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You’d think that, after being separated from his teammates on an unfamiliar planet, captured by the people he was trying to rob, dragged underground to some kind of secret lab, locked up, and threatened with all sorts of pointy looking alien instruments, that Rocket might be feeling a lot of things. Fear, certainly. Anger, distress, horror, maybe. Really, any combination of negative emotions would be reasonable in this situation, not in the least because of the striking similarities between this lab and the lab he had been raised—no, created—in.
But he wasn’t. Something else, a much more pressing feeling, was on his mind. Despite the aliens shouting at each other and at him, the humming of the machinery in the lab, the stink of chemicals and death pressing into his nostrils, all of his attention was focused on one thing: the fullness of his bladder.
It had already been bad when he’d gotten there—in fact, he’d separated from Thor and Groot to relieve himself when he’d been ambushed—but now it was near unbearable. There was no way to tell time down here, the lab was underground and even if it hadn’t been, this was an unfamiliar planet, and who knew whether the amount of sunlight was a reasonable way to tell time. It had to have been at least an hour, he reasoned, but it felt more like five. Each minute that dragged on was a lesson in agony. To make matters worse, he was cuffed to the wall, arms and legs spread apart, leaving him with no room to double down, hold his crotch, or even squeeze his legs together.
The aliens had turned their attention away from him for the time being, after grunting and yelling at him in their native language hadn’t produced any results. Rocket wasn’t even sure what they actually wanted from him, but from the looks of his surroundings, he could guess. There were various small, quadrupedal creatures, some not completely unlike him, held in cages around the room. Some were floating in large tanks of greenish fluid, in the middle of the room, hooked up to dozens of wires at the base of their skulls. They were trying to create something like him, he supposed: genetically engineer a small, disposable army.
He was suddenly almost grateful for his current predicament, because at least it was distracting him from dwelling on his own creation. A pang shot through his bladder as his attention turned back to his situation, and he bit back a whimper.
“Hey, you! Yeah, you with the mutilated face,” Rocket barked out. Half a dozen of the aliens in the room (Sarks, that’s what they were called, he suddenly remembered) turned towards him.
“Eh… Maybe that’s normal for your kind. Well, doesn’t matter. One of you, I need the bathroom.”
He received nothing but blank stares.
“Bath...room,” he repeated slowly. Nothing seemed to click in their heads.
“Washroom? Toilet? Potty break? Lavatory? Come on, I’m running out of synonyms here, and I’m getting desperate.”
Okay, that was a lie. He was already desperate, but if something didn’t change soon, he wasn’t going to last much longer, and he would never live it down if Thor and the now teenaged Groot found him having soiled himself.
Despite the range of synonyms he’d provided for them, the Sarks didn’t seem to have a clue what he was talking about, and they didn’t seem happy about him speaking up.
“No… talking,” one of them managed out, its voice deep and gravelly. It brandished a device towards Rocket, close enough that the electricity crackling off of it bridged the distance and administered a small shock to his belly. His bladder seized and Rocket gasped, squeezing his eyes shut and tensing all of his muscles as hard as he could manage, but despite his best efforts, he felt a spurt of liquid escape.
“No, no, no…” he muttered under his breath. He managed to regain control, but his heart was still racing. Letting go for just an instant had felt so good, he was tempted to just give in to his urges.
He’d almost made up his mind when a scream echoed down the hallway, followed by the familiar crack of metal-on-flesh that indicated Thor’s arrival. Yes. Sweet salvation. Surely he could hold on until Thor was able to free him.
It wasn’t much longer until Rocket could see flashes of the lightning down the hall. The Sarks in the room were scrambling to stand guard, but unfortunately for them, most of their weapons seemed to function by dispensing electricity. Rocket would’ve laughed if he weren’t so busy trying not to piss himself.
Finally, Thor burst into the room, taking out the remaining Sarks with ease. His face lit up when he saw Rocket on the wall.
“Rabbit! There you are! I thought I’d have to wipe out this whole facility to find you,” Thor exclaimed. Rocket nodded frantically.
“Yeah, yeah, thanks for the rescue mission, now please get me down from here.”
Thor’s brow creased, but he did as Rocket asked after locating the keys on the belt of one of the burlier Sarks.
