Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Misdeeds of a Bandit ❯ Chapter 1

Misdeeds of a Bandit

 

Disclaimer: Don't own the characters or anything from Dragonball Z, only the twisted sense of humor.

 

A/N: A oneshot sequel to “Confessions of an Onna”. Slow Hand Muse Productions proudly brings you once again a bit of droll humor with many sexual quirks. If you're easily offended then I suggest you read something else. Please read and review.

 

 

A smugly satisfied grin curled the edge of his mouth, twisted it into the all too familiar regal smirk of the Saiya-jin Prince. Around him the earth still smoldered, pillars of smoke rising high into the air in testament to his profound power. Blackened and churned the ground split asunder littered with the shambled remains of what had been a house, the dwelling of that perverted bandit Yamcha. No more a temple to his debased degenerative fetishes; now only scorched and dismantled ruins remained.

 

Vegeta sat back on what was left of a sporty air-car, admiring his hand-work, strong arms crossing proudly over a well toned chest as jet black eyes narrowed in gratification at the violence of his actions. Somewhere among the debris was the still breathing body of that desert baka, what little was left his precious computer and all it's pornographic content smashed shamelessly into the man's face repeatedly until the blood and teeth had flown like rain through the tense air. Somehow through the haze of murderous intent, the Prince had managed not to kill the man, though every fiber in his being had screamed to make that last killing blow as he'd kicked the bandit and sent him flying off into the small bond fire that could have been called his bedroom. His ki signature was weak but steady, the man would survive, for the moment.

 

Turning his head up to the sky, Vegeta could sense more ki signatures moving in fast towards his direction, annoying spikes of energy crawling across his flesh he knew all too well. He allowed himself a faint smile, the fun wasn't quite done just yet, there was still more sport to be had at Yamcha's misdeeds. Rising to his feet in a regal manner he ignored the gusts of wind that suddenly descended upon the mess around him and instead focused on dusting the dirt from his spandex pants.

 

“Vegeta, you bastard, what the hell did you do to Yamcha,” Kakorat yelled over the crackling of dying flames and the crumbling of wall supports. But he never waited for the reply before scanning over the wreckage in search of his now trusted companion. Piccolo standing in the background like a cool shadow to the fiery Son. His stoic composure carefully falling into place as he glared narrowly between the two Saiya-jins and the immediate area.. Only their eyes moved, honing in on the dwindling aura of the desert bandit.

 

“Yamcha,” Kakorat's voice cracked with emotion, his deeper concerns for the safety of those he considered under his protections lacing it dangerously. His body was moving before he could even think to consider his actions, all that mattered was saving his friend, making sure he was alright and finding out just why this awful thing had occurred. Rage was boiling just beneath the surface, carefully held in check by the gentleness of the man's own spirit.

 

The air shifted, more energy fed into the already electrified atmosphere as Vegeta moved in a blur of speed to come between his rival and his fallen companion. Ensnaring Kakorat's wrist he used his own momentum to spin him full around and thrust him off back into the Namekian's direction. The ground had suddenly come up to meet the dark eyed Son as he found himself staring up at the somber green man, his confusion clearly written across his innocent seeming features. It was Piccolo who broke the heavy silence laying pregnant and swollen in the air between them all, the deep timbres holding only mild curiosity, “What are your reasonings for this Vegeta?”

 

The faint sounds of popping knuckles echoed as the Prince laced his fingers together, a cocky smirk enhancing the arrogant features of his visage. His white booted foot crunched across a pile of trash before the man leaned down retrieving from the mass a burnt and curled sheet of paper, large enough to be considered a small poster. His rival had not moved from the ground but only had turned over with a hmph preferring to remain seated upon the earth beneath him as more surprise settled into his mind.

 

Held firmly by the top with a gloved hand Vegeta began to unroll the offending piece of paper. His haughty expression never shifting or changing: only a sense of divine amusement entering into his eyes as he grasped the bottom and began to reveal the image there. Around the burnt splotches a serene forest could be seen, the gentle cascading of water over a rock and vine covered cliff but soon the background faded from the center point of attention as the two men caught the tip of one of Picollo's antennae.

