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Here Come the Warm Jets

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Ray'd had to take a criminal psychology class once, so he gets how this kind of thing happens. A guy's mom spanks him too hard as a kid and now he steals ladies' underwear from the laundromat or flashes girls on the bus or whatever. More harmlessly, you have your first orgasm looking at Wonder Woman comics and now you're into getting tied up. Or your babysitter as a kid always wore tube socks and now that really gets your juices flowing. He gets it, he does. That doesn't mean he likes it.

And it's not like he doesn't know that he's got some hang-ups, that maybe he's not the most well-adjusted guy around. His mind spins around that day in the bank all the time. On one hand, he's obsessed with it; it set him onto becoming a cop, getting together with Stella - his whole life revolves around that day, of course he can't stop thinking about it. On the other hand, he hates thinking about it directly; hates the fear he felt, the humiliation of pissing his pants in front of everyone, the shame of never being able to talk about it. He tries to think about it too hard, really think about his feelings about it, and his brain recoils away from it, like he touched a hot stove. Well, most of the time.

So something happened. He has a pretty good idea what, if not exactly how, but it's not like he's an expert on this sort of thing. Something about being right at the start of puberty, full of hormones but not really knowing what sex is yet or how it connected to the funny feelings he's starting to have. And Stella was there and he was already so into her and then later all his hormones and everything would be all Stella, Stella, Stella, and then he would lose his virginity to her, and then they'd get married, and then, well, the rest of it.

Anyway, somewhere in all that, the concept of "pissing your pants" got tossed in, and now if Ray thinks about it, when he's whacking off, it sets him off like nothing else.

At first it had just been the memory of that moment; the feeling of warmth spreading around his crotch and down his leg, how he could feel it happening but couldn't control it, the piss quickly turning cold and the embarrassment setting in, that Stella had seen, that everyone else had seen. Ok, it had happened to him, he couldn't help that. But before too long he started making up new ones.

It's almost the end of class and he begged the teacher to let him go to the bathroom but he's already been caught smoking in the bathroom twice this month and she says no and, God, he feels like he is going to burst. She calls him up to write something on the board (embarrassing on it's own already - his spelling has always been terrible and he wasn't paying attention). Stella is sitting in class watching (even though in real life, they never went to the same high school). He stands at the chalkboard and he's sweating that he is gonna fuck up whatever she asked him to write and everyone will see and Stella will see and he has to piss so freaking bad and he can't hold it a second longer and then he doesn't. He can feel it hot on the inside of his thigh, when he glances down he can see the puddle on the floor around his ankle growing and the whole class starts laughing when they notice….

Every time he would think "What the fuck is wrong with me" as he wiped his come off himself.

But then he and Stella started fucking for real and there was plenty of Stella right in front of him to focus on instead and this fetish or whatever. It never really went away, but he was able to stick it in the back of his mind. Just some wires in his brain that got crossed, is all, no reason to think about it, certainly no reason to ever tell Stella about it, let alone anyone else.

She had asked, once, when they were laying in bed one weekend morning, in that post-sex haze of affection and honesty that makes you open your heart up, "Do you ever have any fantasies?"

"Like swords and princesses and wizards and all that?" He always tried to make her laugh.

"No, no. You know, like, sexual fantasies."

"Oh, I don't need any of that, Stella, I got everything I need right here," he'd said, gesturing to her naked body next to him.

She propped herself up on an elbow so she was looking down at him, eyes curious and determined. "I'm being serious, Ray. Do you ever think about anything really out there when you jack off. Don't give me that look, I know you jack off."

"Not really," he shrugged, "Stuff we've done, stuff I wanna do, but all the stuff I wanna do is pretty normal too, so yeah, just...normal stuff."

She kept on him about it until he admitted to "two chicks doing it" which wasn't a lie, he also thought that was pretty hot, but he was pretty damn sure nobody would rank it as crazier than thinking about pissing your own pants.

But mostly the not thinking about it and not talking about it had worked, it really had. Except, now he's divorced, and if he's being honest, he's jerking off a lot more these days. He thinks he might be going a little insane, because lately he's so horny all the time and it just feels like anything might pop into his mind when he's about to come. And it's not just that he's returning to the fantasies he came up with as a teenager, no, his pervert brain has started coming up with brand new ones.

