Wincing slightly at the creaking alarm of the door behind him, the tall shadow paused in his forward motion, slick fingers tightening around the brass knob held loosely in his grasp. Searching eyes flashed, widening to allow the waning illumination from the kitchen window to lighten the smoky darkness before quietly coaxing the wooden door to click shut. No sound threatened the peaceful tranquility of the slumbering demesne, save the lingering rush of soft electricity that signified the periodical surge of power as the refrigerator beside him kicked to life. Releasing a breath restrained too long in anxious observation, the teen gripped the bundle in his hand more firmly and crept stealthily from the room.

Once in the hall, the boy's confidence faltered, tapered fingers resting against the smooth coolness of the wall as he tiptoed further. His goal was clearly in sight, the blocky stairs leading to the attic above highlighted in hope, like the brass key atop the gladiator's pole. And nearly as unattainable. To reach his destination, the demi-Saiyan would be forced to brave beasts more fierce and foul than brawny barbarians and savage felines. He had to go past his room.

Gathering and prompting his courage like a bronze shield, the timid teen placed an unsteady foot forward, toes clenching into the carpet for balance as they adjusted to the change in floor texture, the warmth a welcome relief from the chill tile of the necessary portion of the house. Gnawing on his lower lip, the nervous youth slipped unnoticed past the darkened entryways, fervently hoping that the whispering noises and half-grasped phrases the TV emitted from beneath the door to his father's bedroom were enough to mask the auditory evidence of his passage.

A premature sigh of seeming liberation celebrated his triumphant transition, only to be jaded by the sudden intrusion of golden lamplight that flooded the hallway directly before his unmoving figure. A cough and rustle, a creak of the bed as the man within rose, attending to business the boy could only absently wonder at. Dende, did the man never sleep? Surely studying wasn't his sole driving force. Heh, maybe it was a good thing Chichi had fled when she did...gave her eldest time to recover before the educational conditioning became irreversible. Someday they'd have to take the oldest demi-Saiyan out--show him what real fun was like, Saiyan style.

Shaking his head, the teen contemplated his actions. He could make a mad dash for the stairs...glancing along the swallowing shadows that danced just beyond the interlude of yellow incandescence, he furrowed his sharp brow, idly stroking a thumb along the cool green glass of the bottle in his hand. But Gohan may hear him...and he just knew the lecture he'd receive in turn was nothing compared to the hell he'd be condemned to when his parents found out. On the other hand...lamp lit eyes flickered backward over his shoulder, one hand still diligently braced against the plaster. Going back served no purpose, and the area he had conquered with his silent determination was far greater than the lengths he had yet to traverse. No, he could do this...

Scowling at his own weak uncertainties, the demi-Saiyan planted one foot forward, watching as his toes were bathed in fair silken shards and waiting for the inevitable click and creak that would signify his arrest.

Thankfully, it never came...Dende-sama must have been feeling particularly generous at that moment. That, or he was too busy fucking with someone else's life to take pleasure in this perfect opportunity for comedic sadism. Or maybe he just figured the boy didn't need his help...he could fuck it up on his own, just fine...

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dende..." he muttered bitterly beneath his breath, resting his weight on the foot glued to the bottom step. One hand smoothed over the banner, polished to a high glossy finish through years of ascension. Hell, he couldn't count the number of times they had been exiled to the attic, the available rooms filled to capacity with clients and prospectors of Capsule Corporation. As long as they were quiet, everyone conveniently forgot they even existed.

He just hoped that still held true. About them being quiet...

Goten flipped casually through the massive compilation of CD's his wealthy counterpart had collected over the years. Good thing they had so much in common, and sharing had certainly never been a problem, though the youngest Son couldn't help but think that they had taken even that simple act to a whole new, and nervously unexplored level. Mouth parted slightly, lips whispering half formed words resembling the titles and artists that he perused, the dark haired demi-Saiyan slid lax fingers under the faded leather, tips tapping in an undetermined rhythm against the soft material. He had never been this reluctant in choosing the musical score for the evening. It had been his designated task since they were chibis, Goten's extensive taste in music far surpassing that of his subtly sheltered companion. But now...music set a distinguished mood. And he knew that the teenage prince's entire demeanor could change with the beat of a song. He didn't want to seem...too eager or anything...

