All that Glitters
by Hentai Institute     More by this Writer
The love of a prince demands loyalty. Inspired by Dido's Here with Me

Written by Angelus.
Shota Deathfic

It was still dark when the boy opened his eyes to the unmarred quiet of the small, unkempt room that held the faint fragrance of a night spent in intimate dream.

A dream that echoed with the hushed caress of panting forms and sweating Saiyans…a thrusting pain, a jagged cry, and the upsurge intensity of tidal pleasure that almost had him seeing gold…

But these were just dreams…

Dreams…groaning softly at the tingling of his arm, the half-asleep demi-Saiyan sought to move the obstruction to his circulation with a light grunt of thoughtless exertion. He almost joined the shadows on the ceiling when the warm mass on his limb growled back, blinking aside the sand of Morpheus' passing with a sharp suction of breath.

"Stop moving, boy." It was mumbled, words formed with little conviction against the molded inner flesh of his upper arm. Exhaling the shock that loyally padded before relief, the youngest, and only Son swallowed, falling in amidst the rumpled pillows as the muscled arm of his companion drew him back, the elegance of gloveless fingers conforming to the angled plane of the slighter build he pinned beneath the heavier weight of his royal physique.

"Gomen nasai, Bejiita-san…" The heat of his blush was blessedly abandoned to the summer scent of sultry seduction, the patterned darkness of an obscured sun. The Saiyan shifted, one leg slipping over the smaller figure as the enclosing limb pulled him more firmly against his naked body.

"You haven't slept." Gohan almost protested, for surely the abruptness of his waking indicated some measure of rest…

"I have…" A snort as the sheets rustled, the man finding more repose in the draping, the uncommon temperature heightening the natural friction between them. If one can imagine, within the velvet blue and celestial silver of their solace, the Saiyan no Ouji nuzzling, an affectionate nip to mark the boy he claimed as subject, student…lover…

"No." Gohan shivered as flawless satin fingertips massaged over the space between his thighs, sighing as the pain was coaxed to lessen with his prince's seasoned touch. "I fucked you…" Turning his face to study the wall, crimson danced with indigo and faerie white. "…and you passed out." Moist lips took shameless advantage of his throat's exposure, the hand now at his abdomen teasing his sensitive navel.

"I-I…" Furious in his embarrassment, the Son clenched the sex-sullied sheets with a shaking fist, his other limb still engaged with the support of his paramour.

"You…" Slow, drawling, a purr of sadistic mockery that happened to precede the digits gaining conquest of his chest, the barely breath of taunting over hardening nubs of hypersensitivity made more so by the earlier assault of their virgin territory. "…what…" Black eyes fluttered close with the deepening of Bejiita's vocal promise, the pressure of hands that had him screaming the names of gods he didn't even know, deities the Saiyan no Ouji had taught him, their titles and distinction lost as his elder specified their proper usage in a most hands-on manner. "Gohan…"

The boy in question could only obey as his chin was raised in suitable respect toward his sovereign, the simple sound of his name on those lips he longed for transforming the pink of his uncertainty to a passionate red that saw his indisposed appendage circling the neck of his lover as his mouth was plundered. Wet heat had his toes curling and his tongue lapping adamantly in response to the Saiyan's insistent hunger, the stamina of his adolescent body proving his alien heritage as the man beside him nestled his compact frame in the sanctuary between his parted thighs for the fourth time since sunset. The gods only knew how training had progressed into the sweet lancing ache of first blood, how Gohan had clasped the back of his prince as his feet were lifted and braced against the broad shoulders of the Saiyan no Ouji, and how he had cried as the penetration of his unlikely lover flared brilliant scarlet in its redefining of pain…

But…Kami-sama…who else did he have? Who else was left to love him…?

Bejiita loved him. He knew it. The proud monarch didn't have to say the words he thought useless--the Son could see it in the way he adopted the demi-Saiyan after the sudden and unexplainable death of his father. The tireless need to teach his ways to the only one left in the universe to understand them. The insistence that the Son leave the shelter of his mother and join him in the seclusion of the wilderness to train…the prominence of strength over reason, determination over uncertainty…

Arching his back off the crumpled coverlet beneath, Gohan threaded needy fingers into the tangled tendrils of mussed ebony, whining mindlessly as his prone figure was manipulated by the Ouji's tongue, shuddering as one smooth palm stroked upward on the back of his thigh, drawing the leg to rest on the graceful dip of the prince's waist. Tossing, brow creased over closed obsidian, the youth willed the strength into his limb to stay as his lover commanded, marveling at the dexterity in the other's tongue as it swirled, painting erotic lines and circles of dampness on his chest and shoulders. Occasionally the teeth would 'slip' and the red his lover adored so much would rise in homage of his ministrations. This Gohan expected; the ferocity of dominance that crafted the Saiyan into a force to be feared. It was the tender bathing of his body with the worshipping wetness of his companion's mouth, the attention to his inner arm that had him writhing and twisting under the hardening flesh of his tormentor. Kami-sama…a paradox made blood and breath, the gentle caress and tearing of teeth, the scent of copper and sex…



The bedroom smelled like sex. Wrinkling his pink-frosted nose, the Son rolled over into the dip created by his lover's absent body. Five times…they had made love over five times. By the end of the last, the prince had Gohan seeing the stars of his lost planet, the fiery red and ancient white that seared his memory as though it were one of his own. Burying his face in worn cotton that still held the scented signature of his mate, the boy gathered the object close, purring quietly his contentment as he awaited the man's return.