He's on a stakeout with Fraser and they have been in the car for hours and he's had too many cups of coffee and he is dying for a piss but he can just feel that they are so close to catching the bad guys, they are gonna catch them doing whatever they are doing any second if he can just last a little longer, another minute and then another and he's squirming in his seat and maybe Fraser says something like "You seem uncomfortable Ray" and Ray brushes him off, says "I'm fine Fraser, just antsy is all" but right as Fraser turns to look at him that's when his resolve breaks and he feels warm and wet against the leather car seat and relief mixed with horror that Fraser is looking right at him as it happens, just the two of them alone in this car and and and...


He and Fraser are being held hostage and their captors have tied them up and left them in some abandoned closed. They are tied up face to face, their bodies pressed inescapably against one another and they are handcuffed to a pipe. They can barely move, let alone sit, and they can feel every detail of the front of one another's bodies, he can feel Fraser's breath, the movement of his muscles under his clothes as he tries to look around, he thinks he can almost feel Fraser thinking, trying to save their skins. Time stretches on and on, and they can't hear enough to tell what is going on out there, if backup is here, if anybody knows they are even in here. He's impatient to begin with but to make it worse he has to piss and he doesn't want to say anything to Fraser, Fraser is trying to concentrate on saving them, the guy knows more about knots than him, no question. And there is no way he would be able to go anywhere, couldn't turn around to piss in something or even in the corner, so no point in bringing it up. Besides, to say anything would be embarrassing, but God, he thinks it's been hours since he went and he's really desperate. He shifts from foot to foot and gets Fraser's version of an annoyed look. He finally doesn't think he can hold it a moment longer and he opens his mouth to say "Fraser, I...." but he can't get the words out and it's too late anyway and not only can he feel the hot wetness running down his own legs, he knows that Fraser can feel it too, can see the realization hit Fraser's face when he feels what is happening…

He does realize that Fraser is showing up in these fantasies a lot lately. It's not actually queer, he figures. It's not like he imagines that he and Fraser fucking or anything like that. Fraser is just there, watching as Ray humiliates himself over and over again, in increasingly wild scenarios. And Fraser is there because these fantasies, they do usually have some connection to his real life, and he and Fraser are around each other most of the time these days. So it makes sense that Fraser would be the one around to witness Ray piss his pants in these fantasies. This reasoning doesn't particularly make him feel any less dirty about it all.

So anyway, it's a Friday night and, loser that he is, he is sitting on his couch in his underpants, beating off. This is how it is when you've got no social life, Kowalski, he thinks. Sure, plenty of nights he and Fraser hang out, but the thing about one person being most of your social life, is that sometimes they are busy. And when they are, you are on your own, buddy (he learned this lesson with Stella, but it looks like he has to learn it again).

Tonight Fraser is helping with some kind of event over at the Consulate, and as a result, Ray is beating off on his sofa. Great.

Ray's got nowhere to be and he's been kinda horny all day, so he's taking his time, not really working hard with it. He hasn't even stuck his hand down his underwear yet, is just giving himself a good fumble over the thin cotton fabric, rubbing himself, giving his balls a squeeze. He's had a beer, got a baseball game muted on the TV, and he was half watching it, but at this point his mind is drifting and he's maybe a quarter watching it.

He's playing baseball and he's out in left field, feels like he has been out there for ages with no break. He regrets all the water he drank earlier because now he can feel his full bladder and he doesn't know if it's worse when he's moving or standing still, but it's killing him. How many people would see him if he pissed himself now? All the other players would see (he could never look them in the eye in the locker room after), everyone watching in the stands would see, the cameras would see, Fraser-

He pulls his hand off himself as he suddenly realizes where his mind was going again. He knows what the problem is, he thinks, he's got his whole life tangled up in that one moment that day at the bank, is the thing. He already knows that. And he's untangled some of it, Fraser helped him with that, at the cemetery, but not all of it.

Not that Ray had told him all of it. Maybe Fraser could have helped him untangle this part of it too, but just thinking about telling Fraser about this part of it makes him blush. Something about Fraser just makes words just come out sometimes, like Ray is compelled to confess everything to him, wants him to know every embarrassing thing he's ever done. But still, no way could he talk to Fraser about sex stuff, not even if it was normal, which no part of this is.

