Across Time: Book One
Author's Note: Chapter 2: now with a lemony-fresh
scent! =)
Chapter 2 [Revision #1: 02/15/04 | Revision #2: 08/06/04]
The six books were the only remaining mystery. Their deep brown leather covers smelled pleasant and reminded him of the black leather motorcycle jacket he'd talked Vegeta into buying because it looked so good on him. They were stacked on the coffee table and Goku itched to know what was contained within their covers.
"What are these about?" he asked, lifting the top one gently. It, like the others, was about eight inches in length, six inches in width, and an inch thick. Vegeta took it from him and read the spine to himself.
"I haven't read any of them. These are, apparently, volumes of the Minok or History. My father kept the complete set in his study and I wasn't allowed to look, let alone touch any of them. Six volumes must be all that remain."
He set the book down and grabbed another midway in the stack. Opening it to the first page, he began to read silently to himself, a frown creasing his forehead between his brows. Goku stared at the neat handwriting inked onto the thin parchment and could not understand a word.
"What does it say, Vegeta?"
So he began to read aloud, satiating his mate's hunger for a lost people's forgotten words.
~*~
The events contained herein were written during an age of great hardship for our people. Time was plentiful yet it was wrought with fear and uncertainty because no one knew when we would have to make our stand. Kilandreau and his Bondmate Senneth -- who are both from Crenix Capital -- brought much love and joy to our lives. They will always be remembered as true heroes and I pray that their memories forever live on in us all.
This is their story.
A soft wind blew from the east, bringing with it the sweet smell of late blossoms and brief respite from the day's oppressive heat. A young man with short black hair and contemplative dark eyes could hear people complain about the temperature and humidity, asking God, themselves, whoever would listen, "Why is it so hot?" in a variety of different ways, most of which were peppered with profanity. He held his tongue as he passed them -- it would do no good to point out the obvious. They lived in a desert. No amount of "creature comforts" would ever change that.
He wondered what possessed the forefathers to found Crenix Capital here. Had they seen something in the dry beige sand that he did not? Or had they simply been arrogant enough to believe that true mastery over the environment was possible? Whatever the reason, he resented his parents for taking up residence here and deciding to start a family.
Sand stirred up by a rare breeze swirled in the air and he covered his mouth and nose with his lightweight summer cloak to guard against irritation. Dreau Manor was far back from the road and its constant traffic, half hidden behind the great girth of two leafy banyan trees. A crushed stone path ran up from the wrought iron fence surrounding the property, through a perfectly tended lawn, to end at the wide steps leading up to beautifully carved wooden doors. Vine-like ifa with its dainty white flowers climbed its way up the stone walls, clinging tenaciously like Lord and Lady Dreau's loyalty to their homeland on every available external surface. The house had been his only home and, recently, it had become his only prison.
His mother, Alania, was a very thin woman with a timid bearing. Her glossy black hair was kept short and her expensive clothing always seemed to engulf her small frame. She sat primly on her favorite stone bench in the rear garden -- the one that always made him feel uncomfortable -- beneath the shade of an imported fenlir tree. Its broad, fan-like leaves were perfect for blocking the sun that always seemed to shine directly overhead.
He sat beside her silent, still form. "Mother," he greeted politely. She smiled very slightly. "How are you this afternoon?"
"Hot, but that's to be expected." Her thin lips pressed tightly together for a moment. "I worry about you, Kilandreau. You have yet to take a wife."
Kilan's body stiffened automatically at the word. Almost from the day of this twenty-second birthday, both his mother and father had been urging him to find a woman to bind himself to for the remainder of his life. Relandreau seemed to think his son's sperm count was suddenly going to drop to zero upon turning twenty-three. He hated being pressured about marriage, and about children; they were actually reducing his chances of ever having one or both.
"Mother," he said very softly. She knew that he was very close to screaming. Kilan's temper had a long fuse, but when allowed to burn down it was painful to watch him lose control. His father was the exact opposite; he nearly always seemed to be angry at the world for one reason or another.
Alania's voice trembled as she repeated her husband's words. She was completely under Relandreau's control and knew it as well as her son did. "Your father and I only want the best for you, my son."
His anger exploded in a raging tempest of pent-up emotion. " 'Only want the best for me'? Bullshit!" Kilan knew that his mother was only the messenger but couldn't find it in himself to stop. Alania flinched visibly at both his language and the emotion clearly displayed on his face. "This has nothing to do with me! Father can't stand the thought of his only heir not having a legitimate heir of his very own to perpetuate the family bloodline. I'm sick and tired of waiting for him to realize that I want nothing to do with women, Mother!"
"Kilandreau!" she gasped. Her eyes quickly scanned the garden and the house. Luckily, there hadn't been anyone around to overhear.
Clenching his fists to concentrate his emotion, Kilan turned away from her and stared into middle distance. "I'm not staying in this miserable house for much longer."
