nothing says, “This home is hippie-friendly” like incense.

9. Sewer gas

If you’ve got the occasional rotten egg smell in the house, you may have decided you can live with it, but when you put your home up for sale, you’ve GOT to deal with it. No one wants to buy a house that smells like sewage sometimes. And, Murphy’s Law dictates that the day people come to see the property is also the day that the shower or floor drain will smell like rotten eggs.

If you can pinpoint which drain is the culprit, you can try DIY solutions to flush out the offending drain and P-trap, or you can make life simple and call a plumber. Either way, get that stinky drain cleared up and enjoy a much more desirable home!

10. Bleach

When it comes to showing your home, clean is good, but bleachy clean is bad. Too much bleach makes buyers wonder, “Are they trying to cover something up?”

Use cleansers with less of an odor profile, or if you must use heavy-duty stuff, open your windows and turn the fans on for awhile afterward so that the bleach odor has a chance to clear out.

11. Mold & mildew

Nothing says, “Scary, potential water damage – avoid this house!” like the smell of mold and mildew. Dreams of saggy ceilings and black mold will dance in your would-be buyers’ heads when they get a whiff of this stuff, so take care of it before you even hit the market.

First, make sure there are no current leaks which may be causing mold or mildew. Also consider whether you have adequate ventilation in the area. Because even if you are able to get rid of the odor, if you don’t find and stop the cause, it will just come back.

Then, if it seems to be minor mildew, you can try and clean it yourself with some cleansers and a little time and effort. But, if the mold or mildew is bad enough, it is a good idea to hire a professional to come in and clean or remediate the affected area.

12. Too much of a good thing

If you’ve ever been around a preteen boy who’s just been introduced to cologne or body sprays, you already know that too much of even a decent scent can be a very, very bad thing. No matter what fragrance you add to your house, do it judiciously. Many people are turned off by strong smells, and some may even get sick from it.

If you’ve got a ton of candles or a Scentsy thingamajig in every room, dial it back a notch. If you’re hard of smell and can’t tell if it’s still too much, just go by this rule of thumb – one candle for a small room, two for a large. Any more and you’re heading into vanilla-spice-overkill.

While we’re on the topic of candles and air fresheners, let’s talk about the scents that homebuyers love. It’s true – with scent, you can subtly influence your home viewers to feel happy, nostalgic, and relaxed – these all good feelings you want them to associate with your house! Here are a few…

Smells homebuyers love

Cinnamon

When it comes to cozy, comfy, “smells like home!” goodness, cinnamon tops the list. This scent practically screams, “Grandma! Apple pie! Americana!” so having it wafting through your home is sure to inspire good memories. A reed diffuser with cinnamon scented oil in the kitchen will give off the perfect vibe.

Citrus

Unlike bleach, citrus is a GOOD clean smell. You don’t have to stick with orange or lemon, either – with all the products on the market, you can pick from grapefruit, clementine, lime, citron… the list goes on and on. Citrus scent is basically sunshine in a bottle, so apply liberally and give your home happy vibes in just about every room.

You can just smell the good vibes, can’t you?!

Clean laundry

Fresh linens smell awesome, but you know what smells even awesomer? Clean laundry YOU didn’t have to wash! Give buyers a sparkling fresh scent and they’ll feel good and relaxed without even realizing it. Keep your linens clean and then give your rooms a boost with a spray or an essential oil diffuser. Ahhhhh – smells like a high-end hotel.

Cedar

If your home is at all rustic or woodsy, a cedar scent is a natural complement to the decor and architecture. Many people have a fantasy about living in the woods – help them indulge in it with this homey, natural scent. You can use oils, sachets, or even cedar wood furnishings – any of the above will give a warm, woodland aroma.

Fresh baked cookies

When all else fails, you can always rely on fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies to bring happiness to your buyers’ noses. If you don’t want to bust out the mixing bowls every time there’s an open house or a showing, even slice and bake cookies do the trick, so preheat that oven and make people fall in love with your home!

Smells just like homemade!

One last bit of advice…

No matter which of these good smells you pick, it’s important to stick with one – or maybe two, if they’re complementary and the house is fairly large. No one wants to breathe in cinnamon-citrus-cedar cookies, and as we talked about above, there is such a thing as too much.

Now this brings us to an important question.

How do you know if your home kinda…stinks?

Well, there are a few ways to tell.

Trust your own nose.

As you walk through your house inhale deeply. If there’s ever a place where you think, “Huh, that’s a little funky…I wonder if anyone else can tell?” the answer is YES, they can. So find that odoriferous offender and do what it takes to neutralize it.

The only problem with this is that we tend to get nose-blind to our own surroundings, so if you think everything smells great, you at least want to double check with someone else. Which brings us to the next suggestion…

Ask a picky friend or family member.

Have a friend who can sniff out unappealing smells from a mile away? Ask him or her to come over and sniff out any trouble spots. (Give them a delightful scented candle or potted basil to thank them for their trouble afterwards.)

