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sunghoon is losing his mind, or maybe his kidneys, or possibly both, which would be fitting honestly because his entire life lately has been this careful balancing act between peak physical optimization and the slow realization that peak physical optimization comes with some genuinely inconvenient side effects.
like right now, for example.
he’s sitting on the couch in his apartment with sunoo sprawled across his lap while scrolling through his phone and normally? having his boyfriend so close would be enough to make him melt into a puddle of domestic contentment. and normally he would melt, would lean back into the cushions and let sunoo’s warmth soak into him, normally this would be perfect.
but the problem is that right now his bladder feels like it’s approximately three seconds away from exploding. this is, unfortunately, his own fault. he knows this. he’s been on this new hydration kick for three weeks now, ever since he read that article about how proper water intake contributes to muscle synthesis and aids protein absorption and improves nutrient delivery to cells, and he’d looked at his measly three liters a day and thought pathetic. he’d done the calculations, factored in his body weight and his training intensity and his generally sweaty existence, and concluded that five liters was the optimal number.
five liters.
which had seemed reasonable at the time, had seemed like the kind of commitment to excellence that separates the casually fit from the genuinely dedicated, but what that article failed to mention— what no one had thought to warn him about— is that five liters of water a day means he now has to piss approximately every forty-five minutes like some kind of oversized toddler who never learned proper bladder control.
it’s humiliating because he is a grown man. he should be able to sit through a two-hour lecture without having to excuse himself twice. he should be able to watch a movie without mentally mapping the location of every bathroom in the building. he should definitely be able to lie on his own couch with his own boyfriend without squirming like he’s being slowly tortured.
and yet.
sunoo shifts, adjusting his weight to get more comfortable, and his hip presses directly into sunghoon’s lower stomach and sunghoon has to physically bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from making a noise that would require explanation.
“you’re twitchy today,” sunoo observes, not looking up from his phone, thumb still scrolling. “something wrong?”
“no,” sunghoon says, and it comes out slightly strangled, which is not ideal. he clears his throat. “no, i’m fine. just. you know. thinking about… protein synthesis.”
sunoo’s scrolling pauses. slowly, with the energy of someone who has just heard something deeply suspicious, he tilts his head back against sunghoon’s chest to look up at him, one eyebrow arching.
“protein synthesis,” he repeats flatly.
“yes.”
“that’s what’s making you squirm like you’re sitting on a cactus. protein synthesis.”
sunghoon nods, shifts, which is a mistake, because moving makes his abdominal muscles tense and that makes everything worse and he has to fight not to wince visibly. “it’s a very engaging topic. there’s lots to consider.”
sunoo stares at him for a long moment, expression unreadable, and sunghoon can feel the assessment happening, can feel those pretty eyes taking note of every detail of his face— the flush he can feel climbing his neck, the way his jaw is set a little too tight, the probably slightly manic quality of his expression.
then sunoo’s gaze drops lower, to where sunghoon’s thighs are pressed together in a way that is definitely noticeable, and his mouth curves into this slow knowing smile that makes sunghoon’s stomach flip for reasons entirely unrelated to his bladder situation.
“hoon,” sunoo says, voice going soft and a little dangerous in a way that always makes sunghoon’s brain stop functioning. “do you need to pee?”
sunghoon feels his face go hot, feels the flush spread from his neck up to his ears, and he opens his mouth to deny it because that’s the automatic response, that’s what you do when someone asks you something embarrassing, but nothing comes out except this slightly strangled sound that is absolutely not a word.
“oh my god,” sunoo says, and he sounds delighted which is never a good sign. “you do. you’re sitting here dying because you need to pee and you didn’t want to make me move.”
“that’s not—” sunghoon starts, but sunoo is already shifting, sitting up properly now so he can turn and look at sunghoon face-on, straddling him, and the movement drags across his stomach and sunghoon whimpers, his hand flying down to grip sunoo’s thigh.
“how long have you been holding it?” sunoo asks, and there’s something in his voice now, something curious and considering that makes the back of sunghoon’s neck prickle.
“i don’t—” sunghoon swallows. “since. for two hours, i think. i had a lot of water during my workout and then i got distracted and—”
“two hours?” sunoo’s eyes widen slightly.
“i know,” sunghoon grits out, because yes, he knows, he’s been acutely aware of exactly how long it’s been and exactly how many times he almost gave in and exactly how close he is to genuinely embarrassing himself. “i was going to go, but then you sat down and you looked comfortable and i didn’t want to disturb you, and then it got worse and i thought maybe if i just waited a little longer—”
“you absolute idiot. you know you could have just asked me to move.”
“i know,” sunghoon says again, and his voice comes out smaller this time, more strained, because the conversation is making him think about it more directly and thinking about it makes it worse. “i just. i don’t know. i didn’t want to interrupt.”
sunoo tilts his head, studying him, and something in his expression shifts, goes calculating in a way that makes sunghoon’s pulse pick up. “does it hurt?”
sunghoon nods, not trusting his voice.
“a lot?”
another nod, jerkier this time.
sunoo hums thoughtfully, and then slowly he settles back down onto sunghoon’s lap, his weight pressing directly over his bladder in a way that has to be intentional, has to be, because there’s no way this positioning is accidental.
sunghoon makes a sound that’s somewhere between a gasp and a moan, his whole body going rigid, and his hands fly to sunoo’s hips, fingers digging in too hard.
