At Argy's bar, Blackjack and I find ourselves an empty table near the back that's just partially out of sight of most of the patrons.
Blackjack grabs us some drinks - two big mugs of a glassy looking beer that just barely bubbles at the brim - and pushes one mug in front of me as he jumps into his seat.
"Watered down a bit," He says, "s-so we can talk longer."
"Just gonna have to drink more, then," I say, confused by his tameness with alcohol all of the sudden.
He looks at me timidly, his ears flop down, and he asks quietly, "Can w-we just drink light today? I'd like to be sober when we head home. I'm- I'm kind of… working on something."
Genuinely surprised, I say, "Well, there's a first time for everything, I guess."
"Hey- I've been thinking- a lot- recently," he responds almost shyly, "this is my first time with a break in a while. My first time hanging out with you in- such a long while…"
"Why are you so reminiscent all the sudden?" I ask. He seems off. I'm just now noticing how off he really seems. Like he's focused on something but doesn't want to say. I start to guzzle my beer, stopping only to breathe.
A weird look goes over his face. He grabs his mug and takes a big swig before wiping off his mouth. He looks down at the ground, not making eye contact, and says, "I've missed you, you know? Despite our- differences in the past."
I feel confusion spread across my face as I finish a gulp and put down my almost empty mug. I say, "Well if you missed me so much, why wait so many weeks to talk?"
I finish off my glass as Blackjack stammers slightly. Just as I put my mug back down, I feel a twange of pain in my bladder. Suddenly, I need to pee. Bad.
Blackjack takes his own gulp, seeming to only grow more flustered as he drinks. A blush comes across his face. He starts to say something, but I can barely focus as my bladder pangs me again.
I'm fighting hard the urge to cross my legs. I can hold it. It hasn't even been a whole hour since I last pissed. I can hold it. But the pressure is rising with every word Blackjack says. I finally catch the end of his sentence, "... I've- I've been meaning to talk to you about that- about s-something important."
What is he talking about? Feeling the pressure building up and up, I get myself to avoid looking at him crosseyed as he makes eye contact. My bladder is going to burst any second. I can't hold it. I need to get up and make a run for the bathroom.
With no time to excuse myself, I turn and bolt for the back of the bar. I catch Blackjack's confused look as I run toward the bathroom. My drink crashing to the floor behind me leaves static in my ears, and I can't hear what Blackjack says to me. I can feel drops of urine leaking out as I ram into the door, but it doesn't open. I push harder and hear the creak of wood as the door makes its way open. Bit by bit. Relief only a few seconds away. Just hold it a moment more. Just a second and I'll be on a toilet. But I realize that I needed more than that as my bladder releases. A dark stain grows across my orange clad crotch as I lurch through the finally opened doorway and into the room.
It's a small, single-occupant toilet stall. The big wooden door creaks back closed behind me, leaving me in this metal rectangle with a toilet and sink pushed up against one another, enough space for me but certainly not for big bar-goers. My ears keep ringing as the constant drip of urine from my pants to the ground reverberates off the walls like an echo chamber. Thank Flarg no one else was in here.
I hold my breath and try to stop peeing my pants, hoping the dam breaking has reduced some of the pressure. I gasp as nothing happens and the flow continues. My shorts are completely drenched and dripping as my bladder finally empties. I start to yank my shorts off. My heart stops as the door cracks open. Shit! Why didn't I lock it!? I turn away quick, hoping whoever it is will see me and shut the door.
I'm surprised to hear Blackjack's voice and my instincts pull me back to look through the door as he says, "Rocket… w-what happened? You ran out and-" He peeks through the cracked door, looks at my crotch, and his eyes widen. He continues, "Oh… you- did you- are you okay?"
My face reddens as Blackjack looks over my darkened orange shorts that I've yanked down partially to realize that, in my haste to clean my sheets this morning, I never put on any underwear.
I stammer in a shouted whisper, "What do you think!?"
I blush even harder as I tug my wet shorts back up to stop flashing my caged dick at Blackjack. He blushes too but doesn't leave the door. I feel completely overwhelmed as I whisper, "Please just- close the door before someone sees."
In little under an instant, he slinks through the cracked open doorway and yanks it closed behind him. I don't say anything as I'm too embarrassed to even think as he pushes his way into the already cramped bathroom. He flicks the lock shut and looks me over with a face of concern and care.
He reaches out and puts his paws on my shoulders, and then he says, "Hey, this is no big deal. Sorry you're all worked up." 
He moves his hands down to my waist and grabs either side of my shorts. He says, "Let me help with this," and pulls my shorts down around my ankles, revealing once again my enfeebled sheath and balls.
My blush soars tenfold and I put a paw down to hide my junk. I gasp, "What's the big idea!? I don't need your help with this!"