If you’re just not sure who to ask, or your close group of peeps is just as insensitive to smells as you are, you can always…

Ask your real estate agent!

Agents are in and out of enough houses to know what smells normal and what buyers will interpret as an aromatic punch in the face. Also, if you do have stinky spots or an all over stench, they probably have good suggestions on how to handle it yourself – or even a list of vendors who can do it for you. Your real estate agent is your trusted advisor for a reason, and in many more ways than you probably think, so trust them to help you out of a potentially stinky situation.

There you have it – smells that would-be buyers hate and scents that will make them fall in love.

If you want your potential home buyer to love the place as much as you do, clean it up, air it out, and add just a bit of a pleasant scent. These small touches will make a big difference in the end!

Agents: Spruce Up Your Marketing… For FREE!

Want to stay top-of-mind?

Then snag The Lighter Side’s entire collection of witty Facebook covers — 96 in all!

Just tell us where to email 'em!

The post 12 Smells Homebuyers Hate appeared first on Lighter Side of Real Estate.

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[wineanddinosaur]

20 of Our Labor Day Picks For People Who Love Drinks

Long, summer nights are beginning to come to a close, and the festivities of fall and winter are coming in quick. While we might not be sure exactly what those celebrations will look like this year, we do know there will be glasses of cheer at the ready. After a lot of testing, these are some of our favorite glasses, gadgets, and drinks essentials for people who love wine, beer, cocktails, and whiskey. Plus, if you use the code LABORDAY15 at checkout you’ll get 15 percent off your order.

Our Favorite Wine Picks

Wine Breather Decanter

As a wine lover, you likely already know that decanting a wine awakens it, bringing forward the aromatics and softening any harshness. But, the process can take a while and sometimes, you just want to get to the good stuff. That’s why we love the Wine Breather Decanter. Crafted from sleek lead-free crystal, this near-magical accessory decants and aerates wine in under 2 minutes, transforming it into the best version of itself. Serve the wine from the lovely carafe, if you’d like, or pour it back in the bottle. It holds 48 oz (a little under 2 bottles of wine) and will make your next wine night better than ever.

See The Decanter Now!

Iceberg Insulated Wine Tumbler

If you’re a white, bubbly, or rosé chilled red fan, you’ve probably had those nights where you’re sipping your wine long into the evening. It’s great. Until it’s not. After a while, you notice that it’s getting a little bit warm. But, there’s still more to drink. Blech.

That’s where the Iceberg Insulated Wine Tumbler comes in. Its double-walled, vacuum-insulated construction ensures that your drink is at the exact right temperature for as long as you’re enjoying it. There’s even a removable lid for insulation and to prevent spills. It holds 10oz and is perfect for outdoor drinking of any sort. And, it comes in five great colors, meaning there can be one for everyone in the family.

See The Tumbler Now!

Adjustable Wine Aerator

Do you have a few hours to wait for your wine to properly decant? No? Simply grab your handy dandy Adjustable Wine Aerator. Set it for however long you wish you could have decanted the wine (up to six hours) and it will do the same work in mere minutes. Some similar gadgets have messy tubes or are hard to operate, but this features an integrated aeration intake system that takes all the fuss out of the process. Crafted with stainless steel and BPA-free plastic, you’ll wonder how you managed without it for so long.

See The Aerator Now!

Cooler than Cool Glacier Wine Glass

If you’re an outdoor wine drinker, listen up. Your picnics, barbecues, and long nights sipping away just got better. The Cooler than Cool Glacier Wine Glass, after spending two hours in your freezer, will keep your drink chilly for as long as you’re sipping or swilling. The proprietary gel blend and the silicone band (for insulation and a comfy gripping spot) will take care of the temperature, you just have to pick out something great to drink. Cheers to that!

See The Glasses Now!

Filter Wine Pour Spout

Drinking old wine can be a transcendent experience. Opening it is occasionally less so. All too often, the cork breaks or crumbles and everyone disperses to find some sort of filtration device. What was a lovely evening just turned into a circus.

Nip those annoyances in the bud with the Filter Wine Pour Spout, which filters, pours, and preserves your wine. Just pop it into your bottle and serve through the pour spout. It also softens any out-of-balance tannin or harshness in the wine, so you may find yourself pouring just about everything you drink through it. It’s also dishwasher safe—just throw it in and it’ll be ready for next time.

See The Spout Now!

Our Favorite Beer Picks

Spiegelau Universal Tulip Beer Glass

A panel of master brewers convened to design their ideal beer glass, one that would show off the flavors and aromas of their favorite beers. The Spiegelau Universal Tulip Beer Glass is what they came up with, and it deserves a place on your bar. Whether you’re drinking a hazy IPA, a refreshing pilsner, or a stout with gravitas, this lead-free crystal glass will majorly upgrade your drinking experience. Plus, the glasses are certified dishwasher safe for easy cleaning.