“sunoo,” he grits out, “what are you—”
“i have a question,” sunoo says conversationally, like he’s not currently using his body weight to apply direct pressure to sunghoon’s screaming bladder. “and i want you to answer honestly.”
sunghoon can barely think, can barely breathe around the pressure, but he manages a nod because what else is he going to do, say no? he’s physically incapable of saying no to sunoo on a good day and this is very much not a good day.
“does this feel bad?” sunoo asks, and he shifts as he says it, just slightly, just enough to make sunghoon’s vision blur. “or does it feel… something else?”
“i don’t—” sunghoon’s voice cracks. “i don’t know what you mean.”
“i think you do.” sunoo’s hand comes up to rest on his chest, palm flat over his sternum, and his thumb traces a slow circle there. “i think you know exactly what i mean, and i think you’re scared to admit it.”
sunghoon’s breathing has gone shallow and fast, his heart pounding against sunoo’s palm, and he wants to deny it, wants to insist he doesn’t know what sunoo’s talking about, but his body is betraying him in ways he can’t explain away— and not just the obvious bladder situation.
because underneath the pressure, underneath the ache, there’s something else. something warm and liquid pooling low in his stomach that has nothing to do with his need to pee and everything to do with the way sunoo’s looking at him, the weight of him, the control implicit in every small movement.
he’s hard, he realizes. he’s sitting here with a bladder that’s about to burst and he’s hard, cock pressing nicely against the inside of his sweatpants, and there’s no way sunoo hasn’t noticed, no way he can’t feel it where he’s settled in his lap.
“oh,” sunoo breathes, and his smile goes sharp at the edges, triumphant and hungry. “i see.”
“i don’t—” sunghoon’s voice breaks. “this isn’t— i’m not—”
“you are, though,” sunoo says, and his hand slides down from sunghoon’s chest to press lightly against his lower stomach, right where the pressure is worst, and sunghoon keens, hips jerking involuntarily, eyes squeezing shut. “you’re turned on. you’re sitting here desperate to piss and you’re hard for it, baby. that’s so cute.”
“please,” sunghoon gasps even though he doesn’t quite know if he wants sunoo to stop or keep going or let him up to finally get relief. “please, sunoo, i can’t—”
“listen to me,” sunoo says, and his voice has dropped into that register, the one that makes sunghoon’s brain go fuzzy and compliant, the one that means he’s shifted from teasing boyfriend to something else entirely. “we have that party tonight with the others. heeseung and jake are picking us up in—” he glances at his phone, “—about an hour. we need to get ready.”
sunghoon nods because yeah, he knows about the party, he’s been looking forward to it all week, but right now he cannot imagine doing anything except sprinting to the bathroom and emptying his bladder for approximately seventeen years.
“you’re not going to pee before we leave,” sunoo continues, and sunghoon’s eyes fly open, something cold and hot simultaneously flooding through him. “you’re going to hold it.”
“what?” the word comes out cracked, disbelieving. “sunoo, i can’t—i literally can’t, i’ve been holding it for hours, i’m going to—”
“you’re going to hold it,” sunoo repeats, and his hand presses down harder on sunghoon’s stomach, making him whimper and squirm. “because i told you to. because you want to be good for me, don’t you? you want to make mommy happy?”
and god, god, the word hits him like it always does, this full-body shudder racking through him that has absolutely nothing to do with the pressure in his bladder and everything to do with the way his brain just empties out when sunoo talks to him like this.
“yeah,” sunghoon breathes, because it’s the only answer, the only possible response. “yes, i want to be good, but—”
“no buts,” sunoo says, firm and final. “you’re going to get up, and you’re going to take a shower and get dressed, and you’re going to be my perfect pretty boyfriend all night.”
sunghoon stares at him, tries very hard to process the impossibility of what’s being asked, trying to map out the logistics of an entire evening at a party while his bladder screams for relief, and his brain is screaming no, this is insane, you can’t possibly do this, but his mouth is already forming the word “okay” before he can stop it.
“okay?” sunoo’s eyebrows raise, like he wasn’t expecting compliance so quickly.
“okay,” sunghoon repeats, and his voice has gone small and shaky but there’s something underneath it, something that feels like anticipation curling warm in his chest. “i’ll— i’ll try.”
sunoo’s expression softens into something almost tender, and he leans forward to press a kiss to sunghoon’s forehead, sweet and gentle and completely at odds with what he just demanded.
“that’s my good boy,” he murmurs against sunghoon’s skin. “now come on. let’s get you ready.”
so ten minutes later sunghoon stands in the shower with the water running over him and he has to actively fight the urge to just let go in here, to let his body do what it’s been begging to do for hours. the warm water doesn’t help, makes everything feel more liquid and urgent, and he ends up bracing one hand against the tile and breathing through his mouth like he’s in labor, which is probably not a comparison he should be making but it feels apt. he dries off with shaking hands while sunoo moves around the bedroom picking out clothes.
“wear the black jeans,” sunoo calls through the doorway. “the tight ones.”
sunghoon makes a sound of protest that gets stuck in his throat because the tight ones are— they’re tight, they press against his stomach and his hips and his—
“the tight ones, hoon,” sunoo repeats, and there’s steel under the sweetness now.
