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malefemale Mayoral Duties (A Vamp! Fanfiction)


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A/N: You really don't need to know much about Vamp to read this, all you gotta know is, Watt's a dhampyr who is also the mayor, really fucking two-faced cos he's so polite and friendly as a mayor, but he's actually just a piece of trash deep inside. Though, if you're interested in reading Vamp!, you can download the unofficial translation here, as it has not been translated in the US yet. http://untuned-strings.blogspot.com/p/vamp.html

 

Watt can barely remember the last time he slept. He’s probably gone two days without actually sleeping; he’s probably gone an entire 48 hours, maybe more, without sleeping. Unfortunately for him, given his life as someone with one foot in the day and one in the night, not sleeping is par for the course, though it’s been a while since it was ever this bad.

 

To make matters worse, he’s had one hell of a busy day, and it’s been even harder to stay awake after his eventful nights. He pretty much depends on coffee at this point, but today he’s certain that he’s consumed a dangerous amount of caffeine. Anything to get him through his many meetings and public events, anything to get him through his assortment of pain-in-the-ass mayoral duties. The day is nearly over, which means that he’s almost free from this hell, but he’s not breathing easy yet.

 

The problem is, drowning himself in caffeine has quite the side effect, and he’s had to piss for hours now, and has not had a single, spare second to take care of that. After all he’s had to drink, his bladder is absolutely throbbing, which proves to be an awful distraction, and puts a strain on him that he struggles to keep below the surface. If anyone notices that his smile is a little more forced than usual, then nobody says anything.

 

But, as much as Watt fights to hide the problem, that doesn’t change the fact that the problem exists to begin with, and as time passes, it grows worse and worse until it is nearly unbearable, and still he has to bear it, because he hasn’t had enough free time, and there’s no way in hell he’s going to cut into a meeting or end up late for something over this. He’s better than that, goddammit, and he can make it for as long as he needs to.

 

Even as the pressure builds to the point that every step he takes is painful, he never lets onto it, and he never considers taking an extra break. If he has to wait until the end of the day, then he has to wait until the end of the day, and there’s nothing he can do to help that.

This is one part of his human side that he despises; he actually needs the sorts of liquid a human does, rather than drinking as a luxury, which means that he faces the consequences of it far more often than a full vampire ever would. He’s grown up with it, though, and he usually doesn’t dwell on how much of an inconvenience it is, until times like this, when he really wishes he didn’t have to. (Of course, vampire or not, drinking this much coffee would have had the same effect either way.)

 

Watt has promised himself that he’s going to get himself with his dignity intact, because he’s not some fucking weakling who can’t even hold his own piss. So what if he’s been struggling for going on three hours now? He could struggle for three more, if he wanted to! But, fortunately for him, this late meeting is the last thing he has to do, and then he has to take the short walk back to City Hall, where he can visit a bathroom before either heading home or holing up in his office for another long night.

 

He’s sitting with his thighs clenched together, grateful for the table that obscures just how tense he is from the waist down, and from time to time, he jiggles his knees and nobody notices. On his face is the blank smile that is his default expression when he’s dealing with the public, and he’s certain that he looks much more relaxed than he feels. Clenching his fists under the table, he shifts his weight imperceptibly and tries to ignore the extra pressure that sitting adds to the situation.

 

When a question is directed at him, he always takes a breath to make sure that his voice isn’t shaking. He responds with an even tone, a false hint of cheerfulness behind every word, and the meeting keeps dragging on. Normally, these aren’t entirely troublesome, or at least, these sorts of meetings aren’t the worst part of his job. In fact, they normally go by rather quickly, but everything feels like it’s going slower when he’s struggling against his bladder like this. While he answers questions and contributes to the meeting, his thoughts usually consist of the same phrase on repeat.

 

Fuck, I have to piss so fucking bad. Fuck, I have to piss so fucking bad!

 

It’s been a very long time since he’s been this full, and even so, he can’t quite remember if it’s ever gone this far before. His bladder hurts so much that he feels a little sick, and his beats one fist on his thigh while shifting in his seat again. It’s going to kill him to make even the walk to City Hall, he realizes, and he finds himself growing more and more annoyed with anything that is said. Every word that is spoken pisses him off more and more, as it drags the meeting on that much longer, and his responses grow shorter and shorter, until finally, he has to bring things to a close.

