Son Gohan had no reason to be there. His father had died a year ago for a second, final time and all the world pretended that it didn't matter and it wasn't different and maybe, for a moment, they had believed it. Even his mother, who had fainted at the news, hysterical for weeks, smiled now. Every other day. Their house was almost normal and it didn't seem to matter that it was largely because of his failure that it was so quiet during the hours in between.

But it didn't change the fact that the boy had no excuse for his unannounced appearance. The perfect scholar, perfectly trained, and molded and modeled, everything that everyone needed him to be and for, and why not, really, because following obediently was easier than resisting, had no reason.

Gohan took a deep breath. Failed. The rain in his eyes soaked his hair. The long tips of it tickled his cheeks and eyes, dripped water into his mouth. He hadn't cut his hair in months. His mother hated it. And every other day, she brushed it out of his eyes and said he never listened. That he was just like his father.

But that was a lie. The perfect scholar wasn't brash and selfless and didn't find dying the next big adventure. Living was hard enough. And right now breathing was exciting because the lack of it made him lightheaded and strange and he wondered if this was what it was like to drink too much though he'd never touched a drop in his life.

He shivered in the rain, cold on his skin, pale and wan and drawn. His father's faded bomber jacket, still big in the shoulders, sat lopsided on his slighter frame, hung low over his narrow hips. His hands weren't in his pockets; red and wet and cold at his sides, they curled into fists. He couldn't feel the tips of his fingers against his palm.

Gohan swallowed, or tried, kind of choked, wiping the water out of his eyes with the slick leather sleeve. It didn't change the strangeness of it, the fact that he was there without a reason. Calm, neurotic, determined, compulsive little scholar who had yet to live a day without questioning his own existence, had awoken that grey morning with a single thought, a name, really, that he hadn't thought about in over a year.

In less than a day, it had become his gravity. Powerless against it, he had flown the three thousand miles from his mountain home to West Capital. His mother would be so angry to find him missing from his room.

The image blurred, the planet shifted, and Gohan stumbled. Frigid water splashed against his saturated sneakers, tangled the laces, licked at his knees. He shook inside the shell of his jacket, his t-shirt soaked and transparent against his chest.

Gohan blinked back water, tried to remember, to focus, to worry, to something, but the rational foundation that allowed him to live with the knowledge that he was different, an alien, that his father's death was in a less abstract way his fault, that calmed his neurotic analyzing of his own self-worth was either missing, taken, or sleeping.

His perspective tilted dizzyingly. Disoriented, he stepped toward the door before it was rocked out of sight. Even through the rain it was solid and real and he knew…if he could just…

With a soft groan, Son Gohan collapsed on the front steps of Capsule Corporation.

Gohan's head was throbbing. He was on his back on something soft, his jacket had been removed, and his shirt was dry. When he shifted his legs, the cold, wet hems of his jeans touched his ankles. He tried to swallow; his mouth was pasty, his tongue thick. It felt like the last thing he'd eaten was sand.

Reluctant to reawaken to such discomfort, Gohan groaned weakly, lolling his head to the opposite side.

At the other end of the room, someone shifted.

The boy froze, some unnamed instinct entreating him to feign sleep. Breathe deep…and even… His eyelids fluttered in an effort to keep them closed.

The figure moved again. Gohan's pulse jumped and his breath hitched. He tensed against an instinct that bade him go limp and lifeless. Tried not to breathe at all. Hyperaware, he strained his ears. Rain battered, muted, against a window in the next room. A car sloshed its way up the flooded street and faded away into silence. He was alone in a room with only one other person. The rest of the building was empty.

Gohan had no working sense of time. It could have been late afternoon. Evening. It had been mid-morning when he'd escaped through his bedroom window. Hours later, passing over Metro North, clouds had gathered, obscuring the sun and any concept he had of time. Eventually, his anxiety bowed down to exhaustion. Time moved on and he passed in and out of it, flitting between sleeping and waking, always aware that he was not alone and unwilling to betray his weakened condition.

Finally, even the pale light behind Gohan's eyes faded, and once, breaking out of his fevered dozing, he realized that the room was empty.

His clothes were completely dry. Warmth in the room was almost tangible, too much, and a thick, piled blanket had been pulled over him while he slept. The idea of someone being close to him, vulnerable, was unnerving. Warily, he opened his eyes.

The room was dark with sharp, black shadows. Pale, fluorescent light filtered through the doorway, illuminating three feet of carpet before distilling into vague forms and figures. A bookcase. Dresser. The outline of a closet. Gohan was on a bed at the center. Across the room was a single, unoccupied chair.

