We Read Our Own Porn

BY : saiyansecret
Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 1058
Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ & make no financial profit writing fanfiction.

“I don’t know what to do with him anymore,” ChiChi had ranted to Vegeta, who’d called with his now weekly complaint, “He’s gotten so lazy! I know Goku would just make excuses for him, but it’s unacceptable.”

"Yes, I’ve noticed,” Vegeta impatiently informed her, “What I want to know is why. What’s going on?”

“Everything was fine before,“ she continued, “He used to come home and flop on the couch, tell me he’s dying, and that I’ve put him in the hands of a sadist. Now, he doesn’t even look tired, and locks himself in his room with his video games. He’s not a kid anymore, and it’s time he assumes responsability.”

“No, really?” Vegeta returned sarcastically, “That’s not surprising, though. He barely breaks a sweat now.” He wondered if ChiChi realized that they were complaining accusingly for the same reason, but scowled. It was true that in Kakarot’s absence, Goten’s training was as much his responsability as was Trunks’.

ChiChi had thought for a moment. “I don’t watch his practice anymore, but I have an idea. Why don’t you and Trunks stop by this weekend, and you can train in the clearing by our house? Maybe a change of scenery and fresh air would make a difference.” And she could supervise, she refrained from adding.

Vegeta had stopped his instinctive argument, considering the option. “Not a bad idea. I’m not sure what you’re hoping for, but it’s worth a try.”

And so it was arranged. That evening after dinner, ChiChi announced the change of plans. It won her an apathetic, “Whatever,” from Goten, before he disappeared into the other dimension that was his room.
Saturday after lunchtime found ChiChi and Goten busy in the kitchen, each breathing a sigh of relief when they’d finished preparing large sandwiches, snacks and drinks, which were packed into coolers and baskets.

“You’ll have to carry most of this lot,” ChiChi told her son, “I’m feeding three Saiyans here.”

“Sure.” Goten adjusted the lapel of his red gi and easily lifted at least his own weight in food. “I still don’t see why you guys insisted on the change of plans,” he commented, “Unless our drill sergeant found a way to alter the whole Earth’s gravity.”

Picking up two baskets, ChiChi gave him a stern glance. “You should be ashamed to show your sensei such a lack of respect.”

Goten looked guiltily at the floor. Satisfied to have got through to him, ChiChi announced, “Let’s go, then.”

Goten trudged out ahead of her, and she cheerfully locked the door, hiding the key in a potted plant. ChiChi was in a decidedly good mood, reflecting that it was good to have as many boys to look after again.
Goten landed their Capsule Corp-issued helicopter in the forest clearing not far from the Sons’ home, where Vegeta and Trunks waited for them.

While Vegeta spoke to ChiChi, Trunks came over to examine the engine. “Don’t you think it’s time to upgrade?” he inquired, “Most people have the GS-6 now, and the 7-Edge will be out next month.”

Goten glanced uncomfortably at their bulky model, but tightened his mouth, not about to admit that they couldn’t afford it. But he only replied lightly, “It’s one that Mom can actually fly. Picturing her behind the new wheel should strike fear in your heart.“

Trunks laughed, but popped open the still-warm hood, concerned. “I know, but I don’t like the noise coming from the motor. I can’t get my hands greasy now, but afterward I want to check it out.”

“Okay.” Goten lightened up, having misunderstood his words for what had been a sore subject for him since their childhood.

“…The weather is nice, and we brought plenty to eat,” they could hear ChiChi saying.

Trunks glanced at them and added furtively, “Oh yeah, Goten. I know my dad sounds like an asshat sometimes, but it just comes out wrong. You should know it’s his way of worrying, so could you put in a little more effort today?”

“Because you have to hear it,” Goten translated dryly, “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.”

Trunks grinned. “That too,” he admitted, “But it’s not bullshit. He thinks something’s wrong, and is offended that you wouldn’t tell him why, or at least me.”

Goten rolled his eyes. “I told you what that’s all about. Gohan disappointed him, so he’s hell-bent on proving I’m more Saiyan than human.”

You’re nothing to him, a dark voice in the back of Goten’s mind repeated caustically, Or to any of them, and no wonder. You’ve done nothing but disappoint everyone who ever counted on you. He clenched his fists, firmly commanding it to shut up. His own world was his thing, and reality quite another. It was a place where he must settle for robotically doing as was expected of him, and so be it. He’d accepted the fact long ago.

