My sincerest apologies to the author for splitting this chapter in half, but my text editor simply could not handle the sheer size of this part.

Vegeta's thoughts
//Gohan's thoughts//

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Teaser Style

His stomach hurled up like a fish in dirty water, and he breathes deep and pushes it out of his attention. He had hoped to find some peace out here, but the buzzing inside his own head and blood, and the change of scenery, the subtle shift in smell and space proving more than enough to know him off his center. He was so weak, so turned around inside himself it wasn't worth mentioning. He didn't want to think about it.

And that damn onna wouldn't leave him alone.

Damn it all.

His body heaved, and he fought to keep himself inside of it.

He was fighting a lot lately.

He wasn't getting much stronger though.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Singing and Flashback Saga Style

…

…Emphasis on Saga Style

"A thousand years, a thousand more…A thousand times a million doors to eternity," a thin voice carries over the wind, the words and tune scattered and cut on the currents. The boy sings on, seeking company and change in the wasteland.

*

He couldn't remember if he made a promise, but he felt like he lied.

Gohan had spent most of the first day swimming and exploring with short, frequent interludes of daydreaming, as there was only so much he could with ice.

Everything was pretty flat where he was, and Gohan's capsule house was placed on the earth after he had burned the ice and snow away. It wasn't nearly as cold as it was in winter, the temperature keeping to a little above freezing. Depending on how far he flew, he could find glaciers a couple miles high, and even the occasional herd of deer and the lone wolf, but Gohan was pretty much on his own.

It was snowy, basically. Snowy and gray. The sun was caught in the interval between eternal day and eternal night, settling for a foggy constant twilight at all times of the day.

It was easy to get lost too, because nearly hill and every valley looked like one another to his inexperienced eyes. Adding to that, the sun never actually set or really moved, and it was never dark enough to tell where the North Star was. He couldn't go too far before coming hopelessly lost.

Gohan had gone underwater searching for any signs of life, flying into the air and flaring his ki to SSJ sometimes for warmth before diving down again.

After his throat began to ache and he couldn't feel beneath his knees he quit. He found some electric blankets in the bedroom of the Capsule house, and was familiar enough with the model to know that they were hand-placed.

Someone was looking out for him.

He used them every night from then on.

That was on the first day and night.

*

"I may have lived a thousand lives…a thousand times," he paused and took in a breath, "An endless turning stairway climbs," he murmurs as he scans the glaring white hills. A blizzard was picking up; given another 15 or 30 minutes and it would be impossible to see or find anything for the snow.

Good. That was good.

*

He had broken the promise he didn't think he had made.

He went back to West City.

He had waited though-he tried not to think about it, and it wasn't until between the second day and third morning that he realized why he should, beside the obvious reason of seeing and avoiding Vegeta.

Gohan never told his mom he was going away. So he went to go do that.

He'd meant to tell his mom, but then realized she wouldn't understand easily and wouldn't let him go again. And then he'd have to go without her permission and she'd be mad at him forever, and wouldn't let him back in when he could come back. Then he realized he could tell Goten to tell her, who would be playing with Trunks, because he was always playing with Trunks and they were usually at Capsule Corp.

He had stopped flying and meant to walk the rest of the way and it wasn't until he stopped and listened to his breathing that he realized he'd been running.

Next he realized it was dark, sometime in the morning, and Goten, if here, would be asleep.

And he realized Vegeta would be too.

He hadn't stayed though.

He…it wasn't…He hadn't stayed. What if Vegeta had found out? What if he saw him?

//what if he does? so long as I seehim…//

He hadn't stayed.

That was on the third morning. In the early night dark of the second day, but still the third day.

*

"To a tower of souls..." He pauses, the spacey blank expression fading a little for a more pensive one. He blinks once, and then shrugs his shoulders. What did it matter if the verses were out of order anyway?

"I could shed another million tears, a million breaths…A million names but only one truth to face," he murmurs quietly, eyes still sweeping the immutable landscape.

*

He hadn't actually done anything.

To anyone.

Not the way Vegeta was stating.

And he hadn't even wanted to do anything, whatever Vegeta might say.

Gohan paused his thinking for a moment, considered, then plunged on ahead. He was right. He was right and Vegeta was wrong, and that was all that counted.

Never could he even begin to imagine to do anything-like Vegeta was implying- with anyone, not even Videl and certainly not a guy.

He missed Videl. Whatever Vegeta might say, she was the one he liked, ever really, really liked in almost-that-way.

All he had ever really wanted from her was a smile, a laugh. She did have a nice laugh, when she was relaxed and not tense like always. Sort of tinkling and-copper. Bright copper. Or magnesium. Yeah, a magnesium colored laugh. And she had ambition, a great deal of ambition.

She had mastered flying way faster than anyone else he knew, and she wanted to be the best fighter ever, even better than him. She lived for the challenge. He liked that. He had admired that. He could relate to that.

And she had a sense of justice that had competed with his own. She cared about what happened to other people. As long they weren't bothering him, Vegeta didn't care about anyone.

He'd never…he had thought about kissing, but never really seriously. If she wanted to. But that was it.

He couldn't envision doing the-other stuff with anybody, he wouldn't even know about it if they hadn't made him take those classes in secondary school. He'd spent most of the class time with his eyes averted while the other boys goggled over the pictures. Color pictures, too.

