Work Text:
Mark leaked. The sudden warm wetness on his thighs brought a couple of things to his attention very quickly — firstly, that he was in the middle of an emergency, and had been squirming from foot to foot with his legs pressed together for quite a while; secondly, that he wasn’t feeling as big as he should be. Mark had been been busy writing and had known he had to pee, but—! He’d been focused and getting a lot of work done; if he stopped, he might lose his train of thought, and so… some time had passed, and apparently his need had gotten really urgent without him noticing.
He threw his pen down with a curse, clutching at himself with his other hand even though it immediately got him dirty. He had to try to make it to the toilet. It was just across the hall from his office — by design, admittedly. You had encouraged him to take this room given his not-so-infrequent accidents, and as much as he’d protested, it had been helpful in saving him from embarrassment and cleanup in similar close-call situations. So he could make it, he told himself. He tried to move quickly, but at his current level of urgency, it was awfully hard. Mark bit back a whine as he leaked again. You had someone over from work, which made things doubly worse: he’d die if they heard him, and if he didn’t make it, he couldn’t even ask for your help or comfort.
But he’d made it nearly through the hallway with only dribbling — granted, he’d pretty well soaked his pants, but as far as he could tell there was none on the floor, and that’s what mattered. Mark didn’t consider it a real accident unless he’d left a puddle — or else he’d have to admit to having them even more frequently.
He was moving far too slowly, but he was only a few feet away from the toilet now. Mark took a risk, relaxing his hold on himself and rushing the last bit into the room — but, his bladder took that as its cue to fully give way. The strong stream hissed down his legs and, yes, splattered onto the floor just over the threshold to the bathroom. His breath hitched, and he couldn’t help but whine a devastated “No…” because he’d been so close and he knew this shouldn’t have happened; the bathroom had been right here the whole time. He could’ve at least sat on the toilet as he finished, but he didn’t move, trying not to catch his reflection in the mirror or to look down far enough to see his soaked pants or pee puddle. It was bad enough to feel it, to hear it.
Don’t cry, he told himself sternly, which had no effect on the tears burning in his eyes as his bladder finished emptying itself. He’d made such a mess — the rug on the floor would need to be washed; he’d soaked a large portion of it. And now he had to clean it up.
It’s just an accident, he told himself, but not gently like you would say it. He couldn’t be reacting like this. This was nothing new, as much as he hated that, so he knew how to clean himself up. He was an adult, goddamnit. He needed to be, anyway, because you were working. He couldn’t be small right now. But Mark was overwhelmed, just barely stopping himself from breaking out into tears, let alone able to decide on a plan to clean himself up, get dry clothes, have the floor cleaned, whatever else…
…A potty accident wasn’t usually enough to make him feel little, but here he was. And his pants had gotten cold already — he felt icky. He needed help.
Ben was around, and Mark knew he should call him instead, and that if he did, the butler would also clean Mark up and comfort him, but he wanted you.
He left the bathroom, rubbing at his eyes with his clean hand, then crept to the room he knew you were having your meeting in. He was going to have to be really careful… At the entrance to the room, he stayed against the wall, leaning into the doorway just enough to peer in, trying his best to look calm and casual. Because of where you were sitting, neither you nor your colleague saw him at first. You had your back to him — he moved to speak up, and found speaking suddenly difficult. He was too small for all those sounds, but he tried his best, because he couldn’t sound like a baby in front of your colleague. He stammered your name, enunciating as best he could. “Can I steal you for a second?” Internally, he chanted please, please, please…
You had paused and turned, a little displeased until you processed the very subtle tremor to his voice, the pleading in his eyes, and the way he was standing. You gave him a soft, reassuring look. You’d come help. You weren’t sure exactly what was wrong, but… turning to your colleague, you said, “I’ll be right back. Please, help yourself to more coffee or anything you’d like,” gesturing to the snacks on the table. You weren’t very happy about the atypical meeting, anyway, so you didn’t feel too bad about interrupting it.
Forgetting about work for the moment, you walked quickly to join Mark in the hallway, where he stepped back, practically cowering as he looked at you, tears building properly in his eyes. You wanted to reassure him but couldn’t here, so you just put your arm around him and led him back in the direction he’d come. A while away, you spoke up softly, “Oh, my dear, what happened? What do you need?”