A lot of his thoughts come to him suddenly and strongly, so much that they almost bypass being thoughts and go straight into being actions. He will just know what he needs to do next on a case, motivated to movement in a way that feels like his brain isn't involved at all. In a sudden moment of instinct, he realizes what he needs to do: he needs to piss his pants again. If he actually does it, it will be gross and unsexy enough that it will uncross those wires. Bam, problem solved. He could do it in the shower, and bachelor that he is now, it's not like he's never pissed in the shower before.

Excited by his own genius, Ray leaps off the couch and fishes a pair of dirty jeans out of the hamper. He strips his t-shirt and underwear off and puts on just the jeans. Commando isn't usually his style, but it feels right for what he's about to do, for some reason. The denim right up against the skin of his dick and ass feels different, weird but exciting. He wanders shirtless into the kitchen and fills up an empty plastic quart container that originally held egg drop soup and gulps it down while standing right in front of the sink.

He impatiently paces around his kitchen, waiting for his body to get a move on with all that water. To help, he grabs another beer out of the fridge and drinks it with a speed typically only seen in 20-something year old guys surrounded by other 20-something year old guys shouting "chug".

The speed of drinking it and the anticipation make it go straight to his head and he's feeling buzzed, almost giddy. He is starting to feel something a little lower too, like he needs to go, but he wants to hold it, draw it out. He was never any good at waiting.

It doesn't help that he was horny before and now that he's even more het up over his little experiment he's actually pretty hard. Of course, he thinks, he's gotta jerk off, got to get himself good and worked up and then ruin it when he pisses himself. Tell his brain to associate the thing that feels good with something that will be bad and uncomfortable. Like the dog with the bell and the drooling, but you know, backwards.

Ray goes and stands in the shower, curtain slung open so that he's staring at himself in the mirror. His face and chest are a bit shiny, like he's sweating with anticipation. He feels himself up over his jeans, traces the outline of his cock with his hand while watching himself do it, trying his best to draw it out. He's never been one to make himself wait like this, but he was always pretty good in the sack, thank you very much, so he knows how to make it good for another person. He thinks about how he would touch a cock if he was trying to make it good for somebody

By the time he unzips and frees himself, he can't take the teasing any longer; he is desperately, painfully, horny. He pumps himself in such an eager frenzy that he thinks he can hear himself panting. And there goes his imagination too.

He's drunk, way drunker than he is now, and Fraser is helping him into his apartment as he trips over his own feet. Despite being drunk some part of him is with it enough to feel ashamed for behaving like this, that special ashamed of being extremely drunk around somebody who does not drink and is now managing you. Fraser sits him on his bed and offers him water and Ray asks for coffee. "The best thing you can do for your future self while inebriated is to drink water, Ray" but Ray insists and Fraser leaves him alone in his bedroom and Ray can hear him banging around in his kitchen. He realizes he needs to piss badly and he's not sure he can walk to the bathroom himself and he just insisted Fraser go make him coffee and he's a little embarrassed about the whole thing already. Through slow careful steps and holding on to furniture, he gets there and that went alright but now he's gotta get his pants off and that's a problem. He's got a belt on and his hands just aren't moving right, like when he tries to make his handwriting look neat and it just won't, never has. He had to piss already but something about being in the bathroom and near the toilet means his brain has already sent signals to his body that it's time to go and suddenly it's ten times more urgent than it was just a minute ago. "Fuck" he mutters under his breath as he fails again at his zipper and the next thing he knows he feels a wet heat spreading out from his crotch….

The need to piss and the need to come have intertwined into a single urgency. At the same time, it feels like the sensations are competing, both keeping the other from gaining any satisfaction. He forces himself to pull his hand away and then, with some effort, shove his dick back in his jeans and zip them carefully over his erection. He leans forward and grabs the shower curtain with both hands, closes his eyes, and focuses like he is at the urinal next to some guy who makes him nervous or something. It is actually kinda difficult to piss your pants, it turns out, because ninety-nine percent of the time, you'll do everything you can not to piss your pants, so your brain is asking you over and over "Are you sure? Are you sure?".