“yes,” sunghoon manages. “okay. yes.”
he pulls on the jeans and has to take three full breaths before he can button them, the waistband sitting snug against his lower belly in a way that makes him acutely aware of every ounce of liquid currently residing in his bladder. he adds a soft dark sweater because sunoo likes the way it clings to his shoulders, and by the time he’s dressed and his hair is dry and styled he looks like a normal person, like someone who definitely has their life together and is absolutely not one wrong movement away from wetting himself.
sunoo looks him over with approval, reaching up to fix a flaw in his hair, and sunghoon leans into the touch automatically, desperate for any contact that isn’t pressure against his bladder.
“you look good,” sunoo says. “feel okay?”
sunghoon laughs, slightly hysterical. “no. not even a little bit.”
“but you’re holding it?”
“yes.” he swallows. “barely.”
sunoo smiles, and it’s the kind of smile that makes sunghoon feel simultaneously terrified and cherished. “you’re doing so well, baby.”
the praise settles warm in his chest, counterpoint to the ache in his gut, and sunghoon finds himself nodding, finds himself standing a little straighter despite everything.
he can do this. he can be good.
heeseung’s car pulls up exactly on time, which is unusual for heeseung and probably means jake was involved in the departure process. sunghoon climbs into the backseat with sunoo sliding in after him, and jake turns around from the passenger seat with a grin that falters slightly when he gets a good look at sunghoon’s face.
“you okay, man? you look kind of…” he gestures vaguely.
“i’m fine,” sunghoon says, and he’s pretty sure he sounds normal, pretty sure his voice isn’t as strained as it feels coming out.
“he’s just cold,” sunoo says smoothly, tucking himself against sunghoon’s side in a way that looks affectionate but is definitely calculated to put pressure right where sunghoon doesn’t need it. “you know how he gets.”
“it’s like sixty degrees out,” heeseung says from the driver’s seat, eyeing sunghoon in the rearview mirror.
“cold-blooded,” sunghoon manages. “like a. like a lizard.”
there’s a beat of silence.
“a lizard,” jake repeats slowly.
“you know what, let’s just go,” sunoo says brightly, reaching forward to pat heeseung’s shoulder. “we’re going to be late.”
heeseung shrugs and pulls away from the curb, and sunghoon spends the entire drive trying to focus on the conversation happening around him and not on the way every bump in the road sends shockwaves through his bladder. sunoo’s hand rests on his thigh, thumb rubbing idle circles that should be soothing but instead feel like a constant reminder of who he belongs to and what he’s been told to do.
at one point jake says something about the music choice and heeseung reaches over to shove him and the car swerves just slightly and sunghoon has to physically clench every muscle in his lower body to keep from losing control right there in the backseat.
sunoo’s hand squeezes his thigh once, firm and knowing.
good boy, the touch says. keep holding for me.
sunghoon breathes out slowly and stares at the back of a headrest and tries to remember what it felt like to not be acutely aware of his own bladder at every single moment.
the party is already in full swing by the time they arrive, bass thumping through the walls of the frat house, bodies spilling out onto the porch with red cups and loud laughter. sunghoon spots jungwon and riki near the front steps, jungwon gesturing emphatically about something while riki nods along with the kind of patient tolerance that suggests he stopped listening several sentences ago.
“there they are!” jake yells, already bounding up the steps to tackle riki into a hug that riki accepts while complaining about how late they are. “we thought you’d never show up!”
“we’re literally on time,” heeseung says, but he’s smiling, reaching out to ruffle jungwon’s hair and getting his hand slapped away for his trouble.
sunghoon hangs back slightly, hyperaware of the pressure in his gut, and sunoo slides his hand into sunghoon’s and squeezes once before letting go, the touch there and gone in a second but enough to steady him.
“you alright?” jungwon asks, falling into step beside sunghoon as they head inside. “you look a little off.”
“tired,” sunghoon lies. “long week.”
“felt that, man.” jungwon says, and then someone calls his name from across the room and he’s gone, swept away into the crowd, and sunghoon is left standing in the middle of the party trying to figure out how to exist normally.
the first hour isn’t as bad as he expected.
he finds a spot against the wall where he can lean and take some pressure off his lower stomach, and sunoo keeps circling back to check on him between conversations, pressing their shoulders together briefly, leaning up to murmur “still okay?” against his ear.
and he is, sort of. the adrenaline of being out, the distraction of music and people and noise, it all helps push the urgency to the background. it’s still there, this constant low-grade pressure that he can’t fully forget, but it’s manageable.
they do shots with the group at some point, all seven of them crowded around a too-small table while jay pours something that smells honestly too strong to be consumed but sunghoon throws his back and feels the burn spread warm through his chest and thinks i shouldn’t be drinking, this is going to make everything worse, but sunoo’s eyes meet his across the table with this look that says you can take it and sunghoon’s objections die in his throat.
he’s always been weak for that look.
jake gets clingy around shot number three, which is how sunghoon knows he’s properly drunk because sober jake is affectionate but drunk jake is a menace, draping himself over whoever happens to be closest and telling them very sincerely how much he loves them.
right now he’s draped over heeseung, arms wrapped around his waist from behind, chin hooked over his shoulder, and heeseung is pretending to be annoyed while also doing absolutely nothing to remove him. sunghoon watches them and thinks there’s definitely something there and then has to stop thinking because thinking requires brainpower and all his brainpower is currently devoted to not pissing himself in the middle of a frat party.
