NSFW! I'm Mochi! I write omorashi fanfic. This blog is semi-retired and I only log on once in a blue moon so forgive me if I don't reply for weeks or months!
Hi! Sorry it took forever and a half to respond, I almost never log on anymore. I’m quite busy finishing up university these days and I don’t have a lot of time to write omo anymore, but because I have a few asks/DMs like this, I’ll pin this ask for others to see in the future.
Because the blog is basically retired I only come on about once or twice a year, so if I reply to an ask or DM months later I sincerely apologize. Right now I can’t really afford to spend time writing omo, so requests, headcanons, and commissions are currently closed aside from the two DMs I’ve answered today who have been waiting. If they ever open I will let everyone know, but for now consider this blog on indefinite hiatus.
Just so that it’s out there publicly for other writers to see, my current rate is $10 per 1,000 words (and before someone leaves a petty and rude comment like last time, remember writers are just as deserving of payment for their labor as artists, musicians, actors, crafters, etc.) In the past I have worked for extremely low prices ($1 per thousand words) that I set for myself because I didn’t think I deserved to be paid, but I encourage all writers (and anyone who creates content) to charge your worth or at least enough that it’s worth your while.
Thank you to everyone who supports/supported my work in any form, and I hope you are all doing well <3
I have bad colour vision and it's really hard to read the text on your blog ;-;
Hi! I’m p sure this is from forever ago but I’m just logging in for the first time in a long long time, I changed the text to a darker color in case this is a problem for anyone currently or in the future <3
Commission for an awesome customer who requested omorashi of Syo from U/ta no Pr*nce-sa/ma! This was a super fun commission to get back into writing and I hope you all enjoy it!
-- also on Ao3 --
Syo has been shifting in his seat every few minutes for the past forty-five minutes, his movements becoming less subtle and more frequent as STARISH’s meeting has drawn on, and if Natsuki is being one hundred percent honest, it’s making it pretty hard to focus on whatever they’re supposed to be talking about. It’s not that he’s not interested in what Haruka and the others are saying, or excited for their next project. Of course he’s excited! It’s just--how is he supposed to help his group mates pick a release date for their next album when he can tell Syo is so clearly itching for another kind of release?
Natsuki has known Syo since they were kids, so of course he’s picked up on all of Syo’s mannerisms. But even without that kind of knowledge, it doesn’t take a genius to tell that Syo is suffering from an uncomfortably full bladder, and has been for the better part of an hour. His friend’s arms are braced against his knees, hands balled into fists against his legs, back and shoulders stiff with tension. He’s got his lip caught between his teeth and he’s burning a hole into the table in front of him with his eyes--Natsuki isn’t even sure if he’s blinking anymore.
“Well, that wraps up today’s meeting!” Haruka announces brightly, clapping her hands together. The noise seems to startle Syo--he starts in his seat, letting out a quiet gasp that only Natsuki seems to hear. “Good job today, everyone. Go rest up for practice tomorrow, and I’ll see you all in the morning!”
Natsuki smiles and waves goodbye at the other members as they stand and make their way towards the door, while Syo stays tensed in his seat beside him. He makes no move to get up until everyone else has left the room, and even then he sits still, jaw clenched.
“Come on, Syo-chan,” Natsuki says, touching his boyfriend’s shoulder gently. “Don’t you want to get up?”
Syo flinches away ever so slightly, but Natsuki doesn’t take personal offense to it. “It’s not gonna get easier if you just sit there,” he chides, standing himself and offering Syo a hand. “Come on, don’t you want to get to the bathrooms before they’re locked up for the night?”
At that, Syo’s head snaps up, and he fixes Natsuki with a glare. “I-I don’t need to go to the bathroom!” he protests, his face reddening. “I’m fine!”
Ah, so he’s being stubborn, Natsuki thinks, a small smile gracing his lips. Syo shifts in place for a few seconds before continuing, “Besides… The meeting ran late. The toilets are already locked.”
Natsuki glances up at the clock, and sure enough, the meeting had gone on a bit longer than usual. He’d been distracted by the way Syo had been moving his hips, lifting his ass off the seat for barely a second at a time before letting it fall back down again, and hadn’t paid much attention to the time. “Well, we should get back to the dorms then,” he reasons, wiggling his fingers at Syo invitingly. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll cook you dinner when we arrive.”
He’s expecting a jab at his cooking skills, but Syo barely even seems to register the comment. With a hiss, he pushes himself into an upright position, ignoring Natsuki’s hand and bracing himself against the table as gravity takes its toll on his bladder. His legs twist into each other, knees knocking and thighs squishing together as he rocks his hips from side to side, doing his best to hide his (very clear) need as he fights to get it under control. Natsuki’s eyes lock onto the movement until he catches himself, looking to the side guiltily until the rustling of Syo’s clothes subsides.
“Ready to go home now, Syo-chan?” he asks gently, looking pointedly at Syo’s face rather than his body. Syo nods tersely, turning around and stalking towards the door stiff-legged, not quite able to hide the wobble of his steps or the flush on his cheeks. It’s unfairly cute, and Natsuki can’t even enjoy it because he knows Syo is suffering.
He jogs to catch up, falling into step with Syo in the hallway as they make their way towards the dorms. It’s a good twenty minute walk, and with the way Syo is behaving Natsuki isn’t sure they’ll make it all the way before-
His face heats up at the thought, and he looks to the side guiltily, glad that Syo is too distracted by his own body to notice the flush on Natsuki’s face.
He remembers once, when they were kids, Syo had gotten desperate on a long car ride home from a waterpark. Their parents had asked them over and over again if they needed to stop at a rest station, but Natsuki truly hadn’t needed to go and Syo had refused to admit his need even when Natsuki caught him with his hand between his legs. He’s pretty sure Syo made it home that day, but his pride had almost caused him to wet himself minutes away from relief. Hopefully it doesn’t come to that point today--it would be unpleasant for both of them, and Syo’s pride would probably take weeks to recover from a hit like that.
“Hurry up, Natsuki,” Syo snaps, and only then does Natsuki realize he’d slowed to a stop in the middle of the path. He shakes his head once, picking up the pace to catch up with his boyfriend. Syo had paused to wait for him, but he can’t stay still for long--he’s shifting in place, putting his weight on one foot, then the other. His hands are balled into fists at his side, and his face is flushed and scrunched in concentration. Natsuki can’t help but note how utterly cute he looks, though he feels a bit bad about thinking that way while Syo is in distress. (It doesn’t make it any less true, though.)
“Come on, Syo-chan,” Natsuki says when he reaches him, brushing a hand along Syo’s lower back to guide him forward. “You don’t want to wait any longer than you have to, do you?”
Syo’s cheeks heat up even further, going an adorable shade of red, and he flinches away from Natsuki’s touch moodily. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, practically turning his nose up at the thought. “I’m fine. Just a little tired is all.”
“Of course, Syo-chan,” Natsuki agrees, indulging in Syo’s desire to appear normal. “Well, let’s go home so you can rest up.”
Syo grunts in agreement, his jaw tightening as he starts walking again. He’s even stiffer than he had been before, and his hand keeps twitching at his side like it’s just itching to bury itself in his crotch, with or without his permission.
Natsuki does a mental tally of everything he’d watched Syo consume over the last few hours. There was a whole bottle of water spread throughout the day, with a refill at lunch, not to mention the milk Natsuki had bought him right before the meeting which had been downed almost instantly. (Syo and his dairy products--he really should have expected as much.) That has to be at least sixteen to twenty ounces throughout the whole day, and now that he’s thinking about it, Natsuki is pretty sure he’d only seen Syo head to the bathroom once, during lunch.
That explains why he’s so temperamental, and so eager to get back to the dorms--Syo has never had much in terms of bladder capacity, and if Natsuki had drank the same amount he had and only pissed once since, he would probably be feeling the effects of all that liquid too.
The thought is oddly exciting to him, but he tamps those feelings down--even though it’s a little bit harder to do now that Syo is making that I’m desperate but doing my best to hide it face in front of him, brows pinched and lip drawn between his teeth. Little beads of sweat have sprung up on his forehead as he shuffles along, even though it’s not hot at all outside. His breath is coming in short puffs, like he’s taking five in the middle of dance training, but Natsuki knows it’s not just the walk that’s leaving him short on air.
“Let me know if you need to take a break, Syo-chan,” he says, doing his best to sound comforting. “We can always stop somewhere, if you’d like to sit down for a minute.”
“I’m fine,” Syo insists, but his voice wavers in the middle, dangerously close to breaking. “Stop worrying about me, already.”
Fat chance of that, Natsuki thinks to himself, eyes roaming the campus. They’re still a good ten minutes away from their dorm, maybe fifteen if they keep moving at a snail’s pace. His eyes catch on a deserted corner of the campus, a bit of an alley where students usually go to smoke or hook up. At this time of day, most of those illicit activities are probably being done elsewhere, and with that thought in mind, the suggestion spills past his lips before he can stop it.
“There’s a secluded area back there,” he tells Syo, who turns to look at him with Obviously I know that written across his face. “If you’d like, we can make a--er, a pitstop on the way back to the dorms…”
The flush that had previously faded from Syo’s cheeks and ears comes back with a fierce vengeance, turning his whole face into a cherry red (and extremely cute) mess. “Wh-What are you talking about?!” Syo exclaims, glaring through the embarrassment. “A p-pitstop? Why would I need to even- Ugh! And even if there was something that was making me uncomfortable, of course I wouldn’t go- I mean, take care of it in an alley of all places!”
“I just thought-” Natsuki tries, holding his hands up in defense, but Syo doesn’t seem to want to listen.
“I’m not a little kid anymore, Natsuki,” he snaps, turning around and continuing to stalk towards the dorms. “I can take care of myself. And I certainly would never- in an alley of all places! Why would you even think of such a thing, idiot?”
His words would sting, but the way his knees bend into each other on each step and the sway of his hips as he moves kind of take the bite out of everything he says. It seems like all of Natsuki’s suggestions are just stalling Syo from getting to the bathroom he needs so terribly, so Natsuki takes the hint and shuts his mouth, glancing towards the alley one last time before he follows Syo towards their building.
It isn’t long until they stop again, though this time it isn’t Natsuki’s fault. They’ve made it a good three minutes further into their journey, in complete silence so as to not inconvenience them further, when Syo suddenly gasps and freezes in place. Natsuki looks at him in alarm, just in time to see Syo’s hand dart towards and away from his crotch in the span of half a second. His legs snap together and he wiggles in place, face scrunched and teeth grit behind parted lips, as he struggles to overcome what appears to be an intense wave of desperation.
“Haah… ahh…” he pants, his voice breathy and fluttering. It sounds almost forbidden, like the sigh of an actor in an erotic film, only this time it’s Syo making those noises instead of some stranger. The noises go straight to Natsuki’s own crotch, and he’s suddenly glad there’s no one around to see either one of their struggles.
He takes a step forward, reaching out to push the hair that’s plastered to Syo’s forehead away from his eyes. “You can do it, Syo-chan,” he says gently, stroking Syo’s cheek with the backs of his fingers. “You’re doing so, so well for me. Just ten minutes more, and then you can go, okay?”
“Ah… I…” Syo turns away from Natsuki’s touch, embarrassed, as Natsuki watches him press the heel of his hand to his crotch for a couple of seconds. It’s not a full-on grab, but anyone who saw it would most likely be able to tell what’s going on. (Either they’d realize he has to pee, or they’d think he’s getting himself off, but Natsuki is pretty sure nobody would believe Syo would do that, even with a gun to his head.)
He keeps brushing Syo’s hair away from his face as Syo slowly gains control over himself, until at last he removes his hand from his groin and straightens up again. (Well, as much as he can straighten up while nursing a bladder full of piss. He refuses to look Natsuki in the eyes, shame coloring his face, but he doesn’t snap at Natsuki to leave him alone, either.
“Let’s hurry,” he says, his voice wavering. Natsuki nods understandingly, letting his hand slip against Syo’s lower back once again as they continue their journey. He tries to keep it together on the outside, for his boyfriend’s sake, but on the inside he’s a mess of conflict and confusion. He wants Syo to make it more than anything--wants him to be comfortable again, to avoid embarrassment and humiliation.
But every time Syo bumps his hip against Natsuki’s in an attempt to squirm subtly, every time he lets out a soft grunt or pant or, god forbid, high-pitched whine, Natsuki gets more and more… excited, in ways he definitely shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t be enjoying Syo’s suffering, and yet here he is, with a half-hard cock and an aftertaste of guilt on his tongue. He watches Syo clamp his thighs together, raising one foot off the ground slightly and bending his leg inwards until it’s almost across the other, and it sends another spark of arousal through him. God, he thinks, this version of Syo is too cute to be legal.
“Natsuki,” Syo gasps, jerking to a halt as his hands fly to his crotch. It’s a full on grab this time, his fingers wrapped around his dick through his crisp white pants, and Natsuki is pretty sure that Syo had just leaked, even if it isn’t visible yet. He’s also fairly sure that Syo had said his name on reflex and probably hadn’t even realized it, which is both endearing and hot at the same time.
