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Despite the name, this has little to do with sex or cities. This is a comedy about an indie band called Power Lich that’s attempting to cover Van She's Sex City. Believe it or not, there is omorashi involved. It's a little different from what I usually write, but given that this is my second story posted, that doesn't matter one bit. It's got a slow start but it's worth it. Trust me. 

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“I still have time,” was a lie Alexi told himself often. “I still have time for bed” was what he said to himself at four AM, 3/4ths of the way through a View Askew marathon that ultimately culminated in him falling asleep during the middle of Clerks II. “I still have time to get ready” was what he said when he, sprawled out in a heap on his couch, muted his alarm and slid his phone across the room. He thought he was going to close his eyes for twenty more seconds and then get up to start the day. What he actually did was slip right back into his slumber only to wake up to an alarm he couldn’t mute, someone banging at his front door. “I still have time to figure out what I’m gonna say,” was what he finally settled with as the racket coming from the door got harder to ignore. “Be there in a sec!” he yelled out as he stumbled off the couch and towards the hall in the exact opposite direction. He passed by two doors, his bedroom and his bathroom. He had exactly ten seconds to come up with a plan, and as he frantically looked from between his unkempt bedroom and the shower, he found himself a little disappointed that the only thing he could think of was either climbing out the window, or turning all the lights off and hiding in the shower.

“Come on, dude! I know you’re in there!” The muffled voice from behind the door let him know that he did not in fact, still have time. Then it hit him, the brilliant plan that’d save his ass, and maybe more if he really went with it. He ducked into the bathroom, grabbed some choice tools, and then dashed over to the door and opened it. It was Morgan, the vocalist and leader of their band. Twenty tons of anti-establishment rhetoric crammed into a stern looking, rail-thin ginger with a black snakebite peeking out below her lower lip. Her shadow fell over him and he was suddenly reminded that she was the second tallest in the band, and he sure as hell wasn’t the first. With nothing but his dignity to lose, he put his grand plan into motion.

“Hey Morgan, I’ll be out in a sec, I just gotta brush my teeth,” he said, vigorously working the brush’s handle for effect.

She furrowed her brow and looked him up and down. “Weren’t you wearing that yesterday?” she said, motioning to his general person.

“Yeah, uh… was I?” he asked, knowing full well that he’d even forgotten to change out of his shoes and socks, let alone yesterday’s clothes.

“Uh-huh.” He couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t look particularly impressed, nor very happy to see him.

“Well I like this shirt, it’s got,” he paused, tugged at the hem of his shirt and looked at the design printed on the front. “It’s got a big red sun on it. And I don’t know what the Japanese characters on the front say, but I’m willing to bet that it has something to do with the sun. I like it, I like this shirt,” he said, continuing to nervously spill words even as Morgan stared at him with an unbroken, vaguely disappointed glare.

“Alexi.”

“That’s me.”

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Yeah, just a sec,” he said as he reached down to his pocket for his phone. When his hands came back empty, he looked over to the floor and saw his phone still sitting on the carpet. He sheepishly walked over to it, picked it up and gave it a quick look-over. One missed alarm, three reminders arranged by severity (practice on friday, practice @ 10:00, practice in an hour, u better be at practice), and a missed call from Morgan. Most importantly, it was 10:45. He gently slid his phone back into his pocket and walked back over to his bandmate. “I’m gonna be honest with you, there’s not even any toothpaste on this,” he glumly admitted as he took the brush out of his mouth.

“I know,” she admitted with a sigh. “Get your shit, I’ll be waiting in the car.” 

“I can still just drive there, you know.”

“And waste more of the band’s time? Not a chance. Besides, I need to talk to you. Might as well kill two birds with one stone,” she said as she turned away and stepped off the porch. Off she went, down the stone footpath to the driveway where her still-idling car was parked. Her windows were tinted, but he could still feel her glaring at him as she stepped into her car and waited. Without a moment to waste, Alexi set his toothbrush down on the couch’s armrest and beelined to his study. Resting on its stand was his prized Flying V, its smooth black finish glinting in the morning sun. Frantic as he was, he took extreme care with unplugging it from the nearby amp and putting it in its case, though the quick double-honk of a car horn quickened his pace somewhat. He slung the case over his shoulder along with its related cables and took up his oversized amp with both arms and hobbled unsteady down the hall at a breakneck pace. When he was on the stage, the crisp sound of a massive amplifier was unmatched, but having to carry the thing to and fro was a pain unlike any other.