And Vegeta thought he'd do it with him. How?

The thought disgusted him and puzzled him so much he stayed up for a long times at night thinking about it. Wondering how it all worked, and where was the drive for it. It was so messy and impractical, and how could anybody stop cringing long enough to finish it.

That was on the first night and second day.

*

"I may be numberless…I may be innocent…I may know many things…I may be ignorant." He pulls the electric blanket higher around his shoulders. He is not wearing a shirt.

*

He missed her, but it really wasn't in him to mourn. He would always remember, but he would never really mourn. Ever since Piccolo went…and his father…

The thing with being open with everybody was that you really weren't close to anybody. Not really. He had lost enough people to know that it hurt to make friends, to love people. Even if they could be put back with a wish and a few words, it still hurt when they left. Better if he kept everyone on the same affection-level.

His shyness gave him enough breathing and defensive space, and he was content to keep it that way.

Vegeta was right though, in a way. Kind of. Sort of. In a way, after his fashion. Well…not really, but it was hard to argue about anything with him.

But Vegeta was right about one thing: The only way not to hurt anybody was to stay away.

Gohan didn't want to hurt anybody. He really couldn't remember hurting or hunting anything, but he knew he did. Sometimes the blood was still warm on him when he woke up. Sometimes there were pieces, shiny bits of pink and dark red. Most of the times, he didn't bother to even look. He didn't like to look.

He didn't remember 'hunting' Videl, like Vegeta said he had. And he could think clearer now. He really couldn't remember, but he could think clearer. On the narrow swings between Heat adrenaline rushed clarity and drugged up muggy objectiveness, he could nearly do both.

He-could almost remember hunting Vegeta.

Especially at night.

He had remembered fragments the fourth morning, like the memories were a dream, after spending some of the previous night on long tall glasses of cold water and dozens and dozens of Bulma's pills, as many and as much as he could force down.

He still woke up lost in the snow with his legs aching.

He would wake up every morning after the third night outside lost, cold, and sometimes bleeding on either his feet or arms. His throat was often raw, and his voice vanished. He felt sick, like he was coming down with a cold or pneumonia.

And he thought of Vegeta.

He remembered running. Running so quickly it was almost like flying. He…didn't really remember what happened. He wanted to know, but he didn't want to remember. He remembered seeing shades of black and gray, and a glowing white light, a smell so strong…and red, almost. A rusty, organic-metallic smell. Iron. Blood.

He remembered smelling blood until he thought he was drowning in it and…he hadn't been disgusted. He should have been, but he still wasn't.

He had just felt…secure. And relaxed. That night, with the darkness and iron blood in his mouth and hair.

He couldn't remember why he felt that way, couldn't find the logic or motives behind it, only that he liked it. He found himself thinking it over more often.

That was on the drugged-up lucid part of the fourth day's afternoon, which found him pondering his own mind.

*

"Or I could ride with kings and conquer many lands…Or win this world at cards and let it slip my hands", Gohan shifts on his spot in the doorway in a more comfortable position to lean against it. He sighs, smiles, and continues to watch the snow whirl.

*

Then there was the third night.

Every night after it followed the same pattern, increasingly worse as time went on, but it was always the third night that stood out in his mind. That's when it started.

That's where it all began.

Where it really hurt.

He had woken up in the middle of the night on the ice outside with only his socks on, icicles and bits of snow stuck in his hair and on his skin. He didn't even have his drawers on, and his thighs and genitals were freezing and chafed by the ice and wind. He wasn't exactly sure how he had gotten out there, or even how long he had been there, but Gohan had a pretty good idea of where he was trying to get. To whom.

He had gotten lost on the way back to the Capsule house, his home, and couldn't even scrounge up the energy to fly. It took him forever to find his house, and he had walked into it by accident.

He spent the following fourth morning on the living room floor, exhausted and drugged into unconsciousness interspersed with quiet musing and had awoken in the night in tears, a serious migraine, and his throat festering.

He hadn't liked that.

And he still went back into the night, into the snow in the fourth night. He hadn't wanted to, kept thinking and fighting with everything he had, but he had still gone back into the cold. Into the dark.

The attacks followed a certain structure, similar to hypertension or anxiety attacks. Gohan would start blinking faster, his heart rate and breathing would go up and he would start pacing around the house, looking for something to do, scribbling doodles in his notebooks and fooling around in the kitchen, pacing from his room to the living room to the kitchen back to his room over and over again until he got lost inside his own small house.

He would sometimes end up punching holes through the walls and nearly breaking down the door to get outside. To run. To run to what or to run away from what he wasn't sure, but he had to run. He had to go.

He couldn't stop pacing. He couldn't stop thinking. He had no one to talk to, and it was so damn quiet with the only wind and the sound of his own voice to keep him company. He was going to go insane like this. Gohan didn't like talking to himself, it seemed wrong. He was also bored and lonely beyond belief.

The silence chafed at his mind. The cold chafed at his body. The loneliness chafed at his soul. Gohan was just chafed all over, including his balls from when they had been frozen over outside.

The pills took him out of reality, cooled his blood. He didn't like being dependent on drugs.

Sometimes he was ravenous, and couldn't force himself to eat, and when he could he vomited everything he put down. He was always hungry and rarely eating. Vegeta had given him food. He couldn't eat it.

