commission for matt on tumblr!!! thank you so much for commissioning me & talking with me about voltron, i really hope you enjoy your fic! it was a lot of fun to work on :)
read it on Ao3
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It’s not a date, Lance tells himself, for maybe the hundredth time that day. He’s just taking me to see a movie, and that’s only because we’re both fans of the series. There’s nothing strictly romantic about seeing a movie with a friend, right?
Still, that doesn’t stop his heart from pounding rapidly inside his chest, or his hands from shaking and sweating, or his mouth and throat from going completely dry. He swallows nervously, wiping his palms along the side of his jeans as subtly as he can, his throat working hard against the lump that’s lodged itself there.
Keith notices. Of course he does, because for all that he pretends to be an oblivious idiot, he does on occasion pay attention to his surroundings. He taps Lance on the shoulder gently, tilting his head to the side in a way that can’t possibly be as cute as it is.
“You thirsty?” he asks, his eyes flickering down to Lance’s mouth for a second, setting his skin on fire.
“I-I’m fine!” Lance replies, but his voice sounds strained even to his own ears. Keith raises an eyebrow, then turns back to face the concessions counter. He’s already ordered a large popcorn for the two of them to share, and a box of Sour Patch Kids that’s probably about half as full as it’s advertised to be.
“Can we get two large sodas, too?” Keith asks, reaching for his wallet. Lance scrambles inside his backpack for the money he’d put aside for their not-date, but Keith’s other hand shoots out to stop him before he can offer to pay for half.
“It’s my treat,” he says, a small smile on his face, and Lance practically melts right there. He’s seriously a goner at this point.
The cashier returns with two comically sized cups of coke, and Keith pays quickly, handing one of the cups and the box of popcorn to Lance before they make their way over to the theater. They’re seeing the newest Voltron movie, the one that just came out a couple of days prior. Lance has been looking forward to it for months, and seeing it with Keith is the icing on the cake.
They settle into their seats as the previews start, and once again Lance finds himself getting nervous. He pops a couple of pieces of popcorn into his mouth and chews quickly, then takes a couple of long sips of his drink. He feels hot sitting this close to Keith, and the salt from the popcorn isn’t helping his dry mouth, but if he stops eating he doesn’t know where he’ll put his hands, so he keeps going anyway. By the time the movie actually starts, his cup is half empty.
Voltron: Defender of Life is amazing, as expected. Lance almost forgets his nerves entirely, being so sucked into the plot that he doesn’t even realize Keith’s hand is brushing against his underneath the armrest. Just as he suspected, nothing can take him out of the universe of paladins and space lions with a healthy side of relationship drama.
Well, almost nothing can. Halfway into the movie he shifts to get more comfortable and feels a short pang from his bladder. He winces, glancing down at his soda cup once again. He can see through the clear lid that he’s already drank most of it, which explains the tight, aching feeling in his abdomen. He should probably head to the bathroom as soon as the movie is over, save himself from further pain.
His saving grace is the fact that once the movie is over, Keith will most likely have to go to the bathroom, too. They had the same size sodas, which means if Lance is feeling the urge to go, Keith will probably be feeling it just as strongly. That means they’ll both be able to go without one of them awkwardly having to wait for the other one, which gives him some semblance of hope.
He tries to pay attention to the movie from then on, but once he’d realized how much he needs to use the bathroom, he can’t get the feeling to go away. It’s like a nagging presence in the back of his brain, reminding him every now and then with little pangs of aching that he shouldn’t have drank his soda so early on into the showing. By the time the credits roll, he’s not even sad about the movie being over--he just wants to find a bathroom before things get worse for him.
“Did you like it?” Keith asks as they stand, waiting for the people next to them to file out of the theater before it’s their turn to exit.
“Huh?” Lance replies, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Standing upright--and standing still, at that--has not done any favors for his situation, but like hell he’ll ever show his need in front of Keith. The two of them may be on friendlier terms now, but that doesn’t mean Keith won’t make fun of him if he starts whining and dancing like a child.
“I asked if you liked the movie,” Keith says again, tilting his head towards the screen. “I thought it was good. The Voltron directors really know what they’re doing by now.”
“O-Oh, yeah,” Lance agrees with a rapid string of nods. “I liked it a lot, too. Um, Akira is really hot, don’t you think?”
“Akira, huh?” Keith muses. “I kind of liked Leandro, actually.”
Lance forces himself to chuckle as the line of viewers makes its way towards the exit. He picks up his now empty soda cup, then reaches for Keith’s, and his heart drops into his stomach.
Keith’s cup of soda is almost completely full, barely having been touched throughout the entire movie. Not to mention the fact that sweat has started to form on the outside of the cup, wetting his hand and making him shiver involuntarily. This is bad, he thinks, rocking his hips to the side once when he’s sure Keith isn’t looking. If he doesn’t have to pee, there’s no way I’ll be able to go without making it awkward! I should have thought ahead…
Well, there’s nothing to do about it now. His only choice is to suck it up and wait during the half-hour long ride back to his house. Sure, he’s pretty uncomfortable right now, but he’ll be able to wait a half an hour. He’s seventeen, for crying out loud, not some little helpless kid! No seventeen-year-old asks their not-date to wait for them while they run to the bathroom because they can’t hold it any longer.
With his mind made up, he shuffles out of the row of seats behind Keith, using the opportunity of his turned back to squeeze his thighs together as he moves. This is--this is fine. He’s fine! He can totally hold it until he gets home.
The lights are so bright when he exits the theater that he has to squint his eyes against the glare. He’d almost forgotten how light the rest of the world was, being submerged in the darkness of the theater for over two hours. As he lets his eyes adjust, he catches sight of a blue hanging sign with the symbols for the men’s and women’s bathrooms installed in a corridor to their left. His eyes drift down, and he winces as though he were in physical pain.
There’s a long, long line trailing out of both the men’s and women’s bathrooms. It stretches from the entrance to the bathroom almost all the way to the theater they’d just come out of, and from the looks of it, it doesn’t seem to be moving very quickly at all. A few people have even taken out their phones to kill time.
None of this bodes well for Lance. If he hadn’t been sure about holding it all the way home before, this definitely would have cemented his resolve. There’s no way he’s going to make Keith stand there and wait for him while he inches his way through the slowest moving line of all time! Not only would that be beyond embarrassing for him, it would totally ruin the good mood they’d had coming into the date-
The not-date. It’s not a date.
He takes a deep breath and tears his eyes away from the line and the temptation of the bathroom, turning instead to the trash can on his other side. He tosses his empty cup into the bin, then holds up the other one with a questioning look towards Keith.
“I’m done with it,” Keith tells him, crushing the bag of popcorn and throwing it after Lance’s cup. “Guess I wasn’t as thirsty as I thought.”
“O-Okay,” Lance says, placing the cup at the top of the nearly-full garbage can and immediately reaching down to wipe his damp hand on the leg of his pants. He shudders at the thought of an entire large cup of soda inside him, making its way into his already stretched-out bladder. He grits his teeth and forces himself to straighten up, falling into step with Keith as they head towards the exit.
Half an hour left, he thinks, not daring to imagine what would happen if they were to get stuck in traffic. You can do this. Do not let Keith know you have to go. There’s no way you’ll live it down.
“Are you hungry at all?” Keith asks with a glance towards the stairs that lead to the food court. “We could get something to eat. I know food court food isn’t great, but it’s better than nothing. All you’ve eaten since we got here is popcorn.”
“I’m fine!” Lance says, maybe a bit too quickly to be casual. “I-I mean, if you’re hungry, we can stop by, but I’m okay.”
“Hm,” Keith hums. “I’m not really hungry, either.”
“Alright!”
They continue on their way towards the exit, although Keith keeps stopping to look inside each store they pass and making small talk about the stuff displayed in the windows. (He seems particularly skeptical of the mannequins inside the Gap.) Lance does his best to respond normally, but his jokes seem to fall flat, and he can tell he’s acting a little bit strange. It’s too bad he’s in such a rush to get home--he’d be having a great time if he weren’t so uncomfortable. He’s starting to consider if the word desperate applies to the situation yet, or if he’s still got a ways to go before he can claim to be so. He shifts his hips side to side once, trying to make it look like he’s just restless, but it doesn’t help at all.