 

“Alright, everyone,” he says, hoping that his voice doesn’t betray his situation. “I think we’ve just about covered everything we need to today. It’s getting a little late, so I think we can bring the meeting to a close, and if there’s anything else you feel needs to be addressed, please make a note of it for next time. If it’s urgent, I can be reached through my secretary tomorrow.”

 

He rises even though it pains him, and it pains him even more to try to stay still, but he does it, waiting for everyone to come through and shake his hand and say their goodbyes. All the while, he imagines slugging each and every one of them for making this go on longer than it should have, until he’s finally able to watch them all go. He waits until the room is cleared before he leaves, and he takes a moment by himself to try to regain his composure, bouncing up and down at his knees.

 

This is so humiliating that it’s infuriating, but he’s past the point of caring just as long as he is able to make it to a bathroom before things get disastrous. Finally, he feels ready to go outside, but the walk to City Hall is so torturous that he can hardly breathe. Each step threatens to send him over the edge, and he can’t stop his hands from shaking, and he’s so fucking mad about all of this, it’s so stupid that he’s had to hold it for this long and that he’s been pushed to his limits like this.

 

He’s just walking up the steps when he feels a spurt escape him, and he has to pause right outside of City Hall to squeeze his thighs together, praying that there is no one passing by to notice the way he’s trembling, about to lose it in front of his place of work. The hot burst of liquid does not soak through his pants, thankfully, but it’s a sign that he’s only got a few minutes before the worst case scenario becomes a reality.

 

Throwing open the door, he walks down the hallway at the fastest pace his overfull bladder will allow, making his way to the bathrooms. It’s late, so there aren’t many people in the building and he doesn’t have to be as careful about how he walks, considering there isn’t anyone in the hallway to see him. However, he doesn’t consider just how late it is, or who is in the building, until he reaches the bathroom.

 

Both of the bathrooms are closed for cleaning, because the nightly cleaning staff has settled in, and he knows that they won’t be done soon, and certainly not soon enough to avoid the inevitable. Watt is torn between crying, screaming, and punching something, but he does neither, his humiliation and anger and desperation so overwhelming that all he can do is hobble to his office. There’s no way he’ll be able to make it home, and there isn’t another bathroom in the building, and he doesn’t have any options now.

 

He feels another leak on his walk, and another, and he’s sure that he’s getting close to leaking through his pants, but he just keeps moving, until he’s in his office and can lock the door behind him, and then all he can do is bend over his desk. Supporting himself by his hands, his shoulders sag and he lets out a long, pathetic groan as he begins to piss himself, his bladder pushed too far beyond its limit.

 

Slowly, his dark gray pants are soaked through, until the stream has picked up and the hot liquid gushes out of him, running down run of his legs and splashing onto the hardwood floor beneath him with a loud hiss- and never has he been so grateful that he had the office renovated when he first got elected, removing the carpets. At the very least, the cleanup won’t be too hard on him, and he’s going to do the cleanup on his own, because he’d rather die than have anyone know that this happened to.

 

Relief washes over him in such strong waves that he forgets his own humiliation for a moment because it feels so good to finally be empty. His bladder still cramps from how he stretched it beyond its limits, but this is nothing compared to the pain he was in before. Taking a few shaky breaths, he slumps forward to lean on his elbows, sighing, exhausted from the effort.

 

His pants are starting to get cold, and he’s going to have to find a way to get out of here without anyone seeing him like this, but that shouldn’t be too much of a problem. As good as it feels to finally relax, he knows he has to start dealing with the aftermath, and he reflexively reaches in the pocket of his suit jacket to switch his non-prescription glasses for his more suitable shades.

 

The humiliation is immense, and he doubts he’s going to be able to forget about this any time soon, but it’s over now, and he’s got to move forward and get home and shower and change his clothes, and make sure his office remains locked until he can get back to clean up the puddle in front of his desk.

 

It looks like it’s going to be another long night for him.

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