The Son's chalky complexion dusted with rosy pigment. He was being presumptuous...right? Just because Trunks had taken their safe, comfortable relationship and thrown it to the fickle carelessness of the wind didn't mean that they were going to move that fast. Turning his head to gaze longingly at the doorway, Goten exhaled softly into the damp humidity of the loft. Dende, he could still feel the inviting warmth of Trunks' satiny lips, begging to be tasted...damn, he was so effing kissable...

Dragging his eyes back to the mission at hand, the boy turned another page in the book. He didn't know what the hell he was so afraid of...this was Trunks for Dende's sake...

This was the boy he had grown up with, learned his letters with--letters that formed the dirty words they had borrowed from Vegeta, then scrawled all over the white walls of his mother's immaculate kitchen in bright shades of purple and green, courtesy of Crayola.

The demi-Saiyan he had shared his secrets with in this very attic while the hazy white noise of Bulma-san's parties carried its soothing lullaby of laughter to their straining ears, muffled by the thick cotton blanket that ensured their privacy. Heh, even Gohan knew better than to try to get past the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Even if they were only two-dimensional.

The teen that picked up the slack his naïve father unintentionally left trailing behind him...listening in rapt fascination as the forbidden topic of sex had been verbally explored with whispered blushing words of hesitant explanation.

The one he had turned to for consolation when his mother had unexpectedly split...

Drawing a leg languidly against his chest, the onyx eyes focused again on the brightly coloured covers that lie strewn across his lap. Music...settling on a selection with a soft chuckle, the youth hooked a finger through its center, popping the top of the player with his knuckle and depositing the metallic circle within. Closing the lid with a following tap to the play button, Goten settled back on the floor against the edge of the couch behind him, his unruly head of raven Saiyan hair lying back on the cushions. Locking his fingers and resting them on his navel, the young Son allowed the mellow rhythm of his chosen melody to lull him into a relaxing doze as he awaited his cohort's return.

"Yatta!" Goten slid lethargic obsidian eyes open at the call, craning his neck backward to look at the approaching figure that was slowly revealed over the back of the couch as it strode triumphantly into the small room.

"Did what, Tru--" A defiant yawn pried through his defenses as he sat up slowly. "--nks-kun?"

The pale prince flashed him a mischievous grin and a victory sign, thrillingly reminiscent of their prank-pulling youth. Trunks proudly displayed his treasure for Goten's questioning expression.

"Got this." Glossy black eyes narrowed, elbows leaning forward to be consumed by the couch cushions. Eyeing the emerald bottle warily, he tried unsuccessfully to read the foreign label done in intricate curly cues of gold gilding.

"Nani? I can't even read that. What the hell is it?" Holding the precious object high above his head with one hand, the pastel demi-Saiyan vaulted over the back of the couch with the other, landing with a heavy protest of springs next to the kneeling Son.

"Grape juice, chibi..." Lodging the bottle between his muscular thighs and fishing into the fathomless pockets of his cargo pants, Trunks' playful countenance rapidly faded into intense concentration, hips pushing forward off the cushions to allow better access to his destination. Blushing furiously at the provoking image that taunted him at direct eye level, Goten cast down his unblinking gaze.

"Hentai..." his grumble was lost to the prince's gleeful exclamation of accomplishment, and he glanced up from his carpet-picking preoccupation to cock his head inquisitively. "Nani?"

Brandishing the corkscrew like a weapon, the younger demi-Saiyan was oddly reminded of the pictures they had once stumbled upon in Bulma-san's desk drawer on one of their adolescent scavenger hunts-everyone else's things were fair game-of Mirai Trunks and his sword. Only his Trunks had lighter eyes and thankfully looked nothing like his father... Shaking his head, Goten watched his amusing counterpart wrestle with the odd instrument, soft curses of irritation drifting quietly through the resonant back throb of music behind them. The stubborn object surrendered its struggle with a pop of defeat, immediately succeeded by Trunks' hiss of satisfaction. Grinning madly, the Briefs boy inhaled deeply, obviously relishing in the offensive scent that suddenly permeated the thick summer air.