"You don't mean that." Her voice was quiet with hesitant certainty as if she were trying to convince herself of her statement's truth. The fingers that twisted the hem of her skirt in agitation belied the apparent placidity.
"Yes, I do." Kilan's eyes said what his mouth could not. 'I'm sorry, Mother.'
***
Against the wishes of his parents, Kilan had moved into the attic once he'd come of age. The entire floor had been modified into an apartment for a live-in servant and his own nanny had resided there. A few years after the maid married and moved her things to the newly-built cottage on the edge of the property, he claimed it for his own. It was far away from his parents' bedroom, and from any rooms that dinner guests might happen to wander into.
His cloak was tossed onto a nearby chair and his boots tossed carelessly beside it. From the doorway onward, he left a trail of expensive, sweat-saturated clothing until he was clad in only his underwear before the tall bedroom mirror.
The person staring back at him was on the short and slender side though his training sessions with Master Luhan had put a little more definition onto his lightly tanned body. His hair always fell over his eyes, successfully hiding their expression from the casual observer. He had gotten used to hiding behind it as a child to avoid a reprimanding slap from his father for having the audacity to show his impertinence. Kilan curled his tail around his narrow waist and studied it carefully. In proportion to his stature, it was a little longer than usual and that was sometimes considered a deformity. He snorted at the thought. As long as all of the assorted parts were in perfect working order, who the hell cared if his body wasn't perfectly formed? He happened to like long tails... especially if they were attached to a handsome member of the male gender.
Kilan stared at himself for a moment more, deciding that he wanted to see something other than finery drape his body. Going to the antique armoire, he grabbed the plain trousers and rough brown tunic that hung in the back -- a commoner's clothing. He wanted to forget himself -- if only for a little while.
He pretended to be someone else whenever his life threatened to overwhelm him completely (which was fairly often) and escaped into the city. There were only so many hiding places in the Manor. Relandreau often set him up on dates with the single daughters of friends and business associates, all of whom were dull and two-dimensional. The people of the Lower Commons were a far cry from the snobby socialites of the Courtyard. Not only were they better conversationalists, but, for the most part, they could care less about social status amongst themselves. In the slums everyone was in the same decaying boat. The pampered rich Saiya-jin on the hill often excluded the "new rich" and those "not quite rich enough".
Pre-teenage children ran along the street lighting lamp posts with candles attached to long poles as the sun's light faded from the city. They belonged to the poor families who pulled them out of school so that they could bring more income into the household. Kilan followed behind one boy as if being led to his destination by a series of glowing fairies. He loved nighttime in Crenix. There was just something about darkness that brought a feeling of security and comfort -- quite the opposite of most people he knew. His walk down a wide, nameless street was paced slowly enough that he was able to enjoy the pleasant ambiance of a close-knit community.
After a certain point, groups of teenagers and young adults joined him on his travels. As the street curved up ahead to change direction, a line of people stretched along the building on the corner. Kilan's brow knit as he considered the assemblage. Where did it begin?
A tall boy who looked to be a few years younger than he passed by in clothing that was as indecent as it was unusual. His tight black shirt was without sleeves and came to just above his navel while his black short pants rode low on his hips and high on his thighs. Short black boots polished to a dull gleam encased his feet. Playful eyes flirtatiously captured his own curious ones as he passed, holding him prisoner until the teenager thought it fit to release him.
"Excuse me," Kilan called out, hoping to catch him before he moved out of earshot. The boy turned, pushing an errant lock of thick black hair behind his ear as he did so. "What's going on?"
His face, more beautiful than handsome, adopted a surprised expression. "You don't know? Really?" Kilan shook his head, fighting back the embarrassed blush that threatened to color his cheeks. "They're going clubbing."
The term was unknown to him and he tried determinedly to mask his ignorance. He felt the teen's eyes on him as he studied the queue and felt that he wasn't condemning him, but, instead, offering him a chance to expand his knowledge.
"A new club opened tonight," he explained. "It's the hottest thing down here since... since..." Shrugging, a grin spread across his face. "Whatever. You wanna scope it with me?" Again, his words drew a blank with the slightly older young man. Deciding that he'll figure it out soon enough, the teenager grabbed Kilan's hand tightly within his own and dragged him off down the sidewalk. "C'mon, let's go!"
"But I don't even know your name!" he said in an overwhelmed tone.
"It's Senneth, but my friends call me Sen. Your turn."
The line was growing shorter and shorter as people were either turned away at the door or shown into the crowded club. Kilan looked down at his clothing and compared himself to the other people he saw. There was no mistaking it; he was sadly overdressed. "I'm Kilandreau," he finally said. "Do you think they'll let me in?"
"Oh, they better or I'll definitely have something to say about it and they know not to upset me." For a moment, Sen's eyes hardened as he stared at the bouncer, but they regained their shiny gleam when he turned back to Kilan. "So, tell me about yourself."
