part: 1, ch 2
He was fighting. Loving the feel of his muscles flexing and straining, the sweet pain of blows dealt or received. The sensations of flesh giving way and bone breaking beneath his fists and feet. Even the air was like a whip cracking against his skin as he dodged and twisted and charged with reflexes that rivaled the speed of light. This wasn't sparring. Far more deadly than that. This wasn't self-defensive. This most certainly wasn't to save the world. It was fighting. A conversation of pain and power between him and his opponent, a challenge to the end to see who would come out victorious. The possibility of death hung over every action, every strike that slipped past his defenses to collide with his skin. It was glorious. They weren't even touching ground anymore, holding themselves buoyant on the winds of their own energy. Mid-air battles were always more difficult than ground fighting, with nothing solid to push against to create momentum. It was all about strength and control. A foot came toward his face; he stopped it with his forearm without thinking and echoed it with a kick of his own before the other could fully recover an attack stance. His shin connected with a powerful chest and he could just feel the bones shattering beneath tightly corded muscle. Paradise. He pressed the attack while his foe was weakened. With all the force of his body, he slammed into the bowed back with his elbow, bearing them both to the ground. Rock crumbled and sprayed into the air as they impacted. The strong body lay still beneath him. Not dead. He withdrew to see if the other would move, but not too far. In response to his retreat, the foe lunged to sinewy feet with newfound energy, licking blood from smirking lips. They circled each other, tails lashing and teeth bared. The other leapt first; fist flashing out in a blow that just clipped the side of his head. There was no attacking from a distance this time as they went down in a tangle, pounding at whatever piece of flesh they could reach. He punched into an armpit, but his next hit was open handed, damp skin like satin against his palm. He let his fingers trace over taunt muscles, exploring the dips and ridges that defined them. Legs wrapped around his own, pulling his hips down against sweet warmth and he groaned, hands passing up over flexing shoulders. The sleek neck arched within his grasp. Vulnerable, submissive. He traced it with his tongue, feeling life pulse beneath the skin. Push and thrust, trying to satisfying that nagging itch between his legs. Broad hands slid down his back and grabbed his backside, pulling him down harder. He planted open mouth kisses up to a jutting chin and down to a curving mouth, tasting blood. His lover was moving, pushing him up and sideways, sending him rolling onto his back. He tried to hold on as that wonderful body pulled away from him and---- THUD! Sudden contact with the floor woke Gohan up instantly. Sheets were knotted around him in a hopeless tangle, tripping up his first attempt to get into a decent fighting stance and forcing him to crouch low. Long black hair got into his face and eyes as he whipped his head around to locate the source of the attack. Vegeta stood frowning on the other side of Gohan's bed, still holding up the thick mattress. "Taken to sleeping in late, I see," sneered the older male, "We're going to have to correct this." Gohan stared. The dream still had a hold on him, his heart racing with remembered excitement, skin ablaze with phantom touches. It had been over four months since he had seen Vegeta and the older man looked far too appealing the dim light morning, his uniform outlining every swell and dip of his exquisite frame. It would be so easy to lunge across the room and grab him, to satisfy his lingering ache against that hard body. Well, easy until Vegeta decides to shove a fist down his throat. He shook his head furiously, trying to dislodge the bizarre urges. This was *Vegeta* for Dende's sake, the man who considered his very existence an insult and was at least occasionally involved with the woman who was practically Gohan's mother. Stupid hormones. While Gohan debated with his body, Vegeta dropped the mattress and stalked out of the room. "Missed you too, Vegeta!" Gohan yelled after him, sitting down in the mess of blankets. He glanced at the clock---just after seven. Sleeping in my tail. His head was all fuzzy, both from the abrupt awakening and the fact that most of his blood was still south of the border. Dream images flashed through his mind and he grimaced. How the hell had a perfectly acceptable fight-to-the-death turned into something out of a porno? Childish laughter caught his attention. He turned around to frown at the bed across from his. "Thanks for the warning, you traitors," he growled unconvincingly at the duo. Trunks just giggled harder, stuffing his fingers into his mouth. Goten climbed to pudgy legs, tail coiling up behind him for balance. "You shoulda seen yourself," he said, "You were like---" He assumed an exaggerated expression of confusion and twisted his head from side to side. "Huh? Huh?" "Dork!" said Trunks, bringing the four-year-old down with a leg sweep. Goten squalled a protest before jumping his older