Pushing It

Title: "Pushing It" (1/1)
Author: Jimbo
Subjects: Jim Street and Brian Gamble of "S.W.A.T."  
Date:  March 26, 2005
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters -- just borrowing them for the fun of it.
Warnings: A little nasty. Scat fic, descriptions of shitting, a little erotic and slashy.

Jim Street felt the telltale pressure in his gut that told him it was time to get to the john. He downed the last swallow of coffee from the white mug with the blue L.A.P.D. monogram and glanced around the squadroom for his partner, Brian Gamble. Gamble was in the middle of an animated conversation with one of their fellow S.W.A.T. officers, one muscular arm raised as he stabbed the air with a pointing finger. Street tried to catch Gamble's eye, but his partner was too engrossed in whatever he was debating to notice. He'd have to get his attention in another way.

"Hey, Brian," he called out, deciding it wasn't a good idea to try to walk over to him. The men's room was to his right and Brian to his left. It didn't take a master tactician to measure the distance and juxtapose that with the increasing urgency in his belly.

Gamble glanced his way.

"We're late for a meeting," he said, cocking his head toward the hallway.

Gamble grinned. "Gotta run, I guess." He shrugged at the knowing look from his colleague. Gamble and Street were notorious for having a 'standing meeting' for a morning 'sit down' most days of the week.

"You're way ahead of me, Jimbo," Gamble commented, patting his partner on the shoulder.

Street hurried into the bathroom. "Well, catch up fast, then," he said. "I'm about to fill my pants."

"Geez, take it easy, bro! You'll enjoy it more if you don't rush it."

Entering his customary stall, Street slammed the door behind him and fumbled with his belt. "I'm not rushing anything. I'm being rushed!" he said.

"You cramping up?"

"No. Nothing like that. I just have to go bad."

As Street lowered himself over the commode, he heard his partner in the stall next to him, taking his time unfastening his belt and unzipping his pants. Before he had even settled on the porcelain seat, Street felt himself starting to shit, a large, long tube exiting his shaking body.

"Christ," he said, breathing hard. "That's good."

"You weren't kidding," Gamble commented. "You really had to go. I'm gonna have to concentrate myself." Gamble grunted and emitted a burst of flatulence as though to punctuate his effort. "Just once I'd like to do one of those big, straight turds like you do. But today I'll be happy with anything."

Street groaned and pushed, managing to expel even more waste, albeit less impressive than his first bit of business. He paused and waited for the satisfied feeling that would signal he was finished.

"Here we go!" Brian announced, his voice strained with effort. "I've got it now!"

A loud plop sounded in the stall next to Street. As usual, his partner was unwilling to give up without a try.

"God, that thing was a rock. I think it was plugging me up, because I feel like I can really shit now," Gamble announced. "Thank God!" He grunted again, and Street heard the resulting cascade.

Street stood slowly and turned to look at his work. His shit was brown, firm and well-formed. The most significant specimen was more than a foot long, transected in the center by a much smaller and slightly darker piece. "You've got to see this," he said, wiping himself and balling the paper up tightly. "It looks like a cross made of shit."

Gamble grunted and made another noisy deposit in the toilet next door. "Whew! I'm making up in volume what I lack in style points."

"One end of this thing looks like the head of my dick, only bigger," Street reported, dropping the ball of toilet paper to the side of his 'creation.'

"Too bad you can't use your shit to fuck with," Gamble said, laughing. "You'd be a real stud."

"No kidding. Hurry up, Brian, before somebody comes in."

"Jesus! First you rush me in here -- now you don't want me to finish!" He made another sound to accentuate his exertion. "Nobody's gonna come in while we're in here. Our shit isn't exactly perfume, Jimbo."

Street shuffled his feet in impatience. "If they need to, they'll come in. I can't figure out what takes you so long!"

Gamble groaned. "I just wish my colon was as efficient as yours, bro! I think all this muscle gets in the way."

"Quit working your abs, then," Street suggested. "Maybe you'll take a manly shit, for once!"

"Fuck you!"

The partners often speculated on the differing ways their bowels worked. What constituted a 'normal' shit for one was hardly the same for the other. And yet both were healthy, fit young men who shit daily. The subject held continual fascination for the two.

"Okay. I guess that's it," Gamble said. "Holy shit! That's a payload."

"Worth a look?" Street asked.

"Sure. It's a toilet-ful, brother!"

Gamble opened his stall and stood with his pants around his ankles; Street stepped in and glanced past him to see what was indeed a very full commode.

"Unbelievable," he commented, staring at the ropey brown mess. "Where does it come from?"

"Right here, Jimbo!" Gamble said, grabbing his muscled gut. "My intestine must be a mile long."

"Well, it's impressive enough. But take a look at mine."

Breathing hard, Gamble reached down and pulled up his pants. "Okay. Let me cover my ass, just in case somebody does come in. Flush this for me, will ya'?"

The sound of the flush didn't cover the whistle from Gamble when he saw the results of Street's effort. "Just once," he said again, "I'd like to do it like you, Jimmy. What in the hell does it feel like to pass a log like that?"

"It feels great, believe me," Street said, taking his partner's heavy gunbelt off the door of the stall and handing it over. Gamble liked to remove his belt before a squat, while Street rarely bothered.

"You'd love to get fucked up your ass. You could really take something big, I bet," Gamble said. He used his boot to flush Jim's toilet.

"If it felt as good as that, I'd do it," Street answered, grinning.

"Don't knock it 'til you try it."

Street stood at the sink and soaped his hands. "Shitting something out is a lot different than taking something in."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe getting fucked in the ass is like one long shit. Think about that," Gamble said, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Street as he studied himself in the restroom mirror.

"That would be worth finding out, almost," Street admitted.

"What the fuck do you mean, 'almost'?"

Street laughed. He pulled a paper towel out of the dispenser and dried his hands. "Don't push it, Brian."

Gamble reached a big hand around his partner's shoulder and squeezed. "I always push it, Jimbo. You know that!"

A silent Street nodded. He could hardly deny that Brian Gamble loved to push the envelope both at work and at play. There was no telling where it would eventually lead. Occasionally Jim Street allowed himself to speculate, but it was usually in the privacy of his bedroom when his girlfriend was out of the apartment and his mind and hand could wander, unfettered.

He doubted it would ever go much farther than that. But who could be sure?

The End