The boy brushed his hair out of his eyes and, on shaking legs, ventured to stand. The cover slid off his slender frame, reaching toward the floor. Gohan grasped the metal bed frame uncertainly as he straightened. His head ached less than before, and he was warm, but the world still felt distinctly out of sequence, as if everything he knew were there, but in colours different than he remembered.

Swallowing, he was relieved to feel his throat was dry, but without pain. Logical, compulsive compartments in his brain filed his responses accordingly. There was something wrong with him, though whether it was viral, biological, or alien, he couldn't say. The gods knew he had thought and over thought the fact that his biology was different from humans. And Saiya-jin. A half-breed. Uncategorized.

He shuddered with cold in the thermal environment. It was the not knowing that tore his perfect, obsessive, neurotic mind apart.

Light licked at his feet as he walked toward the door. Unaided, he felt shaky and uncertain. His socks, like his shoes, had been removed, and the carpet was both soft and coarse beneath his toes. His hand wrapped around the door frame. He paused in shadow. Beyond the door, that he could see, was the Briefs' living room. The hallway that he knew existed to his left was an unknown.

Fear ripped at his throat. And excitement. Anticipation. A rumbling torrent of emotional sensation almost destroyed his fragile foundation. Gohan pitched forward against the grainy support. His skin prickly with sweat, he closed his eyes, panting. Not allowing his doubts to burrow further, he thrust the door open wide.

The hallway was empty.

Relief was draining. Exhilarating. Licking lips gone dry and keeping a wary eye trained on the dark maw behind him, Gohan ventured into the light of the living room.

It was as he remembered it from a year ago. Superficial changes were minimal. The curtains were a different cut and colour. The crescent couch was the same, but in a different position. The floor was sporadically littered with toys and tools. A dark television dominated the corner of the room nearest the front door.

Movement reflected off its black surface. Gohan's heart shook. Turning his head slowly, he hesitantly faced the adjoining kitchen.

Vegiita's face was expressionless. Looking the older Saiya-jin in the eye, Gohan felt his knees grow inexplicably weak; hot and cold were an incoherent mélange that made him nauseous. Confused and uncomfortable, he looked away, wrapped his arms around his torso, and pushed back the need to be sick.

His brow furrowed. It didn't make any sense. None of it made sense. Why was he here? What had driven him halfway across the planet in the rain?

"Why am I here?" he muttered to himself, trying to drag the fleeting shred of reason that must have existed to push him to this point. Capsule Corporation…what was here that he needed? The world wasn't in danger, he didn't need the Dragon Radar…

"I'm losing my mind," he whispered, genuinely frightened.

Vegiita grunted noncommittally and folded his arms across his chest. Drawn by the movement, Gohan watched out of the corner of his eye. The Saiya-jin was dressed in dark, nondescript gi pants and a sleeveless shirt. Almost casual. Less severe than the form-fitting uniforms that Gohan had always known him to wear. It draped the strong, compact figure strikingly in loose cotton folds as though the outfit had been made solely for him.

The boy's eyes dilated; his breathing became shallow and uneven. Without realizing his audacity, the perfect, logical scholar raised his gaze. There was a warmth in his belly like wine he'd never had. He'd read about it in books and wondered if this was what it was like…to be intoxicated…

The Saiya-jin's keen eyes narrowed. When he spoke, Gohan almost died.

"You've come a long way for nothing, boy," he growled, guttural, low, and it rolled across Gohan like a fierce, hot wind. Where it touched his skin, he shivered and turned his face toward it.

"For nothing?" he had the brilliance to repeat. He was walking toward that warmth before he realized it. "I don't know…what you're talking about…"

The Saiya-jin stiffened imperceptivity. Gohan wanted to laugh. The sick feeling in his stomach was gone, replaced by an excitement like fighting. Fear and agitation ignited by the fire in his blood to prove his worth, defeat his opponent.

No…those were heroes' words. He wanted the sight of blood. And the feeling of flesh beneath his fists.

"We…should spar more often, Vegiita-san…" he said conversationally, skirting the perimeter of the square created by the couch. He trailed his fingers along the back; the soft material made his body sing in a curious way that he was beyond questioning.

"Should we." Vegiita commented, following the half-breed with his eyes. "You aren't even training."

Gohan's breath hitched and he almost smiled. Less than half the room stood between them.

"I know," he replied with a nod. "You'd beat me for sure…" And that thought tightened the space beneath his belly in such a way that he bit his lip against the sound it enticed. His fingers clawed against the curve of the couch.