See The Glasses Now!

Beer Types of The World Poster

The styles and types of beer can be a complicated beast, that’s why every beer nerd needs this Beer Types of The World poster. printed at dazzling Giclée quality, is the perfect décor for the beer lover. Not only does it break down the styles and origins of beer styles in an easy-to-understand way, but it’s also just a great piece for your wall—a stunning matte poster on museum-quality paper.

See The Poster Now!

Iceberg Insulated Can & Bottle Cooler

Koozies are for college kids. The rest of us need something a little more effective for our hard-won microbrews.

So, meet the Iceberg Insulated Can & Bottle Cooler, with double-wall, vacuumed insulation to keep your drink chilly until you’re finished. Just pop in your standard aluminum can or glass beer bottle, and keep sipping on your perfectly frosty beer.

See The Cooler Now!

Stainless Steel Credit Card Bottle Opener

We’ve all been there—you rustled up a beer and are ready to enjoy it. You reach around for your bottle opener. Somehow, it’s nowhere to be found. Desperation strikes. You pull out a spoon, a fork, a butter knife, hoping to do one of those cool opening tricks you’ve seen on the internet. Nothing’s working.

Stop that disaster in its tracks with the Stainless Steel Credit Card Bottle Opener. Cleverly designed to slip into any standard-size wallet, this sturdy but sleek little contraption will have your back whenever you’re hoping to crack a cold one.

See The Opener Now!

Cooler than Cool Glacier Beer Glass

Good news: with the Cooler than Cool Glacier Beer Glass, warm beer is officially uninvited to your future. Just pop the glasses into the freezer so they’re ready whenever you are. The proprietary gel inside the glass keeps your pint frosty, no matter how hot it is outside. The silicone band around the bottom helps keep the contents of the glass cold but also makes a comfortable spot to hold. Just fill it up and start sipping!

See The Glasses Now!

Our Favorite Cocktail Picks

Cocktail Codex Poster

Death & Co.’s Alex Day, Nick Fauchald, David Kaplan, and Devon Tarby had a hypothesis. They believed that in order to be an expert bartender, you really only have to know six drinks. They wrote a book on the subject. The book won a James Beard Award.

Bring the magic of those six cocktails into your home with this museum-quality poster, illustrating the cocktails and three variations on each. You’ll look the part of an expert bartender and, better yet, you’ll actually be one!

See The Poster Now!

Professional Ice Cube Tray With Lid

Ice is perhaps the most underrated cocktail ingredient. Cocktails are at their best when they’re cold and a bit diluted (without being watery). Ensure that your cocktails are at their peak for longer with ice from this Professional Ice Cube Tray With Lid. The oversized ice cubes will keep your cocktail cold without watering it down, and the lid keeps the other flavors from your freezer from sneaking into your cocktail. The mold and lid are made with food-safe silicon and the whole thing is dishwasher safe.

See The Tray Now!

The Classic Cocktail Barware Set

It’s not hard to make a great cocktail, but you do need the proper tools. This Classic Cocktail Barware Set is commercial-grade and will get you started on the right foot. Included is a lead-free crystal mixing glass, then a stainless steel hawthorne strainer, double jigger, and weighted barspoon. You’ll soon be whipping up top-notch martinis, negronis, and anything else you can dream of with the greatest of ease.

See The Set Now!

Spiegelau Coupette Glass

We firmly believe that a great cocktail is just as delicious out of a mason jar as it is from a proper glass. That said, your mason jar situation will never feel quite as elegant as a cocktail served from the proper glass, especially if it’s the Spiegelau Coupette Glass. Crafted from lead-free crystal in Germany, these glasses are perfectly balanced, with an etched base that perfectly refracts the light. They’re dishwasher safe, and will make you feel like you’re drinking at a fancy bar in Manhattan. Take that, mason jars.

See The Glasses Now!

Professional Shakers

If you’re a Margarita or daiquiri fan, listen up. Some of the most delightful cocktails—that is, the ones featuring fruit juice, simple syrup, cream liqueurs, dairy, and more—are shaken. Make sure you’re up to the task with these professional-grade shakers, one large, one small. You’ll be ready for tiki night, taco night, and any other mixology challenge that comes your way.

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Our Favorite Whiskey Picks

Spiegelau Bourbon Tasting Glass

Bourbon drinkers, this one is for you. If you love the layered aromatics of vanilla, brown butter, and baking spice, why not buy a glass that accentuates them? The Spiegelau Bourbon Tasting Glass was designed to push those aromas towards your nose, ensuring that you get the most of your bourbon, whether it’s your everyday favorite or that fancy bottle that you’ve been saving for a special occasion. We tested these next to a traditional rocks glass and our minds were BLOWN.

See The Glasses Now!