Thankfully, she hadn’t bothered to close his door, so getting to Morgan’s car wasn’t so much an ordeal but rather a mild inconvenience, so through the door he went, shutting it carelessly with his foot. Seeing his struggle, as well as quickly realizing the fact that he was a walking, talking risk to her car’s structural integrity, Morgan quickly opened the rear door closest to him. With the grace and poise of a rogue lightning strike, he thundered towards the open door and set his amp down on the back seat, sat it upright, and shut the door. No matter what, Alexi made sure that the guitar always rode with him. So into the passenger seat he went, guitar case propped up between his legs; he buckled himself in and prepared for what might be the most awkward car ride of his life.

Morgan was the first to speak, starting up steady as she backed out of the driveway and peeled off down the street. “First off, I’m sorry for snapping at you back there. But if you want a future in this band, we need to have a talk.”

“Jesus, we’re really getting into it.”

“You're not gonna believe it, but I had a feeling you'd say exactly that,” she said as she reached for a tall can in the cupholder and handed it off to him. “I also had a feeling that you’d forget to eat anything this morning, so I got you something to keep you awake. Canned battery acid – your favorite flavor.” 

He looked over the can in his hands, his fingers leaving prints in the condensation on its surface. Sure enough, it was his favorite high-octane energy drink. With zero sugar and enough caffeine to drop a cow, it was everything a growing boy needed. With a nod, he popped the tab and downed the can. Morgan shot a quick glance over to him and smirked, though he couldn’t even begin to guess as to why.

“I don’t sugarcoat things, you know that better than anyone. So I’m gonna go ahead and say it: you’re a fantastic guitarist Alexi, but you’ve really got to get your shit together.”

“Now hold on a minute,” Alexi interjected, mid-swig. “I don’t think-”

“And every time I try to tell you, you’ve always got some excuse! Finish that can first and maybe that’ll give me a minute to talk,” she exclaimed. He obeyed, albeit unwillingly, with his brow furrowed in frustration. “We practice three times a week, and two out of three of those times you’re late. When you’re here on time, you’ve forgotten something or end up getting caught up on some pointless bullshit that wastes everyone's' time. And you know who ends up having to run after you when you’re not where you’re supposed to be? It’s me. It’s always been me.”

He’d finished his drink by this point but remained silent as she tore into his pride and confirmed his biggest fears.

“I’m here to kick ass and make music with my friends, not babysit you.”

Alexi waited for her to continue, but his expectations were dashed as she stared him down, eyes full of fire but with no words left to be said.

He thought of what he could say next to fill the void but nothing felt right. The sound of crumpling aluminum filled the car as he nervously compressed the can between his hands while he struggled with his thoughts. “I’m sorry,” he finally said after flattening the can into a tiny silver disc, utterly unable to be crushed any tighter.

“I know. Which is why, believe it or not, I'm not mad at you – just frustrated. But that's okay, because I've got a fix for this that I know you'll be interested in. I’m gonna give you three choices... or really just one, considering how you like to do things. You ready for ‘em?”

“Yes?”

“Sick,” she replied, that ominous smirk creeping back over her face. “Option number one, we roll up to practice and pretend this never happened.”

“That sounds kinda nice…”

“But,” she continued, “If you slip up again, even once, then you’re out of the band.”

“Oh,” he replied, his expression taking a turn for the morose.

“Not the best odds on that one, sorry. Second up, I turn this car around and take you back home. You won’t be in the band anymore, but you won’t have to worry about the stress of it all, you know? I’ll tell the boys that you needed some time away. Think of it as a get-your-life-back-together thing without the added embarrassment of getting kicked out.”

