Author's Note: Just to let you all know, I'm going to be playing a little fast and loose with Namekian anatomy in this chapter and those that follow. This is due to personal preference rather than ignorance, as I'm well aware of how it "should" be, as much as anyone can be aware. Therefore, I'd appreciate a small amount of suspension of disbelief in these areas, and I'd like to humbly ask that you don't leave comments to the effect that I got something "wrong." If it's wrong, I'm very aware and it's quite intentional. With that said, please enjoy this chapter and the rest of the story!::.
Yamcha's eyes widened as the realization of what was going on hit him with a drunken delay, though it left him too stunned to do anything about the alien lips currently pressed against his own. Did Piccolo really… Was he being kissed by Piccolo right now?!
At that moment, Piccolo himself seemed to come to the same conclusion about the sheer absurdity of what he was doing. Hand still grasped around the human's throat, he pushed him away just far enough for their lips to part, staring up in flustered embarrassment and feeling his cheeks heat up to a deep purple hue. What the hell was he doing?! All he'd planned on doing was making sure Yamcha didn't off himself in his acutely depressed state, not… whatever the hell this was! Alas, he had no explanation for himself, much less one to give the utterly bewildered man still knelt over him, so all he could really do was wait awkwardly for whatever reaction he'd get once Yamcha snapped himself out of his stunned silence.
Yamcha, however, was not quite done being confused even as he stared down into Piccolo's blushing yet somehow still staunchly stubborn face. The first thing that occurred to him was that this couldn't be real. It was just too absurd! On what plane of existence could he reasonably expect to be suddenly making out with the Demon King himself?!
Then, in some strange moment of inebriated deduction, it occurred to him that there was only one scenario in which this set of events made any sort of sense; this had to be a dream! Of course! He must have downed so much of that scotch that he'd passed out there on the lakeside, and this was just the bat-shit crazy whiskey dream he was left with as a result. Even the fact that it was Piccolo of all people could be strangely justified — after all, he was just lamenting to himself that Bulma had cheated on him with an evil alien prince. Perhaps this was just his subconscious attempting to get back at her with an evil alien king?
Convinced that he'd stumbled upon the only possible explanation, a sly grin spread across Yamcha's face. Well, if it was just a dream, that meant there were no consequences to following this setup to its natural conclusion, right? After all, this wasn't real, and that wasn't really Piccolo, meaning he couldn't kill him for what he was about to do. There were the Freudian implications, of course, but he'd confront those at a later time.
Piccolo had barely registered the unexpected shift in Yamcha's demeanor before he felt the other man press his body fully down against his own, an arm wrapping itself around him and pulling him close. It was when he felt the playful nibbles to his neck that his previous murderous rage returned to him in a flash, his free hand shooting up to grasp a fistful of raven hair, fully intent on yanking Yamcha's head clean off his body if he dared advance any further.
Yet… He couldn't seem to follow through on that intent. The whole point of him coming out here was to keep Yamcha from taking his grief so far that he killed himself. It would be a waste of all his effort and nagging worry for him to just murder him outright like this. Sunken cost fallacy aside, he imagined he would need to do quite a bit of difficult explaining if the others found out he'd killed one of their friends. He didn't really care if they believed him about the circumstances, he was more worried what Gohan would think of him…
His grip on both Yamcha's hair and neck relaxed a bit at that last thought. Eh, screw it… What did he have to lose by just going along with such a farce? Even if Yamcha wasn't too drunk to remember what was going on, who'd believe him? Hell, did he even have the balls to admit to doing such a thing? He certainly seemed like the type that cared too much what others thought of him, so it was unlikely.
All that aside, Piccolo couldn't deny that he was struck with a certain curiosity, one that he doubted he'd ever have the chance to indulge after this. After all, most humans seemed strangely obsessed with this whole 'sex' thing, to the point where it seemed to be the end goal of most of their endeavors. If he went along with this, perhaps he'd finally figure out what all the hype was about.
Yamcha, meanwhile, had taken Piccolo's hesitation to kill him as confirmation that he had assumed correctly. After all, if this wasn't some strange dream, he'd absolutely be dead by now, right? This seemed to make him all the more brazen, a hand wandering between their bodies to grab teasingly at the other's crotch, earning a startled yelp of sorts from the owner. What he felt gave him a moment's pause — or rather, what he didn't feel. Well, that didn't seem right.
Growing too curious and too cocky for his own good, Yamcha proceeded to untie the sash wrapped around Piccolo's waist, sliding purple pants down emerald hips and glancing down to confirm what his hand's cursory exploration had suggested. Even though that's certainly what it felt like from outside his clothes, he still couldn't believe his eyes.
"Y-you gotta be kidding me…" he practically breathed out in disbelief. This statement seemed to get Piccolo all the more flustered, though this time his face seemed to heat up more in offense than in embarrassment.
"I-if you've got a problem with it, you can get off me right fucking now!" Piccolo growled out in clear annoyance.