playmate and they wrestled together with a voracity that would have distressed a normal person. Gohan watched them with a proud grin as he waited for his erection to die down. Their training was starting to show; it made their play fighting more deadly, but also more controlled. Less chance of accidental damage. The sparring also drained off excess energy that might otherwise result in more dangerous situations. Like the house getting burned down or the planet blown up. Bulma had restricted the training at first, under the false impression that it would make things worse. That is, right up until the incident last year when Trunks accidentally broke Goten's arm. Gohan shied away from the memory. Not just because it was bothering in and of itself, but because his own recollection of the event was rather...disjointed. He remembered standing up in response to Goten's pained scream---then he was suddenly on the whole other side of the house with a freaked Yamcha holding very tightly to his shoulders and Trunks looking up at him like he was the reincarnation of Furiza. Really flipping weird. Gohan shook his head and began extracting himself from the sheets. Now wasn't the time to lounge around brooding, not with Vegeta looking for an excuse to kick his ass. The Saiyajin no Ouji had just up and left without so much as a backward glance a few months ago. They'd only known he was still alive from the random pulses of ki that meant he was probably turning some national forest into kindling. And now, four months later, he's just appeared again out of nowhere. A habit of his that has never failed to send Trunks sulking and Bulma ranting. Though Gohan suspected that Bulma was more pissed for Trunks' sake than from any real desire to be with the man. As for the Son side of the household...well, Goten was in perpetual awe of the ouji and Gohan's own feelings were mixed. He respected Vegeta for his strength, disliked his arrogance, enjoyed battling against him, and still feared him a vague way. Vegeta had little to do with him that didn't involve training or was somehow related to Trunks (usually to the effect of "keep him out my hair, it's about all you're good for anyway"). Recently though, Gohan had caught Vegeta giving him looks that made his skin tingle and his tail fur stand up. But he didn't like to think about that too hard. Gohan rolled to his feet and stretched, sighing as muscles and joints loosened and popped. He fully extended his tail, feeling the fur fluff out, before snapping it around his waist. He eyed the still tussling youngsters. With a shrug, he padded over to them and began tickling bellies and ruffling tails. Squealing, they stopped beating on each other to fend off his assault, without much success. "Come on boy-brats," he said, soon as they were helpless with laughter, "Lets get some food into those bottomless pits of yours." He started to pick them up, but Trunks twisted free and hit the ground running. "Race you!" he called as he dashed out the door. "No fair! No fair!" protested Goten, struggling in Gohan's hold, "Niichan, I'm gonna *lose*." His tone made it clear that this was not an indignantly to be bore. Chuckling, Gohan released him and the smaller boy took off like a shot. Gohan followed much more sedately. Downstairs in the informal dinning room, the buffet table was already loaded down with all manner of breakfast related foods. Yamcha, who'd never gotten around to leaving those four years ago, was at the table with his current girlfriend; a Capsule Corp lab tech named Basiru. Gohan nodded at them as his entered. "Hey, kiddo, sleep well?" asked Yamcha over Trunks' gloating and Goten's whining. Gohan thought about his dream and turned around to hide his blush. "Yeah, good enough," he said, joining the boys at the buffet table. He relieved Goten of the overly sugary pastry he'd taken and then did the same to Trunks to prevent bickering. "Has Bulma been down yet?" "Eaten and gone," Yamcha said, finishing off a doughnut, "Had some big project happening this morning." "The prototype of the new light flyer model is finished," supplied Basiru, blinking large brown eyes behind even bigger glasses, "They're doing the first test flights up in the West Mountain range." "Ah," said Gohan, filling up his plate for the first course. "I'll probably take the kids over to see her later, then. Goten eat *some* veggies." After stacking their platter-sized dishes high with various foodstuffs, the three half-breeds sat down at the dinning table. Trunks and Goten went at their meals with the intensity of starved mastiffs, talking between mouthfuls. Basiru went pale watching them and asked to be excused. She gave Yamcha a reserved peck on the cheek and promised to meet him after work. He twisted around in his chair to watch her bottom as she walked out. Gohan devoured his fried eggs before speaking again. "Vegeta's back," he said. "So I heard," said Yamcha, turning back to his friend, "Bulma was yelling at him this morning before she left." The former bandit gave a decidedly sadistic chuckle. "If you ask me, his Royal Highness isn't going to be getting any for a while." "Any what?" Goten piped up curiously. "Eat," Gohan ordered, gesturing with a chopstick, "And I doubt he's