An hour later saw the sun. Rousing from his dozed state of physical exhaustion, the teen ran a weary hand across his face, shaking the hair from his eyes that reminded him continually that he needed a trim. Though…his hesitance was marked by the obvious pleasure his companion found in fisting his hand in the Saiyan sable that tumbled down his back while he ravaged the willing chasm of his mouth…

Sitting up and cursing the sudden movement, Gohan fought down the irrational terror that robbed him of his breath and wrapped its icy fingers around the thrumming of his heart. Bejiita wasn't back yet. He was always back before sunrise…before the jinzouningen decided to play Russian roulette with the coastal cities they seemed rather fond of popping off these days.

Calm…he had to stay focused…Bejiita was fine. There was nothing that could destroy his determination to fuck fate. The Saiyan was invincible, undefeatable…unconquerable…

Right…and where was this omnipotent super hero when Frieza graciously shot a hole through his chest?

Gohan's onyx eyes stung with the tears Bejiita taught him not to shed. "A Saiyan does not cry, boy! We were born to fight, and, should the gods decide you worthy, you will die fighting! You mourn for the loss of that green bastard as though it were something to be ashamed of. A warrior is counted lucky to die with the honour he did. It is your father that you should pray the gods accept…"

Bejiita was fine. This was nothing like Frieza…he was a Super Saiyan now! He wasn't dead…his ki was faint, but detectable to one who knew where to look. Silencing the pessimistic voice in his head, the Son tripped awkwardly from the bed, wincing as last night's reminder came in the form of vertigo's merciless hand.

Nothing was wrong. This uneasy feeling was just the ache of inexperience in his stomach, nothing more. Nothing…

Until his heart skipped an actual beat and he stumbled to the floor with a gasp.

Nothing…

And then the steady thrum of Bejiita's ki exploded like a supernova.



Golden, radiant and encompassing like the warmth of their missing sun, the Saiyan no Ouji's aura shattered the ethereal darkness of shadows and softness. The flare of his flaming mane licked at the boy's taunt and writhing form, sharp, raw awareness of heat biting the tops of toes that locked at the man's lower back as powerful hips thrust downward into Gohan's willing, welcoming body.

White stars of pure, uncensored sensation sparked like a photographer's flash against the lowered lids of dazed obsidian, the brilliant blind of the prince's transformation narrowing his eyes against the savage Saiyan purity that sought to seize him through the lashing of liquid lightning that lanced--a smattering of malachite in uncompromised onyx. Always…always when Bejiita took him, he felt as though blessed, the affections of the Ouji meaning more than the need to beat the jinzouningen, more than the exquisitely fresh pain of Piccolo-san's loss, the dull, throbbing tedium that reminded him daily of his father's death. A mortal mistake not to be unmade, a high god's reckoning for the rain check the eldest Son had taken on his first trip to Enma-sama.

But Bejiita…

"Bejiita-san…hai…" Pressing well-defined shoulders into the plushness of the pillow behind, Gohan raised his narrow hips obediently off the bed, fingers clutching the impressive back of his paramour as the softly growled syllables of his name brushed breathless past his ear. "Hai…" Nuzzling at the tanned leather of his lover's cheek, a purr bathed in a metallic melody of amber waves and pulsing persuasion, the Son licked in a kittenish frenzy at the rounded ridge of the elder's ear, teeth nicking tenderly, an insistent tug of adoration as the broad hand on his inner thigh tightened in response, the hard-set pace slowing…withdrawing…gentle…to slide…deep…

Oh, Kami-sama…

Tingling heat churned in charnel delight, the muscles of his abdomen tensing as both legs cinched and sealed their hold on the Saiyan, drawing the man further into the awaiting space between his legs that made him see colours only god himself could paint…

As the impassioned prince moaned a guttural curse in his native tongue, the boy clamped clammy hands on shuddering shoulders, fingers twining, tangling in the sweaty strands that tickling and teased his nose and flushing features. Bejiita's wet, worshipping mouth on his throat threw him over the cliff of his precariously perching climax, a gravely snarl of primitive possession that shot through his whimpering figure forcing him to abandon his childish cries in favour of a scream that tore the music of their moaning duet into a crescendo of adolescent ascendance…



"No…" Gohan's whisper was stagnant against the dirty grit of a sand blown breeze, coughing through the thickness of blasted earth and smoldering ruins, sharp Saiyan eye scrounging the air for any signs of life. Gazing with wide eyes past his feet, the boy could only stare helpless at the destruction below, mouth slack as his senses registered the permeate scent of death through the smoky haze. Choking back the sob that clogged his breathing, the demi-Saiyan tightened both hands into fists at his sides, searching…seeking…

Bejiita's ki had lead him here. Wherever the hell *here* was…

But he had already said it. Here was hell. Hell on earth. And the jinzouningen were the harbingers of Satan himself.