Vegiita raised his chin and shifted his weight. Gohan watched the movement of muscle beneath cloth and swallowed.

"But you wouldn't go easy on me, would you, Vegiita-san?" he breathed. His eyes flickered up from the slope of the Saiya-jin's hip to his taut mouth. "And if I lost, you'd keep beating me until I was at my best again…"

He took a step. "When I could stay ascended. When I was faster, even, than my father…"

Something flickered behind Vegiita's rich, brown eyes.

Gohan's movement gained grace again the more he moved and the closer he got to Vegiita, the easier everything became. He was alive with a feeling that had no name.

"Right…Vegiita-san…? Because that's all you really want, isn't it?" Gohan's mouth curved in an unnatural smile. "Someone who will fight you back?" There was barely six feet left between them. The half-breed's heartbeat was low and steadying in his own ears. His hand left the couch as he stepped away, dropped down to his side.

"You're not yourself," Vegiita warned. But he didn't move away when Gohan stepped forward. "You have no fucking idea what you're doing."

The Saiya-jin side of Son Gohan cocked his head and arched a brow.

"Really? What am I doing, Vegiita-san?" The tip of his tongue traced the sharp point of one canine. "I thought we were just talking."

The Saiya-jin growled warningly. "Don't play with me, boy…"

"Or what," Gohan taunted. Vegiita was an arm's length away. "You'll do what, Vegiita-san…?" His dark eyes meet the older Saiya-jin's and his voice lowered. "Will you fight me? I want to know what you'll do."

Gohan had grown in the last year. There was virtually no difference between them now in height, though Vegiita was wider in the shoulders, thicker in the arms. His legs, hidden by reams of shadowy fabric, were assuredly stronger.

His chest rose and fell rapidly with his breath. There was an unexplainable feeling in his abdomen, a tightening below it, and every part of him felt hyperaware of the man before him.

"Vegiita-san…" he whispered quietly. Reaching out with his hands, he wanted to feel the strength in those arms, the power in that incredible chest…

Warm hands wrapped around his wrists. He blinked in confusion.

"Gohan," Vegiita snapped hoarsely. "Stop. I won't help you with this. It's something you must overcome on your own."

"On my own…?" he murmured, staring at the union of wrist to hand, the contrast of his pale, young skin to Vegiita's weathered, cream and coffee complexion. He rotated his wrist experimentally and winced as the grip tightened. Frowning, he glared at his captor.

Vegiita sucked in air between his teeth. "Don't look at me like that, brat…"

Sensing weakness, Gohan relaxed the tension in his arms.

"You know something I don't know," he said in a low, singsong voice that caused the muscles in Vegiita's hands to twitch.

"You have no idea--"

"--because you won't tell me," Gohan countered. Changing tactics, he shook the hair from his face. "How would you rather I look at you, Ve-gii-ta." He tucked his front teeth onto his lower lip.

The Saiya-jin hissed and cursed quietly. "I won't be responsible for your fucking hormones, boy."

The half-breed furrowed his brow. "My hormones…? You mean that's what's making me sick?" He gnawed his lower lip, contemplating the implications. Through the haziness of his current condition, he began to seek logical connections between the Saiya-jin's words and his immediate state.

Gohan nodded with increased comprehension even as he drew his arms down between them.

"It has to do with Saiya-jin and puberty, doesn't it? I'm going through some sort of hormonal response to maturity." The idea excited him; the thought of being Saiya-jin, of instinct and the moon, of having a tail made his toes curl. "Because Saiya-jin are more like animals than humans are."

Vegiita didn't reply.

"But to what end?" Gohan asked softly, drawing his hands apart. "Does anything come of it? Animals don't have the need to mate unless it's for procreation…" Comprehension silenced his deduction as the half-breed's eyes widened. "But that's impossible…"

Vegiita's gaze was steely. "I warned you," he snarled.

Something in Gohan broke at the sound. Licking his lips, the half-breed pulled against the force of the Saiya-jin's grip, drawing his hands, Vegiita's grip still tight and unyielding, to his sides, and behind his back, closing the space between them.

