"Go-kun?"

The exhausted Son jerked to consciousness with a start, sitting up as his sleep encrusted, bloodshot eyes snapped open. Shaking his head with a groan, Gohan stared blankly down at the text book that lie forgotten on his chest, pages touched with brilliant yellow reminders crumpled and creased against the awkward bend of his waist. Clasping at the back of the couch with one hand, the demi-Saiyan dragged both legs over the side with a sigh, his other hand absently closing the book and tossing the article onto the cluttered coffee table to join its notebook companions.

"What time is it, Bra-chan?" the young man asked with a broad yawn, fingers raking a disheveled path through tangled ebony strands as he focused his groggy vision on the energetic eight year old that stood resolutely before him, righting the silver specs that skewed his view of the dimly lit living room.

"'Bout seven, Go-kun." Oh, Dende-sama... "'M hungry and Papa's not up yet. 'Neither is niichan." Nodding with an exhale of resignation, the Son pushed wearily to his feet, one hand claimed immediately by the seeking fingers that were consumed so easily by his larger palm. Glancing down at his wide-eyed counterpart, Gohan found the strength to smile, despite the energy he wasted in such an empty gesture.

"How'd you sleep, Bra-chan?" The blue haired beauty shrugged, one small hand clasping futilely at the neck of a t-shirt to large for her lean frame as it crept down the smooth curve of her shoulder.

"Ok, I guess." Liquid eyes of inquisitive azure sought his own as they entered the kitchen, Gohan's unoccupied palm sliding along the tacky paper wall, colliding with the light switch and flooding the room with assertive incandescence. Ridding dull onyx eyes of post slumber grit, the oldest demi-Saiyan pulled out one of the cock-eyed chairs that haphazardly surrounded the table, a clumsy circle of casually strewn items, a landmark of Saiyan carelessness. Dende-sama, was it so much to ask that they clean up after themselves? What, the act of pushing in a chair too damn difficult to comprehend to their sex-starved minds?

"Why do Goku-san and Papa get to be so loud when they have sleepovers? Mama yells at me 'n Marron when we get that loud..." Delicate cobalt brows defined her confusion; the slight pout deepened the fine dimples in her cheeks as she accepted the Son's offer of assistance, lifting her faerie figure up with little effort and seating her lithe form on the cushioned hardwood. Scowling in irritation, Gohan gnawed on the dry surface of his lower lip, licking to wet the pasty taste of mucky morning from his mouth.

A maniacal glower split his normally innocent features, tainting the characteristic patience known only to Son Gohan. Turning toward the dirty dish littered stove-someday they would learn that he was not their personal maid-the demi-Saiyan strode purposely forward, destination in mind, and revenge burning like a brilliant beacon of justified vengeance in the forefront of his tried and tested temperament.

"I don't know, Bra-chan. Whaddaya say we make breakfast, ne? Anything you want, kid."

Goten was almost positive that something had crept into his mouth while he slept-after all, it wasn't his fault he was prone to drool-and promptly cast off the ghost. Smacking his too thick tongue against the dry ridged landscape of his mouth, the youngest Son struggled with the monumental task involved in drawing up the shutters of his leaden lids. Squinching up his nose, the demi-Saiyan cracked open one hesitant ebony eye. Blue...wrinkling his raven brow, the boy titled his heavy head backward, seeking to unkink the muscle that cried out in defiance of his motion. It was with a groan the Son found the horded strength to rise, further determination combining that overrated action with the unveiling of his obsidian eyes.

A quirky half smile tugged at the willing muscle of his mouth as he glanced down, blushing hotly at the large wet circle that adorned his counterpart's cotton-clad shoulder. Wiping at the white powdered corner of his lips with the back of his hand, the demi-Saiyan was reluctant to wake his slumbering prince. Adoring pads brushed back stringy lavender silk that had a tendency to curl just the slightest bit in extreme humidity. Dende-sama, he was beautiful...

The dawn broke in the powder blue of his angel eyes as they fluttered at his touch, a soft smile gracing his heavenly features as he brightened the room with his contentedness.

"'Morning, love," Trunks murmured, pushing upward on his elbows, meeting the descending desire of Goten's desperate lips. Dende, just a taste...to get him going...

A collision of pots below, followed by the distinct retinue of swearing broke the succulent seal of their searching lips. Shaking his fair head, the pale prince completed his ascension, granting the younger boy a gentle nuzzle to the juncture of shoulder and neck before sitting up fully.

"Papa must be cooking again," the Briefs boy remarked, arms extending like wings behind him, a snap and pop signifying the success of his unfurl. Casting down a gaze gone glassy in the rapture of his royal companion's most mundane movements, Goten slid his eyes along the disorder of the attic floor. CD's, opalescent snack wrappers, a wine bottle finished and discarded after the mortification of their early morning actions...finally resting on the small square pane that allowed the weak light to illuminate their weary forms.

"This early?" Shrugging, Trunks gained his feet, glancing down at his crumpled attire with a delicate frown.

"Chibi..." Goten arched a brow, pretending not to notice the drying splatter that accentuated the older boy's faded tee. Flickering an anxious obsidian eye up through dark, dusty lashes, the younger demi-Saiyan was relieved to see a Saiyan smirk of amusement on his koi's bronzed countenance. "Kawaii." Bracing a hand on the arm of the couch, Trunks turned toward the stairs, jerking only marginally as the clash and clatter below was hailed again, complimented by a resounding metallic ring. "Guess we should go before Papa decides to put us all out of house and home..."

Adopting a high-pitched chibi sing-song of inquiry, Goten grasped the slim, proffered hand.