“You’re so wonderful, Syo-chan,” Natsuki tells him, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He could always suggest they go back to the alley, but it’s probably too far away to be of any help anyway, and besides, Syo probably hasn’t warmed up to the idea of public urination in the last few minutes. (Then again, maybe the pressure in his bladder has gotten so bad that he’s willing to let loose anywhere just to gain some relief.)
“Natsuki,” Syo says again, turning his head to the side to meet Natsuki’s gaze. His eyes are shining with wetness, desperate in more ways than one, and Natsuki can barely stand to look at him like this. He leans down to press a kiss to Syo’s temple, reaching over to pull the hat off of Syo’s head before it can fall to the ground.
“You’re amazing, love,” he tells him reassuringly. “So strong. I know you have to go, even though you won’t admit it.”
“Nngh… I…”
“Just bear it for a little bit longer,” Natsuki promises him, glancing up towards their building. They’re maybe seven minutes away at most, but they’re slowing down the closer they get and Syo keeps stopping in his tracks to shift in place. He hasn’t moved since he first grabbed at his dick, though he’s trembling beneath Natsuki’s hand.
“I… ah… I don’t k-know if I can-”
“Of course you can,” Natsuki says softly. “You’re Kusuru Syo! You can do anything you set your mind to.”
He kisses Syo’s temple once again, rubbing his shoulder gently before pulling away. “Come on, now,” he prompts, taking a step towards the dorm. “You don’t want to do that kind of thing out here. Anyone could see you, you know.”
It’s that thought that seems to motivate Syo to move again. He manages to pull one of his hands away from his cock, though the other remains locked firmly around the base, and winces as he takes a step forward. “Ah,” he moans quietly, a bead of sweat dripping off the tip of his nose--and maybe that’s not the only thing that’s dripping, if the teeny tiny wet patch on the front of his pants is any indication. (God, even that’s cute. Natsuki is seriously fucked up.)
“Five more minutes,” he says, with no way of knowing if it’s true or not. Sure, they’re only a few minutes away from the building, but after that it’s a matter of getting to the elevators, and then down the hall, and that’s not even taking into account the chance of bumping into one of their classmates on the way there. Natsuki isn’t sure Syo can handle letting go of his crotch at this point, but he’d probably die of humiliation if anyone saw him like this.
“Ungh…”
Syo takes another shaky step towards the building, practically folded in half at this point. Natsuki wishes he could do something to help, provide Syo with some privacy or a receptacle to let a little bit out in, or even just loosen his belt or unbutton his pants. He knows how much Syo likes his clothes to fit well, but that tailored waistband must be hell on his tortured, overfilled bladder right about now, especially with the pose he’s in.
Despite the fact that they seem to be fighting a losing battle, neither boy gives in. Syo takes a couple more seconds to compose himself as much as he can before he lets Natsuki guide him towards their dorm building, one hand squeezing his cock for dear life and the other clutching onto Natsuki’s arm like a lifeline. They’re moving at a snail’s pace, hobbling along like they’ve sprained both their ankles, but even the smallest of steps is taking them closer to relief, which is a comforting thought.
Natsuki keeps glancing back and forth between the building and his boyfriend--Syo’s face is set in determination, even with sweat dripping off his brow and his cheeks colored bright red and his lip drawn between his teeth. He looks so utterly cute, Natsuki can barely stand to look away, but he knows he needs to keep them moving before it’s too late.
“A-Ahh,” Syo grunts, his grip on Natsuki’s arm tightening along with the grip on his dick. “No… no, unh…” He wiggles frantically in place, his breath coming in short huffs as he fights to hold back the flood for just a few minutes more. They’re right outside of the building now--all that’s left is to get up the elevator and down the hallway, but they might be past the point of making it to their room.
Natsuki watches, wide-eyed and blushing, as a small wet patch appears on the crotch of Syo’s pants, his cock springing to attention once again. God, he should not be so turned on by his childhood best friend almost having an accident, but something about the way Syo keeps squirming, combined with the grip on his penis and the frankly erotic sounds he’s making, keep Natsuki absolutely captivated.
“Natsuki,” Syo gasps, snapping Natsuki out of his heated trance. He shakes his head once, then draws himself to Syo’s side, taking ahold of his shoulders and rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs. Syo seems to have cut off the leak, but he’s shaking even more violently than before now, and he looks like he might truly explode from the pressure.
“We’re almost there,” Natsuki tells him, slipping as much care and confidence into his voice as he can. “You’re so amazing, Syo-chan, coming this far. You’ve had to go for ages, haven’t you?”
“D-Don’t… say such, ahh, such embarrassing th-things,” Syo moans, his voice shaking. “Please, j-just help me.”
Natsuki nods, circling an arm around Syo’s shoulders and gently pushing him forward as Syo’s free hand joins the other one buried in his crotch. He can feel the heat of Natsuki’s skin radiating through the fabric of his jacket--he really is burning up.
“Look, we made it inside,” Natsuki says, trying his best to distract Syo from the unbearable pressure inside his bladder. “It’s a little warm in here, but that’s good. You’re so close, Syo. Just a few more minutes, and you’ll feel so much better, I promise.”
He’s lost count of the amount of times he’s promised just a few more minutes, but he doesn’t know what else to say. At the very least, it’s true--they’re already inching along towards the elevator, and Natsuki finally thinks to reach around to bag to pull out their room card. There’s no way Syo will be able to let go of his crotch at this point, and even if he could his hands would probably shake too bad to be able to unlock their door.
He also takes it upon himself to press the button to call the elevator, then returns to Syo’s side, whispering comforting things into his hair as Syo shakes and squirms crazily. One of his legs is lifted off the ground and hooked around the other one, trying to squeeze as tight as it can so not a drop more of piss is able to escape. Despite this, the wet patch on the front of his pants seems to have grown a bit, now spanning a diameter of a few inches, the fabric tellingly dark and shiny.
At last, the elevator arrives, and Natsuki ushers Syo inside before anyone else sees them. Their room is only a couple of floors up, but every second is counting against them at this point. Syo outright moans when the elevator lurches into movement, and Natsuki can hear a soft hiss coming from his body for a couple of seconds. Syo’s hips jerk erratically, and he keeps making soft, breathy sighs and gasps, unable to keep himself quiet anymore. Natsuki doesn’t think he’s ever seen his boyfriend so desperate for anything before.
When the elevator comes to a stop, Natsuki waits with baited breath for the doors to slide open. “Let’s hurry,” he says, grabbing Syo’s arm and pulling him out of the little box--but two steps into the hallway, Syo freezes.
“Syo-chan?” Natsuki turns around to look at his friend, but Syo doesn’t meet his gaze. His whole body is bent in half, a stream of wetness slowly but surely trailing its way down his legs at a pace that must be both humiliating and painful.
“No, no, no no no,” Syo is crying, his whole body trembling with the effort to cut off the flow, but Natsuki can tell that it’s no use. They’re only about fifteen feet away from their dorm, but Syo has been holding it in so long, he probably can’t wait another second for relief.
“Syo-chan,” Natsuki says quietly, stepping forward and reaching out to touch Syo’s shoulder. Syo flinches away once again, then cries out as another gush of pee shoots out of him. “It’s okay,” Natsuki tells him, trying again. His hand lands on the nape of Syo’s neck, brushing the sweaty skin there, and he bends down to press a kiss against the top of Syo’s head.
“I d-don’t, haah, want to-” Syo is whimpering, even as disjointed gushes of urine spurt out from between his fingers.
“I know you don’t,” Natsuki says softly, “but you can’t hold it in anymore. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“Natsuki,” Syo sniffles. Natsuki gets down on his knees, craning his neck to look his boyfriend in the eyes.
“You did amazing, Syo-chan,” he tells him, reaching up to brush a stray tear from Syo’s cheek. “You held in there for so long, even when you were bursting to go. Come on, Syo-chan, you’ll feel so much better when you let go.”
“I- nngh, ahh…” Syo gasps, and that seems to be the end of his self-control. A surge of urine splashes onto the floor, gushing out of Syo like a faucet and completely soaking the inner legs of his pants until they turn a dark gray color. Natsuki has to reach up to support him as he finally lets go, his legs going weak and body tipping forward from exhaustion.
“Ah… Haah, ohh…” Syo moans, eyes fluttering shut and face going slack as he continues to empty himself. Natsuki watches with fascination as a puddle forms under them, soaking into his own pants where his knees meet the floor, and continuing to spread in a large circle throughout the dorm hallway. Holy shit, he thinks, feeling his arousal flare up again. He really was holding an ocean in, wasn’t he?
He looks back up at Syo’s face and finds himself transfixed. If he thought Syo looked cute when he was squirming around with need, it’s nothing compared to the utter hotness of him finally getting relief after hours of holding back the flood. Syo looks orgasmic, his long lashes flared out across his cheeks and his mouth dropped open with relief.
They sit there for almost a minute while Syo relieves himself, and only when the stream has finally pittered to a halt does Natsuki find it in himself to stand up. Syo’s eyes flutter open--he seems almost dazed for a second, before he looks down at himself and immediately looks horrified.
“I- I didn’t-” he trails off, mouth opening and closing uselessly. His eyes are shiny with embarrassment, and he looks like he actually might be able to cry over this, which Natsuki absolutely can not allow. He reaches over and pulls Syo into his chest, one arm circling his waist and the other reaching up to bury his hand in Syo’s hair.
“You’re wonderful, Syo-chan,” he says once again, fervent. “You tried your best, and you did so well. You really are the most amazing person I know.”
“I’m not amazing,” Syo argues weakly. “I was… I was so close, and I almost- but now I’m all wet, and I’m getting you wet, and-”
“Shh,” Natsuki whispers. “You’re beautiful. You fought so hard, Syo. But nobody can hold it forever, right? Besides, you did so much better than I would have if our roles were switched.”
“But I-”
“It doesn’t matter,” Natsuki tells him. “As far as I’m concerned, you made it, okay? You did it. You’re perfect, Syo-chan.”
“Natsuki…” Syo sounds tearful, but he only pulls away a little bit, to press his cheek against Natsuki’s. “I’m sorry…”
“Don’t be sorry,” Natsuki says. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, okay? I’ll help you clean up, and then we can cuddle and watch TV together. Don’t worry about a thing, you hear me?”
Syo sniffs once, then pulls away again and wipes at his face with his sleeve. “Okay,” he agrees, which really is a sign of how tired he is.
“Of course,” Natsuki says, then smiles as wide as he can. “Now go take a shower and get changed, okay? I’ll deal with the mess out here.”
Syo looks like he wants to argue, but one stern look from Natsuki has him retreating towards their dorm. “I’ll do the laundry, okay?” he says instead. “If you touch the hamper, I’ll get mad.”
“You got it,” Natsuki agrees with a thumbs up. Syo hesitates, then nods once, turning towards their dorm once again.
“And… thank you, Natsuki,” he adds before disappearing inside their room. Natsuki smiles to himself, watching the door until it clicks shut behind him.
“Of course,” he says to the empty hallway. “Anytime.”
Yamaguchi from HQ being desperate through a match, and being worried he won't make it, and also being quite vocal about it, so like the whole team, and maybe opposition know. But he manages to hold it to the end of the game, and successsfully gets to the loo with no mess. On the way home, because his bladder has been weakened from previously holding so much, he has to go again, not even an hour later. But he's so embarrassed to tell the team again after such a fuss last time, he wets himself.
I really love this scenario! I imagine Yamaguchi has a pretty weak bladder, so he likely gets desperate pretty often, poor thing. D:
Anywayyyyy, I couldn’t help but to write a fic for this. :3 (On a sidenote, this is the first full-out fic I’ve written for Haikyuu, lol. It’s a milestone. XD)
Fic contains omorashi and wetting!
Need to pee need to pee need to pee! This mantra had been running through Yamaguchi’s mind for a good half hour now, his legs both bouncing constantly as he sat on the very edge of the bench, fingers gripping the edge. He noticed Suga leaning closer to him on his left before murmuring to him, “If you need to go that badly, you can leave for a few minutes, you know.”
Oh. He hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud, but at that point, he really didn’t care. Karasuno only needed to score ten more points before the match would be over. Once that happened, Yamaguchi could make his way to the bathroom without having to miss any of the excitement of the game. The only problem was that Karasuno was evenly matched with their opposition, the other team scoring points at nearly the same rate as Yamaguchi’s own. It wouldn’t be easy for Karasuno to get those ten points, and once they did, it was very likely the other team might be within a one-point difference, in which case, the game would have to continue on even longer.
Yamaguchi had realized about five minutes into the second game that he probably shouldn’t have been drinking so much water when he wasn’t even playing in the game itself. He had been sure at the time though that he’d be able to avoid a bathroom break regardless, and was still determined to do so. After all, in addition to being very dedicated to cheering on his team, he was still always hoping for a chance to play himself, and he was afraid if he left the bench for even a minute, that chance would pass him by.