Drink Rocks Geometric Shapes

Booze rookies think drinking whisky straight is impressive. The pros know that a little bit of water goes a long way in opening up flavor. In fact, real whisky lovers are more impressed by knowing the perfect amount of dilution.

Control your own dilution while making a statement with these striking Geometric Drink Rocks. Keep a few in your freezer so they’re properly frosty, then pop them into your glass when you’re ready for a cold glass of your favorite spirit. Add a few drops of water, and prepare for a sublime drinking experience. The hand-finished marble and soapstone shapes make a stylish addition to your bar when you’re not using them.

See The Rocks Now!

Cooler than Cool Chilled Smoked Whiskey Glass

If there’s anything worse than warm whiskey, it’s an overly diluted dram. Ensure chilled, perfectly diluted whiskey that you can enjoy at your own pace with this set of Cooler than Cool Chilled Smoked Whiskey Glasses. Just pop them in the freezer so they’re ready whenever you are. After just two hours of freezer time, the proprietary gel inside the BPA-free plastic glass will keep your beverage properly frosty for as long as you’re enjoying it. The silicone band acts as insulation and a comfy spot for holding. Now you can enjoy your favorite whiskey at its ideal temperature without worrying about it warming up or watering down.

See The Tumblers Now!

The Houses of Bourbon Poster

If your spirit of choice is bourbon, your home should reflect that even beyond your bar. The Houses of Bourbon poster, printed at dazzling Giclée quality, is the perfect décor for the long-time whiskey lover. Not only does it break down the who’s who of bourbon in an easy-to-understand way, but it’s also just a great piece for your wall—a stunning matte poster on museum-quality paper.

See The Poster Now!

Etched Glass Globe Whisky Decanter and Glasses Set

Whereas wine decanters play an important role in the flavor and textural experience of wine, spirits decanters are mostly for aesthetics. That’s why it’s important to find one that makes a statement, like this Etched Glass Globe Whisky Decanter and the glasses that come with it. The lead-free borosilicate glass of both the decanter and the glasses is etched with a map of the globe, and the decanter, which holds a little over a bottle of whisky, comes with a stand and spins as a globe would. Just remove it from its stand when you’re ready to pour and whatever you’re enjoying will feel even more remarkable.

See The Set Now!

The article 20 of Our Labor Day Picks For People Who Love Drinks appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/picks/best-drinks-gifts-labor-day-2020/

[johnboothus]

20 of Our Labor Day Picks For People Who Love Drinks

Long, summer nights are beginning to come to a close, and the festivities of fall and winter are coming in quick. While we might not be sure exactly what those celebrations will look like this year, we do know there will be glasses of cheer at the ready. After a lot of testing, these are some of our favorite glasses, gadgets, and drinks essentials for people who love wine, beer, cocktails, and whiskey. Plus, if you use the code LABORDAY15 at checkout you’ll get 15 percent off your order.

Our Favorite Wine Picks

Wine Breather Decanter

As a wine lover, you likely already know that decanting a wine awakens it, bringing forward the aromatics and softening any harshness. But, the process can take a while and sometimes, you just want to get to the good stuff. That’s why we love the Wine Breather Decanter. Crafted from sleek lead-free crystal, this near-magical accessory decants and aerates wine in under 2 minutes, transforming it into the best version of itself. Serve the wine from the lovely carafe, if you’d like, or pour it back in the bottle. It holds 48 oz (a little under 2 bottles of wine) and will make your next wine night better than ever.

See The Decanter Now!

Iceberg Insulated Wine Tumbler

If you’re a white, bubbly, or rosé chilled red fan, you’ve probably had those nights where you’re sipping your wine long into the evening. It’s great. Until it’s not. After a while, you notice that it’s getting a little bit warm. But, there’s still more to drink. Blech.

That’s where the Iceberg Insulated Wine Tumbler comes in. Its double-walled, vacuum-insulated construction ensures that your drink is at the exact right temperature for as long as you’re enjoying it. There’s even a removable lid for insulation and to prevent spills. It holds 10oz and is perfect for outdoor drinking of any sort. And, it comes in five great colors, meaning there can be one for everyone in the family.

See The Tumbler Now!

Adjustable Wine Aerator

Do you have a few hours to wait for your wine to properly decant? No? Simply grab your handy dandy Adjustable Wine Aerator. Set it for however long you wish you could have decanted the wine (up to six hours) and it will do the same work in mere minutes. Some similar gadgets have messy tubes or are hard to operate, but this features an integrated aeration intake system that takes all the fuss out of the process. Crafted with stainless steel and BPA-free plastic, you’ll wonder how you managed without it for so long.

See The Aerator Now!

Cooler than Cool Glacier Wine Glass

If you’re an outdoor wine drinker, listen up. Your picnics, barbecues, and long nights sipping away just got better. The Cooler than Cool Glacier Wine Glass, after spending two hours in your freezer, will keep your drink chilly for as long as you’re sipping or swilling. The proprietary gel blend and the silicone band (for insulation and a comfy gripping spot) will take care of the temperature, you just have to pick out something great to drink. Cheers to that!