“…Hello…?” Trunks closed the hood, waving a hand before his face. “Hey, space cadet.” He pointedly glanced at their parents, who waited expectantly.

“Yeah, yeah.” Casually they strode over to their parents, and Trunks explained the helicopter’s need for a tune-up.

“I see.” Vegeta’s expression changed. “You can check it out later, then,” he told Trunks. He led the demi Saiyans out of ki blast range, while ChiChi unfolded a straw mat, sitting down to watch.
The Saiyans’ practice was an average day, of late. That was to say, even from the security distance of her vantage point, ChiChi was mentally face-palming almost permanently. Why, even when she’d trained Goten herself in his childhood, he’d made more progress and shown more enthusiasm. Now, he appeared virtually lifeless, and she began to understand why Vegeta had been questioning her. Something was very off.

Having tried everything he could imagine, Vegeta was at the end of his proverbial rope in the extinguished heat of sparring. “What’re you gonna do now, bitch?” he purposefully taunted, “Scratch me? Slap me?”

“Huh?” Goten asked in confusion, pausing.

“You fight like a girl!” Vegeta blurted, seething, “No, worse. You fight like your brother!” He realized, too late, that he should not have said that.

Backed by a kiai that rivaled his father’s Kamehameha wave, Goten’s ki level suddenly skyrocketed in a flurry of punches and kicks that saw Vegeta battling in retreat, and sweating.

His senpai’s initial excitement of triumph blurred into fear for a split second before a vicious ki blast sent him flying backward to collide through an apple tree, which was ruggedly splintered on impact, before he crashed into a cliff just behind it. His head hit the cliff with a sickening-sounding crack before he slid to the ground, covered in dust, his elevated golden glow vanishing. As though to add insult to injury, an apple that had fallen bounced off his head.

Himself stunned at the scene, Trunks picked up the apple and handed it to his father. “Well, Eureka,” he commented, “You earned it.” The apple rolled away, unnoticed. Trunks looked up at the other two in true alarm.

“Oh my God!” Panicked, ChiChi ran over to inspect the damage. 

“I’m sorry, Vegeta-san!” Goten’s powered-up glow vanished, and he knelt beside him. “Are you okay?”

Vegeta heard their recognized voices, which seemed to echo from far away. Dizzying, black ocean waves washed over his consciousness, suggesting he was about to lose what was left, and what began as a seering electric shock in his head slowly gave way to a dull, faintly throbbing pain. Knowing there to be three other individuals present, his blurred, distorted vision suggested nine.

ChiChi also knelt beside him, placing a worried hand on his head. “Can you hear me?” she asked in panic.

“Dad?” Trunks asked, feeling his head for signs of fracture. With luck, there were none.

Vegeta nodded slowly, which was a bad idea, as everything already seemed to be spinning.

“You got a senzu bean?” Goten asked Trunks, who shook his head, so he ran back to the helicopter, returning with a First Aid kit. 

“We gotta call an ambulance!” ChiChi told them, still panicked, but Vegeta held up a hand to signal, Wait.

Goten broke open two dry ice packs, which he efficiently strapped to Vegeta’s head. “Rest your eyes, but don’t shut them,” he instructed. Vegeta complied with a muffled groan of relief brought by the ice.

ChiChi and Trunks nodded approvingly, in equal relief that it didn’t seem to be as bad as it looked. The three of them waited quietly for a few moments until Vegeta stirred, moving to slowly stand up. Trunks and Goten each steadied one of his arms, watching to see if he could stay on his feet.

“It’s fine,” Vegeta told the three of them at their wary looks, “…was just… unexpected.”

“I think you need to see a doctor, Vegeta,” ChiChi warned, watching disapprovingly as he shrugged off the demis’ support.

“No,” Vegeta stated firmly, acknowledging, “But we’ll call it a day.”

“Then you’re stuck with Dr. Mom,” ChiChi informed him stubbornly. She glanced sharply at Goten, who visibly felt badly enough about it, so she said nothing.

“What?” Vegeta demanded, though his voice was unusually subdued. 

“All I want you to do is rest,” ChiChi reasoned, “Anyway, Trunks wants to take a look at the helicopter, and the food won’t be wasted.”

The matter was settled, and the four of them climbed in. Trunks flew it back so that he could gage its performance, giving them all a good excuse for silence.

The trip didn’t take long, and on arrival, Trunks took out his capsule toolbox, and went to work immediately.

ChiChi let the rest of them in, and told Goten, “Lend him your room, so he can rest.”