This response scrunched his face right up, much to her apparent delight. “What?! Why is that one even an option?”

“For variety I guess,” she said with a half shrug. “I really only included it as a buffer between option one and three.”

“So what’s option three then?”

At this, her smirk progressed into a wide smile. “Remember how I told you that I wasn’t here to babysit you?”

“Yeah?”

“Option three changes that a little bit. I’m at the point where I’m willing to overlook these slip-ups and more, provided that we get you to a place where you’re taking care of yourself and all that. But in order to do that, I’m gonna need you to listen to everything I say. It wasn’t my job to babysit you before, but with this I’ll be making it my job.”

“Uh…”

“So what’ll it be? We’ve got about five minutes before we pull up to practice, so that’s five minutes to think about it.”

And think about it he did.

Morgan gave him a few minutes to respond, occasionally shooting a sidelong glance at him when she thought he might be about to speak. But when it was clear that he was going to stare listlessly out the window instead of doing what needed to be done, she spoke up once more. “If you’re looking to get back at me for all this, dipping out isn’t a bad option. If you leave now, we’re shit out of luck for Saturday’s gig, and we’re going to have a hell of a time trying to find someone who can play your parts.” 

He looked over to see just how much she was making fun of him but was genuinely shocked to see a serious expression on her face.

“So, are you down for this or what?”

“This barely feels like a choice…”

“I need a yes or no, dude.”

“Fine,” he finally said after a moment’s hesitation. The way she didn't hesitate to grin at his response made him shudder.

They pulled up to practice not long after. Out of all the band, they decided that Mike had the best space: a relatively spacious garage attached to a brick colonial-style house that looked like it’d been pulled straight out of the 70s – complete with the boxwood hedges and the faded green shutters. The garage door was up, and Alexi saw Harrison and Mike in their “studio”, all plugged up with nowhere to go. From the looks of it, they were half-heartedly noodling while waiting for the both of them to get back. Harrison looked away from his bass and up at them as Morgan brought the car up the driveway and killed the engine.. He offered a half-hearted wave before going straight back to staring at his shoes and cranking out tunes; though not before going over to his amp and ramping up the gain.
“Is that– American Football? Goddamn dude, I can hear it from here. I hope he’s not still mad about… why are you looking at me like that?”

Morgan was staring at him with her arms crossed and an overly-serious expression on her face, though the occasional twitch from the corner of her lip let him know that she was sincerely looking forward to what was about to happen.

“Since you admitted to me that you need a little help with these predicaments you keep finding yourself in, we’re going to set some ground rules.”

“Like?”

“First, curb the swearing. It’s unbecoming of a ‘young man’ such as yourself.”

“Dude, the patch on your sleeve literally says ‘get fucked’.”

She pulled the fabric on her black denim jacket taut to flaunt the embroidered patch. “It says отъебись, and I’m allowed to say whatever I want because as of right now, I'm the only real adult in this car.”

“This is getting a little weird, but okay.”
“Second, when the band’s doing anything together, practice or gig, you get focused – and you stay focused. No wandering off. If you need to do something else, you clear it with me first.”

“Reasonable.”

“Third, my word is law. If I ask you to do something, I want you to do it.”

“You’re starting to lose me again.”

Morgan laughed and opened the car door. “Fourth and finally, I’m not going to drop the hammer on you if you slip up, but I do have some creative ways to manage my boy's behavior.”

“You lost me…”

“Well c’mon out, let’s see if we can find you again,” she said playfully as she shut the car door and went over to grab his amp from the back. “Here, I’ll even help you out.”

“Oh, uh… thanks.”

“Chin up, dude. This isn’t gonna be so bad. This could be a lot of fun!”

“For you maybe.”

The pair walked up the driveway and through the open garage door. Harrison seemed to start playing just a little bit louder and flashed a sly smirk as Alexi walked by.

“There you are! We thought you weren’t gonna show for a minute there.”

“Wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Alexi said half heartedly as followed Morgan over to his designated corner. He always preferred to be closer to the stage when they played, but the only free outlet in the garage was tucked away in the far corner of the room. She carefully set his bulky amp down where he usually stuck it and plugged it up.