He’s taken three more steps towards the door, which is in his line of sight now and looks terribly inviting, when he realizes Keith isn’t by his side anymore. Confused, he turns to look the way they’d come and sees Keith standing in front of yet another store. This one has skateboard decks lined up with the colorful sides showing, and behind that are Thrasher jackets and snapbacks and other skater gear.
Keith isn’t saying anything this time. He seems distracted, staring intently at one of the decks with a familiar red lion on the underside.
“Keith?” Lance calls out. “What’s up, buddy?”
Keith blinks, then shakes his head once. His hair falls back in front of his face, perfect as ever. “Sorry,” he says. “I just- That’s a really nice deck.”
Lance starts to speak, to ask if he wants to go in, when his bladder gives off a pang of hurt far more intense than the aching he’d experienced before. He hisses, crossing one leg over the other and bending forward slightly, bobbing on the spot. He bites at his lip until it hurts, squeezing his thighs together as tight as he can and shifting his legs back and forth slightly, holding his breath against the wave of desperation--yes, desperation now. His hands are shoved into his jacket pockets, balled into fists as he tries to will the feeling away.
Once he’s sure he’s in no immediate danger, and the throbbing feeling in his bladder has reduced itself enough, he lets out a long, shaky breath. He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s got everything under control.
Glancing up, he finds that Keith has already turned back to admire the skateboard deck in the window. Thank god, he thinks, letting out another sigh of relief. (Not that kind of relief, though. He’s still got a long way to go before he gets that.)
“It okay if we go in?” Keith asks, glancing over his shoulder for a second. Lance nods, not trusting his voice not to shake or his mouth not to blurt out that he’d really like to be heading home right about now.
He shuffles after Keith into the skate shop, worrying his lip between his teeth as he moves. He probably won’t take long, he tells himself as Keith loops around to the other side of the window to look at the deck. Besides, you’re not a kid anymore. You can wait a few more minutes than you thought.
Still, he can’t seem to take his mind off his bladder no matter how hard he tries to. The need to pee is overtaking his mind and body at once, forcing him to keep moving around the store or shifting from side to side and chewing on his lip until it’s red and puffy. He just wants to go, in more ways than one. He hates needing to pee in public, especially when he’s out with his friends and can’t conveniently find an excuse to slip away. Maybe he should have asked Keith to wait at the skate shop while he went to the bathroom, but he doesn’t know this mall well, and he’s never been very good with maps, which probably would have left him wandering around searching for a restroom for minutes on end while Keith stood inside the shop, wondering what was taking him so long.
Stop thinking about it, idiot! he berates himself as his bladder contracts sharply, the mental image of a bathroom almost too much for him to take. He hisses in pain and just barely thinks to duck behind a rack of skateboard decks before shoving his hand deep between his legs, pressing the heel of his hand down hard against his crotch. He bends one knee, lifting his foot off the ground as he twists his leg inwards against the other and clenches his other fist against his thigh, praying for the urge to go away. His bladder aches persistently, demanding that he find relief soon before something bad happens, but at this point he’s made up his mind. He’ll hold it until he gets home, or he’ll die trying.
(It’s starting to feel like that’s a real possibility, at this point. He vaguely remembers reading about the human bladder and how it can explode under too much pressure, and it definitely feels like there’s enough pressure down there right now, but he refuses to believe that his stupid pride could be responsible for bodily damage, especially when it comes to something so stupid.)
“Sir?” a soft voice comes from behind him, and he whips around, his hand flying away from his crotch and behind his back, foot landing firmly on the ground once again. A small employee stands in front of him, one eyebrow raised, and a flush of embarrassment settles over his cheeks as he realizes they’d seen the whole thing.
“Are you doing okay, sir?” the employee asks, the double meaning clear in their voice. “Need help with anything?”
“I’m fine!” Lance insists, though his voice comes out squeaky and unconvincing. Just great, he groans internally. The poor kid probably thinks he’s jacking off in their store, when the last thing on his mind right now is sex. “Just… Admiring the skateboards, you know?”
“Yeah…” the employee says, sounding far from convinced. “Well, let us know if we can help you at all.”
“I will,” Lance says too quickly, all too eager to get out of the kid’s line of sight. At least it was just some stranger that saw him hold himself like a child, and not someone he knows. (Specifically, not Keith.)
Once he’s alone again, he leans against the closest wall and sighs, crossing one leg over the other and tipping his head back to bump against the exposed brick. He focuses on taking even breaths, in and out, hoping that if he calms his mind down it’ll work on the rest of his body, too. He feels too tense, too high-strung for someone who’s known for being easygoing and chill. He needs to calm down and handle the, er, situation with a level head, or else he really isn’t going to make it.
He feels a tap on his shoulder, and snaps his head forward so fast he almost gets dizzy. Upon opening his eyes, he finds Keith standing in front of him, the deck from before tucked under his arm.
“Gonna get it?” Lance asks, his voice shaky in a way he can’t excuse. Keith raises an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t pry.
“Yeah, I think so,” he says, reaching up to run his finger along the smooth, wooden edge of the deck. “Do you mind waiting while I pay for it?”
Lance glances towards the counter at the front of the store, his heart sinking when he sees the short line of people waiting to buy their skate gear. “Sure,” he agrees, trying not to sigh out loud. He’s not annoyed with Keith, not really. He just wants to get home as fast as possible.
“Thanks,” Keith says, then turns towards the checkout counter. Lance counts the number of items visible in the customers’ hands as he waits, partly to distract himself from the nagging feeling in his abdomen and partly to calculate about how long he’ll have to wait until they finally get out of there.
The minutes tick down agonizingly slowly, and with each passing second Lance feels closer and closer to losing control. He really can’t remember the last time he’d needed to pee this bad outside of his own home. Sure, he gets distracted easily, but most of the time when he feels something this urgent, he gives up on whatever he’s doing and listens to his body.
He remembers once, back in fifth grade, he’d been so sucked into a new video game he’d received for Christmas that he hadn’t moved from in front of the TV for a solid seven hours. That, coupled with the numerous cans of Mountain Dew that he’d chugged in between battles had been a very uncomfortable recipe for disaster. He’d ended up running to the bathroom as soon as the last battle was over with his hands between his legs, dribbling little droplets of warm urine on the hard wood floor as he’d ran. Luckily, he’d made it to the toilet just in time and had been able to clean up the mess before anyone else figured out what was going on, but it had still been way too close a call.
He also remembers the incredible feeling of much-needed relief that had washed over him as soon as he’d started pissing in earnest, and the thought sends a shudder through his body. If it had felt that good back then, with his tiny fifth-grade bladder stretched to the limits, just imagine how nice it would feel to let go now, at seventeen, with a tank almost as full as it had been before, only scaled up to size. It would probably be the most insanely pleasurable feeling right now, letting go all over the floor and finally, finally being able to relax once again.
He barely stops himself from letting out a shrill, ear-splitting squeal as he feels a few drops of pee escape him, dripping out of the slit of his dick and moistening his underwear where it sits right over his entrance. He freezes, tensing every muscle in his body to stop the leak, holding his breath and bracing himself against the wall until his legs hurt, keeping his thighs locked together as tight as they’ll go.
This is bad. This is really bad. He’s reaching uncharted levels of desperation, and he’s not sure if and how he’s going to survive the half-hour long car ride back to his house with his pants and his dignity intact. It just doesn’t seem possible, to hold this much pee that much longer. He already feels so full, and it hasn’t even been that long since he’d finished his soda. What if his body filters his fluids on the ride home and adds even more urine to the mix?
God, he’s getting even more desperate just thinking about it. He lets out a pained sigh through his teeth and cracks his eye open, thanking the heavens that Keith is next in line. He grits his teeth and bears the aching in his abdomen as he watches Keith pay, and as soon as the employee hands the receipt over he’s making his way over, meeting Keith halfway to the door.
“Ready to go?” he asks, a little bit too quickly, but he’s not in the right state of mind to cover for it. He needs to get out of here, needs to go home so he can pee, and then he can come up with some sort of excuse for his behavior.
“Yeah,” Keith says, hooking his arm around the deck and leading the way towards the parking lot. For someone so short, he is a relatively quick walker, and Lance is both thankful and resentful of that face. The quick pace means that they’ll arrive at the car sooner, but it also gives Lance less rope to manage his desperation. He doesn’t want to take such long strides to keep up--he wants to press his legs together and bend his knees and hobble along at a pace unsuited to someone so tall and lanky, but wouldn’t that look suspicious. So instead he kind of awkwardly moves his hips forwards and backwards and side to side, hoping that it isn’t terribly obvious what his problem is. At least Keith is walking ahead of him so he won’t be able to tell.