Being the least he could do, Goten led Vegeta to his room, setting a fresh bottle of water on his nightstand. “It’s more comfortable than it looks,” he told him with a grim half-smile, watching him sit down.

“It’s fine.” Vegeta averted his eyes, his voice sounding even more subdued.

Goten chewed his lip as an awkward moment passed. “Vegeta, I’m really sorry,” he said again, “I swear I didn’t mean to–”

Vegeta caught his chagrined regard. “Don’t be.”

Not knowing what to say to fill the empty silence, Goten retreated. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Vegeta watched him close the door behind him, hearing his quiet footsteps fade. He kicked off his boots with a heavy sigh and layed back on the pillow, rubbing his sore head.

The bed was indeed comfortable, and a nap sounded like the best idea ever at that moment. He could have easily gone right to sleep, if he hadn’t felt something poking him in the back. He also may have been able to ignore it, but not quite. In tired irritation, he pulled back the bedspread and sheets, seeing nothing amiss. He felt beneath the mattress, and his hand closed around a rigid, square object.

He pulled out a black binder with the intention of moving it down by his feet, but something about it caught his interest. It was filled with old, doodled-on notebooks of different colors that looked to be from his last year of high school. That was odd. Why would he need those now, even more, why hide them? They were all similar, and he had to crack an amused smile at the many angry-looking, red correction marks on the assignment pages.

In the middle was a yellow notebook that inexplicably fascinated him. On the cover was doodled in 3D letters, ~Boringest Class Ever~ He doubted that ‘boringest’ was a real word, but curiosity pushed him to open it.

The first couple of pages were scrawled with random, unrelated math equations, and at the next page, he froze.

He hadn’t known the demi Saiyan could draw so well, but what made the deep blush creep across his burning cheeks was the exact, pencil-sketched likenesses of Goten, and of himself. And what the drawing depicted them doing. Their virtual selves were engaged in a heated, passionate kiss, their hands groping places that they really should not.

Feeling literally, electrically shocked, Vegeta was compelled to turn the page, and after a long pause, again. What struck him the most was the realism of the drawings, which seemed capable of walking off the pages into reality, and the genuine passion infused into each.

Luckily he was already seated, he thought dimly, as each page revealed a scene more daring than the last. They followed a logical sequence, a pictoral story that was slowly unfolding.

Stunned with his heart thudding in his ears, Vegeta knew that what he should do was put everything back and forget that he’d ever seen it. But, how could he possibly unsee that? He hadn’t had the least clue that Goten felt that way about him.

The next page, a series of close-up crotch shots of him in his spandex made him squirm with embarassment. What Goten had likely seen at times was his protection cup, though it was true that he often hardened for no particular reason. The scenes made him scowl indignantly that he should be dissected and scrutinized like a piece of meat, but the depiction on the next page instantly dissolved the thought. In this one, Goten was on his knees at his feet, holding him at that level in an adoring embrace.

The more he stared at the provocative drawings, unable to tear himself away, the more he felt a tug in his chest, among other places, sometimes gently, other times cruelly. He also felt a strange pull of guilt to be spying on Goten’s private world, not meant for prying eyes. He would tell no one, he silently promised, nor would he give the younger man any reason to suspect his knowledge of it.

His page turning slowed as the images became racier, their clothing removed before the deliciously forbidden acts began. Goten clearly saw himself as the sub of their fictional couple, and by now, Vegeta could not stop devouring the images if he tried. Despite himself, he could neither stop his body from reacting accordingly to each scenario, and longing for the sensations so graphically suggested. Such things would never happen for real, he reminded himself. Doubtless, it was but a passing fantasy to appease the screaming hormones normal for his age; soon enough, he would find a new object of desire.

That probability did not stop Vegeta’s obsession to savor every last one. He’d read pornography before, involving strangers who purposely promoted it, and were quickly forgotten; this was very different, rendering him dumbfounded at the vivid awareness of feeling exactly what was portrayed.

He did not know what to think.

Okay, it happened for him to secretly admire the demi Saiyan when he wasn’t looking, with no real expectation, but…

Vegeta’s fingers were slightly trembling by the time he’d turned the last page, his breathing shortened. There were some blank pages left, and he wished he could bring it with him to read at his leisure. But, of course, that wasn’t possible. He settled for looking back at a few choice drawings to burn into his memory for later viewing before turning the last page. The last scene was only a kiss, but one that conveyed such intimacy it left his senses reeling with a mix of so many yet unidentifyable emotions, he thought he would burst.

