Note: Musey and I take no responsibility for any soul-scarring, life-altering damage you may incur from reading this. We regret nothing (well, except maybe the title and the summary...).

Warnings: Yaoi, Porn Without Plot, Smut, Crack(-ish), Fan Service, (Poor Attempts at) Humour, Cussing (sort of), Hermaphroditic & Alien Biology, Interspecies Sex/Rape(?), Dubious Consent, Cupcakes and Crimes of Passion, And Collateral Damage, Possible OOC-ness, NSFW, Canon Male-Hermaphroditic Piccolo, Uke Piccolo, Allusions to Goku & His Asexuality, Wonky Peripheral Headcanons, April Fool's Day

Disclaimer: Dragon Ball/Z/GT/Xenoverse/Super/etc. belong to their respective owners. I own nothing except this derivative fanwork which I do not profit from.

Story #132:

The Correlation Between Cupcakes & Creation

It was just another day – as far as he could tell; nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, there wasn't anything happening at all… Piccolo Daimaoh Jr. wished he could say the same for himself. But "normal" was the last thing he was feeling that day.

Something was off… No… There was something was seriously wrong with him – he could tell. His heart was racing, his throat felt parched, and his loins twitched and ached in a way it had never done before. Tingly sweltering heat built and rose from every one of his pores like tiny vaporous geysers; countless beads of sweat peppered his skin—which only seemed to sizzle and fizzle the more he tried to extinguish it. A restlessness unlike anything he's ever felt before was slowly engulfing him; he was suddenly hyperaware of his body and uncomfortable in his own skin. Getting air through his nose and past his throat down to his lungs had become increasingly laborious; every breath felt like a heat wave rippling within his flesh, all in all filling him with the uncontrollable urge to disentangle himself from his garments and…

There was unquestionably something unusual happening to him! But he had no idea whatsoever of the nature of his affliction or how he had acquired it.

"Piccolo-san! There you are!"

The hazy expanse of featureless sky morphed into a face he knew even more acutely than his own. Even in his muddled state, with the image offset by the glaring mid-afternoon sun and blurred by his own unsteady vision, there was no mistaking who it was.

"Gohan."

Even his voice felt hot and heavy, along with the rest of the backdrop inside and outside of his mind. He wasn't sure if he was actually seeing anything or it was just a mirage (*the kind they say you saw before you died)… From where he partly lay, the world bobbed up and down and side to side in an undulating-swaying motion. Yes. This must be really bad if he was hallucinating now too…

The mirage blinked down at him, confusion evident on its face, and Piccolo wondered if he looked as severe as he felt.

"Err… What are you doing, Piccolo-san?"

Lazily, the image of Gohan sharpened and dulled then seemed to multiply and bleed in all directions. A heavy sigh of resignation slipped from his parched lips. He closed his eyes and gave up on trying to get the boy into better focus.

"Meditating."

"Oh…" Gohan—or the mirage—scratched its head. "I see… It's just… I've never seen you meditate like this before… half lying-half floating and half submerged in water, and—" He coughed stiffly as he looked away.

Piccolo noted the rosy tint flooding the youth's cheeks, idly watching as the colour blossomed fully, highlighting chestnut doe-eyes and ruby red lips.

"—in a state of complete… undress."

Piccolo felt his loins give another more violent lurch. He shifted his legs underwater in an attempt to ignore the throbbing in his groin.

"I'm bathing as well."

"Uhh, right. Ah, errm, okay. Well, I- uh, I just, err, wanted to say 'hi', that's all. But it seems I caught you at a bad time, since you're busy, err—bath-meditating…"

Piccolo relinquished his supine position and planted his feet on the muddy floor of the lake. He did it so abruptly that Gohan would have toppled off Nimbus if he hadn't grabbed the boy's shoulders to steady him. Piccolo didn't know why his hands lingered longer than it should have, as did his gaze which flitted from shiny cherubim lips to big dark-chocolate orbs which were boring into his own ocean-blue depths like it had invisible hooks reeling him in.

Without thinking, Piccolo took a generous whiff… Instantly, the familiar intoxicating mélange of Gohan's soap, skin, and sweat permeated his senses… But the usually sweetly comforting fragrance hit his brain this time like a sledgehammer and he swooned. He doubted very much that any illusion could smell so potent… and arousing.