~*~
Vegeta stretched like a cat, attempting to rid his body of its stiffness. The graceful motion caused Goku to focus all of his attention on him and imagine the various ways he could be making good use of his mate's flexibility. A particularly enticing image of Vegeta pleasuring himself orally while being pounded mercilessly into the mattress sprang into his mind. Without a word, Goku grabbed him by the waist, tossed him over his shoulder, and made tracks for the bedroom.
"Hey!" Vegeta protested loudly. "What the hell have I told you about doing this?!" He was tossed unceremoniously onto the bed where the larger man proceeded to quickly strip him naked. He opened his mouth again and found it suddenly filled with Goku's questing tongue. For several long moments the two slippery organs engaged in a heated battle before Goku pulled back with a grin.
"Did you say something?"
"Me?" he asked, allowing his eyes to widen in "innocence". "I said nothing at all."
"But I want you to speak..." Goku nibbled along his jaw to suck gently at his neck. "In fact, I want you to scream." He punctured his neck with sharp canines then licked the small wound to soothe it.
Vegeta inhaled sharply and his eyes slid shut. "I refuse to debauch myself for a low-born baka." There was no verbal response. Goku's tongue slid leisurely down his chest to latch onto one hardened nipple. The small body beneath him stiffened, then shuddered. "Not good enough," Vegeta forced out from between clenched teeth. The tongue moved briefly to the opposite nipple before circling his navel and stopping short of its destination. Goku kneeled over the other Saiya-jin and waited.
For one long moment the two simply watched each other with passion-filled eyes, Vegeta's body crying out for release and Goku's body yearning to cover that of his smaller mate's. Vegeta felt his resolve fade away the longer he lay hard and throbbing. "Please," he whispered.
"Please, what?" He intended to play the game to its absolute fullest.
"Please get on with it, bakayarou!"
A smirk curved his lips and its unfamiliarity unnerved him slightly even as it excited him further. "I don't think so; not with that kind of language. You can just finish yourself off."
As unbelievable as it seemed, Vegeta found himself close to begging. He wondered why he always initially resisted something that would be very pleasurable to the both of them. It was never that way when he was seme. Then they threw away the games and came together like two desperate people awaiting the end of the world. Goku had always submitted readily to him and eagerly did whatever he asked.
Different natures, different responses.
Vegeta supposed that he would never completely become lost in the moment. He always held something back for himself, some little part of his identity that he was afraid to lose. Goku had once whispered to him, as they paused a moment to allow Vegeta's body to adjust to the intrusion, "There is no 'you' and 'I' right now, Vegeta. There is only 'us'."
If only he felt the same.
Goku correctly interpreted the change in his eyes and took all of him in one swift movement. Vegeta felt himself engulfed in warm, wet heat and groaned at the exquisite torture. His hands clenched in the blanket beneath him and he arched his back... only to have Goku move away once more.
"KAKAROTTO!" he protested loudly. Then he realized that Goku was reaching into the bedside table for a familiar tube. He bit his lip and barely kept himself from squirming in anticipation.
He prepared him gently, watching Vegeta's face for any sign of discomfort. Goku coated himself with a layer of lubricant and positioned his body between his koi's spread legs.
"I don't know why I let you do this to me," Vegeta said as calmly as he could under the circumstances.
Goku grinned wickedly and drove himself home in a rush of forward movement. Beneath him, Vegeta groaned loudly at the combination of pleasure and pain, knowing that only Goku could drive him to the edge of insanity and back. "Oh," he panted. "That's why."
"Damn straight."
His thrusts alternated between slow, lengthy strokes and fast, hard jabs. Vegeta's legs locked around his waist in a vise-like grip that held Goku's sweat-slicked body tightly against his own. Goku laid feverish kisses along every inch of skin that he could reach. Consciously, he slowed his speed until he had very nearly ceased to move.
Vegeta looked up at him, eyes glazed with passion. He was so close to the shining barrier, so close to passing through it to the golden land of nirvana on the other side, and his mate would not let him. "Kakarotto..." he moaned.
Waiting wasn't easy on Goku but he knew from past experience that release was infinitely better if he did. His large fingers dug into Vegeta's hips to hold him in place and carefully changed positions until Vegeta was now on top. His eyes were dark mirrors that reflected Vegeta's own excitement.
Hands balanced on Goku's chest, the smaller Saiya-jin began to hump himself vigorously on Goku's shaft as his mate's hips thrust upward. All restraint was thrown away as the change in position enabled Goku to, not only delve deeper, but to strike his prostate on every backward lunge. The bed creaked ominously with their movement.
"Vegeta!" Goku said breathlessly. He forced his eyes open to catch those of his mate's. His body froze and arched as he emptied himself within Vegeta's body.
The liquid heat filled him to bursting.
He did not speak as he lay shuddering atop Goku's body or, rather, he did not speak with words. His hands caressed Goku's sides idly as he waited for his breathing and heartbeat to slow then reached up to cup his face.
"Ai shiteru, koibito. Forever."
***
After breakfast, Goku and Vegeta returned to the couch and the book. Or, at least, Goku did. When Vegeta refused to bother himself with words that meant nothing anymore, his mate made a valid argument.