"Dende-sama, Trunks...I think it's gone bad." The youth wrinkled his nose in disgust, raising his forearm to cover his face, effectively dulling and filtering the acidic odor coming from the murky green glass with his sleeve.

"Baka..." Chuckling, the older boy brought the liquid to his lips, promptly filling his mouth with the odiferous fluid and swallowing with a grimace. "It's supposed to smell like that." Arching an ebony brow, the Son lowered his arm, backing away as steadily as Trunks offered him the bottle. The scent alone was causing him to feel light-headed. "Go on, chibi," the lavender prince purred, swishing the heady liquid back and forth with a flick of his wrist. "I promise you'll like it..."

"How do you feel, Go-chan?"

"Warm..."

"Heh...you do look a little...flushed..." Raven eyes fluttered softly closed, sooty lashes caressing the heated flesh of his flustered cheeks as Goten reclined his foggy head back against the hard muscle of Trunks' thigh.

"Hai, Trunks-k'n...'m fine..." A lilting purr danced its way out of the younger boy's throat as his hand clasped clumsily at the bottle the paler demi-Saiyan leaned over to place in his lap. "Jus'...warm..." But the wine was cool and slick on his palette, dry as it bit at the back of his throat before seeping downward into his chest and spreading that same liquid feeling of fire through his heavy limbs. Good Dende, did he feel good. And the tickling sensation the alcohol left on his skin was punctuated with every movement made behind him. He could sense the older boy through the thin, sweat soaked fabric of his shirt. And Dende, did he yearn to feel more than just Trunks' leg at his back...

Losing himself to the low pulse of the music that seemed to throb in time to the blood in his veins, Goten nuzzled a blushed cheek against the thigh he relaxed against.

"Oi...affectionate drunk, ne, chibi..." There was amusement in those softly whispered words, a gentle tug as long, well cared for fingers ran through his untamable sable mane. The purring vibration in his throat grew in intensity as Goten succumbed to the other's skillful touch, head maneuvering to the side and guiding the young man to scratch in designated places of appeal. Mmmmm...Dende, he could stay like this forever...

"Goten..." Raising a hand to the calf against his side, the demi-Saiyan used it as leverage to pull himself up, looking with worshipping rapture into eyes that shone like chips of lapis lazuli-that colour...only when passionate did Trunks' eyes revert to those of his future self...only when he wanted something...

"Haah?"

"Such a cheap drunk, chibi..." Drunk? No, not drunk...tipsy. Buzzed, maybe, but drunk? No... "So kawaii..." Oh, hell, maybe he was drunk. How else could he explain the sudden presence of his royal counterpart beside him? When had Trunks forsaken the couch in lieu of the floor?

"Tr'nksa?" Knitting his brow in muddled confusion, Goten turned glassy onyx eyes to semi-precious reminders of his companion's intent. Oh, Dende, he was going to...

"Shhh..." Slick and wet, the prince's tongue teased the breathless chasm of his mouth, sealing the crevice with gentle pressure of his lips. Trembling fingers tightened around the neck of the wine bottle, his upper body twisting and contorting to the figure that blessed his senses with his breath. Moaning softly, the Son pushed forward tentatively, the hand that lacked the cause of his hazy condition gliding along the carpet, nails digging and flexing into the fibers as Trunks' lips smoothed over his own, perfect teeth claiming a small swollen portion of the begging petal and spiking through his pleasurable state with violent clarity. Growling in stark resistance to the lethargy that desired to pacify the Son with its aromatic persistence, Goten pulled his legs beneath him, rising as he repositioned himself with jerking movements, mouth devouring the older boy's with luxurious tastes of the other's blissful flavour.

A soft moan played a countermelody of pleasure with the steady pulsation of encompassing music. Hai, this had been a good selection, and the dark, throaty voice of the lead musician was the perfect compliment to the wine-induced mood that spread its erotic fingers around the rising passion of the two groping figures on the floor. Fingertips fumbled with the obstinate button on the collar of the pastel prince's sweat dampened shirt. Growling with irate fervor, Goten battled the stalwart blockade of cylindrical soldiers, pressing forward into the other's torso, pushing down with the wine bottle to gain leverage on the territory of Trunks' chest.