They make it to the car. Keith throws his new deck in the back seat, then settles into the driver’s side, waiting for Lance to sit down as well. The car is a little small, which means he has to bend his knees and hunch his shoulders to fit inside comfortably--although nothing he’s doing is comfortable at this point. At last, they’re both situated, and Keith takes off in the direction of home.
They talk a little, for the first ten minutes or so of the drive, and despite Lance’s desperate state clouding his mind until he has trouble following the conversation, it does help get his mind off of his current situation. Keith asks him more questions about the new Voltron movie, and they even get a new theory started that Akira is actually part of the Galran race as well as being human, but by the time they’ve fully fleshed it out, he’s back to clenching his fists by his side and taking steadying breaths in and out.
God, what he wouldn’t give to be able to grab himself right now. He just wants to squirm and dance around until he makes it to a bathroom, but he can’t do that with Keith barely a foot away, expecting him to contribute to the conversation with absolutely no idea what Lance’s problem is. So he’s forced to sit there, rigid and stiff, unable to do anything to relieve the horrible, aching pressure between his hips.
That is, until they hit a bump.
It’s not a huge, car-crashing, concussion-dealing bump, but nonetheless it is a bump, and as soon as the front tire hits whatever object was in the way, Lance loses control for just a second. There’s a heart-stopping moment while they’re in the air when he realizes that this is his ultimate doom, and when they hit the ground once again, he feels a long, hot jet of piss squirt out of him, wetting the inside of his boxers with a soft hiss.
He gasps, doubling over in his seat and slamming his legs together, both hands flying down to bury themselves between his legs as he openly squirms back and forth, doing everything in his power to stop himself from flooding his pants and the seat of Keith’s car right then and there. The pressure in his bladder spikes as he attempts to get his body back under control, urging him to keep going, to give up and let go and finally achieve the blissful feeling of emptiness he’s been craving for so long now, but he won’t. With a groan of pain, he clenches his sphincter muscles as tight as he can, wrapping both hands around the head of his dick and squeezing as if his life depends on it, arching his back and lifting his hips off the seat of the car, and at last gets the stream under control.
He can feel the wetness of his underwear, the sticky warmth spreading inside his pants but thankfully not soaking through to the outside. He can also feel Keith’s eyes on him, and all of a sudden his entire face bursts into a blush, shame overtaking him.
“Are you okay, Lance?” Keith asks, even though Lance is clearly not okay.
“Ahh… I’m…” Lance grunts, “I’m fine…”
Keith, obviously, is not convinced. “Do you need to pee?” he asks, rather bluntly, but Lance is in no position to judge his social etiquette when he still has both hands wrapped around his dick in a rather public setting.
“M-Maybe a little,” he breathes, his cheeks reddening further. “I, ah, fuck, I might have drained my, uh, my soda too fast b-back at the movie theater.”
His brow is covered in a sheen of sweat from the amount of effort he’s putting into holding it in, and his whole body feels tense and tired, like it’s just waiting for him to give into relief.
“Um… Do you think you can make it?” Keith asks, awkward. “We can go to my house instead if you want. It’s a little bit closer. Or I can pull over, if you need me to.”
Pull over! Lance’s brain screams, alarm bells ringing all around his head. “We should go- mmh, we should go to your pl- place,” he stammers as another wave of intense desperation overtakes him. “Please,” he adds as an afterthought, barely conscious of himself anymore.
“Sure,” Keith agrees, and speeds up just a little bit. He seems to be keeping his eyes on the road, which Lance is immensely grateful for, considering the fact that he couldn’t stop squirming now that he’s started even if his life depended on it. His whole body feels flushed and hot, and the wet fabric of his underwear keeps sliding against the head of his dick, teasing him with what he can’t have. He feels another leak run down to the tip of his shaft and whimpers pathetically, mouth dropping open into a gasp as he cuts it off just in time.
“You sure you’re, uh, gonna be okay?” Keith asks again, then coughs awkwardly. “I don’t mind pulling over if you-”
“I’ll make it,” Lance pants, then lets out a particularly embarrassing moan. The surges of desperation are coming faster to him now, giving him less time to recover before the next one hits him. It’s pure torture. He’s positive that he’s never had to pee this badly in his entire life, fifth grade video gaming session be damned. He’s sweaty, his muscles are sore, and he keeps making the most incriminating noises, like a cross between a wounded animal and a porn star.
He bucks his hips forward into his hands, practically grinding against his own palms as he searches for relief in any form. He’s at the stage of pure, utter agony where nothing seems like it helps anymore, and yet he knows for sure that if he lets go of his crotch he’ll lose it all right then and there. Switching back and forth between hunching over in his seat and arching his back so far that his ass lifts off the seat, he takes his lip between his teeth again to keep himself from moaning and whimpering. It doesn’t work in the slightest, but the pain from his teeth sinking into his skin is a welcome change from the pain in his bladder.
“C-Can you, ahh, mh, can you h-hurry?” he pleads, tilting his head back and staring at the roof of the car as hot breaths escape past his lips. He swears he needs to piss so bad he can almost taste it, which is disgusting, but it really is what he feels like right now.
“I’m trying,” Keith tells him, and speeds up once again. Lance thanks the gods in heaven that they haven’t run into traffic--he doesn’t know if he can make it another five minutes, let alone however long being stuck on the road would take them.
Scratch that, he realizes as another spurt of hot piss escapes him. He’s not sure he can last another sixty seconds, let alone five minutes. He keens into the air, double-crossing his legs and shifting from side to side as fast as possible, cursing the way the band of his jeans is digging into his poor, overfilled bladder. Torture, indeed.
“We’re almost there,” Keith promises over Lance’s breathy pants and whines. “Just hold on a minute longer.”
I’m doing my best! Lance thinks to himself as another squirt of pee threatens to escape. He can feel a wet patch soaking into the outside fabric of his jeans now, and the warm, wet sensation makes him groan out loud. God, this is so embarrassing, this whole thing is so embarrassing, but he truly can’t help it at this point.
“Hang on, hang on,” he whispers to himself, closing his eyes tight. His hands are shaking now--his whole body is shaking, but he’s almost there, so close to relief, and he absolutely cannot give up now that he’s made it this far.
The car turns suddenly, and then Keith is tapping him on the shoulder, and he’s opening his eyes to see a familiar looking house in front of him. “I’ll go unlock the door,” Keith says, and Lance could almost cry from relief, but he’s not there yet. Shakily, he removes one hand, and immediately a jet of piss soaks through his jeans and into his palm. God, it feels so good to let go but he can’t, not yet, and he could almost cry from how much he needs to go. In fact, a few tears are stinging his eyes right now, but he couldn’t care less at this point.
With a moan, he reaches for the car door and opens it, then lifts one shaking leg and places it on the ground. So far, so good. He follows his first foot with the other, and then uses the last of his remaining strength to pull himself out of the car, and-
The longest jet of pee yet escapes him, spurting hot against his leg and dripping down to his mid thigh. He lets out an absolutely wrecked, desperate moan and stumbles towards the door, where Keith is still fumbling with a ring of keys that has yet to unlock the house.
“K-Keith,” Lance pants, clutching himself tight and staggering onto the front porch. “Keith, hurry! I’m- aahh, Keith, help!”
“Just hold it a second longer!” Keith tells him in a panic, but Lance can’t. He’s been holding it for far too long already, and his poor bladder is tired and his muscles are weak and he just can’t anymore. With one final push of energy, he rips his hands away from his crotch, jams his legs against each other and tears at the button of his jeans, unhooking it on the second try and reaching for his fly zipper as a steady leak starts to make its way down his leg once again. He tears down his zipper and turns to the side, shoving his underwear aside and fishing his dick out, pointing it towards the little patch of grass and flowers on the side and finally letting go.
His mind goes blank from the pure, unadulterated relief of the moment, eyes fluttering shut and legs going to jelly as he at last lets himself relax and empty his bladder. He feels like he could collapse at any minute, staggering a step backwards and accidentally splashing some piss on the concrete porch before he has a chance to re-aim. He can hear the embarrassingly loud splashing against the stone surface, but it’s not enough to bring him back to the moment. He lets out a long, blissful sigh, too caught up in his continuous relief to really be aware of it.