"You owe me," he said with a grin. "Last night was great, wasn't it?"
Vegeta thought back to the rapture their bodies produced as they moved together perfect symphony. Goku's face, slack with ecstasy and beautiful in its perfection, was at the forefront of his memory. He folded, but not quietly. "Every night's like that, Kakarotto. Are you suggesting that I owe you for every single time we've fucked?"
"No, of course not," he responded. His eyes smiled at him. Vegeta grumbled to himself and grabbed the book. The Look. It always crumbled him completely.
~*~
The entrance was a heavy steel door. Having been painted the same color as the building, it was easily overlooked. Beside the door was a man with muscles that bulged everywhere on his body and whose hair was cropped so close his pale pink scalp peeked through in places. His flat black eyes swept over the young couple ahead of them. With an abrupt shake of his head, they were denied access.
It was their turn. Sen was waved onward immediately but Kilan was halted by a large hand on his chest. The bouncer stared at him a moment before snorting in amusement.
At first, Kilan was simply stunned. He couldn't believe that someone deemed him unworthy. Maybe his father's upbringing had made an impact after all. Then he glared at the man and growled, "What's your fucking problem? There's nothing wrong with me!"
Sen was quick to step between them. "Let me handle this," he told his companion. Then he spun gracefully and cupped the bouncer's face between his hands. "I'll consider it a personal favor if you let him in," he said while gently stroking his face. "Please?"
"Uh, sure," the man blushed. It looked strange on his wide, masculine face. "Go right ahead."
"Really? Thank you."
Kilan stepped quickly into the building before the gigantic mountain of a man changed his mind. He saw the teen give him a kiss on the cheek before joining him. His stomach knotted painfully as he watched and he realized that he was jealous. It was all he could do not to go back outside and land a blow to the bouncer's slightly crooked nose.
The interior of the club was dark and hot. It smelled of far too many people crowded into too small a space, of sweat, and of the permeating scent of lust. While not necessarily a bad thing, it invaded Kilan's nose and moved through his body to settle heavily within his groin. Quite against his will, he was hot and throbbing in time to the rhythm of the drums.
"I don't want us to get separated," Sen said loudly above the music and conversation. He grabbed his hand tightly and tugged him onto the dance floor. Scantily clad males and females gyrated around him, pressing in close and seriously invading his personal space. His partner seemed completely at ease; Kilan vowed silently to loosen up.
He watched him move with fluid grace at first, his tail curving around his waist and lightly touching his thigh so that it wasn't accidentally stepped on. His own tail was wound tightly around his waist: a sign of his growing anxiety. Then he tried to copy him and thought that he must look horrible in comparison. Kilan winced and started to leave the floor.
"You're too stiff," Sen mouthed to him. "Don't fight the music." He took his hands to sync their movement and the song's tempo slowed.
Kilan thought that he would be released, but was instead pulled closer so that his cheek lay against Sen's chest. The teen's heart beat softly against his face and lulled him into a state of bliss he'd experienced few times before. Even the swelling in his pants went ignored even though he was sure that Sen could feel it.
Slowly, they moved in a small circle to the flute music that had replaced the drumming. Sen's hands had shifted to his lower back and were teasingly close to his rear.
The song ended far too quickly for his tastes, but he was relieved that he now had time to think. The pace at which the evening had progressed had astounded him. How had he let himself dance so closely with a boy he'd just met only a short time before? Strangely enough, he felt comfortable around him as if they'd known each other their entire lives.
"Thirsty?" Sen asked, his mouth pressed close to his ear. "They've got some good stuff in here."
"I am a little..." He looked up into the teen's face. "Nothing with alcohol, alright? I don't like losing control."
"Whatever my fair one desires." A thrill went up Kilan's spine from those words.
He ordered him something that was faintly blue and smelled of berries while he chose something stronger for himself. Sen was not one to take advantage of a date, especially when they seemed to be getting along so well. Few boys and men had excited him the way Kilandreau did and even fewer had made him feel so good to be around them. Something more was going on than simple attraction, something that frightened and excited him all at the same time.
They lingered in the club for, perhaps, another hour before escaping out into the cool night air. Both were laughing (which was a rare thing for Kilan to do) and talking. Neither wanted the moment to end.
"I have a confession to make," Kilan said with a touch of nervousness. "I don't really know anything about your world. I'm from-"
"The Courtyard? I know."
"Was it that obvious?" he asked in surprise.
"Well... yeah. You talk better than most people down here, ya know? And you look kinda regal. Don't worry 'bout it, Ki. I doubt they cared much."
With much reluctance, they parted ways; each wanting to see the other again, but seriously doubting that it would ever happen. They came from two different worlds, after all. Kilan watched Sen walk down the street, his tail hanging so low that he thought it must be brushing the ground. He very nearly called out to him but didn't know what he would say once he had his attention. Turning away from him, Kilan headed back to his home.