going to care that much, Yamcha. You know the only reason Bulma is with him at all is because she wants another kid." "That's why *she's* with him," Yamcha pointed out, "We're talking about Prince Shi...ahh...Prince Vegeta, I mean. Stop glaring, short stack, you're not old enough to do it right." Trunks stuck out his tongue, rather ruining the otherwise menacing look. Yamcha stood to get more coffee from the pot. "I mean, considering the way that he's always bitching at you lot, I have a hard time believing he wants more children." Gohan frowned around his tempura. It was an ongoing joke among his friends that Vegeta was incapable of feeling love or anything like it. Four years ago Gohan had agreed with that particular opinion. True, Vegeta seemed to view Bulma as nothing more than a free meal and a warm bed, and his opinion of Chikyuu-sei's populace only went down from there. But the way he treated Tunks and, to a lesser extent, Goten, was starting to give Gohan second thoughts. One minute Vegeta was backhanding Trunks for having a smart mouth, the next he was answering 'why is the sky blue' questions with compete sincerity and godlike patience. He'd snarl if either child tried to touch or hug him, but he always showed up a few hours after bedtime to straighten blankets and touch sleeping faces. Vegeta would swear and up and down that he didn't give a shit about Trunks, then, in the very same breath, cuss out Bulma (or Gohan, whichever was closer) for not raising the boy right. When it came to his offspring, the Saiyajin no Ouji was a walking contradiction. "I couldn't say either way," Gohan said after while, "Vegeta has his own agenda for everything. And his agenda for today, I believe, is nailing my ass to the wall." Vegeta loved to try out new techniques and strengths on him, usually until one or the both of them was a moaning mass of blood covered bruises. Not that Gohan was complaining too hard. While he'd never have the same thirst for battle that Vegeta and even Goku did, he still liked fighting, and Vegeta was the only person on the planet who could provide him with a real challenge. Yamcha saluted Gohan with his mug. "Been good knowing ya." ______________ Once the contents of the buffet table had been turned into so many crumbs, Gohan prodded and bullied his two charges upstairs for the brushing of teeth and donning of day clothes. Neither were feeling particularly obedient at this point. Vegeta being home had sent Trunks into a fit of giddiness that got Goten worked up too. Gohan finally snapped after catching them having a water-war in the bathroom for the second time. Ordinary Gohan was tolerant and forgiving. Pissed off Super Saiyajin Gohan wasn't. Twenty minutes later, two meek little boys quietly entertained themselves in the playroom while big brother cleaned up. Gohan had never raised his hand to either of them and seldom got angry, which made it all the more shocking when he did lose it. Trunks, who was used to his father's 'love taps', was more embarrassed than anything else; it just didn't seem right for a Prince to be stripped naked and manhandled into his clothing like a baby. For Goten, getting yelled at was the height of punishment and generally enough to keep him in line for the rest of the week. Outside of a sparring or play fights, Goten did not get hit, or spanked, or punished physically at all. Gohan wouldn't allow it. Of course he got away with murder; in fact, he got away with a hell of a lot more than that since Trunks was usually there to take the heat for him. After laying down some towels for the worst of the puddles, Gohan got dressed in his own red belted, dark purple gi. Brushing and binding his mid-back length hair did much to dispel his lingering annoyance. He normally didn't mind the boys antics; if anything he participated in them, often to Bulma's rage. But being unruly was one thing, actively disobeying *his orders* was something else entirely. He took a minute to call Bulma to see if she wanted to meet for lunch, since they didn't get to eat breakfast together. After confirming time and place, he went to collect Goten and Trunks for the day's training. He could sense Vegeta in his private quarters and was perfectly happy to let him stay there for the time being. Their chosen training grounds lay far beyond the outskirts of the city, a mostly barren valley that had been used for this purpose before, to judge by the surrounding battle scars that cut deep into the rock. It took a while to get there as neither boy was as good at flying as they liked to think and certainly not capable of Gohan's speed. Once they landed, Gohan got them started on their forms. Moods improved as the brats finished up the kata they knew and Gohan taught them new ones. "Knife hand strike, face block---twist your arm out, good," Gohan paused in his recitation to carefully catch Goten's free waving tail. The little one had a terrible time keeping it under control. "Keep it around your waist, chibi. Remember what I said, it's a weak spot you don't want someone grabbing." "You could always cut it off entirely," noted a dry voice from the other side of the valley. Gohan raised an eyebrow as he focused past Trunks. "One could say the same for those