"Gohan!" Turning with a fluidity of movement that had been unknown before the Saiyan no Ouji had deemed his third class hide worthy of training, Gohan adopted the instinctual fighting stance that had begun so many spars that had left him regrettably bruised, delightfully strained, and in the stoic warmth of his prince's bed.

Subduing the snarl that came with his pensive state, the Son straightened, though did not lower his arms from their defensive posture.

"Klillen-san…" Confused to the presence of his deceased father's old friend, Gohan crinkled an ebony brow. "You shouldn't be here. The…"

"Shh!" The man's eyes widened in the fear that both had become accustomed to, the innate terror that came with the simple utterance of the word--

"Jinzouningen…" A callused hand wrapped around the orange folds of the battered gi he had reverently removed from his father's closet, fingers digging into the worn material and dragging the boy gracelessly from the smoky sky to crouch behind the rusted remains of an air car.

"Quiet!" Klillen's head whipped around at the superior silence, frantic black searching for any signs…

Gohan swallowed, licking the parching dust from his lips as his anxious eyes followed their older companion's. Nothing save the antique creak of a blasted steel door that hung crookedly from its former post as the wind clawed its way through the bullet holes and gashes that mournfully told of its untimely demise. Crying…howling for the day that would see it fall completely to silence on the lunar landscape; to cease the reminder for all who gazed upon its misfortune--should your words rise more than my sigh, they'll find you…

"You have to leave, Gohan." Ebony seared through the grit to emblaze the seriousness of his words. "Don't ask questions, just go!" The demi-Saiyan opened his mouth to speak, though his elder had strictly forbidden. But he had to know. Bejiita was never out this late, never dallied beyond the dull wash of pink that signified the sun. He said he wouldn't fight the jinzouningens until his skill had been adequately passed onto his protégé, until Gohan had fully mastered the abilities that had seen entire planets disappear with the simple summoning of ki to his gloved finger…

Bejiita had promised.

Bejiita had given his royal word.

And Gohan…wasn't ready…

"Gohan," the hissing in his ear made him blink away the image of his prince, the barren scene of metal decay reaffirmed as the wind invoked its sentient fingers to play their sad song again.

"I can't, Klillen-san." The Son stood with a conviction reminiscent of his father, the too-big blue of the shirt he wore beneath his self-tailored orange tugged and taunted by the breeze that itched and snared his Saiyan mane to spitefully obscure his vision.


His brow creased in stranded incredulity as his alien comrade moved to stand, the tail that told of his ancestry slipping free from the obscenely cinched pants that hung on his boyish hips.

"You can't?" The shorter man grabbed for his sleeve, intent to set the teen straight. This was no place for him to be. Twice this morning he had almost been blasted to oblivion, an invitation to meet his friends in a life he was not yet willing to except. "What the hell do you mean, you CAN'T!?" Gripping the boy by the shoulders, Klillen jerked his body to face him, staring into the determined eyes of his best friend's only son. "This is no time to play the hero, Gohan. They'll KILL you! Just like they killed Piccolo!" Pain forked like lightening in black too old and aged for the fourteen years the boy carried on his back. Good. He was getting through to him. He'd be damned if he lost Gohan like he had lost the others…

"I'm not here to fight them, Klillen-san." Heaving a sigh that deflated his stoic composure, the half-breed pressed his back to the flat surface of debris and slid his defeated body down to slump against the ground. "I was just looking for--"

"Bejiita." Gohan's glazed sable sharpened at the words, and the man grit his teeth in frustration. "Always Bejiita!" A shaking fist came down hard into the palm of the other, the deadened sound louder than was safe. "He's not good for you, Gohan!" An impatient gesture waved away the boy's protests. "I know you say he's training you, but I could do that!" His mouth tightened in humility. "I may not be as strong, but at least I would not be shaming your father's memory. Not like he does every time he opens his foul mouth. It's not right, Gohan."

The demi-Saiyan pushed down the instinctual growl of indignance. Bejiita treated him well. The Saiyan no Ouji never gave him pain that was unnecessary. Every ache earned him strength, each breath-depriving blow lead him closer to becoming the Super Saiyan his father uncovered, the golden warrior that graced him with that brilliant glow, that fiery heat that burned beautiful between his legs…

Bejiita cared for him.

Bejiita loved him.

Even if he never said the words…the mere whisper of his name against his neck when gold bled black and they were left with shadows and silence between pants of pleasure, nips and licks of unspoken affection…

Bejiita had offered his name…

His title…

"I refuse to have this discussion again, Klillen." Gohan pushed up from his position with both palms, the back of his hand moving to brush aside the sable that marked his birthright. Bejiita said that Saiyans wear their hair with pride, that cutting it only cheapened their family name, dishonoured their natural inheritance. Pulling free the length of ribbon that bound it, the half-breed gathered it again at the nape, fingers fluidly wrapping and weaving until it was securely from his face. He hadn't allowed his mother take scissors to it, though she insisted almost every night now…

"Gohan, this is insane!" Klillen dragged a ragged hand over his face in exasperation. "Don't you see? He's just using you!" Gohan's eyes remained transfixed as his shorter compatriot gesticulated wildly in his peripheral. Destruction…the remains of buildings once grander than Grecian temples lay in ruins, fated to return to the elements that molded them into peaks, arches, and stairways that reached for the sun…

"Klillen…" Sighing deeply, Gohan tucked behind the stray strands blown renegade by the breeze, fixing the man that was nearly family with a steely stare not to be disputed. "I know that."



