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i don't mind getting messy with your love

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Brian whimpers and squeezes his eyes closed. The dull ache in his bladder is insistent, bordering on painful, and when Roger’s hand, warm and gentle and heavy, soothes over the small swell of his lower stomach again, Brian has to clench every muscle in his body so he doesn’t lose it. He wishes desperately that he could hold himself, give himself the pressure he needs, but laid out on the bed like this— helpless, spread out for Roger with his wrists and his ankles tied to the bedposts— Brian can’t even press his legs together, can barely even squirm, can’t do anything but tense every single muscle in his body and try his best to hold on for as long as he possibly can.

He’d almost said no, when Roger had asked. He’d been plying him with liquids all day, cup after cup of water (for what reason Brian didn’t know for sure), and when Roger had asked so nicely if he could tie him up, the need was already a dull ache low in Brian’s stomach, not easy to ignore.

“Umm, you can,” he’s answered him hesitantly. “But Rog, I… I have to use the bathroom.” Admitting his need made Brian’s cheeks burn hot and made something embarrassed writhe inside his chest, but Roger had just given him a gentle, almost confused sort of look.

“I know baby boy…”

It took a minute before it dawned on Brian, that this had been Roger’s plan all along. His cheeks burned even hotter and he’d pressed his legs together, subconsciously.

“Rog, I… I have to go really bad…” he’d whispered, swallowing thickly. “What if I… what if I have an accident?”

There was something playful and mischievous in Roger’s eyes. “I dunno,” he’s told him, smirking. “I guess you'd just better try to hold it.”

And so here Brian is, now— tied up on their bed, his arms and legs spread, Roger at his side with his hand resting warm and heavy on Brian’s bladder. Brian is squirming as best he can, tensing his muscles, trying desperately to hold on while Roger teases him relentlessly, pushes down on his bladder none-too-gently and makes him gasp.

“Are you sure you can hold it love?” Roger’s voice is low but there’s something teasing and mischievous mixed in with the sincerity of it that makes arousal twist low in Brian’s stomach.

His bladder is so full it’s distracting, he can barely think of anything other than his need but he manages to nod, swallowing so hard his throat clicks. “Mhm,” he says, a little breathlessly, his eyes darting over to meet Roger’s. “‘M fine, it’s not that bad yet.”

Roger quirks an eyebrow. His hand is resting flat on Brian’s lower stomach, over the hardness of his bladder, and he watches Brian as he presses the heel of his palm down, none-too-gently. Brian gasps, and he can’t help that he leaks, then— just a little, and only for a second— dripping onto his tummy. Humiliation curls hot inside his chest as Roger laughs, softly.

“I guess you are gonna have an accident, hmm?” Roger’s voice is light and teasing.

Brian worries his bottom lip and looks up at him desperately, trying to squirm as much as he can with his arms and legs tied. Roger’s hand is heavy on his bladder and Brian leaks again, feels it trail over his side, down onto the white sheets underneath him.

Roger teases him mercilessly; alternating between running his hand over his bladder so gently, almost placating, soothing him with whispers of how pretty he looks like this for just long enough that Brian starts to relax a little, before he pushes down, hard, without warning, makes him leak again and again until Brian can feel the wetness soaking the sheets under him.

“Roger,” he breathes, once it becomes too much, once it feels like any second could be the one he finally loses control and soaks himself, "Rog if you don't stop I… I think I might have an accident…” he admits finally, his cheeks burning red-hot. “I don’t think I can hold it much longer.”

Roger’s hand rubs gently over his lower stomach, makes him whimper. “You poor thing,” he croons, his voice so soft. “Are you going to have an accident darling? I thought you told me you could hold it?”

Brian whines, a high-pitched, embarrassing sort of thing. “I can’t,” he whispers, his voice breaking.

Roger hums.

Blunt nails suddenly drag over the swell of his bladder and Brian’s control slips and this time he’s really not sure he’ll be able to get it back. When he does, he draws in a shaky breath, relieved, but it isn’t long before it happens again.

He’s leaking almost constantly now— a slow, steady stream that he can’t cut off for longer than a second or so no matter how much he tries. His bladder is throbbing under Roger’s hand, that white-hot sort of pain shooting through him as Roger rubs slow circles into his skin and it’s too much, he can’t wait, he really can’t hold it he just can’t—

His bladder gives out and Brian whimpers as suddenly he’s pissing himself, warm piss pooling on his stomach, streaming over his sides and seeping into the sheets underneath him. His eyes are hot and he squeezes them shut, can’t bear to look as his bladder empties all over himself and all over the bed. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his cheeks burning. “I’m so sorry Roger, I really tried to hold it b-but I couldn’t, I couldn’t wait I’m so sorry—”

Roger’s voice, soft and gentle, cuts through the fog. “Look at you sweetheart,” he croons, “you’re making such a mess, all over our nice sheets. Oh sweet boy, it’s okay.” Roger’s hand rubs steady circles into his bladder and it only makes Brian go harder; it splashes against his lower stomach, warm and wet, and the sweet feeling of relief is fucking incredible. That hazy sort of tingle starts to spread through his limbs and Brian moans softly in the back of his throat, pries his eyes open to blink up at Roger through the haze. “Accidents happen darling,” Roger coos to him, and the hand that’s not on Brian’s bladder pushes the hair back from his face, “it’s alright. You didn’t mean to make a mess.”

When he’s finally done, Brian feels exhausted and humiliated and better than he has in a long, long time. He’s tied to the bed on the wet sheets and covered in his own piss and and he feels completely boneless, almost fucked out, drained in the best possible way. Something needy and desperate is slowly coming over him and it’s only then that he realizes he’s hard, his cock straining against his tummy. Roger ducks down to kiss him, chaste.

“Feel better?” he asks, softly, searching Brian’s face. Brian nods slowly, looking up at him with big doe eyes. He swallows, thick.

Roger’s eyes dart down, taking in the sight of him stretched out on the bed like this, wet and tacky with piss, so hard it’s almost painful. Brian can’t help that his chest is heaving just slightly in anticipation, flushed warm and pink all down his face and his neck. Roger grins, something promising and almost dangerous in his eyes.

“Do you want me to touch you?” he asks, and Brian can’t nod fast enough.