“bathroom,” he gasps suddenly, catching sunoo’s arm where he’s talking to riki about something. “sunoo, i need— i have to—”
sunoo turns to him, gaze sharp despite the pleasant flush of alcohol on his cheeks, and takes in sunghoon’s expression— the desperation, the barely contained panic.
“excuse us,” sunoo says smoothly to riki, and then he’s pulling sunghoon away from the crowd, into a slightly quieter corner near the kitchen where the music isn’t quite as deafening.
“i can’t,” sunghoon says immediately, the words tumbling out in a rush. “i can’t do this anymore, it hurts, please, i’m going to— if i don’t go right now i’m going to—”
“breathe,” sunoo says, both hands coming up to frame sunghoon’s face, forcing him to make eye contact. “look at me. in. out.”
sunghoon tries, pulls in a shaky breath that catches in his chest, and another, and another.
“how bad?” sunoo asks.
“so bad.” sunghoon’s voice cracks. “the worst it’s been all night. everything feels tight and i’m—” he cuts off, swallowing hard, because he can feel the need building, can feel how close he is to just losing it.
“but you’ve been so good,” sunoo murmurs, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. “so good for me all night, baby. you can make it a little longer, can’t you?”
“i can’t,” sunghoon insists, and he can hear how whiny his voice has gone, how desperate, but he’s past caring about how he should sound. “please, mommy, i need—”
the word slips out before he can stop it, that private thing they only use alone, and he sees sunoo’s eyes darken, sees the way his expression shifts into something more intent.
“not yet,” sunoo says. “we leave when i say. you hold it until i say. understand?”
sunghoon whimpers, his eyes burning with the force of holding back his tears because this is so much, too much, he’s been holding it for hours now and his body is screaming at him and sunoo is right there telling him no and—
“understand?” sunoo repeats, a little sharper.
“yes,” sunghoon gasps. “yes, mommy, i understand, just— please— soon, please let it be soon.”
sunoo studies him for a bit, evaluating, and then nods once. “one more hour. you can do that much for me.”
one more hour sounds like a death sentence, sounds like the most impossible thing anyone has ever asked of him, but sunghoon nods anyway because what else can he do. what else has he ever been able to do when sunoo asks him for something.
***
contrary to sunghoon’s belief, one hour does end up passing, albeit not as fast at he hoped. he stays close to sunoo’s side, letting himself be guided through conversations he can barely follow, laughing at jokes he doesn’t hear, nodding along to stories that don’t register. every few minutes the urgency spikes and he has to grab sunoo’s arm or his own thigh or the edge of whatever surface is nearest and just breathe through it, willing his body to cooperate for just a little longer.
jake finds them at some point and tries to pull sunghoon into a dance circle and sunghoon has to physically brace himself against a wall and say “no, man, i can’t, bad knee” which is the most obvious lie he’s ever told but jake is drunk enough to accept it, patting his shoulder sympathetically before bouncing away.
heeseung gives him a weird look from across the room at one point, like he’s trying to figure out what’s wrong, but sunghoon just shakes his head slightly and looks away and hopes that’s enough to deflect suspicion.
finally sunoo appears at his side and says “let’s go” and sunghoon could cry with relief, is maybe actually already crying a little bit, and they make their rounds saying goodbye and the whole time sunghoon is vibrating out of his skin with the need to go.
the car ride back is worse than the ride there.
sunghoon sits rigid in the backseat, every muscle in his body locked tight, and sunoo’s hand on his thigh feels both like comfort and a threat simultaneously. jake is slumped against heeseung in the front, half asleep and mumbling about wanting food, and heeseung is humoring him in that fond tired way that definitely means something, and sunghoon cannot focus on any of it because his bladder is approximately three seconds away from giving up entirely.
they hit a pothole then and the jolt goes through sunghoon’s whole body and he feels something shift, feels the pressure spike to impossible levels, and he has to slap both hands over his mouth to keep from making a sound that would require him to explain himself to jake and heeseung.
sunoo’s hand tightens on his thigh in warning. hold it.
sunghoon nods, eyes squeezed shut, and by some miracle he makes it, makes it through the rest of the drive and the goodbye to heeseung and jake and the walk up the stairs to his apartment, though that last part involves a lot of very frantic but very careful steps that probably look insane from the outside.
he fumbles for his keys with shaking hands, the metal slipping through his fingers twice before he manages to get the door open, and the second he’s inside he kicks off his shoes and moves, immediately making a beeline for the bathroom because he’s done, he’s held it for hours, sunoo said when they got home—
“where do you think you’re going?”
sunghoon freezes mid-step, one hand already reaching for the bathroom door handle.
slowly, disbelievingly, he turns around.
sunoo is standing in the middle of the living room, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised, looking completely unbothered despite the fact that sunghoon is literally about to burst.
“you said—” sunghoon’s voice comes out strangled. “you said when we got home—”
“i said maybe i’d let you have what you need,” sunoo corrects, taking a step closer. “i didn’t say you could just run off the second we walked in.”
“but i can’t—” sunghoon whines, high and desperate, and his hand flies to his crotch before he can think about it, pressing hard because he’s pretty sure if he doesn’t he’s going to lose it right here. “mommy, please, i’ve been holding it all night, i did what you said, i was good—”
“i know you were good,” sunoo says, still advancing, but there’s this different look in his eyes now, dark and hungry and possessive. “you were so good for me, baby. but we’re not done yet.”
he reaches sunghoon and firmly pulls his hand away from his crotch, replacing it with his own palm, pressing against the hard line of sunghoon’s cock through his jeans.