The feeling of emptying his bladder after all this time is nothing short of the best thing he’s ever felt, almost (but not quite) making up for the two and a half hours of agony he’d had to go through to get here. So close to a bathroom, and yet it had still been too far for him to make it. And even through his empty-minded, pleasure-enduced haze, he suddenly realizes what it is he’s doing.
He’s pissing into a patch of grass in front of his crush’s house. In front of his crush. With absolutely no way to stop now that he’s started, and with pretty much nothing to hide himself from Keith, who’s probably shocked and disgusted with him right now. And with that thought in mind, after almost a full minute of going full force, he forces his eyes open and almost against his will meets Keith’s gaze.
Keith is staring at him, wide-eyed, a dark pink blush spread across his cheeks. He’s definitely shocked, yes, but he almost seems embarrassed rather than disgusted. His eyes keep flitting away from Lance’s and then back, unsure of what to focus on. Lance feels his own face heat up as his stream tapers off, losing force and dripping a few more droplets onto the stone porch before he’s finally empty.
The two of them stand there in silence for almost thirty seconds, although it feels like a small eternity to Lance. He tucks himself away, then stands there opening and closing his mouth uselessly, like a fish out of water. “Keith, I-” he starts, but nothing else will come out. He’s empty in more ways than one, apparently.
“Lance…” Keith says, eyes darting down to the puddle between Lance’s legs before flying back up to his face, cheeks reddening even further.
“I’m so sorry,” Lance blurts, reaching up to clap his hand against his mouth but aborting the movement as soon as he realizes his hands are wet and sticky with pee. Ew.
“No, it’s-,” Keith stammers, shaking his head. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it, okay?”
“But I just… You know. In front of you.”
“You-” Keith says, shaking his head again, more firmly this time. “You couldn’t help it, okay? So don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re not… uncomfortable anymore.”
“You’re not angry?” Lance asks, hesitant.
“Angry? Of course not.” Keith frowns. “It’s not your fault, Lance. You really couldn’t wait, and that’s fine. I should have realized what was going on sooner. I just thought you weren’t having a good time on the date.”
“What? Of course I was having a good time on the- What?!”
Lance cuts himself off again, recoiling in surprise. Surely he can’t have heard that right, right? Surely Keith hadn’t just called it a date after watching him practically piss himself less than five feet in front of the front door.
“I thought you didn’t want to go out with me, after all,” Keith admits, shuffling his feet on the ground awkwardly. “So I’m actually kind of glad that you had to pee.”
Lance can’t help it. He bursts out laughing, hand hovering in front of his mouth as he leans against the side of the house. His stomach hurts from the holding combined with his laughter, but he doesn’t even care anymore. Only Keith could turn such an awkward situation into a heartfelt confession. (Well, as heartfelt as Keith can be, the socially awkward dummy.)
“What?” Keith asks, confusion rising in his voice. “Why are you laughing?”
“Because,” Lance says, straightening up and not even bothering to wipe the huge smile off his face. “I had a really good time. And if you’re really not grossed out by everything that just happened-”
“I’m not,” Keith insists, but Lance holds up a hand to stop him before he can protest further.
“If you’re not, then I’d really like to try this whole date thing again,” he finishes, tilting his head to the side and looking at Keith fondly.
“You really want to?” Keith asks hesitantly, looking up at Lance.
“Of course,” Lance says, smiling even bigger. “And next time, I’ll make sure to go to the bathroom after the movie.”
Lance nods, and keeps his eyes on the floor. He hasn’t looked at him since Keith asked what he wanted to try in bed, and he kinds of hates it. More than that though, he also gets it.
He couldn’t look at Lance when he’d told him he’s asexual towards the beginning of their relationship either. Keith isn’t sex repulsed, but he also doesn’t feel sexual attraction to anyone, and it’s been off putting to past boyfriend’s for him to not find them sexually appealing.
“It’s not the worst one I’ve heard,” Keith admits, and Lance peeks up at him hopefully.
“It’s not?”
“Uh-uh. Shiro dated someone who was into vomit once.”
Lance laughs and shakes his head.
“Oh, God. I can’t you see doing that one. You’re like a cat when you vomit.”
Keith raises an eyebrow.
“A cat?”
Lance nods.
“Have you ever seen a cat puke? They look horrified. Mine used to back up from it and shake her head, like she was denying that it happened.”
Keith laughs at the image. He knows about the cat Lance used to have, a stand-offish ragdoll that he’d tried to hide at the Garrison. If he remembers correctly, it was her puke pile in the hallway that got them caught.
“So, how do you want to do it?” Keith asks, and Lance gets shy again.
It’s a weird look on his usually loud and obnoxious (yet lovable) boyfriend.
“I don’t like planned desperation. Or overly faked desperation.”
Keith nods.
“Okay, so I get desperate because I’m desperate, and not because we planned it. Got it. Anything else?”
“Don’t keep holding if it’s hurts,” Lance says. Keith tilts his head. “Some people were potty trained so well that their bladder doesn’t release once it has reached its limit, and it can cause a lot of health problems. So if it hurts, just go.”
“Noted.”
“Do you have any rules?” Lance asks, looking at him.
“Just the usual,” Keith shrugs. “Stop if I get uncomfortable.”
Lance nods.
“Of course.”
Keith smiles, and Lance leans in to his side.
______—————_______—————
The conversation doesn’t come up again, and Keith isn’t sure how to bring it up. He knows Lance doesn’t like fake desperation, but the last time Keith was desperate was when he was sick and Lance fed him tons of liquids during the day, and right before bed. Keith had nine different pee dreams before waking up and racing to the bathroom.
Other than that, Keith doesn’t really let himself get desperate. He does have to go a little now, though he wouldn’t call it desperate. Just enough that he can feel it, so he doesn’t say anything.
Keith isn’t sure if it counts as planned or not if Lance doesn’t know about it, but he’s going to go for it. They settled in for a horror movie marathon, and Lance brought them both plenty of drinks, probable without thinking. Surely it doesn’t count as pre-planned if he just drinks everything Lance gave him, right?
Deciding that it’s probably okay if Keith has it planned and not Lance, he starts sitting on the soda Lance brought from the kitchen. He makes it through the equivalent of three extra large sodas from the movie theater, and half of the second movie before it really hits him. It’s a feat, he thinks, since he usually has to leave mid-movie after finishing one extra large on the rare occasion that he goes to the movies.
He jumps at a jump scare, and it sends a pulse through his bladder. It’s a warning sign he hasn’t felt in a while, and he grabs Lance’s arm. His boyfriend looks at him, and he figures that it’s now or never.
“I have to pee,” he says, “I don’t want to go the bathrooms alone.”
He tries to stress his words, and Lance seems to catch on. A spark of interest appears in his eyes, and Keith openly squirms.
“Can’t you hold it until it’s over?” Lance teases, “The best part is coming up.”
Keith whines.
“No,” he says, and squirms again.
Lance sighs, and if Keith didn’t see how eagerly he moves to grab a spare blanket, he would almost believe that he’s annoying him. He holds it out to Keith.
“I don’t feel like getting up just to take you to the bathroom,” Lance shrugs, “So just pee into this.”
Keith’s bladder spasms at the permission, and he quickly gets to his knees. He snatches the blanket out of Lance’s hand just as he begins peeing, and he barely has time to press his crotch into the blanket before it’s completely saturated his jeans.
Keith moans at the feeling of relief. He hadn’t actually though that he’d been close to a real accident; he probably could’ve made it to the bathroom if he’d wanted to, but the urine pouring out of him like a facet put at full blast makes him glad that he doesn’t have to. He glances at Lance, and he’s staring at Keith intensely.
He blushes at the gaze, and tears instinctively well up in his eyes. Somewhat planned or not, pissing yourself at twenty years old with your boyfriend watching is still embarrassing. Lance palms himself through his jeans, still staring at Keith’s crotch as he drenches the blanket.
Keith pulls it down some so Lance can actually him pee into it, and Lance moans. Keith storm eventually turns into a sprinkle, and pushes his muscles for one last wave before he’s empty, just as Lance cums.
Keith sits back on his heels, panting and exhausted. His butt barely meets his heels before Lance is on him, kissing around his face and wiping away the stray tears.
“You did so good, my little hot head,” Lance murmurs, before placing another kiss on his nose. “So good.”
