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Barnaby sighed quietly to himself. Jones had gotten a call that their suspect had been sighted, and now here they were, standing around in the forest way the hell out in the middle of nowhere watching some derelict old cabin the man was apparently holed up in. The DCI was getting colder as the sun slowly dropped in the sky and the shadows of the trees started to stretch deeper into the woods.

He should be at home with supper and a beer by now, Barnaby thought irritably. Not standing around behind some bloody tree freezing his arse off with only his suit jacket for warmth. He really wished he hadn't forgotten his coat in the car back where the road had ended. Going back wasn't really an option at this point - he couldn't leave Jones without backup and if they both left, the suspect might leave without them seeing him. They hadn't been waiting all that long, so Barnaby resigned himself to it, knowing the chance to tail the man was worth the discomfort of the wait but resenting every goddamned minute of it.

Jones had his usual blankly focused expression as they lurked behind a particularly large tree together, watching the run-down little cottage. The DS kept… fidgeting though, and it was downright distracting. He was probably just feeling the chill in the air as well, but the way was Jones was moving kept reminding Barnaby that he hadn’t had a chance to use the bathroom before they'd hurried out to the car.

Finally, Barnaby leaned closer to the sergeant. “Everything okay, Jones?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“Yeah, I'll be fine, sir,” Jones muttered back, but a moment later he was fidgeting again, shifting from foot to foot, pressing his palms against the front of his thighs. And he'd said ‘I'll be fine, not I am fine.’ Maybe he really did have to…  

Damn it all. It was getting really distracting. Barnaby forced his gaze back towards the house, but his eyes kept flickering over, drawn to Jones and his increasingly obvious desperation. Barnaby tried to figure out what, if anything, was the appropriate thing to say in this situation. Because the things running through his own mind at the moment were far from appropriate. If he wasn't careful, he was going to be fidgeting soon as well, and for an entirely different reason than Jones currently was.

And there was no longer any doubt about what that reason was. Jones evidently hadn't had the chance to visit the loo recently either, and those inappropriate thoughts were getting worse as they tried to decide for Barnaby whether he'd rather see Jones get more and more desperate, stubbornly trying to hold it until suddenly he couldn't anymore, or watch Jones pull out his prick and just let it go right there in front of him.

Clenching his jaw, Barnaby stared at the stupid little cabin through the trees. It didn't matter what he'd rather see because you weren't supposed to think things like that about your friend and colleague and subordinate bloody officer.

“Jesus, just go if you need to already,” he finally muttered under his breath, irritated with himself and far more wound up than he cared to admit, figuring that at least one of them would be capable of paying attention if Jones would just hurry the fuck up and get it over with.

“What, and end up standing here with my dick in my hand if the guy makes a run for it?” Jones hissed back. “It’s fine. I can hold it.”

Barnaby gritted his teeth harder. He probably had a point. Jones normally wasn't particularly shy about answering the call of nature, and the man drank altogether too much damn coffee. It was many a time they had pulled over on a quiet stretch of highway through a field or forest for Jones to hop out and relieve himself on the side of the road. He didn't even have the decency to close the car door behind him or go far enough away that Barnaby couldn't hear… everything. The small sigh, the low moan of relief when Jones held it a little too long and had been squirming in his seat until they found a likely place to stop. The splatter of liquid hitting the ground forcefully and altogether too fucking close to Barnaby, where he'd be sitting in the car, knuckles white on the steering wheel if he was driving, grinding his teeth with the effort of trying to think about something else, anything else. Desperately trying not to stare at Jones as the sergeant visibly relaxed and tilted his head back while he let go, or at the stream hitting the ground in a growing puddle just in front of his feet. Trying, and inevitably failing miserably.

Each time it happened etched itself into Barnaby’s mind, gnawing at him until he could get back to the privacy of his own flat that evening, feeling slightly guilty but far too worked up to really care. Sometimes he purposely wet himself first just for the feel of it, sometimes not, but either way he'd end up frantically fisting his cock to the fantasies that spun out from those little roadside events. Sometimes he was content to just remember things exactly as they had happened, replaying them in his mind until he came, but more often he… embellished. Imagining Jones holding on too long and wetting himself in the car when there was just nowhere to stop in time, gasping as urine hissed out of him, loud in the silence as it soaked his trousers, the seat, dripping onto the floor beneath him. Or going out there with him, holding Jones’ cock for him as he pissed, feeling Jones getting hard in his hand as the sergeant emptied himself with a satisfied groan. Or kneeling in the dust by the side of the road as Jones pulled his dick out with a smirk and utterly ruined Barnaby’s suit, then completing the mess by coming in his pants while he sucked Jones off until the sergeant blew a load down his throat and told him how fucking filthy he was.