“fuck,” sunoo murmurs, lazily feeling the shape of him, the way he’s straining against the tight fabric. “all worked up from having to hold your piss. that’s so pathetic, baby.”
sunghoon whimpers, hips twitching into the touch involuntarily. “please—”
“please what? please let you pee? please let you make a mess?” sunoo’s voice is sweet and cruel, his hand pressing harder. “you don’t get to piss until mommy says. we’ve been over this.”
“but you said—” sunghoon starts, and then he cuts off with a gasp because something happens, something warm and wet trickles down his inner thigh despite every effort to hold it in.
they both freeze. sunghoon stares down at himself in horror, at the small dark patch spreading on the front of his black jeans, and he can feel his face going red, feel tears springing to his eyes because he didn’t mean to, didn’t want to, but his body just—
and sunoo fucking giggles, bright and delighted and downright mocking, and when sunghoon drags his eyes up to look at him his expression is lit up with amusement.
“oh, baby,” sunoo coos, pressing his palm harder against the damp fabric. “did you just have a little accident? couldn’t even hold it long enough to hear what mommy had planned?”
sunghoon’s face is burning, tears actually spilling over now. “i didn’t— it just— i couldn’t—”
“shh, it’s okay,” sunoo says, but he’s still smiling that sharp mean smile. “it’s okay, sweetheart. you tried so hard, didn’t you? held it all night like a good boy and then couldn’t quite make it the last few minutes.”
“‘m sorry,” sunghoon whispers, voice cracking. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to—”
“i know you didn’t.” sunoo’s free hand comes up to cup his face, thumb wiping away tears. “but you know what this means, don’t you? it means you need more practice. more control.”
sunghoon blinks at him, confused and overwhelmed and so embarrassed he wants to kind of disappear but he also can’t ignore the very obvious part of him who is very clearly turned on, very clearly e enjoying this. “what?”
“bedroom,” sunoo says, jerking his head toward the hall. “now. i’m going to teach you how to hold it properly, and you’re going to learn.”
sunghoon’s legs feel like jelly as he lets himself be guided down the hallway, sunoo’s hand firm on his lower back, and his bladder is screaming at him but he still hasn’t been given permission and some part of his brain— the part that’s been trained over months of this, of them— won’t let him let go without sunoo’s word.
the bedroom is dark but sunoo doesn’t bother turning on a lamp, just pushes sunghoon toward the bed until his knees hit the mattress and he sits down heavily.
“hoonie,” sunoo murmurs, standing between his spread thighs, looking down at him with an expression that’s somehow both fond and predatory. “you’re such a mess.”
sunghoon nods miserably because he is, he’s a mess, his jeans are wet and his face is wet and his whole body is trembling with the effort of holding back the rest of what’s built up inside him.
“take these off,” sunoo instructs, tugging at the waistband of sunghoon’s jeans.
sunghoon’s hands are shaking so badly he can barely manage the button, but he gets there eventually, pushing the damp denim down his hips and kicking it off onto the floor. his underwear is wet too, a dark patch spreading across the gray, and he wants to hide, wants to cover himself, but sunoo catches his wrists before he can.
“no,” sunoo says firmly. “let mommy see.”
and sunghoon does, lets his hands fall to his sides, lets sunoo look at him— at the evidence of his failure, at the way his cock is straining against the wet fabric despite everything.
sunoo’s eyes go dark as he takes it in.
“you’re still hard,” he observes, sounding almost surprised, though sunghoon isn’t sure why he would be at this point. “even after wetting yourself. even while you’re sitting there desperate to piss. your cock doesn’t care, does it? it just knows it wants.”
sunghoon doesn’t have words, can only sit there and tremble as sunoo’s hand comes down to trace the outline of him through his underwear, feather-light.
“does this feel good?” sunoo asks, pressing slightly harder. “having someone touch your pathetic wet cock while you’re trying not to piss yourself?”
“yeah,” sunghoon admits, voice barely above a whisper, and his hips twitch up into the touch involuntarily. “yes, it feels— mmf, please—”
“take these off too,” sunoo says, snapping the waistband of his underwear. “i want to see all of you.”
sunghoon complies, pushing the slightly wet fabric down and off, and then he’s sitting there completely bare from the waist down, cock hard and flushed and leaking and sunoo is looking at him like he wants to devour him.
“lie back,” sunoo instructs. “hands above your head.”
sunghoon moves to obey, lying back against the pillows, arms stretched up to grip the headboard, and the position makes everything marginally worse, makes his stomach feel tighter, makes the pressure spike in ways that have him whimpering before sunoo even touches him.
sunoo climbs onto the bed, straddling sunghoon’s thighs, and his weight settles directly over the worst of the pressure.
sunghoon lets out a breathy little moan, back arching, knuckles going white from where his hands grip the headboard. “sunoo— ah— that’s—”
“i know,” sunoo says, and he grinds down deliberately, pressing his full weight into sunghoon. “i know, baby. it hurts, doesn’t it? all that pressure with nowhere to go.”
“uh-huh,” sunghoon gasps, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. “yes, it hurts, please, please—”
sunoo shifts, moving down sunghoon’s body until his face is level with his cock, and sunghoon watches with desperate hungry eyes as sunoo’s mouth hovers just above the flushed head.