Tearfully, Mark recapped, “I had an accident— I was working for too long an’ I didn’t make it to th’ potty, ‘m sorry…”
“Shhh, it’s alright. Why didn’t you talk to Ben?” you asked. You did have to go back to the meeting sooner rather than later and it would be better to leave him with Ben than to leave him on his own. That, and you’d request he clean up Mark’s accident.
Mark looked guilty, which hadn’t been your intent. “I-I dunno,” he said, which wasn’t really a lie; he wasn’t sure how to put it into words.
“That’s okay,” you reassured him. “Is it okay if I call him now? We’ll ask him to help with the clean up— where were you?”
Mark nodded, blushing a little with embarrassment. “Office potty,” he said. “I almost made it…”
“Oh, my darling…” you said, pulling him into a hug. He tried not to get pee on you, but nuzzled into your neck to allow himself to be comforted for a few moments. Soon, though, you pulled back, declaring, “Come on. We’re going to clean you up. I’m going to put you in a diaper to make sure this doesn’t happen again today. I’ve still got to finish up with work” — which you were especially unhappy about with now that it meant you couldn’t take proper care of Mark — “so how would you feel about Ben watching you until later?”
“Okay,” Mark mumbled. Even though he was disappointed, he knew it wasn’t your fault that you couldn’t stay with him, and besides, Mark’s respect and appreciation and genuine care for Ben certainly didn’t disappear when he was small. Ben was one of the very few people who Mark trusted enough to share his little side with, and Ben took good care of Mark — he was always nice and would play games with him.
“My good boy. I’m sorry I can’t stay with you yet.” You worked more quickly than usual once you got to the master bathroom. You called for Ben, then stripped Mark out of his wet clothes, quickly wiping his legs down with a wet cloth, then drying him off. The process quickly had Mark calming down and relaxing. He didn’t have to worry about anything, because those who loved him were taking care of it; he wasn’t in trouble for wetting himself or leaving a mess or interrupting or being small at an inconvenient time.
You had him wash his hands, too; he’d remembered and told you that he’d gotten pee on them. By the time you led him back into the bedroom, Ben was waiting.
“Hello, Master Y/N, Master Mark. What did you need?” (If he guessed from Mark’s pantsless state, he didn’t let on.)
“Hi, Ben — Mark had an accident in the bathroom down the hallway. I’m still in my meeting, or rather will be going back to it, so could you clean it up, then watch him for a bit? It shouldn’t be more than an hour,” you explained.
“Of course!” Ben said, smiling warmly at Mark, then asking, “Will you be alright for a few minutes, until I get back?”
“Uh-huh,” Mark said, nibbling at his thumb. (You would stop him, but he’d literally just washed his hands, and given you couldn’t provide him as much comfort as you wanted to, you let him.)
“Thank you so much,” you said, gently nudging Mark to lay down on the bed. He’d been about to protest, unwilling to be diapered in front of someone else even though he didn’t much care about being nude, but Ben nodded again, said he’d return quickly, then headed out, so Mark got onto the bed and laid down for you.
“Alright, dearest,” you murmured, quickly getting the diapering supplies. Practice meant you could move quickly and still get the job done right, so in just a minute or two Mark had been powdered, pinned, and helped into a protective cover. The way he held onto you with one hand as the other returned to his mouth told you he was feeling even smaller now, and you kissed his head, lingering and loving. On second thought, you helped him out of his shirt, too, then grabbed a warm, soft pair of footed pajamas. Softly, as you buttoned it up for him, you cooed, “There you go, my little star. All safe and comfy, right? Be good for Ben. I love you very much, and I’ll be back as soon as I can be. Sit right here.” You patted the bed, and Mark crawled up.
“Do I have any toys here?” he asked. It was going to be a boring and lonely few minutes if he didn’t have anything to do.
You had thought of that, but you normally kept all of the toys in the playroom, and you’d ultimately get back to him quicker if you didn’t make the trip down the hall and back. Then, though, you remembered one thing.
“Ah, you haaave…” You crossed the room quickly, pulling out a little children’s book from a shelf. “This.” There were a couple books, and you got the one with the most pictures. “You can look at the pictures, and maybe if you ask nicely, Ben will read it to you when he gets back. How’s that?” You walked back to him as you talked, and offered Mark the book.
He liked this one — it had really pretty pictures and the edges of the pages were shiny. It wasn’t a toy, but it would entertain him — and Mark found he really liked the idea of Ben reading to him, so he nodded. “Yeah! I’ll ask!” Mark had already opened the book, paging to his favorite parts.