Those hcs are good stuff 😔👌 how about Melissa and Mina hcs? (Do you do ships hcs?) Btw i'm the same anon that asked for the Momo and Uraraka ones, lol
Thank you for asking! I’ve never done ship hcs but I can certainly try! & thank you for being patient with my slow replies :)
Melissa
- As an inventor she tends to spend a lot of time in her lab/at her desk/in class/wherever she ends up working, and she usually forgets or ignores her bladder while she’s focused on her work, which leads to her getting desperate way too often
- Her bladder is actually pretty big, but she also drinks a lot. Her other family members tend to bring her fresh tea while she’s working so she ends up drinking a few cups without stopping to take a break, and the caffeine does what it does and she gets desperate in the middle of a project
- Usually by the time she notices she needs to go she’s halfway through welding something, or in the middle of an extremely important design she wants to get on paper before she forgets it. So instead of getting up to go, she just shifts in place as she continues to work
- When she becomes more desperate she begins to whimper, shifting her hips from side to side in her seat or sometimes sitting on her heel or the edge of her chair since her hands are occupied with her project
- If someone points out that she’s squirming she gets embarrassed and tries to stop or be more subtle, but soon she’s sucked back into her project and is dancing in place as she works, lifting her butt off the chair and wiggling it around, crossing her legs and biting her lip subconsciously
- She only comes back to her senses when the first of the leaks happen. Immediately she’ll gasp and drop whatever she’s holding, letting her hands fly to her crotch to stop the flow
- She’ll try to get to the bathroom as fast as she can, but she almost always loses it somewhere along the way. Too many cups of tea plus too many hours spent bent over an invention really does her bladder in every time
- When she wets herself she gets extremely flustered, gasping and panting as she releases all over her jeans and the floor below her (making a very big puddle). Still, she can’t help but enjoy the feeling of letting go after so many hours of holding--sometimes she’ll drop to her knees out of relief, usually after a very big or very long hold
- She’s very responsible and always cleans her mess and clothes up on her own, though afterwards she’ll usually take a break from her work to deal with her embarrassment and take care of herself
Mina
- Just like Melissa, she’s extremely easily distracted and usually forgets to go to the bathroom for hours at a time. Usually she’s flitting around from person to person, pestering Bakugou before playing a few rounds of Mario Kart with Kaminari and Kirishima, then hanging out in Uraraka’s room with Asui and Hagakure. She’ll be having so much fun that she either forgets to go or refuses to leave to go
- She has a pretty small bladder and drinks a lot of strawberry milk and sugary sodas, so she usually feels the need to go quite often but doesn’t do anything about it
- Her friends eventually notice her shifting in place and biting her lip or drumming her fingers, but it’s hard to tell if it’s from needing to pee or just her usual excited nature showing through, so they tend not to say anything.
- She usually only realizes she needs to go when a huge wave hits her and has her jamming her hands into her crotch, wiggling around and shifting her hips from side to side. She’ll laugh it off, saying it’s not so bad and she can still keep hanging out
- Even though she refuses to get up and go, she continues to hold herself occasionally and wiggle around. There’s no shame around it, and eventually her friends get used to her antics. She’ll lie on her dorm bed with her hand between her legs casually, gossiping with her friends, seeming to forget her need at times until the next big wave hits her
- She’ll also make comments about needing to go, saying “Oh, I gotta pee!” and “Why did I drink so much soda?”, but she always laughs it off when her friends show concern, telling them she’s just being dramatic and it’s not so bad
- (However, when it’s not her choice to keep holding--say when they’re on the bus or a field trip with no bathrooms--she’ll whine and complain openly the whole time about how desperate she is.)
- Only when she’s minutes away from wetting herself does she consider getting up and going, and at that point it’s usually too late. Mina probably has the most accidents out of everyone in the school--students often see her making a mad dash for the girls’ room with her hand between her legs, but most of the time her efforts are unsuccessful
- She’ll sigh so loudly when she finally gets relief, eyes fluttering shut and a euphoric expression on her face as hours worth of piss pours out of her. Although she’s of course a little embarrassed, she’s usually able to laugh it off and tell everyone this is the last time! even though it’s far from the truth
- She’s also very responsible when it comes to accidents and cleans up on her own, very quickly and efficiently. She’ll always deny help when offered, embarrassed to think about anyone else touching her mess.
Anon I am so sorry this has been sitting in my inbox for so long!! Anyway onto prince Todo <3
- As far as bladder size goes, he has kind of average capacity--but as far as holding ability goes, he’s a fucking champ
- Long training sessions with his dad have kind of trained him to hold out on his most basic physical needs--nutrition, rest, and of course breaks to go to the bathroom. The only thing his dad allowed him to do was take breaks for water, since it was fast and seemed necessary for creating ice and staying hydrated
- Back when his father began making him train, about at the age of four, he was barely finished with potty training and still had a weak, hair-trigger bladder. Because of this, he used to wet himself a lot during practices, and Rei, Fuyumi, or Natsuo (or Touya) would have to rescue him from the training room and clean him up in the bathroom
- The more he trained with his dad, the better he got at controlling his bladder. By the time he enrolls in UA, he could probably hold it for eight or nine hours if absolutely necessary (and he still makes a point of staying hydrated)
- He doesn’t actually know where the bathrooms are for a couple months after he joins UA and so he ends up holding it throughout the whole day and the ride home. Even when he learns where they are, he’s a bit too awkward to excuse himself during class or from his friends at lunch, so he still ends up holding it
- This leads to a few too many close calls on his part--he often has to dash to the bathroom as soon as he gets home with barely enough time to drop his bag by the doorway and kick off his shoes
- When he does start to get desperate during class or on the train, he taps his foot against the ground or taps his fingers on his desk/lap/etc. He’s a tapper. If it’s getting more serious he’ll press his legs together and rub them back and forth--he can get away with crossing his legs “casually” when he’s standing up/leaning against something, but crossing his legs sitting down makes it abundantly clear that he needs to piss
- He never really lets himself moan or complain, but he will get very out of breath/huff and breathe heavily when he’s getting desperate, it’s one of the few ways his friends will (eventually) be able to tell that he needs to go
- His hands usually rest on his knees in fists, but sometimes when the pressure spikes he’ll let out a little gasp and reach down to squeeze himself through his pants. If anyone sees him do it he’ll turn bright red, but usually won’t be able to take his hand away at that point
- He has a bit of an aversion to peeing in places that aren’t bathrooms/toilets, so it’s never an option to go somewhere like in a bottle or behind a bush. It’s toilet or nothing, and usually he has to choose “nothing” for hours at a time even if it feels like he’s on the brink of exploding
- If/When he eventually wets himself, it may go one of two ways: A) he fights it as long as he can, but gives up once it’s clear that it’s going to happen either way. With one final surge of desperation, he starts completely soaking himself, and all he can do is stand there, letting his hands drop to his sides and pretending it doesn’t affect him at all. He does his best to keep his composure, even as people are staring at him, because he doesn’t want to embarrass himself further
- B) even as he’s wetting himself he’s struggling to stop it, because he’s been conditioned to never show weakness, and wetting himself is a pretty huge sign of weakness. So he fights it the whole time, clutching his crotch and whimpering in pain as piss escapes him jet by jet, even though it’s clear that he’s not going to get away dry
- If the second happens, he’ll probably end up crying, although he’ll try to hide it. He’s just so upset that he’d pissed himself as a teenager, and he can’t hide his embarrassment and frustration anymore. One of his friends, probably Midoriya, will have to come and comfort him and help him clean up/hide the evidence
Excuse me for the sudden question! I've been thinking you about DMing you for a comission, but i'd rather know first (if that is alright) if you only write for the fandoms you're in. Thank you!
Hello, thank you for asking! I write for any fandom, usually I’ll just ask for info about the characters you’re requesting and I’ll also do a bit of research on my own. Of course it’ll be much more in character if I am familiar with the fandom, but if you don’t mind a little inexperience I don’t mind doing the research!
Hello! In general I don’t do any roleplay, I’m just not very good at it and I’m never active on this account long enough for it to go well, but thank you for asking!!
commission for a lovely customer who asked for fukase vocaloid omorashi! this was a super fun fic to work on, so i hope you all enjoy!!
read on ao3
***
“How long till the doors open?” Fukase asks, glancing down at his phone to check the time. The meet and greet is supposed to start around noon and go all the way till three, maybe even longer considering the amount of tickets they’d sold over the past couple of weeks. Fukase isn’t exactly excited to get swarmed by the hoard of pushy, grabby fangirls and fanboys he knows he’ll have to deal with, but there are always those few kind, respectful fans that make the hours of sitting and signing and taking photos bearable.
“You’ve got five minutes,” his manager tells him, holding out a cold bottle of water. “Better drink up. You’re gonna have to do a lot of talking today. We basically sold out of tickets, and now that we’re offering video packages I’m guessing people are gonna have you saying all kinds of stuff to the camera.”
Fukase sighs, reaching out to accept the water bottle. There’s still a few drops of water clinging to the outside, and the coolness against his skin makes him shiver. He uncaps it quickly, tilting his head back and taking a few deep swigs before he comes up for air. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he’d been until now, and by the time his manager is calling for the doors to open he’s already downed almost all of the bottle.
Soon enough, a crowd of loud, excited fans is ushered into the main room, forming a long line that wraps around the room like a snake. Fukase eyes the throng warily as he enters from behind the photo area, pursing his lips when the screams grow louder as the fans see him. He hears calls of “Fukase, I love you!” and “You’re the best, Fukase-san!” and smiles politely as he sits down at the signing table.
The smile melts off his face as he feels a twinge in his abdomen, a careful reminder from his bladder of all the drinks he’d had in the morning, not to mention the water he’d just drank minutes ago. Shoot, he thinks, glancing down at himself and squeezing his legs together once before relaxing again. I should’ve asked to go before the meet and greet started. He hasn’t gone to the bathroom since he woke up that morning, and even that feels like forever ago.
You’ll be fine, he tells himself as the line begins to move forward, the first nervous fan clutching his poster as he makes his way to the signing table. It’s only three hours. Just try not to drink anything else and you’ll make it through.
His manager, standing at the side of the table next to Fukase, gives his chair a gentle kick as the first fan approaches. Fukase snaps back to reality, trying to smile and ignore the twinges in his bladder. “Hey there,” he says, watching the boy’s face light up at his voice. “How are you?”
“F-Fine!” the boy exclaims in a high-pitched voice, mouth a wavery line. “I’m a big fan, Fukase-san! It’s an honor to meet you!”
“Nice to meet you, too,” Fukase says, sliding the poster across the table and using one of the pens on the table to sign his name. “Did you want to take a picture?”
The boy nods vigorously, excitement seeping out of him. Fukase grits his teeth as he stands up to walk to the photobooth--he hadn’t realized how often he’d have to stand up and sit down to take pictures. He sends a quick glare at the almost finished bottle of water on the table before looking towards the camera, sticking out his tongue and doing his signature smirk before sending the first kid off with a wave and a pat on the back.
The next person in line is another shy one, this time a girl with Fukase’s newest CD in her hands. “Nice to meet you, Fukase-san!” she says, setting the album down in front of him carefully. “I love your music!”
“Thank you for your support,” Fukase says with a quick smile, scrawling his name across the front of the CD. “I’m glad you like my music.”
The girl is practically vibrating with excitement as she poses with him for a photo, holding up a peace sign as she does. Fukase shifts his weight from one side to another as he waits for the photographer to give the OK, flashing the girl one last smile before he heads back to his seat. He presses his knees together subconsciously, hunching his back a little bit to take some of the strain off his bladder. It’s not near a dire situation yet, but he’d still prefer to get this meet and greet over before it becomes one.
Surely it won’t get that bad within three hours, though. And even if it does, he can always ask for a bathroom break in the middle of the session. He saw a bathroom on his way into the building, so he knows exactly where it is, and surely his fans wouldn’t mind waiting a few extra minutes while he relieves himself.
He stores the thought in the back of his mind as the next fan approaches, turning all of his attention to the crowd. It’ll be over in no time, he tells himself as he signs the next CD, the girl in front of him squealing with delight. For now, you just have to wait.
Waiting, as it turns out, is not easy when you really, really have to pee.
Fukase is struck with this thought at the same time that his bladder contracts, causing him to slam his legs together and shift his hips from side to side. His hand is clenched into a fist on top of the table to keep it from darting down to his crotch for a quick squeeze--there are too many fans around, and if a photo of him holding himself got out to the public, it would put too large a stain on his career.
“Next in line!” his manager shouts, and Fukase forces himself to straighten his back and relax his arms, trying his best to appear normal. He watches the next girl in line step forward confidently, a large, glossy poster outstretched in one hand. She lays it across the table with a flourish, hitting Fukase with a glittering smile.
“Nice to meet you, Fukase-kun!” she says with a laugh, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I’m a fan of yours.”