Keith smiles sleepily, and Lance gives him a squeeze before helping him up.
“Let’s go get cleaned up, and then we can finish the movies, hmm?” Lance says, pinching Keith’s cheeks.
“Okay,” he murmurs, before leaning forward and kissing Lance’s cheek. “We can do this again sometime. If you want.”
Lance gives him a surprised look.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Felt kind of good to let go of so much.”
Lance grins.
“You really are the best boyfriend ever, you know?”
omovember day 20 - using a pillow to help hold it in - klance
Read it here or on Ao3!
edit: here’s my omo fic commission info ;)
Lance ruts against the pillow again, his teeth sinking into his lip as his bladder throbs beneath his skin. He’s kneeling on his bed in the castle with his fluffiest, softest pillow stuffed between his legs, his hands pressing into the thick, feathery material to add some pressure to his crotch. He lets out an involuntary whine as his bladder pulses again, all the water and juice from earlier in the day practically begging to get out.
He hasn’t had a chance to go to the bathroom since he’d woken up that morning--he’d been too busy with training, gaming with Pidge, and helping Hunk bake cookies for the rest of the team--and now everything he’d drank up until that point is catching up with him quickly. He’d started to get the urge to go around two hours ago, but he’d been having so much fun with his friends that he’d put it off until the last minute, and before he’d actually had a chance to go, Coran had declared that it was time to clean the castle and closed off the bathrooms.
He curses himself for not speaking up before the others had gotten to work--it wouldn’t have taken very long, only one or two minutes and then he’d be out and ready to help. But he couldn’t bring himself to voice his need in front of everyone--that would have been far too embarrassing, even for him. And now, almost an hour later, he’s absolutely at his limit, resorting to practically humping a pillow to keep the ocean in his bladder from leaking out.
Another small, breathy wine escapes past his lips as a jet of piss forces itself past his sphincter muscles and leaks into his urethra. He can practically feel it at his entrance, seconds away from spurting its way out. No, no, no, he thinks with a groan, shoving the pillow further into his crotch and rolling his hips into it desperately, doing everything he can to hold it in. The added pressure helps to keep him in control, but he knows it’s only a matter of time before the inevitable happens.
It feels like his bladder is at maximum capacity--he’s positive that he’s never been this desperate in his life. At this point, he’s not even sure that he can stand up without completely soaking his pants, let alone make it to the bathrooms on the other side of the hall. He feels sweat bead across his forehead and drip down the tense lines of muscle on his back from the exertion of holding his piss. He’s shaking, vibrating uncontrollably, which does nothing to help his situation, but he can’t help it. He’s running out of time, and quickly.
He’s startled out of his thoughts by a knock at his door, followed by Keith’s voice calling out a soft, “Lance?”
Fuck! Lance thinks as a short stream of piss leaks past his opening and dampens the crotch of his boxers. Keith, please, please just go away!
“Are you in there?” Keith asks from the other side. To Lance’s horror, the door begins to slide open as he speaks. He barely has time to change positions, sitting cross-legged on the bed with the pillow on top of his lap and his hands on top of the pillow, before Keith steps into the room.
“H-Hey, buddy,” he stammers, hoping his sweating and vibrating isn’t too noticeable. Keith eyes him suspiciously, and he resists the urge to squirm under his gaze--for more reasons than one.
“What are you doing in here?” Keith asks slowly, raising an eyebrow. “Everyone’s helping clean the castle.”
“I-I was just, ah, cleaning my room,” Lance grits out, trying to subtly press his hands into the pillow to gain some relief.
“Why?” Keith asks, looking around. “It’s already clean. Shouldn’t you be helping the rest of us?”
“I will!” Lance squeaks, pressing his thighs together as tight as he can. “I’ll be out in-mmh! I’ll be out in a second.”
Now please, he adds mentally, get out before I completely embarrass myself in front of you!
Keith doesn’t look satisfied with his answer in the slightest. He crosses his arm, leaning against the doorframe and fixing Lance with an unamused stare. Lance can feel beads of sweat dripping down his temple, and unfortunately for him, Keith seems to notice them as well.
“Are you sick?” he asks with a frown, pushing himself off the wall and taking a few steps towards the bed. Lance leans back, taking a hand off the pillow to wipe at his face and mourning the pressure on his crotch.
“I’m fine!” he assures Keith, shifting his hips subtly as he returns his hand to its original position. “It’s, um, it’s just a little hot in here.”
“You’re flushed,” Keith says, ignoring his excuses and pressing a hand against his forehead. His skin is cool and rough and calloused, and normally Lance would be reveling in the contact, but right now all it does is take some of his attention away from his dire need to pee. “Have you been drinking enough?”
Way too much, Lance’s brain answers for him, his bladder throbbing once again. He presses the pillow against his crotch even harder, hoping it comes across as natural. “I’m good,” he promises breathily, arching his back in an attempt to grind his dick into the mattress beneath him.
Once again, Keith doesn’t seem convinced. “Should I go get Coran?” he asks, his tone almost concerned.
“No!” Lance exclaims, eyes going wide. The last thing he needs is another person in his room, watching him try to keep it together. Plus, that would mean Coran would take longer to clean the bathrooms, and that’s certainly not gonna do anything in Lance’s favor.
“Well, what should I do?” Keith demands, a crease forming between his brows. “There’s clearly something wrong, so just spit it out already.”
“There’s nothing wrong! I just- ohh!”
Lance cuts himself off with a moan, doubling over and shoving the pillow in between his legs hard as a long spurt of piss dribbles out of him. He rocks his hips from side to side frantically, rubbing his thighs together and clenching every muscle in his body in an attempt to keep what feels like literal gallons of pee inside him. He can’t help but let out another moan as he cuts off the tiny stream. It’s pure torture, having tasted sweet, sweet relief only to have it taken away from him a second later.
He’s only reminded of Keith’s presence a few seconds later, once he’s managed to get the unbearable urge under control. Immediately, he straightens his posture and relaxes his grip on the pillow, but it’s too late to save his dignity.
“You have to pee,” Keith states blankly, almost as if he doesn’t believe it. Lance wants to deny it, but he knows there’s no point anymore, not when it’s so painfully, blatantly obvious.
“Y-Yeah,” he confirms shakily, involuntarily rolling his hips up into the pillow again. Keith stares at him unsurely, not saying a word.
“I- I would have gone earlier, but- ah- but I kept getting swept up into different stuff, and then- oh god- Coran decided to clean the bathrooms, so I couldn’t.”
Keith keeps staring at him, his eyes darting down to the pillow still clutched against his crotch before coming back up to his flushed, sweaty face.
“I…” he starts, but nothing else comes out. If Lance isn’t mistaken, he almost seems to be blushing.
He doesn’t really have time to focus on Keith’s status, though. He’s so desperate, he feels like he’s about to pop like an overfilled water balloon.
God, don’t think about water! his brain screams as another tiny dribble leaks out of him. He can’t help but let out an embarrassingly needy groan, bucking up into the pillow again.
His actions seem to snap Keith out of whatever trance he’s in. He blinks a few times, fast, then takes a half step forward, arm outstretched as if he wants to help but doesn’t know what to do.
“Are you gonna make it?” he asks, a little awkwardly. Lance whimpers, feeling more sweat bead on his forehead.
“I dunno,” he admits truthfully, moving a hand under the pillow to get a better grip. “Shit, Keith, I really have to go.”
He barely resists shoving his hand down his pants for better access--because grabbing himself in front of Keith is embarrassing enough without having his hand directly on his dick--but he does pop the button on his jeans. He’s met with a tiny bit of relief, but it’s nowhere near the kind he so desperately needs.
“Is there… Is there anything I can do?” Keith fumbles, and yep, he’s definitely blushing. As if he’s the one who should be flustered.
“U-Unless you can magically make Coran get- oh- get out of the bathroom, t-then no,” Lance replies, then cuts himself off with a sharp hiss as another small stream of piss leaks out of his tip. I’m really not gonna make it much longer!
“I can ask him how much longer it’ll take? Or- or maybe I can distract him so he leaves, and then- um… I don’t know…”
Keith shifts from foot to foot awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Lance shudders, grinding up into the pillow and feeling the soft warm wetness of his boxers enveloping the head of his dick.
“I d-don’t want to bother him,” he manages, shaking his head from side to side. Keith stares at him incredulously, all of his earlier embarrassment gone.