 

The Namakian arched the ridge above his eye, a small twitch developing at the corner of his mouth as more of the piece came to light. The looks in his dark eyes within the photo was one he'd never sported in life, was a look he'd rather fancied seeing in the eyes of willing women and not himself beckon for attention of a more than platonic nature. He clinched a fist, sharp nails biting into the flesh of his palm, small drops of blood splattering the ground beneath. A sadistic grin alighted the Prince's lips as the green man's eyes grew wide, reflected in those depths he could see the image of the Namakian lewdly deep-throating an impossibly large cucumber. Perhaps the man's jaw did unhinge like a snake's after all, he'd always wondered at that bit of rumor and dribble.

 

“Tsuihidan,” rang perilously through the sky as a single beam of concentrated ki energy was fired from a single extended finger incinerating whatever vulgar material would come next. A faint grunt and the Prince of all Saiya-jin tossed the burning wisp away from himself, inwardly satisfied at the reaction of the alien. He'd expected the dumbfounded look that now blessed the baka Son's face but what came next had even made him cock a brow in wonderment. A shared look of puzzlement ensued as the man named Goku collapsed onto his side in a fit of laughter.

 

That nervous twitch just at the edge of Piccolo's mouth intensified with the urge not to repeat his previous action against the now giddy Kakorat. Unable to refrain he kicked out, his foot connecting with a rewarding thud to the man's jaw. All laughter ceased as he shot forward into a sitting position gripping his injury with a hand and turning hurt filled eyes up the Namak. “Yt wus't tat bahd,” he managed to stutter spitting out a mouthful of blood. His incoherent grumblings lost in the sound of the wind as it roared to new life around them.

 

A flash of paper and Kakorat effortlessly caught another scrape of debris tossed unceremoniously in his direction. He eyed the bit of material as if it's suddenly grown a second head and threatened to bite his hand off. His grip trembled in hesitation as a cool shadow passed over him. “It's not that bad,” Piccolo echoed, a deeply set smirk etched into his angered profile as his cloak whipped around him violently, snapping in the raging winds. With a loud gulp Son Goku tore open the poster, ripping part of the corner away in his haste.

 

“Oh my Kami,” was all he could voice as his own image smiled back at him, that same bright stupid Son grin, his eyes sparkling gleefully. He even had a hand raised, his fingers splayed in a big V for triumph just like Hercule. But this was not the thing that sickened his stomach, made the bile rise at the back of his throat. No, it was the rest, for he was down upon hands and knees, his hard body encased in leather strap and silver rings. There resting about his throat hanging loose an unused was a bridle with matching reins like he was a common horse. Absolute mortification set in at the last detail, the nicely plumed horse hair tail he sported trailing unspiritually from his backside. A green hue rushed into his face as the thought occurred to him just how he'd be able to support something like that back there.

 

“OH MY KAMI,” he screamed again throwing the pornographic image as far away from himself as possible, he clutched his hand to his chest as if he's suffered serious third degree burns. He turned horror filled eyes up first to the Namakian and received nothing in sympathy, only a reflection of his own disgust and indignation. Vegeta was little better, the mirth dancing through his obsidian eyes at the expense of the man as he came forward each step speaking volumes of the man's egotistical nature.

 

“How… why,” Kakorat questioned shakingly coming to his own feet, his orange gi in disarray and splattered with bits of blood and dirt. Vegeta jerked his thumb backwards in the direction of the desert bandit, a look of immeasurable disdain washing over his regal features. “You don't even want to know about the collection he kept on his hard drive,” he voiced gruffly before heading towards the prone form.

 

“Oh really,” the other Saiya-jin voiced softly, the gentleness washed clean away from his voice, no longer concerned wit the safety of the one he'd called a friend. Right about that moment he rated somewhere along the lines of Nappa or worse in his book. The man was clearly disturbed, depraved to be able to smile at all his friends so innocently and yet keep such hazardous paraphernalia.

 

Three bodies moved towards the rousing man with one intent, their auras flaring dangerously about them as power spiked, swam and shifted over flesh painting darker shades into golden hues of violence promised. Yamcha groaned, the whole of his body hurt and he couldn't see straight but he felt it, felt that manifestation of murderous determination. Managing to open his left eye he could make out three shadows looming over him with impending doom, fists raised and molted with the urge to be used. Shallowing harshly around the lump in his throat Yamcha's mouth released a faint whimper before those bodies descended upon him. “Kami help me,” was all he could manage before his world narrowed down into varying degrees of darkness and pain.