Under the drawing were their names within a heart, rather young for him to relate to, but which suggested the demi’s sincerity.

Vegeta closed the notebook, putting it back into the binder as it had been, then slid it under the mattress near the footboard. He took his place on the pillow and stared at the ceiling, remembering his fatigue, but unable to forget what he’d seen.

As much as he needed a nap, the throbbing heat between his legs clamored for other attentions. His hand strayed down in a gentle attempt to calm it, which only made it worse, and that was not a current option. With a frustrated groan, he pulled up a small bedspread cover over his hips, embarassingly certain now that his masculine outline was obvious.

Frustrated, he tossed about in search of a less uncomfortable position. Finally settling halfway on his side, he managed to drift off, despite his mind taken hostage by Goten’s hormone outlet. At this point, he was too sore and exhausted to be picky.
Vegeta had managed to catch a nap, and awoke to a discrete knock on the door. He didn’t clearly remember his dreams, but had a good idea of their culprit. Damn him.        

Having seen that he’d rested, ChiChi entered with Goten in tow. “Are you feeling better?” she inquired. Vegeta nodded, but she placed a hand to his forehead. “Your temperature is up,” she announced doubtfully.

“Normal,” Vegeta mumbled sleepily, “The ki heals us faster that way.”

“Huh. Goku never mentioned that.” She handed him two aspirin and his water bottle. “Take these, and drink more water,” she told him. Goten nodded behind her, and he complied to make her happy.

“Where’s Trunks?” he asked drowsily.

“He went to get parts for the helicopter,” ChiChi replied, hearing the tea kettle whistle. “Make him behave,” she told Goten dryly before stepping out.

Dutifully, Goten reached down to also touch his forehead. “She’s right,” he confirmed in surprise. “Are you cold?” he asked, noticing the small cover around him.

“No.” Realizing he’d turned on his back again in his sleep, swiftly Vegeta turned his leg back, half over on his side.

At the sight of his reddened cheeks, Goten doubted that. “Make yourself comfortable, Vegeta-san,” he told him politely, “You don’t feel like a stranger here, do you?” He pulled down the bedspread and sheets, and tucked him snugly underneath them.

“No, I’m not cold,” he replied, getting him a puzzled look from Goten, “But you’re the one acting like a stranger,” he pointed out lightly.

“Huh?” Goten’s face was blank, a classic Son look, and Vegeta guessed his long-buried thought: Real Vegeta and Virtual Vegeta from his personal manga were two different people in his eyes, the latter being purely fictional.  

Seeing it to be a moot point, Vegeta dropped it. “I know it was an accident,” he pointed out, “I was trying to make you angry, and hit the jackpot.”

“Yeah, I know.” Goten looked down and scuffed his shoes, wondering what he was expecting him to say, “You usually kick my ass.”

“So did your niece,” Vegeta reminded him dryly, “What I mean is, that was once. Next time, you’ll just lapse back into lazy mode.” He hesitated. “I can tell something is wrong, so can Trunks and your mother. If it’s personal, I get it. But it affects your training, which affects everyone.”

Goten was quiet, again at a loss for words. “Guess I’m just in a lazy mood. Nothing’s wrong. All is usual.”

“Well, what’s wrong with usual?” Vegeta asked, unsurprised at his silence. “No need to answer now. But think about it, alright?”

“Okay,” Goten replied quickly, looking relieved to be off the hook.

“Not optionally, for real,” Vegeta insisted firmly, “Will you?”

Goten nodded, still looking at the floor. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Vegeta pushed aside the covers and swung his legs off the side of the bed.

Goten raised an eyebrow. “I hope you’re just taking a short pause.”

“No, why?” Vegeta reached for his boots.

“Because if my mother sees you up, I’m the one who’ll catch hell.” He watched warily as the other Saiyan fumbled with a boot. 

“She exaggerates.” Stubbornly Vegeta wiggled his foot into a boot, reaching for the other.

“I mean it.” Goten kicked the boot out of his reach, and deftly pulled off the other to do the same.

Vegeta’s piercing eyes shot daggers at him. “Goten, I demand an immediate explanation.” His unnaturally calm voice suggested the potentiality of hell breaking loose.

Undaunted, Goten pushed him back onto the pillow. “Your head was hit really hard, and you’re burning up,” he reminded him firmly.

