Redhawk Caldera If peeing your pants is cool, consider me Miles Davis

Even though Nightjar's hold was ruined by the sneeze, Wildfire scarcely moved under him, and so he crowed a series of strange gurgling sounds as a proclamation of his triumph. He was victorious! He watched cheekily as she swept her tongue across his concoction of boogers and saliva, unable to stop his tail from wagging happily over his hindquarters. It wasn't really dominance he was trying to exert here—there was no doubt that if he was large enough to force it on both his sisters if he really wanted to, but the fact was that he didn't care to. This was play.

Or at least, it was play. Wildfire grunted and squirmed, which Nightjar took as a signal that she'd had enough of his big face and his fat body, but before he could escape, a stream of urine found his belly and soaked him all the way down to his thighs. By now, the pups were old enough to comprehend what was happening, and so he backpedaled as quickly as his amateur walking skill would allow, squealing a displeasured, "eeeeeee" the entire time.

Truth be told, Nightjar normally thought pee was a pretty cool thing. He liked to pee and he liked to smell other wolves' pee, but somehow, being peed on was totally uncool. The boy shook out one of his hind legs, growling and bristling like a tiny cat. He wasn't really upset at Wildfire, but at her urine, which he would've attacked if there was any way to do it.