Hullo, there! Well, I've dabbled in a more "friendly" version of the V/Gh reality. I'm quite proud of myself as I managed to involve sexual actions without sullying the flow of the work. I also experimented briefly in a style of writing I've always been fascinated by: minimalism. See if you can spot it. : ) Please notify me of any typos and/or grammar mistakes you may find. I went over it rather thoroughly, but no one is perfect…
Warning: Involves obvious sexual acts! Though it's all written in a rather abstract way.
Weary, sable eyes hidden behind half-closed lids gazed dully at the thin scrap of pressed vegetative matter, the smooth black scratches of ink trying vainly to focus into legible words before his unfocused vision. The shaved wood of a pencil was balanced precariously on the edge of a simple, plastic and metal concoction that served as Son Gohan's study table. Eleven years of growing found the boy several sizes too large for the worn rosewood desk given as a gift from his grandfather, Gyu Mao, on his third birthday. Absently, he puckered his lips and blew upward a rush of air, sending thick ebony bangs bouncing and swaying in the artificial breeze only to settle back down stubbornly in front of his eyes. He needed a haircut.
Gohan glanced at the small, hexagonal wall clock above his bed for the fifth time that hour and anxiously tapped the toes of his bare feet on the plush, ochre carpet: 8:50. Ten more minutes. Just ten minutes left, and then Gohan could feel the excitement, compassion, and peace that came with his nightly rendezvous with a certain prince. It held promise of a release both emotive and physical. They had begun only a week after the battle with the insectoid monstrosity called Cell. The first meeting had, in fact, been nothing more than circumstance, an accidental crossing of paths. Both warriors had been upset and moody, though unwilling to admit it, and had battled the night away, chasing not only each other's corporeal bodies but also the demons that besieged their minds whether awake or asleep and kept all other thoughts at bay. And then there was that other reason…
Gnawing pensively on his lower lip, Gohan gave up all pretenses of working and leaned back, searching for that small window in space where mass and gravity both blinked temporarily out of existence to allow for the precarious balancing act that was so much a habit for the young demi-Saiyajin. Successful in this endeavor, he allowed an enraptured smile to slip slowly into place as he settled back into his last thought. That other reason, one that had only recently developed, sent waves of blissful shivers up his spine and painted his world in shades of soft, smoky pink. It was a happy, fleeting thing that wiggled its way, laughing and teasing, into his mind and then exploded in a feathery cloud of the innocent and not so innocent. It planted thoughts and ideas, quickly and diligently, like sowing seeds in a backyard nursery, and tended to these sprouts until they took firm root and could not be pulled, even by the most devoted gardener. And there they sprung, ripe for the picking and choosing, a proverbial oasis in his own head.
At first, Gohan had treated these flowering emotions, suggestions, responses as wicked weeds, infesting and encroaching upon his sane mind, swallowing up the healthy and leaving in their wake a treacherous wasteland of corruption. But then it all changed.
Strange how one simple action, one tiny fragment of the entropy of the universe, can change so much, can affect the entire perspective one has on the world. But that is what happened that day… That glorious, beautiful day…
Vegita kissed him.
Oh, it was nothing deep, nothing passionate; it did not raise a hellfire of blinding lust and utter abandon in Gohan's young body. In fact, if it was anything, the gesture had been shy, questioning, if such words are appropriate labels for the prince of the Saiyajins. This scornful, domineering, presumptuous master demanded a kingdom and received a select group of cheeky, brazen outlaws instead and forever cried out for the injustice of it all. Though to his credit, he was slowly climbing down the treacherous steps from his lonely perch on a throne that looked out over nothing but dreams and memories.
And for this, Gohan admired, no, -loved- him even more.
For it was just that, was it not? Those tiny blooms of thought that were now spreading like a forest fire across his mind, feeding off every glance, touch, and word from his paramour. They were love. And it was a fire that he welcomed not with fear and resistance but with open arms and heart and soul.
Another peek at the clock showed the minute hand nearly atop the twelfth Roman numeral and Gohan's heart raced. It was time, time for him to meet his mentor, confidant, and, dare he say it, lover. With a mindless skill born from familiarity with a system, the boy stood and pulled on his dark training gi, clean and pressed via his doting mother and then cleared his desk, placing each disturbed object back into its own specified position. But Gohan's mind was elsewhere, eager to reach his, -his-, Vegita.
There was a muffled click of a latch, and then a whistle of wind free to roam through an open window and work under the corner of one forgotten slip of paper, only to turn away sharply the moment before it peeled the thin scrap away from its resting spot and turn to dance with ebony locks; a tell-tale flutter of downy-soft curtains, and then the room was still save the shifting wind and empty of life.
Water and earth and sky all blended together in a maddening rush of texture and colour as Gohan continued his single-minded journey. He paid no heed to the blushing clouds, their hues slowly deepening the sun fell and gave little attention to the shadowed forests with their hidden lakes of sparkling sapphire. The land hushed beneath him in that brief moment between night and day when time stands still, the creatures of light slowly drifting to sleep and those of the night lazily returning to wakefulness. His heart fluttered, skipping a beat and then settling into a slightly quickened pace, at the sight of a small but imposing silhouette on the horizon.
No greetings were needed, nor particularly desired. Both warriors flared blazing gold simultaneously in silent agreement and what little of their surroundings deemed worthy of noticed melted into the background as two prodigious superpowers clashed in a battle fueled by love. The world narrowed to encompass only their lone souls, tattered and jaded, but finding strength and healing in the desperate, raw contact of battle.
The fluidity of combat was enticing and sensual: flesh on flesh., minds melding into one, solitary state of being. Movement a dance with death, with blood, with desire. Lust-laced eyes locked in a gaze that blazed with all the lively fury of the vanishing sun. Bodies slick with sweat and haloed in soft whites and blues of the plump moon. Ground rushing up to meet skin with a wet slap. Feral cries, rapture interwoven with lovely delight and marred with dark sorrow. Salty tears unnoticed on cheeks turned up in ecstatic smiles and lips parted, breathless. Reds, blues, yellows, greens, shocking white lightning flashing, sparking behind eyelids squeezed tight. Spirits running, falling, rolling, leaping up – up – up. Higher and higher, scorching fire of stars, once pinpoints, now within an arm's reach. Fingers close, closer, almost there – Skin scalding, boiling, nerves splitting, sensing every touch there, there, and –there-.
The world, reality cracks, fragmenting, spider lines snaking through minds drunk on savage feeling. Then shattering, splintering, the light spiraling into one central point of being and finally tapering off into darkness. Tender, pulsating waves of physical satisfaction and soulful fulfillment washing over bodies of wavering strength, relishing in the fallout. An act commenced in an instant, and over before minds could even comprehend a beginning.
And always the moon watched over Her nightly companions.