See The Glasses Now!

Filter Wine Pour Spout

Drinking old wine can be a transcendent experience. Opening it is occasionally less so. All too often, the cork breaks or crumbles and everyone disperses to find some sort of filtration device. What was a lovely evening just turned into a circus.

Nip those annoyances in the bud with the Filter Wine Pour Spout, which filters, pours, and preserves your wine. Just pop it into your bottle and serve through the pour spout. It also softens any out-of-balance tannin or harshness in the wine, so you may find yourself pouring just about everything you drink through it. It’s also dishwasher safe—just throw it in and it’ll be ready for next time.

See The Spout Now!

Our Favorite Beer Picks

Spiegelau Universal Tulip Beer Glass

A panel of master brewers convened to design their ideal beer glass, one that would show off the flavors and aromas of their favorite beers. The Spiegelau Universal Tulip Beer Glass is what they came up with, and it deserves a place on your bar. Whether you’re drinking a hazy IPA, a refreshing pilsner, or a stout with gravitas, this lead-free crystal glass will majorly upgrade your drinking experience. Plus, the glasses are certified dishwasher safe for easy cleaning.

See The Glasses Now!

Beer Types of The World Poster

The styles and types of beer can be a complicated beast, that’s why every beer nerd needs this Beer Types of The World poster. printed at dazzling Giclée quality, is the perfect décor for the beer lover. Not only does it break down the styles and origins of beer styles in an easy-to-understand way, but it’s also just a great piece for your wall—a stunning matte poster on museum-quality paper.

See The Poster Now!

Iceberg Insulated Can & Bottle Cooler

Koozies are for college kids. The rest of us need something a little more effective for our hard-won microbrews.

So, meet the Iceberg Insulated Can & Bottle Cooler, with double-wall, vacuumed insulation to keep your drink chilly until you’re finished. Just pop in your standard aluminum can or glass beer bottle, and keep sipping on your perfectly frosty beer.

See The Cooler Now!

Stainless Steel Credit Card Bottle Opener

We’ve all been there—you rustled up a beer and are ready to enjoy it. You reach around for your bottle opener. Somehow, it’s nowhere to be found. Desperation strikes. You pull out a spoon, a fork, a butter knife, hoping to do one of those cool opening tricks you’ve seen on the internet. Nothing’s working.

Stop that disaster in its tracks with the Stainless Steel Credit Card Bottle Opener. Cleverly designed to slip into any standard-size wallet, this sturdy but sleek little contraption will have your back whenever you’re hoping to crack a cold one.

See The Opener Now!

Cooler than Cool Glacier Beer Glass

Good news: with the Cooler than Cool Glacier Beer Glass, warm beer is officially uninvited to your future. Just pop the glasses into the freezer so they’re ready whenever you are. The proprietary gel inside the glass keeps your pint frosty, no matter how hot it is outside. The silicone band around the bottom helps keep the contents of the glass cold but also makes a comfortable spot to hold. Just fill it up and start sipping!

See The Glasses Now!

Our Favorite Cocktail Picks

Cocktail Codex Poster

Death & Co.’s Alex Day, Nick Fauchald, David Kaplan, and Devon Tarby had a hypothesis. They believed that in order to be an expert bartender, you really only have to know six drinks. They wrote a book on the subject. The book won a James Beard Award.

Bring the magic of those six cocktails into your home with this museum-quality poster, illustrating the cocktails and three variations on each. You’ll look the part of an expert bartender and, better yet, you’ll actually be one!

See The Poster Now!

Professional Ice Cube Tray With Lid

Ice is perhaps the most underrated cocktail ingredient. Cocktails are at their best when they’re cold and a bit diluted (without being watery). Ensure that your cocktails are at their peak for longer with ice from this Professional Ice Cube Tray With Lid. The oversized ice cubes will keep your cocktail cold without watering it down, and the lid keeps the other flavors from your freezer from sneaking into your cocktail. The mold and lid are made with food-safe silicon and the whole thing is dishwasher safe.

See The Tray Now!

The Classic Cocktail Barware Set

It’s not hard to make a great cocktail, but you do need the proper tools. This Classic Cocktail Barware Set is commercial-grade and will get you started on the right foot. Included is a lead-free crystal mixing glass, then a stainless steel hawthorne strainer, double jigger, and weighted barspoon. You’ll soon be whipping up top-notch martinis, negronis, and anything else you can dream of with the greatest of ease.

See The Set Now!

Spiegelau Coupette Glass

We firmly believe that a great cocktail is just as delicious out of a mason jar as it is from a proper glass. That said, your mason jar situation will never feel quite as elegant as a cocktail served from the proper glass, especially if it’s the Spiegelau Coupette Glass. Crafted from lead-free crystal in Germany, these glasses are perfectly balanced, with an etched base that perfectly refracts the light. They’re dishwasher safe, and will make you feel like you’re drinking at a fancy bar in Manhattan. Take that, mason jars.