"That mean we get to go camping, Trunks-kuuun?"

"I can't take it anymore! I've got an exam in two hours for Kami's sake..." Goten stared in open fascination at his ranting brother. The man had obviously, finally, once and for all, lost it.

"But no," Gohan handed another plate stacked with freshly baked pancakes to the sticky, syrupy figure of Trunks' ecstatic sister. "They don't care, Bra-chan, they don't care that I do most of the cooking, cleaning, or that I'm going to school full time so I can pay the bills, buy the food, and make sure that Goten gets his diploma." The blue head bobbed in avid agreement with the older demi-Saiyan's foreign declarations, folding another doughy disk in half and cramming it into her awaiting mouth, licking the runaway trails of amber goo off her fingers as she accepted the next piping hot platter with a glorious grin of glee.

"Do I look like Cinderella, B?" Furrowing her periwinkle brow, the munching munchkin cocked her aqua head to the side, pausing in her chewing venture to glance with concentrated scrutiny on the taller form.

"Mo, Goh-hun," she stated matter-of-factly around the mass of food miraculously stuffed in her cheeks. Shaking his mussed raven head, Gohan stoically ignored the two gawking figures that loitered within the frame of the kitchen door, fearful of entering the sanctified area that the demi-Saiyan had claimed for his crusade. Blinking up tp an equally stunned Trunks, Goten took a step backward, fully prepared to flee the scene before the crime was committed. He had never seen his brother in such a state...it was...disturbing...

"What the fuck is going on?" The youngest Son was roughly shoved aside as the Ouji strode forward into the war zone, own guns drawn and cocked, ready to take down the man that dared disturb his rest.

"Why, Vegeta-sama," A pot was thrust forcefully onto the red-hot burner, punctuating his manically cheerful greeting. "Gomen na, did I disturb your rest?" White china was sacrificed to the tiled floor as Gohan flicked his wrist downward, making music in the shattering of glass that sprayed like a fine mist of rain under the strength of his exile. Squealing in innocent excitement, Bra followed suite, banishing her empty, crumb covered plate to the floor and clapping her gummy hands together.

"Don't you just hate it when you're tying to sleep and everyone keeps making noise?" Gohan's sarcasm was thicker than the syrup coating on Trunks' younger sibling and it permeated the air with its unnatural fragrance. Vegeta's expression didn't falter, though the smoking gun of his anger lie untriggered in his eyes. "At least I'm not having sex at all hours of the morning," the demi-Saiyan challenged green lancing lightening in the midnight of his eyes. The youngest Son moved absently closer to Trunks as Bra pushed by, forgotten by everyone over three feet high and therefore given free reign to watch television in the other room. As the box clicked to life behind him, the obnoxious sound of beeping cartoons caterwauling in his ear, Goten re-focused on the fuming form of his normally stiffly composed older brother.

The man was falling apart at the seams.

"I need to sleep." Another porcelain plate fell prey to the greedy floor and Gohan's frustration. "But instead, I have to listen to you all fuck each other!" Crimson crept like poison ivy up his throat, spreading outward to encompass his face. Biting his lip, the boy chanced a look at his taller counterpart...who was the exact same shade of stricken scarlet.

"Oi! What's with the noise?" Goten's ebony eyes doubled in size as his too happy father strode purposely into Gohan's battleground. Yawning, inherently oblivious to all eyes that followed his motions, Son Goku plopped down in one of the carefully repositioned chairs, clumsy feet knocking its companions askew.

A fleeting moment of green on black and both boys were back against the wall.

Somehow avoiding the carnage that blessed the tiles, the oldest Son propped bare feet up on the opposite chair, reaching out to grasp at a half-eaten pancake that lie like a fallen soldier on the tabletop.

Fair highlights in hair blacker than a desert dusk saw even Vegeta edging away from the targeted form of his simple counterpart.

"Oi! You making breakfast again, Gohan?" The doughy bit was decimated with luster, the smacking sounds of the Saiyan's consumption firing through the eerie silence like the hissing of a cannon's fuse.

And Son Gohan was about to explode.

Glossy onyx flashed to sparkling emerald gems, a wonderful compliment to the molten gold of Saiyan locks bled pale with rage. Goku's wide, unsuspecting eyes caught only the comet's tail of glittering illumination as the force of his eldest's wrath was interrupted by the chirping cry of the enraged man's willowy cohort.

"Look! Niichan's on TV!"

He couldn't believe it. Dende really did get a kick out of fucking with their lives. He didn't need a fortuneteller to see that a trip to heaven was in his future.

If only to kick some green Namekian ass.

"Briefs Trunks, heir to the wealthy Capsule Corporation fortune, as seen here, was witnessed last evening kissing an unnamed boy in a downtown convenience store..."

He was in hell. That was Satan himself slapping him on the back and the heat in his face was due to the penance of fires that surrounded him, not the picture of him and Goten making out in the candy isle that was being broadcast on national television. Blinking azure eyes in a rapid attempt to rid him of the picture that had been placed in freeze-frame for all the world to see, the younger prince swallowed hard, glazed vision focusing on the blurry edges of Goten's face that leaned forward in a perpetual state of almost-kissing.

"Hn. Your mother's going to be pissed, boy."

"Who's that you're with, Trunks?"

"Bakayaro..."

"Trunks-kun...I think I'm gonna be sick..."

"Fuck you, Cupid...Never getting married...never..."

"Oi! Niichan, that's you! And Go-"

He idly thought, before the darkness welcomed his slightly hung over, sleep-deprived figure, it a waste that he would die from embarrassment rather than the wrath of Gohan...