Ray pushes past all his instincts warning him that he's about to wet himself, and for a moment he thinks, this is perfect, it's gonna work, aversion therapy, it's happening for real and it's going to suck. Then it's happening, he can feel it flowing out and a hot damp feeling running down his legs. He forces his eyes open, makes himself glance between the mirror and looking down at his crotch, absorbing every detail of the dark patch spreading out across his front. At a certain point his pants can't really get more soaked and it's running out the bottom of the pants leg, down the shower drain. The relief feels amazing, almost like he had actually come, but lasting much longer and growing as his bladder empties until it stops.

And then it's over, he guesses. Being in soaked jeans feels weird, and they are rapidly cooling off, but without anyone there to see it's honestly not as bad as he imagined. And he's still feeling excited and strange and still thinking about Fraser.

The thing is, in his fantasies, it always ends the same way, with him pissing his pants, somebody shocked and grossed out and it's the humiliation that pushes him over the edge. But the thing is, now that he thinks about it, he's not sure. Would Fraser be disgusted? Probably not; he licks and sniffs any gross thing given the chance. And he's pretty outdoorsy, hard to be squeamish when you got to take care of a bunch of dogs and kill caribou and whatnot. He'd probably be right there, helping get Ray out of his clothes.

He's undressing Ray efficiently, clearly doing his best not to embarrass him any more than he has to. He sits Ray on the side of the bathtub and doesn't even struggle as he gets Ray's wet pants off him.

"I'm sorry, this is so gross," Ray says.

"Oh hardly, Ray. Urine, especially fresh urine, and I think you will agree it could hardly be fresher, is remarkably clean. In fact, traditionally, leather tanning…."

Yeah, something like that. Maybe it was a bad idea to do this while horny, because even though he's gone through with it and is now standing in wet jeans, he's hard as a fucking rock again for some reason. He's so hard and his jeans are so plastered to his body that he thinks he can see his own circumcision scar through them. He never wears jeans that tight, the sight of himself is kinda hot, he has to admit. He unzips, peels the wet denim away from his skin, which feels a different kind of interesting, and frees his cock.

Fraser is cleaning him up with a warm washcloth, over his thighs and crotch, and even his drunkenness and Fraser's kind and non-judgemental manner isn't enough to prevent Ray from feeling a little ashamed about all this.

"Why are you being so nice to me, Fraser?"

"You are my friend, Ray. I care about you and I want to make sure you are comfortable while you, well, in your current state."

He spits in his hand and wraps it around his cock, properly jerking himself now. His skin is wet with his piss and spit and it feels cool on his hot skin. Even though his cock is out, his soaked jeans still feel strange and clinging against his legs and ass, not letting him get so lost in the feeling building inside him that he can forget what he did.

"You care about me? You don't even really know me." (He's being so honest in this fantasy, but maybe part of the fantasy is that he has the guts to be.)

"Well Ray, if you believe that to be the case, why don't you tell me some more about yourself."

He was never any good with words, and his mind is swirling and he's sure it would come out slurred anyway. Always more of an action guy, really, so he tells Fraser who he is by leaning forward and pressing his mouth against Fraser's. Fraser is surprised, he can tell, and Ray is being aggressive, sticks his tongue down Fraser's throat, licks the inside of his mouth. He's trying to tell Fraser a whole lot real fast, before Fraser breaks away and tells Ray not to embarrass himself like this any further. Some spit drips down his chin and he can't tell whose it is.

He doesn't even bother trying not to make a mess as he comes, just lets it get all over himself, his shower, his jeans. The fresh heat on his hand and cock feels good and he uses it to keep things wet and slick as he pumps himself through his orgasm.

And then he's standing in his shower soaked in piss and come, wearing a pair of wet unzipped jeans, dick now soft and hanging out the front. With the clarity that comes right after an orgasm, he's suddenly, furiously embarrassed. What the fuck was he doing? He was kidding himself that this would fix anything, he is honestly the biggest freak who's ever lived. He throws his wet jeans in the trash, doesn't even want to look at them long enough to wash them and be reminded of what he did.

Ray gets in the shower to wash himself off and thinks, well, that didn't solve a damn thing. If anything, the wires in his brain are even more crossed, and he's pretty sure some brand new ones got crossed as well. Oh well, just one more pervert thing to try not to think about, one more secret.