And back to a life that was growing more complicated by the minute.
Chapter 2 [Revision #1: 02/15/04 | Revision #2: 08/06/04]
The six books were the only remaining mystery. Their deep brown leather covers smelled pleasant and reminded him of the black leather motorcycle jacket he'd talked Vegeta into buying because it looked so good on him. They were stacked on the coffee table and Goku itched to know what was contained within their covers.
"What are these about?" he asked, lifting the top one gently. It, like the others, was about eight inches in length, six inches in width, and an inch thick. Vegeta took it from him and read the spine to himself.
"I haven't read any of them. These are, apparently, volumes of the Minok or History. My father kept the complete set in his study and I wasn't allowed to look, let alone touch any of them. Six volumes must be all that remain."
He set the book down and grabbed another midway in the stack. Opening it to the first page, he began to read silently to himself, a frown creasing his forehead between his brows. Goku stared at the neat handwriting inked onto the thin parchment and could not understand a word.
"What does it say, Vegeta?"
So he began to read aloud, satiating his mate's hunger for a lost people's forgotten words.
The events contained herein were written during an age of great hardship for our people. Time was plentiful yet it was wrought with fear and uncertainty because no one knew when we would have to make our stand. Kilandreau and his Bondmate Senneth -- who are both from Crenix Capital -- brought much love and joy to our lives. They will always be remembered as true heroes and I pray that their memories forever live on in us all.
This is their story.
Allyn -- 6 Loc; the 30th year of King Reishen's reign
A soft wind blew from the east, bringing with it the sweet smell of late blossoms and brief respite from the day's oppressive heat. A young man with short black hair and contemplative dark eyes could hear people complain about the temperature and humidity, asking God, themselves, whoever would listen, "Why is it so hot?" in a variety of different ways, most of which were peppered with profanity. He held his tongue as he passed them -- it would do no good to point out the obvious. They lived in a desert. No amount of "creature comforts" would ever change that.
He wondered what possessed the forefathers to found Crenix Capital here. Had they seen something in the dry beige sand that he did not? Or had they simply been arrogant enough to believe that true mastery over the environment was possible? Whatever the reason, he resented his parents for taking up residence here and deciding to start a family.
Sand stirred up by a rare breeze swirled in the air and he covered his mouth and nose with his lightweight summer cloak to guard against irritation. Dreau Manor was far back from the road and its constant traffic, half hidden behind the great girth of two leafy banyan trees. A crushed stone path ran up from the wrought iron fence surrounding the property, through a perfectly tended lawn, to end at the wide steps leading up to beautifully carved wooden doors. Vine-like ifa with its dainty white flowers climbed its way up the stone walls, clinging tenaciously like Lord and Lady Dreau's loyalty to their homeland on every available external surface. The house had been his only home and, recently, it had become his only prison.
His mother, Alania, was a very thin woman with a timid bearing. Her glossy black hair was kept short and her expensive clothing always seemed to engulf her small frame. She sat primly on her favorite stone bench in the rear garden -- the one that always made him feel uncomfortable -- beneath the shade of an imported fenlir tree. Its broad, fan-like leaves were perfect for blocking the sun that always seemed to shine directly overhead.
He sat beside her silent, still form. "Mother," he greeted politely. She smiled very slightly. "How are you this afternoon?"
"Hot, but that's to be expected." Her thin lips pressed tightly together for a moment. "I worry about you, Kilandreau. You have yet to take a wife."
Kilan's body stiffened automatically at the word. Almost from the day of this twenty-second birthday, both his mother and father had been urging him to find a woman to bind himself to for the remainder of his life. Relandreau seemed to think his son's sperm count was suddenly going to drop to zero upon turning twenty-three. He hated being pressured about marriage, and about children; they were actually reducing his chances of ever having one or both.
"Mother," he said very softly. She knew that he was very close to screaming. Kilan's temper had a long fuse, but when allowed to burn down it was painful to watch him lose control. His father was the exact opposite; he nearly always seemed to be angry at the world for one reason or another.
Alania's voice trembled as she repeated her husband's words. She was completely under Relandreau's control and knew it as well as her son did. "Your father and I only want the best for you, my son."
His anger exploded in a raging tempest of pent-up emotion. " 'Only want the best for me'? Bullshit!" Kilan knew that his mother was only the messenger but couldn't find it in himself to stop. Alania flinched visibly at both his language and the emotion clearly displayed on his face. "This has nothing to do with me! Father can't stand the thought of his only heir not having a legitimate heir of his very own to perpetuate the family bloodline. I'm sick and tired of waiting for him to realize that I want nothing to do with women, Mother!"
"Kilandreau!" she gasped. Her eyes quickly scanned the garden and the house. Luckily, there hadn't been anyone around to overhear.
Clenching his fists to concentrate his emotion, Kilan turned away from her and stared into middle distance. "I'm not staying in this miserable house for much longer."