Sometimes he was furious, blazingly furious at nothing and sometimes he cried for hours on end.

He wrote in his notebooks a lot, doodled in the margins.

He'd feel the fire come on, and had awoke sweaty in bed or on the couch with a burning in his neck and limbs and a cloud lodged in his chest cavity. He'd grabbed the pills as soon as he felt it coming, had chugged down the bottle and a lot of little white capsules had fallen to the floor, his hands were shaking that badly. He'd spit a couple out of reflex, and had swallowed some.

He still went out, flying as fast as he could while the ice blew and cut into his skin, then he'd been dizzy and he'd fell, and he remembered putting out his hands to stop the fall. He woke up some time later; half covered in snow and cold, and had dragged himself home after getting lost twice. He fell dead asleep all of the fifth day, waking up when he heard a sound repeated over and over again, like a telephone ringing. It was his voice. It was Vegeta's name. Tears sat still on his eyes. He wasn't sad at all. He was just…tired.

So very tired.

There he ended the fifth night, ebbing into the sixth morning, crying into the floor, lost inside the house Vegeta had thrust at him.

*

"I could be cannon food…destroyed a thousand times…Reborn as fortune's child…to judge another's crimes," he chants softly to himself, as a mantra. He had mentioned before to-someone at school, the name escaped him now, that that particular lyric always reminded him of his father.

They hadn't understood.

Gohan wasn't expecting them to.

*

He was tired.

He was very tired of being lost.

So…

This was a new experience.

His body was going through changes he didn't understand, and Vegeta should be here to see what was unusual and what wasn't. Saiyan blood adapted quickly to new chemicals; Gohan had learned the hard way that no amount of aspirin could take away insomnia, no matter how tense he was about the upcoming test. It was only a matter of time before Bulma's pills wore off. And then he would go off again.

It wasn't his fault this was happening to him now, in this fashion.

His were Saiyan genes, and Vegeta had known about it before and he hadn't said anything because of apathy or for the pleasure of seeing Gohan squirm.

So while Gohan was suffering in the ice and snow, Vegeta was living the high society life he liked.

Well, it wouldn't be just him that would suffer if something went wrong. It would be everybody else too; Vegeta and Bulma (mine) especially. He shouldn't have to take care of this on his own. Vegeta should be here. Vegeta should help him. Vegeta should help him.

Vegeta probably wouldn't want to.

But Gohan could see his way around that. There had to been lots of things Vegeta hadn't wanted him to do that he had, like saving Vegeta's life and talking to him and living and being stronger than him and making Vegeta apologize to him. That one time. When they had been more than mere equals, and Gohan had been in control and Vegeta hadn't.

…like rain on crystal on air like snow on stars and space and dark the darkest beauties…

Gohan blinked.

That was definitely something.

Vegeta was such a liar.

But Gohan was a liar too, and he and Vegeta both knew it.

Vegeta was going to be with him, not to-do anything of the physical nature, but just because he should just be there.

Gohan wanted him there. With him. What Vegeta did or said after wasn't important, as long as he stayed.

But how to keep him? How to manipulate him?

Gohan tightened his grip around his knees, and rocked himself back and forth in the corner. He breathed in deep, hard, and continued rocking.

He had a good idea how, but going through with it was another thing. This was Vegeta, after all, and he always got angry really easy, so it was always really easy to manipulate him into getting angry, it was making him do what you wanted that was tricky. Vegeta used the same tactic like pro, so he wasn't likely to fall for it, but Gohan was running out of options.

He-wanted to, but he didn't want to, except he did and he was going to, only he wasn't, and in the late night darkness and dream reality, in the high chemical frenzy delirium fairyland asylum he lived in, he found himself in, it didn't seem so bad.

That was somewhere around 3 in the morning on the 6th day. Or the 11th one. Or even the Bobth. Or maybe around 3 at night.

Time had begun to blur.

*

"Or wear this pilgrim's cloak, or be a common thief… I've kept this single faith, I have but one belief," Gohan breathed in deep, preparing for the big finale to the song, never mind that he was always a little-lot off key and rushed the final line.

*

The sixth night.

He really hadn't meant to go back. He had planned it, but he really hadn't meant it.

But it seemed like one minute he was outside the gates to CC and then he was climbing the gates with a stealth and agility and silence that was so completely alien to him it was frightening.

No ki, no footsteps, not even his bones creaked or muscles clicked. His clothes didn't rustle-he wasn't wearing much anyway-and the ground seemed to give him leeway, like it would a shade.

Silent. Smooth. Completely.

He was in the graceless age, a hybrid of races, the dominant of which didn't know the meaning of quiet. But…he wanted to see him. Make sure he was OK. Make sure he was still real.

He just wanted to see him. And he could be quiet for that. He could be anything for that. He could do anything for that.

Somehow, he knew exactly where Vegeta was.

His hands pressed against the cool smoothness of the windowpane and stared in. His skin was burning, his hands feverish and dry against the glass.

Vegeta slept shirtless and alone, the blanket thrown around his waist; face beautifully relaxed and tranquil, yet still regal. His arms were curled in front of him, fingers curled and relaxed on the bed.

Tinkering and a tiny amount of ki and the window open silently, the boy leaning in and perched on the windowsill, quietly observing the muscles and ki-level of the man before him. His nostrils flared, breathed in the scent of sweat and anger and Vegeta and age. Of gray fatigue.

