Work Text:
It had been so long since he’d had a solid workshop of his own. For the first time in years, Percy had one in the basement of Greyskull Keep: the constructed abode for him and the other members of Vox Machina to stay in.
Percival had been shown it on the initial tour, and once the party had moved in he had immediately sought to make the space his own. There was an anvil and a bench and a forge, racks for weapons and he already had most of the tools. His brain was buzzing with excitement and most every day he would go into the workshop and spend hours at work.
It wasn’t that he was particularly forgetful, it was just that when his brain got like this it was hard to think of anything besides his projects and he would start to neglect his bodily needs. Sometimes his brain would end up clouding over like black smoke, fogging his mind, and it was like he wasn’t even the one in control of his hands as he crafted his designs. He’d work and work and work, driven by curiosity and that deep-seated desire for vengeance and he’d give himself over to that sort of fog, sometimes. Most times, when it crept in. That was only natural, wasn’t it? To get so focused on one’s work that they practically didn’t feel they were there anymore, that nothing mattered except the project-?
Right now, his leg was bouncing and tapping as he hammered away delicately at the small piece of metal he needed to fit to his gun. He was barely aware of the way his body had been squirming, how he’d been cresting on the edge of irritability, until the moment that he took a second to look at how his work was coming along.
The human had only just put down the hammer when he’d realized with a lurch of panic that he’d neglected to relieve his bladder in quite awhile. The spike of need in his body was sudden and he stiffened, clenching his muscles for a moment before he could relax a bit; he had to make sure he was in control.
He winced in discomfort as he stepped away from the workbench and shakily untied his apron, tossing it over the chair in the room as he made to leave the workbench and find an appropriate place to take care of business. He made it three steps before he had to stop and clench all his muscles again, trembling. It hadn’t even been as deep as he’d gotten before, with the fog and the forgetfulness and the depersonalization, he didn’t understand why he’d forgotten-
By the gods, he wasn’t going to make it at this rate. How had he let it get so bad? His cock throbbed with the need and his hand flew to his crotch. He most certainly did not whimper in his desperation. Percy’s eyes darted around the room… Why hadn’t he put a chamberpot in here? That certainly would have made things significantly easier- he’d have to remember that for later- but surely he had some sort of jar or flask or container that he could use…
Ah, but all the empty glass vials were entirely too small to do any good, and he was losing time so he began to scrabble at his belt. His fingers were entirely too shaky and he hissed as he added minute pressure to his bladder. The belt tightened before it loosened and he hunched forward with a hiss. He was a grown man, there was no way he was going to piss himself like an immature child-
But he was. Just a spurt had left him and he felt the warmth of the dampness seep into his underclothes. His cheeks were flaming and he palmed at his cock again, trying in vain to stop the impending flow. It was too much and his jaw dropped open in a minute, helpless gasp as his body released at full strength, too far gone.
Fuck, shit, bollocks-
A sizable wet spot was growing rapidly across the front of his trousers and he felt the hot liquid trickling down his thigh. He kicked his shoes off, at the same time fumbling for his cock and pulling it out, he’d managed to stop the stream for a moment but then it began again to his despair and that relief felt so good that he just moaned and tried to aim away from his (already soiled) trousers.
It ran down into his socks, staining them a light yellow as a little puddle formed on the concrete of the floor of his workshop. Gods, but he felt stupid as he pushed his white, sweat-soaked hair out of his face with the hand that he hadn’t… tarnished. This would be an incredibly convenient time to have prestidigitation, or really any sort of spell that could clean. He didn’t though, and no one was going to find out about this, so he’d have to do it the old fashioned way and clean it up himself-
Percival let out a deep, shuddered breath as his stream slowed, then he huffed in displeasure. What a mess. Now he had to take care of this mess. It felt utterly shameful that he had just, in fact, pissed himself in his workshop because he had forgotten to take a break and actually check in with his body. Now that he had relieved that burning need, he realized that he was also quite famished, and found himself curious as to what the time was. Surely it hadn’t been that long; he peeked out of the window located high up on one of the walls and saw that there wasn’t as much natural light seeping in as he’d remembered from earlier. Maybe it had been that long. Perhaps after he had cleaned up (the soaked fabric was cooling uncomfortably and the acrid odor was adding to the twisting humiliation he felt in his gut) he would see if there was a bite to eat in the kitchen if he had missed dinner. He would carry on as normal. And he would tuck a chamberpot discreetly in the room.
No one needed to know.