“Alright, I — very sadly — have to leave now.” You smoothed back his hair, kissing the top of his head. “I love you, and I will be back soon.”
Mark looked up to answer. “Wait, I need a hug firs’,” he said, letting the book fall to his lap as he reached out to you with a pleading expression.
You smiled. “Of course, love.” You leaned over the bed, hugging Mark close for a few moments. “Now I’ve really got to go. I will be back as soon as I can.”
“Otay,” he murmured, a little sadly.
“I love you,” you said again as you hurried out of the room. (You had every intent to run the meeting to its end as quickly as possible…)
“Love you too,” Mark called, and then turned to the book he’d been given. He rubbed his finger against the smooth edge of the pages as he flipped through it. He’d heard this story enough times that he knew it pretty well, but he still wanted Ben to read it.
…He knew he was being impatient, but looking at the pictures only occupied him for a minute or so. He set the book aside and hopped off the bed, making his way over to the door.
Ben was headed down the hallway from the direction of the playroom, holding some things — one of which looked a little like his Christmas bear. Mark brightened and began to walk down the hall, calling Ben’s name. Ben had to smile — Mark looked adorable, and content now. But, Ben hurried to meet him; he hoped to get him back into the bedroom as sound did carry fairly well through to downstairs.
The stuffed animal he was holding was indeed Mark’s Christmas bear, and Mark grabbed for it when they met. “Pwease give!!”
“I thought you might want Jonah while we wait for Y/N,” Ben said, running a hand through Mark’s hair, then bringing the arm down around his back to encourage him to walk.
Mark nodded, holding the bear under one arm. “T’ank you. An' I want you to read me a story,” he told him.
“Oh? And how do we ask nicely for that?”
Mark made a pouty face, repeating, “I want you to read me a story, please!”
“Much better, but darling, that’s still not a question,” Ben prompted again. From the indignant, confused look on Mark’s face, though, he wasn’t sure why adding a “please” wasn’t enough. Ben added, “How about saying, ‘Would you read me a story, please?’”
“Would you read me a story, please?” Mark repeated as best he could. He resisted the urge to protest that that was basically the same thing that he’d said.
Ben nudged him forward through the doorway, and Mark ran forward to climb up on the bed as Ben said, “There, very good, Mark! Of course I will.”
Mark smiled, picking up the book and turning around on his knees. He held out the book. “This one!! Please, please, please!”
Ben had paused near the door, intending to take his shoes off so that he could lay on the bed with Mark, but the little one was getting alarmingly close, in Ben’s opinion, to the edge. He hurried forward to block Mark from any chance of falling, and the boy leaned into his side, beginning to nibble his thumb after Ben took the book. “Ah, I remember this one. Sit back down, little one, I don’t want you to fall, and I need to get my shoes off. Then I’ll read to you. Okay?”
Mark nodded and settled back, allowing Ben to sit down on the edge of the bed and take a moment to take his shoes off. Then, Ben moved to lay beside Mark. “Alright. Let’s read, shall we?”
“Wait, no, no. That’s Y/N’s side. Go here. You can have my side,” Mark corrected, crawling around Ben and setting his bear to one side so he could gently push, trying to get Ben to lay where he wanted him.
“…Alright,” Ben agreed. When he was settled, Mark cuddled up to his side with his head on Ben’s shoulder and hand on his torso, with his bear between them in one of his arms. Ben’s hand rested on his hip, holding him close. “Comfortable, Mark?”
Mark nodded. “Mmhmm.” He felt nice, now — all the embarrassment and anxiety of his accident had been forgotten.
“Good,” Ben said. He then opened the book up and began to read. Mark seemed to enjoy himself. He occasionally asked Ben to pause so he could give a comment, or just to look at one of the pictures for longer, and sometimes Ben would prompt him with a question about his thoughts or feelings about the story. Mark was pretty opinionated and usually had things to say, and while it wasn’t as though there was some great insight to unlock about the book — it was only a children’s picture book, after all; there wasn’t exactly subtext — Ben would occasionally learn more about the way Mark thinks. And he likes to hear what the little one has to say.
When they finished reading, Ben asked what Mark’s favorite part was, and Mark took Ben’s now-free hand and played with it (holding one finger, spreading out his palm to hold his own against, that sort of thing) as he answered. Ben told him about his own favorite part in return, and Mark nodded, more or less approving.
