A/N: I HAVE REVIEWERS! Da da dee dum…yeah! Hee hee…people like it. They really do. Yay yay yay. I love you, and in regards to this chapter…can we say MELODRAMA? It is. No kidding.
Oh yeah…this part? Lemony. REALLY.
//Gohan's thoughts//
Vegeta's thoughts
||Vegeta's Other thoughts||
~~~~~~~~
Point of View 3 Style
His fingers touched my face like he meant it.
//predator, think predator. you can't trust him, you have no reason to, don't trust him. he'll hurt you. he hurts everyone, he even hurts himself you've seen it. he can't help it, he can't stop and neither can you, get out of there, you've got to get out of there get outta there now.//
My eyes slid closed, shutting off my awareness of the outside world of everything except the warmth and rubbery laziness that covered my muscles and his fingers on me. I wondered what he was thinking when I did that. Showed how much he affected me, how little I was going to fight.
Laughing, probably.
Laughing at me, how easily I succumbed, my weakness, my capriciousness.
Or maybe he was angry. He often was, and I could never really tell when or why or how; only Bulma-san and 'tousan (sometimes) seemed to have that magic Vegeta-meter in their anatomy.
Needless to say, I felt very inadequate.
I wanted him to hurry. I wanted this over.
I needed to back off, there's defending what's mine, being stupid, losing, keeping, and strangling what's mine.
He is mine. There's no need to worry about that anymore, he is mine but… This limbo is killing me.
Come on bastard, you frickin' monster, come and make your move. I know you want to, know you're waiting for it, quit dallying around in a circle and just do it.
// …hurts//
At any rate, I surrendered, for a time, although reluctantly and he could do anything he wanted to me. Cut me, kill me-
His mouth brushed against my cheek,
-kiss me.
I cried out softly, then my temperature flared until my hearing burst.
//he's gonna laugh!//
He had barely done anything, and I was excited like a high school prom virgin that won round trip tickets to the Sex Train to Heaven, and that wasn't even something I wanted even if I did fit the description.
I was so pathetic.
His tongue slipped into my mouth, and he kissed me again.
~~~~~~~~
Mental Sub-Style
Pushed his shoulder hard off balance, sharp splintery rough pain at the junction of his shoulder, the ball joint, nearly knocking the eight ball out. Knocking it hard to the ground with the sharp of his palm. Nearly rendering it useless. Knocking him to the floor, into the carpet, while he struggled to get up and take what was by biology promised.
A hard, funny kick to the inside side of his knee, the cap of his knee, the brass hinge of his knee, while he was splayed out on the floor. Pain, a strange almost stretching feeling in his leg quickly forgotten.
//attack!//
Hard sharp teeth clicking against his own, hot and sweltering sweaty humid. Smell of burning, clean smoke, blue tobacco mist.
Tally situation:
One arm and leg were hurt, now swelling, and he'd be unable to use them immediately well unless he got incredibly angry and didn't care if he would break them more. Divide and conquer. Pull them apart then pick at the pieces and the prize is delivered thusly.
Why?
Lips on his lips.
Hard rough fingers on him, ripping and yanking his clothes off, pushing and slamming his own arching and anxious body back onto the floor.
_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…_
Sloppy slurpy warm licks down the line of his neck, his flanks bare against the rough dirty carpet that he'd been sick on.
Lips suckled and licked at his eyelids, over the slender junction of his nose and brow, down his cheeks and into his mouth. Trying to eat him, the mouth was trying to eat him, trying to eat him all up.
Swapping spit.
Swapping a lot of boiling milky-spicy saliva infused with alcohol and stimulants.
Rough impatient hands shoved between his thighs and pushed them open, stroking roughly over his erection, fogging into his skin and teeth biting when he thrashed and shouted and screamed.
He dug his fingers into the bronzed tiled back, smooth and slippery above him.