“listen here,” sunoo says, breath warm against sunghoon’s most sensitive skin. “i’m going to suck your cock now and you’re going to hold it, okay?”
“i can’t,” sunghoon says immediately, shaking his head frantically. “i can’t, if you— when you— it’s too much pressure, i’ll—”
“you will,” sunoo says firmly, and then his mouth closes around the tip and sunghoon’s brain just whites out because sunoo’s mouth is hot and wet and just what he needs, and sunghoon is going to die.
he’s certain of this now, certain that this is how he goes out— not peacefully in his sleep at ninety-three but right here, right now, in his fucking twenties with his boyfriend’s lips wrapped around his cock and his bladder threatening to give out at any second. it’s not the worst way to go, probably, but it’s definitely going to be embarrassing to explain to whoever finds his body.
sunoo sinks down slowly, taking more of him inch by inch, and every bit of suction sends little bursts of shockwaves through sunghoon’s entire lower body, lighting up nerve endings he didn’t even know he had. the pleasure is so tangled up with the pressure that he can’t separate them anymore, can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
“mommy,” he gasps out, voice cracking on the word. “mommy, i can’t— ’s too much—”
sunoo pulls off with a wet sound that makes sunghoon’s cock twitch and his stomach clench simultaneously. “you can,” he says, calm and certain, one hand coming up to wrap around the base of sunghoon’s shaft, holding him steady. “you’ve held it this long, haven’t you? another few minutes won’t kill you.”
“it might,” sunghoon insists, and he knows he sounds hysterical but he feels hysterical, feels like every single system in his body is overloading at once. “seriously, sunoo, i’m so close to just— if you keep—”
“if i keep what?” sunoo asks, and he emphasizes the question by licking a long slow stripe up the underside of sunghoon’s cock, tongue flat and hot against the already overheated skin. “if i keep doing this?”
sunghoon’s hips jerk up involuntarily and he has to bite down hard on his lip to keep from losing control. “yes,” he whimpers. “that, mommy.”
sunoo hums thoughtfully, like he’s considering the information, and then he does it again, slower this time, savoring, and sunghoon feels tears spill over from the corners of his eyes because it’s so good and so impossible.
“you know what i think?” sunoo says, propping himself up on one elbow, his other hand still wrapped loosely around sunghoon’s length. “i think you like this. i think you like being pushed to your limit, being told no when every part of your body is screaming yes.”
“i don’t—” sunghoon starts to protest, but sunoo squeezes his cock warningly and the words die in his throat.
“don’t lie to me, sweetheart,” sunoo says. “i can feel how hard you are. i can see how much you’re leaking.” he swipes his thumb over the head, gathering the moisture there, and holds it up so sunghoon can see it glisten in the low light. “this isn’t the reaction of someone who hates what’s happening to them.”
sunghoon swallows hard, face burning. “i don’t know why,” he admits, voice small. “i don’t know why it feels like this. it’s supposed to just hurt, it’s supposed to be uncomfortable, but it’s—” he cuts off, too embarrassed to finish.
“it’s turning you on,” sunoo finishes for him, matter-of-fact. “the desperation. the denial. having someone else control when you get to let go.” he tilts his head, studying sunghoon. “that’s nothing to be ashamed of, baby. lots of people are into this.”
“are you?” sunghoon asks, and he’s not sure why that’s the question that comes out, except that he needs to know, needs to understand if this is something sunoo actually wants or if he’s just indulging sunghoon’s newly discovered and deeply embarrassing kink.
sunoo’s expression shifts into something softer, almost tender. “do i look like i’m not enjoying myself?”
sunghoon takes in the flush on sunoo’s cheeks, the way his pupils have blown wide, and okay. okay, that’s. that’s something.
“i like seeing you like this,” sunoo continues, and his hand starts moving on sunghoon’s cock again, slow and teasing. “like seeing you so desperate you can barely think. like knowing i’m the one who put you in this state, who gets to decide when you get relief.”
sunghoon’s hips stutter into the touch, chasing the friction, and sunoo lets him for a moment before pressing his other hand flat against sunghoon’s lower stomach, right where the pressure is worst.
the sensation makes sunghoon sob, a pitiful sound that tears out of his throat raw and broken, his whole body curling in on itself as much as it can with sunoo pinning him down.
“there we go,” sunoo murmurs, pressing harder. “there’s my good boy. can you feel that? does that feel good?”
“yes,” sunghoon chokes out. “yes, i can feel it, please—”
“please what? please stop?” sunoo presses down again and sunghoon keens. “please keep going?” another press, another broken sound. “please let you piss all over yourself?”
the words should be humiliating—they are humiliating— but they also make sunghoon’s cock throb in sunoo’s hand, make his whole body flush hot with something that isn’t quite shame.
“i don’t know,” sunghoon admits, hiccuping, and his voice has gone high and reedy, all his composure stripped away. “i don’t know what i want, i just need— something— mommy, please, i need—”
sunoo’s hand stills on his cock when sunghoon trails off, his grip loosening. “you need what, sweetheart? use your words.”