Barnaby’s cock was slowly but steadily thickening inside his trousers as he wrestled with his own treacherous thoughts, and Jones was not helping, practically dancing in place next to him.

“Ah - shit,” Jones suddenly hissed in alarm, and Barnaby just stared as Jones jammed a hand into his own crotch, leaning back against their tree and shutting his eyes tight with a grunt, so desperate he didn't even try to hide the fact that he was squeezing his dick through his trousers. Barnaby could see the outline of it in the sergeant’s fingers, he was almost positive Jones was partly erect, and he could not stop the way his breath hitched loudly as he wondered if that was a wet patch on the dark fabric of Jones’ suit trousers or just a shadow.

Then Jones laughed softly, low and delighted, a chuckle deep in his throat. Heat rushing to his face, Barnaby jerked his eyes up and shut his mouth with an audible click as he realized it was hanging open, trying to think of an excuse for his behaviour while knowing there was none. Jones was watching him, knew he'd been staring, and… and the sergeant’s stance had shifted somehow, from twitching desperation to a languid grace, even though he hadn't actually moved. Instead of the tree behind Jones holding him up, he was now lounging back against it. Instead of his hand gripping, panicked, at his prick, he was squeezing, rubbing, fondling himself.

“Ohh yes. I fucking knew it,” Jones said, his eyes still on Barnaby and Barnaby’s mind was reeling, he had no idea what had just happened but -

“God, just look at you,” Jones continued, a predatory, pleased smile on his lips, his eyes tracking down Barnaby’s body and his fingers still caressing his own cock through his clothing. “You think I'm about to wet my trousers right here and you're so turned on you can barely stand.”

“I…” Barnaby looked down at himself in shock. Jones was right. The front of his trousers were blatantly tented out, straining over his full-blown erection. It had hit so fast he hadn't even felt it happen. His face flamed as he tried again, stammering. “I - but… you don't..?”

“Oh, yeah, I really do have to go,” Jones said. “Bad. But not quite so bad that I'm about to piss myself just yet… at least, not unless I decide to,” he continued, that smile widening and his eyes never wavering.

Barnaby’s knees shook, his cock throbbed, and a pitiful little whimper escaped his lips before he could bite down on it.

Jones didn't miss it. “Mmmm… and you really do want me to, don't you, sir?”

Barnaby had never heard that tone of voice come out of Jones’ mouth before. It was confident and knowing and arrogant and altogether too fucking hot to be allowed. He already wanted to do whatever it took to hear more of it.

“But… what about the…” Barnaby floundered, jerking his head vaguely towards the cabin, still trying to figure out what the hell had just happened, even if his prick was yelling at his brain to shut the fuck up and just go with whatever it was this new, hitherto unknown version of Jones was doing.

Jones chuckled again. “Nah, there was never any call, that place has been abandoned for years. I just needed to get you out here so I could see for sure how you'd react. But you didn't answer my question.”

Question? What question? Barnaby was pretty sure his mental process was still stuck at the part where Jones had said I knew it like he'd just won the bloody lottery.

“What?”

“I asked if you wanted me to piss myself. I'm going to have to teach you to pay more attention, I think.”

Barnaby just gaped at him and Jones sighed.

“Come here,” he said, his tone gentle yet so authoritative that Barnaby obeyed without even thinking about it. Jones pulled him close, sliding both hands around to Barnaby’s lower back. “Mm… very good,” he said, and Barnaby quivered at the approval he could hear in Jones’ voice.

“You know what I think? Sir?” Jones’ eyes were on his, their intensity boring into him so hard Barnaby was sure every secret he'd ever had was laid bare in this moment. “I think you get tired of being in charge all day, every day. I think you're aching for someone else to take control. In fact, I think you've been dying to have me tell you what do for a change, haven't you.”

It wasn’t a question. Barnaby shivered, a quiet moan escaping him as his hips twitched of their own volition, grinding his achingly hard cock up against Jones. The sergeant continued, relentless, his voice low and intense, his hands warm and firm on Barnaby’s back as they moved lower, his mouth finding Barnaby’s neck.