Blackjack stops for a second and leaves my shorts at my ankles. He looks back up at me. His face looks so much more caring and kind than I've ever seen before. He's got a small, reassuring smile that almost makes me okay with this for a split second. He reaches out and grabs my hand in his and says, "R-rocket, I- I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. It's okay. You must have just been drinking too fast." He moves his other hand up to my waist, just above my butt, and rubs my fur soothingly. He continues, "Everyone gets an overactive bladder from time to time while drinking. It's no big deal. Just relax and I'll rinse out your pants."
I'm struck by his kindness. This is fucking weird. No one's ever this nice to me, especially not Blackjack. What's gotten into him?
"Is this some kind of trick?" I ask, still not understanding why he's here.
"A- trick? No," he looks up into my eyes, clearly befuddled by my not wanting him to strip me. He continues, "this is what I was made for, technically at least. I can help you, so why shouldn't I?"
"Because I was standing in my own piss in a cubicle that was already crowded with just me in it. And because it's weird, dude." I explain.
He responds suddenly more sharp, like I've activated something in him, "Weird or not, I've already got your pants around your ankles. Now, hop up onto that seat and let me sort this out."
I grumble at his orders, but his insistence on being nice to me does feel strangely good, even if it is for such a weird thing.
I step out of my pants and hop onto the toilet like he said, still covering my dick with one paw. He quickly whips my shorts up to the sink and runs them under the water. Then, he wrings them out and lets them hang from the sink before yanking the hand towel off its holder and wetting it too.
He turns back to me and says rather excitedly, "Now, to deal with this soggy raccoon."
I blush as he jumps onto the seat with me, balancing himself precariously with his butt sticking out behind him. With lightning speed, he brings the rag up to my face and lightly rubs more crumbles out of my eyes that I hadn't bothered to finish with earlier. I try to resist, but the awkwardness of covering my crotch with one paw and holding on to the seat for dear life prevents me from doing much. As he looks at his handy work, I see a familiar disappointment as he realizes the sagging beneath my eyes still hasn't been washed away. He shrugs, and then he hops back off the bowl. I think I'm free for a second, but then he pushes my paw away from my crotch and goes in with the rag.
I lurch backwards, blushing heavily, and curse, "What the fuck, O'hare!?"
"What," he says, ignoring my cringing and continuing to try to clean my wet crotchfur, "I'm not going to have you complaining about feeling sticky and gross for the whole ride home. Now, hold still."
My stomach aches with anxiety as he holds me steady and rinses my sheath, balls, and thighs clean with the rag. Then, just as I think I'm safe as he rinses out the rag, he whips back around and reaches it up under my butt. He wipes across my ass and then down my crack with a speed that gives me the hiccups. I almost kick him away but manage to stop myself. I feel at best conflicted as he turns away again and cleans off the rag, this time lathering it with soap and wringing it out before hanging it to dry. That didn't feel bad, but I certainly didn't have letting Blackjack fondle me on my list of things to do today. I'd grown accustomed to not being around people these last few weeks, and now all of this at once is stunning me. Is he just being nice? Does he get how weird this is since we're just friends?
Blackjack washes his hands one final time, then turns to me with an innocent smile and says, "There, all done. Thanks for being such a sport. Sorry I got you drinking too fast."
I feel completely flabbergasted at that. He thinks this is his fault? He's thanking me and apologizing to me after cleaning up after my mess?
"What's the con here? Why are you bein' so nice all the sudden?"
"R-rocket," he stammers, and some of his coyness from earlier returns, "I- we- we haven't done anything together in weeks. And it feels like it's been years since we've talked at all. I want to be around you again. I don't want our whole friendship spoiled because of me just a few hours into it."
"What in the flarg are you talking about? We're just drinkin'! No need to be all sappy, no need to wipe my ass for fuck's sake!"
"I- I thought I was helping. You looked like you really needed it." He says, his voice almost quivering.
I feel flustered and… strange, sitting here yelling at Blackjack with my junk hanging out. I blush again, feeling my penis failing to harden in its cage. My eyes dart down to it for a second, then return to Blackjack's just in time to notice him also glancing down at my worthless cock.
There's a small flash of deviousness in his gaze before he jolts back to reality and returns to looking me in the eyes.
"Are you drunk?" He asks out of the blue.
"Not enough!" I retort cynically.
He frowns and looks deeper into my eyes, "Please Rocket- b-be serious for a second. I really wanted to talk to you today."
"Well," I say, not really sure where he's going with all this, "you've certainly got my undivided attention now."
"I- didn't mean to upset you- You just seemed to be frozen with embarrassment- and- and I like went into automatic mode."
"Look," I say, trying to reset the conversation and make this less awkward - despite my dick throbbing against its confines - "no big deal. You just weirded me out is all. I wasn't expecting to have a pair of pissed pants yanked off me and then my ass wiped. But really, no big deal. Let's just go back to drinkin' and forget about this."
"With your pants all wet?" Blackjack asks.