The exquisite sensation of his panting prince, the friction of his sated body breathing deep to regain the air exiled in the rapturous cry of climax were the first to return to the young Saiyan as watery pools of dazzled onyx opened to the quiet breath blown gently into the crook of his neck. Blinking past the blonde highlights of his lover's hair, Gohan groaned, shifting his hips against the heavier build of his spent partner to rest his smaller form more comfortably against the older man's thigh. Had his arms the strength, he would have run reverent hands down the definition of his Ouji's broad back. As it stood, the boy had barely the physical will to disentangle his fingers from the thickness of Bejiita's mane, the cramped kink of his digits a minute price to pay for the pleasure that preceded. Shaking in the aftermath of an orgasm that had him screaming the man's name in an octave only a boy his age could mortally achieve, Gohan began to purr his contentment to the silent figure that returned his carnal embrace.

It was answered with a low growl and a welting nip that was sure to leave a mark. The Son hissed, hands clenching in response as gossamer strands of gold fell featherlike from his fingertips to scatter with his breath.

"You love it." It was hardly in the Ouji's character to ask a question.

"H-hai…" Satin soft, like the rose his complexion impersonated, Bejiita's tongue dipped to taste the succulent salt that pooled in the increasing clarity of his shoulder. "I never--" he gasped as the wet muscle journeyed down his front to explore the perpetual virginity of his pubescent chest. "--said I didn't…"

"No…" Sleek, muscles moving beneath the slender silk of his skin, the prince crouched like a golden panther above the twitching thighs of his apprentice, tongue tickling at the small patch of new ebony that dotted a path toward his sex. "You wouldn't deny me…" A tender nip had him arching upward and he closed his midnight eyes to the stars his Ouji invoked. "Would you, Gohan…"

Shaking his head fervently, the Son clasped at the crimpled sheets, abandoning his trembling limbs to the will of his master as his dark prince lifted one willing leg to lie within the cradle of his lover's shoulder. Sighing hard, huffing into the assimilating twilight, the boy cried out weakly as the older man's more experienced lips discovered the exquisite delights of his inner thigh.

"Iie, Bejiita-san!" Amber tips prickled the heated expanse of his narrow chest with the monarch's throaty laughter, warm torrid breath on the hypersensitivity of his blissfully abused member driving all pretense of etiquette before his ragged attempts at composure.

"My good boy…" Devilish lips descended upon his navel, suckling in satisfaction of his words and subsequently rewarding him for his response.

"Hai, Bejiita-san…yours…" growling softly in admittance to his whimpered proclamation, the dusk darkened demi-Saiyan caressed down the covers, fingertips seeking the Saiyan's toned flesh as the man maneuvered, licked, and tantalized his protégé to plead, gasp and whine wordless at the unmerited stimulation.

But every adolescent keen, every murmur of approval was the Namek's own truth--Bejiita owned him as surely as the sun once rose, before the jinzouningen, before the death of his father…before Piccolo…

"Hn." A sound slap to the delicate underside of his thigh widened his watering eyes as his body tensed in anticipation. "What are you?"

Breath drawn with a shuddering moan, Gohan arched his back, mouth opening to form the phrase that had become his mantra with his unlikely adoption.

"Saiya-jin!"

Another resounding crack that left him feeling like a school boy caught placing tacks in the teacher's chair.

"Why are you Saiya-jin?"

Grimacing, suppressing the pain that fired his backside and thighs, Gohan gripped his inhibition by the horns, voice gaining volume at the Ouji's insistence.

"Because I'm strong!"

Bejiita's chuckle of favor granted him courage to face the bruising prompt, sweat beading on his brow and soaking the sable strands to stick against his flushed visage.

Growling softly, the slender figure of the Saiyan prince flashed his canines against the seasoned musk of the boy's skin.

"Why are you strong?"

Reveling in the promise of pleasure, the outdated notion of preliminary pain, Gohan's breath seized as the Ouji's mouth capped his cock. But he had played this game before. To receive, one must first please his prince…

"Because I train!" Swallowing hard, the preteen refused to release the strangle hold he flimsily maintained on his resolve. If he lost control, he wasn't worth the prince's time to teach.

Bejiita's apathetic touch tapped upward, resting against the tight, recovering curve of one pale hip, moving backward spider-like against his ass. Oh, Kami-sama…it always hurt so much more--

Smack.

"Why do you train?"

Burning, blurring, smudging the hard outline of the sparse furniture in the room into an underwater haze, Gohan tasted blood. Choking on the copper reminder of his own mortality, his tongue hastened to gather the congregation of ruby on his lower lip.

He was not weak.

He was Saiya-jin.

"To defeat my opposition!" The Saiyan no Ouji smoothed an impatient palm over the five finger brand, tongue merciless in its quest to undo him.

"Why!" Snarling, perfect white reclaimed the tender territory beside his sex, wrenching the words wrapped in pain from his throat.

