Welcome to Boxer & Rice

The twin chorus of grunts and whimpers ran hell bent and furious through the empty air of the small, dimly lit enclosure. Wings--vines and branches, the earthy limbs of overgrown vegetation tangled lovingly around the figures tugging and stroking, determined to out do the other in their self-proclaimed competition of adolescent endurance. The light, musky scent of puberty mixed with the sickly sweet fragrance of sweat and that peculiar odor of manliness every boy is seen to inherits from the paternal half of their respective parentage as the dyad worked themselves into the frenzy that would bring to fruition their one and common goal.

Release.

"Ii...iie...not this time..."

"Ha...I did it once, you...don’t think I can...do it again...?"

Gritting his teeth, focusing his efforts on the task at hand, the young boy made a grab for the small, travel-sized tube of lotion his companion discretely removed from his mother’s dresser four days previous--the unnoticed anniversary of a novel notion.

After all, boys will be boys...

"Iie!" The small cylinder was forcefully yanked from his grip before he had the time to properly respond, a mere pausing of his efforts brought a frown to his face. "No more. You used too much as it is." The hissing chastisement was forced past clenched teeth--one eye closing as a small whine escaped him.

"But it hurts when I don’t use enough, Trunks-kun..." he knit his brow, watching his princely companion refuse to break for conversation. "Ano..." Biting his lower lip, steeling that ever inherent ‘Son resolve’, the smallest member of that outlandish clan huffed as he resumed the monotonous, repetitive pumping that signified his efforts to catch up to the pasteled-demi.

Knitting his brow and tightening his grip the heavenly half of the Son house ignored the ache and burn in his arm, gritting his teeth in silent assault on the draw and struggle he undertook not a full week ago. He’d beat him yet, by Kami.

He wasn’t going to eat that damn cookie this time.

Turning a cool eye to the figure at his side, the future prince of all things hoi-poi smirked. It really was exciting. "Aaa...hhnn..." And he was really close...just a little more...he could feel it in his balls...the way they tightened...Dende, he needed to--

"Hai!"

Turning one wide eye to his dark cohort, shock pulling his fingers to grip his stiff shaft a little too firmly, Trunks blinked.

"I told you...Trunks-kun..." it was a winded statement, accented with the solid splotch of Son spunk that decorated the small saucer and it’s sole occupant. "Now it’s your turn." Flashing the endearing sign of his victory, the flustered boy wiped a slick hand on the grass below. Plopping down to sit, he smiled vacantly up to his counterpart.

Refusing the present champion his moment of glory, the brat prince cupped his balls and squeezed, grunting out the release he’d been so close in achieving--and being the fiend he was, aimed a little to the right.

"Trunks! Yamero!" Shielding his face from the onslaught of princely goodness brought forth from the afternoon of hard work, the youngest demi-Saiyan fell back on his ass, wincing as his toe disturbed the slick porcelain laying indifferent between the two. "Trunks-kun! That was so gross!" Wiping the cooling trail of Ouji essence from his arm and cheek, Goten stuck his tongue out in defense. "You lost, Trunks! It was fair and everything!" He pointed indignantly to the stoneware bearing the creamy proof of his claim, forcing wild bangs from his vision as a gust of wind suddenly invaded their little hovel. "You know the deal, Trunks! You gotta!"

Arching a brow in stoic defiance to the younger lad’s claim, the Briefs boy shook his head, pulling his belt tightly to his waist. "I know what I said, Goten. You don’t need to remind me." Looking to the milky frost spanning the radius of the plate and beyond, trunks knelt, grimace facing away from the boy beside him. Huffing, he reached down slowly, somewhat surprised at the lack of odor the Son’s explosion carried on the air as it made its final descent toward the torture in queue. Damn it all. It was a mere matter of time before the boy had caught up to him anyhow. Might as well take it like the man he thought he was....

"You gotta, Trunks-kun." The prodding reminder of his compatriot drew his azure ice to the side, a shrug greeting the fair-featured demi. "’Sides, doesn’t really taste as bad as you think."

"OI! Trunks! Goten!"

Cerulean barking its fear to ebony comparatives, the boys paled at the summons. Standing without a second thought to the task he’d been blessedly saved from, the elder teen threw a quick glance to his darker half and headed through the brush and away from the evidence of their little escapade.

Like his mother would ever notice one plate of dozens missing, right...?

"Trunks-kun!" Struggling to tie his sash, the lone demi stood shakily, turning automatically at the rustling leaves and twigs that approached. "Otousan!" Eyes wide and unblinking the frightened figure fled along the same trail as his predecessor, leaving the remains of their activities to the quiet whispers and calm buzz of the nature that surrounded them.

"Goten...?" Tilting his head to the side, the eldest Son knit his brow in confusion, watching as his orange clad offspring sprang into action and rushed at top speed in the opposite direction. Pursing his lips in utter loss, Gokuu shrugged his broad shoulders as he attempted to better fit himself into the small enclosure that marked the secret hiding place the two boys disappeared to when ever they were needed, wanted, or baths had to be taken.

"Hmn. Nice." Admiring the foliage in its fullest blossom, the earthen Saiyan explored the bantam bungalow, pausing at the sudden promise of something...promising...

Leaning down, beaming brightly, the Son plucked a small plate bearing one open sandwich cookie from the ground. "Cool! A cookie!" Taking a quick look over his shoulder, certain at last that Chichi would never be aware of how he may possibly spoil his appetite, the gentle giant capped the cream filled delight and popped it into his mouth, munching with the fervor that is known only to Son Gokuu.

"Hmn..." halting briefly in his attack, he closed his eyes, "hmn..." Unfaltering in his innocence, he continued chewing, brow furrowed tightly.

He swallowed.

The constant thrum of insect hum, the sing-song call of birds, even the scuffle and roll small, woodland creatures seemed to...stop--as the world itself had suddenly fallen quiet, Gokuu turned a deaf ear to his surroundings. Running his tongue over and between his teeth, hairline crinkling with his intense judgment, the lofty gladiator swallowed once more. Blinking, he licked his lips and ran a finger along the face of the plate--suckling the excess filling from his finger he turned to leave the vacated shelter.

"Needs milk."