He breathed it in and absorbed the sight with his eyes…and then entered.

He stepped in as silently as a thief, as a hunter as a tiger in the dark in the dark of the night hunting his prey hunting his prey stalking over the carpet

through the dark through the shadows where he can't see you in the shadows in the dark and watching his face and

don't let him see you don't let him run(!), he can't run, don't let him see

he's so beautiful he is mine he's mine he's mine now he wears my mark wears it open wears it so

sleeping

take him take him take him take him now while he can't run while he can't fight (but he can fight, he fights beautifully, like a god) take him now now now NOW-

-but wait.

He didn't want to, not yet

--NOW!-

//no //

-!-

//wait//

-what-

//he will come//

-why-

//he wears my mark//

-how long-

//he wears it open//

-so-

//for anyone to see//

-…mine-

Gohan's eyes narrowed in thought, shining in the dark with a predatory shimmer, his actions momentarily paused.

-he will come-

Gohan's temperature had dropped a bit, his head cleared, and his senses eased back into normal. He shook his head, a bit surprised to be so close to Vegeta, halfway up on his bed. He was…very close to Vegeta.

Gohan froze; his eyes locked on the other man who claimed to be his mate and threatened his life, the mate he himself had claimed in a rush of grief and anger. And he had felt a rush of blood, heat, and memories.

Darkness. Fear. Regret.

It had been the memories, ultimately, that had scared him to sense.

He looked at the lips the thin hard lips cold and unloving

always

they would never care

they would never care

but

he remembered the feel he remembered the feel just barely of those lips the way they'd touched his and pressed his and the

quiet piano silhouette against the moon light

he remembered the feel just just just the

feel

the pleading the pleading the begging the hope and fear and he just barely

remembered the hunger and fire great and greater than his own but

so DEEPLY hidden it might take forever to take it out and dive in that wonderful sea of colossal desire

and he couldn't remember but he could and

he wanted he wanted to feel those lips again he wanted it again and he could see the other's torso

his skin

his chest that lay enticing and cool and

his soul like fire

beautiful

deadly

matched so perfectly with his own

two demons

one in the dark one in rough hard light

he was hungry his prey bore his mark it was his it was his and his alone and he could do it he could and the other would let him

beg him just like he'd kissed him

and he could pull the sheet down sheet down down to the ground and the floor and could see everything everything that belonged to him everything that he wanted it was his-

-but-

-but he didn't know he didn't really know it wouldn't be the same what if, what if, what if,

if he really didn't know what if his own(mine)

didn't know he was it wouldn't be the same if he didn't know

it wouldn't be right(rape)

he had to be taught he could be taught he was strong(the First)

strong enough he was smart(worthy)

he could take it and he would come to him come to him come to him

in his arms

in his bed under him

in his body

in his mind and soul and it would really be his come to him come to him given time give it time he will come

he will come

Flits and fragments ribboned past his mind, the dark gray blurry blueness and the light…piano playing a tune. Jazz, or blues, but the style was almost classical.

He looked down at Vegeta from his place very close to him, and could smell his own scent strong in the room.

Vegeta would know he'd been there.

-let him he will come-

So it wouldn't matter much if he stayed a little longer. Just a little. So he could see him.

Gohan sat on the floor next to the window after climbing carefully off Vegeta, and kept his eyes on him the whole time.

He really would have to do something really nice for Vegeta later, something to pay him back. This was an embarrassing situation for himself, supposedly attracted to another guy; he couldn't contrive what it was like for Vegeta, with his pride and dignity, to the object of his insincere affections.

--no!-

Without Vegeta, he'd probably still be hunting and killing things, be a complete slave to biology and hormones until his father stopped him, and Gohan tried not to think about that.

The boys at school only had to worry about acne and squeaky voices. He had one hell of a squeaky voice. It burst people's head open.

Gohan blushed.

Vegeta was rubbing off on him, now he was even swearing in his head. And that was a bit too brutally practical to be his voice.

But at least Vegeta hadn't told anyone yet; it would be too embarrassing for him to explain, Gohan hoped. And he hadn't told his father. Gohan would've known if he had.

He was pretty sure Vegeta didn't like him, and seemed a little disgusted with his preoccupation with his dad.

Vegeta was in love with, or attracted to anyway, Bulma (-mine!-), and except maybe being good with maths they had nothing in common and Vegeta really didn't like anybody else.

Vegeta yelled at him all the time for not training or exercising his power enough. Gohan was pretty sure Vegeta didn't like him for not being aggressive enough, but he knew he could be aggressive enough in battle when he needed to.

Vegeta knew that; he'd been on the receiving end once or twice. Vegeta should like that. A little, anyway. Maybe not.

Even if he didn't like him he was still helping him, going out of his way, and Gohan didn't have anybody else to go to, not even Piccolo. He couldn't explain it, no matter how many times he had rehearsed it in his head before he had gone to Vegeta. He just couldn't explain it to Piccolo.

He couldn't face him anymore than he could face his father. One of the things Piccolo admired about him was his innocence, his purity, and he wanted to keep that image as long as possible.

With Vegeta, Gohan had nothing to lose.

With Vegeta, Gohan was kind of safe.