"Chibi..." The soft whimper of question was lost to the successful completion of the Son's pillage, blue plastic circles popping with the force of his conquest.

"Quiet, prince-chan..." Goten's lips fell with alcoholic desperation on the salty flesh of the older demi-Saiyan's moist neck. Dende, did he taste divine, like godly ambrosia made mortal for his indulgence.

"Nande?" Goten's mouth was robbed of his oral worship as Trunks pushed playfully at the Son's shoulders, straightening the younger boy with a chuckle. "Prince-chan? Dende, you are drunk, aren't you, Go-chan?"

"Feh." The Son's ebony eyes lit with a fiery flicker of predatory desire. "S' better'n Tru-chan." Giggling, the liquor-lit demi-Saiyan nipped at the air above the paler boy's collar. "Tru-chan, Tru-chan, Tru-chan," Goten's slurred sing-song litany was muffled and muted by the cotton barrier just below his seeking lips. "Sounds like 'm shufflin' across the carpet." Snickering, the raven haired demi-Saiyan licked at the sweaty skin of the other's sharp jaw line. "Choo! Choo! I'm gonna take a ride on the Tru-chan express!"

Eight shades of scarlet and accompanying hues of humiliated crimson washed over the prince's dumbstruck features. "Dende, Go-chan...that's dirty." Reaching over the laughing form against him, Trunks confiscated the liberally lightened bottle from the limp grasp of his leaning counterpart, shifting to sit back up as the still-chuckling form fell forward in his lap. "I think you've had enough..."

"You alw'ys take 'way my toys, prince-chan..." The youngest Son ceased his amused rendition with a profound exhale of breath. Opening one heavy lidded eye, Goten wrinkled his nose as his breath rushed back up toward his face, the stale scent of wine tickling his senses. Huffing one, twice...the younger demi-Saiyan sneezed heartily into the paler boy's lap.

"Ew, Goten..." Blinking lazily, the younger boy lifted a helping hand.

"Gom'n, prince-chan...lemme help ya with that..." Sniffing, the darker demi-Saiyan brushed his hand along the front of Trunks' pants, completely oblivious to the effect his misplaced aide was having on the more coherent of the duo.

"Go...ten..." Quivering quietly, almost swallowed by the rich melody emanating from the dusty black machine on the short table beside them, the young prince placed a trembling hand on the mussed head of his questioning comrade.

"Nani, Trunks-k'n?" Stilling his hand, the boy raised inquisitive obsidian eyes to the sapphire shards of his tense companion. "Wha's wrong...?" Cobalt spheres regarded him with lusty disbelief.

"You've...got to be kidding, Go-chan..." An ebony brow knit in immediate confusion. But, like all Sons before him, give him five seconds and even the dimmest haze becomes amazingly clear.

"Nani, prince-chan?" Goten's agile fingers curled around the growing heat beneath his hand, a mischievous grin of feigned purity tainting his innocence features. "I don't see anythin' wrong..."

"You...little shit..." Striking a deliberately taunting pace, pale fingers stroked with light pressure on the stretched seam of Trunks' pants.

"Tsk, tsk, Trunks-k'n...niichan says it's wrong to swear..." Warm lips descended to the exposed dip of the older boy's throat as that lavender head titled backward to rest on the soft cushions of the couch behind them. Licking with the flat of his tongue, the younger demi-Saiyan surmounted the parted fabric, nipping below the lax material and enticing the taller figure to moan, brilliant eyes of sparkling periwinkle slipping closed with a reverberating purr that vibrated the soft lips of the darker boy.

"Fuck...you..." An uncharacteristic smirk clouded the paler countenance, white teeth flashing as Goten's unruly head of spiky Saiyan hair lowered to hide his calculated expression.