Alright. Definitely not a figment of his ailing mind.

"Piccolo-san!"

He half expected to fall right through the magical cloud his rescuer was sitting on, as he reflexively placed his palms down upon it for added support. To his bewilderment, his hands and elbows met enough resistance on its wispy surface to keep him upright. His limp body was within the confines of strong arms and a solid chest in a safe embrace the very next instant.

"Piccolo-san! What's wrong? Are you alright?!"

"G-Gohan…" he groaned weakly. "I… I think…" He really did not want to say it but… "I am ill."

"Y- you're sick?! Of what? Oh no! What happened? Piccolo-san!"

Nameks didn't normally get sick; Piccolo knew this well. And he knew that Gohan knew this too. But in those moments, he didn't know what he knew anymore – it was as though an unseen force was zapping him of all his strength. The more he struggled to stand, the more he stumbled clumsily—which Gohan would have no more of, apparently.

Piccolo was hefted onto the cloud bridal-style and held securely as Nimbus skimmed them over the lake to an even patch of dry land where he was gently laid down. A palm shakily flattened over his forehead, and the worry on Gohan's face compounded as his limp antennae and clammy skin were examined.

"Crumbs, Piccolo-san… You're so cold!"

"Feels like… I'm burning… C-can't focus Ki… Too hot."

"Is that why you were in the water?! This looks serious, Piccolo-san. I should get help!"

"No!" His clawed hands shot out to find purchase on the boy's clothes, tightly clasping fistfuls of it. "I… don't need… help. I'll be fine. J- just let me rest."

"At least, let me take you to the temple! Dende-sama would know what to do—"

"I would rather remain here…"

"But—"

"I mean it, Gohan." Piccolo dug his talons until he felt them bite into the boy's flesh. "I do not want… to be seen like this…"

Then, as though struck by a lightning bolt, he felt what little energy he had left dissipate in a flash. He fell back into Gohan's lap as his grip came loose and his limbs fell limply over his abdomen.

"Piccolo-sama!" Gohan cried as his mentor's head lolled lifelessly to one side.

Exasperation boiled inside Piccolo at his state of helplessness. His body was pressed even closer to his friend's and he felt completely powerless. As much as he wanted to open his eyes and assure Gohan that he was fine– he really wasn't, and he really couldn't. His shallow breaths and encumbrance evidenced as much.

"Piccolo-sama! Please, tell me what's wrong!"

"B- burning…" He wanted to speak more but incoherent groans won over; his eyes were scrunched shut and his head tossed weakly from side to side. The notion that Gohan was somehow triggering the worst symptoms of his "condition" kept nagging at him, since it was somehow much easier to manage earlier before the boy had arrived. Which meant…

He needed to be alone—away from Gohan!

"G-Gohan… Just… l-leave me…"

"'Leave you'?! What?! No! I won't leave you! Not like this!"

"Please…"

"If you won't let me get help, then I'm not letting you ditch me! I won't let you out of my sight!"

"I d-don't want you to… see me like this…"

"W-what do you mean?" A fiery blaze was spreading across Gohan's cheeks as he gave his companion's wet form a cursory lookover, flushing even darker at being reminded of his friend's nakedness. "I-it's not like I haven't seen you unclothed before…"

"No." Piccolo despaired. The longer Gohan held him, the more the alien sensations prevailed. He felt almost completely taken over, and he could no longer… "M-make it… stop…!"

The world pulsed in a brilliant flashes of light and a sharp ringing began to fill his ears, gradually dulling everything around like he was slowly being submerged underwater. His vision went in and out of focus and it was getting harder and harder to corral his thoughts…

Gohan was staring at him – hard; that was the only thing impressing his awareness at the moment—the boy's presence, the boy's scent, the boy's warmth; those penetrating eyes that were speaking louder than his thin yet full cherry lips had been only minutes ago but had now gone deathly silent. And that silence between them was enough—more than words could ever communicate—the boy's body understood completely even if his mind was still hard-pressed to keep up.