"To protect my prince!" Teasing, a suggestion of cool relief in the stagnating oppression of high summer sun, the sovereign blew briefly on the unrelenting heat below his belly. Purring, deep, sincere and unthreatening, the compact Saiyan licked lightly up his shaft with calm concentration.

"Boy…" Rubbing the red of his eyes against the comforting cotton of the condensed pillow crushed to the headboard behind, Gohan blinked, quieted by the softer tone and pleasurable posture the prince assumed. Looking past the glistening sheen of his torso, the Son watched with awed ebony as the man he revered next to the gods themselves kiss almost gently along the indentation of his hip. "Gohan…" purring inquisitively, the tear stained teen stifled his sobs to turn an attentive ear to his soft-spoken sovereign. "Who is your prince?"

It hurt to smile, the bite in his lip cracking anew as his mouth was washed again in the metallic taste of personified scarlet.

"You…Bejiita-san…" The assault on his sensitivity was hardly that--lovingly, affectionately the Saiyan no Ouji parted pinkened lips to take the tip of Gohan's growing shaft into his mouth. The boy blinked at the sudden appearance of stars in the half-light as his older lover whispered his experience to the writhing whipcord of Saiyan puberty sprawled atop the secret-selling sheets.

"Bejiita Ouji…Kami-sama…" If this were heaven, perhaps death was not something he had to fear…

"I am not god, boy." Bejiita slapped his ass in stoic playfulness. Jumping at the unexpected decline in tension, the boy stared blankly at his smirking companion. When he made no move to correct, the prince chuckled lightly with eyes locked, demonic tongue tracing the fading crimson sigil on his thigh. Pausing above, perched with the promise of torment unmentionable, the Ouji allowed his student one more redemption.

"Who am I, boy?"



"I am the Saiyan no Ouji!"

The faint pulse of Bejiita's ki suddenly expanded, encompassed, and overcame the dusty darkness of the murky atmosphere. Like a lightning strike, Gohan took to the air, the ferocity of his desperation leaving the wild protests of his worried companion in the cloud of dirt behind.

"I am a prince, you bastard machines!"

Centered, focused, and unwavering in his pursuit of the voice that struck the cords of his instinct like the possessed bow of an insane virtuoso, the demi-Saiyan shot toward his mentor.

He was Saiya-jin.

He was strong so that he could defeat his opposition.

Protect his prince.

Bejiita.

Skeletal shells of brick and mortar dissolved in his haste, crumbling further to return to the earth, ashes to ashes and dust to dust…

A golden aura of primal intensity rose up against him as he flew, the extraordinary heat of Bejiita's fury slamming into his willowy form like a gale force wind. Gritting his teeth against the pain that sang of singed hair and burnt flesh, the boy persisted, stomach clenching with the prospect of the fight that was sure to follow his lover's call to arms. Lip trembling, the Son stoically denied the tears that stung his eyes as he pushed and stubbornly fought the sheer pressure of the prince's ki.

This wasn't happening…

He wasn't ready…

As abruptly as it surged, the energy diminished, leaving a circular indentation around the poised figure in center who stood with arms outstretched like the figure of god himself, a wordless challenge to the demons that had the audacity to oppose his omniscient will. Breathless, Gohan halted, staring in amazed fascination as the man he called master, lover, and teacher lowered his limbs to slide smoothly into a natural fighting position, slanted sable flickering left to right as his fists raised in defense, thighs tensing…

Then one hand uncurled and the Saiyan no Ouji smirked wickedly, forefinger moving in a taunting mock that clearly mirrored the message in his reflective ebony eyes. Bring it on, you man made motherfuckers. I'm a prince and I can easily kick your ass with the strength of my will alone.

"Bejiita-san…Iie…" A high pitched whine left the vicinity of his lips as, from the floating grime and grit of the settling destruction, two slender figures emerged from the shadows that bred and breathed them life.

"Jinzouningen…" Awed, the half-breed could do no more than stare, ignoring the taste of smoke and sulfur that dried the moisture in his mouth to paste. His mother had begged him not to test his abilities against the artificial humans, had only allowed him to train with the Saiyan prince under the express demand that he stay as far from the hell spawn as humanly possibly in these times of survival. And though he had made the boy very aware of the fact that he was NOT human, even Bejiita had forbid him fight the cyborgs until the day he assumed his position as royal defender.

When Bejiita was dead.

"Iie…you can't leave me, Bejiita…I'm not ready…I…can't…" Choking on the reality of his situation, he sniffed like a child as sadness conquered reason. Bejiita was really going to fight them--his cry of defiance was a testament to that, his smart-ass gesture of insolence the ink that was about to sign his name on Enma-sama's big black book.

Apparently tired of waiting, the Ouji attacked, the sharp crack of fist on flesh ripping his gaze from its inward trek to blink back the wetness of his absolute NEED to be wrong. With a guttural growl and gnash of teeth, the Saiyan launched a full volley assault on Juunanagou, swearing forcefully in Saiya-jin as he landed every hit, the intensity of his determination gaining him the upper hand before the second form in the unearthly duo appeared on the prince's blind side, managing a booted kick to the kidney that doubled him over and had Gohan grimacing in sympathy.