“Would you like to play now, little one?”
“Oh, play what?” Mark asked, a bit excited.
“Anything you’d like, within reason.”
Mark sat up, trying to think. He had a lot of toys and things to play with. But then he had a great idea — he could make something to give to you! “Can I make a painting? P’ease? Will you he’p?”
Ben thought. Well, Mark’s fingerpaints were washable. It wasn’t Ben’s favorite activity to oversee, but he wasn’t going to tell the little one ‘no’ without good reason. “Okay. Good job asking nicely, Mark.”
Mark smiled, already moving to get off the bed. “T’ank you."
“I think you should leave Jonah here,” Ben advised as he followed.
Mark stopped, thinking. “So he doesn’t get paint on him?”
“Right.”
Mark leaned back over the bed, setting him down in the middle, leaned against a pillow. “Okay, Jonah, you wait here. I’ll show you my painting when it’s all dry, so don’t worry! An’ tell Y/N where we went when they come to find us, okay?”
Apparently the bear agreed, because Mark stood back up and took Ben’s hand. “C’mon, let’s go!”
“Okay,” Ben said, allowing himself to be dragged down the hallway.
The nursery wasn’t big — a bed; a dresser; many, many toys; and a little table with chairs in the corner. (Not so small it was hard to sit at, but not any bigger than it needed to be. It was a bright yellow, and the chairs were blue.) Mark went for the shelves, but Ben spoke up to stop him before he could start digging through everything. “Now, Mark, let me get it for you so you don’t make a mess. Sit at the table, little one.”
“Not going to make a mess! I can do it!!” Mark insisted, but Ben was already close enough to nudge the boy out of the way and more carefully push other art supplies aside to pull out the fingerpaints.
“Alright, then you can carry these over.” They were sealed tightly. Mark was happy to have the responsibility. He took them and rushed to the table, setting the small paint pots down and turning to see Ben carrying the last few and a big piece of paper.
“Gonna make somethin’ real pretty,” Mark said, immediately trying to open one of the pots.
“One more moment, little one; you need to wear a smock.”
“Smock?” Mark imitated. He didn’t remember what that was.
Ben went back to the shelves and took out a simple smock, meant to protect one’s clothes from paint drips.
Mark recognized what it was, now. “Oh, Y/N doesn’t make me wear that.” (You didn’t normally bother, because it tended not to help, as it only covered the front of a boy. Sleeves, hair, and everything else was unsafe.)
Ben believed Mark, but he would rather some protection than none. “Wear it today, alright?”
“Okay.” Mark let Ben slip it over his head and tie it around his back although he was still pretty sure it wasn’t necessary. He also let Ben roll his sleeves up. “I paint now?”
“Yep, go ahead. Let me help you open them. What are you going to paint?”
Mark hummed, thinking. He wanted something pretty, but, since he was fingerpainting, it had to be simple. “Flowers!” he announced, then looped Ben in on his plan. “For Y/N.”
“Oh, they’ll love it, little one.” Ben sat in a chair beside Mark, opening up the pots and sliding them within reach of him.
Mark started off with your favorite color, dipping his fingers into the paint and getting to work pressing prints onto the page. As more colors became available he branched out, and was having fun making flowers with different petal shapes and different-color centers. Ben offered words of encouragement, and occasionally a suggestion or two, which Mark took some of. He’d filled up pretty much the whole sheet when he declared himself done.
“All done! We take it to Y/N now?” Mark did remember that you were working, but… maybe Ben would let him anyway. He was excited for you to see what a pretty painting he’d made for you!
Ben, knowing Mark really wanted to see you, went with the easier dispute. “It’s all wet with paint, dearest. We need to let it dry.” Mark looked a little pouty at this reminder, so Ben tried to segue. “Did you want to sign your name in the corner?”
Mark brightened. “Oh, yeah!” Ben was right; it wasn’t really done until he’d signed it, like a real artist! But, he didn’t want to risk messing it up now after he’d worked so hard. “Help, p’ease?” he requested.
“Help you sign?”
Mark nodded.
Ben thought a moment for the best way to do that. “Pick your color,” he instructed, shifting his chair closer to Mark’s. Mark dipped his pointer finger into the black paint, then Ben put an arm around him, wrapping his hand around Mark’s. “Okay, just stay still,” Ben murmured, then began to guide Mark’s hand into writing. “M… A… R… K. ‘Mark.’ There you go!”