“I am not!” Vegeta declared, dismayed by a contradictory shiver from the contrast of warm covers and crisp air.

“Vegeta, be reasonable,” Goten appealed. Vegeta shoved him away, but Goten pinned him down by the shoulders.

“Let go!”

ChiChi opened the door with a hot cup of tea in her hands, unsure of what to make of the apparent struggle on the bed. “What in the hell is going on here?” she asked wearily.

“My senpai–I mean sensei–” Goten hastily corrected, “–wishes to get up,“ he explained tersely.

ChiChi sighed and set the cup on the nightstand. “Vegeta, you know you need to take it easy,” she began, “And Goten, why were you being so rough with him?”

Both remained still, and Goten looked down. “He was going to leave.” Disliking the way his voice sounded, he added, “You said he should rest.”

“No, I wasn’t.” Vegeta sounded surprised. “It’s just not that bad.” ‘Senpai’? The word sounded similar enough to ‘sensei,’ so he decided that must be it. 

ChiChi considered him. “I can bring your tea to the living room, if you prefer,” she offered Vegeta, “Wherever’s comfortable, and Trunks has a lot to do before what was supposed to be lunch.”

Vegeta only sat quietly on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor as though thinking. 

“Well, just let us know.” ChiChi smiled kindly and left them. 

Another awkward silence passed between them, and Goten sat down as well. “Sorry,” he said finally, “Looks like I’m on a roll for screwing up.”

“Nah.” Vegeta glanced at him sidelong. “You’re an overprotective type.“  

Goten noticed his arms wound tightly but discretely around himself. “And you’re a stoic,” he added in veiled amusement, “You are cold, aren’t you?”

“I guess so,“ Vegeta admitted, sounding surprised, “I didn’t notice.” Fully realizing it now, he visibly shivered, rubbing his arms.

Goten stood to open a dresser drawer, taking out his favorite pair of gray jogging pants with a matching sweatshirt. Both were printed with his signature name number 510 in yellow and green. “Just put ‘em on over your clothes,” he said simply. That would be easy over his skimpy spandex, he thought, and he himself would not be forced to keep his eyes up as much.

“Thanks.” Vegeta quickly pulled on the sweatshirt, then the pants underneath the small cover that was still draped over his lap.

He must really be cold, Goten thought, rearranging the covers. He motioned for Vegeta to slide back underneath them, which he did without argument. The returned warmth caused him to shiver more intensely. Goten tucked the covers tightly around him and vigorously frictioned his back, which relaxed him a bit after a few moments. 

Vegeta was quiet for a time. “If it were your father, he’d tell me some senseless riddle, look at me like he knew something I didn’t, then laugh over something entirely different.”

Goten snickered. “Yeah, I know.” He thought for a moment, then grinned. “I know one, but it’s explainable. Well, kinda.”

“Go for it,” Vegeta challenged, intrigued.

“Okay… Once, a Chinese master named Zhao had a dream that he was a butterfly,” Goten began, “He forgot everything about his life, and even who he was. All he knew was, he was a butterfly. When he woke up, he wondered: was it Zhao who dreamt he was a butterfly, or was it the butterfly who dreamt it was a man named Zhao? I don’t think he ever found out.”

Vegeta’s eyes opened, and he blinked. “Where did you hear that?”

“In an anime. I laughed it off because it was told by a character named Lau who always has an opium pipe in his mouth. But recently, I heard that was a real fable. Except I don’t remember the master’s name, so I still call him Zhao,” he concluded.

“Okay, but you said you could explain it,” Vegeta reminded him, though he’d caught his attention.

“Just in my own way,” Goten admitted, “What if we all could do that? Not be a butterfly, I mean forget who we are, what we’re supposed to do, know or care what people think and expect of us… just drop it all, and do our own thing?” His expression was faraway and wistful.

“Interesting.” Vegeta contemplated Goten, who may as well have spilled his most personal thoughts in one offhand story. The demi Saiyan was now obliviously leaning his back against Vegeta’s shoulder. 

“If you could do that, what would you do?” Goten inquired.

“No idea. I never thought about it,” Vegeta reflected. Alone around Goten, he almost had that impression, anyway. Aside from occasional awkwardness, there was no real need for pretention. “But, how can someone not be who they are? Even taking another form, they still have the same thoughts.”

“Even in dreams?” Goten asked, “They get pretty crazy sometimes.”

“Yes, they do,” Vegeta agreed quickly, “But I don’t usually remember them.”