Yamcha didn't seem to hear him, instead continuing to stare down at the truly alien body beneath him. Sure, he'd had no idea what to expect between a Namekian's legs, but an oddly familiar slit certainly wasn't on his list of possibilities. Then again, this was a dream, wasn't it? It only made sense that his subconscious would give him a partner with equipment he was already experienced with, especially since he'd only ever slept with women before this. Some tits would have been a nice addition to round it out, but he supposed he couldn't ask for too much from a booze-fueled vision such as this.
His confusion at the incongruity between Piccolo's stoically masculine presentation and this decidedly feminine feature soon abated, and his hand moved back to exploring his new discovery, a single finger just barely pushing past the outside to glide along the soft, warm interior of the crease. He could feel the Namekian flinch almost in surprise at the touch, but there was still no sign of resistance. He took that as a green light to go further, his finger sinking deeper to brush over what — in his experience with human women, at least — he knew to be a particularly sensitive spot.
The sound that came out of Piccolo was something between a surprised gasp and a pleasured keen. He immediately clamped a hand over his mouth before much more of that utterly embarrassing noise could be heard. Of course, though he'd managed to stifle himself for the most part, there wasn't anything he could do to stop his entire body from trembling at the shock of pleasure that shot through him with every stroke Yamcha made to that one spot. All of a sudden, he felt torn between a deep sense of shame at being reduced to a quivering mess from what seemed to be a simple touch, and the burning desire to know just how Yamcha managed to do such a thing in the first place — for, err… Science.
Yamcha, meanwhile, couldn't hide his amusement at the reaction he'd managed to pull from the normally stone-faced warrior. Jeez, from the way he was acting, you'd think the guy had never even touched himself, much less had anyone else do it. Weird, he never really got off on the whole 'virgin' fantasy, but hey, if that's the narrative his dream wanted to go with, he wasn't about to complain. Besides, having someone he'd normally fear for his life by just being in their presence now trembling beneath him at his almost effortless touch certainly did make him feel more powerful than anything else ever had, so there was that at least.
Egged on by that little power trip, Yamcha wanted to see how far he could push it, shifting his hand to slip a pair of fingers slowly inside. This earned him another vocal outburst of instinctive approval, though it was heavily muffled by the hand still gripped tightly over Piccolo's mouth. Between that and the ever deepening purple hue spread across the Namekian's cheeks, it was getting really hard to keep from grinning like a dumb idiot at the state of the other man. Stranger still, that wasn't the only thing that was getting hard. Something about seeing the proud alien warlord put in such a vulnerable state — and completely at his mercy — was getting him incredibly turned on.
Still, the former bandit managed to keep from indulging in his rapidly growing arousal, at least for the time being. Dream or not, it felt rude to just stick it in before his partner was properly prepared first. Besides, this teasing was a little too much fun for him to abandon just yet. He sunk his fingers in as deeply as they could reach, feeling a telltale slickness already begin to coat them. Piccolo's interior felt quite a bit different than the female partners he'd had in the past, but he couldn't quite articulate how it was different. He simply chalked it up to alien anatomy and didn't give it another thought.
Human fingers continued to explore the otherworldly depths they'd buried themselves into, stroking at warm interior walls and spreading to stretch them gradually wider. Another muffled moan was his reward, and soon enough he felt Piccolo actually start to buck his hips against his hand as though physically begging him to go further — something his steadfast pride didn't allow him to ask in any other way. Yamcha couldn't keep away the smirk that spread across his lips at that. Perhaps he was ready for the real deal after all.
Piccolo couldn't help but turn his head away as Yamcha continued to play with him from the inside, his face hot with a mixture of shame, embarrassment, and arousal. A part of him hated how his body seemed to act on its own in response to what Yamcha was doing, hated how weak he must look laying there beneath him, hated the moans that he could barely keep muffled behind his hand… And yet an even bigger part of him was in such ecstasy that he would likely murder whoever might interrupt it all. It was the latter part of him that made him snap a murderous gaze back up towards Yamcha when he felt the fingers pull out of him, fixing him in a glare that threatened to follow through with snapping his neck this time if he dared to stop now.
He was half tempted to vocalize such a sentiment, but noticed the former bandit had begun to undo his own belt. A moment later, his pants were pulled down to reveal a stiff appendage that, for some reason, caused Piccolo's heart to race at the sight of it. He really had no concept of what was considered big or small for a human — he didn't make a habit of examining their genitals, after all — but it was clear that it was at least many times larger than the fingers that had him so worked up already. He watched with wide eyes as Yamcha grabbed hold of it, lining it up with Piccolo's slick entrance before slowly pressing the tip inside.
