Some Alone Time, Part 13 (Patreon)

“Ugh, it's about time.”

Todd already had his plate, and he was lingering near the pizza boxes, both of which were halfway open, by the time his parents made it back to the kitchen. He was waiting, albeit impatiently, because that's “what gentlemen do”, but his angry stomach wasn't going to wait any longer.

The older shepherd stood on the far end of the table, hands nervously on the back of his chair, as he watched his wife and son prepare their plates, one much more eagerly than the other. Todd stacked a few slices in a haphazard, cheesy mountain on his plate, and made his way to his usual spot at the table, awkwardly pulling his chair back and sitting down across from where his dad was currently hovering.

“Aren't you hungry, dad?” The younger shepherd asked, twitching one of his big ears and watching his old man for a moment, before the pretense of conversation passed and he shoved about half a slice of pizza into his mouth. “We got your favorite, even though I hate olives.”

“We don't need to see it, Todd.” His  mom chimed in, making the younger shepherd roll his eyes , but at least he kept his mouth closed while he was chewing. She grinned back over her shoulder at her husband while breaking a couple of breadsticks out of the box and placing them on her plate like an origami project. “Come make your plate, babe.”

“I'll, uh – yeah. I'll be right there.” He swallowed hard and tugged on the collar of his shirt again, his poker face really suffering. Still supremely conscious of the sound of his wet diaper rubbing against his slacks, he walked around the far side of the table, reaching over to casually (he hoped) pull the brim of Todd's cap down over his eyes. “How'd you do at practice, killer?”

“Real good. I think I'm the best hitter on the team this season, since Bomber graduated.” Todd was all too happy to explain, and keeping his son talking meant that his sneaking around and trying to hide the wet diaper under his pants was a little less obvious. “Mom thinks so too, right?”

“I think you were better even with Joseph on the team.” His wife argued the point, though the partial babytalking tone and cheek pinch that came with it might have blunted the compliment a little.  He laughed, even as his son groaned and pulled away from the touch, a string of cheese connecting his mouth to his second slice of pizza coming along for the ride.

“Got that big tournament comin' up, just in time to prove it.” His voice sounded more even now, and he started to allow himself to believe  once more that he was going to get away with this; he just had to hold on through dinner before he could disappear to the shower.

He made his plate, a more modest selection of pizza than he'd usually have, and moved around to take his place at the table as well, forming a triangle of hungry German shepherds. Sitting down was a careful process. The cushioned part of the chair felt firm against the weight of his wet diaper, and he had to curl his toes against the ground and bite down on his lower lip to keep his composure. For one, heart-stopping moment, he thought he'd leak, but his diaper held strong, and his pants stayed dry for the time being.

“How's your toe, babe?”

“Huh?” He opened his eyes, and his heart nearly leapt into his throat. His wife was looking right at him, a grin tugging at the corners of her muzzle again. He immediately felt heat rushing up his neck and through his muzzle once more.

“Your toe. The one you stubbed.”

“O-Oh yeah, my toe.” He coughed into his hand, using the sound to shift his weight and get more comfortable in his seat, and smiled in a way that he hoped was natural. “It's feeling a l-lot better now. Nothing to worry about.”