“i need you,” sunghoon manages, and it comes out desperate and raw. “need you to— to touch me, to fuck me, to do something, i can’t just lie here anymore, i’m going crazy—”
sunoo considers this for a moment, thumb rubbing idle circles on sunghoon’s hip, and then he nods once, decisive.
he shifts, moving to straddle sunghoon properly now, settling his weight directly over sunghoon’s aching cock, and even through the fabric of his shorts sunghoon can feel the heat of him, can feel how wet he’s gotten.
“you want to be inside me?” sunoo asks, rolling his hips in a slow grind that makes sunghoon’s vision blur. “want to fuck mommy’s pussy while you’re trying not to piss yourself?”
“yes,” sunghoon gasps, hands flying to sunoo’s hips without thinking. “yes, please, please let me—”
“hands back,” sunoo snaps, and sunghoon drops them immediately, gripping the headboard again. “you don’t get to touch until i say. you’re going to lie there and take what i give you.”
sunghoon nods frantically, willing to agree to anything, everything, if it means sunoo will keep moving like that, keep grinding down and making those soft sounds.
sunoo reaches down to shimmy out of his shorts and underwear in one motion, kicking them off the side of the bed, and then he’s bare, straddling sunghoon with nothing between them, and sunghoon can see how slick he is, can see the wetness glistening between his thighs.
“look at what you do to me,” sunoo says, and he sounds almost accusatory, like sunghoon’s arousal is somehow personally offensive. “can’t even keep myself together when you’re lying there looking this fucking pathetic.”
“sorry, i’m sorry,” sunghoon breathes.
“you will be,” sunoo promises, and then he’s reaching back, taking sunghoon’s cock in hand and positioning himself, and sunghoon has approximately half a second to brace himself before sunoo sinks down in one smooth motion.
the sound that comes out of sunghoon is not human. it’s this strangled noise that tears itself from somewhere deep in his chest, his whole body going rigid as the sensation crashes over him— the tight wet heat of sunoo around him, the pressure against his bladder as sunoo settles his weight, the way it’s all tangled together into something so overwhelming he doesn’t know if he wants to push in deeper or pull away entirely.
“oh fuck,” sunoo gasps, bracing both hands on sunghoon’s chest, fingernails digging in. “fuck, you’re so— you feel so big like this, baby, stretching me open so good—”
sunghoon can only whimper in response, hands squeezing their grip on the headboard, every muscle in his body locked tight because if he moves, if he does anything, he’s going to lose control.
“you’re close, aren’t you?” sunoo asks, rolling his hips experimentally, and sunghoon nods desperately because yes, he’s close, he’s been close for hours, he’s been sitting on that precarious little edge of disaster since they left for the party and now with sunoo around him he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold on.
“you’re going to hold it,” sunoo says, firm despite the breathlessness in his voice. “you’re not going to piss until i tell you. even if it hurts. even if you think you can’t. you’re going to be a big boy for me, yeah? even after— fuck— wetting yourself once?”
the words twist the knife of shame and arousal into something combustible in his chest, and he nods again, tears leaking freely now. “yes,” he chokes out. “yes, i’ll— i’ll try, i’ll be good, mommy, i promise—”
“that’s my baby,” sunoo says, and then he starts to move and it’s torture because he rides him with this slow filthy rhythm that seems designed to maximize both pleasure and pressure, grinding down on every stroke so sunghoon feels the weight of him all the way through, so his bladder screams with every motion.
sunghoon can’t do anything except lie there and take it, hands locked on the headboard, body trembling with the effort of holding back, making sounds he’s never made before— these high desperate keens interspersed with broken sobs and gasped-out pleases that sunoo ignores entirely.
“so good,” sunoo pants above him, head thrown back, hips working in those traitorous circles. “you feel so good inside me, hoon, filling me up so perfectly—”
“mommy,” sunghoon whimpers, and his hips are trying to thrust up, trying to chase the sensation, but sunoo’s weight pins him down. “mommy, please, i’m going to— i can’t hold it much longer—”
“you can,” sunoo argues, but his voice is strained now too, his own pleasure building. “a little more, sweetheart, just a little more for me—”
sunghoon shakes his head stubbornly because he really can’t, he’s right there on the edge, can feel his control slipping with every passing second, and something in him just snaps— this desperate animal need to move, to take, to chase the release his body has been screaming for.
his hands fly off the headboard without permission, grabbing sunoo’s hips hard enough to definitely mark and bruise and maybe even break skin despite the bluntness of his nails, and in one fluid motion he’s flipping them, pressing sunoo down into the mattress, looming over him with wild eyes and a heaving chest.
sunoo’s breath catches, eyes going wide for a split second before they darken. “oh,” he breathes. “there you are.”
“need—” sunghoon gasps, and he can’t even finish the sentence, just hitches sunoo’s thigh up over his hip and drives back in, hard, punching a moan out of both of them.
the new angle is everything to him. every thrust sends bursts of pleasure right through his bladder, all these different sensations blending together into something that feels like insanity, and sunghoon sets a pace that’s almost punishing, hips pistoling forward with a desperation that borders on violent.
“yes,” sunoo gasps beneath him, fingers raking down sunghoon’s back, leaving lines of red in their wake. “yes, baby, just like that, fuck—”
sunghoon buries his face in sunoo’s neck, mouthing at the sweat-damp skin there, and his hips won’t stop moving, can’t stop, chasing exactly what he needs.
