do the potty dance

Omovember Day 3 / peeing in the woods

(wrote this pretty late, hope you enjoy still!!)

Mark bit his bottom lip, strands of his red hair falling in front of his eyes as he awkwardly made his way up the hiking trail. His back turned to Jack, who eyed him suspiciously.

“Mark, you’re doing a little potty dance. Did you really forget to go before we hiked up?”

Mark groaned, his cheeks turning red, “you said you wanted to be out here at dawn so I rushed to get ready.”

Out of all days to be this desperate and flustered, it had to be the day he took Jack to his favorite hiking trail.

“C'mon, just find a tree or bush go. I don’t mind-”

“Dude! This trail is as public as downtown L.A.! I don’t wanna flash my dick at some poor early morning joggers!” Mark argued, reaching down to hold himself through his pants.

There was a pause between them as they walked on, the songs of the birds filling the awkward silence. The tall orange and red trees above them letting in bits of the morning light. Jack coughed, catching the other’s attention.

“Uh, I could, um, watch for anyone coming while you pee-only if you’re cool with it!” Jack said, Mark turning around to face him.

“It would save me from walking around on the busiest trail with soggy jeans.”

Jack swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The mental image of Mark doubling over against a tree trunk, his quiet whimpers (or maybe sobs?) as he wets himself. The way his cheeks would heat up as he humiliated himself even more by crying, a massive puddle spreading underneath him.

Jack was ripped from his fantasy by Mark, “Jack, please don’t space out on me man. I’m 4 seconds away from pissing myself like some little kid.”

“S-sorry, got distracted. Why don’t you, uh, use that bush over there and I’ll keep watch from here.”

“Say no more,” he replied as he nearly ran to said bush.

Jack turned around quickly, blushing as he heard Mark’s zipper and groans.

“Oh fuck, I didn’t think I would hold out,” he said, the sound of piss hitting the forest floor. Mark moaned quietly as relief rushed over him.

“There’s so much, fuck, it feels like heaven.” he said as he continued to piss, his stream hissing.

Nearly a minute later, Jack heard his stream slowly stop. Next came his zipper, and finally his footsteps walking towards him. Jack quickly removed his hoodie. He tied it around his waist hoping to hide his erection. His piss kink was…something they haven’t exactly gone over yet in their relationship.

“You alright? You’re spacing out again.”

“Yeah! I’m good! Why you ask?”

“Oh nothing,” Mark said as came into Jack’s view, “you just got the most intense blush I’ve ever seen, and you look really overheated. You think you can hold out or should we head back?”

Jack gulped, “nah! I’m fine, honest to God.”

“Alright then, I’m gonna go wash my hands by this stream over here,” he said before working off the trail, “ha, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were turned on! When we get home I should make you hold it!”

Jack shuddered at the thought, now regretting his decision for them to stay.

You ever just KEEP FORGETTING TO GO TO THE BATHROOM DURING CLASS AND THE BELL RINGS AND YOU KNOW YOU DON’T HAVE ENOUGH TIME TO GO TO THE BATHROOM BECAUSE YOUR OTHER CLASS IS ALL THE WAY ACROSS THE SCHOOL AND YOU’RE DOING AN AWKWARD FUCKING POTTY DANCE AS YOU WALK AND YOU FUCKING DIE BECAUSE YOU’RE AN IDIOT
ME TOO

A/N: Luke is not a fan of your teasing and gets fed up. 

We all need to pay more attention to Luke in button ups and his nose. Inspired by my love, Nicole (@hemmocrat​). 

“Fucking finally,” Luke mutters, pulling into your driveway.

He all but drags you out the car, hands tight on your waist as he nudges you up the front porch. The urgency is written all over his face, and in the way he fumbles with his keys. Luke never really thought much of keeping all his keys on the same ring until now. Now he regrets them. For the life of him, he can’t seem to find the right key to your house, the jingly pieces of metal clumsy in his fingers. You’ve never seen him so eager and so anxious. He’s practically doing the adult equivalent of the potty dance, squirming uncomfortably in his black jeans like he’ll burst any moment.

Albeit, you didn’t exactly make it easy.  Poor Luke being teased nonstop for hours, starting with the dress you decided to wear to his parent’s anniversary dinner. It was your favorite little black dress, which left little to his imagination. As cruel as it sounds, watching how quickly Luke could unravel with just a mere glance at the dress is the very reason it’s your favorite. It also wasn’t easy for him on the car ride there, during dinner, or on the car ride back. Who could blame you though? Was it your fault if your dress just so happened to hike up your thigh a tad bit? Was it your fault you had a bad habit of biting your lip? Were you supposed to take the blame for your hand that sometimes wandered a little too far? After all, those things can be hard to control.

To put it simply, Luke has been staring at his dessert all night, but not allowed to taste.

After much fuss, he gets the door open at last, only to slam it shut the second you step over the threshold. His lips find yours without hesitation, too eager to care much about form or technique. Warm and rough and sloppy, noses bumping about like clumsy kids—clearly a kiss built with much anticipation. Like a windup toy wound beyond its limit unleashing it’s pent up energy. But his lips don’t stay on yours for long. They venture to your jaw, and drag along your neck. The slope of his nose pressing into your skin as he nibbles right by your ear.

Reaching for more of him, you slide your hands up the neat line of his button up, feeling each innocent little button on the path from hem to collar. Your fingers find the top one, undoing it to open just an inch more of his neck, then one more bottom down to free his chewable collarbone. But you stop there, too distracted by the work Luke’s doing with his tongue, and just trying to breathe through the small bites he’s leaving. You’re reveling in it all, even if Luke is fed up with your snail pace.

“Those buttons won’t undo themselves.”

You only smirk at him, tinkering with the button, but not actually doing anything productive. Playing with his buttons is pushing his figurative ones, and pushing those buttons is playing with his patience.

“Don’t you think you’ve teased enough, Princess?”  

Frustrated, Luke takes matters into his own hands, grabbing you from behind your thighs and wrapping your legs around his waist. He carries you to the nearest couch, all the while continuing to make the mark on your neck that much darker. Once in the living room, he tosses you on the sofa before climbing on top.

“You’re done teasing. But I’m just getting started.”

Your OTP is stuck in a situation where there are no bathrooms available for whatever reason. Person A doesn’t have to go anyway, but Person B is absolutely bursting, doing a potty dance, jumping around, grabbing themselves, anything to keep from peeing before they can get to a toilet. Finally A, worried that B is going to do permanent damage, pulls B aside and pleads with them to just go in their clothes. B is so desperate they pee then and there without protesting.