Hope bubbled within his breast as the sovereign rolled free from another blow, hands cupping an amber blast that threw back the black haired immortal and flattened his tattered body against the jagged debris of the city recently destroyed. Maybe this was it, maybe Bejiita was strong enough to beat them now. Piccolo-san hadn't been, but Bejiita-san was stronger still. They'd been training for almost two years. The prince was even able to go Super Saiyan. Just like his father when he'd killed Frieza on Namek. Surely the jinzouningen weren't more powerful than the Ice lizard had been. That was ridiculous, nothing man-made…

"He has spunk, I'll give him that." Pushing aside a cement chunk that should have crushed him completely, Juunanagou brushed grey-powdered black from his face.

"But he ruined our fun, Juunanagou," his sister stood with hands fisted at her hips, shaking back blonde from her blood stained brow. But Gohan didn't think they could bleed…

Snarling curses that he only caught words of…a prefix…an ancient ancestral Saiyan oath in a dead language, the prince of Saiyans stood in avid agitation as they spoke over him like a disobedient child.

"He's more fun than watching you try on clothes for hours at a time," the darker bringer of death stated in a vain imitation of monotone irritation.

"Fuck you," his female counterpart responded flatly, fingering a hole in the lighter stripe of her shirt. "It's not like you have better things--"

Gohan watched the twitch in his lover's temple throb in incalculable anger the longer their dialogue continued, teeth bared in rage as they complained to each other about the art of their entertainment. Swallowing hard, the boy prepared to move. This was it; it was time. He was going to do it, fly down as fast as he was inhumanly able and do his father's memory justice with the summoning of his favourite attack, Kamehameha their collective robotic ass into oblivion…

Shaking with anticipation of his bold maneuver, the demi-Saiyan diligently wrapped his anxious tail around his waist, balled his fists, bent his leg in a motion to charge…

When Bejiita raised unreadable eyes from his bickering opponents to stare at him directly. One swift slashing movement from his prince had him stiff in his tracks. The look froze heated Saiyan intent into an icicle of indecision and his heart physically skipped and left him breathless with the abnormality.

It went against all of his prior training to disobey his prince.

But…if he didn't…

The Saiyan no Ouji gave him no time to ponder the uncertainty of his disposition. In the moment it took for the oblivious Son to identify the affectionate farewell in the Ouji's fathomless ebony, the prince had powered to his full potential and openly demanded that destiny play his hidden hand.

As if marionettes held in opposite hands of the same puppeteer, Gero's deadly masterpieces lifted glowing hands toward the force that continually annoyed them. Juunanagou's golden streak knifed his lover through the breast, twisting his body grotesquely to the right as brilliant red blood wept freely from the wound. Juuhachigou caught his lower back with the same blazing dagger, jerking his falling form sharply to the left, the sickening crack of Bejiita's spine signaling his mortality as the reverberation of their blast sang into silence and the broken Saiyan no Ouji spiraled limply from the sky.



Gohan fell boneless onto the bed sheets, panting shallowly as the fire in his thighs simmered down to a dull heat. Groaning weakly, the boy kneaded shakily at the comforter with his fingertips, closing his heavy lids to the quiet shifting of the Saiyan prince as he moved to cover them both with the downy blanket. Swallowing against the dryness in his throat, he made no verbal protest as Bejiita slid an arm beneath and hauled him into a sitting position against his silken body. Wincing as the pain was unexpectedly renewed, the half-breed refused to allow his teacher to see the discomfort he was obviously in.

Licking parched lips, he gladly accepted the cool crystal glass pressed lightly to his mouth. One eye opened lazily as his hands wrapped around those that held the cup, tilting just enough to feel the flood of liquid refreshment sooth his senses. Sighing softly, Gohan leaned against his lover's chest, face turning into the musky curve of the Ouji's neck. Hearing the quiet clink as the glass was replaced on the nightstand, the demi-Saiyan blissfully licked at his cradling keeper, reveling in the warm palm that caressed over his hip and thigh to rest possessively on the bend of his knee.

"You are getting closer." Nuzzling like a cat into the calm scent of his master, Gohan purred in proud satisfaction. "Soon you will be sparring like a true Saiyan and not the neglected half-breed your bastard father raised you to be."

"Otousan didn't raise me," the boy whispered into the tickling strands of blonde gone black, teeth taking the tip of the older Saiyan's ear and tugging adoringly. It didn't hurt to talk about his father so much now. The prince made it easier somehow…the stoic tenderness he showed after taking his pleasures with the boy, after teaching him the importance of his position through the superiority of his strength, the Saiyan no Ouji often invoked conversation with his charge. It was moments like these that Gohan cherished more than the obscurity of the sun, and he wasn't about to allow the pain of the memories the Saiyan sought crack the bond forged between.

"Hm?" Bejiita snapped distractedly at his cub, growling back at the boy's more affectionate demeanor with a smirk of his own.

"'Tousan died the first time when I was four," Gohan ducked into the man's shoulder as the Ouji sought to nip his neck.