The sudden shock and euphoria of feeling Yamcha properly entering him for the first time caused him to instinctively wrap his arms around the other man's shoulders as though bracing against these new and strange sensations, leaving his loud cry of pleasure unrestrained now that his hand was no longer clamped tightly over his mouth. He couldn't have muzzled himself again even if he wanted to, his body moving further and further beyond his control the deeper Yamcha sunk into him. His legs spread to give the other full access to his most guarded regions, his claws grasping onto fistfuls of white t-shirt as he felt himself being filled almost to capacity by this human's member.
Then, Yamcha stopped advancing and began to pull out, which sparked a momentary fear once more that he was planning to stop here. That fear was demolished when, barely a second later, he thrust back into where he was previously, an action that sent a fresh wave of ecstasy through Piccolo's entire body and caused him to let out another of those embarrassing moans.
Yamcha couldn't stop a small chuckle of amusement from escaping him as Piccolo buried his face against his shoulder in a vain attempt to stifle his pleasured moaning at every steady thrust of the former bandit's hips, feeling how those deadly claws that so nearly may have killed him a moment ago now clung for dear life against his back. Well, at least he didn't have to ask if his partner was enjoying himself. He couldn't recall the last time he'd gotten such an energetic reaction out of any of the partners he'd slept with before. Hell, if he wasn't careful, he might just accidentally fall for the alien outside of this truly outrageous dream.
Something about that train of thought caused him to thrust in a bit harder than he had been, and he almost seemed to be rewarded for such a slip-up. Piccolo moaned all the louder against his shoulder, his claws almost tearing through his shirt to dig at his back, powerful legs that could snap him in two in an instant wrapping around his waist as if to pull him in deeper, alien interiors squeezing around his cock in pure euphoria. It was then that it occurred to him; he was fucking Piccolo, after all. The man was so much more powerful than he was that he probably couldn't hurt him even if he wanted to. Unlike with a fellow human, he didn't have to hold back. He could be as rough as he wanted.
Discarding his usual restraint that he'd normally have with a human female, Yamcha wrapped his arms around Piccolo's waist and lifted his hips up off the ground, shifting to bury himself as deep as he could go, the pace and power behind his thrusts increasing dramatically. The Namekian almost seemed to respond in kind, his back arching up off the ground as though to meet his every driving penetration, those powerful thighs quaking where they were clamped firmly around his waist, and God, the way he squeezed him… It was all far too erotic to allow Yamcha to last much longer, and he knew it. He drilled himself in down to the hilt, and spilled his seed into the deepest recesses of Piccolo's body.
That last jolting thrust seemed to shoot through Piccolo's entire body, sensations so intense as to be beyond his description shaking him to his core. He saw stars swirling in his vision as he felt something hot being released deep inside him, his claws digging into Yamcha's back hard enough to accidentally draw blood as the human rode out their climax with a few more shallow thrusts. He could feel more of that hot substance fill him, even to the point where he could swear he could feel it leaking out around the other man's penetrating appendage.
And, just like that, it was over. The two were left panting heavily against one another, the wild sensations of their previous activity dissipating into a warm contentedness. Finally regaining conscious control over his body once more, Piccolo released the almost death-grip he'd had around the other's torso, unhooking his legs from around his waist. The stars in his vision had just barely faded away as he lay there catching his breath, and soon he was left with only the actual stars above staring back at him.
After another moment, a distinct discomfort began to register to him in that overstimulated area between his legs. He glanced down only to meet the top of Yamcha's head where it lay contentedly against his chest, his arms still wrapped around him and, most vitally, his dick still inside him.
"Hey! If you're done, you can get the hell out of me now!" Piccolo growled out in clear annoyance, reaching up to shake Yamcha by the shoulder in case he was too delirious to hear him. His response was almost immediate, though it wasn't exactly the sound he wanted to hear. It almost sounded like snoring. A fresh rage built in him at that. Oh, there was no way that son of a bitch just fell asleep on him!
His patience reaching its limit, Piccolo merely shoved Yamcha off to his side, letting out a small grunt as he felt the other man's member slip out of him. The sense of renewed freedom this gave him was almost instantly replaced by the intensely awkward feeling of something hot and sticky sort of gushing a bit from the hole the former bandit had just been occupying. His face heating up with fresh embarrassment, he reached a hand between his legs only for his fingers to come away coated in some thick white substance.
Piccolo immediately shot a seething glare over towards Yamcha for leaving him in such a messy state, from that white stuff leaking from inside him to the sheet of sweat — both Yamcha's and his own — now covering his entire body. The object of his ire was completely oblivious, of course, now passed out there in the grass with a big dumb grin plastered across his face. Piccolo let out an exasperated sigh. Well, at least that seemed to do the trick of raising his spirits. Hopefully it stuck, because he was unsure if he'd be willing to be put in such a vulnerable, degrading position again, even if it admittedly felt amazing.
He soon became aware of how his face heated up just by looking at Yamcha's half-naked form lying there next to him, a realization that caused him to sharply look away. There was no sense giving it any more thought. Instead, he merely slipped off what remained of his clothing and stepped into the lake to clean himself off.