The chilly water of the ship's shower ices the pain in my back and neck; it's been present forever but growing these past few weeks.
It's been six and a half weeks since we fixed everything. The Avengers are back at whatever it is they do, and we're out here guarding the galaxy like the high-horsed jackasses we think we are. Thing is, being the saviors of the whole multiverse comes with some perks, and there isn't much big stuff to do with Thanos gone. My days of needing to hunt and steal to survive may have ended, and my friends may be mostly back, but I've got some other problems that are rearing their stupid fuzzy butts.
At least with all my problems, no one's been snooping on me. Quill's off looking for Gamora and only shows up every so often. Drax and Thor have been broing out and breaking shit on other planets. And Mantis has really started to enjoy hanging out with Groot. The family may be starting to understand Groot on general terms, but Mantis has that sense about her that let's her really communicate with Groot like I do. That's part of why I can't trust her; she'll figure out my problems too fast.
So I've spent my time here on the ship alone, working on nothing important in particular and failing at having any fun. I yank limply for the millionth hopeless time at the hard metal dome attached over my sheath. No matter how high my libido gets, my cock stays soft and secure behind it. I've been stuck with ruined, painstaking orgasms - if I could even find enough alone time to not just work myself up - for my whole conscious existence. That much hasn't changed, but now with my significant boredom and alone time, you can probably imagine how worked up I've repeatedly made myself. Mostly to no avail. And I'm sure this morning will be no different as I grunt and yank my limp, caged dick just to have it swell ever so slightly and press itself uncomfortably against its confines. I pressure myself into stopping. Not this morning. I've got things to get done before anyone else wakes up.
I stop the shower as I feel just clean enough to justify it, and shake and towel myself off as quickly as possible. My ears and all the cracks and crevices are still damp as I yank on my simple orange shorts and high-tail it back to my room.
As I enter my small abode, I look over at my bed, tossed from my frustration at last night's accident. Yellowed stains and droplets now streaked across every cloth. What kind of jackass can't hold it in for a few hours of sleep? Apparently this jackass. It happened last night and yesterday, a few days ago, a week ago, and then at least once a week before that for the last six weeks. It's just happening more and more often. And even worse is that It's getting harder to hold it for more than a few minutes during the day. At least I'm not shitting myself. Well, at least not that often. I got kind of drunk a few weeks ago, and I did then. But that doesn't count!
I'll have to sneak into the laundry again this morning.
I grab up all my soiled sheets and try to fold them together to partially hide the stains wherever possible. A few darkened streaks are still visible from my view, so I can only imagine how damning it is from the front. Hopefully I can get this over with before anyone notices.
I rush off out my door and down the hall, barely able to see passed the ball of pissed sheets in my face. I wrap around the corner just before the laundry room and smack! Right into Blackjack.
I forgot to mention him. Of course I did. He's here, but he's different. He talks less. His snark is all but gone. And he's seemed to grow more solitary and solemn. It's like he's been avoiding me ever since my problems started, but there's no way he knows about them. I've hidden this so well. Well, 'so well' up until just now. My stupidity in forgetting that he's been hopping his way around our ship has caught me standing yellow-sheeted right in his face!
I let out a short yelp as we collide and catch my footing, turning myself so that the sheets are partially obscured. Blackjack looks at me just as surprised. His cheeks flush ever so slightly pink.
"Oh! S-sorry to catch you off guard!" He rasps awkwardly.
I take one quick glance up him. He's in some light purple shorts and a t-shirt. His helmet leaving his scraggy blue hair above his glowing red eyes. Where are his eyes looking? The ground? Thank Flarg he's not looking at my sheets. He seems so distracted as he hacks out, "I- I know there's nothing to do today- so, I was wondering if you'd like- if we could- go to Argy's bar today?"
"Sure!" I respond too quickly, half just trying to end the conversation, but that sounds fine at least. I wasn't expecting him to try to hang out again after avoiding everybody for weeks.
His ears perk up immediately, and I pull my sheets away as his eyes flash up for a second at me. He smiles wide and toothy and says, "hey awesome! I-I'll grab on something comfy and meet you at the pod in- what? Half an hour?"
I confirm, "Yeah, sure sure. Half hour. Meet you there." And I wrench myself past him. He finally scurries off around the corner and down the hall, his paw falls echoing through the ship. I'm home free. I jump into the laundry room and throw my sheets into the wash, turning on the machine in the same motion. I almost feel too good at this, having had too much practice cleaning pissed sheets these last few weeks.
I rush back to my room, pretty confident that Blackjack is still none-the-wiser of my bedwetting. Having him interacting again at least gets me something to do and someone to talk to, and I'm feeling rather enthusiastic as I pull out my white shirt and gray jacket. I throw on the clothes and suddenly feel the urge to clean myself up somewhat. I scrub a few days worth of grime off my teeth and rinse some crumbles out from under my eyes. I look tired in the mirror. Tired and… sad? I feel excited at the moment, but my fur is saggy and mangled. I look like a hobo or something. I open a drawer and pull out a brush, looking it over for a moment. I hate this thing. It ain't in me to keep tidy. I make shit, I don't prim it. I put the brush back without using it, trying to content myself with how I look.
After a few minutes of hopelessly trying to see myself as anything other than gross, I hop down to the floor and make my way out of my room. I meet up with Blackjack at the smaller pods that the crew can use for short distance travel and ship maintenance. I'm surprised by how informal his dress is. He's got on a sort of light purple hoodie-jumpsuit that's made out of a soft looking material. It almost looks like a sleeper. His lack of helmet reveals the small fuzz of hair between his ears. It's a lot cuter than his normal outfits. I find myself a little stuck for words as we gather into the pod and shoot our way to the bar.