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He pissed the bed again. It was fine. It happened all the time. Well, saying it happened all the time probably wasn’t great, but it happened enough that Rust was no longer shocked. He had a routine. But this time there was a problem. Marty was over.
They had been working on the case last night, drunk and angry, not much of a change. Marty fell asleep on the lawn chair in the “living room.” His body hunched and curled like a frightened cat. His chin rested on his chest, a string of drool staining his undershirt. Rust stared. Something about Marty, the furrowed brow that seemed to never smooth, his masculine hands resting over his spread crotch. He looked like something baroque, a god snoring in the lawn chair, caught unawares.
The piss was starting to cool and itch. Rust didn’t want to deal with another rash. He rolled over, praying to whatever was out there that the rubber sheets weren’t going to squeak enough to wake Marty. No such luck. He stirred from his sleep, cracking his eyes open, squinting owlishly at the mattress. Rust froze, cheeks starting to warm up. Marty stared at him, clearly not quite processing where he was yet. “Rust.” he croaked.
“Yeah.”
“Fuck are you doin’?”
“Getting up.” Rust replied lamely. Marty hummed. “Go back to sleep Marty.” He grumbled something about aches and pains and getting old.
“If you’re gettin’ up, can I use your bed? Haven’t slept all week.” Fuck.
“Uhh, no. Sheets are dirty.” Rust blurted in a panic. Marty squinted.
“What the hell do you mean the sheets are dirty? What’d you do- Shit the bed?”
“No! I uh- I sweat a lot. Sheets are dirty. Lemme get you new sheets.” Rust lurched up. Maybe if he moved fast enough Marty wouldn’t notice the stains on his legs. “Sheets are dirty. There’s clean sheets in the bathroom. I’ll get them.” He hustled towards the bathroom when a hand reached out and grabbed his wrist, halting him in his tracks. He felt the piss drip steadily from his boxers to the floor.
“What the fuck is that smell?”
“Probably cat piss.”
“You don’t have a cat.”
Rust gulped. “Yeah.”
“Did you piss yourself?” Rust froze, blood rising to his face in a crimson flush. Marty smiled. “You fucking pissed yourself didn’t you?” He could feel Rust’s pulse fluttering in his wrist like a trapped bird. Rust liked this.
“I gotta go to the bathroom.” Rust tried to wrest his arm away from Marty’s grip.
“No you fucking don’t.” His hand squeezed tighter. “You’re gonna stay right here. You pissed yourself like a fucking dog. You’re gonna stay on the ground like a mutt.” Rust keened, a low desperate sound. Marty’s breath caught. “You like this don’t you?” He gave a broken whimper. “You fucking like this don’t you.” Rust hesitated, then gave a jerky nod. “I thought so.”
Marty pulled Rust by the wrist, using his other hand to shove Rust to the dingy carpet. Rust fell to his ass looking about as dignified as a cockroach on its back, legs splayed, arms flailing. His wet boxers were tented, warping the fabric to where Marty got an unmistakable view of Rust’s taint.
“C’mere dog. On your knees.” Rust scrambled to all fours. Sitting back on his heels, legs spread. The perfect picture of obedience. Marty lowered his voice, leaning into Rust’s face. “If you wanna get off, you’re gonna hump my leg like a dog, or you’re not gonna come at all. You understand?” Rust choked out a grunt. “Good boy. Now get to it, I’m not just gonna wait around.”
Marty stretched out his leg casually. Rust reached out for him but his hands were kicked away. “Dogs don’t have hands. Do this like a dog or don’t do it at all.”
Rust straddled Marty’s foot, the soggy cotton of his boxer pressed wetly against Marty’s Hanes compression socks. Balls resting on the ridge of the top of his foot. Rust wasted no time, thrusting with desperation, pressing his hard cock against Marty’s hairy shinbone. “You’re like a feral fucking street dog.” Rust grunted, rutting harder, faster. Pressing his breastbone to Marty’s knee. Marty reached out a hand, grasping at a handful of Rust’s hair and pulled back. Exposing his throat, forcing him to make eye contact. He was crying. Marty pulled harder, tugging a whimper from deep in Rust’s chest. He reached his other hand to cradle his jaw, almost tenderly. He stroked his thumb along Rust’s bottom lip before pressing inside. Rust sealed his lips around Marty’s thumb. “What a good boy.” Rust made a noise like a wounded animal.
His pace quickened, clearly getting close. Rust grunted animalistically, whimpering like a dog. He sounded practically distraught. He humped faster, drool pooling and dripping down Marty’s wrist. “You’re like a bitch in heat.” Rust squeezed his eyes shut, gurgling out some broken choked off noise, his hips losing rhythm. Rutting towards the finish line. “Good dog.” Marty pulled his thumb from Rust’s mouth, wiping his hand on his shirt. Tugging harder on Rust’s now sweat matted hair.
Rust came. Warmth spread through his boxers. Seeping onto Marty’s sock. He rutted jerkily through his orgasm.
Rust leaned forward, resting his cheek on the inside of Marty’s unclothed knee. Still coming down. Marty ran his hands through Rust’s hair, petting gently, almost tenderly. Rust hummed. He blearily opened his eyes, noticing Marty’s erection he raised his hand, moving his face towards his crotch. Marty pushed his hand away, shaking his head.
“Not now. You still fucking smell like piss.”