Not much, but a little more than with his father or Piccolo.

Vegeta didn't really admire anything about him that he let on, although he thought Gohan was too circumspect most of the time with the power he, Vegeta, didn't have.

Vegeta knew he wasn't innocent; Gohan had caught Vegeta too many times smirking at him whenever he really got pissed off and just started beating the crap out of somebody like there was no tomorrow.

Occasionally, that aforesaid person was Vegeta, and he still thought the whole thing was funny as hell. Vegeta saw him for what he really was; he had nothing to lose with telling him his secret.

If Vegeta hadn't helped him he'd really be screwed. He really was the best choice, besides his herital knowledge. His sarcasm helped keep things in perspective; Gohan kept worrying about falling into depression. It was so cold out here. And quiet. And he was kind of funny. Not that Gohan actually laughed in his presence, but he thought about it later on.

A part of Gohan's mind wondered if maybe he wasn't just analyzing just a little too deeply, and instead fabricating facts that weren't really there. He shoved that part away. This was Vegeta, after all. Gohan was safe.

One couldn't really gloss over his good qualities, because he didn't have many good qualities to begin with.

One of the few people who actually said what he thought, and didn't worry about losing his innocence.

If Vegeta actually did something good, it was because he got something out of it, or just because he felt like it.

Gohan and his dad…sometimes he wondered if they just did things because no one else would. No one else felt like it. Like taking out the trash.

Saving the earth.

Sometimes Gohan wondered if his dad and he did good things because it was just right. Because they were trying to measure up to something. Because maybe they were trying to prove to the earth that they weren't bad and they could be accepted.

And then Gohan would wonder why they wanted to prove they weren't bad. What did it matter? They knew they were good, so why did they have to prove it to people who didn't really know them?

And then Gohan knew that he wasn't supposed to be having these types of thoughts. Goku wouldn't approve much.

Vegeta never tried to measure up to anything. He just wanted to be the strongest. He didn't care about being good. He didn't care about being accepted.

They had both helped and awed the gods, but the gods had never really helped them. They said they couldn't, but then they had never really tried either.

Sometimes…sometimes Gohan thought Vegeta wasn't afraid of anything. His dad wasn't afraid of anything either, and Gohan wasn't afraid either. Except his mom. They were both terrified of his mom.

Gohan balanced his chin on his arms wrapped around his knees, his legs cramping because of the tight jeans he had forced them into. He didn't know what he was thinking when he put those on... But anyway.

He wasn't much afraid of Vegeta. He was pretty sure Vegeta didn't like him. He was pretty sure that Vegeta wasn't afraid of him, because he wasn't afraid of any-his eyes darted to the bruise on the other's neck.

-Vegeta wasn't afraid of anything. Vegeta was always in control. Vegeta always knew what to do, and it usually meant killing someone or blowing something up or shouting really loud.

He was completely dependent on Vegeta for everything, which he recognized as unhealthy and risky and a little debasing, but he wasn't sure what to do about it. Vegeta encompassed his whole world now. And he was just a minor footnote in Vegeta's book of upstart brats.

That…wasn't right. It was unequal.

Gohan's eyes narrowed.

It should be made right.

Vegeta was his only contact to the outside world now. His hero who killed innocents. His angel who gave the gods the finger. According to Vegeta himself, his chosen. His mate. His lover. His wife.

But Vegeta was a guy.

This was definitely a dividing factor. Gohan wasn't homosexual. He was barely heterosexual. Only a few and significant differences kept him from being asexual completely.

But Vegeta wasn't as bad as he wanted himself to be. Or look like. If he was really cruel he could have let Gohan loose on the world and laughed about it later. Even though he was partly saving his own reputation, because he didn't want to be married either. Or bonded. Or whatever. And he didn't-Gohan paused, blushed, and felt his neck burn-he didn't want to have sex with him either.

He didn't want his skin against his.

He didn't want him close.

He didn't want him period.

Gohan didn't know what sex between guys would be like. If not for Biology class and secondary school, he wouldn't know what sex would be like at all. He had no idea what it would feel like. Biology class had made it sound incredibly painful and ridiculous, but other stories…

He'd heard locker stories, but he could tell by the smell that only a few were telling the truth. It sounded a lot like fighting. It sounded great.

He'd always be in awe of Vegeta, and in a kind of admiration. Vegeta didn't always have the strength, but always had the guts. Gohan had the guts, but he'd been blessed to almost always have the strength, or the luck, as well. The times he hadn't been strong enough, he'd been worried and mad as hell and had made things work the way he wanted them to…And then something had gone right so he was still alive later on; usually it was his father.

Vegeta should be with him.

It was decided. It had been planned and considered and mused over and analyzed from every angle conceivable, but it had still been unresolved.

Academically, psychologically, biologically, it was now decided.

*

"I still, love, you…I still, want, you," he sings, his voice thin and weak instead of the stronger and raspy-ish of the original singer. But the lyrics are good and he strings out the words, the boy's tone carries the feeling, which not even the best singer can always do.

*

He stood and walked thoughtfully over to the bed, sitting down cautiously and quietly on the edge.

Vegeta wasn't bad looking. He always seemed to be serious and irritated by everyone else, always thinking and judging, calculating the next attack even when there wasn't an enemy.