“She’s all yours,” she said while she walked over to her own setup – the rat’s nest. All he knew was that she did the vocals and keyboards for the band. The first part was simple enough, but the second part was a mess of cables and bizarre many-knobbed boxes plugged into a keyboard, all conveniently fitted onto what he could only describe as an oversized shoe-rack.

“Mike and I are already pretty warmed up, so do you guys want to get right into it?”

“Actually, yeah. Let’s start with Cloak of the Undead King and play the whole set,” Alexi said suddenly as he fished around in his pocket for his favorite jazz pick while he shouldered his guitar. Were it not for the staticy hum of the amps, one could probably hear the sound of a pin drop in that garage. Everyone was staring at Alexi with confusion.

“Well if this is how you’re going to come to practice, you should start sleeping in more often,” Harrison quipped. Alexi gave a tight lipped smile and gritted his teeth. He was going to show them how it was done and prove that he wasn’t a cut-rate layabout on a pawnshop guitar.

For the first time that month, Alexi felt like a golden god. Fueled by frustration and the intense desire to prove that he’s got nothing to prove, he poured his heart and soul into this session. He’d put hours into practicing, he just struggled to show it all off until now. He occasionally glanced up at Morgan and the others to see the look on their faces. He was a little disappointed to find everyone else more or less preoccupied, but he did notice that Morgan carried a self-satisfied half smile upon her face, a surefire sign that she was planning something, he figured. But he didn’t care, he was in the zone. As they flawlessly powered through all of the originals they’d chosen for tomorrow's set, his ego began to inflate tenfold as he started to forget the altercation that had even brought about this mess. He was a cowboy firing from the hip, an unstoppable force of nature, a centurion standing on the banks of the Rubicon, a-

Jesus, I have to pee. When was the last time I went to the bathroom?

Now that his brain was firing on all cylinders, he suddenly remembered that he never relieved himself that morning. Or the night before, actually, as he really didn’t want to miss a minute of Kevin Smith’s masterful cinematography. 

“Could we hold up a sec before we start the next track? Need to piss something fierce.”

“Can you grab me a peeb from the fridge on the way back?” Mike asked, shortly before descending into rapid fire with his double pedal – he paid all that money for it, and figured that he’d at least get to use it over breaks.

“Before you do that, come ‘round the side,” Morgan said, beckoning to him with two fingers.

He flipped off the power on his amp, took his strap from around his shoulders and balanced the guitar against the amp before walking off to Morgan’s corner of the garage.

“Remember that talk we had in the car?” She spoke in a low voice, just loud enough to be heard in between the beats of Mike’s racket.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

She responded with a smile. It took him a moment to realize what she was referring to, but his shoulders slumped the second it hit him.

“Really?” he asked with a defeated tone.

“Mmmhm – though I’ll let you grab that PBR if you’d like to take a quick walk. Best way to keep your head in the game is to get right back to it as soon as possible, huh?”

He only offered a groan in response as he stomped off towards the kitchen.

“Don’t forget to leave the door open so I can see you!” she yelled after him, causing him to wince and quicken his pace.

“What’d you say?” Harrison yelled as he looked up from his bass.

Morgan laughed and waved her hand dismissively, “Don’t worry about it – inside joke!”

He was relieved that they couldn’t see his face as he walked through the door. He couldn’t hide the growing look of dread on his face. He didn’t really think about how he was going to hide this from the others, but now he was stuck in the thick of it. And worse still was the fact that he had to figure it out all while really needing to pee. Thanks to some choice mismanagement, he never really had a chance to go that morning. Despite this, he wasn’t too worried about it. At least he knew he had something to stop him from getting too sleepy.