antenna of yours," he said. Piccolo snorted scornfully and stepped off the boulder he'd been perched on. The namekjin had never bothered to hide his disapproval of the tails in general and Gohan's in particular. Considering that there simply *wasn't* a moon anymore and hadn't been for a few years, Gohan failed to see the problem. "Saiyajin are supposed to have tails," said Goten importantly, loosing both stance and hold on his tail now that his teacher was distracted, "Its part of what we are." Piccolo walked over to them until he stood towering over the small child. "Your father lived without one for over a decade and didn't suffer from it." Goten rolled his eyes and Trunks folded his arms in perfect mimicry of certain ouji. "Like we've ever even met the guy," Trunks said for both of them, "You here to spar or to bitch?" "I think he's here to spar," Gohan said smoothly, tail curling up behind him like a hook. "Boys. Kill." With near identical war cries, the two launched themselves at Piccolo. The element of surprise, such as it were, was not quite enough to catch him off guard so neither boy managed to land a hit. That didn't stop them from trying and soon Piccolo was forced entirely on the defensive. Gohan leaned against a badly mangled tree to watch the bloodshed unfold. Separately, Goten and Trunks were not quite equal to the Namekjin in strength, but together they could give even Vegeta a challenge. Their real power came from their ability to fight as a unit, harrying their opponent from two angles at once. They complimented and anticipated each other's attacks with a skill that bordered on the telepathic. Not enough to actually defeat Piccolo of course, as he had them beat in speed, skill, and experience, but they could and did last against him. "Trunks, vary your kicks, you can't use those three all the time!" Gohan shouted up at the trio as the battle wore on, "Goten, your *tail*---" He sighed in relief when his brother returned the limb to its proper place around his waist. Piccolo always believed in exploiting weaknesses, especially when he had a point to prove. It was best not to give him the chance. Gohan was forced to relocate as a random ki burst took out his tree once and for all. He eyed the smoking remains thoughtfully. "Put more strength into next time Goten! Don't be afraid to let him have it!" He flinched when Piccolo sent Trunks flying into a jumble of rocks. The force was half of what Gohan normally received, but it obviously hurt the young demi plenty. He opened his mouth to comment, when a dark aura appeared behind him out of seemingly nowhere. Vegeta's presence reminded him of a storm cloud fringed in lightning; all seething darkness and deadly flashes of light. Black eyes focused on him like a tangible force, searing over his skin. It made Gohan's stomach tighten and his palms sweat, a slow flush rising through his body like the tide. I'm nervous is all, he thought. Mr. 'I'm the fucking Prince' is glaring at me like he wants to tear my head off and piss down my throat, so of course I'm nervous. Not turned on. No way in hell. Moving silently over the sandy ground, Vegeta came to stand alongside him, arms folded in his usually cocky stance, tail looped low over his hips. When Vegeta didn't say anything---or even acknowledge his existence---Gohan felt his tension bleed off. He let out a breath. What was he so worried about anyway? It was only Vegeta. Ricocheting off the valley walls to gain momentum, Goten aimed a punch at Piccolo's face. The Namekjin dodged it only to find Trunks suddenly in his path with a roundhouse kick that clipped the side of his neck, leaving a purple smear behind. Gohan let out an impressed whistle. A scoff sounded beside him. "Pathetic." Predictably, Trunks flubbed up his next assault at the sound of his father's voice and was once again introduced to the rock face. Gohan tilted his head towards Vegeta. "The fight or the participants?" "That weakling of mine," said Vegeta, "He barely left a scratch. Seaweed-man should have lost his head entirely." Gohan blinked. "Seaweed ma--" He shook his head. "Trunks is only five, Vegeta. He does well considering his age." "You were only five," the older man shot back, lowering his head as if he planned to bash through Gohan's opposition with his skull, "And you nearly defeated me. Actually damaged that shit-head Furiza, something I, at the time, could not do." Readying a retort, Gohan froze with his mouth open. Did he just compliment me? Did Vegeta, Prince and mightiest of all Saiyajin, just admit I'd done something *he* couldn't? "Are you a clone?" Vegeta stared at him. The harsh tension lines of his forehead had smoothed away, his mouth relaxed and softened in baffled disbelief. His tail loosened even further, the lopsided coil of glossy auburn drawing attention to the arch of his hips, the firm fullness of his thighs and buttocks. Gohan swallowed hard. Oooh, shit. Before Gohan could look away or do something to embarrass himself, Vegeta ruined the moment by frowning and cocking his fist. "Care to repeat that?" he asked in a tone like razor blades wrapped with silk. "Uh, no, no, that's okay," Gohan said, raising his hands in surrender. "Don't smile like that, you look like your fucking