“mommy,” he chokes out against sunoo’s throat, voice wrecked and barely recognizable. “mommy, please— can i come? please, i need to let go, i can’t— i can’t—”
sunoo’s arms wrap around him, one hand fisting in his hair, the other splayed across his lower back. “yes,” he breathes. “yeah, baby, you can let go, come for me, let me feel it—”
the permission breaks right through him and sunghoon comes with a sharp cry, cock releasing deep inside sunoo, body convulsing with the force of it—
and then something else happens.
something he didn’t plan for, didn’t expect, his body interpreting let go in the most literal possible sense, and he feels himself start to piss, warmth flooding out alongside the aftershocks of his orgasm, and he immediately starts to panic.
“no—” he gasps, pulling out with a wet sound, “no, no, no—”
but he can’t stop, can’t, the dam has broken and everything is coming out at once, and he buries his face in sunoo’s neck and just cries, these horrible wracking sobs that tear out of his chest as warmth trickles between them, soaking into the sheets.
“hey,” sunoo murmurs, and his hand comes up to card through sunghoon’s hair, gentle despite everything. “shh, baby, it’s okay, you’re okay—”
“i can’t— i can’t stop—” sunghoon hiccups, and his whole body is shaking, equal parts humiliation and residual pleasure and the awful relief of finally getting to empty his aching bladder.
sunoo pets his hair for another moment, soothing, and then his voice firms up, goes all practical. “okay, sweetheart, you need to stop now. you’re going to soak through to the mattress.”
and the thing is, it’s not even that bad, theoretically. that’s what his brain supplies, unhelpfully, as he feels the warmth spread beneath him— it’s not even that bad because he’s been drinking so much water lately that his piss is basically clear, basically nothing, just recycled hydration with none of the usual stuff that would make this actually disgusting. it’s practically sterile. it’s practically just water. he read an article about this too, about how when you’re properly hydrated your urine is diluted enough to be almost odorless, almost colorless, and he’d filed that information away as a fun fact about kidney function and never once imagined he’d be using it to comfort himself while leaking onto his own mattress in front of his boyfriend. but here he is. and it’s fine. it’s fine. the sheets will wash. it’s just water. basically. but this knowledge doesn’t stop him from feeling absolutely helpless.
“i’m trying—” sunghoon wails, and it’s pathetic, he’s pathetic, lying here crying into his boyfriend’s neck while he pisses himself like a child.
“i know you are.” sunoo’s voice is gentle but there’s steel underneath. “clench for me. hard. you can do it, baby, just for a second.”
sunghoon tries, forces his wrecked muscles to cooperate, and somehow— somehow— he manages to stop the flow, though his body is screaming at him that it’s not done, that there’s more to release.
“good boy,” sunoo breathes, pressing a kiss to his temple. “that’s so good, sweetheart. now come on, up. i’ve got you.”
he guides sunghoon off the bed with gentle hands, and sunghoon goes willingly, lets himself be led because he doesn’t have the capacity to do anything else. his legs are shaky and his face is wet with tears and he’s pretty sure he’s never been more embarrassed in his entire life, but sunoo’s hand is warm in his, steady and sure.
the bathroom tiles are cool under his feet and sunoo turns on the shower, adjusting the temperature while sunghoon stands there and trembles.
“in,” sunoo says softly, tugging him under the spray.
the warm water hits sunghoon’s skin and something in him just releases, the last of his control dissolving, and he lets go completely, lets himself finish what his body started. sunoo holds him through it, arms wrapped around him from behind, chin hooked over his shoulder.
“that’s it,” sunoo murmurs against his ear. “just let it out, baby. i’ve got you.”
sunghoon cries through the whole thing, quiet tears that mix with the shower water and disappear down the drain, and when it’s finally over he slumps, shoulders hunching in.
sunoo washes him carefully, works shampoo through his hair, soaps down his body, rinses him clean. sunghoon just stands there and lets it happen, too wrung out to do anything except exist.
“you okay?” sunoo asks eventually, hands gentle on sunghoon’s shoulders, turning him so they’re face to face.
sunghoon laughs, this wet hysterical sound. “i just pissed myself. while coming. in our bed.”
“yeah,” sunoo agrees, mouth twitching. “you did.”
“i didn’t even know—” sunghoon scrubs a hand over his face. “i didn’t know i was into that. what the fuck.”
“honestly?” sunoo reaches up to cup his face, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. “me neither. but it was pretty hot.”
sunghoon stares at him. “you’re insane.”
“probably,” sunoo agrees easily and sunguoon’s leaning into his touch, can’t help himself.
they finish showering, dry off, and sunoo produces clean sheets from somewhere while sunghoon strips the bed in mortified silence. by the time they’re curled up together again, warm and dry and exhausted, the embarrassment has faded into something closer to bewildered contentment.
“so,” sunoo says into the quiet, head pillowed on sunghoon’s chest. “the hydration thing.”
sunghoon groans. “don’t.”
“i’m just saying. five liters a day has some interesting side effects.”
“i hate you,” sunghoon says, with absolutely no conviction.
sunoo laughs, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “sure you do, puppy.”
sunghoon wraps his arms tighter around him and lets his eyes close.
tomorrow he’ll probably be mortified all over again. tomorrow he’ll have to look at their friends and pretend he spent last night doing something normal instead of discovering an entirely new dimension of his sexuality in the most embarrassing way possible.
but that’s tomorrow’s problem.
for now, he just holds sunoo close and lets himself drift, safe and warm.