He walked into the kitchen and went for the fridge. Mike let everyone keep their stuff on the bottom shelf. Morgan kept a bunch of ciders from some brewery no one had ever heard of, Mike had his 24 rack of Milwaukee’s cheapest, and Alex… Well, Alexi always forgot to bring something in, so he’d skimp one or two from Mike and call it a day. He almost went and grabbed an extra beer for himself when he nabbed Mike’s, but the thought of more liquid entering his system made him want to press his legs together and awkwardly wander off in search of the bathroom. He didn’t, as Morgan was looking right at him from two rooms and a hallway down, but he couldn’t deny that he wanted to. He sighed, shut the fridge door, and rejoined the rest of the band in the garage.

“Here,” Alexi said as he handed Mike his drink. This finally got him to stop drumming and he graciously accepted the handoff.

“Cheers,” he replied as he popped the tab, drank a fair bit of it, and set it down next to his stool.

Thank god for these concrete floors, Alexi thought, knowing that the can had a lifespan of about five minutes before another one of Mike’s solos would knock it over.

Morgan took this momentary silence to get a couple of words in. Not that she needed to. Alexi was half impressed, half envious of her ability to get people to listen up and do what needed to be done. Hell, he thought, She even strung me along for this stupid arrangement.

“We’ve already been over the originals, let’s run through the covers for Saturday again,” she said as she fiddled around with her synth setup, flipping through patches in search of the right one. “Let’s do a run-through and see if there’s any last minute shit we want to change.”

“Wait, what did we decide with the tempo?” Mike asked.

“Speeding it up is cool, but it really changes the tone of the set, especially since we’ve got Wandering Star right before it.”

“Do people still listen to Portishead?” asked Harrison.

“Eh…” replied Mike and Morgan collectively, the former adding in a middling “so-so” gesture with his hand.

“The people at Stonethorpe listen to Portishead, and I think that’s what matters,” Morgan said as she played off a test chord, smiling and nodding slightly at the resulting sound.

“So… if we were playing downtown at Jackson’s, would you have us doing dad rock?” Mike asked.

“Got us playing some acca dacca, aye?” Harrison quickly added in with some awful mock-European accent.

“Yes and no,” she replied. “We draw them in with songs they know and love, and sneak in some songs they don’t know they love yet. Covering all the bases, diversifying portfolios and all that garbage.”

“I actually kinda like Portishead…” Alexi mumbled.

“So if we figured that out, then what about–”

And so around and around they went for the next four minutes as they did anything but play the rest of the set. For the first time in his life, Alexi was deeply concerned by the lack of actual playing being done.

So there he stood, perched off the side next to his amp as the rest of the band rattled off around him. He didn’t really care what they decided, he always just riffed off of them and came up with his own bits when the need arose. He usually used moments like these to zone out or test out a riff he was working on, but that little nagging sensation down below started becoming more than just an annoyance. As he caught himself unconsciously pressing his legs together and unable to push thoughts of urgency out of his mind, he knew that it had just upgraded itself to a full-blown problem. One that would require him to find a solution very soon otherwise Morgan’s “babysitting” comments might be taken a lot more literally than he hoped. He anxiously tapped his foot as he awaited the end of their discussions. He was gonna hold out, weather the storm. I still have time, he found himself thinking. And for the briefest of moments, it seemed like he was right. The conversation seemed to be dying down, they were talking about the setlist again! But right before they could get back to it, Alexi noticed Morgan was looking straight at him. With a wink, she turned her attention back to the others.

“Wait, one last thing before we get back to the set. Are we doing the shirts with or without the frockets?”

“We talked about this!” Harrison exclaimed. From his tone, one might’ve thought someone had desecrated grandfather's grave, or something as equally noxious. “Frockets are gay! They’re gonna think we’re gay!

That’s when he realized it. Oh my god, he thought, She’s doing it on purpose. She’s been doing it on purpose this entire time. The energy drink, the rules about him staying put, the little comments sprinkled here or there. He thought she probably wanted to piss his pants in front of everyone to teach him some sort of lesson, or maybe just humiliate him enough to make him want to quit. Well I’m not going to give her the satisfaction. His eyes flitted towards the door to the hall, just slightly ajar. The knowledge that the bathroom was just around the corner made his bladder feel like a lead weight – he felt himself clench up just thinking about it. I could just sneak away right now… 

But he didn’t. He stayed right where he was, because he knew one thing: when Morgan says something, she means it. If he was going to win and beat her at her own weird game, he’d have to play by her rules.

