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Cry softly, love; I know it hurts. It always does...the first time. But you'll like it later, when you're older, when the pain flows like rich silken honey through your Saiyan system. A zeal that shines golden with your flaring intensity, rages prophetic with your irrepressible passion. You'll obtain it, love...become the legend we await and worship. You will be a god.

...And you'll like it then. When you know; when you understand. When we're no longer here to remind you what it's like...to be Saiyan. My prince.

My chibi Ouji...how small you look now amidst the smothering velvet folds of your father's bed. We shouldn't be here, I know, but you never listen. Not when I bade you follow as I intercepted you in the hall...not when I asked you to train with me, to fight the androids, side by side, my companion, my sinister lover....

...Wait, no...not me...Kakarott...

You should have come at my insistence. I've always seen what was best for you, never sought to shatter that interlace of spider silk that forms the fragile structure of your inflexible pride. But...I suppose I have, torn the web, allowed the sticky threads to trail lifeless through my fingers as you lay weeping at my thigh. I know, love...the pain...I wasn't as gentle as I should have been. You're a boy yet, though you convey the demeanor of the man I love, the one who carries my heritage upon his royal brow. Hai...you do look like your father, the king...

And what if he should find us here, my young sovereign? It would surely mean my death, for this is a treasonable offense, to take the heir apparent without regard to life or limb, without respite. But it wasn't all bad, ne, love...? I heard the moans you fought to swallow, the child's cry of untempered ascendance to heights unexplored in your approaching adolescence. Still so young...I forget that, love. Gomen nasai...you're so much older than I...

I shake my head as I lean to brush the russet auburn locks from your perspiring brow. No...I'm not him. The visions...Gods, but it feels real to me. Realer than the blood on my fingers that tastes of your latent passion for my unforgiving touch. More tangible than the satin pillow seeping and saturated with your salty tears. Definitive in a way the echo of your spitting curses, your venomous words of acidic protest will never be. In them I see you, as you will be--my regal lover, the way you were destined and designed. It hardly matters that you will hate me, fight me, resist me...love me...

In the end...the result will be the same. Though the tears you shed will have long since dried on the placid pallor of a face too young to know that he was forever the fly and never the spider. The future is too like your pride, love...unbreakable, unmoving, relentless...bearing that distinct lilt of sadistic wit that mocks you more than serves you. Not everything can bend to your will, chibi...

I loathe to be the one to tell you this, for I know in a day, a week, a month, you'll be praying to gods you never believed in to save you from your forced entrapment, to snap the strands that fist like iron round your wrists, bind you complacent though they remain invisible to eyes that cannot see beyond your asinine tongue. It is then that you will vow vengeance on fate's immortal hand, strive to undo what is already woven and staining, a crimson thread like blood in the loom. There is no way to escape Frieza, my petite prince, no satisfaction gained from opposing his superior will. Bid farewell to your title, love...watch the glittering dust of our demolished homeland carry it off to the darkest corners of space, a whisper of ravaged injustice that you are powerless to prevent.

But not tonight.

Tonight the sobs that wrack your slight form have nothing to do with the pending travesty of tomorrow.

Breathe deep, love, and suck in the thick humid heat to fill your heaving lungs. I didn't mean to tie the gag so tight, to still your breath as much as I did...Can you still taste Toma's scarlet essence, so newly shed, the musky sweat of my brow...? But I couldn't have the guards alerted by your cries, love...a good thing they have not yet mastered ki detection...Ah, but these are your last hours of darkness to immerse yourself in the beauty of the fiery Vegeta-sei night. Enjoy them, love...and breathe deep.

Aye, but you're a lovely boy, my Ouji...bathed in the softness of white lamp light that sculpts for me the shadowy promise of the older man I know with more gleaming certainty than my own name. The rusty reminder along your milky inner thigh has already staunched its pursuit of the course cloth beneath, the muddy scarlet under your manicured fingernails obscured within the sea of comforting satin that you cling to like the false assurance of divine salvation. Surely the stabbing has ebbed...you just need to relax...

I feel like I'm falling, the images firing off behind my furrowed lids exploding like so many colourful stars, a cacophony of icy sapphire, wrathful scarlet, and lucid green...Green like the colour of my eyes.

I know you never expected that. Even as I watch you writhe and jerk in a halo of golden Saiyan fury above me--the picture in my prophetic mind complete as you open eyes of lascivious green to gaze wantonly down at me...

But as my own eyes of dull ebony ease open, you're still prone and frozen beside me. Your hair an attractive brunette hue that will eventually fade with your youth. Ah, but it hardly matters. You look so much better in black anyway.

With the internal sight comes the familiar ache, the need and irrational yearning for my Saiyan no Ouji. You can't comprehend the nature of my hunger, chibi. You have years to live before you burn for me like I already smolder for you. A pity that I will die tomorrow and never rise to see those passion-filled orbs of enticing midnight glaze with lust as you groan my name through lips tightened white with the clenched effort required to repress the screams I invoke...

Ah, love...I see the tears have ceased their relentless venture of your paling features. Now, if only you could temper the rapid cadence of your throbbing pulse. I swear I can feel the percussion quality drumming in time to my own conscious breaths. Or maybe it's the years of dissonance--they have lent me the strength to harmonize with your sporadic melody of darkness and filmy light. You try so hard to be untouchable, unreachable, a black hole of emotion that reflects nothing of its intention. But I--he'll break through that brittle defense with his clumsy confessions of childlike consideration, his continuous attempts to penetrate that fathomless void...it inevitably ends the same, love.

Even a sovereign prince must bow before the insurmountable might of a higher authority. And fate has deemed you suited best for the delusionary status of the pauper and the prince.

Your flesh is clammy with sweat and I marvel at the resolve you muster not to flinch at my light caresses that trace the developing strength of your shoulders. After what I've done...but I couldn't help myself, my prince. Gomen nasai...you were too ready, too available...too taunting in my waking dreams--visions that torment me with the knowledge of what I know I will never possess. Not after night succumbs to the garish violence of our twin suns, introducing the dawn in a splendid array of violet, palest pink, and green...

You should have seen your face, chibi, when I turned to you with emerald eyes. The indomitable spirit of my infant son was mine for an instant, that immaculate potential that he hordes with a grasping fervor accessible just long enough to reveal to my prince the reality that legends are made of. You worshipped me then...I know the carpet left your knees to bear a burning rash, love, but they'll heal...

As will your throat.

Gomen nasai, Vegeta-sama...sometimes I don't know my own strength. If only I could have tapped that energy when it mattered most. Before the bastard alien saw fit to curse me, before my pack was slaughtered with neither remorse nor right...before I saw you...in my mind...in my dreams...these visions...You haunt me, love...and you will never even know my name.

Only that he looks remarkably like me.

Kakarott.

My son.

Your lover.

Rest well, my prince, for tomorrow the sun sets red.