Animal Talent
Dyfed really needs to pee during his and his boyfriend's Sunday night television routine, but Lloyd just won't let him go.
It's a warm Sunday evening, and on the television screen, a pretty tabby in a tight-fitting dress wiggles her backside to a pop song; her tail flicks one way and then the other, and her teats bounce in the glittery fabric they're encased in.
"She's going to get through," Lloyd says decisively into Dyfed's ear. Dyfed huffs, leaning back against the broad chest of the lion behind him. Animal Talent airs on a Saturday night, and their routine is to watch it just before Tails From A&E comes on at 8pm. Dyfed is not, in fact, a big fan of talent shows, but Lloyd loves them, and so he relents.
It's warm in Lloyd's lap, and Dyfed can't help but wiggle his own arse in sync with the cat on the television: Lloyd chuckles into his ear, his breath hot.
"And what do you think you're doing?" Dyfed's ears and nose twitch, his whiskers shifting in the cosy air of their living room. Dyfed is tall for a mouse, but he's lanky and bony, and he doesn't have the heavy, broad body that Lloyd has, but that doesn't mean that Lloyd doesn't feel it when Dyfed presses his bum up against Lloyd's cock.
"Nothing," Dyfed says innocently. He feels Lloyd's teeth against his neck as the lion grins: Lloyd has the most brilliant red fur that darkens to a heavy rust in his mane, and against all that colour he knows his teeth look ridiculously white.
"Nothing, huh?" Lloyd's paws, which had been clasped loosely around Dyfed's belly, slide lower. Lloyd teases over Dyfed through the loose, bunched fabric of his pyjama bottoms, one single claw tracing the line of Dyfed's soft cock through the tartan-decorated cloth. Dyfed groans softly, closing his eyes and putting his head back against Lloyd's shoulders, shifting his backside more solidly against the other. "If you think I'm going to fuck you before Animal Talent is over, Dyfed, you've another thing coming."
Dyfed laughs, playfully elbowing Lloyd in the side, but this is their Sunday routine: they watch Animal Talent, then Tails from A&E, and then have sex. He reaches for the glass of water on the armrest, draining it as a buff badger walks onto the stage and begins to do something vaguely performative with weights.
He has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes.
"How much longer?" Dyfed asks.
"About a half hour," Lloyd replies sweetly. Dyfed does roll his eyes this time, and shifts forwards to climb out of the other man's lap, but Lloyd holds him fast. "What are you doing?" Lloyd asks, a teasing, almost erotic edge to the purr of words.
"If you must know," Dyfed replies, "I was going to go and take a piss. Is that alright with you?" Lloyd seems to consider it, and then he pulls Dyfed back into his lap, paws clasped over his belly.
"No," he decides. "Not until the show's over." Dyfed laughs, leaning and kissing the lion on the muzzle.
"Come on, Lloyd. Let me up." Lloyd is smirking, and under his arse, Dyfed can feel that he's harder than he was before, but Dyfed isn't joking. He needs to get up. Holding him fast with one broad paw, Lloyd leans to the armrest, taking his own full glass of soda, and he carefully brings it up to Dyfed's lips. "Lloyd-" Dyfed complains, but then the rim of the glass is against his lips, and he reluctantly takes a sip.
He takes more than a sip.
Lloyd keeps the glass against his mouth, and Dyfed drinks and swallows, drinks and swallows, as Lloyd tilts the glass further and further back. Dyfed bites his lip as Lloyd sets the glass aside, and he feels a quiet pressure in his belly, where his bladder is just a bit overfull.
"Lloyd," he whispers, but the lion just tuts quietly at him. Dyfed presses his knees together tightly, and he looks to the television screen. The badger has _not_passed the audition, and an otter comes onto the stage. There are nine wine glasses laid out before him on a clothed table, each filled with a measure of brightly coloured liquid.
Dyfed stares at the wine glass the otter picks up, at the way the camera focuses on its swilling motion, and he bites his lip harder, worrying the skin under his teeth. The water shifts and makes a quiet plop of sound as it moves in the glass, and the pressure in his bladder seems to suddenly double. He moves his legs, rubbing his thighs together and pressing his knees together as tightly as they'll go.
He can't possibly last another half an hour without going to the loo, can't possibly. Doesn't Lloyd understand that?
Lloyd coos against Dyfed's neck as the otter begins. Dyfed had assumed it would be some sort of musical routine, but the otter moves back and forth on stage, intricately mixing the contents of the glasses in glass tubes and bright bowls to make colourful patterns on stage before separating them out again.
The sight of the water swilling and swishing and splashing on the stage makes Dyfed want to cry.
"Lloyd, I'm not joking," he says. "I really need to-" Lloyd's left paw thumbs over the bare fur of Dyfed's belly, and then two of his toes press gently into the flesh. Dyfed keens as Lloyd presses right onto the swollen ball of his bladder under the skin. He wriggles, squirms, but Lloyd holds him tight with his right arm, his left continuing to massage and palpate the flesh.
He can just feel it, just feel the desperate want to just pee, the slight warmth as his bladder starts to let just a little of it trickle down to be released, and he can't. He's in Lloyd's lap, for Christ's sake, he can't just piss, but he's so, so desperate. Every part of his body seems to be tingling with desperation and shame, an embarrassed heat settling around his chest and his cheeks.
Lloyd's toes and his thumb are just playing with the hard mass of Dyfed's full bladder under his skin, and every movement of the lion's paw makes it worse, makes him need to pee more. Lloyd is letting his tongue flicker around the base of Dyfed's ear, teasing over his cheek, but it's not enough of a distraction.
Dyfed needs to go, needs to go now, God, God-
"Lloyd, I need-"
Suddenly, Lloyd's paw presses hard against Dyfed's bladder. Dyfed cries out, trying to hold it back, but the pressure is too much, and he loses it: he feels hot, wet warmth stream out of him, soaking into the fabric of his pyjamas, into the fur of his thighs before sliding wetly into the fur on his arse, and he lets out a desperate sob.
"There," Lloyd purrs against Dyfed's neck. Dyfed's never been so embarrassed in his life, heat all over his body and just wetter in his nether regions, but as Lloyd's thumb flicks playfully over the rock-hard flesh of Dyfed's nipples, his cock hardens quickly.
Dyfed's breathing heavily, trying to make sense of what's just happened to him, and Lloyd says, playfully, "God, I bet I could make you cry doing that."
The sudden streak of arousal the words send up Dyfed's spine make him shiver, and with more embarrassment than ever, he realizes he wants Lloyd to do this to him again.
"Can I get up now?" he asks, voice quavering. Lloyd laughs, and with a flourish, he lets him go. Dyfed tries not to let his knees quake as he moves in his wet, wet pyjama bottoms to the bathroom, and he leans on the toilet wall as he hurriedly, piss still clinging to his fur, wanks himself off.