“Thank you,” Fukase grits out, grabbing a pen from the jar and uncapping it with shaky hands. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“My name is Aina,” the girl says, holding out a hand. Fukase drops the capped pen to the table and grabs Aina’s hand weakly, giving it a single, jerky shake before letting go.
“Nice to meet you, Aina,” he repeats, going back to signing the poster. “Did you want a pho-”
“You know, I had a chance to meet you before,” Aina interrupts. “A couple years ago, actually! But I was totally sick and couldn’t make it to the event. I’m so glad I snagged these tickets so I could come meet you for reals!”
“I’m glad too,” Fukase says, shifting his weight in his chair as he speaks. It’s nice that you got to meet me, but I’d appreciate it if you’d hurry up! he adds in his head, crossing his legs at the ankle and leaning forward on the table.
“That poster’s been hanging on my wall ever since your debut,” Aina tells him, gesturing to the signed poster. “I thought I’d never get a chance to have your signature on it, but look at me now!”
“Yeah,” Fukase agrees, nodding tensely. He’s had conversations like these with fans before, though he’s never had to pee while waiting for them to finish up their thoughts. It makes the whole experience that much more unpleasant, though he knows his manager would kill him if he ends up looking disinterested.
“Well, should we take a photo together?” Aina suggests at last, gesturing to the photobooth. “You know, to commemorate the occasion.”
“Of course,” Fukase practically sighs, though the idea of standing and posing doesn’t sound too appealing to him right now. Regardless, he forces himself to his feet, trying to hide his grimace as gravity tugs on his bladder and makes him want to squirm on the spot. He takes short, jagged steps towards the photobooth as Aina waits for him, looking into the camera with as good a smile as he can manage while she poses next to him.
“Could you move your legs a bit further apart, Fukase-san?” the photographer asks, gesturing to Fukase’s lower half. Reluctantly, Fukase moves his legs a bit further apart, tensing his whole body when a small wave of need hits him. Aina doesn’t seem to notice, posing happily next to him as the photographer takes a picture with her phone.
“Thank you for your support,” Fukase says, taking a step back towards the table, but Aina holds out a hand to stop him before he can sit again.
“Look how cute it turned out!” she exclaims, holding the phone out for him to see. “You look amazing as ever, Fukase-kun!”
Fukase glances at the photo, cringing internally as he takes in his awkward stance. Hopefully Aina won’t put the picture out on social media, he thinks, but before he can sit down again something else catches his eye.
Oh, fuck, he thinks as Aina moves her phone away, cold fear settling into his bones. It’s one in the afternoon? How has it only been an hour?!
“Next!” his manager calls from beside him, but Fukase barely notices as the next fan approaches. If his need has gotten this bad in the span of an hour, and he’s got to be here all the way until three, there’s no way he’ll make it without a bathroom break. He’s about to whisper his request to his manager, but the next boy in line is already at the table, waiting with a sign board tucked under his arm.
“H-Hello,” Fukase says, his nerves a little frayed still. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Daisuke,” the boy says, sounding almost… bored? “But don’t sign it with my name--I’m here to get a gift for my sister.”
He doesn’t even listen to my music? Fukase thinks, trying his best not to let his annoyance show. He’s not one to flaunt a big ego, but this event was supposed to be for his fans. Even if this boy is just here to get a quick signature, that’s one more body he has to deal with before he can slip away and pee, and he already feels more desperate than he’d ever dared to be in front of his fans. He shifts his weight forward, leaning heavily on the table as the boy slides the sign board in front of him.
“Well, what’s your sister’s name?” he asks, doing his best to sound calm and reasonable. If his manager catches him being rude to fans, he’ll never hear the end of it.
“Her name is Makoto,” the boy says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “She has, like, all of your CDs.”
“That’s great to hear,” Fukase says, his breath hitching at the end as he’s hit with a small surge of desperation. He pushes his arms into the table and lifts his ass barely an inch off the seat, tensing his legs and locking them at the knee as he finishes signing. “It was nice to-”
“I want to get a picture, too,” the boy cuts him off, and Fukase feels a flare of anger inside his stomach. What the hell? This kid doesn’t even like my music, and now he wants a picture?
“Of course,” Fukase’s manager says, speaking for him when he takes too long to answer. “Is it for your sister? We could have Fukase hold up the sign board and record a video message to make it special.”
“Sure, that’s fine,” the boy says dismissively. Fukase balls his hands into fists, letting out a long, slow breath to keep his temper in check. His bladder chooses that moment to contract again, and without thinking he reaches under the table to grab himself.
The relief of pressure against his dick for the first time in an hour is heavenly, his need automatically reduced to a dull nagging feeling. He sighs out loud, taking a second to enjoy the outside help, but his relief is short lived. Both his manager and the boy are staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to head for the photobooth.
“Sorry,” Fukase says, not feeling very sorry at all, and reluctantly lets go of his crotch to grab onto the sign board and push himself into a standing position. The boy follows him in front of the backdrop (though each step Fukase takes feels like a mini earthquake inside his abdomen) and stands blankly next to him while the photographer sets up.
“What should I say to her?” he asks the boy, gripping the sides of the signboard with white knuckles. God, he feels so full, his whole body tensed and locked, and now he has to appear normal on video to make this jerk’s sister happy. He hopes he doesn’t look as desperate as he feels, though he can tell from the looks he’s getting that it’s clear something’s wrong.
“Not sure,” the boy says, uncaring. Fukase resists the urge to snap at him, tapping his foot against the ground impatiently. Standing still is hard.
“Recording in three, two, one,” the photographer says, holding out the phone. Fukase forces his usual smile back onto his face, holding up the sign board for his fans to see. “H-Hi, Makoto,” he says, his voice wavering a bit. “Thank you for, ah, being one of my best fans!”
He’s hit by a sudden urge in the middle of his sentence, his bladder reminding him that it’s not happy with being ignored. He bends forward at the waist, crossing one leg over the other and holding the board a bit lower, trying to hide his awkward pose. “This is F-Fukase, thanking you for your love and sssupport!”
He hisses the last word, his nose scrunching up as he shifts his hips back and forth, fighting his need as subtly as he can. His face grows red as a couple of his fans shoot him wary looks, trying to cover up his mistake with a wider-than-usual smile, and thanks whatever deity is out there when the photographer gives the all clear.
“Thanks,” the boy says, taking his phone back and heading for the exit. Fukase shoots a displeased glance at the back of his head before hurrying back to his seat. He leans over to his manager, who holds a finger up to the next girl in line.
“What is it, Fukase?” she asks in a whisper, meeting his gaze. “Something wrong?”
“Can we take a break for a minute?” Fukase asks, matching her quiet tone. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
“Is it an emergency?”
“Well… No,” he answers, opening and closing his legs ever so slightly. “I just-”
“Then no, we can’t,” his manager tells him, much to his dismay. “You’re going through the crowd much slower than usual today. Maybe those custom videos weren’t such a good idea.”
“But I need to-”
“Fukase,” she says sharply, “I’m serious. We have to get through this crowd as quickly as possible. Do you want to make the fans at the end of the line wait?”
“No, but-”
“No buts. Let me know when it’s an emergency. Until then, keep signing and posing, and smile, okay?”
“Ah… Okay,” Fukase sighs, running his lip between his teeth. Sure, it’s not an emergency just yet, but he really doesn’t think he can make it another two hours without some serious damage to his stage costume. But as tiring as these events can be, he doesn’t want to disappoint his fans, and he knows that making them wait while he goes to the bathroom would probably put them in a bad mood. So he resigns himself to his fate, crossing his legs once again as the next person in line is waved forward.
It feels like hours have gone by by the time the clock hits two, and yet Fukase can’t recall a single name he’d heard or a single thing he’d signed. At this point his focus is directed entirely to not leaking into his costume, and not dancing around wildly while he records his messages and takes photos with fans. He’s already gotten enough weird looks for taking too long to get to the photobooth and letting a few embarrassing sounds slip during conversation, and now that that last bottle of water has hit him, he can barely even tell what he’s saying to his fans anymore.
“Fukase-san?” the boy in front of him says, possibly for the second or third time. “Are you alright? You’re sweating.”
“S-Sorry,” Fukase replies shakily, wiping at his brow with an unsteady hand. “Hot in here. Uh, did you want to take a p-picture, too?”
“If you’re not feeling up to it, it’s alright,” the boy says sympathetically. “I don’t want you to get sick.”
“He’s feeling fine,” Fukase’s manager speaks up with a wave of her hand. “I’ll have the staff bring the temperature down.”
“Wait-” Fukase starts, but his manager is already heading for the door in search of a building manager. Shit! he thinks to himself, his whole body tensed and trembling. How am I supposed to take a break now?
“It’s really alright, Fukase-san,” the boy says understandingly. “You don’t need to strain yourself.”
“It’s, ah, fine,” Fukase assures him. Sure, he feels like he’s going to explode any minute now, and the only thing he can think about is the hot, pulsing need to piss, but he wants to do this. The boy had an old copy of his first ever album--he’s a true fan, and he deserves to be treated well.
He manages to stand and hobble over to the photobooth, though he’s bent at an odd angle the whole time. The boy stands next to him, glancing over with worry a couple of times, but he seems happy enough to get his picture taken. “Thank you so much!” he says with a smile as the photographer hands his phone back.
“Of c-course,” Fukase says with a strained smile, returning to his seat as quickly as he can. The minutes in between photos where he gets to sit down are doing wonders to keep his pants dry, but every time he has to stand back up it feels like his desperation doubles. He’s never had to go this bad in his life, he’s sure of it. As soon as his manager gets back, he’s making a break for it, because he doesn’t think he’ll be able to make it another five minutes in the state he’s in.
He’s about to call the next girl up, but she bounds up to his table without prompting. As soon as Fukase sees her his heart sinks into his stomach, dread overtaking him. He knows exactly what kind of fan this girl is, and he’s not ready to deal with it.
“Fukase-chan, I love you so much!” the girl exclaims, clapping her hands together excitedly. “OMG, I’m literally gonna die!”
“Please don’t,” Fukase says, his eyebrows drawing together in pain. He presses his thighs together and reaches under the table as subtly as he can, giving his dick a quick squeeze. (It barely helps at this point, but he has to do something to keep himself sane.)
“Can you write a special message on this?” the girl asks, setting down a large, glossy poster. “Write ‘Dear Hana, thank you for being the best fan in the world. Love, Fukase-chan’!”
Like hell I’m writing that! Fukase thinks, groaning in pain for more reasons than one. “Actually, we aaahh- aren’t doing special m-messages, ah, today,” he stammers. “Sorry.”
“Can’t you make an exception for me?” the girl asks, batting her eyelashes at him sweetly. “I paid a lot of money to be here, after all!”
“Fine,” Fukase snaps, feeling a bead of sweat drip down his forehead. He grabs a pen and uncaps it in a rush, scrawling the horrible, disgusting message across the bottom of the poster. It’ll be faster if you just go along, he thinks, still angry as he finishes writing. He stops short of calling himself “Fukase-chan”, though he’s almost distracted enough to write it.
“Eee!!” the girl squeals, jumping up and down. Fukase clenches his teeth, his hands fisted on top of the table as he shifts and shimmies his hips around the seat. God, he’s so close to giving up and bolting out of the room, though he’s not sure he’d even make it to the bathroom he’d seen earlier. No, he thinks, I have to make it! Just hold on a little bit longer, and then you’ll get your relief.
He feels a jet of pee shoot to the tip of his dick and gasps audibly as he slams his hands down on the table, crossing his legs and squeezing every muscle in his body to keep the piss from getting out. His face feels hot and damp, and his eyes are watering, and yet the girl in front of him is still painfully oblivious.
“Let’s take a picture, Fukase-chan!” she insists, grabbing one of his hands and pulling with all her might. Fukase gasps once again as he’s forced to his feet, his legs snapping together and bending at the knees as gravity pulls on his poor, overfilled bladder. No no no! he begs, hunching over and pressing his hand into his thigh, barely keeping himself from burying it in his crotch.
“Don’t be shy!” the girl insists, giving him another small tug. Fukase has no choice but to stumble after her as she drags him to the photobooth, physically shaking from the effort it’s taking to keep the ocean of piss from flooding his pants right then and there. He yanks his hand out of hers with a glare, though it’s weakened by his intense desperation.
“Ah, ah…” he pants as the girl hands her phone to the photographer. “Please, make it quick.”
“Oh, don’t worry, silly!” the girl exclaims, and to Fukase’s horror, she reaches out to wrap her arms around his middle and squeeze him tight.
The pressure against his bladder is absolute torture, an unbearable wave of desperation overtaking him as Hana squishes his abdomen. He lets out a strangled cry and breaks away from her hold, whipping around for some semblance of privacy and pawing desperately at his crotch until he gets a good hold of his dick. He squeezes his palm around the tip, but despite his iron grip, a long, hot spurt of piss dribbles out.
Fukase lets out a long, pained moan, stomping his feet on the ground and shaking his hips around as he tries to cut off the stream. It feels absolutely horrible to deny himself relief for a second longer, but he manages to stem the flow before it hits the floor.