And proper. Regardless how he sometimes acted in battle, or even what he said, he did have his values and morals, reflections of his short regal upbringing. Much, much different from what Gohan and Goku had, but Gohan had recognized that there was a format and type of structure to Vegeta's actions.

He was a bit shorter than Gohan, and slender yet still powerful. But he was really rough, nearly always vicious and violent. He'd probably be furious.

But Gohan was confident of his own strength. He might not be completely violent or bossy, but physically he was confident. But he wasn't…gay?

Gohan's fingers traced the air over Vegeta's face, mingling with the faint body heat.

But like Vegeta said, nobody really cared what he thought or wanted.

This was the way things were, and not the way Gohan wanted although he could make things the way he wanted them…he wasn't sure if that was the way he wanted it now. If maybe normalcy was the best thing anymore.

A small part of his head blamed it on hormones, and rang a small warning bell timidly and tapped the desk against the data and ones and zeros zooming back in forth at furious calculating speeds.

//the point of puberty is to have sex,//

//nobody cares what you want,//

//your body is going faster than usual,//

//you'll have to find another soon.//

He wasn't gay. He was very sure of that. Vegeta didn't seem extremely shocked by homosexuality, only upset that he was the 'chosen' and that Gohan was Gohan. But about the homosexual aspect of it…Vegeta didn't seem particularly shocked or angry.

He had thought Gohan an idiot for being shocked. As in a narrow-minded-idiot? But then he called Gohan was an idiot most of the time.

But if nobody cared what Gohan wanted…why should he care what Vegeta wanted?

Why should Vegeta be so privileged, in everything?

Why should he deny himself?

…How long could he?

Gohan watched Vegeta's chest move gently as he breathed, and noted absently that Vegeta's skin looked a little paler, and a little sharper drawn.

Vegeta was beautiful.

…Why should he deny himself?

He leaned down (only academically experimenting in the hybrid biology), to the tune of ivory steel (memories, I want my mind back), blinked twice and inhaled (oh god, if he doesn't kill me), and pressed his lips dryly against Vegeta's (oh fuck-), and closed his eyes (me).

His heart thumped erratically, his body broke out in a cold sweat even though his temperature must've gone up by 20 degrees, cooking his inner organs slowly as hormones released enzymes that were slowly boiling him alive. He couldn't breathe well, and his eyes forcibly slammed shut.

Gohan could smell Vegeta everywhere, and could feel the tempting and comfortable waves of Vegeta's body heat. Vegeta was right there. And so was Gohan.

He moved his lips slowly, dryly, lightly, as his eyes slid shut, while his control slipped like success though his fingers and left him completely. He gingerly touched the tip of his tongue to Vegeta's lips and felt movement in answer.

And Gohan let go.

He exhaled heavily, swore in his mind, grabbed Vegeta's hair and the back of his neck while powering up to the uncertain max of SSJ and straddling Vegeta to keep his arms down with his knees and ki.

He was able to kiss Vegeta fully and hard once on the mouth and trace his tongue over and inside his bottom lip and felt Vegeta's chest rise, while he dug his fingers through the spikes of hair, before teeth clamped down hard on his lips and tongue, a full body blast hitting Gohan full in his chest and off the bed onto the floor.

So while Vegeta sprang up he was akimbo on the floor, flaring terrified teal meeting blazing acidic lime and-

-just touch souls briefly-

-desire fear shock lust-

-and Gohan teleported outside the house and shot his power to the max and flew. A small sound of air coming in to fill the vacuum was the only farewell given.

It was nothing compared to the grating vacuum that followed.

*

"On and on the mysteries unwind themselves…Eternities still unsaid…'Til you love me." The boy turns his head in what could be east, smiles warmly, and stands up. That was dawn of the 7th morning.

Vegeta should be unconscious by now.

Time to start.

~~~~~~~

A/N: Song "A Thousand Years", by Sting.

~~~~~~~

Point of View Style 1

He has to know I'm following him.

He has to know, my ki is too strong.

He came back he came back (back to me?) the fucking goddamned half-breed born of a reject father with the stupid little girl laugh that grates on my nerves and shy little smile that floors my mind and pale skin pale perfect unmarked skin and long legs and hips so perfectly designed-

The maker of that body should be dragged out and shot for daring to create anything so beautiful and elegant with a power my own kind never dreamed of, never even in our darkest, most ambitious fantasies could ever conceive of anything so perfect, so uniquely and perfectly designed-

-And he turns out nice. And kind. And in his own way-

-provocative. He dares to be the savoir my kind dreamed and prayed for, and he speaks and acts like a ningen brat.

And fights like a demon.

Walks like sex on legs.

And looks at me…like he was going to swallow me whole. And I believe he could. Given the chance, should I ever let my guard down long enough he could and he would so without a blink.

But he's so damned fast. He didn't used to be this fast.

He grew. The bastard grew and changed, grew stronger out there. Fucking great for him. So he's been getting stronger and I've just…

I was faster than this.

The effects of that fucking spider bite he gave me.

Why is he running? He's supposed to be hunting me, not the other way around. Not that I mind, I've been wanting to beat his ass unconscious but it doesn't make sense. He's going back, back to where he was supposed to stay, where he was safe, before he came looking for trouble, before he came looking for me, stupid kid I was trying to protect you, I was trying to protect me, but now that's all made worthless now.