See The Glasses Now!

Professional Shakers

If you’re a Margarita or daiquiri fan, listen up. Some of the most delightful cocktails—that is, the ones featuring fruit juice, simple syrup, cream liqueurs, dairy, and more—are shaken. Make sure you’re up to the task with these professional-grade shakers, one large, one small. You’ll be ready for tiki night, taco night, and any other mixology challenge that comes your way.

See The Shakers Now!

Our Favorite Whiskey Picks

Spiegelau Bourbon Tasting Glass

Bourbon drinkers, this one is for you. If you love the layered aromatics of vanilla, brown butter, and baking spice, why not buy a glass that accentuates them? The Spiegelau Bourbon Tasting Glass was designed to push those aromas towards your nose, ensuring that you get the most of your bourbon, whether it’s your everyday favorite or that fancy bottle that you’ve been saving for a special occasion. We tested these next to a traditional rocks glass and our minds were BLOWN.

See The Glasses Now!

Drink Rocks Geometric Shapes

Booze rookies think drinking whisky straight is impressive. The pros know that a little bit of water goes a long way in opening up flavor. In fact, real whisky lovers are more impressed by knowing the perfect amount of dilution.

Control your own dilution while making a statement with these striking Geometric Drink Rocks. Keep a few in your freezer so they’re properly frosty, then pop them into your glass when you’re ready for a cold glass of your favorite spirit. Add a few drops of water, and prepare for a sublime drinking experience. The hand-finished marble and soapstone shapes make a stylish addition to your bar when you’re not using them.

See The Rocks Now!

Cooler than Cool Chilled Smoked Whiskey Glass

If there’s anything worse than warm whiskey, it’s an overly diluted dram. Ensure chilled, perfectly diluted whiskey that you can enjoy at your own pace with this set of Cooler than Cool Chilled Smoked Whiskey Glasses. Just pop them in the freezer so they’re ready whenever you are. After just two hours of freezer time, the proprietary gel inside the BPA-free plastic glass will keep your beverage properly frosty for as long as you’re enjoying it. The silicone band acts as insulation and a comfy spot for holding. Now you can enjoy your favorite whiskey at its ideal temperature without worrying about it warming up or watering down.

See The Tumblers Now!

The Houses of Bourbon Poster

If your spirit of choice is bourbon, your home should reflect that even beyond your bar. The Houses of Bourbon poster, printed at dazzling Giclée quality, is the perfect décor for the long-time whiskey lover. Not only does it break down the who’s who of bourbon in an easy-to-understand way, but it’s also just a great piece for your wall—a stunning matte poster on museum-quality paper.

See The Poster Now!

Etched Glass Globe Whisky Decanter and Glasses Set

Whereas wine decanters play an important role in the flavor and textural experience of wine, spirits decanters are mostly for aesthetics. That’s why it’s important to find one that makes a statement, like this Etched Glass Globe Whisky Decanter and the glasses that come with it. The lead-free borosilicate glass of both the decanter and the glasses is etched with a map of the globe, and the decanter, which holds a little over a bottle of whisky, comes with a stand and spins as a globe would. Just remove it from its stand when you’re ready to pour and whatever you’re enjoying will feel even more remarkable.

See The Set Now!

The article 20 of Our Labor Day Picks For People Who Love Drinks appeared first on VinePair.

Via https://vinepair.com/picks/best-drinks-gifts-labor-day-2020/

source https://vinology1.weebly.com/blog/20-of-our-labor-day-picks-for-people-who-love-drinks

[isaiahrippinus]

20 of Our Labor Day Picks For People Who Love Drinks

Long, summer nights are beginning to come to a close, and the festivities of fall and winter are coming in quick. While we might not be sure exactly what those celebrations will look like this year, we do know there will be glasses of cheer at the ready. After a lot of testing, these are some of our favorite glasses, gadgets, and drinks essentials for people who love wine, beer, cocktails, and whiskey. Plus, if you use the code LABORDAY15 at checkout you’ll get 15 percent off your order.

Our Favorite Wine Picks

Wine Breather Decanter

As a wine lover, you likely already know that decanting a wine awakens it, bringing forward the aromatics and softening any harshness. But, the process can take a while and sometimes, you just want to get to the good stuff. That’s why we love the Wine Breather Decanter. Crafted from sleek lead-free crystal, this near-magical accessory decants and aerates wine in under 2 minutes, transforming it into the best version of itself. Serve the wine from the lovely carafe, if you’d like, or pour it back in the bottle. It holds 48 oz (a little under 2 bottles of wine) and will make your next wine night better than ever.

See The Decanter Now!

Iceberg Insulated Wine Tumbler

If you’re a white, bubbly, or rosé chilled red fan, you’ve probably had those nights where you’re sipping your wine long into the evening. It’s great. Until it’s not. After a while, you notice that it’s getting a little bit warm. But, there’s still more to drink. Blech.