He took up his guitar, slid the strap over his shoulder, and flipped the amp back on. He made sure the volume was set to obnoxious, the bass to teeth rattling, the mid to “I don’t know what this knob does but it stresses out our sound guy so it must be good.” “So are we doing Van She or what?” he exclaimed as he began playing the first few notes of the track. It was meant for bass, but he knew Harrison’s bit just enough to make do.

“Woah, someone’s feeling perky today. Morgan must’ve really laid into you on the way over,” Mike teased.

“You know… that doesn’t sound half bad,” Harrison said as he listened to Alexi play his part, nodding along to the semi-improved riffs he was pulling out. “You guys wanna blend that with the bassline for the intro? I think that’d sound sick as hell.”

“Whatever dude, just play!” He hated that he had to be so blunt, but there wasn’t any time left to waste. It also helped that with everyone playing, no one would notice how skittish he was being. To both his surprise and relief, everyone else seemed more or less onboard with following along. Mike put down his beverage and finally used the pedals as intended, though at a slower pace than he would’ve liked, Harrison picked up his bass and took back over the bassline, and with Morgan on the synths, the song was turning about to be the best thing that had happened to him that day. That was of course, until they hit that final note of the song, in which he was faced with the grim realization that they still had the rest of the set to finish out with.

He was glad Morgan was on the synths and the vocals, because if they had him in the mic, the rest of the band would’ve been able to hear all of his little moans and soft huffs as his already overfull bladder was pushed even further. He tried his best to act like nothing was wrong, but his stiff posture and antsy legs made it incredibly clear to anyone keeping a close eye on him that he was in some serious trouble. I just need to get through this song, he kept thinking to himself on loop, but the more his mind raced, the worse his urges became. During the third-to-last track, he tried to see if moving around a little as he played helped keep his desperation in check. It certainly gave him something to keep his mind off it, but having to play, focus on not wetting himself, and maneuvering around a disorganized band setup proved to be a disastrous combination as his foot snagged on his own guitar cable and nearly sent him careening to the floor. He managed to avoid totally wrecking himself on the concrete, but the sudden jolt forward put immense pressure on his bladder. His eyes went wide as he felt a hot jet of urine flow out of him and soak into the front of his boxers.

His instincts screamed at him to drop everything and grab his crotch to try and delay the flood, but he was only just barely able to stop himself from doing so. Stiff as a board, he stood there as he gracelessly tried to keep up with the rest of the band. From the corner of his eye, he could see that Morgan occasionally glanced up from her synth to get a nice long look at him. She looked particularly pleased with herself, something that made his ears burn as he struggled to hold out against another wave. He tried to hold this position as best he could, but he felt another spurt of pee escape, and then another. His blood ran cold as he felt the spurts build into a steady dribble. Things had already gone from bad to worse, and he needed to act now to prevent things from going worse to apocalyptic. He frantically adjusted his beloved guitar to sit just below his waist and pressed it firmly against his crotch. He winced and let out a tiny gasp as the sudden pressure forced out one last tiny trickle that ran down his leg with an agonizing slowness.

Thank god these jeans are black, he thought to himself, though deep down he knew that the dark fabric could only hide so much. He couldn’t tell for sure, but it felt like he was sporting a wet spot the size of his hand, as well as a tiny trail inching down his left pant leg.

It was around this point that his playing went right to hell. He’d managed to last for the longest time, but he quickly learned that fidgeting in place with his leaky little spout pressed up against his instrument wasn’t exactly conducive to nailing those chords. His playing wasn’t just bad, it was borderline experimental. His cheeks flushed every time Mike or Harrison looked up at him when he slipped up, and even more so when Morgan stole a glance or two, her eyes trailing down to the errant little droplets pooling at his feet. To the untrained eye, it just looked like a bit of sweat, but she knew – and he hated that. It felt like forever to Alexi, but it wasn’t too long before they finally finished the track. Instead of going straight into the next one however, there was a lull in the music, accompanied by a strange vibe in the room. Everyone knew something was up, but it took several seconds of silence before anyone decided to say anything about it.