father," snarled Vegeta, turning back to the fight. The demi-saiyajin growled, brows lowering over flashing eyes as he automatically reached for his deep well of power. It was a standard insult, so common from the Saiyajin no Ouji that he usually ignored it as background noise, but for some reason, today it was getting to him. The heat buzzing beneath his skin was translating itself into the burning need to beat the living daylights out of someone. Vegeta gave him a sidelong glance and smirked, tail tip coming free to flip up once. Gohan stiffened. The fucker was *teasing* him. . . He forced down his anger, looking at the ongoing combat happening over their heads to distract himself from the aggravating adult. What was wrong with him? In Vegeta's company for less than an hour and already the ouji had him planning homicide. Watching Trunks and Goten deliver a combined Kamehameha that sent Piccolo sailing into the next valley with the majestic glory of a crashing airplane reminded Gohan of their original topic of discussion. "Picccolo is stronger than Furiza was." "What?" "He's gotten stronger since we fought Furiza," Gohan explained condescendingly, "Incredibly so. Any one of the androids could have taken out Furiza without even breaking a nail, yet Piccolo survived against them. The fact the boys can land a hit on him at all says much for their power." Gohan wondered what Vegeta would say about his speculations on how close the children were to ascending. He couldn't decide if it would go over well or not. "Boys. Plural," said Vegeta harshly, "Not a single entity. The day Trunks can turn the Namek into a green smudge across the countryside without any help, I'll consider being impressed." Gohan sighed and shook his head. "There is nothing wrong with being part of a team." "A group that fights for a common goal is one thing. Depending upon another's strength. . . weakens you." "You mean trusting in others." "That too," said Vegeta, darkly amused, "When you depend on someone else to wipe your ass for you, you don't ever build up your own powers. You become weak, manageable, a slave. That is why it is always better to fight alone." Gohan huffed a breath. That was. . .well, cynical was the first word that came to mind, but there was a certain truth to it. It was fascinating even if he didn't entirely agree with the sentiment. "But you can't *always* do it alone. Sometimes working with others is the only way to win." This had to be the longest conversation they'd had in a year or better. Vegeta looked up at him and Gohan suddenly realized that they were standing a lot closer than they had been. "Unfortunately yes, that is sometimes the case," Vegeta said, shifting his stance to block Gohan, "So supplement your strength with theirs, but see that you are the one who controls it." He leaned up into Gohan's face and locked eyes with him, challenging. "That your will guides it, shapes it, destroys it if necessary." Rich scent filled Gohan's nose, making his head swim and scattering his thoughts. He could feel the heat radiated by the smaller male, close enough to pull into his arms. He forced himself to hold Vegeta's gaze, even as his stomach muscles trembled and his tail uncoiled, fluffing out behind him. "Trust only in those you can control," Vegeta continued, voice like coarse velvet. Gohan shivered. "Never rely on anyone." Ebony eyes blazed with restrained fire; daring, threatening, *ordering*. It took all of Gohan's will to match them. It wasn't fear that made it so difficult. It was something else, something deep and primitive that he couldn't name. Something that saw Vegeta as wielder of an authority that went beyond physical or mental prowess, that remembered what life was like back in the day when the alpha was God and all others begged him for the right to survive. In the face of it, he was little more than a child. Gohan looked away. Vegeta backed down easily, once again assuming his usual distance. Gohan could *smell* his satisfaction. It made him growl without realizing it. Damnit! "We seem to have lost our show," Vegeta said, raking a hand through his hair. "Huh?" Gohan scanned the area and found that it was short a Namekjin and two demi-saiyajin. Panic gripped his throat. Goten, where was Goten? How could be so stupid as to lose his own... Ki flared wildly off to his right. He turned---and sure enough, in the far distance, two small dots were moving franticly to avoid the glowing balls of energy being thrown at them by a larger green dot. He relaxed and cursed himself for an idiot. Goten was safe with Piccolo, after all. "Uur chekknu raharuk de-hoo kke aarruu ch'." Gohan glanced over his shoulder at the sounds that rolled off the Ouji's tongue. He knew enough to guess that the language was Saiyajin in origin. "Are you insulting me?" Vegeta exposed his canines in a smirk. "'I want your face under my boot'. It's an invitation to spar." Gohan did a mental calculation and decided it would be another hour before his charges got tired and knowing Piccolo, his old mentor would probably drag them out beyond that. Just to see if they could. He grinned at the older man. "So, how do you say 'In your dreams, asswipe'?"
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