"You don't mean that." Her voice was quiet with hesitant certainty as if she were trying to convince herself of her statement's truth. The fingers that twisted the hem of her skirt in agitation belied the apparent placidity.
"Yes, I do." Kilan's eyes said what his mouth could not. 'I'm sorry, Mother.'
Against the wishes of his parents, Kilan had moved into the attic once he'd come of age. The entire floor had been modified into an apartment for a live-in servant and his own nanny had resided there. A few years after the maid married and moved her things to the newly-built cottage on the edge of the property, he claimed it for his own. It was far away from his parents' bedroom, and from any rooms that dinner guests might happen to wander into.
His cloak was tossed onto a nearby chair and his boots tossed carelessly beside it. From the doorway onward, he left a trail of expensive, sweat-saturated clothing until he was clad in only his underwear before the tall bedroom mirror.
The person staring back at him was on the short and slender side though his training sessions with Master Luhan had put a little more definition onto his lightly tanned body. His hair always fell over his eyes, successfully hiding their expression from the casual observer. He had gotten used to hiding behind it as a child to avoid a reprimanding slap from his father for having the audacity to show his impertinence. Kilan curled his tail around his narrow waist and studied it carefully. In proportion to his stature, it was a little longer than usual and that was sometimes considered a deformity. He snorted at the thought. As long as all of the assorted parts were in perfect working order, who the hell cared if his body wasn't perfectly formed? He happened to like long tails... especially if they were attached to a handsome member of the male gender.
Kilan stared at himself for a moment more, deciding that he wanted to see something other than finery drape his body. Going to the antique armoire, he grabbed the plain trousers and rough brown tunic that hung in the back -- a commoner's clothing. He wanted to forget himself -- if only for a little while.
He pretended to be someone else whenever his life threatened to overwhelm him completely (which was fairly often) and escaped into the city. There were only so many hiding places in the Manor. Relandreau often set him up on dates with the single daughters of friends and business associates, all of whom were dull and two-dimensional. The people of the Lower Commons were a far cry from the snobby socialites of the Courtyard. Not only were they better conversationalists, but, for the most part, they could care less about social status amongst themselves. In the slums everyone was in the same decaying boat. The pampered rich Saiya-jin on the hill often excluded the "new rich" and those "not quite rich enough".
Pre-teenage children ran along the street lighting lamp posts with candles attached to long poles as the sun's light faded from the city. They belonged to the poor families who pulled them out of school so that they could bring more income into the household. Kilan followed behind one boy as if being led to his destination by a series of glowing fairies. He loved nighttime in Crenix. There was just something about darkness that brought a feeling of security and comfort -- quite the opposite of most people he knew. His walk down a wide, nameless street was paced slowly enough that he was able to enjoy the pleasant ambiance of a close-knit community.
After a certain point, groups of teenagers and young adults joined him on his travels. As the street curved up ahead to change direction, a line of people stretched along the building on the corner. Kilan's brow knit as he considered the assemblage. Where did it begin?
A tall boy who looked to be a few years younger than he passed by in clothing that was as indecent as it was unusual. His tight black shirt was without sleeves and came to just above his navel while his black short pants rode low on his hips and high on his thighs. Short black boots polished to a dull gleam encased his feet. Playful eyes flirtatiously captured his own curious ones as he passed, holding him prisoner until the teenager thought it fit to release him.
"Excuse me," Kilan called out, hoping to catch him before he moved out of earshot. The boy turned, pushing an errant lock of thick black hair behind his ear as he did so. "What's going on?"
His face, more beautiful than handsome, adopted a surprised expression. "You don't know? Really?" Kilan shook his head, fighting back the embarrassed blush that threatened to color his cheeks. "They're going clubbing."
The term was unknown to him and he tried determinedly to mask his ignorance. He felt the teen's eyes on him as he studied the queue and felt that he wasn't condemning him, but, instead, offering him a chance to expand his knowledge.
"A new club opened tonight," he explained. "It's the hottest thing down here since... since..." Shrugging, a grin spread across his face. "Whatever. You wanna scope it with me?" Again, his words drew a blank with the slightly older young man. Deciding that he'll figure it out soon enough, the teenager grabbed Kilan's hand tightly within his own and dragged him off down the sidewalk. "C'mon, let's go!"
"But I don't even know your name!" he said in an overwhelmed tone.
"It's Senneth, but my friends call me Sen. Your turn."
The line was growing shorter and shorter as people were either turned away at the door or shown into the crowded club. Kilan looked down at his clothing and compared himself to the other people he saw. There was no mistaking it; he was sadly overdressed. "I'm Kilandreau," he finally said. "Do you think they'll let me in?"
"Oh, they better or I'll definitely have something to say about it and they know not to upset me." For a moment, Sen's eyes hardened as he stared at the bouncer, but they regained their shiny gleam when he turned back to Kilan. "So, tell me about yourself."
