Archive of Our Own

  It had been a long night of drinking, at least for Spamton. Tenna sat while his business partner chugged down another shot of alcohol, having lost count, as did the TV host. It certainly hadn’t been a small amount of alcohol that had gone down the hatch.

  All of that liquid… It was starting to fill his bladder. The wiggling was subtle, barely noticeable, but it escalated to Spamton crossing his legs as tight as he could and wiggling to hold it in. He’d never admit to Tenna that he needed the bathroom. This left Tenna to figure out what was wrong with him himself. Drinking a lot of alcohol, wiggling, crossing his legs… Did he… Need to piss?

   "Spams?" The CRT spoke to him.

   "Y-Yeah, Tens?" Spamton answered back.

   "Something the matter? Gotta ?"

   "H-Huh!?" 

   He did not just do that. Embarrassed, Spamton tried to compose himself… Well, compose himself to be as composed as a drunk guy could be.
 
   "Hmph! N-Nah— hic— Of course not!" He took another sip of his alcohol, trying to calm himself, maybe even to make himself look a little less suspicious.
 
   He then began again, to clear his name, he hoped. Though, Tenna already seemed onto him.

   "Pee… W-Who could even— hic— W-Who could e-even need to do such a t-thi—"

   His eyes widened, suddenly slamming down the glass in his hand onto the bar counter and putting a hand up between his legs.

   Fuck. Now Tenna definitely knew.

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

   The way the Addison sat there struggling, the CRT couldn’t help himself. He watched closely until he remembered the situation and who this guy was. No, no- This was his coworker. Nothing was going on between them.

   But how he writhed in his barstool, jamming his fingers into his crotch to keep the piss in him—

   No. He couldn’t be thinking of his co-host like that. That’s incredibly unprofessional of him!

   He took a deep breath and exhaled, shooing away all of the degenerate thoughts he was having.

   "Spamton…"

   "I do not." 

   "Spams."

   "No."

   "Come on, Spams! You’re gonna pee yourself!"

   The thought of peeing himself, oh, it sounded delightful right now with how bad he had to go. The humiliation though… That didn’t sound delightful.

   While Spamton considered peeing himself, Tenna grabbed Spamton’s hand and yoinked him out of his barstool.

   "AHH!—"

   Spamton felt warmth touch the hand that was jammed up between his legs. He’d leaked.

   Panicked, the CRT looked back at the mailman. Did he hurt him??

   "Spammy?? Everything alright??"

   "I’m just fine, Tenna! M-Mind your own damn business!"

   Tenna could see the wiggling Spamton losing his self control to hold in his piss by the second, like a glass of water being filled, filled, and filled some more, getting ready to overfill from being unable to hold so much. He had to hurry up or he’d have a puddle of piss to deal with, plus a Spamton soaked in it.

   Tenna started rushing to the nearest bathroom with Spamton, the little co-host squeezing his bulge more as he was moved around frantically. His poor, poor bladder suffered as it tried to hold everything in, failing Spamton by releasing another unlucky leak into his slacks.

    Time was running out.

   "F-Fuck! T-Tenna!!" He yelped, feeling his boxers getting wetter and warmer with each drop that his body failed to hold.

   He couldn’t hold it. He couldn’t hold it. It was already trickling out little by little. Tenna heard a whimper come out of Spamton— A sound the TV host had never heard from him before. This was it. He was so done. 

   Though Tenna denied himself multiple times, couldn’t disagree that this turned him on horribly bad. He couldn’t get his mind out of the gutter while his co-host needed him badly. But, once again, Tenna shooed out those thoughts. Less thinking of how unbelievably hot it was to see Spamton struggle and piss into his slacks, more getting him to the bathroom so he didn’t piss himself.

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

   At last, after what felt like an eternity to Spamton, they were at the bathroom. But, right outside of the door, Spamton stopped dead in his tracks.
   
   "Spammy?? We’re here! Come on! Move!"

   "I-I can’t- I’ll piss myself if I move—"

   Tenna grabbed Spamton and held him, shoving his finger onto Spamton’s crotch to help him hold it.

   "A-Aah!!- T-Tenna!!!"

   The CRT ran into the bathroom, finding the first and closest urinal he could find, and stood Spamton in front of it, his finger still being now the only thing holding Spamton’s piss in him.

   The Addison, drunk and focused on holding in his piss, didn’t seem to be doing anything when stationed in front of the urinal. He just squirmed in Tenna’s arms, letting out a little moan from Tenna’s finger squishing his dick.

   He was going to need to do this for Spamton, wasn’t he?

  Good thing the co-host wasn’t going to remember any of this.

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

   Tenna grabbed the tiny zipper of Spamton’s pants and unzipped them, only releasing a little bit of pressure from Spamton’s dick. Just that made him cry out as piss leaked into his pants.

   Fuck.

   He reached into Spamton’s boxers, grabbing his dick that was dripping piss onto the ground and placing it over the urinal, aiming the dripping piss into it.

   Just like that, the glass overfilled, and a steady stream of piss surged out of his dick, splashing into the urinal.

   Spamton cried out in pleasure and relief while Tenna held his dick, making sure to aim every drop of piss into the urinal for Spamton as he relaxed and let loose. 

   "Ohhh fuck… Tennssss…~~"

   Instant boner.

   Tenna was so turned on at this point. Did he really need to moan his name while pissing?

   Spamton drunkly looked up at Tenna as he relaxed into the CRT’s arms, his little nub tail wagging.

  God… They were so finished if somebody walked in on this.

  A minute had passed, Spamton’s stream still going strong. It showed no signs of stopping, pouring out of his dick like a never-ending waterfall. Well, Tenna hoped it’d end eventually. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could survive without touching himself to this. 

   Another minute had passed. He was still going. Tenna whimpered as his boner pressed against his pants, fighting against the tightness of them, even tighter with this issue. 

   Three minutes. For three whole minutes, Tenna had been holding up his co-host to a urinal, holding his dick to aim the stream that was still hissing from it. Tenna attentively watched it, hoping to see it get even slightly weaker, but it kept flowing out of Spamton at the same pace.

   Even more time passed. Going on four minutes. Oh, Spamton must’ve felt divine right now, all of that liquid nearly out of his poor bladder. He certainly did feel divine, Tenna could confirm that from the moans Spamton let out from the sheer relief. He shivered in Tenna’s arms, his knees almost buckling from the relief. The sudden movement caused even more piss to splash onto Tenna. He grabbed his co-host and held him up to the urinal again, fixing his aim.

   The fifth minute. After more moaning from Spamton, more piss splashing into the urinal, even more piss getting onto Tenna’s suit and gloves which only increased the amount of steam flowing from his vents, the stream was showing signs of the end being near.

   The stream had gone from strong like a faucet turned up to maximum strength, to more of a dribble like the faucet had been turned down to the point of almost being off. 

   It halted at last. It looked like he was finally done.

   Fuck. That was hot.

   Tenna shook Spamton’s dick to get any remaining piss off, then carefully tucked it back into Spamton’s boxers, fixing up his fly afterwards.

   Such an amazing feeling of relief caused Spamton to fall asleep in Tenna’s arms soon after he was done, ready to forget every event that occurred in this bathroom forever. 

   But, Tenna sure wouldn’t, and he was absolutely taking how much he enjoyed that to the grave.