Rocket landed on the ground and immediately doubled down to all fours. Oh God. Walking. He hadn’t considered how fucking difficult it was going to be to get out of there without losing it.
Thor rushed over and bent down to examine him.
“Are you alright? Did they do something to you?”
Something deep in Rocket’s chest twisted at the genuine concern written all over Thor’s face. Rocket pointedly avoided making eye contact.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he replied, waving a paw. “It’s just. I, uh. You know how I left the group to uh, take care of business?”
Thor nodded, understanding starting to blossom on his face.
“I never exactly got to take care of said business. And I’ve been trapped down here for the past hour, no thanks to you,” Rocket added, because really, it should not have taken Thor that long to break him out—he was a god, for God’s sake.
Thor ignored the veiled insult and did what was possibly the worst thing he could have chosen to do: he picked Rocket up and threw him over his shoulder.
Rocket couldn’t help it; he let out a loud yelp of horror. His bladder throbbed in protest of the sudden movement and tears pricked at his eyes from the effort of holding back.
“Thor,” he said shakily. “I think you’re going to want to put me down. Right now, or this is not going to end well for either one of us.”
Thor shook his head, and Rocket hissed in pain as the movement jostled him again.
“Sweet rabbit. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
Okay, either Asgardians had some really different norms, or Thor was just fucking weird. Rocket honestly wasn’t sure which was more likely, but as he began to pick up the faint scent of arousal emanating from Thor, he was leaning towards the second.
Thor traced a hand down Rocket’s body, carding through the fur on his head and neck and then circling around to trail it down Rocket’s stomach, between where he was pressed up against Thor’s shoulder. Rocket shuddered at the realization that Thor’s hand could practically wrap around the front half of his torso, but the thought was immediately ripped away when Thor’s hand dipped deeper, under Rocket’s pants, to press insistently at his distended bladder. Rocket let out a shameless noise, somewhere between a moan and a yell, as all of his efforts to keep from exploding went down the drain in an instant. It was too much.
Rocket was so full, he heard the sound of piss leaving his body before he even felt any difference in his desperation. It soaked his pants but it didn’t stop there, the stream only seeming to get stronger as it seeped through and began to flow down the front of Thor’s torso. Thor said nothing, only moved to gently pet at the back of Rocket’s head again as he let it all go.
After what seemed like an eternity, the flow finally began to let up. The combined bliss of his release and Thor’s heavy petting rendered Rocket completely useless. All he could do was push himself back into Thor’s hand and let out little whimpers of relief.
His bladder empty, Rocket realized that he still felt pent up, desperate for release. He quickly realized it was because his dick was now painfully hard—or maybe it had been this whole time, but he no longer had his full bladder to distract him. Thor held him closer and Rocket didn’t have to move much before he was shamelessly rutting against Thor’s shoulder, his whimpers of relief quickly changing into moans of pleasure.
“Let it all out,” Thor murmured, and that was it. Rocket let out a final sharp wail before orgasm wracked his body, sticky white come mixing with his piss in dripping down his legs.
Rocket must have actually blacked out for a second, because the next thing he knew, Thor was gently setting him down on one of the tables. The weight of what had just happened hit Rocket all at once, and he felt himself flush bright red under his fur (he had never been so grateful to have fur).
“You Asgardians sure are weird,” he finally managed out, trying to regain some of his usual snark. He finally chanced a glance up at Thor, to take in the damage. Half of Thor’s front is thoroughly drenched, and Thor himself actually looks a little dazed.
“Not an Agardian thing,” Thor said with a quiet laugh. “Just a me thing.”
He paused.
“That was impressive, for a creature of your size. You must have been truly desperate.”
Rocket flattened his ears and looked away.
“Can we just agree right now to never speak of this again?”
Thor laughed.
“As you wish, Rabbit. Now, help me find some new clothes for us, unless you want to explain what happened here to Groot when we get back to the ship.”
Rocket grunted a laugh and rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, okay, good point.”
When they got back to the ship, Rocket scrambled to his quarters immediately, without pause to acknowledge Groot or Quill. He pulled out a pad of paper and pen, and scribbled a note to himself:
Before next mission, stay hydrated.