Vegeta stretched like a cat, attempting to rid his body of its stiffness. The graceful motion caused Goku to focus all of his attention on him and imagine the various ways he could be making good use of his mate's flexibility. A particularly enticing image of Vegeta pleasuring himself orally while being pounded mercilessly into the mattress sprang into his mind. Without a word, Goku grabbed him by the waist, tossed him over his shoulder, and made tracks for the bedroom.
"Hey!" Vegeta protested loudly. "What the hell have I told you about doing this?!" He was tossed unceremoniously onto the bed where the larger man proceeded to quickly strip him naked. He opened his mouth again and found it suddenly filled with Goku's questing tongue. For several long moments the two slippery organs engaged in a heated battle before Goku pulled back with a grin.
"Did you say something?"
"Me?" he asked, allowing his eyes to widen in "innocence". "I said nothing at all."
"But I want you to speak..." Goku nibbled along his jaw to suck gently at his neck. "In fact, I want you to scream." He punctured his neck with sharp canines then licked the small wound to soothe it.
Vegeta inhaled sharply and his eyes slid shut. "I refuse to debauch myself for a low-born baka." There was no verbal response. Goku's tongue slid leisurely down his chest to latch onto one hardened nipple. The small body beneath him stiffened, then shuddered. "Not good enough," Vegeta forced out from between clenched teeth. The tongue moved briefly to the opposite nipple before circling his navel and stopping short of its destination. Goku kneeled over the other Saiya-jin and waited.
For one long moment the two simply watched each other with passion-filled eyes, Vegeta's body crying out for release and Goku's body yearning to cover that of his smaller mate's. Vegeta felt his resolve fade away the longer he lay hard and throbbing. "Please," he whispered.
"Please, what?" He intended to play the game to its absolute fullest.
"Please get on with it, bakayarou!"
A smirk curved his lips and its unfamiliarity unnerved him slightly even as it excited him further. "I don't think so; not with that kind of language. You can just finish yourself off."
As unbelievable as it seemed, Vegeta found himself close to begging. He wondered why he always initially resisted something that would be very pleasurable to the both of them. It was never that way when he was seme. Then they threw away the games and came together like two desperate people awaiting the end of the world. Goku had always submitted readily to him and eagerly did whatever he asked.
Different natures, different responses.
Vegeta supposed that he would never completely become lost in the moment. He always held something back for himself, some little part of his identity that he was afraid to lose. Goku had once whispered to him, as they paused a moment to allow Vegeta's body to adjust to the intrusion, "There is no 'you' and 'I' right now, Vegeta. There is only 'us'."
If only he felt the same.
Goku correctly interpreted the change in his eyes and took all of him in one swift movement. Vegeta felt himself engulfed in warm, wet heat and groaned at the exquisite torture. His hands clenched in the blanket beneath him and he arched his back... only to have Goku move away once more.
"KAKAROTTO!" he protested loudly. Then he realized that Goku was reaching into the bedside table for a familiar tube. He bit his lip and barely kept himself from squirming in anticipation.
He prepared him gently, watching Vegeta's face for any sign of discomfort. Goku coated himself with a layer of lubricant and positioned his body between his koi's spread legs.
"I don't know why I let you do this to me," Vegeta said as calmly as he could under the circumstances.
Goku grinned wickedly and drove himself home in a rush of forward movement. Beneath him, Vegeta groaned loudly at the combination of pleasure and pain, knowing that only Goku could drive him to the edge of insanity and back. "Oh," he panted. "That's why."
"Damn straight."
His thrusts alternated between slow, lengthy strokes and fast, hard jabs. Vegeta's legs locked around his waist in a vise-like grip that held Goku's sweat-slicked body tightly against his own. Goku laid feverish kisses along every inch of skin that he could reach. Consciously, he slowed his speed until he had very nearly ceased to move.
Vegeta looked up at him, eyes glazed with passion. He was so close to the shining barrier, so close to passing through it to the golden land of nirvana on the other side, and his mate would not let him. "Kakarotto..." he moaned.
Waiting wasn't easy on Goku but he knew from past experience that release was infinitely better if he did. His large fingers dug into Vegeta's hips to hold him in place and carefully changed positions until Vegeta was now on top. His eyes were dark mirrors that reflected Vegeta's own excitement.
Hands balanced on Goku's chest, the smaller Saiya-jin began to hump himself vigorously on Goku's shaft as his mate's hips thrust upward. All restraint was thrown away as the change in position enabled Goku to, not only delve deeper, but to strike his prostate on every backward lunge. The bed creaked ominously with their movement.
"Vegeta!" Goku said breathlessly. He forced his eyes open to catch those of his mate's. His body froze and arched as he emptied himself within Vegeta's body.
The liquid heat filled him to bursting.
He did not speak as he lay shuddering atop Goku's body or, rather, he did not speak with words. His hands caressed Goku's sides idly as he waited for his breathing and heartbeat to slow then reached up to cup his face.
"Ai shiteru, koibito. Forever."
After breakfast, Goku and Vegeta returned to the couch and the book. Or, at least, Goku did. When Vegeta refused to bother himself with words that meant nothing anymore, his mate made a valid argument.