That’s where the Iceberg Insulated Wine Tumbler comes in. Its double-walled, vacuum-insulated construction ensures that your drink is at the exact right temperature for as long as you’re enjoying it. There’s even a removable lid for insulation and to prevent spills. It holds 10oz and is perfect for outdoor drinking of any sort. And, it comes in five great colors, meaning there can be one for everyone in the family.

See The Tumbler Now!

Adjustable Wine Aerator

Do you have a few hours to wait for your wine to properly decant? No? Simply grab your handy dandy Adjustable Wine Aerator. Set it for however long you wish you could have decanted the wine (up to six hours) and it will do the same work in mere minutes. Some similar gadgets have messy tubes or are hard to operate, but this features an integrated aeration intake system that takes all the fuss out of the process. Crafted with stainless steel and BPA-free plastic, you’ll wonder how you managed without it for so long.

See The Aerator Now!

Cooler than Cool Glacier Wine Glass

If you’re an outdoor wine drinker, listen up. Your picnics, barbecues, and long nights sipping away just got better. The Cooler than Cool Glacier Wine Glass, after spending two hours in your freezer, will keep your drink chilly for as long as you’re sipping or swilling. The proprietary gel blend and the silicone band (for insulation and a comfy gripping spot) will take care of the temperature, you just have to pick out something great to drink. Cheers to that!

See The Glasses Now!

Filter Wine Pour Spout

Drinking old wine can be a transcendent experience. Opening it is occasionally less so. All too often, the cork breaks or crumbles and everyone disperses to find some sort of filtration device. What was a lovely evening just turned into a circus.

Nip those annoyances in the bud with the Filter Wine Pour Spout, which filters, pours, and preserves your wine. Just pop it into your bottle and serve through the pour spout. It also softens any out-of-balance tannin or harshness in the wine, so you may find yourself pouring just about everything you drink through it. It’s also dishwasher safe—just throw it in and it’ll be ready for next time.

See The Spout Now!

Our Favorite Beer Picks

Spiegelau Universal Tulip Beer Glass

A panel of master brewers convened to design their ideal beer glass, one that would show off the flavors and aromas of their favorite beers. The Spiegelau Universal Tulip Beer Glass is what they came up with, and it deserves a place on your bar. Whether you’re drinking a hazy IPA, a refreshing pilsner, or a stout with gravitas, this lead-free crystal glass will majorly upgrade your drinking experience. Plus, the glasses are certified dishwasher safe for easy cleaning.

See The Glasses Now!

Beer Types of The World Poster

The styles and types of beer can be a complicated beast, that’s why every beer nerd needs this Beer Types of The World poster. printed at dazzling Giclée quality, is the perfect décor for the beer lover. Not only does it break down the styles and origins of beer styles in an easy-to-understand way, but it’s also just a great piece for your wall—a stunning matte poster on museum-quality paper.

See The Poster Now!

Iceberg Insulated Can & Bottle Cooler

Koozies are for college kids. The rest of us need something a little more effective for our hard-won microbrews.

So, meet the Iceberg Insulated Can & Bottle Cooler, with double-wall, vacuumed insulation to keep your drink chilly until you’re finished. Just pop in your standard aluminum can or glass beer bottle, and keep sipping on your perfectly frosty beer.

See The Cooler Now!

Stainless Steel Credit Card Bottle Opener

We’ve all been there—you rustled up a beer and are ready to enjoy it. You reach around for your bottle opener. Somehow, it’s nowhere to be found. Desperation strikes. You pull out a spoon, a fork, a butter knife, hoping to do one of those cool opening tricks you’ve seen on the internet. Nothing’s working.

Stop that disaster in its tracks with the Stainless Steel Credit Card Bottle Opener. Cleverly designed to slip into any standard-size wallet, this sturdy but sleek little contraption will have your back whenever you’re hoping to crack a cold one.

See The Opener Now!

Cooler than Cool Glacier Beer Glass

Good news: with the Cooler than Cool Glacier Beer Glass, warm beer is officially uninvited to your future. Just pop the glasses into the freezer so they’re ready whenever you are. The proprietary gel inside the glass keeps your pint frosty, no matter how hot it is outside. The silicone band around the bottom helps keep the contents of the glass cold but also makes a comfortable spot to hold. Just fill it up and start sipping!

See The Glasses Now!

Our Favorite Cocktail Picks

Cocktail Codex Poster

Death & Co.’s Alex Day, Nick Fauchald, David Kaplan, and Devon Tarby had a hypothesis. They believed that in order to be an expert bartender, you really only have to know six drinks. They wrote a book on the subject. The book won a James Beard Award.

Bring the magic of those six cocktails into your home with this museum-quality poster, illustrating the cocktails and three variations on each. You’ll look the part of an expert bartender and, better yet, you’ll actually be one!