Scents swirled and mixed in the air currents, heat forming a bean-like shell around them while the wind missiled the outside with ice and cold.
One arm holding down on his hips, something like a wooden eraser dripping wet shoved thrust pushed up(?!) his ass.
He cried out once, and tried to squirm away, revulsion and a mixture of pain, humiliation, and fear flooding his mind. Had to get out, out of there out of his life, had to get out of there before something happened that wasn't supposed to.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
He was entered hard.
He screamed hard, loud, sharp and raw like spring's new grass, like crimson blood against metal that was new that it was wrong, it was all wrong, this wasn't supposed to happen and he wanted it.
His body seemed to freeze, paralyze, and his limbs and nerves screamed to move, to twitch, and to scrape and claw and fight and hit and he couldn't do it. He couldn't move. He was cold, he was burning, his nerves were dancing frantically and dying everywhere and he could smell blood-his blood-thick in the air.
He was alone. In his pain, in his mind, he scratched his nails against the walls until they were bloody and the bones were grinding in sharp sounds and he couldn't move. He couldn't move. It was cold and smelled like concrete. He was alone.
Above him, over the sound of his own screams, empty words, and heartbeat he could hear snarls and low growls, not like a dog but something bigger, like a bear or wolf, the old ones from the Norse legends, a deep metallic rumbling baritone sub-terrain earth level that the humanoid diaphragm simply couldn't produce.
It was alien and primitive, more like making love (love?) to a wild beast than anything associated with cutlery.
The wind screamed and crashed like the Atlantic Ocean.
Interspersed by his dropping acuity due to blood loss, endorphins, and the certain knowledge of death, he was able to hear mixed obscenities, but still in that voice.
That bottomless, leaden voice.
His enthusiasm returned in a rush to him as a mouth found his, teeth forgotten for once. Affection, eagerness and a kind of relieved authenticity played on his wounded lips and pride, a tongue seducing his own to dance.
He latched onto it eagerly, starved and desperate, pulling and sucking hard out the tongue as if it were a completely different part of the anatomy.
Something like a groan, or a laugh or possibly a curse vibrated down his throat, and he swallowed it.
Attention.
//any at all, just don't leave me alone.//
His mouth was yanked suddenly as the other threw back his head and screamed his victory, his superiority, and his pleasure. He arched and screamed a pathetic little sparrow's squawk as something wet and warm flooded him where it wasn't supposed to. His heart was beating so hard he was blind. He was going to die. He was going to die. His heart was beating too hard, he could smell too much of his own blood in the air, and there was so much pain and relief fighting in him it hurt.
He tried to pull air into his lungs through a straw between his lips on the carpet, and then his stomach hurt because it was folded over a shoulder.
Feelings not his own twitched and jerked slowly into his mind: wonder, anxiety, pleasure, lust, and definite conquest.
You haven't……yet. You … conquered me yet. …… won't …, brat. The night … over yet.
The next thing he knew he was tossed on something flat that yielded, covered with cloth. Hot humid flesh covered his mouth, and he welcomed it. Hot humidity traced and teased down and around his body, he could hear his own sounds, and engulfed him.
He stopped thinking.
~~~~~~~
A/N: The first lemon scene, not the only one. The others aren't like this, no worries. Becoming something of an epic, this one is.
~~~~~~~
Dream Style
Gohan dreams:
The ground is warm and wet between his toes, pads of silt collected under the ball and heel of his feet. The smell of decaying compost and thriving flora is off set by a salty, mineral breeze, whispering in his ear after the tropical hurricane that had thrashed the treetops.
He walks slowly through the growth, his back and abdomen nakedly clean and chilled in the temperate climate until he finds the animal.
It's a giant slate-blue yak with a cow's head.
His nostrils flare: the humidity only makes the bovine stench stronger.
He climbs up a tree like a giant spider to get a better view of the creature, noting without thought that it looks now like an American bison, coarse hair around the head and thin fur on the sides.