“Hey Alexi, you okay?”

“Mmm great!” he shot back through gritted teeth.

“Alright. You wanna take five real quick? Freaking Out the Neighborhood was pretty rough.”

“Honestly,” Morgan said, suddenly piping up, “I think we should give that another run through.” The comment was enough to drain the color from Alexi’s face.

“Couldn’t hurt. No such thing as too prepared, yeah?”

Mike nodded along with Harrison’s comment, sealing Alexi’s fate with a simple gesture.

“Another… run through?” he whimpered. His brain felt like it was on fire, in stark contrast to the massive flood that threatened to spill out below.

“Yup!” Morgan replied, only barely attempting to conceal her smile.

“I-”

He couldn’t think of a response. He racked his brain for something, anything to worm his way out of this, but all he could think of was how much he needed to empty himself. Moran tilted her head to the side and furrowed her brow, feigning confusion as Alexi stood there, shivering slightly with his mouth slightly open as if he was about to speak. Just then, a strong spasm below forced the floodgates back open ever-so-slightly. He felt utterly helpless as hot beads of urine dribbled out of his twitching length and soaked into his jeans. If it wasn’t for the guitar pressed up against him, he knew he’d have just pissed himself then. Despite it all, he still didn’t think he actually wet himself yet. He thought he actually still had time to get to the bathroom at the end of this. The dribbling and wet patches didn’t count, of course.

“Something you wanna say, dude?” Morgan asked suddenly, thrusting him back into reality.

“I think I need…”

His legs involuntarily trembled, tired from being kept so tense for so long. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, just barely out of sync with a now-bored Mike who was slowly starting back up with the pedals again. A sudden blossom of heat splashed around his crotch. 

“I need to-”

The static from Harrison’s amp felt like it was creeping up his back. He could feel himself being crushed beneath the weight of their gaze. The warmth had crept down to his thighs now, and against his better judgment, he dared to look down. He could see his black jeans glistening as the denim soaked up his liquid shame. And yet, one thought still reigned supreme in his mind.

I still have time to make it.

“Ineedtotakecareofsomething!” he belted out all at once as he rushed out of the garage through the open door, stopping only to set his guitar down against the wall. Harrison followed suit and set his bass down before he started to follow him, but Morgan quickly got out of her seat and moved to the doorway first. “Hold up, I’ll take care of him,” she said, holding a hand out to stop him. “He hasn’t been feeling too hot today, it's why he slept in so hard.”

“You know, I was wondering about that all practice, but I didn’t wanna say anything. I felt like it would’ve been weird,” he replied as he stepped out of the way and let Morgan rush by. 

Alexi was vaguely aware of the footsteps trailing him down the hall, but was too occupied with his own mind-numbing desperation to really care. His gait was unsteady and with every footstep he felt just a little more spurt out. But he saw the bathroom door just up ahead, and despite everything, he was still gunning for it. The stain had now traveled down to his knees, and he couldn’t help but cringe as the piss-soaked fabric clung to his legs as he rushed for the door that was just mere feet away. He knew it’d be pyrrhic victory when he finally got there, but just as he began to turn the doorknob he felt a wave of dread wash over him as he realized that he’d gotten ahead of himself. In an instant, it stopped being when he made it and became if. He felt–

Actually, he realized that he didn’t feel. More specifically, he didn’t feel any response from his exhausted bladder muscles. All the tension of holding vanished, leaving him with only a sense of fullness intermingled with a dull tingly feeling. It was if his body had enough, and if he wasn’t going to give it the relief it so desperately needed, it was going to find it on its own.