“You don’t want to bother him?” he repeats, disbelieving. “Lance, you’re in pain. He isn’t going to mind, especially since it’s so… urgent.”
“I can wait,” Lance huffs, ignoring the signs from his body screaming that he very obviously can’t wait. Keith fixes him with an unconvinced stare as he squirms from side to side. His stormy purple gaze makes Lance shiver, and if he hadn’t already been at his most uncomfortable, that certainly wouldn’t have helped.
“I’m gonna go talk to Coran,” he says at last, turning towards the door. Lance feels panic rising up in his chest, and before he can stop to think he’s scrambling to get off the bed and stop him, the pillow shifting back between his legs.
“No, Keith, I- oh my god!”
He cuts himself off with a gasp as a long jet of piss escapes, soaking through his boxers and into the fabric of his jeans before he can stop it. He doesn’t want to stop it--in fact, the last thing he wants to do right now is quit peeing--but he has no choice. He absolutely will not wet himself like a little child, and especially not in front of Keith, of all people. With all the self control that he can possibly muster and the help of his hands and the pillow, he cuts off the stream, letting out a pathetic little whine as he does so.
It hurts. It hurts to stop after so many hours of holding it in, after almost getting the relief he craves. In fact, he can feel a few tears gathering in the corners of his eyes as he stops himself. He clenches every muscle in his body, squeezing his eyes shut and rocking his hips from side to side as another small squirt escapes him, then another. It takes everything he has to get himself back under control, and even then he can still feel a sizeable wet patch on the crotch of his jeans. Oh god, it’s probably bleeding into the pillow, too.
He pries his eyes open and glances down, dismayed to find that there is in fact a small wet circle on the front of the pillow. His eyes dart up to meet Keith’s, and he’s surprised to find a flush of pink on the other boy’s cheeks. He’s the one who’s blushing? Why?
Lance doesn’t have time to think much about that. Almost as soon as he’s fought off the first wave of desperation, another stronger one washes over him. He groans, tensing his muscles again and panting from the effort of holding it in, but this time it’s not enough. A seven-second spurt pushes its way past his clenched muscles and wets the pillow, although it barely brings him any relief. More tears join the few already in his eyes at the realization that he’s not gonna make it, no matter how hard he tries.
Keith seems to have come to the same conclusion, because a few seconds later, he comes to stand by Lance’s side. A hand massages careful circles onto his back, which is strangely comforting considering it’s coming from Voltron’s most socially inept paladin.
“Lance,” Keith says softly, still a bit awkward. “I think you might have to give up.”
“W-What?” Lance chokes out, then cuts himself off with another moan. “No, I can’t-ah-I can’t give up! I’m not a l-little kid!”
“You’re going to hurt yourself,” Keith points out. “And besides, I doubt you can hold out until you get to the bathroom, let alone until Coran is done cleaning it.”
“I can!” Lance protests through gritted teeth, his face flushing even brighter at the accusation. To prove his point, he goes to take a step towards the door, and suddenly his bladder can’t handle it anymore. The pressure of the waistband of his jeans digging into his abdomen coupled with the weight of gravity pulling the water inside him down proves to be his undoing, and before he even realizes what’s happening, hot piss shoots out of him. The wet patch on the front of his jeans starts growing until it can’t keep up, and warm wetness starts saturating the top of the pillow he still has pressed between his legs.
He clenches his sphincter muscles with a groan, pressing his hands into his crotch in an attempt to hold back the rest of the flow, but it’s no use. He’s too weak and exhausted from holding so long to maintain control, and the flow barely slows down at all when he tries to cut it off. He sags against the bed defeatedly, tipping his head back and letting out an embarrassingly relieved moan, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps as he stops trying to hold it in. It feels amazing, like taking a breath after a year without oxygen. He can’t help but wonder if holding for so long might even be worth it, just to feel like this again.
He’d almost forgotten that Keith was in the room, too caught up in his euphoric state to remember much of anything. But once his bladder has emptied most of itself and he starts to come back to his senses, the first thing he sees is his fellow paladin’s face. Keith is blushing almost as hard as Lance imagines he is, although probably for different reasons. He’s completely frozen in place, too, eyes transfixed on Lance as he finishes wetting himself and the pillow, which is squishy and completely drenched beneath him. His mouth opens and closes a few times, but nothing comes out.
Lance is almost too tired and relieved for the flaming embarrassment he should be feeling--almost. He averts his eyes in shame and hopes that Keith isn’t really there, that he didn’t really see that. After all, something like this would be hard enough to hide in the mind-linking exercises Allura has them do on the daily without Keith having witnessed it. He’ll probably tell Shiro, and Shiro will tell Allura, and soon enough the entire castle will know, space mice included.
He feels tears start to prick at the corners of his eyes, but before he can start crying for real, Keith’s voice calls him back to attention.
“It’s okay,” he says quietly, taking a step forward with a hand half-outstretched. Lance blinks up at him, his eyes watery and mouth pressed into a thin line.
“It couldn’t be helped,” Keith continues, finally setting a hand on his shoulder. His voice is surprisingly judgement-free. “You did your best, but it was inevitable. Plus, it could have happened to anyone. So don’t feel bad about it, okay, Lance?”
Lance sniffs, bringing a sleeve up to wipe at his nose and flinching when he feels that it’s damp. He looks down at his clothes and the pillow, wet patches clearly visible on both, and looks away again miserably. “I- I ruined my stuff,” he sniffles. “Everyone’s gonna find out…”
“I won’t tell anyone. And I’ll help you clean everything, too. It’ll be our secret.”
Keith smiles, hesitant but reassuring, and even though the tips of his ears are still pink and he’s still awkwardly bent over so he doesn’t touch the wet pillow, Lance finds that he believes him. “Okay,” he says, almost timidly, wiping at his eyes with his other sleeve.
“Okay,” Keith repeats, a little more confident this time. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
If there’s one thing Keith loves as much as Lance and Shiro, it’s Halloween. Lance swears that he never sees his boyfriend as excited as he is when in line for a haunted house or hayride.
Lance shares that excitement because, come on, it’s Halloween! Halloween is awesome! Maybe he doesn’t love it as much as Keith but there’s still some love there.
Shiro just follows them around because, like the big sap he is, nothing makes him happier than seeing his boyfriends happy. Lance can agree with that, since one of favorite things about Halloween ever since they all started dating has been watching Keith get excited enough to bounce on his toes while in line.
Cute isn’t a word he associates with Keith often, but how could he not now? He looks like a kid on Christmas, scanning the crowd with a small smile on his face, as he quietly tells them that they’re almost at the front of the line. Shiro seems to agree, because he gives Keith a soft look that makes Lance’s heart melt.
He’s broken out of his lovestruck haze as a cool breeze whips around them. Fall is in full swing now, and while Lance usually loves the colder weather, it does him no favors now. They had dinner out before coming to the haunted house, and Lance’s bladder has been letting him know that it needs his attention since they first got in line. He knows that he can just walk out of line and go use one of the bathrooms next door, but he doesn’t want to miss Keith’s cute faces and Shiro’s soft looks.
He leans against Shiro’s side to shield himself from the cold, and an arm is around him in an instant. Lance sighs gratefully as Keith snuggles up on his other side.
“Are we doing the Long Haunt or the new one?” Shiro asks, rubbing his hand up and down Lance’s arm.
“The new one?” he asks, and Keith nods excitedly.
Lance is the only one to not that there’s a new one, apparently.
“Sensory Overload,” Keith informs him. “They blindfold you and all the scares have to do with your senses!”
That… doesn’t sound too appealing to Lance, but the happy hum Keith makes when he’s talking about lets him know that’s the one they’re doing. Lance sighs as they move forward in line. They’re next, finally.
The wind blows again, and Lance winces when it makes his bladder quiver. He really shouldn’t’ve finished off the drinks that Keith and Shiro had left, but it would’ve been such a waste. Whatever. They’re next, and the Long Haunt is only twenty minutes, so Sensory Overload can’t be that long.
Lance paid for dinner, so Shiro pays for their tickets. Their lead over to a door with a man who seems to have a bag over his head painted on it, by a bored looking teenage girl.
“Keep these on at all times,” she says, handing them all flimsy drawstring bags. “Don’t hit the actors, they will reach out and touch you, but please keep your hands to yourself, and stay on the path. Please don’t disrespect the actors or the set, hold hands at all times and, most importantly, have fun.”