It's too big to move easily among the trees.
The creature stops grazing to stare him straight in the eye, and he experiences Double Destiny. One impulse commands his fingers to yank his stone knife out and get down to the ground, away where it was safe. He has no knife. One impulse commands his body to spring at the creature's back and break it's body and snap it's neck.
He has no knife.
Instinct.
Played out.
An elbow and shoulder blade feel bruised and cut after the struggle, and he has opened the stomach with his bare hands and teeth.
//greasy blue warmth ripped and pushed through –stench- spit/ pulled/ pushed/ ripped/ thrust//
//?//
He freezes, and then straightens quickly, surveying the size of the animal, before looking at his hands. His hands were dark and slippery with filth and mud.
He presses one hand against his cool bare chest, and smears the goop down his stomach.
*
Vegeta dreams:
He skitters across the tile, disinfectant and polish flooding his nose.
His back has been flogged and his sides stabbed; the wounds only glow and burn, but he doesn't feel pain.
He doesn't slow down.
Quiet voices buzz out of the ceiling: Clever little…the demon isn't he?\\…shouldn't. He probably bites. \\Can… do tricks? \\…Tricksy little…convince yourself first!// Good…you've gotten me excited. \\
It's too dark, he can't see the walls, but knows where they are by the echoes of his footsteps. He doesn't know if he's running to something or away, but he doesn't feel fear or anger.
Only a sense of purpose.
Something he forgot. Something important. He's running around in the dark in a castle (it is.) he doesn't recognize, searching for something he doesn't know, and running from something he isn't afraid of.
He's being toyed with.
So he stops.
The nagging stays in his mind, calling him an idiot, urging him to run. He ignores it. He's gotten good at ignoring things.
Something's wrong.
He opens his fighter's awareness, not searching with or for ki but with instinct that comes from a lifetime of expecting the blow. He can sense himself; sense a gray knot, a vague quiet sense of undercurrent energy whispering, but no enemy. No imminent danger.
Hn. The knot then.
He concentrates on it, and begins walking across the tile in the direction that calls, before stopping when he realizes it isn't there anymore.
Changed. It moved. It's running away from him.
Prey.
He follows.
~~~~~~~~
A/N: This visual was largely inspired by chapter 1 in Xero Sky's fic Inferno.
~~~~~~~~
Narrative style
The white washed walls of the domed enclosure stood out amid the swirling whiteness only through its immobility. The temperature was a little above freezing, light drift snow flying up like pigeons to resettle elsewhere while the air currents swirled and waited in the rafters.
A rectangle of black opened in the white blob, then closed, leaving only the bottom half dark and a speck of black at the top.
Vegeta surveyed the mutable white with an air of relaxed superiority, a smug and lazy smile on his lips.
He strolls out into the snow that comes up to his knees, the wind flapping the charcoal sweat pants against the muscles in his legs, snow melting and later steaming and evaporating on instant contact with his skin or even the air near him.
He stops a few yards away from the house, small puddles of melted snow with hidden clumps of dormant linches revealed trailing him.
He closes his eyes, the small sweet smile flickering in and out, his arms crossed only casually over his bare chest.
He stands like that quietly, nearly meditating.
Then his eyes slide open and his smile dies.
He starts to run out into the tundra to wash out his mouth with snow, chewing it between his teeth before spitting it out and swallowing more.
Gohan opened his eyes, wincing at the pain and light, and the tousled cotton sheets that were the first thing to meet his eyes.
He closed them again.
He didn't need to look to know he was alone.
~~~~~~~
Morning-After Style
Squirming, he hurt all over. By that time, his knee and shoulder were not the only major injuries he had sustained. It was impossible to tell the time, the lights were all turned off and the sunlight useless and absent.
Wincing, twitching, he struggled against the barbed wire nerves that were tirelessly telling him of his numerous injuries of bruised and torn flesh. Even his bones hurt, but he didn't think any of them were broken.