He tried to curse, but the words caught up in his throat. He couldn’t make a sound. But this silence was soon replaced by a surprisingly loud hiss, and the staccato pitter-patter of droplets against the floor as his bladder emptied itself without restraint. He was too caught up in the moment to realize it, but Morgan had crept up the hall at this point and was right behind him. A faint blush crept across her cheeks as watched her bandmate completely lose control right before her eyes. The slight quivering, the rivulets running down his legs, the puddle steadily pooling around his chucks. He was making a massive mess of things, and she loved every second of it. She wanted to stand there forever and enjoy the spectacle, but she knew she had to make good on her promise. Moving as quietly as she could, she approached him from behind and placed a hand over his, still frozen against the doorknob.

“Let me help you with that,” she said as she gently turned his hand and nudged open the door. He flinched at her sudden appearance and tried to speak once more, but she stopped him before he could even form a sentence. “Didn’t I tell you to stay where I could see you?” Her tone was stern, but she could only keep up the facade for so long. She allowed herself to fully display the smile she’d been holding back for so long before she placed her other hand against his shoulder and turned him around.

“Morgan, wait!” he protested, but by the time he got it out he was already face-to-face with her.

“Oh my,” she whispered as she looked down at the glistening streaks running down his jeans, “and how long were you planning on keeping this a secret?”

“It’s not my fault,” he exclaimed, “you wouldn’t let me go!”

“I know, I shouldn’t have expected you to hold it like a big boy,” she said just as she traced her fingers from the soaked crotch of his jeans up to his chest, then lightly pushed him into the bathroom as she followed him in, shut the door behind them, and locked it with a quiet click. In all her years of knowing and eventually playing alongside him, she’d never seen him this embarrassed before. He couldn’t even look her in the eyes, choosing instead to look straight down at his own shameful accident. It was around then that she knew she wanted to take it one step further. She took two fingers and hooked them into the waist of his jeans, right behind the button. With a single fluid movement, she pulled her fingers back and unbuttoned them, exposing his soaked boxers to the cool air. Even though it really didn’t matter anymore, he prayed that he’d regained at least a little bit of control. He clenched up one last time, but it only resulted in Morgan getting to watch his cock twitch pitifully beneath his underwear as he emptied the last few drops into them.

“Cute,” Morgan said with a satisfied smile set upon her face. She took a few moments to really admire his little predicament, getting so caught up in it that she almost forgot what she wanted to say. She flitted her eyes back to his face to gauge how he was feeling right about now, and sure enough, he looked mortified. His eyes were still locked to the floor, eyes wide and mouth agape – in her mind – as if to say “how could I let this happen?” Normally she’d let him struggle for words and stumble over himself, but this time she thought she might do him a favor.

“Hey,” she said as she gently tapped beneath his chin twice, “up here.” She gave him as much time as he needed to slowly look up to her, those big brown doe eyes of his staring back at her.

“Dude, it’s okay. I’m not mad,” she said as if she wasn’t the one to set him up in the first place. “Honestly, I’m impressed. Like, really impressed.”

“Why are you impressed?! I just pissed myself in front of everyone – in front of you!”

“Because you just showed me how much you want to be here. I just made a bunch of stuff up and you completely went with it because you wanted to roll with us. I respect that.”

Alexi winced as he realized that he really didn’t need to go through all of that. It was very outlandish, wasn’t it? Had anyone else asked, he would’ve told them off and done his own thing. As he shook his head in disbelief, he caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror. He wanted to look away as soon as he did, but something compelled him to continue. There he was, an alleged adult standing there in a soaked pair of underwear as Morgan looked on with a worryingly enthralled expression. The way she looked down at him made his heart skip a beat, and he felt that ever-familiar blush creep back over him as he watched his cock stiffen in the mirror. He had know idea why that was happening. Stress? Probably stress. He longed to change the topic.
“So… does this mean I don’t have to follow all those rules and stuff?” 

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, no. I’ve got plans for you, pisspants.”

“What?”

She smiled, stuck her finger in his waistband and snapped it back.

“Dude, no seriously – what?”

 

(-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

And that's that. Might do more with this later, might never touch it again. New story coming up that's more in line with what I usually write. If I don't finish it in time, I'll post part two of The World has Gone and Left Us Here. Did you know I finished that shit two years ago but just never posted it? 

Edited by VVintermute (see edit history)
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