"Later, prince-chan." Constricting his hand, the youngest demi-Saiyan reveled in the strangled cry he wretched from his counterpart, feeling the exhilarant rush of compositional swelling, the thick beat drumming through the floor and snaking its way up through his seated figure. "Now..." His lips broached the crumpled hem of Trunks' shirt, nibbling with delicate deliberation at his navel. "It's your turn..." The music throbbed with base temperament, fueling his oral exploration of the other's muscled form.

"Go...chan...matte...we...c...oh, Dende...fuck me..." His mumbled protests were devoured by the orchestral soundtrack, ignored by the persistent, sweltering kisses that came unbearably close to his aching arousal.

"Trying, prince-chan," Goten muttered, utterly succumbing to the monumental task of undoing the pastel prince's single copper button. Dammit, this was Gohan's problem, not his...he refused to believe that something so trivial could possibly be hereditary.

"Not what I...oh, k'so..." Purring forth his victory, satiny lips delved between the course material, pushing down the zipper with his nose. Relishing the musky scent of sweet arousal, Goten pursed his lips against the hard shaft that ached for his attention, tongue tip flicking out to tease the boy whose fingers tightened painfully in the ebony web of his hair. Hitched gasps left their longing echo in his ears and he quickened the pace of his tongue, growling softly as his need intensified, his own pants becoming agonizingly tight. Eh, but it hardly mattered. Trunks was a prince, after all...royalty always came first.

The heir apparent was not in a state to argue, the ministrations of his dark-eyed devil leaving him breathless and compliant under his eager touch. Eyes of angelic azure fluttered closed, one hand still clutching the forgotten bottle of liquid lethargy against his thigh. The yielding cushion beneath cradled his head as it lolled to the side, flushed cheek cooled against the musty fabric. Dende-sama, he was reeling, lounging on the euphoric eroticism of cloud nine, Goten's demonic tongue bathing him in sinful caresses of burning desire. He had never thought his counterpart to be assertive, to take the initiative, and yet, for the second time since he had finally voiced what both had coveted in their eyes, the boy had managed to surprise the hell out of him.

Lifting his head only marginally, Trunks coaxed his lids to rise, revealing sharp ebony strands that tickled the moist flesh of his abdomen. Callused hands molded the hard muscle of his thighs, supporting the head that rose and fell, the lips that pulled and sucked, the breath that teased and taunted...

Groaning low in his throat, the prince's hand slid boneless down the arched neck of his counterpart, resting on the bowed plane of his back. Dende, hai...this was better than fighting, better than tinkering...better...

"Ahem." Glossy eyes of midday blue snapped open with a start to stare with horrified terror into reflective panes of silver-rimmed glass.

"Go-go-go-"

"I'm going as fast as I can, Trunks-kun..." The younger boy muttered, face turned slightly to the side, stealing a deep breath of pure air before diving back into his work.

"Gohan!" A raven brow quirked, lips poised precariously above his counterpart's sex.

"Nani, prince-chan? You wanna play a name game?" Shrugging, Goten prepared to begin again. Whatever he wanted...

Polite coughing drew his attention upward and lust-dazed eyes took their own sweet time in sending the frightening image to his brain to begin processing.

"Nande! Gohan!" Raven eyes widening in stark panic, the youngest Son jerked upward, slamming back against the table and causing the disk to skip as though possessed.

"Would you two mind keeping it down? As hard as it may be for you." The words were clip and saturated with suppressed irritation as Gohan ran a weary hand through unkempt hair. "Just cum, already. I can hear you all the way downstairs." All the way...down...stairs... Day met night in a melding clash of holy-fucking-Dende as both boys cast crimson gazes toward the floor, Trunks' fumbling awkwardly with the clasp of his pants in a subtle attempt not to be obvious while trying vainly to shove the emerald bottle behind his back.

And holy shit, did Gohan just say...?

Swallowing hard, Goten's ebony gaze flickered up to follow his brother's retreating form, the heat in his cheeks a furnace compared to the soft glow he'd gained from the wine. Chancing a glance at his flustered counterpart, his dark brow furrowed at his sibling's parting words as he creaked down the attic stairway.

"I'm never going to get any sleep... I swear...just like your fathers."