From the scrambled and fried memories he had of last night's battle, he couldn't remember any of them being broken. At least one thing turned out right: Vegeta had been furious. And he had been more than a little rough.
Gohan winced as he placed his feet on the floor, and tried to persuade them that they were supposed to flat, and not curled like a bird's claws. There was an interesting masochistic giddy moment as he felt his muscles and bones creak and splinter as they tried to re-align themselves in correct lines. He pressed them into the floor, leaning on his knees with his arms, testing to see if his feet could take his weight.
It looked strange, feet. Two fairly pale flat appendages that looked pretty fragile when one thought about it. And then there were all those toes. How could they possibly be useful, just sticking out like that, and being so small? Strange. Indeed.
Damn.
He knew his ribs and pelvis wouldn't be able to walk for at least another day, or a few hours at the very least. There was no way he was walking anywhere soon, his thighs wouldn't even be able to stumble to the bathroom in the condition they were in. And in accordance to whatever Murphy Fucker Laws that were currently presiding over his life, he had to get to the bathroom immediately and was nowhere near the fatigued mental state that would allow him total indifference to where he released.
Gently, painfully, he trickled to his knees before falling heavily onto his arms, gasping more than a little, the sheer amount of pain he was feeling astounding him. He hadn't thought he was that hurt, yet the amount of pain he was feeling said otherwise. Amazing. Right.
He wished, very quickly, that he didn't have to be a youthful strong Saiyan that never asked for help and was completely self-sufficient and then some. He wished, even quicker, that he could ask someone for help. He wished even more there was someone around for him to ask and be embarrassed by.
After that interesting bit of information, he eased himself forward until he was laying flat along the floor on his elbows. His heavy breathing sounded loud in the empty house, disconcertingly too loud to his own ears. He couldn't even hear the wind. His knees were of only minor help in mobility; he had to rely on his arms.
It was a long, slow journey before he reached the bathroom.
He wasn't fast enough to get there in time, but he was fast enough to take a shower afterwards.
~~~~~~~
Documentary Style
Of course it didn't stop there.
Bond mates between same sexes were unusual, since they didn't serve any biological purpose, such as producing offspring that would have the same favorable characteristics and strengths as the parents had. Between two females and especially for two males this was nearly impossible.
They had met in the kitchen, Vegeta shirtless and irritable because of the cold and other things, and Gohan licking his wounds and eating some very stale bread. Gohan had looked up the minute he heard the door slam, felt himself blush involuntarily, and swallowed awkwardly. Vegeta had taken one look at him and had fought down the bitter urge to break Gohan's neck and beat his head off.
Their eyes had met.
The dam had burst.
Mutual consent had been requested and received.
Hands slapped and pulled and stroked and hit, teeth scraped over shoulders and mouths attempted to devour any and all in reach while their bodies flattened and ran together without thought.
The coupling was frantic and fast, without preamble or embarrassment, and obviously controlled by Vegeta. Gohan came after a few seconds, rough, messy, without even time for a decent scream or a lasting amount of satisfaction.
It seemed oddly anti-climatic after all his labors, all his efforts to get Vegeta to be with him and stay near him. He fought off the waves of resentment and disappointed, and simply tried to hold one while he was ridden hard, long, even after Vegeta came and marked him as his own again and again.
Gohan needn't have worried. His libido was at its peak, his arousal returning in a rush and quickly swallowed and stroked and imploded by the stimulation to his prostrate.
They never spoke, except to scream and swear.
ice glossed over my skin, his name on my lips his name
~~~~~~~
Analyzing Style
The boy was contradiction.
This was something Vegeta had always known. Shy, hesitant, slow to action but so responsive, to anything.
From the looks Vegeta casually threw him while the boy cooked, to slight shifts in the intonation of his voice that could grab the boy faster than a frenzy and have him blushing, to slight, casual touches.