Gohan's blood pulsed through his veins in a frenzy, stirring and firming flesh—and fast. Piccolo could hear it. He groaned weakly. The idea of having that part of Gohan inside him flashed through every neuron and synapse in his brain, making the sweltering heat crawling beneath his skin worse; his usual equanimity and ironclad self-control seemed to be melting out of the most intimate spaces of him in steamy, frothy dribble after another…

And he couldn't make it stop!

Piccolo heaved and gasped as the feeling of drowning persisted, his mouth hung open as he strived to guide air to his lungs and stop it rushing to his head. But everything was out of control now—no part of his body seemed to want to obey the rational side of him; his mind was merely a slave trapped within skin and flesh, bound to suffer with it until the whatever it was that was ailing him was stopped… or appeased?

What is happening to me? a part of him screamed. But that part receded just as quickly as it surged when his lips were suddenly crushed by the boy's own and everything that had been screaming in agony inside him was suddenly singing out to the heavens in pure, harmonious bliss and— how could Gohan's lips against his feel so impossibly divine?

Gohan did not start out gently. He pressed hard against his master, recklessly biting and scraping and suckling those supple lips. Soon, he was roughly thrusting his tongue deep inside the Namek's mouth, avidly courting a response. Piccolo moaned, unable to stop himself from parting his lips to welcome the intrusion or his tongue from enthusiastically pushing back. The longer their mouths melded, the more heated their exchanges got, and the more the entirety of Piccolo was taken over by the overwhelming urge to open his legs and invite the demi-Saiyajin to do whatever—however he wanted, anything to soothe the demanding ache in his groin and set the pooling lava in his belly free. He kissed he boy back just as savagely, hoping it conveyed all his desperate needs at that moment in all its maddening totality, and how much he wanted no one else but the boy before him to be the one to fulfil it.

"P-Piccolo-san!" Gohan mewled breathlessly, amidst the smashing of mouths.

"Gohan!" Piccolo gasped, mindless with want. He wanted it… wanted Gohan so badly. He did not even know that it was possible to desire something this much, to the point of insanity.

So far gone and lost in the sensations now that he had given in to it, that he wasn't even aware anymore that his hands had travelled south to the source of the mind-numbing craving… He was possessed by the singular notion of Gohan violating that part of him as deeply and as brutally as possible – pounding into his insides teeth-chatteringly hard and without mercy, and filling his belly to bursting with his delicious, hot, gooey semen…

When Gohan suddenly broke apart from their torrid exchange, the glaring scarlet the boy's shocked face had become told Piccolo that the unchaste images in his mind were no longer a secret. And for a heartbeat he feared that his dearest friend would be repulsed… But the sudden flurry of vivid images and visions that pervaded his mind nearly blew it apart right then and there. It was more than enough assurance that what Gohan felt and thought was quite the contrary of what he feared. And with the way those dilated rust-brown irises framed by half-masts and lush eyelashes were riveted on him like a hungry predator lusting for his prey, he knew…

Their most debauched fantasies resonated as one.

There was no room for modesty now. Piccolo had nothing left to lose and everything to gain by levelling with his lover…

"G-Gohan…! I… need you…" he whispered. "I need you. Now. Please."

Needless to say, the half-Saiyajin needed no further prompting. Gohan broke their kiss to move down to attend to his beloved partner's "need".

Never having touched himself in such a way before, Piccolo had been fumbling; fingers scrabbled unwittingly to ease the area of his greatest discomfort and in doing so, he accidentally brushed against the swollen apex atop his pubic mound. He gasped sharply when the world spun downward and upside-down as his brain is blasted with pure pleasure in prodigious doses. He insensibly rubbed at the spot more fervently in an attempt to reactivate and drag out the sensation. Pain intermingled and magnified the ecstasy as razor-sharp claws accidentally grazed the layers of delicate flesh when he tried to descend into his depths and quell the fire which was growing unbearable.

But Gohan would not allow it. He pried his master's hands out of the way to make room for himself. He dove in and let his tongue spill out and frolic around Piccolo's tenderness, squeezing in between all the gaps and tracing every delicate fold and tuck. Unreserved, throaty moans broke free from Piccolo's chest as jolts of pleasure raked through every muscle and vein of him, shooting all the way up to the very centre of his addlepated brain. He still couldn't wrap his mind around the idea of Gohan doing dirty things to him—kissing him so obscenely down there and devouring his flowing juices with such bold gusto. Somewhere in the very back of his dwindling more rational consciousness, he knew that he and Gohan should not be doing this. But at the same time, so far gone was he, that he really could not afford to pay that part of him any heed at all. His mental faculties seemed to have shifted into a completely different set of gears – all of which nothing else mattered except letting Gohan take him again and again until the inferno raging within his flesh is exhausted and extinguished.