I can still taste you in my mouth, clean warmed wine…

I almost responded. You were going to take me then, I could feel it in you even if you didn't know it, and I almost let you. I almost wanted you to.

Disgusting. Some hybrid creature trying to take me…and I almost would have allowed it. How low can I sink? Damn far, for sure. But not that far, not that low. I die before I let my body control me. It hasn't before; it won't now.

But…you don't know what you're doing.

You don't…

This is all just reflex to you, you hardly hold any more passion or conviction for the burning in your blood that's rushing through your veins than you hold for fighting, for the kill, it's all reflex all nature, wild savage nature wrapped up khaki scholar slacks you love so much.

Bastard.

You don't mean a goddamned Saiyan thing you've ever done. You just got lucky.

But now it's not worth anything. All the pain I've suffered while you left me, abandoned me because I wanted you to, I needed you to…All the pain you've suffered-and I know you have-it's all worth nothing.

I won't let you take me.

I won't let you take me at all.

I was the Saiyan no Ouji. I am the Saiyan no Ouji. Royalty, upper class, high born, sovereign of a dead and dying race and I didn't let Frieza stop me I didn't let him break me but he tried he tried like hell and I'm not going to let you do it! I've come too far for that!

I won't settle for that now.

I didn't fight all my life, against everything, so that a drugged up half-breed could have me as his personal whore, I won't stand for it! I won't allow it!

I smelled the Heat on you while you touched me, and I could smell the fear on you, stronger now that you've been discovered. You think I didn't realize the first time you were here? Idiot. Of course I knew.

With soul-ache and despair eating away at my ribs to rip into something juicy…of course I knew. You're terrified. You shouldn't have messed with things you don't want to follow through with; you shouldn't have messed with me.

I can still taste you in my mouth. I'll taste more of you before the sun rises.

I know you can't run forever boy.

I know you won't, even if you could.

~~~~~~~

Note Taking Style 2

Vegeta had chased him.

Gohan smiled, let the adrenaline run in his system, and had flown a maze that would have made his philosophy professor proud in the woods and continents before heading back to the artic. He was tired, winded, but so was Vegeta.

Much happened, but only three, maybe four things were important:

1.They never touched. Gohan made sure of that, no matter how close Vegeta came to him or tried to ambush or hit him; of how very much Gohan wanted him to…they never touched.

2.Vegeta never stopped chasing him. He never gave up.

3.Vegeta was presently underneath a glacier. Likely unconscious, as the formation had fallen on him while he was powered down and winded.

4.Gohan was presently back at the Capsule house, warm, content, and cooking ravioli soup with French bread.

~~~~~~

Point of View Style 2

You followed up to plan perfectly.

You got confident when you thought I was heading back home, when you thought I was afraid of you.

You've always underestimated too quickly; it's your greatest failing. You always called me weak, but you left your own weakness out in the open to play upon.

I darted through a canyon made of still water, and through tunnels, some natural, some perfectly etched out just for you, just for this, while you follow up and leave glittering shrapnel in your wake, trailing like angry diamond insects.

I slow down for a few seconds, leaving several meters between us, enough to get you to speed up but still keep myself out of reach.

A low, smooth streak across a plateau with the pitiable sunlight reflecting off the ice and into my eyes.

A 90-degree angle down a glacier side several hundred miles down, curling up before I hit the ground.

I know you must be frustrated, you've never seemed the cat-and-mouse kind to me, and so far you haven't been able to vent your anger in a single solid punch or kick. I just hope you're not too furious.

And I close my eyes and search for your ki. Not so much to know where you are, but how high it is, fluctuations, how you're feeling…Clues. Feedback. Can I make this work now, or do I need to improvise?

You are few feet in front of me, hovering the air still powered up, nowhere near your max, with slight fluctuation in your ki and heavy respiration. I'm still powered up too, tired, but not quite as badly. I had planned this, after all.

I open my eyes and smile at you while you glare irritably at me, catching the glint and pulse in your eyes when you see me smile. Catching on? Not yet, don't want you to know what I'm planning yet.

I also see something else, something I remember from the bar the first day of this affair, something I file away for later analyzation because I'm not ready to touch it right now.

But god it's hard to stop looking at you. I can feel so much in the way you look at me, like medieval hunter in the forest and I'm the prey and I know you won't hesitate to strike…the way your chest moves as you struggle to pull in breath.

The sun glints off your tanned skin and chest, my eyes pulled always to your neck…You do look paler though, a little skinnier. It's probably just the lighting.

I walk backward slowly, not to startle you or cause you rush or fight, although I wouldn't mind your hands on me at all, even if it did hurt…I still smile though, that bright, cheerful smile you've sneered at so many times and I know touches a cord somewhere inside you; whether good or bad is a mystery to me. But it touches a nerve, and that's what's important.

You narrow your eyes, and the muscles shift and relax and tense in your neck and biceps. I'm not running. I drop my power, back into normal. That gets your attention. Good. I'm going to get more.

I grin wider at you, slow my steps even more while lowering and crossing my arms across my abdomen to grab the hem of my shirt and strip it off, slowing down until I came to a stop until it comes off over my head and down my arms, making sure to run my hands slowly over my biceps in casual caresses and flex my fingers.

People always say I have long fingers to be so skinny, especially when compared to my dad.