"You aren't surprised. You knew this would happen to me eventually. Why didn't you tell me," Gohan accused. Vegiita's arms were strong and solid against his waist. He swallowed with increased difficulty. "Especially with my father gone…there's no way I could have known…"

The Saiya-jin's eyes darkened. His breathing was less controlled than Gohan had ever known it. "You're a half-breed," he denied deftly. "You're…a different species…"

"Not so different," Gohan murmured, pulling further forward. He pressed his nose into the space between the older man's neck and shoulder. His scent was exciting and powerful and…something more…

"I had a tail once, like you. And you called me Saiya-jin when I was younger. I became a Super Saiya-jin. I defeated Cell…" it was suddenly impossible to speak and breathe. "What more do you want, Vegiita-san?" he whispered against the Saiya-jin's neck.

He felt the ripple of tension in the man's chest and arms. His hands tightened painfully; Gohan hissed.

"You don't fucking get it, do you?" Vegiita growled, shaking him for emphasis. "What you're doing--I can't…not…"

"Then don't," Gohan mouthed quietly against his ear. Vegiita's scent was harsh and thick in his nose. "Let me go. If you let me go we can…spar…"

The Saiya-jin made a strangled sound in his throat when Gohan pressed his lips to that caramel skin. He had never kissed anything outside of his immediate family, but his lips knew the motions, inexperienced as they were.

Vegiita's stoic resolution didn't snap. It shattered. A harsh, firm hand was suddenly under Gohan's chin. It directed him away from his newfound attachment and replaced it with something wholly fulfilling.

Gohan groaned as his lips were pushed apart, fervently fought tongue to tongue with his invited assailant. Vegiita's arms wrapped easily around his adolescent waist; one braced beneath his ass and their frantic kiss interrupted as the Saiyan lifted him bodily off the floor. Swallowing, Gohan wiped the spit from his mouth and licked his lips. The older man's eyes were cloudy without control, softer around the corners. The half-breed was still in his arms, traced the harsh lines of his face, enrapt.

"What is it," the man asked quietly, looking up into the wondering eyes of his willing captive.

"You look like a different person when you're not scowling," Gohan admittedly honestly. Leaning down, he kissed Vegiita again. The fusion of lips and tongue fueled the foreign feeling in his stomach. Pulling back, he wiped his mouth on his forearm and smiled.

"I like you like this."

Vegiita arched a cynical brow. "Like this? About to fuck you?"

And everything Gohan had been feeling fell into place. Swallowing past nervousness and excitement, he nodded slowly.

"That's it, isn't it?" he asked quietly. "Why I came here? Because I'm going through this…and you're Saiya-jin."

Vegiita's gaze was steady. "Yes."

Fear clenched his chest. He wanted to be put down, but knew Vegiita's inhuman grip would not allow it. Swallowing hard, he rested his hands on the older man's shoulders. Played with the short hairs at the nape of the Saiya-jin's neck.

"Then this happened to you?"

Vegiita's eyes glazed at his touch. His response was throaty and deep. "Yes."

"A-and you were…" Gohan blushed. "By another Saiya-jin?"

The Saiya-jin paused. Then, "yes."

Gohan closed his eyes. He was terrified. And aroused. That was the sensation that had no name, a feeling below his stomach that he couldn't name. A need. And gods…how he needed…

Relaxing forward, he kissed Vegiita a third time. It was wet and warm and promising. The Saiya-jin's arms relaxed; Gohan's toes hit the floor. From the shoulders, the half-breed moved his arms around Vegiita's neck, delighting in the scarred muscle definition through the soft cotton shirt.

He gasped when one of Vegiita's skilled hands undid the button and zipper of his jeans, was thankful the room was warm as they were pushed to the floor. Working the denim awkwardly off his feet, he kicked his pants aside. The older man's hand curled around the soft, white curve of his ass; Gohan groaned against his mouth, excited, exposed, and hard with want.

His anticipation grew tenfold as he reciprocated, pushing the elastic waistband of the Saiya-jin's pants over his impressive erection.

Vegiita growled his appreciation when his hands explored it.

Gohan's mouth was kissed again. Vegiita's hands roamed his back, over his shoulders, squeezed the muscles of his upper arms. The boy followed the taut, defined region of the Saiya-jin's torso upward with his hands, tasted the sharp, tart sweat on his neck with his lips. There was nothing in the world like the feeling of the Saiya-jin's strong hands and arms, the scent of his power and lust, the promise of his hard cock.

Gohan groaned and his head fell back. Vegiita's larger hands were kneading the flesh of his ass, teasing the sensitive entry that had never been touched.

"Vegiita-san…Vegiita-san…Ve-g-gii-t-t-aa…"

His body was twisted to face the couch; he braced his hands along the back as his legs were kicked apart. Panting, he bent his torso obligingly, resting his forehead on his arms.