See The Poster Now!

Professional Ice Cube Tray With Lid

Ice is perhaps the most underrated cocktail ingredient. Cocktails are at their best when they’re cold and a bit diluted (without being watery). Ensure that your cocktails are at their peak for longer with ice from this Professional Ice Cube Tray With Lid. The oversized ice cubes will keep your cocktail cold without watering it down, and the lid keeps the other flavors from your freezer from sneaking into your cocktail. The mold and lid are made with food-safe silicon and the whole thing is dishwasher safe.

See The Tray Now!

The Classic Cocktail Barware Set

It’s not hard to make a great cocktail, but you do need the proper tools. This Classic Cocktail Barware Set is commercial-grade and will get you started on the right foot. Included is a lead-free crystal mixing glass, then a stainless steel hawthorne strainer, double jigger, and weighted barspoon. You’ll soon be whipping up top-notch martinis, negronis, and anything else you can dream of with the greatest of ease.

See The Set Now!

Spiegelau Coupette Glass

We firmly believe that a great cocktail is just as delicious out of a mason jar as it is from a proper glass. That said, your mason jar situation will never feel quite as elegant as a cocktail served from the proper glass, especially if it’s the Spiegelau Coupette Glass. Crafted from lead-free crystal in Germany, these glasses are perfectly balanced, with an etched base that perfectly refracts the light. They’re dishwasher safe, and will make you feel like you’re drinking at a fancy bar in Manhattan. Take that, mason jars.

See The Glasses Now!

Professional Shakers

If you’re a Margarita or daiquiri fan, listen up. Some of the most delightful cocktails—that is, the ones featuring fruit juice, simple syrup, cream liqueurs, dairy, and more—are shaken. Make sure you’re up to the task with these professional-grade shakers, one large, one small. You’ll be ready for tiki night, taco night, and any other mixology challenge that comes your way.

See The Shakers Now!

Our Favorite Whiskey Picks

Spiegelau Bourbon Tasting Glass

Bourbon drinkers, this one is for you. If you love the layered aromatics of vanilla, brown butter, and baking spice, why not buy a glass that accentuates them? The Spiegelau Bourbon Tasting Glass was designed to push those aromas towards your nose, ensuring that you get the most of your bourbon, whether it’s your everyday favorite or that fancy bottle that you’ve been saving for a special occasion. We tested these next to a traditional rocks glass and our minds were BLOWN.

See The Glasses Now!

Drink Rocks Geometric Shapes

Booze rookies think drinking whisky straight is impressive. The pros know that a little bit of water goes a long way in opening up flavor. In fact, real whisky lovers are more impressed by knowing the perfect amount of dilution.

Control your own dilution while making a statement with these striking Geometric Drink Rocks. Keep a few in your freezer so they’re properly frosty, then pop them into your glass when you’re ready for a cold glass of your favorite spirit. Add a few drops of water, and prepare for a sublime drinking experience. The hand-finished marble and soapstone shapes make a stylish addition to your bar when you’re not using them.

See The Rocks Now!

Cooler than Cool Chilled Smoked Whiskey Glass

If there’s anything worse than warm whiskey, it’s an overly diluted dram. Ensure chilled, perfectly diluted whiskey that you can enjoy at your own pace with this set of Cooler than Cool Chilled Smoked Whiskey Glasses. Just pop them in the freezer so they’re ready whenever you are. After just two hours of freezer time, the proprietary gel inside the BPA-free plastic glass will keep your beverage properly frosty for as long as you’re enjoying it. The silicone band acts as insulation and a comfy spot for holding. Now you can enjoy your favorite whiskey at its ideal temperature without worrying about it warming up or watering down.

See The Tumblers Now!

The Houses of Bourbon Poster

If your spirit of choice is bourbon, your home should reflect that even beyond your bar. The Houses of Bourbon poster, printed at dazzling Giclée quality, is the perfect décor for the long-time whiskey lover. Not only does it break down the who’s who of bourbon in an easy-to-understand way, but it’s also just a great piece for your wall—a stunning matte poster on museum-quality paper.

See The Poster Now!

Etched Glass Globe Whisky Decanter and Glasses Set

Whereas wine decanters play an important role in the flavor and textural experience of wine, spirits decanters are mostly for aesthetics. That’s why it’s important to find one that makes a statement, like this Etched Glass Globe Whisky Decanter and the glasses that come with it. The lead-free borosilicate glass of both the decanter and the glasses is etched with a map of the globe, and the decanter, which holds a little over a bottle of whisky, comes with a stand and spins as a globe would. Just remove it from its stand when you’re ready to pour and whatever you’re enjoying will feel even more remarkable.

See The Set Now!

The article 20 of Our Labor Day Picks For People Who Love Drinks appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/picks/best-drinks-gifts-labor-day-2020/ source https://vinology1.tumblr.com/post/628614656423067648