“Fukase-chan, what’s wrong?” the girl asks, a hand reaching out to rub his back. Fukase jerks away from her touch, causing another spurt of piss to jet into his pants. His hands are covered in sticky, warm liquid, and he knows there’s a huge stain on his clothes, but he doesn’t even care anymore. All he cares about is getting to a bathroom asap, no matter what he has to do.
He breaks away from the girl, darting through the crowd with his hands buried between his legs, dribbles of piss escaping him every couple of steps. He hears gasps of shock and disgust all around him, but the crowd is too thick to tell where they’re coming from, and he doesn’t care either way.
He moves this way and that, trying his hardest to get to the main exit that leads to the hall with the bathrooms, but he’s not looking where he’s going, and before he knows it he’s running headfirst into a figure entering the room. Fukase stumbles backwards, the impact running through his whole body, just shocking enough to break his hold.
“Ah, ah! Ohhhh…” Fukase moans as warm, sticky urine floods his hands, running straight through his saturated pants and pattering onto the ground. His legs shake under him as he releases hours worth of piss, his head tipping back in pure and utter relief. It feels heavenly to let go after the stress of holding for so long, and yet he still feels the shame of wetting himself in front of his fans through it all…
Oh. Oh no.
Fukase’s eyes snap open, the sound of urine hitting urine deafening over the shocked silence of the crowd. His stomach sinks as he takes in the hundreds of pairs of eyes boring into him, but despite it all he can’t cut off his stream. No, he thinks, no no no! They can’t- I can’t- This can’t be happening!
At last, his stream tapers off, a few stray spurts fighting their way out before he’s finally empty. Every single person in the room is staring, and more than a few people have their phones out, recording the whole ordeal. He feels his face heat up in shame, and yet he’s completely frozen.
“Alright, clear the room,” his manager says, picking herself up from where he’d bumped into her on her way back. “Security, you’re on damage control. I need those videos deleted before they hit the internet. Fukase-san, let’s get you to the back room for some clean-up.”
Fukase snaps out of it, scurrying towards the back as fast as he can to avoid the eyes following him. His legs are cold and wet with aging piss, and he smells like a public restroom, and he’s sure that no matter what damage control security can do, the rumors will still spread like wildfire.
He covers his face with his piss-soaked hands and closes his eyes, hoping against hope that he’s just dreaming. But deep down, he knows that this is real, and that he’s never going to be able to live it down. This, he decides, angry tears springing to his eyes, was the worst meet and greet out of them all by far.
Are there any other places besides tumblr I could message you about a commission? :0 I'm absolutely in love w your writing, I just don't have an account here sob
hi, thank you! i have an omorashi.org account under the username squirmymochi! i don’t know if this is comfortable for you but if you send me your email or instagram i can contact you privately there!
Idk if my question sent, but i'll sent it again and a bit more specific: Yaoyorozu and Uraraka Omo headcanons?
yep, i got both your asks! it takes me a while to get to my inbox, forgive any future slow replies!
yaoyorozu
- was raised in a rich, “proper” family with lots of long, important dinners and dances/parties
- she wasn’t allowed to leave the table or the room during these parties, especially not for something as trivial as needing to pee, so she learned from a young age to hold it for long periods of time
- sometimes when she was having a true emergency, she would create absorbent things like towels or pads and sneak them under her crotch to let off a bit of the edge, although sneaking the wet rags out of the room was always awkward and she almost got caught multiple times
- she tends to do this in class when she’s absolutely bursting as well, since she sits in the back. however she goes bright red whenever she does and often draws unwanted attention to herself
- in general she has a small bladder, but also a great amount of self-control. she can sit completely still up until she’s five minutes away from full-on wetting herself
- her version of squirming around is tapping her fingers or her foot--she would never dare hold her crotch or dance around in public, but she does allow herself to cross her legs since it’s seen as “ladylike” anyway
- her close friends (aka jirou and todoroki) are the only ones who can tell when she’s getting desperate. she has an almost perfect poker face and her tells are very, very minuscule, so it takes a lot to realize
- she hates public restrooms and only uses them when she absolutely can’t hold it anymore, which leads to more close calls than she’d like to admit
- when she finally gets to piss after hours of desperation she lets out a lot of light, breathy gasps and moans, but tries to keep quiet in case anyone is listening from the outside
uraraka
- as a child raised in a low-income family, she spent most of her childhood sharing a bathroom with her mother and father
- her mother got home from her very early shifts at work about the same time that she got off school, so they tended to head for the bathroom around the same time. usually her mother would get in first and take a long shower, and uraraka would be left squirming in her room, trying to hold it for a few minutes more
- she doesn’t like using the school bathrooms because they were pretty gross at her old school, but she doesn’t mind the ones at ua
- she loves strawberry flavored drinks and has no self-control around them, so when she gets offered a few too many it usually ends up in her getting desperate within the same hour (usually being the class right after lunch, where she has to squirm and shift as subtly as she can to hold it through the hour)
- she has a regular-sized bladder and tends to forget that she needs to go until she’s already on her way to being desperate, usually on the walk home from school or in the middle of class
- she’s pretty vocal about her need to pee, not being ashamed to admit it but also not playing it up or complaining too much. she wasn’t raised to believe that needing the bathroom was bad so she tends to speak up about it if she needs to go
- when she finally gets to pee she lets out one long sigh/moan and usually goes upwards of forty-five seconds to a minute
Hello again! This story was commissioned by a lovely repeat customer and I got permission to post it for y’all to enjoy. Hope you like it!
***
“Chug! Chug! Chug!”
Connor chants along with the other boys as Jack downs the rest of his beer, his throat working up and down as he drinks. His sweat glistens slightly against his skin, catching the mid-morning light as he tips his head back to finish the last few drops before gasping in a breath of air and crushing the empty can in his hands.
“Yeah!” Will cheers from the passenger’s seat, laughing goofily. “Didn’t think you could actually do it!”
“Did he finish?” Henry asks, taking his eyes off the road for a couple of seconds to glance backwards at Jack. Connor doesn’t really mind--they haven’t seen another car in at least five minutes, and the expanse of road ahead of them is as straight as an arrow and smooth like glass.
The four of them are on a road trip, having finished their third year of college together a couple of short weeks ago, and in order to save money on gas they’d decided to pile into Henry’s old four-person car instead of taking two separate vehicles. It’s a little bit cramped, and very hot with their combined body temperatures warming up the small space, but luckily enough, Jack had the foresight to fill one of their mini coolers with sodas and beer, squeezing it between his and Connor’s feet in the backseat.
Connor’s pretty sure he’d have already died of heatstroke if it weren’t for Jack’s smart thinking. His smarts are one of the few things Connor admires about him--As the brain of the group, Jack always has the solution for any problem, and he’s kind enough not to judge, either. Before Connor came out to Henry and Will, the two of them had found a gay porn magazine stashed beneath his dorm room bed, and all it had taken was a panicked look towards Jack for his friend to jump to his defense with an excuse about art majors and the human figure.
Connor is pretty sure that’s the moment he fell for Jack. (Fell hard.)
Unfortunately, his crush (which has since spiraled into something much more) is just about the one problem Jack can’t fix for him. Connor’s three closest friends may know that he plays for the other team now, but that doesn’t mean they share the sentiment at all. He’s spent a lot of time trying to convince himself otherwise, but he always circles back around to Jack being straight.
That doesn’t mean he can’t admire his friend from afar, though, and admire he does. Like now, for instance, as Jack lets out a long sigh and wipes the sweat from his brow with the hand still holding his beer can, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “Damn, that was good,” he says, his voice low and smooth, turning to glance at Connor. “You’d better catch up, man. That was my second.”
“I’m almost done,” Connor retorts, lifting his own can to his lips. “Not everyone can swallow the whole can in one go.”
Jack lets out a huff of a laugh as Connor takes a few gulps of his second beer of the day, enjoying the crisp coldness of the drink as it trickles down his throat. “Weak,” Will jeers with a snort, turning back around in his seat to watch the open road. Connor narrows his eyes playfully at him, continuing to enjoy his beer.
“Hey, pass me a soda, would you?” Henry asks, taking one hand off the wheel and waving it in the direction of the cooler. “I don’t care what kind.”
“I got it,” Jack says, flipping the lid of the cooler and fishing out a can of ginger ale. “Must suck to have to stay sober this whole drive.”
“Whatever,” Will scoffs. “At least we won’t have to piss an hour more into the drive.”
“Caffeine is a diuretic, too, idiot,” Henry laughs, reaching back to take the offered can of soda. “But it doesn’t matter. We’ve got all the time in the world to get to the site. As long as we check in before dark, we can stop as many times as we want.”
Connor quietly takes another sip of his beer, sinking down in his seat an inch. He’s gotten pretty good at casually talking about needing to piss with his friends--they are boys in their early twenties, after all, it’s bound to come up occasionally--but it’s still weird for him to do knowing that he enjoys it more than the rest of them do. Having a piss holding fetish is probably his closest kept secret now that he’s out, and he’s sworn to himself that he’ll never tell another soul as long as he lives, but he still gets a little extra sweaty and nervous when one of his friends brings up their need.
Still, he can’t help but let his mind wander, watching as Jack fishes out another can of cheap, cold beer, leaving it unopened in his fist. How many beers is Jack going to have before he calls it done? How long will the other two wait before pulling off to a rest stop? The image of Jack squirming from side to side, shifting his hips and grinding down against the seat below him desperately, brings a whole new flush to Connor’s face, and he snaps his eyes forward automatically, as if he’s been caught.
“Better get drinking, Conn,” Will says with a grin, nodding towards Connor’s unfinished second beer. “Looks like Jack’s getting ready to down another one.”
“Since when is this a competition?” Connor retorts, though he automatically raises his can to his lips anyway. “Last I checked we were on our way to a campsite, not to die of alcohol poisoning.”
“Three or four beers won’t hurt you, anway,” Jack replies with a shrug, reaching up to press the still unopened can to his cheek. His skin squishes against it, and Connor can’t help but replace the can with a pillow, the sunlight from the window becoming early morning light in his imagination. God, he thinks, I need to get this whole crush situation under control.
“Ugh, my legs are totally numb,” Will complains, thunking his fist against his right leg for emphasis. “Henry, your car was not designed for people my size.”
“Jack is taller than you, and he’s not complaining,” Connor replies, almost too quickly. Jack flashes him a small smile, his face pink from the cold of his beer.
“Do you want to pull over for a little bit?” Henry asks. “I can keep an eye out for exits if you want to walk around for a little bit.”
“Ah, maybe in a few,” Will says. “We’re barely even halfway there, and it feels like we’ve been driving forever. Might as well tough it out for a little bit longer.”
“Might as well,” Jack agrees, stretching his long legs apart in the confined space of the backseat. His left leg rubs up against the cooler, pushing it into Connor’s leg.
“Hey, Connor, would you grab me a coke?” Will asks, reaching back blindly. “It’s too fucking hot out today.”
“Sure,” Connor agrees as he pulls the shiny red can out of the cooler. The ice water on his hand sends a shiver down his spine, but it isn’t unwelcome at all.
“Will, why don’t you put on some music?” Henry suggests as Will accepts the coke. “I bet everyone’s tired of hearing you talk, anyway.”
“Shut up, man, people love my voice!” Will replies with a laugh, smacking Henry’s arm with the back of his hand before reaching for the aux cord and plugging it into his phone.
Connor settles back with his beer, taking a couple of long swigs as the sound of Will’s music hums through the rest of the car. He can’t help but glance over at Jack, finding his friend once again staring out the window, golden light filtering through his hair and sparkling off his skin.
Jack turns, catching Connor in the act, and raises a brow at him questioningly. “You need something?” he asks, not in an unkind way.
“Ah, I was just…” Connor struggles to come up with an excuse, eyes darting around the car and landing on the unopened can of beer in Jack’s hand. “I was just wondering if you were gonna drink that,” he finishes weakly, eyes darting back up to Jack’s face.
“Hm? Oh.” Jack reaches down to crank the tab on the can, lifting it halfway to his lips. “I spaced out there for a second, totally forgot about it. But hey, wouldn’t want it to get all warm, right?”
“Right,” Connor agrees with a weak chuckle. Jack smiles warmly at him before lifting the can to his mouth, taking a few long pulls as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down.
Connor tears his eyes away, forcing himself to look out his own window at the flat expanse of land that passes by. No more staring for the rest of the trip, he decides, frowning at himself in the reflection of the glass. You’re giving too much away already. Just… be cool, alright?
You can definitely do that.
***
“Connor, you’re falling behind,” Jack says in between sips of his fourth (yes, fourth) beer. “You barely started your third, and I’m already almost done with this one!”
“You’re a lot bigger of a person than I am, jerk,” Connor retorts, taking in another mouthful of beer and swallowing it automatically. He’s not even thirsty anymore, but the alcohol seems to have done its job in loosening him up--he keeps laughing at nothing, and he’s somehow caught the competitive spirit that Will and Jack had slipped into since they started drinking.