Arching an obsidian brow, the prince trailed a taunting hand promisingly up the boy's side. Stifling the giggle that would prove his undoing, the demi-Saiyan shook his head. He was not going to laugh, dammit…

Bejiita attacked with the swiftness of a striking viper, pinning the boy, slim wrists held firmly in his grip as he drove a knee between the younger's slender legs.

"You think to deny me, boy?" The prince grinned mercilessly down at his prey, poised above the other as if to begin another assault.

"Iie, Bejiita-san!" Laughing breathless, the boy shook the sable bangs from his eyes, straining against the flesh and blood binding of the Saiyan's grip.

"Hn. That's better." The Ouji bent to lick the child's lips before relinquishing his position to lie stretched out beside. Gathering the other's slighter body to his own, the prince ran approving fingers through the exquisite tangle of onyx that continued down his back. Pressing fiery lips to Gohan's forehead, Bejiita demanded gruffly, "Tell me."

Content in his place, the demi-Saiyan ran his smaller hand over the chiseled plane of his prince's chest, marveling at the definition, the tone, the deceptive softness that was merely a sheath to the power beneath.

"Some day, boy," the whisper blew endearingly over the awe in his eyes, though the gentleness was abruptly replaced by the sound slap to his ass that had the younger thanking all the gods his lover had taught him that his tail had been strategically out of range on the older man's thigh. "Now speak."



"Speak to me! Bejiita!" Clawing past the rubble that shrouded his prince's still form, Gohan begged vainly for reprieve from the pain that swarmed his faltering reason. He wasn't dead, he couldn't be gone…not with so much…left…

"Bejiita!!" Marble and mortar scratched savagely at his attempts to unsurface his lover's unresponsive figure. He ignored the blood that sought to flow from wounds unrealized in his panicked haste, a growling, desperate whine willing everything he had seen to simply be a dream, a nightmare that he would awaken from to the solid sound of Bejiita's deep and even breathing against his shoulder.

This wasn't real.

I want to wake up now…

"Bejiita…onegai…" Salt sprang in perspiration on his brow, burned his eyes to mingle painfully with his tears. With the movement of each jagged block, earned him only a newly jaded bruise and a lungful of gritty dust. Hyperventilation set in as the mountain of manmade rubble he had been throwing from the site of his sovereign's demise avalanched to cover all he had unearthed.

He didn't pause to wipe the moisture from his face or the saline from his lips. Bejiita…only Bejiita…always Bejiita…

"One…gai…my prince…" Panting in his apprehension, sobbing back the denial that welled like a tsunami of intimate sorrow, Gohan reached his hand into the depths of rock and shadows that held the promise of hope and the disappointment of death…

It met with only air.

"Dammit! Bejiita!" He heaved the weight of his earthly opposition with a cry of exertion. "Don't you dare die on me! You promised me you would never die!" Falling to his knees, scraping futilely at the deepening indentation as his fingernails chipped and bled scarlet from his fingertips, the remaining Son struggled with a reality he was simply unwilling to face.

"I hate you!" he screeched, fists pounding granite into a powder of filmy white that coated his hands like the gloves of his Ouji. "You said you would never leave! That I wouldn't have to do this alone…" Hiccupping his frustration, wheezing for breath that he never wished to draw again, Gohan lifted another cracking piece…

White…the fingers that curled lifeless amidst the dying blacks and consuming greys had once been flawlessly white…

Like the grace in the hand that bore them with such infallible pride…

Bejiita…

"Kami-sama…" Gohan choked back a prayer laid too late for his beloved, reverent hands extending toward the battered scarlet reflections of a once vibrant fist that contained the sole ability to end his life at any time…

That chose, by chance, to adore him instead…

"Iie…onegai…" Clasping, fingers wrapping around the dirtied palm, Gohan put his back into pulling, salvaging, wishing…

"Gohan!" Closing his eyes and ears to the anxious call, the demi-Saiyan continued, feet bracing as his efforts yielded relief and Bejiita was revealed.

"You have to go NOW, Gohan!" Strong hands gripped his shoulders to wrench him free from the sight of his sovereign.

Unmoving.

Unbreathing.

Broken…

Black…

Swallowing hard, he violently shrugged off the worried pleas of his friend, crawling without feeling toward the prone figure that still bore the face of the man he loved more than life. Dead.

Like his father.

Like Piccolo-san.

"Make him better, Klillen-san…" The Son's soft voice rippled with the strength of his emotion. "Give him a Kami-damned senzu, Klillen!" Agony shredded the last of his words into incoherence as trembling, one hand brushed aside the crimson stain from paling cheeks, trailing disbelievingly over slack and bloodly lips.

"You don't understand! They're still here, Gohan!" He was forcefully whipped around to face the man that sought to save his suicidal intuition. "Bejiita's dead! Dead, you hear me! Dead! Like you're going to be if we don't get the hell out of here!"

Down before he knew his hand had raised to strike, Gohan glared furiously at his former companion, fist lowering slowly to his side as he turned deliberately to his fallen prince.

"Bejiita…my Ouji…" There wasn't enough room in this stripped and desolate world for his pain. Dark eyes that once glittered with malicious affection had lost their luster, the feline movement cut to the quick with a single severing blade.

Never golden again.

It began as a flicker, a warning to the approaching steps that coaxed death to heel behind. An electrifying flash of amber anger as damp and saddened sable flooded with indigo intolerance.