I look at the sink and remember with another blush that I really am sitting half-naked with no pants to put back on.
"You've got a point there-" I say as I look back to him. My voice halts as I see that he is once again looking down at my dick. I squirm a little and blush, but my penis takes the opposite approach and doubles its efforts to break free, of course with no avail. I smell a slightly musky odor that doesn't feel familiar, and my brain puts together that Blackjack and I are here looking at my pulsing dicklet in a sudden and complete silence.
Blackjack seems to process this too and bashfully turns his face away. He whispers, "I'm sorry- I- I've been avoiding you for weeks, and I was starting to worry that I'd ruined the little bit of friendship that we'd built since I got here."
"Avoiding me?" I question, "Why?"
He takes a long breath and then holds it for almost half a minute, glaring at himself in the mirror. His eyes blink for a moment, and I swear I see a few tears wink out of them. I continue, "What's wrong, dude? You're acting all weird all of the sudden."
"I've-" he pauses again and takes another breath. I can see frustration on his face as he finally looks back at me, right in my eyes. He kicks the base of the toilet rather hard and continues, "I have been trying to work up the nerve to tell you- to-"
"Just spit it out, man." I say, and I reach out a paw and put it on his shoulder.
For a moment he looks like he's about to cry. And for a split second I swear he's turning to bolt out the door. But then suddenly, with a speed that I wasn't expecting, he jumps up onto the toilet seat and puts his arms around my shoulders. I'd fall back if the back of the seat wasn't there to catch me.
Blackjack gets right in my face with a look of determination and fear. I stammer for half a second and open my mouth slightly to say something. He instantly seizes the opportunity to kiss me violently on the mouth. He pulls me in and wraps his arms around me with passion and ferocity. He puts his lips to mine and holds them there, his eyes closed tight.
I freeze up for the moment. I wasn't expecting this at all, but it kind of makes sense given what's been happening. I hardly move or breathe as our lips are held together. I don't know how to feel right now. I've avoided romance and sexy stuff forever. No one wants a limped dick raccoon. But he's in my face and kissing me. Do I want this? Should I kiss back? How even? Our facial structures are all weird and incompatible. As my brain races, a secondary thought wells up within me. Maybe more so a feeling than a thought, really. As my dick strains and struggles with all its might, I feel the horniness from this morning's shower return to me in waves. The thought breaks through that I could kiss him back. He is already kissing me, after all. I might as well.
Just as Blackjack seems to be giving up hope on me returning his affection, as he starts to separate, I hoist my arms up and around him as well and pull him back in. I sense a huge surge of energy from him like this is everything he's ever wanted, like his every fancy is suddenly becoming real. He returns to kissing me, and I finally let myself do so as well. I let our mouths collide, and we exchange a passionate smooch against each other. I open my mouth slightly, and he copies me. Our tongues collide as well before he pushes through and into my mouth. We make out for what must be several minutes with him almost entirely in the lead. I've never felt so many butterflies in my stomach, and an unexpected but welcome happiness seems to rear itself and hold me in this moment with him. The thought occurs to me that I actually really do want to do this with him, and I'd probably be up for much more. I don't know how we'd make it work, but I want to.
Just as I feel like we're reaching the apex of this kiss, there's a cracking knock on the door and a muffled questioning as to who is in here.
Pulled from the moment, Blackjack lifts himself off of me and shouts, "Be out in a minute! Sorry!"
He jumps off of me and starts fixing up his hair and face in the mirror. I stay laying against the back of the toilet, feeling strangely excited.
I say, "Well, I wasn't expecting that."
"Neither was I." He responds.
I look at him as he gussies up, suddenly liking more and more the idea of grabbing him and pulling him back in to continue that kiss. Before I can, though, he throws my pants to me. I catch them, barely. They are still sort of wet, but probably not noticeably so.
He mumbles, "Throw those back on."
I stand up in what little space I have and pull my shorts back on. Once my shame is hidden, I look back at Blackjack. He nods almost reassuringly and gestures to the door. I climb down off the toilet and put a hand on the door. I steal a look back at him again, and I blush as I realize just how much I'd like for him to kiss me again.
I say shakily, "Do you want to, uh- get out of here?"
He seems to step into my former confidence for a moment, pushing close to me again and giving me a peck on my cheek. We both blush as he moves back and we make full eye contact. He whispers, "Sure, somewhere more private sounds… nice-"
I push back on the door and it creaks open. The sound and light of the bar floods back over us, and Blackjack seems to immediately grow bashful again. I rush out of the bathroom toward our transport as he drops a small tip to the bartender before ambling his way over to meet me. I hop in the pod to drive us home. Blackjack sneaks his way in and sits behind me. I take off in silence, feeling his eyes burning a hole in the back of my head. He remains silent the whole way back to our ship. I feel a strange fusion of awkwardness and excitement building in me. I hadn't considered that Blackjack would have any interest in me, and now I just want to know where he's going with this.