Mark smiled, pleased with how his ‘signature’ looked. “Yay! T’ank you.”
“You’re welcome, little one.” Ben gave him a kiss on the head as he moved to get a cloth to wipe Mark’s hands off. “Are you going to paint something else?”
“…when’s Y/N gonna come up?”
“I don’t know, dearest. As soon as they can.” This was perhaps a fib — if you’d been right in estimating an hour, you should be coming up soon, but Ben didn’t want to get Mark’s hopes up.
Mark squirmed impatiently as Ben cleaned him up. “Well, it’s been a really long time,” he pouted.
It had been a while — certainly from a little’s perspective. Ben set the now-paint-covered cloth aside and pet Mark’s hair comfortingly.
Mark was feeling a little pouty over that, and the fact that while he had wanted to paint something for Ben, too, there was no way to do it without Ben seeing, and Mark didn’t think that was as good for making a gift. So, instead, Mark asked, “Will you watch cartoons wif me?” There was a smallish TV in the bedroom that was rather rarely used — the occasional movie for a date night, but more often to entertain little Mark and/or Damien.
“Of course. Let’s put the paints away, and then you can pick out a show.” By ‘let’s,’ Ben mostly meant that he would (so that nothing would get spilled) but Mark waited quietly while he did. Mark’s smock and the cloth Ben had used to clean his hands off stayed on the table; Ben would come back to take them to the laundry. As it turned out, the smock had worked; Mark’s pajamas were still clean. Ben fixed up his sleeves.
“That’s a good boy, Mark. Go ahead and pick out a tape.”
“Otay!” Mark hopped up, skittering over to the cabinet with his cartoons. You had a relatively small selection, as the boys didn’t watch a whole lot of TV when they were small, but you had Mark’s favorites. His choice was narrowed down further because the TV in the bedroom could only play one kind of recording, so Mark quickly picked one that would work and stood up to show Ben, who’d finished setting the paint pots back into their place. “I wan’ this one. Pwease.”
Ben took a look at the tape, making sure it would play in the bedroom. “Alright. Let’s go, little one.” In his other hand, he took Mark’s, and lead him back down the hall. He didn’t miss Mark’s hopeful peering down to the ground floor, but thus far, there was no sign of you.
The poor boy seemed disappointed. In the bedroom, Ben instructed softly, “Go sit on the bed. I’ll join you in a moment.”
Mark forgot about his disappointment for a moment when he remembered that his bear, Jonah, had been waiting for him, and he hopped up on the bed and pulled him onto his lap. Ben set up the tape to play, and Mark brightened further when the opening sequence came on. Ben sat back down beside Mark, happily letting the boy cuddle up to him again.
As the show played, they talked on and off as they had with the book. Mark had been babbling about one of the characters when you came in.
You had approached quietly, so Mark only cut himself off and looked up when the door opened. Ben watched fondly, glad to see you.
Mark smiled widely, getting to his knees, as you greeted, “I’m finally done! Now I need my baby.”
Mark paused on the side of the bed, protesting, “No, I’m your big boy.” He was very excited to see you, but he wasn’t a baby.
You smiled, having crossed the room to the bed. “No,” you began, sitting beside him and pulling him into your arms. “You’re my smart boy.” You kissed his face. “My brave boy,” — another kiss — “my handsome boy,” — another, and Mark was beginning to squirm and giggle, having realized how this was going to go — “my good boy, my creative boy, my sweet boy, my hardworking boy—” After yet another kiss, you paused, looking Mark in the eyes, softly and with love. “But you are my little boy.”
Mark, still giggling with breathless delight, nuzzled against you to hide his face, and you kissed him again, gently, and pet back his hair. He was still smiling when the last of his giggles faded. So maybe he was your baby, and maybe that made him really happy.
“And I am so glad to be able to spend time with you,” you added. “Why don’t we go play?”
Mark did really want to do that — not to mention he had his painting to give you — but his show wasn’t over, and now he could watch it cuddled up to both of his caregivers. “Me an’ Ben were watchin’ the cartoon. Can we finish, pwease?”
“Of course, love,” you agreed. Ben shifted back a bit, and you moved to the other side of the bed. You laid down, leaving the perfect spot for Mark to nestle between the two of you. Once he crawled up and sat down, he looked from left to right happily, seeing your loving smiles in return.