It was fun to play with the boy. It was better to fuck him.
Those were definitely the highlights of Vegeta's day, sometimes even too intense and thick even for him. Gohan was always enthusiastic, always eager, and rarely tired. Surprisingly, once the lights were out, the boy was rough, even casually masochistic, and often hostile, though he always let Vegeta dominate.
Control lay precariously defined between them, with the Gohan the stronger and occasionally even more aggressive, yet Vegeta the more vicious and dominate.
As long as he was fucked regularly, the violence and famine of the Heat didn't affect the boy, and Vegeta was allowed control.
Vegeta normally hated ultimatums, but for this he was willing to tolerate. He could be as rough or cruel with the boy as he liked, and the boy responded in kind, scratching and biting and swearing far more badly than what Vegeta often did.
Gohan kept his word also; he let Vegeta do whatever he wanted. From begging and whimpering, to little games where his blood flowed all over the bathroom and painted Vegeta's teeth a deeply satisfying pink tint. And he would do anything Vegeta asked. Anything. What's more, he appeared to enjoy it. The boy was a contradiction.
The boy was contradiction every fucking day they did.
The only real problem was that the brat was so damn clingy; he couldn't stand to have Vegeta more than a few feet from him, and followed him when Vegeta needed time on his own. Naturally, this pissed Vegeta off.
Gohan could be as clingy and cozy with his friends and family as he liked, but Vegeta was neither. The first time he had kindly told the boy to fuck off, to which Gohan had responded that was exactly what he was there for.
They had progressed to a mild fist-fight, the boy fighting, and wound up groping Vegeta instead and having sex on the ice, which must've been uncomfortable for the boy's backside, but he never hesitated or stopped. He only urged for more, and watched Vegeta from under his dark lashes in a way that was so incredibly slutty and bitchy and cheap it had disgusted Vegeta more than anything else and had turned him on incredibly. He has so much power over Gohan. Infinite, and total, except for anything that contradicted Gohan's desires.
In the end, it was Vegeta that got disgruntled about it first. It was never enough for Gohan.
It wasn't just that he had to have sex nearly every 15 minutes, but he went mad when Vegeta left his sight. A couple of times it had taken rocket-punches into the neck and in the balls to get Gohan off, and last time it had taken a rather painful amount of ki above his tail scar to beat the bastard off. Vegeta revoked his earlier sentiments about Gohan being too human to try something as reckless as rape. Gohan wasn't too human not to try it.
He bitched and whined until they were both at each other's necks, literally, and Vegeta really had to admire how quickly Gohan's body had healed itself for something that wasn't pure Saiyan.
Natural quick healing may have been an attribute that all demi-Saiyans had and had never been explored, as their ability to gather energy easier than either humans or full-blooded Saiyans, or it simply may have been that the hormones induced by Heat were causing his metabolism to go up and repair the flesh faster than normal and acting as natural painkillers to any discomfort he was feeling.
The blood was mixed, Saiyans didn't normally bond-mate during Heat; it was too risky. There was no telling if the appropriate or chosen mate would be selected, or that both parties would not be mortally injured in the exchange.
The boy was fucked up all over.
It actually would have helped if Vegeta had given him some advice, but he had had no idea that a half-breed human raised mongrel could possibly conceive of knowing how to bond mate. He had known Gohan would be out for sex, but he never expected that he would be searching for a permanent partner as well, much less would be able to claim one.
~~~~~~~~
A/N: *Grins* *Sing-song voice* I've caught people's int-rest, I've caught peoples' in-trest…Convert my darlings, convert! Convert to the Vegeta-Gohan clan! We are small in numbers, but strong in rabid fangirl enthusiasm! Convert I say!
ahh, melodrama. And angst. I need to get a new genre, this one is –killing- me. Ah….I've been reading far too much Ann Rice…all vampires are so freakin' dramatic and wussy sometimes, I just don't know.