“You really thought I didn't notice?” Jones breathed into his ear. “The way you look at me, the way you watch me? The way you're flustered and half hard every single time I get back in the car after a piss? Once I noticed, and that wasn't difficult, I started doing it on purpose just to get a rise out of you. God, you get so fucking hot and bothered, do you have any idea how hard it was to keep my hands off you?”

Jones’ hands had slipped down to Barnaby’s arse as he spoke, and Barnaby gasped as he was suddenly yanked harder against the sergeant.

“So tell me,” Jones said, still murmuring against Barnaby’s neck, biting, his teeth sharp on the sensitive skin, “what is it that you like? I already knew you liked watching me piss.” Barnaby shuddered, nodding despite himself as his dick twitched in his trousers from Jones’ words, from his teeth, from his hands holding Barnaby tight against his crotch. “Now I know for sure you want to see me wet myself, too. What else gets you off?”

Barnaby whimpered. “On me,” he mumbled into Jones’ shoulder, so mortified he thought he might die, so aroused he couldn't care one bit.

“Sorry, what was that? I couldn't quite catch it.”

“On - on me,” Barnaby gasped, as though it would be any less embarrassing if he said it in a rush.

“Oh, you are a dirty one, aren't you?” Barnaby could hear the smile in Jones’ voice, and Jones’ hands squeezed his arse cheeks so hard he yelped, but he didn't try to pull away, just ground himself harder against Jones because fucking hell it felt so good to have those hands on him. “So, back to my question. Because I have been waiting all afternoon, holding myself just for you, and I really, really need to piss right now… so you had better hurry up and tell me how you want it.”

Barnaby whimpered. Again. He could feel the strained tremors running through Jones, could feel the other man half hard next to his own raging erection. What did he want? Despite the confused tumult of his mind, clouded by this sudden and unexpected promise that his deepest fantasies were apparently about to be fulfilled, it only took a second for him to realize what the most honest answer was.

“I want it however you like, sir… please, ” Barnaby answered with a moan.

Jones groaned at that, the sound alone making Barnaby shudder and wonder if it was possible to come just from someone's voice. At this moment, he could believe it was.

“You stay right where you are, then,” Jones said, raising his head from Barnaby’s neck and looking at him from under heavy lidded eyes with an approving smile that sent a thrill up Barnaby’s spine. “Go ahead and come if you want to, but only if you can do it before I've finished,” Jones ordered as he tilted his head back against the tree he was still leaning on, and oh god it was definitely an order, and Barnaby was panting with anticipation, pressed up against Jones as the sergeant relaxed, his whole body, his smile, his grip on Barnaby’s arse, all of it.

There was a pause, and Barnaby couldn't breathe, and then Jones let out a long, shuddering sigh of pure relief. A second later, Barnaby felt liquid warmth seep into his trousers and start spreading, and his knees almost buckled as it hit fully that Jones was pissing himself, on Barnaby, and then the slow creeping warmth suddenly became a flood of heat. He could actually hear the hissing sound as Jones let go full force against him, almost immediately soaking the front of both their trousers until Jones’ piss was running down his legs, burning hot on skin chilled by the early evening air, and he just about sobbed at the incredible feeling of it.

Jones groaned, long and low, with pleasure and release, and Barnaby found himself panting and moaning, whining, rutting himself desperately against the sergeant, his cock completely drenched as Jones kept pissing on him, pouring hot and wet over his swollen prick like it would never end, and that voice was filling his ears, the only thing that cut through the roaring in his head.

“Fuck, that is so fucking hot, so filthy, you need to come so bad don't you, I know you’ve wanted this for so long, come on, come for me, sweetheart,” and that sent Barnaby over the edge with a shuddering, garbled cry, his cock pulsing, spurting wave after wave of come into his trousers while Jones’ piss kept soaking them from the outside.

He was vaguely aware that Jones was getting harder, thrusting back against him, the warm flow starting to wane, there was a hand gripping the back of his neck, hard, and then Jones’ mouth was on his, hot and harsh and demanding. Barnaby whined when that mouth left him and he opened his eyes, dizzy, not remembering when he'd closed them, to find himself staring straight into Jones’ intense, burning gaze.

“I have a couple pairs of joggers in the boot,” Jones all but growled, panting. “We are going to change and then I am going to take you home and fucking wreck you. You won't even remember your own name by the time I'm done with you.”

Barnaby’s legs really did buckle at that, but Jones caught him.

It was the best thing he had ever heard.