“You probably don’t try,” Goten guessed, “So try daydreaming. Pretend you’re someplace nice.“

“I’m comfortable.” That much was true, Vegeta acknowledged, and his eyelids closed heavily. What else could he want, at that moment?

Goten smiled faintly, his own eyes also closing drowsily. Comfortable was a good word.
Her knock unheard, ChiChi opened Goten’s door, shaking her head at the two sleeping Saiyans. Vegeta was still bundled up, turned on his back with Goten still leaned on his shoulder, now reclined back over his chest like a cat. “Well, you made sure he stayed put.”

Lazily Goten opened one eye, reluctantly sitting up before wondering how he’d gone to sleep thus.

“Hey,” Vegeta mumbled indignantly at the disturbance. He also opened his eyes, and groggily sat up.

“Trunks says the helicopter is fixed,” ChiChi called in, “You’re welcome to sleep, but I thought you must be hungry by now.”

The mention of food mysteriously dissolved their sleepiness, and Goten brought Vegeta his boots with a humorous smirk. The latter returned the smirk and accepted them. Goten watched him slip them on, feeling proud to see him still wearing his sweatsuit.

They joined ChiChi and Trunks in the kitchen, where the food awaited them. “Good, you look better,” ChiChi said to Vegeta as they sat down, “Scared me there.”

“Everything’s fine,” Vegeta assured her, “Just gotta be careful not to piss him off.” He lightly punched Goten’s arm with a proud gleam in his dark eyes, then asked Trunks, “What was wrong with the motor?”

“One of the cylinders was blocked,” Trunks replied, “ChiChi doesn’t seem to believe me, but its replacement is included in the warranty. Would you mind confirming that?”

Vegeta tangibly felt Goten stiffen, his eyes narrowed, and saw the problem. He refused to accept handouts, family or not. Vegeta himself saw the logic in that. But again, he didn’t know if it was covered or not, nor did it seem important. “I don’t know all the legal details, but all parts and repairs are garanteed,” he smoothed over. Goten, thus ChiChi, seemed to accept that.

“Well, thank you for fixing it, Trunks,” ChiChi acknowledged.

“No problem. My biggest concern is your safety,” Trunks replied courteously.

The ambiance became peaceful, and the group was quiet while they ate. Each realized that they’d been hungrier than they’d thought, and felt much better afterward. ChiChi finished their tea, and brought it to the table.

“How’d you get him to sleep properly?” ChiChi asked Goten, who shrugged.

“Something about someone dreaming they were a butterfly,” Vegeta recalled, “Or was it the other way around?”

“Oh no!” Trunks exclaimed in a stifled laugh, noticing Vegeta wearing Goten’s favorite sweatsuit. “You actually let someone wear that?” he asked Goten incredulously.

“It’s warm and it fits,” Goten brushed off.

“Maybe it’s a lucky number,” Vegeta speculated lightly. Goten smiled and looked down to hide his blush.

The four of them spoke lightly over a few cups of tea, until Trunks glanced at his watch. “Well, we should be going before it gets darker,“ he announced, standing, “Thank you for dinner, ChiChi. And for looking after my dad, Goten.”

“You know you’re welcome anytime,” ChiChi replied cheerfully.

“It’s the least of things,” Goten added.

“Make sure your father gets enough sleep,” ChiChi told Trunks, who nodded.

“I’m fine, but no worries,” Vegeta replied dryly, “It’s been a long day, and I’m going right to bed.” He had lost a considerable amount of ki, and that was his true intention.

“Good, because I’ll call and make sure,” ChiChi warned them, satisfied. 

“Then bring in the ‘copter for a check up next week,” Trunks reminded them with a friendly wave.

Pulling at the front of his sweatshirt, Vegeta mumbled in furtive challenge to Goten, “You’re not getting it back.”

Goten grinned with a thumbs-up, and they watched them fly off. He kept his smile for a long time after they’d left.
For once, the youngest Son man made his mother happy by turning in early, ignoring his video game console in favor of going straight to bed.

Sleepily he shut off his lamp, more than a little troubled as he clutched his pillow that still held Vegeta’s scent.

To his own surprise that day, it wasn’t the lusty mood his secret manga depicted that he’d felt. If he had his way now, Vegeta would be held tightly in his arms for the entire night. Gods, what was happening to him?

He squeezed the pillow tighter with a heavy, melancholic sigh. So ironically close, yet still so far.
TBC in Chapter 2…

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