“Excuses, excuses,” Jack chuckles, shaking his head with a smile. “Come on, I bet you can finish it all at once if you try hard enough.”
“I wouldn’t say try hard is in Connor’s vocabulary,” Will snorts.
“Hey!” Connor protests, moving his free hand to smack the back of Will’s car seat, giggling when Will throws a fake glare back at him. “I’ll finish it right now, just watch.”
“Before you do, is it alright if we pull over here?” Henry asks. “I gotta take a leak, and I don’t want you spilling all over my car when I’m driving. You’re loose enough already.”
Jack snorts, covering his hand with his mouth to hide his laughter, so Connor reaches out again to smack his arm away. “If you’re gonna laugh at me, at least do it where I can see it,” he says with a grin.
“Okay, we’re pulling over,” Henry decides as he changes lanes, drifting towards a small rest station off the side of the road. “I really don’t want to wait anymore, and my legs feel like shit, too.”
“Same here,” Will agrees, stretching his arms over his head. “How many hours we got left, anyway?”
“Three or four,” Henry says. “I’m glad we got the site so cheap, but couldn’t it have been closer to campus?”
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Jack replies with a shrug. Henry maneuvers the car down the narrow entrance road, scanning the area until he finds a free parking spot.
“Ah, finally!” Will sighs, hand on the door handle before Henry can even finish pulling in. “I feel like we’ve been in here forever. I should not have drank that much soda.”
“Are you two coming?” Henry asks, turning around in his seat. “Like I said, we’ve still got a while to go before we get there.”
Connor looks over at Jack uncertainly, then down at his own beer. He hasn’t been to the bathroom since he woke up this morning, and he does feel a bit of a need to go if he’s being honest. He likes holding, but he’s not sure if he would enjoy it around his three closest friends, even if they don’t know about his piss kink.
Before he can answer, Jack chooses for him. “I’ll stay here,” he decides, holding up his beer. “I wanna finish this one before you guys get back, and I have to see Connor chug that entire can. That is, if he can.”
“Of course I can!” Connor says automatically, lifting the almost full container in the air for emphasis. “I’ll prove it to you.”
“You two are crazy if you plan on going the whole ride without pissing,” Will says with a laugh. “But it’s your funeral.”
“We’ll be quick,” Henry promises, pulling himself out of the car and closing the door, leaving Connor alone with Jack.
“Well?” Jack prompts, tapping his beer against Connor’s where it hangs midair. “Bottom’s up! First to finish gets to pick the music for the next hour.”
“You’re on!” Connor laughs, lifting his can to his mouth and tipping his head back. The beer is cold and fresh on his tongue, and it pools in his mouth almost too fast for him to swallow. He drinks as fast as he can, ignoring the telling signals from his bladder and throwing his common sense out the window. He’s gotten pretty good at holding ever since he started exploring his kink, and he’s sure he’ll be able to last until the next rest stop, especially since Jack drank a whole can more than he did in the same amount of time. Surely it won’t be long until they pull off the highway once again.
And until they do, he gets to imagine Jack squirming around in his seat, trying to contain four cans of beer as subtly as he can, his face growing red from effort and embarrassment. And if that isn’t a good reason to pass up a bathroom break himself, he doesn’t know what is.
***
An hour later finds Connor shifting his weight from side to side in his seat, his hands pressed to the seat cushion on either side of his legs, trying as hard as he can to think about something other than the pressure between his hips. He knows from nights of careful research that it should take about two hours for a drink to go through him, which means everything after the second can of beer hasn’t even hit him yet, and it’s that thought that both scares him and turns him on a little.
He’s never held around his friends before, and he’s only ever held in public when he had sure access to a bathroom. It’s weird, knowing how bad he has to pee--maybe a six out of ten and quickly approaching an eight--and not knowing when he’ll be able to let it go.
On the other hand, he’s pretty sure that Jack is getting desperate too, and it’s honestly even hotter than he ever imagined it would be. Jack’s legs are spread open a little bit, completely still, and he’s slouching down in his seat, one hand tensed on his thigh, the other alternating between playing with his hair and drumming against the car door. He’s quiet--they all are at this point in the drive, letting the music Connor had selected earlier fill the empty space, but Jack is the kind of quiet that means he’s concentrating really hard on something.
Connor would bet good money that the thing he’s concentrating on is his full bladder.
Now that he thinks about it, he’s pretty sure that Jack hasn’t gone to the bathroom since they all woke up this morning, either. The four of them made their way down from the house they’d stayed over at together after getting ready for the day and eating a quick meal, and then they’d hit the road shortly after that. That means that Jack must be feeling as full as Connor is, if not more so.
He side-eyes his friend as Jack shifts in his seat, squirming ever so slightly, his hips lifting off the seat for just a second before landing again. He’s clearly trying to be subtle about it, but he’s not doing a very good job, at least from Connor’s perspective. He watches with interest as Jack continues to move around, first hooking one ankle under the other, then sitting straight up and shifting his weight to his right side, leaning heavily against the car door. At least he seems too distracted with his need to notice Connor watching him.
Surely he’ll ask to pull over at a rest stop soon, Connor thinks, glancing away from the show for a second to check for road signs. It’s been a while since the last rest stop was advertised, and they’d passed that one almost fifteen minutes ago, so there must be another one coming up soon.
He’s distracted by a soft grunt from his right--his eyes snap back to Jack, whose face is scrunched up in a grimace. His legs move to squeeze against one another as he hunches over slightly, the hand on his thigh twitching towards his crotch for just a second before settling back once again. He must be pretty full, Connor thinks, if he’s wanting to grab his dick already.
Once again, the thought of Jack squirming around with his hands clutching his penis makes its way into Connor’s head. He feels his face turn red and whips his head forward too quickly to escape notice, but he doesn’t dare turn back around. What would Jack say if he knew what Connor was thinking?
He keeps his eyes trained on the back of Henry’s seat, willing the blush off of his face, but when he feels a buzz in his pocket he has to clamp his legs together to avoid a leak. His bladder throbs inside of him, all but forgotten, and now it’s his turn to grimace as he pulls his phone out of his pocket.
Strangely enough, it’s a text from Jack of all people. Connor recognizes the little profile picture he’d drawn for Jack--the one his friend had insisted on using--before he even reads the name. Nervously, he glances up at Jack and finds him gazing back already, eyes flickering down to the screen meaningfully.
Connor looks back down, taking a moment to un-glue his legs from each other before he opens the text. A simple U ok? stares back at him. Confused, he looks back up at Jack; his friend motions to his face in a general wave, then makes a “spooked” motion with his hands.
I’m good, Connor replies, then quickly types out the first excuse that comes to mind. Just kind of have to pee is all.
When he gets the courage to look up, Jack is already typing out an answer, and a few seconds later his phone vibrates again.
Dude, me too. I’ve had to go for ages
Why haven’t you said anything? Connor writes back. I’m sure they would have stopped for you.
Don’t say anything! Jack answers. We can’t let them know we have to piss. They’ll make so much fun of us for skipping the last break
Connor’s eyes go wide, and he almost answers out loud from surprise. What are we supposed to do, then? he asks, immediately looking over at Jack. His crush grimaces once again, hunching over in his seat and re-crossing his ankles.
We’ve just got to hold it until one of them decides to pull over on their own, he says, and Connor feels his heart stop in his chest. The others only went to the bathroom an hour ago, and they’ve still got two or three more to go until they make it to the campsite. Is Jack planning on holding it the whole time? He’s already moving around quite a bit, knocking his knees together and constantly changing positions, and his forehead is shiny with sweat that Connor’s sure isn’t just from the heat.
Are you sure you can wait that long? he asks, throwing caution to the wind. He can always play his own interest off for sympathy, and besides, Jack seems pretty open to talking about it.
Of course I can! Jack replies seconds later. Obviously I’d go if I could, but that doesn’t mean I can’t hold it.
Connor bites his lip, typing out the next message on his phone. You don’t seem so sure about that, he ends up saying, looking up just in time to catch Jack pressing the heel of his hand into his crotch. It’s not the frantic grabbing and squirming that Connor always ends up imagining, but it’s still beyond hot and it has him once again following his reckless side.
I’m 22, not some kid, Jack writes, throwing a hand out to lightly punch Connor in the side. I bet you’re just trying to get ME to ask them to pull over for you.
No way! Connor replies, forcing his legs apart further as if to prove his point. His bladder gives off a dull throb in protest, reminding him that now is no time to let pride get in the way, but the kinkier side of his brain has fully taken over at this point and there’s no stopping it now. I could hold it the whole way there if I needed to. Besides, you’re the one squirming around here!
The last part earns him another gentle jab in the side, but Connor still tenses as the flesh near his bladder is squished. Despite what he’d said, he isn’t completely sure that he’d be able to last all the way to the campsite. His six out of ten is quickly becoming a seven, and the third beer still hasn’t hit him. He’s glad for all those late-night holds when his roommates were out, but he knows no amount of practice can keep him from wetting himself ever again. Still, there’s no way he’ll be the one to cave in and ask for a bathroom, not when he can distract himself from his own desperation with Jack’s the whole way there.
His phone vibrates in his hand once again, and he draws his attention from his bladder to focus on the conversation instead. Jack has written I bet you wish you were squirming like me with a “;)” at the end of the sentence--the last part makes his mouth dry, which in turn gives him an idea.
I bet you can’t fit another drop in you, you’re so full, he writes, sending it before he even realizes how kinky it sounds. When he looks up to check, he’s met with an inquisitive stare, a raised eyebrow.
What are you getting at? Jack sends back a moment later. Connor tries not to grin as he gestures towards the cooler meaningfully, then makes a drinking motion with his hand. He tries not to get too excited at the momentary flicker of doubt in Jack’s eyes--maybe he really is too full to drink--but it’s gone just as quickly as it had appeared.
“Fine,” Jack mouths at him, his eyebrows drawing together as he flips the lid of the cooler, much to Connor’s surprise. He lets out a quiet hiss as his hand meets the frigid water and half-melted ice, but after a few seconds of fishing he manages to pull out a can of cola. Connor watches with delight as his friend cracks the top of the can and takes a few long drinks, shivering in between gulps of soda, his other hand clenched into a fist at his side.
Jack finishes drinking with a soft, heavy sigh, then turns his gaze to Connor, holding the cola can out to him. Connor frowns, confused, until Jack leans forward even more, swishing the remaining soda around inside the can. His eyebrows are raised once again, challenging Connor to say no.
Connor pretends to glare back, acting like this little dare of theirs isn’t one of the most exciting things that’s happened to him all week. He accepts the can, shivering both from the leftover droplets of ice water and from Jack’s hand brushing against his, lifting it to his lips and chugging the rest of the soda as quickly as he can. It feels like a little over half the can, but he doesn’t really mind--after all, Jack had drank an entire beer more than he had at first, and it can’t be that hard to convince him to down another.
He grits his teeth together as he drinks, pressing his thighs together and shifting around in his seat as the cold soda makes its way down his throat. Only two or three more hours, he reminds himself, and then I can pee. Maybe I’ll even be lucky enough to go right next to Jack. Wouldn’t that be a dream come true?
He looks back down at his phone, where a new text waits on the homescreen. Good luck, tough guy! it reads, followed by You’ll need it >:)
Connor’s pretty sure he’s already maxed out on luck today, but he keeps that thought to himself.
***
“Hey, look at that!” Henry says, waving his phone in the general direction of the backseat. “We’re ahead of schedule. Should be there in an hour if we don’t hit traffic and don’t make any more stops.”
“G-Great,” Connor grits out, barely even glancing at the phone screen. He’s much too focused on his bladder, which has been screaming at him to empty it for the past forty-five minutes. He knows he’s held more for longer many times before, but for some reason it feels like he’s the fullest he can possibly get. Every few seconds his bladder throbs under his seatbelt, hours worth of piss begging to be let out. He wouldn’t have ever dared getting this desperate in a public place before, and if it were just him who needed to go he would have swallowed his pride and asked for a rest stop ages ago.
But one look at Jack has him clenching his muscles and steeling his resolve. Jack, whose face is currently stained bright red, who can’t keep still for five seconds without breathing so heavily it sounds like he’d just run a mile. Right now he’s got his hips lifted as far away from the seat as his seatbelt will let him, his hands in fists braced on either side of his body. He’s so clearly desperate for the bathroom, and yet both of their states seem to have gone unnoticed by both Henry and Will.
He watches as Jack changes positions once again, letting his ass fall back down to the seat below him and bringing his knees close together, shimmying back and forth as he bites at his lip like he’s just walked out of a PornHub video. All of a sudden he gasps, his hands flying to his crotch and pressing down, one knee hooking over the other one. Connor feels his own face heat up as he tries to keep his libido in check, though the image does end up stiffening his dick enough to stave off the next wave of his own desperation.
He figures that he can get away with pretty much anything so long as the boys in the front seats don’t notice, so he takes the opportunity to pinch the tip of his half-hard cock, sighing in relief as he does. God, he’s really desperate--the pressure in his bladder is now one of the only things on his mind. He can barely even tell which song is playing through the car’s speakers now; only that its gentle vibrations are not making his situation any easier.