"G-Gohannggh! P-please! D-don't stop!"

A crisp flash of brightness and exploding energy like cracking lightning passed his unseeing eyes—the only warning he got—before his wrists were pulled up above his head and fastened in place by Ki bonds in the likeness of massive iron clamps. Piccolo blinked rapidly at his now Super Saiyajin lover as he felt fingers—he could no longer tell how many—joined Gohan's mouth and gathered around his weeping core like a band of bullies ganging up on a helpless prey; and together with the boy's lips, teeth, and tongue– besieged his extreme sensitivities without remorse. Three fingers teased his clenched entrance, drawing every possible unintelligible sound from his lips, before boring into him all at once, twisting and rolling to break through the resistance met. The bulbous pink crown cresting his puffed up mound wasn't getting any lighter a punishment either, as the rest of the fingers fondled and kneaded—incessantly bearing down on the blushing flesh until it was even more gloriously engorged.

Piccolo's vision had long deserted him in lieu of a psychedelic aurora beating in a whole spectrum of colours, so bright and beautiful that he wondered if he was actually seeing their pulsing Ki energies swirling and spiking around them—the closest thing to a physical yet still phantasmagorical manifestation of unbridled pleasure. Gohan seemed to know exactly what to do to him and how to keep him just writhing and squirming; unable to speak or think or even defend himself. He could feel his hips bobbing in perfect sync with those fingers now even if he wasn't really sure why; as though the boy was a puppeteer and he was a mere marionette on strings, moving only as he was being coaxed and directed to. But he knew he was being led on to something – his body felt like a volcano on the very verge of erupting, and it was Gohan slowly guiding him to that much-needed culmination.

Soon, his breath became a steady stream of clipped huffs and puffs from his lips and nostrils. Low grunts and loud breathless moans rumbled off his chest and spasms repeatedly wracked his body until his hips reflexively bucked up into the air with the rest of him; entire body going rigid like a towed bow string. The aurora shattered into pristine bursts of light, blinding him, and whiting out the world as his climax crashed upon him in a succession of mind-blowing waves; a fantastically long-winded howl rending his throat along with it. He choked on that very cry somewhere in the middle when, without warning, Gohan's thick, rock-hardness barrelled all the way inside him mid-orgasm as strong hands clamped around his hips to keep him in place and angle him; before the demi-Saiyajin immediately exploded into action, pummelling in and out of his body with bruising force and heart-stopping speed—prolonging his series of climaxes and pumping him full with hot, generous spurt after another until globs of their mixed come was squirting and overflowing from his abused orifice.

Finally utterly spent, their bodies collapsed like deadweight, already laden with sleep on the forest ground. In a matter of seconds, Gohan was out like a light atop his chest, while the Namek found himself eluding the sandman a little bit longer…

A sigh floated up from Piccolo's lips as he felt the infernal conflagration that had taken over his body and been consuming him only minutes ago dying out at last. He knew that what they did—what he had allowed to happen—most certainly had consequences; he was almost sure that Gohan had successfully fertilized him and that an egg was already beginning to form in his abdomen. Though he wasn't one to engage in such reckless acts, he had a feeling that if he had not allowed the boy to impregnate him, that accursed heat would not leave him until their copulation bore fruit. Well, certainly, there was no denying the fact that he was now sated beyond anything he could ever imagine. Why and how he was struck by this "heat" in the first place was still a mystery (as Nameks did not normally go through unplanned ovulation) but for now, he supposed a well-deserved nap would not change any consequences he had already incurred. Furthermore, he wasn't even sure he didn't just dream everything up; and if those "consequences" were real and still there when he did wake up, then they could both deal with it then. With that in mind, the satisfied Namek finally allowed himself to be dragged along with his young lover to the land of dreamless slumber.

End of I dunno what I did.
Epilogue ahead (which I really don't advise reading if you want to keep this a PWP)…

(2018/01/03 – 2018/03/31)