Lance doesn’t think he’s ever heard someone say ‘have fun’ so monotonously before. They all put their bags over their heads, and grab hands. Keith’s hand in his right and Shiro’s in his left, they let the girl lead them into the room.
“Hands against the left wall, you should feel a slight shock,” she says, and Lance puts his free hand against the wall. His fingers tingle, and it’s not bad, it’s just really weird. “That will lead you out of here. Try not to die.”
She steps back outside, and Keith waits until she’s gone to start moving them. Keith had snagged the front, and Lance is in the smug afterglow of being in the middle. Everyone knows the middle gets it the least.
“Try not to die,” Shiro teases, whispering it in Lance’s neck.
Keith snorts in front of them. Lance agrees.
He wonders how stupid they all must look, hands pressed against the wall with bags over their heads. Lance honestly thought that because the bags are so flimsy, he’d be able to see his feet at least. It’s a no go.
Keith stops abruptly, and Lance bumps into him. His bladder presses into Keith’s back, and Lance grits his teeth. He tries to step back, but Shiro is right behind him.
“Did you guys hear that?” Keith asks, and Lance frowns.
“No,” Shiro says, sounding amused.
Lance feels Keith shrug, and they move forward. His fingertips start to feel numb from the tiny shocks on the wall.
The floor seems to suddenly dip out from under them, and Lance shrieks. Keith laughs manically, and Shiro squeezes his hand. The upward pull makes his bladder slosh around and, okay, so maybe he has to go a lot more than he thought he did. Or the drinks are finally catching up to him. Whichever.
Noises start coming from the dark, and anticipation and fear curl around in Lance’s stomach. Shiro presses a little closer to him, and Lance shivers at his breath on his neck. A hand glasps over his shoulder, and he yelps.
“What?” Keith asks.
“You look the tastiest,” A voice whispers in his ear harshly.
Keith laughs again when he realizes what must have happened.
“It’s okay, Lance,” Shiro reassurances, “she’ll have to go through me first to get to you.”
The voice cackles and moves on to taunt Keith instead, and the tone goes from creepy to amused. It must be hard to stay in character when someone is complimenting you on your scare on their boyfriend.
The floor dips again, and Lance hisses. His bladder feels like a water balloon being switched between hands, and the pressure is unreal. He can feel it with every step he takes, and it feels a bit like mercy when Keith pauses at another scare. Lance squeezes his legs together, and thinks about grabbing himself, but then he remembers that only they are blindfolded. The workers can very much see him.
They move forward and Lance zones out. All he can think is I have to pee, I have to pee, I have to pee, over and over again. His mind gets stuck on it, as if he couldn’t feel the water sloshing around in him with every step he takes. As if he couldn’t feel the urine pressing into his opening. As if the pressure wasn’t making tears well up in his eyes.
He whimpers pitfully, and both Shiro and Keith squeeze his hands curiously.
“It’s almost over,” Keith assures, speaking in a soft voice.
Lance grunts, and Shiro squeezes his hand again. The water inside him crashes against the walls of his poor bladder, and everything feels like too much. It’s the only sensation he can focus on, and not being able to hold himself makes it worse.
Suddenly, there’s arm around his waist, squeezing him dangerously.
“You’re mine no- dude, are you fucking pissing yourself?” an actor asks, and Keith and Shiro both make confused noises.
Lance whimpers helplessly as his bladder lets go. It’s the pressure from the arms in the end, that crush into his bladder that have him peeing full force onto the concrete floor. It splatters quite obviously on the ground, and he shudders.
There are arms around him in an instant, familiar ones this time, and Lance can vaguely register that Shiro and Keith are receiving instructions on how to get out. Realizing what’s going on, Lance clenches his stomach muscles and it hurts, to stop mid-stream, but Lance knows that he can keep going here. He whimpers pitifully, and Shiro shushes him quietly.
“You can take your bag off now,” Keith offers, but Lance doesn’t want to. He doesn’t think he can look them in the eyes.
They make it outside, and Lance bites back the urge to whine when the cold air makes him shiver. He hears Shiro apologize to one of the actors, before they go back inside.
Keith gently takes his bag off, and makes a small unhappy noise when he sees the tears on Lance’s cheek.
“It’s okay,” Shiro soothes, as Keith wipes his tears away.
Lance keeps his eyes clenched tight, and refuses to look at them. Humiliation and the pressure both grow in strength, and he decides, fuck it, and leans back against the wall and finally shoves his hand in his pants, and grips himself through the wet material of his boxers.
“Do you…. Still have to go?” Shiro asks, sounding confused.
“How?” Keith asks, “There was so much of it!”
And there still is, Lance thinks helplessly.
“We can take you to the bathrooms next door,” Shiro says, gently grabbing his upper-arm.
Lance shakes his head wildly.
“If I move I’ll go,” he says, a bit frantically now.
He finally opens his eyes, and looks at Shiro pleadingly. Shiro always knows how to make things better. Keith and Shiro share a look, before they both move to stand in front of him.
“Go,” Shiro says, bumping his forehead against Lance’s affectionalty. “No one can see you past me and Keith.”
“I can go?” Lance whimpers, because it sounds too good to be true.
“You can go,” Keith reassures, nuzzling his face in Lance’s shoulder.
Lance clenches his eyes shut and goes again. Going with permission is euphoric, and he moans quietly when his bladder spasms once before letting go full force. He can feel it sloshing around in his shoes, but he can’t bring himself to care. At least it isn’t sloshing around in him anymore.
He’d probably collapse all together from the relief if Shiro didn’t have his arms wrapped around his waist. Lance shudders, and presses down with his stomach muscles, trying to make it all go out faster. Lance wants it to be done, and to never have to see it again.
He grabs Keith’s hand, that had been rubbing his chest soothingly, and moves it down to his bladder. Keith seems to take the hint, and starts rubbing the abused organ through the skin, coaxing all of the water inside to come out. Shiro notices the movement, and starts pressing around the outer edges of it.
Lance moans again and, with one last push of his stomach muscles, releases the last of the pent up urine. His poor abused bladder spasms again, but there’s nothing left to expel.
Now that the euphoria has passed, tears of humiliation well up in his eyes. He just pissed himself like a toddler, in front of both of his boyfriends. God, how pathetic is that?
Shiro and Keith are on in him an instant, shushing him softly and pressing kisses into his hair and on his cheeks.
“I’m so sorry,” Lance wails, and Shiro kisses his nose.
“You have nothing to be sorry for, our precious blue,” Keith says in the softest voice Lance has ever heard him use, and he blushes at the nickname.
“We should’ve stopped at the restroom before leaving the food place,” Shiro adds, nuzzing Lance’s nose. “Should’ve known that it was a big odd when you didn’t take your usual bathroom break after eating.”
Now having the knowledge that his boyfriends don’t hate him, Lance presses his face into Shiro’s chest to hide from the world. Shiro acknowledges that he needs this, and rubs his back a little. He feels Keith wrap both of his arms around Lance’s right, and rests his cheek on his shoulder.
They stay like that until Lance moves, and Keith shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around Lance’s waist.
“That should hide it well enough for the walk to the car,” he explains, and Lance nods while sniffling miserably.
They both hold one of his hands on the walk back to the car, and Shiro digs out an old blanket he keeps in the trunk for emergencies for Lance to sit on. Shiro drives them home, and Keith lets Lance snuggle into his side on the way home.
Keith grunts a little in discomfort, and Lance looks up at him with questioning eyes.
“I kinda have to go now,” he admits, squeezing his thighs together for emphasis. “Not as much as you did, but still.”
Lance chuckles, and Keith gives him a small smile.
“Shower with me when we get home?” Lance asks them both, hopefully.
“Of course,” Shiro says, and Keith nods his agreement.
Satisfied, Lance snuggles back down into Keith’s side. He pokes Keith’s bladder, and he slaps him.
“Don’t,” Keith warns, but it sounds playful.
Still, Lance doesn’t. He can’t wait to get home and shower.
“You’re still down here?” Lance asks, leaning against the doorframe.
Keith disappeared hours ago, after everyone had crowded in an extra room to watch a movie. Lance would be lying if he said he was surprised to find him using the Garrison’s training room.
Keith shrugs, but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge Lance. He frowns and steps into the room.