Maybe he should have thought ahead, been smart about it instead of taking Jack’s soda challenge. Maybe the whole “alcohol is a diuretic” thing does hold more truth to it than he’d thought. Either way, the only thing keeping him from beginning to leak is his semi and the thought that Jack is even more frantic than he is.
He hears a quiet “Oh, oh God,” from his right and glances over, surprised to see that he can see the faint outline of Jack’s penis where he’s gripping it through his pants. There’s no wet spot yet, but it looks like it won’t be long now before he begins to leak in earnest.
A wicked idea enters Connor’s head, one that he can’t resist even though his logical side tells him it’s an absolutely horrible idea. He grabs his phone out of his pocket and types out a quick text, chewing on his lip for a couple of seconds before he decides fuck it and hits send.
C: You ready to give up and ask for a stop yet or what?
His eyes flicker over to Jack, waiting for the far-away cell towers to deliver his message. Seconds later, Jack lets out a high, soft moan, hunching over and shifting his hips from side to side as he squeezes at his cock. It’s probably both the hottest thing Connor has ever seen and heard.
Jack glances over at him, reaching for his phone when he notices the one in Connor’s hand. He doesn’t seem very ashamed of holding himself, which only adds fuel to the fire that is Connor’s terrible idea.
It takes a minute for Jack to type out his response with one hand, his other glued to his groin with no sign of moving any time soon.
J: Jesus Christ, I feel like I’m about to pop
J: But there’s no way in hell I’m asking them to pull over for me!
Connor fights the grin that wants to pop up on his face, though it quickly turns strained as a wave of need hits him. He presses his thighs together and points his toes as he types as quickly as he can, then drops a hand down to hold himself. At least his desperation will serve as a good distraction if his plan goes awry.
C: Are you sure about that?
C: You’re holding your dick so much I’m tempted to offer to help you with it
He watches out of the corner of his eye as Jack reads the text. His friend’s eyes go wide for a split second, but as soon as it’s there it’s gone, and he’s typing away once again.
J: At least buy a guy dinner first, jeez
Connor feels his heartbeat stutter as he reads the response, his mouth dropping open a bit as he white-knuckles his phone, both from shock and the need to squeeze something to make the pressure inside him go away. Before he can even begin to think of what to respond, a huge wave of desperation overtakes him and he lets the phone slip out of his grip, gasping as his hands fly to his crotch to stop the impending flood. He’s at a nine out of ten now, easy--he can feel the piss at the tip of his cock, fighting as hard as it can to escape.
He risks opening one eye and glancing to his right, wondering how Jack will react to his desperation. Will he be grossed out if he notices that Connor is half hard still? Will he kindly pretend not to notice at all?
He’s surprised when his eyes focus enough to notice the expression on Jack’s face. He looks flushed, almost flustered… And more than anything, he looks intrigued.
“Wow,” Jack mouths at him, somewhere between impressed and teasing. Connor shoots a weak smile at him as he circles the base of his dick with his hands, squeezing with all his might. Luckily neither of the boys in the front has noticed anything yet, but it’s still both terrifying and exciting to be this desperate in their presence.
Connor winces as he lets go with one hand, reaching down to grab his phone. He’s definitely pushing his luck, but that look that Jack had given him… It’s not the kind of look that passes between friends. It’s his turn to type with one hand, and he’s shaking ever so slightly on top of that, but at last he manages to type out another text and hit send.
C: Enjoying the show?
Seconds later, he received a reply:
J: I’d give it a perfect review if I could let go of my dick long enough to type it out
J: Are you regretting that last soda btw?
C: Nah, I could hold for longer if I wanted to
C: Not that I have a choice
J: You’re lying, I can tell!
J: I’m bigger than you and even I feel like I’m gonna wet myself any second now
C: That sounds like a you problem
J: I bet you have to go just as bad as me
C: Is it the desperation talking or were you always this delusional?
J: Oh shut up
J: If you don’t have to go, I bet you won’t mind grabbing another soda, right?
C: What if I say I’m not thirsty anymore?
J: Oh, I wasn’t expecting you to drink it
J: I just wanna see the look on your face when your hand hits that ice cold cooler water
Connor stares down at his phone, a slow smile spreading over his face. Intentionally or not, Jack is playing right into the almost exhibisionistic fantasy he’s had for a while, both of his friend teasing him while he’s full of piss and of him torturing a desperate Jack right back. As carefully as he can, he sets his phone on the middle seat and reaches over to flip the lid of the cooler, staring into the slightly sloshing water with a mixture of dread and excitement. He can feel Jack’s eyes on him as he reaches in slowly, his fingers barely brushing the surface of the water.
Better to get it over with, Connor figures, and with that he dives in, submerging his whole hand in the ice water. He lets out a choked-off moan as his bladder convulses, trying in anguish to expel the hours and hours worth of urine. He grabs the first thing he can feel--a can of off-brand lemon lime soda nobody had bothered to drink yet--and yanks his hand out, dropping the can onto the floor of the car and shoving his hand back down onto his crotch.
It’s a bad idea all around. The water that had clung to his hand soaks into his jeans and through his underwear, brushing cool moisture across his sensitive penis as he clutches himself. “Ah, oh,” he hisses, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he moves his hips wildly back and forth, trying to keep the ocean of piss inside of him. It takes almost thirty seconds for the effect of the water to wear off on him, and it’s the closest he’s come to leaking since he’d last wet himself.
At the very least, he notes once he has himself back under control, Jack doesn’t seem to be faring much better. He’s constantly squirming, grinding his hips down into the car seat and letting out short, airy pants as he grabs at his dick, switching from hand to hand and occasionally using both. Every time he has to stifle a moan or a sigh, Connor’s cock gets a little bit harder, which in turn helps him hold it.
Jack doesn’t reach for his phone to text anymore, but he does glance over at Connor every few seconds, like he’s checking to make sure Connor isn’t watching. (Or like he’s making sure Connor is watching--it’s such unfamiliar territory that Connor can’t tell in the slightest.) It doesn’t matter, because either way Connor can’t bear to take his eyes off the show before him. It’s like every one of his fantasies of Jack wriggling around, drops of yellow staining the plush white bed under him, only this is even better because it’s real.
Jack is actually desperate in front of him, and better yet he’s flirting with him over it.
Connor’s thoughts are interrupted by a loud sigh from the front seat. He immediately pulls his hands out of his crotch, cringing at the lack of pressure and squeezing his thighs together to make up for it. He glances up in the direction of the sigh, which sounded like it came from Will’s part of the car.
“Something wrong?” Henry asks from the driver’s seat, reaching to lower the music.
“I’ve gotta piss again,” Will explains, crossing his arms over his head. “Guess I shouldn’t have had that last soda.”
“You want to pull over somewhere?” Henry offers, waving with one hand at the side of the road. “If it’s an emergency we can stop here, and if not we can always keep an eye out for a real rest stop.”
Connor’s eyes go wide, and he side-glances at Jack, who seems to have the same thought as him.
If Will asks to stop at a restroom, the game will be over.
Connor tries not to let the disappointment show on his face, though he knows the cons outweigh the pros for him. Sure, he’d get to pee at last and he wouldn’t be in danger of wetting himself around his best friends anymore, but he’d also lose the opportunity to see Jack slowly lose control, spurting hot leaks of piss into his jeans as he moans and squirms like crazy, trying his best to hold it in… In Connor’s mind, that image is priceless, worth more than any shred of dignity he might have left.
“Nah, it’s alright,” Will says with a wave of his hand, and Connor barely stops himself from breathing a massive sigh of relief. (Not relief relief, but still.) Unless Jack decides to speak up, it looks like his fantasy come true is back on track.
“What about you two?” Henry asks, his eyes flickering to the rear-view mirror, and Connor thanks the stars that he’s been able to keep his hand away from his groin for so long. “You haven’t gone since we got on the road, right? Do you want to pull over somewhere?”
“God, I totally forgot!” Will exclaims. “You guys must be pissing your pants back there.”
“Haha…” Connor trails off awkwardly, shifting his weight to his other side and pressing his knees into each other. “I mean, not yet.”
“What about you, Jack?” Will asks almost tauntingly. “You ready to admit you were an idiot for not going before?”
“I’m not admitting anything,” Jack says with a strained laugh, finding the strength somewhere to kick the back of Will’s seat.
“Oh, come on! You must be bursting back there!”
“Well, yeah…” Jack and Connor glance at each other at the same time, and something like mischief catches in Jack’s eye as they do. “I kinda feel like I’m about to explode,” he admits slyly, never breaking eye contact.
“Ha! I knew it!”
“Maybe it was all those beers… How many did I drink, four?”
“And half a soda,” Connor grits out, his dick throbbing both from arousal and desperation. He checks the rear view mirror and slowly slips a hand into his crotch once he’s sure Henry’s not looking. “You must be really full, huh?”
“Of course,” Jack agrees. “Although you can’t be much better off. You had almost as much to drink as I did, and it’s been hours since you last let go, hasn’t it?”
“Y-Yeah,” Connor manages to reply, heat flaring up in his cheeks. His dick feels rock hard under his hand, but he can’t stop kneading at it, both from his intense desperation and his need for friction. “Oh,” he moans, eyes fluttering shut for a second as the mix of arousal and need sends his brain into overdrive.
“I really don’t mind pulling over if it’s that bad,” Henry offers, but Jack answers for him.
“We’re f-fine, Henry,” he says in a less-than-convincing voice. “Don’t worry about us, just get to the c-campsite.”
“You gonna last the next twenty minutes, Connor?” Henry asks, glancing back in the rear view mirror again. This time Connor doesn’t bother taking his hands away from his crotch, hoping that his friend isn’t able to see how erect he is from the front seat.
“I’ll, mmh, be fine,” he says breathily, eyes practically rolling back in his head. His dick is so incredibly sensitive to every brush of his hand, to the point where he doesn’t know if he’d rather piss or jack off more. He looks over to see that Jack is doubled over once, again, one leg crossed over the other with his hands trapped in between them, putting as much pressure on his dick as he possibly can. His face is just as flushed (bad, bad choice of words) as Connor knows his is, and when he opens his eyes to meet Connor’s, his pupils are blown wide.
“If you say so,” Henry says with a shrug, speeding up as he passes the first car in minutes. “I’ll be honest, I was kind of hoping you’d ask to pull over. All this talk about pissing is making me need to go, too.”
“If those two can hold it for six and a half hours, I’m sure you and I can make it the rest of the trip without a bathroom break,” Will reasons. Connor’s eyes widen as he hears the number--six and a half hours?! No, it’s been more than that--it’s closer to seven or eight hours, considering neither of them peed after that first trip to the bathroom in the morning.
“Still, it’s not like it’s comfortable,” Henry says with a sigh.
“Oh, I know,” Jack says, his voice carrying an undertone of… mischief? Excitement? “I’m… not comfortable either.”
Through his haze of need, Connor notices that Jack isn’t just grabbing himself anymore, but moving his hand in small, open-palmed circles. Is he hard? he wonders, mouth dropping open a bit. Is Jack… getting off on this, too?
“Hey, try not to think about waterfalls,” Will pipes up, gleeful. “Or rainstorms, or whitewater rafting…”
Connor shudders, the very mention of all that gushing, gurgling, free-flowing water sending unwelcome images of toilets and showers to his brain. “God,” he hisses, knocking his knees together and bucking his hips in the air. Once again, he feels someone’s gaze locked onto him, and he doesn’t even need to check to know that it’s Jack who’s looking.
“Knock it off,” Henry cuts in, though there’s no bite behind his words. “The last thing I need is those two causing a flood of their own in the back of my car. I just had this thing cleaned a couple of months ago!”
“Oh, did you?” Will teases. “I couldn’t tell.”
A flood, huh? Connor thinks to himself, staring down at where the band of his jeans cuts into his bloated, distended bladder. I bet together the two of us could cover the whole floor of the car in piss, and then some. Jesus Christ, I have to go!
“Ten minutes,” Henry tells them as he pulls off the main road, onto an unfortunately bumpy dirt path.
Connor swears he can feel each tiny bit of gravel that they drive over, the bumps echoing throughout his bladder as he holds on for dear life. He hears Jack panting from his right and opens one eye to see that his friend is folded in half, both hands buried deep between his legs as he lets his hair fall into his face, chewing on his lip. He must be close to bursting, he realizes, noting the couple of beads of sweat dripping down his face.
As much as he’d love to watch Jack lose control and wet himself, soaking his jeans and the seat below him with hot urine, he’s pretty sure pissing himself in front of his friends isn’t something that Jack would be into, even if he is having fun holding. And it looks like they’ve only got a couple of minutes until one of them starts to leak, or even lets go completely.
“H-Hey, Henry,” he stammers, letting go of his penis with one hand to tap Henry on the shoulder. “We’re not, ah, um, we’re not so far away from the campsite, right?”