"You owe me," he said with a grin. "Last night was great, wasn't it?"
Vegeta thought back to the rapture their bodies produced as they moved together perfect symphony. Goku's face, slack with ecstasy and beautiful in its perfection, was at the forefront of his memory. He folded, but not quietly. "Every night's like that, Kakarotto. Are you suggesting that I owe you for every single time we've fucked?"
"No, of course not," he responded. His eyes smiled at him. Vegeta grumbled to himself and grabbed the book. The Look. It always crumbled him completely.
The entrance was a heavy steel door. Having been painted the same color as the building, it was easily overlooked. Beside the door was a man with muscles that bulged everywhere on his body and whose hair was cropped so close his pale pink scalp peeked through in places. His flat black eyes swept over the young couple ahead of them. With an abrupt shake of his head, they were denied access.
It was their turn. Sen was waved onward immediately but Kilan was halted by a large hand on his chest. The bouncer stared at him a moment before snorting in amusement.
At first, Kilan was simply stunned. He couldn't believe that someone deemed him unworthy. Maybe his father's upbringing had made an impact after all. Then he glared at the man and growled, "What's your fucking problem? There's nothing wrong with me!"
Sen was quick to step between them. "Let me handle this," he told his companion. Then he spun gracefully and cupped the bouncer's face between his hands. "I'll consider it a personal favor if you let him in," he said while gently stroking his face. "Please?"
"Uh, sure," the man blushed. It looked strange on his wide, masculine face. "Go right ahead."
"Really? Thank you."
Kilan stepped quickly into the building before the gigantic mountain of a man changed his mind. He saw the teen give him a kiss on the cheek before joining him. His stomach knotted painfully as he watched and he realized that he was jealous. It was all he could do not to go back outside and land a blow to the bouncer's slightly crooked nose.
The interior of the club was dark and hot. It smelled of far too many people crowded into too small a space, of sweat, and of the permeating scent of lust. While not necessarily a bad thing, it invaded Kilan's nose and moved through his body to settle heavily within his groin. Quite against his will, he was hot and throbbing in time to the rhythm of the drums.
"I don't want us to get separated," Sen said loudly above the music and conversation. He grabbed his hand tightly and tugged him onto the dance floor. Scantily clad males and females gyrated around him, pressing in close and seriously invading his personal space. His partner seemed completely at ease; Kilan vowed silently to loosen up.
He watched him move with fluid grace at first, his tail curving around his waist and lightly touching his thigh so that it wasn't accidentally stepped on. His own tail was wound tightly around his waist: a sign of his growing anxiety. Then he tried to copy him and thought that he must look horrible in comparison. Kilan winced and started to leave the floor.
"You're too stiff," Sen mouthed to him. "Don't fight the music." He took his hands to sync their movement and the song's tempo slowed.
Kilan thought that he would be released, but was instead pulled closer so that his cheek lay against Sen's chest. The teen's heart beat softly against his face and lulled him into a state of bliss he'd experienced few times before. Even the swelling in his pants went ignored even though he was sure that Sen could feel it.
Slowly, they moved in a small circle to the flute music that had replaced the drumming. Sen's hands had shifted to his lower back and were teasingly close to his rear.
The song ended far too quickly for his tastes, but he was relieved that he now had time to think. The pace at which the evening had progressed had astounded him. How had he let himself dance so closely with a boy he'd just met only a short time before? Strangely enough, he felt comfortable around him as if they'd known each other their entire lives.
"Thirsty?" Sen asked, his mouth pressed close to his ear. "They've got some good stuff in here."
"I am a little..." He looked up into the teen's face. "Nothing with alcohol, alright? I don't like losing control."
"Whatever my fair one desires." A thrill went up Kilan's spine from those words.
He ordered him something that was faintly blue and smelled of berries while he chose something stronger for himself. Sen was not one to take advantage of a date, especially when they seemed to be getting along so well. Few boys and men had excited him the way Kilandreau did and even fewer had made him feel so good to be around them. Something more was going on than simple attraction, something that frightened and excited him all at the same time.
They lingered in the club for, perhaps, another hour before escaping out into the cool night air. Both were laughing (which was a rare thing for Kilan to do) and talking. Neither wanted the moment to end.
"I have a confession to make," Kilan said with a touch of nervousness. "I don't really know anything about your world. I'm from-"
"The Courtyard? I know."
"Was it that obvious?" he asked in surprise.
"Well... yeah. You talk better than most people down here, ya know? And you look kinda regal. Don't worry 'bout it, Ki. I doubt they cared much."
With much reluctance, they parted ways; each wanting to see the other again, but seriously doubting that it would ever happen. They came from two different worlds, after all. Kilan watched Sen walk down the street, his tail hanging so low that he thought it must be brushing the ground. He very nearly called out to him but didn't know what he would say once he had his attention. Turning away from him, Kilan headed back to his home.
And back to a life that was growing more complicated by the minute.