Large hands forced him wide. Pain came without warning and he screamed. It lasted forever and faded immediately. As Vegiita pulled his hips into position and started to thrust, Gohan cried out again. And again. Until it subsided into an encouraging moan that mounted with intensity.

The Saiya-jin responded obediently to harder, deeper, and faster. Licked affectionately at his shoulder blades as Gohan quivered and growled on his cock. Matched the pace that the half-breed demanded, then pushed the boy's legs further apart and reminded him blindingly of the twenty years experience that lay between Gohan's irrational need and Vegiita's skill.

Gohan screamed and cried and moaned and begged and ordered. And Vegiita fucked him until the Saiya-jin's name had eight separate syllables. Until Gohan remembered that Vegiita was a prince and had crowned him king. Until he was nothing more than the sensation of the Saiya-jin no Ouji's cock going in and out of his ass.

And then--

--it stopped.

The room erupted in amber light. Gohan arched his back. His howl ripped through his throat with animal savagery. For an instant, he understood the part of him that wasn't human. The part that loved the smell of blood and the raw thrill of the fight. The same part that had remembered the Saiya-jin prince when logic had failed him. The part that would protect him when his human resources were found to be inadequate, unsuccessful, or insufficient to his Saiya-jin needs.

Gohan collapsed across the back of the couch with a soft cry. Vegiita's hands held him upright and the Saiya-jin's pace intensified; the boy responded eagerly though it was painful and he couldn't stand and when the prince finally came, growling and swearing, into his ass, Gohan shot his second load for the sheer sensation of the Saiya-jin prince's spent seed deep within him.

Then even the Saiya-jin's strength failed them.

A tangle of limbs on the floor, resting awkwardly back against Vegiita's chest. Chafed and sore, but necessary. The Saiya-jin's trembling breath. Leveling. Now deep and even.

Amazingly tired, Gohan yawned. Shifting, he rested his head against Vegiita's shoulder and yawned again. His eyes were drifting shut when the alarming sound of a car rushed a puddle on Main Street. His heart raced.

Pushing the sweaty hair out of his eyes, he glanced around the room.

"Where is everyone?"

The Saiya-jin cleared his throat as though uncomfortable of the reminder. His hands rested on Gohan's back and thigh.

"Business."

"Oh." Embarrassed, Gohan looked down, passed the shirt that he still wore, to his hands. Self consciously, he tugged at the hem. "I guess…I should…go…"

The Saiya-jin paused. Then softly, "It will happen again."

"What?" Gohan looked up in disbelief. "When? For how long?"

Vegiita closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Opened them again. His voice contained the heavy empathy of one who knew.

"Until it takes."

The boy blanched. "Until it…" Couldn't swallow passed the fear in his throat. "You're not kidding."

Vegiita glanced away. "I warned you," he said quietly. It lacked conviction.

"Warned me?!" Gohan yelled, getting to his knees. "You didn't tell me anything until I was all over you!"

The Saiya-jin's eyes flashed. "Not that it would matter either way. You wanted to be fucked and that's exactly what I gave you."

Gohan stared disbelievingly. "You've been a bastard as long as I've known you! Now you start being considerate…?" He shook his head. "I don't believe this…" He couldn't breathe…took in air with jerky, hiccupping gasps. "Oh, gods…"

"We all go through it," the Saiya-jin no Ouji murmured. His voice was low, his hands still.

"No…" Gohan whined pitifully. "I can't go through it. I'm not strong enough for this…and…m-my mother won't understand--I can't--"

"To hell with that woman!" Vegiita snarled. The boy's eyes widened, startled. "This isn't a choice, Gohan! Do you think I ever wanted it? Saiya-jin are warriors, not…not…"

"Parents…" Gohan supplied quietly, thinking of his own happily dead father.

"No," the Saiya-jin replied harshly. "But we do it because we must." His hands were firm as he turned the half-breed's face back toward his own. Gohan blinked, overcome with fear for his situation. But Vegiita's hands were warm and there was a kindred in his eyes that the half-breed trusted.

He shuddered as the hand slipped down the curve of his throat to the back of his neck.

"We go through it. And survive. That makes us stronger."

With a growl, Vegiita jerked him forward. Bringing the boy closer to his lips, the Saiya-jin's aggression initiated the fire in his belly a second time; as Gohan's eyes fluttered closed, he murmured confidently against the boy's mouth.

"You are strong enough."

Gohan's tears were salty and slick on their lips. Eased back onto the carpet, pinned by the laws of instinct and his own personal gravity, the half-breed surrendered to the will of the gods and knew no more.