“You were injured Keith, you should be resting,” Lance urges, trying to catch his boyfriend’s eyes.
“That’s all I’ve been doing for a week,” Keith grunts, “Needed to get my restless energy out.”
“It was a head injury, Keith. You probably shouldn’t be up and moving so much - you need to take advantage of this recovery time while you can.”
Keith makes an amused face, but it’s not a friendly one.
“Maybe you do,” Keith snaps, “but I actually want to stay in top shape.”
Lance frowns and steps closer. He grabs Keith’s chin in his hand and makes him look at him.
“Have you been sleeping?” Lance asks, surveying his boyfriend’s face for dark circles.
“… What?” Keith asks.
Lance sighs and drops his chin.
“You just snapped at me,” Lance explains. “You’ve gotten good at not snapping at me when your frustrated, but you still do it when you’re tired.”
Keith’s slightly aggressive stance deflates a little, and he looks a little sheepish.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t even notice.”
Lance nods, and drops his chin.
“Which is how I know you haven’t been sleeping. So, come on - let’s go take a nap.”
He holds out his hand, and Keith accepts it. Lance flips off the training room’s lights before they leave, and pulls Keith into his room. They get settled into bed, with Lance mostly on top of Keith. The beds aren’t really built for two people, but Keith likes having the weight of someone on top off him, so it all works out.
Despite his obvious sleeping problems, Keith is out like a light. Lance smiles, before sighing quietly and resting his cheek against Keith’s chest.
_____—————________
“…Eith. Keith, hey, wake up, babe.”
Keith blinks himself awake, and glances at the worried face of his boyfriend. The first thing that registers is how refreshed he feels - as much as he hates admitting it, Lance was right. He hadn’t been sleeping. The second is how…. wet he feels.
“Oh, fuck,” Keith groans, hiding his face behind his hands, as if it will somehow keep Lance from seeing.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Lance says, rubbing Keith’s side soothingly. “It happens to the best of us, sometimes. I’m just glad you got some sleep.”
“A little too much,” Keith mutters, and Lance giggles above him.
“That’s the spirit!” Lance says, pulling Keith’s hands away from his face. “There’s my little tomato!”
“Lance,” Keith groans, trying to get his hands back.
Lance leans forward to kiss his nose, before backing away.
“Come on, let’s go shower.”
Lance stands up and Keith groans again.
“God, I pissed all over you,” he complains.
Lance somehow came out wetter than he did. He shrugs.
“I’m an older brother, Keith. I’m used to wearing someone else’s piss like it’s a fashion statement.”
“That’s fucking disgusting, don’t ever say those words to me in that order ever again.”
Lance laughs and grabs one of Keith’s hands to tug on it.
“Let’s gooo,” he urges, pulling again.
“Fine, fine,” Keith says, getting up and letting himself be dragged to the showers. “Thanks for making me get some sleep… and for, uh. Being cool. About this.”
Lance gives him a toothy grin, and squeezes his hand.
“Of course, my little tomato.”
“Don’t start calling me that.”
“Hmm, too late! It’s your official nickname now.”
“Lance!”
Lance giggles again, and pushes them into the bathroom.
“Could be worse - I could call you prince yellow rain.”
Lance loves his job. He gets to see his boyfriend happy all day, and he gets his daily dose of socializing. He gets to go somewhere a little different everyday. All in all, it’s everything he wants out of life.
There are parts he doesn’t like about it, though. Washing dishes being the biggest nuisance. It’s boring, he doesn’t get to talk to anyone for like a whole two hours, his boyfriend is on the other end of the food truck cooking, and the warm water always makes him feel like he has to pee.
Not today, though. No, today he was an idiot. He skipped out on his usual bathroom break in favor of helping Hunk get a few more burgers made. They’re busier today than they usually are, due to a cute little article about them in the local paper.
He really wishes he hadn’t skipped it now. He can’t keep still, because the feeling of his heavy bladder sitting in between his hips is too distracting. Running his hands through the water to wash the dishes isn’t helping either, nor is the sound.
Lance thinks it’s speeding up his desperation. He used to be able to sit through an entire day at school without using the disgusting bathrooms once, plus the forty-five minute bus ride home. Minus one day where he’d woken up early and skipped out on his morning pee by accident.
He’d peed himself on the bus and his then-crush-now-boyfriend, Hunk had given him his sweater to cover up the wet patch. It’s also the day they’d gotten together, but he doesn’t dare to reminisce. Just thinking about it sends a wave of desperation through him that he has to clench his thighs and take slow breaths to get rid of.
He stamps his feet a little, procrastinating because he doesn’t want to stick his hand back under the water. It’s warm and wet, and why does the faucet get to leak but he can’t?
He whimpers, and shoves his hand back in, and dumps what is probably too much soap onto the dishes in the sink. The warm water makes him shiver, and he clenches his muscles.
He crosses and uncrosses his legs, and tries to clean the dishes.
The water is really distracting; it slides over his knuckles and down his arm, and he imagines his arm as his thigh. He thinks about how good it would feel to just let go, to release the pressure the way the sink is.
Lance shivers almost violently, and doubles-over at the waist. He whimpers when all it manages to do is squish the contents of his bladder, sloshing it around inside it. His lower-half tingles in an urgent kind of way, and tears prick in his eyes.
I can go after I finish the last five dishes, he reasons with himself. They won’t take that long, and surely Hunk won’t mind running the truck by himself for a few minutes while Lance runs off to find a bathroom.
He gives himself a quick squeeze of encouragement before straightening up again. Lance steels himself before putting his hands back in the water. Once they make contact, he shivers immediately, and whimpers quietly when he leaks. He does everything he can think of to hold it, bends his knees, wiggles his hips, tightens his hips, reaches down every now and again for an extra hold.
He eventually finishes the dishes, and turns off the facet. Now, all he has to do is go tell Hunk that he’s done. Before he can move, Hunk makes an appearance with arms full of more dishes.
“Got some more for you, babe. I’m gonna need them washed quickly too, we have so many costumers out there.”
The sight of all the dishes makes Lance want to cry. He watches miserably as Hunk drops them on the counter.
“Can I wash them in a few minutes?” Lance asks.
Hunk rolls his eyes.
“Is washing dishes really so taxing that you need a break?” Hunk teases, not unkindly.
“No,” Lance says, “but I never took my break today, and I really need - oh.”
The split second where he didn’t pay attention to his bladder is his undoing. Like the facet, he pours liquid rapidly into his jeans, and it takes mere seconds for it to reach his knees and spill onto the food truck. Hunk makes a small surprised noise before coming to stand beside Lance.
“That’s it, babe, let it all out,” Hunk cooes, rubbing Lance’s back.
Lance hides his blushing face in his hands, but can’t help the moans that pass his lips. It just feels so good. He had so much in him, and the tingly feeling goes from harsh and almost painful to gentle and pleasant. He shivers once he’s empty, all the liquid he’d been holding now running along the ground of the truck, and Hunk feels it.
“Better?” he asks, and Lance nods without moving his hands away. “Okay. Well, I’m going to close up for today, I think. I’m pretty sure this is a health hazard.”
“I’m so sorry,” Lance whimpers, “We were just so busy, and I didn’t want to let you down. This has been your dream for so long.”
“Lance, that’s sweet and all, but I’m pretty sure you leaving for five minutes to go take a piss wouldn’t be the downfall of our entire establishment. Besides, as much as I love doing this, I love youmore. I’d rather see you happy and healthy, so the next time you have to piss, even if it’s during rush hour, you go. Okay?”
“I don’t think I’d have a choice,” Lance says, and Hunk laughs.
He digs around in his pockets for a second before pulling one of Lance’s hands from his face.
“Here,” he says, giving him the keys to their apartment and car. “You go get cleaned up, and I’ll clean up here. Just don’t lock me out of our apartment, okay?”
Lance nods, clenching his fist around the keys. He swiftly turns on his heel to leave, but pauses just before jumping out of the truck.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“When the healing pods malfunction, the team set out to an unknown planet in order to find the metals necessary to repair them. However when Lance crashes on that mission, he is forced to recover from his injuries naturally but suddenly starts to develop a rather embarrassing problem as he heals. Fearing that his friends would laugh at him, Lance attempts to hide his problem but only worries his teammates further.”
Sooooo, I’ve been writing a Voltron omo fic for a while.（/｡＼;). I just updated today.
