I restack the dishes easily from where I had put them, depositing any overlooked remains into the empty dog bowls by the sink. Ouja follows me devotedly until I deliver, then proceeds, nose to floor, to make absolutely certain there's nothing I've managed to miss. Relieving myself of the five high burden, I place the entire pile, napkins and all, by the rack. I'll leave Tora to do it. After this morning's excursion and the predatory chain reaction that occurred because of it, he can bloody well do the dishes.

In my opinion, the bastard's getting off easily.

I roll my eyes and head toward the bedroom. Bastard always gets off easy. To hell if I know what it is about him, but neither Goten, nor myself-and trust me, I curse myself every time I bend over backward for that man-I blush and my thought trails away. He's the only fucking person that can make me feel smaller than my goddamn dog.

Sighing, I ease open the door to the room we share. It's dark, the thick curtains he insists upon drawn tightly, imitating the nighttime darkness he laboured through in the basement. I wonder at that sometimes. Why it is he prefers the dark and cold the way he does. It's hard enough getting him out of the house for anything but a spar. There are days Goten's the only one that can convince him to catch some air.

He's becoming more like Mama everyday. If I didn't have Goten, I'd feel like a widow to his work.

But that's the glory of this relationship. When one man's busy, the other two are inevitably having the time of their lives. It's a great way to ease the conscience. I never liked the taste of guilt much anyway.

The room still smells strongly of sex. I laugh quietly at Goten's expense as I tiptoe to the closet, maneuvering around his canine Majesty. He gives me a long lazy look before deciding that I'm hardly worth his time.

His even snores echo my silent steps.

The closet door creaks and I wince, throwing a glance to the snoozing figure on the bed. The last thing I need right now is him awake. I want a fucking paycheck for my manual labour, dammit!

Blue. Navy. Cerulean. Aqua. Something to go with my eyes….

The colour's in my head and I pull out a shirt to match. It's not quite, but it'll do. The last thing I need is a fashion clash with our new Spring Line. Kami-sama, I can just imagine the looks of those high-society blue rinse bitches if they saw me in any of Goten's clothes. They'd run away screaming and I'd be shut down within the week.

Needless to say, I avoid the orange pullover my lover got me for Christmas.

Ah, yes…I settle on a shirt, blue, neon and vibrant, slip it over my head and adjust the collar. Fuck yeah. I turn, admiring the cut, the cinch, the slimming effect it has on my waist.

Blueberry muffins, eat your heart out. I've got more curves than a coastline, and the cool, satin seduction of the water it defines. Yosh.

"You're like a fucking peacock."

"And you're a perpetual pain in my ass." I grin sarcastically into the mirror at his reflection. His silhouette shifts. Ouji raises his head questioningly.

"At your own insistence." Glaring, I close the closet door and stalk across the room to the dresser, fishing for a pair of pants. I'd die before the world saw in sweat pants after 8AM.

When I don't answer, he sits up. Tugging on a pair of white slacks, I hop-and-hike them above my hips, button, and zip. Further relaxed by my added protection against his lascivious intentions, I snag some socks and walk to the bed to don them.

"Something's bothering you." And it is. I can feel it; like an itchy palm means money, an itchy aura means Tora's got a problem.

Not that he's much of a talker. Like Papa, he'd rather beat the shit out of someone else until he felt better about himself.

"No." Predictable. He'll deny it till his hair turns blue and he looks exactly like that impersonator from So you want to be rich? that flutters around pretending she's part of our family.

"Uh huh…that's why it's seven fucking degrees in here and darker than hell on holy days."

"Fuck you, Briefs."

I smirk.

" 'At your own insistence.' "

He snorts at my indolent mimicry. I'm not really trying. I hate to kick the boy when he's down.

Shrugging, knowing he'll trickle it out at his own reticent pace, I draw my feet up to the bed and slip on my socks. As much as I hate to sound callous, I don't have time for his melodramatic shit this morning. I'm sure he'll either find a way to work it out or give up and find Papa.

In which case, they'll both have a cathartic experience and everyone'll benefit.

"Ouja needs to go the-" I glance around quickly. The sound of that word is a trick in itself. If the little beast caught whiff of it, you'd be lucky to find her before supper tonight. "The V-E-T this afternoon. Directions are on the fridge. Appointment's at five." I stand, straighten out my shirt and smooth my pants. "Don't be late, alright? Goten works until six tonight and I might be late. I've gotta pick up that fabric from the warehouse before I-Oi, you listening?"

I lean forward in the icy black of my lover's preferred atmosphere, hands braced on the bed. Sighing softly, I shake my head, brushing the shorter strands of hair from his face.

"Damn you for being cute when you sleep," I murmur, outlining his jaw with my thumb and loving the coarser sensation of unshaven skin. I'm caught in the middle of a really sappy moment and the promise of a hard on.

"I don't know how the fuck you manage to pull me in so many directions." Moving slowly, so as not to disturb him, I kiss him gently on the lips. Savour that taste. Coffee, black. Bacon, burnt. The scent of oil and soap and electricity.

And Goten. And sex.

The kiss deepens before I can help myself. It's only when his arms are around my waist and my feet off the floor that I realize he's no longer asleep.

Needless to say, I'm late for work.