"I am Saiya-jin…" Footsteps fell dangerously at his back as the sound of Klillen's fearful breathing throbbed in conjecture to his heartbeat.

"I am strong." Three steps completed the turn from his pallid lover.

"I failed in my protection…" Pain raked its familiar claws through the remainder of his inherent mercy. Darkness shaded the lightening of his aura as the mechanical mercenaries finished their advance.

Black blazed blue as his energy enveloped the agony and made it its own.

"I will not fail again!"



"…do better next time…on'gai…Otousan…" Wrapped within the sheets and quietly coaxed peace of dreams too comforting to be real, Gohan groaned fitfully in sleep, the memories reigned so tightly in the daylight hours slacking in his grip to traipse unwanted through the tangle of his traumatized mind. Images of his father, like the preciousness of his mother's photo album, aligned themselves like the ribbons and trophies on his shelves at home.

The happiness of a birthday party, the sweetness of vanilla frosting tickling his palette as his parents planned his perfect future and his Ojiisan handed him another gift, a book, just like the last…but this one had pictures…

The crinkling of coloured paper…another year….swimming at the lake in the lazy heat of summer sun, the glistening shimmer of beaded amber as it pooled and dried on his chest and he lay back drowsily against the shore, listening to the dip, splash, and laughter as another fish was bested by his father's speed…

"…don't leave…"

Speed. Not fast enough. Not strong enough to save his father from the towering man who spoke in riddles and lies. Aliens…space…brother…

Death, again. Once, twice…but Shenron's dead too, and Kami is nothing more than a word whispered in futility before…before…

"…nm…Piccolo-san…behind…"

Blood, thick, cloying, staining his gi as it sprayed…as they ripped apart his sensei like a piñata, purple confetti falling like…falling…

…pain as his face was slapped, his shoulder clasped unforgivingly in the iron grip of a man…his lover…

Love me…

"…father's dead, Gohan. That fucking Namek is dead." Anger shredded through the superficial sensitivity as his denial was continually repeated. "…ing act together, boy, or the whole damn planet's going to fall down around your fucking ears while you sit here and cry."

Tears…but not enough to drown the ache, the pulsing rhythm of shattering, soundless screaming brought on by the vision of his lover…pale…unmoving…



"Dead…" Like a mantra that granted no salvation, the demi-Saiyan succumbed to his recitation, eyes swollen with the task of tears obediently collecting another batch to soak the dingy once-white of the fabric he held.

One glove.

All that remained of the Saiyan no Ouji.

The last piece of a heart too worn with weeping to do anything but quietly, monotonously…

"…dead…"

The tide crashed against his failing defenses, and the Son sank to his knees in the sterility of his childhood bedroom, shaking, gasping with the struggle of breath over breaking, the utter difficulty with which he strove to perform such a menial labour…

The gods only knew how he meant to survive. How each day from this could possibly hold the attraction of attempting to wake, fight…

Care…

He wanted to die. Death would bring him to his father, his sensei, his lover…give him back everything that had been taken from him…

Blinking back the gummy glue of salt that clung to his lashes, Gohan stared blankly at the object in his lap, fingers curling naturally around the article as though still holding the hand that once animated it. Rust-red dotted the wrist, a wet patch of thunder storm grey bleeding outward to darken it.

He didn't want to be a hero.

He didn't want to save the world.

He wanted summers with his father and training with Piccolo-san. He wanted his mother happy again, and, maybe, a little brother…

He wanted his Okaasan to bring him lemonade while he studied, and after, when the sun had painted the tree-line with brushstrokes of watercolor, he would slip the latch on his window and follow the dark path of sleeping houses into the city, to Capsule Corporation.

And Bejiita would meet him wordlessly, welcome without question, and by the bright light of Venus, the rest of the world would simply fall away…

But that wasn't going to happen. Kami was dead, and no amount of childhood wishing was going to change what had already occurred.

But none of that mattered now.

White fell heavily to the floor as he stood, and it was only then that a faint throb reminded him of his injuries. His broken ribs robbed him again of breath as he braced one hand against the wall. Narrowly, they had both managed to escape the pernicious pair of deceptive machines, Gohan's rage burning brilliant enough to stun them into sparing their lives.

Klillen had softly informed him that he was going to Capsule Corp to give Bulma the news of Bejiita's death. The betrayal he felt was quickly swallowed by the enormity of his grief, as he had flown back to the only place he knew to go that wouldn't remind him of the man he loved, twice buried under unfathomable tons of rubble.

Home.

Memories of his father were so much easier to wash away than those of his mate…and the fresh, lancing wound of that reality was too much to take.

Swallowing past the burning barrier in his throat, the young Son crept quietly back to the window of his entrance, leaving his sleeping mother oblivious to his presence. She probably thought he was dead by now, anyway.

By morning she would be right.

For two years Son Gohan had allowed death to come to him.

But without Bejiita…without the security of his arms, the comfort of his lips…

Nothing.

Emptiness enveloped the once-bright Son, and like the darkened star for which he formerly burned Gohan allowed the seduction of simple unfeeling twilight to supercede his inherent brilliance.

Now was the time to seek out death.

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