Your expression didn't change and you didn't move, but the fire dimmed a bit in your eyes. I wasn't sure why. I'm still…not completely sure. That was supposed to be the catalyst, the invitation, and yet you become disappointed. Why?

Come on Vegeta, this is embarrassing enough without it being inefficient! It's very hard to keep up this façade of confidence, and if you laugh or look at me at the wrong moment in the wrong way the whole shenanigan comes crashing down.

I'm so damn embarrassed as it is, I'm surprised the ice isn't melting.

But I can tell from the shifting angle of your brows and small flexing of your fingers that I've got your attention in all the right ways, if not as much as I had wanted.

I continue backing up until my back touches the glacier. I hiss and flinch on contact, my face going from the smooth bright cherry smile to a snarl; it's cold enough already, even in SSJ, bad enough normal status, and it is affecting me.

But it has to be affecting you too then, so that's not quite so bad.

It's the kind of cold that burns and cuts at the same time, when it really starts to numb it means you either have frostbite, hypothermia, or you are going to die very shortly. I had first hand experiences for the first two, and a little of the third, so I know what I'm talking about.

Saiyans get stronger the more often they are hurt or come close to death. I think that's happened more often to me than to you since the last time we've met, so I'm thinking I'm the stronger of both of us right now, but it's hard to tell. You seem weaker than usual, but you're probably masking your ki.

I look up at you from the top of my head, while you hover a few feet in the air and a couple of yards from me. You notice everything I do. Good.

I lean back carefully, eyes glazing over while I try to relax into the ice and not wince in pain like I so want to.

This is cruel.

This is unusual.

I know you love it.

At the very least I have your attention, and you haven't said anything yet. If you call me a baka now everything really -will- be that much harder.

I can finally lean back fully, and my skin is so stuck to the ice it'll probably rip off my back even if I peel myself off.

I keep my neck off, it would really sting extremely so if I did put it on.

I tilt my head up to look at you, and I know you love it. What it stands for. You're my lord and I'm your subject, my center, my superior and wiser.

I also catch you looking at my chest, the muscles in my neck, my torso and rimming around my jeans. They're a bit uncomfortable, but just to feel you glaze the muscles in them while we tagged around the globe makes it worth the scratching.

I feel like I'm going to fall forward. Your eyes have always been your strongest weapon against me, they can shut me up faster and more efficient than words ever could, they can tell me what your thinking, how you feel…I can almost see your soul in your eyes.

Not all of it, but some. It's a lot different than what you pretend to be. It's beautiful. Even words fail me now.

I raise my arms up, towards you in invitation, up towards the sun in worship, and behind my head and over my neck against the ice in surrender.

I stare and smile at you the whole time, legs crossed casually with one foot against the ice behind me.

I know you've already processed what the position implies: I can't defend myself, I can't run, I'm a little off-balance and I can be caught and pinned easily; come get me.

You don't though.

You study me for me for a moment, and I feel like a article in a text book, clear cut and subject to anyone and anything that comes it's way, from slacking students with dirty hands and cigarettes to toddlers armed with crayons.

You drop out of SSJ. Oh, that's good. You're gathering energy for a ki blast and have one nearly ready and primed at my head. That's bad.

You don't fire though, and your eyes narrow-warning me? You said you were going to kill me if I came after you again. Well, I did. Twice. Or so. Maybe more. You aren't thinking about going back on your word, are you?

I lift my chin and rearrange my legs again to shift my hips. I wish I knew how to flirt. I really wish I knew how to flirt. That'd be really useful right now. Improvisation is the next best thing. Right. I hope I don't screw up too badly…

"Thanks for coming. I would say I wasn't sure you'd come, but then that'd be lying. Still…nice of you to take the trouble…"

Arrogant, smug, and condescending. Low pitched so you have to concentrate on the words I say, a steady treble with a slight smirk inflection…Basically your own voice back at you. Did I manage it? Tempting? I don't think so, not under normal circumstances, but maybe it would be to you.

Something changes in your face, but I have to move before I can classify it and I know I'm going to regret the chance later, tearing and powering up simultaneously behind you to shove/blast you into the glacier with a minor shot and following up with a kamehameha while you crash and reorient yourself. The cliff collapses with you in it, but I still power up to full, then push it further with all that I've earned in my last few days here, and blast a masaka just to be sure, shattering the ice beneath you.

If you escaped the blast, that would be a really bad thing for me.

But I don't think you did.

It doesn't feel like you did-It just doesn't.

Water starts to well up, and the surrounding cliff side for miles begins to groan and crash.

And I leave you there.

Exceptionally quickly.

Under the ice, possibly hurt, hopefully unconscious and undoubtedly confused. And with my ki as quiet as it is, undoubtedly lost after I'm far away enough. It took me forever to maneuver in the glaring monotonous whiteness; it'll take you a little time at least.

Normally I would stick around after blasting an enemy, ready to fight when he came back up, but I don't think-I'm not sure if I'm able to physically best you. I think I can. But I don't want to hurt you either.

I bet you thought I lured you here just to kiss.

The raviolis ready; Mom somehow managed to pass down some of her cooking talent, but I really still prefer things that come in cans. I can still mess up pretty badly if it's anything harder than that and has to include a white chardonnay with anise and fennel. Or port.

I've had bad experiences with port.

Port's hell.