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Faulty Focus

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Dave really had to fucking piss.

He didn't bother flicking the light on when he headed into the bathroom – he was by now used enough to the marionette that would invariably be hanging in the shower that its rather imposing shadow didn't bother him too much. He also had to piss just that badly. His stomach felt swollen, and there was that nasty dull pain in his bladder telling him that he had to go right the fuck now.

He whipped out his dick, the pain and tenseness of his muscles actually holding him back even though he was more than all ready to go.

“Come on,” he grumbled, shaking himself a little.

With a long sigh, he cut loose; and damn did it ever feel good. The stream started out a a little trickle, before...

Dave woke up. Fortunately when he had to he could wake up to full alertness, because he realized two things almost immediately; that the leg of his boxers was wet and that it was because he was fucking pissing them.

Humiliated panic fluttered in him and he clenched everything in a desperate attempt to stop the stream before it really got going. His bloated bladder throbbed, and he grimaced and doubled over as the pain spiked, his body angry that he'd snatched relief away after it already started.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...” He didn't even register that he was chanting aloud to himself as he fought to keep his body under his control. He had to get to the bathroom. Now. More like five minutes ago.

He must have forgotten to go before he passed out. Fuck, goddammit he was such an idiot. How the hell was he going to do this? He felt like if he moved his control would waver, and in this state even the smallest hitch would be enough to lose it all. He considered his options, made a few experimental shifts, and then a particularly strong twinge had him bolting. No time to consider. Needed on a toilet right now.

Three running steps would have got him to the bathroom. One and a half from his door, he ran headlong into Bro. The jolting stop almost had his hand shooting down to hold his crotch, but he curled his bare toes and clenched his teeth until his jaw seized; fighting the burning urge down again.

Then he noticed Bro had a sword.

No, no. Fuck no, holy shit not now. Abscond, he had to abscond. He shifted to do a sidestep, his stomach aching. He couldn't hold it any more, for fuck's sake!

Bro was right there, between him and the bathroom. It was only too obvious he wasn't going to escape, at least not that way.

Instincts brought his own sword out of his specibus and into his hand even as his body screamed no, no I can't fight like this. No choice.

Can't abscond, bro.

He dove forwards, practically insane with the need to end this fast. A shooting pain in his side almost had him on the floor, but he bared his teeth and swiped his blade right up towards Bro's neck. There was no sloshing of liquid, only the sick throb of a water balloon full to bursting.

There was a clang of metal on metal, and Dave stumbled back. The burning was lower, yet more insistant; the piss forcing itself out of him. He must be white as a sheet – he was trying not to panic. He was in control. He was Dave Strider, he wasn't going to piss his fucking pants.

He almost just made a dash for it, but he knew if he did he'd be tackled and land flat on his stomach. If that happened, there was no way in hell he could hold on.

He'd piss all over himself for sure. In front of Bro. Oh god, this couldn't be happening...

Bro swung towards him, impossibly fast. Dave blocked it, the clash of the metal jarring his whole body. Another stronger swing, Bro obviously getting annoyed that he wasn't fighting back very well. Dave brought his sword up, the jolt sending the burning sensation into his cock. Oh god, no. No.

Again. Again. Each time Dave's blade was sloppier and sloppier, more of his concentration required to clench every muscle down there.

Bro changed the angle of attack, and stopping it made Dave's focus slip almost fatally. He felt a few drops hit his leg, and the pain of forcing himself to stop this time almost brought him to his knees. He opened his mouth to say something. He'd been fighting not to admit his weakness almost as hard as he'd been fighting not to piss himself, but he knew at this point to avoid the latter Bro might have to help him get to the bathroom.

No time. His brother swung as his face, and the act of bringing his blade up made his aching muscles finally let go.

The release of pressure felt fucking amazing, but as his bladder drained red flooded his face. Dave's next breath was basically a sob, the hot liquid splashing down his legs nothing compared to the incredible burning shame. He tried weakly to stop his body, bring himself back under his control; but it wasn't happening. Nothing was stopping him now, and his lips formed a desperate little 'no' as his breath continued to hitch in his chest. His eyes started to hurt. The torrential downpour finally became a trickle, and a real sob tore itself out of him. His eyes were watering way more than they should.

Bro put a hand on his shoulder.

Fuckfuckfuck Bro was there.

Next thing Dave knew, he was actually crying. He wet himself like a fucking baby, and now he was standing there bawling like one. In front of his big brother.

Bro just tugged Dave to plant his face in his chest, petting his hair and making soft little shushing noises. This just made Dave burn with more sick shame, but it did not make him stop crying. In a minute or two he managed to calm himself, choking back his tears, telling himself he was just making it fucking worse.

But Bro didn't say a thing to him. He just wrapped an arm tight around his shoulders and led him into the bathroom, clinically stripping off his trackpants like Dave was still a little kid and turning on the shower for him.

“M'sorry...” Dave choked, his stomach aching emptily now.

“It happens. Don't worry. I'm never gonna mention it again, promise. I'm gonna go clean stuff up. If you wanna sleep on the futon with me, that's cool.” Then Bro was gone, closing the bathroom door behind him.