“Um, I guess so,” Henry says, glancing over his shoulder. “It’s like a seven minute drive, maybe a fifteen minute walk?”
“Could you let me and Ja-ack out here?” Connor asks, hoping the excitement doesn’t come through in his voice. “I d-don’t know about him, but I feel like I’m gonna pop, mmh! Any second now.”
“Please,” Jack gasps, lifting his head for just long enough for Connor to catch a hint of panic on his face. “I can’t hold it all the way to the, hahh, to the campsite!”
“Yeah, sure!” Henry slows the car to a stop, and Jack is out the door before Connor has even unfastened his seatbelt. “Just follow the trail to Campsite L, and text me if you get lost, okay?”
“We will!” Connor promises, pushing the door open and setting his foot on the dirt path. Immediately gravity increases on his bladder and he lets out a loud, strangled moan as he dances in place, trying to keep himself dry. “Bye!” he yells, hobbling off to the side of the road after Jack, who’s already a good few feet ahead, still holding onto his cock for dear life.
Every step he takes is absolute torture--the pressure inside of him is enough to drive him crazy, and yet he’s still horny as hell despite the circumstances. “J-Jack, ahh, wait up!” he calls as he hears the car start behind him. “Jack!”
“Hurry up!” Jack calls without looking back, stomping his feet in place. “I seriously feel like I’m about to piss myself, Connor, it’s so bad. Ohh, I need to go!”
The two boys stumble through the forest, going as fast as they can without losing control completely, though it isn’t long before they start to leak. Connor makes it maybe fifteen steps from where he’d left the car before his bladder decides it’s had enough and contracts harshly, trying to override his control. He gasps in shock as a stream of piss jets out of his dick, wetting his pants from the crotch to the inside of the knee within three seconds, before he finally manages to cut off the flow.
Jack seems to be at the same stage in his desperation, because seconds later Connor hears a loud “Oh my God!” followed by the telltale splatter of urine against the ground. The sound is torturous to Connor’s ears, though he decides it’s worth it when he looks up and sees Jack bent over with his hands jammed between his legs, piss dripping out from between his fingers.
“How f-far do we have to go?” he asks from his hunched-over place a couple of feet ahead.
“We’ve gotta, haah, get away from the road,” Connor grits out, his bladder pounding inside of him, demanding he give it back the release he’d stolen from it. “C-Can’t have any cars seeing us when we… go…”
“Fine,” Jack agrees, reaching out to push himself forward on one of the nearer trees and stumbling a little as he goes. “You know,” he continues, looking back over his shoulder at Connor, “under different circumstances I don’t t-think I’d mind as much.”
“Ah… Yeah?” Connor adjusts the hand on his stiff, saturated dick and moans lightly as the fabric of his jeans rubs him just right. “What do you--mmm--what do you mean?”
“I think, oh, that you know what I mean,” Jack pants, breaking eye contact to squeeze his eyes shut against another flood of desperation. “God, I think my bladder’s in danger of p-popping right now.”
“Me too,” Connor agrees, glancing down at himself. Wow. His bladder isn’t the only bulge that’s noticeable--he’s pretty sure he hasn’t been this hard in years, and that’s including the few boyfriends he’d had in the past. He wonders if he would have already wet himself without the help of his boner, or if it’s his years of holding that are keeping the entirety of the Caspian Sea inside of him.
It feels like hours pass as the two of them stumble deeper into the forest, trying their best to contain the beer and soda inside of them for just a little bit longer. And yet when Connor works up the nerve to look over his shoulder (and the self restraint to look away from Jack, who’s currently hopping in place with one leg hooked over the other) he can still see the road through the bushes.
“I t-think this is it for me,” Jack moans, his breath fluttering. “I’ve, ah, never had to go this bad before!”
“Wait!” Connor pants, lifting one hand from his crotch to hold out towards Jack. “Over th-there!”
He moves his arm to point towards a deep seclusion in the woods, just out of sight of the road. “Just hold on, nngh, a little longer!”
“I… I don’t know if I can,” Jack admits, looking back at Connor with red cheeks and watery eyes. Connor can’t help but stare at him for a few seconds, taking in his messy hair and parted lips, his legs that are pressed so tightly together, and his hands, which are gripping the base of an obviously erect penis…
Oh.
So Connor was right before, and it hadn’t just been wishful thinking. Jack is getting some pleasure from holding it in, whether he meant to or not. And now here they are, together alone in the middle of a forest, both desperate to pee and totally aroused at the same time...
“Come on…” Connor says, drawing his eyes back up to meet Jack’s. “I- I’ll make it worth your while.”
Jack’s eyes widen once again, and he glances down at Connor’s crotch, where his piss-stained jeans are clearly tented in the front. Connor’s face heats up, but he doesn’t move to hide it at all. There’s no way he’s misread the situation--the evidence is right there in front of him, after all. And all those looks they’d given each other on the ride over, the flirty texts they’d sent each other… It can’t just be a coincidence, or a misunderstanding.
“O… Okay,” Jack says, his eyes wide as he turns to hobble towards the secluded area. Every few steps a couple of drops of urine make their way through his fingers, leaving tiny circles in the ground below him, but Connor knows that those tiny little leaks aren’t giving him any relief at all. His underwear rubs against him as he moves, and he shudders at the soft friction and the wetness of it all.
“Ah… O-Oh…” Jack sighs, pausing at the entrance to the clearing to dance in place. “Thank God we’re finally h-here…”
Before Connor knows what’s going on or has a chance to look away, Jack is scrambling at his zipper and pulling it down, reaching into his underwear to pull out his dick and leaking the tiniest bit along the way.
Wow, Connor thinks, his eyes going wide as he takes in his friend’s length. He can’t say he hasn’t fantasized about that kind of stuff before, but he’d never imagined Jack’s cock to look as insanely appealing as it does. It’s still stiff, too, and a little red, and for some reason Jack hasn’t actually started pissing yet…
Before he can stop himself, Connor takes a step forward, his own dick hard and straining against the confines of his jeans. Jack looks up, still not peeing, an almost hopeful expression on his face.
“C-Can I…” Connor stops mid-sentence to shift his weight to his other side, shimmying his thighs together as his bladder throbs inside of him. He’s never needed to pee so explosively bad before, and yet his need is the last thing on his mind at a time like this.
“Yeah,” Jack breathes, turning his whole body to face Connor. Hesitantly, Connor reaches out, brushing his fingers along the side of Jack’s dick and inhaling sharply as it twitches in interest. Jack makes a nngh sound, his breath stuttering as Connor continues to lightly touch him.
“I’ve never done this before,” he breathes, looking up at Connor unsurely. “What am I supposed to…”
“Do you want to try?” Connor asks, taking his free hand away to gesture at his lower half. Jack hesitates a second longer, then nods, watching hungrily as Connor lets go of his aching dick to unzip his fly. He considers pulling himself out, but instead goes for Jack’s hand, guiding it to the front of his jeans and letting Jack maneuver his way inside. His knuckles brush against the very bottom of Connor’s bladder and he shudders, eyes fluttering shut as Jack finally reaches deep enough and pulls his penis out.
“Oh…” he moans as Jack strokes him once, unsurely, then again with a bit more pressure. “That’s good…”
He forces his eyes open and reaches out once again, taking Jack’s leaking cock in his hand and twisting his wrist as he strokes, over and over again. Jack is making tiny little sounds, breathing shallowly and whining every time a bit of urine gushes out of him. Some of it splashes onto Connor’s lower leg, but he could care less at this point.
Jack may not have much experience jacking other guys off, but he’s sure as hell not doing a bad job of it. Maybe he mastrubates a lot, Connor thinks, the idea making him even harder as it enters his mind. Only it’s different now--he doesn’t have to fantasize, with the real deal right in front of him, on him. Every inch of his skin is so, so sensitive thanks to the overfilled capacity of his bladder, and Jack’s hand on him is practically sending him into overdrive.
“Ah, ah!” he exclaims as his bladder pangs harshly, forcing a short jet of piss to spurt out of his dick. He glances down, noticing that it had shot straight onto the leg of Jack’s pants and is dripping onto his hiking boots.
“Good?” Jack asks, pausing his ministrations, and Connor can’t help but thrust into his hand to get more friction.
“Don’t stop now,” he urges, taking a step closer until he can feel Jack’s labored breath on his cheek.
“Oh God,” Jack hisses as Connor speeds up his strokes, pausing briefly to drag his thumb over the tip, his fingers stroking the underside. “Oh God, Connor!”
His name sounds so delicious coming from Jack’s mouth that he practically comes right there and then. But right before he loses himself completely, his bladder contracts harshly, and he has to press his thighs together and shift his hips from side to side to keep from losing it all.
“Ah… haah… I still have to go so bad,” he whispers as a few stray drops fall from his cock, teasing him with the thought of release.
“Me too,” Jack agrees, his hand shaking as it pumps up and down on Connor’s dick. “But… I think it m-makes it better, don’t you?”
“Oh, yeah,” Connor groans. His legs feel weak under him, and he swears he can feel every cell in his body.
The sound of hushed moans and cries fills the seclusion, occasionally broken by a gush of hot piss hitting the forest floor. Connor knows he’s leaked enough to fill a whole can of soda on his own, and yet he still feels as desperate as ever--but at this point he’s too hard to lose control completely. Still, each stroke of Jack’s hand on his rock hard dick brings him closer to orgasm, and by the looks of things Jack feels the same. His penis is dribbling piss and precome, warm and sticky in Connor’s hand.
Time to bring him over the edge, Connor thinks, increasing his hand’s speed and making sure to pay attention to the tip every couple of seconds, smearing the leaked liquid around like some kind of lube. “Come on, Jack,” he huffs, eyes flickering between Jack’s dick and his face. “Come for me.”
That’s all it takes to send Jack to orgasm--his friend lets out a cry of pleasure as sticky white come squirts out of him, landing just to the left of Connor’s shoe. The ejaculate is immediately followed by an uncontrolled spurt of piss, followed by another, and suddenly Jack is gushing onto the ground with force, hours and hours worth of liquid finally exiting his body.
It’s that sight alone that sends Connor over the edge--he comes harder than he ever thinks he has before, his vision blurring and whiting out as Jack’s hand slips off his penis. He feels almost dizzy as his orgasm racks through him, shaking his body from fingertip to fingertip. His come lands in the rapidly growing puddle at Jack’s feet, sinking to the bottom of the urine like a feather in the air.
“Jesus,” Connor breathes, taking a deep breath in, but his bladder squeezes in protest, reminding him that he’s still far from empty. He makes a quick grab for his penis, but he’s too slow to prevent the line of urine from marking itself along the thighs of Jack’s pants in a splatter pattern.
He barely has time to notice before he’s pissing full force onto the ground, his urine mixing with Jack’s and creating a puddle beneath their shoes. And God, if that orgasm hit him hard, then finally being able to release all that liquid, those cans of beer and soda and water from the morning… It’s almost better. His stream is so powerful, thundering against the ground with force, and he can’t help but moan as his bladder finally deflates, letting go of the ocean inside of it.
The two of them piss in silence for almost a minute and a half, the sound of splattering echoing in Connor’s ears even as his stream tapers off. He doesn’t even bother tucking himself away, taking a few seconds to catch his breath and regain his bearings. His head is spinning from the events of the day, and he feels bone tired and jelly-like at the same time, but realistically he knows that they have to get back to the campsite before their friends come looking for them.
He opens his eyes, surveying the damage. Both his and Jack’s pants are soaked in several places, and he can already smell the piss drying on their hands and clothes. “Jack,” he says, tapping Jack on the shoulder several times. “We can’t go back like this?”
“Huh?” Jack opens his eyes, looking down at himself until he snaps out of his haze. “Oh, shit! What are we gonna do?”
“I don’t know… Did you bring a jacket with you or anything?”
“I was kind of preoccupied,” Jack laughs nervously. “Hey, didn’t Henry say we were gonna be camping near a lake?”
Connor squints, wracking his brain for memories from earlier in the day. “Yeah, he did. Do you think we should-”
“Have a little swim before we get back and help the others unpack?” Jack finishes for him. “It couldn’t hurt to be a little late, right?”
“Right…” Connor trails off, picking at a wet spot on his jeans. “Hey, Jack… You aren’t weirded out or anything, are you? I didn’t do anything too far, right?”
“What? Oh, no!” Jack reaches out to touch Connor’s arm, meeting his gaze with a small smile. “It was great, Connor. What are you worrying about?”
“I just… I didn’t know you liked guys,” Connor admits, somewhat embarrassed. “If I’d known, I…”
“I didn’t know either,” Jack tells him, rubbing his arm gently. “But… I liked it. I liked today, even if it wasn’t the most conventional.”
“I liked today, too,” Connor says, his face heating up as Jack moves his hand into Connor’s own. Jack smiles at him kindly, squeezing once.
“Come on, then,” he says, tugging Connor towards the road. “Let’s go get cleaned up, before the others wonder where we’re at.”
“...Alright,” Connor agrees, smiling back softly. “Let’s go.”
