Giving In
WARNING: This fic contains intentional omorashi, very mild watersports, and sexual content.
It was two in the morning, and Ian was horny.
Normally, he’d go to Anthony for help with that. But Anthony had gone to bed a couple of hours ago, exhausted after hours of editing, and Ian didn’t want to disturb his boyfriend for such a small problem. Instead, he was sitting on the couch in the living room, muted porn playing on the TV screen. His hand was in his pants, fingers wrapped loosely around his cock, but he couldn’t bring himself to jerk off to the porn; it was only mildly interesting, and his mind was wandering to different and much more shameful things.
Ian had discovered, in his early teenage years, that he had a strange fascination with the idea of pissing himself - a fascination that quickly turned sexual. The first time he’d worked up the courage to actually try it was when he was fifteen, standing in the bathtub in his parents’ washroom, biting down on his hand to hold in the moans as the warm liquid streamed down his legs and soaked the old boxers he was wearing. Afterwards, he’d been so turned on that it only took a few quick strokes of his cock before he was coming harder than he ever had before (an orgasm that was still second only to the first time he’d fucked Anthony at seventeen). As time went on, Ian had grown more adventurous with his experiments, pissing himself while fully-clothed and venturing beyond the bathtub (and even into the backyard, once).
But that was years ago. Once Ian had moved in with Anthony, he’d stopped his wetting habit altogether. The risk of his parents finding out that he was some kind of sick pervert had been scary enough; he couldn’t imagine the humiliation that he’d feel if Anthony found out. The idea had made him sick to his stomach; would Anthony even want to have sex anymore if he found out that his boyfriend got off on pissing his pants? The idea had quickly put a stop to Ian’s adventures in that particular area of his sexuality, and he hadn’t even thought about it in years.
But now, his bladder was full and his cock was slowly twitching to life, and even the vaguest idea of pissing himself was driving him crazy. He tried to tell himself that he should just forget about it, just jerk off and crawl into bed with Anthony and go to sleep like a normal person, but once the thought had popped into his head, he just couldn’t leave it alone. He missed his experiments more than he’d realized. I’m going to do it, he thought wildly, and that was it; he had to do it now.
He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply as he tried to reason with himself. Anthony was asleep, but he’d always been a light sleeper; he would almost certainly be woken up by any noise in the bathroom, meaning that the bathtub was out. But anywhere else would make a mess that was much harder to clean up. He briefly considered going outside, but it was a chilly winter night, even in California; no way he could enjoy pissing himself if he was shivering the whole time.
But God, the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to do it. He dropped a hand down to his abdomen, pressing softly on his bladder, a little more pressure until a wave of desperation surged through him. He held in a moan, one hand slipping beneath the waistband of his jeans to stroke his half-hard cock. Breathing deeply, he relaxed the muscles in his abdomen, just a little, rubbing his thumb over the head of his dick to feel the tiny spurt of wetness that escaped. He bit his lip, squeezing his eyes shut tighter; God, this was turning him on.
He sat still for a second, trying to convince himself to stop. But another voice in the back of his mind was urging him to continue. Just a little, the aroused part of his brain begged his rational side. After all, his boxers and jeans could hold a little bit of liquid without dampening the couch, right? He could just throw the wet clothes in the wash before he went to bed. Anthony would never have to know.
Ian tipped his head back against the couch, relaxing his body as much as he could. He pulled his hand out of his jeans, moving both hands to press against his bladder. He let out a sharp gasp as another small stream of piss spurted into his boxers. “Shit,” he groaned softly to himself. It felt so good; his cock was twitching against the wet fabric.
Ian pushed one hand between his legs, feeling the crotch of his jeans. It didn’t feel wet yet, so he relaxed a little more, stifling a moan as more warm liquid poured into his jeans. It was harder to stop the flow this time; the crotch of his jeans felt noticeably damp, and when he looked down, a small wet patch had spread across the front of his pants. He spread his legs, examining the damage that had been done to the couch beneath him. He sighed in relief when the saw that the wet spot there was only two or three inches wide; it would easily dry before Anthony woke up.
Unless he made it bigger.
He tried to push the thought out of his head the moment it entered, but it was no use. He moaned aloud at the thought of letting go completely, of soaking his jeans and the cushion beneath him and jerking off in the mess afterwards.
God, he wanted to.
He racked his brains for a way to pull it off without getting caught, hand falling to rub his cock through the wet fabric as he did. After a few painstaking moments of trying to think through his arousal, he remembered that there was a 24-hour dry-cleaners only a few minutes’ drive away. He could drop the cushion off there after he was done, tell them that his dog pissed on the sofa or something. When Anthony woke up and asked why the cushion was missing, Ian could just say that he spilled soda on it. A pretty flimsy excuse, sure, but at least Anthony wouldn’t suspect what had really happened.
That was good enough. Ian bit his lip, eyes slipping shut once again as he released his bladder, completely this time.
Hot liquid flooded his boxers, slowly at first, but gushing out faster and faster as Ian relaxed into the feeling. It soaked through his jeans in an instant, pouring out onto the couch cushion beneath him, soaking through the fabric there as well. The warm wetness was more than he could handle; moans began to escape from his lips, the feeling too intense for him to stifle them. He could hear rivulets of piss pouring over the end of the cushion and dripping down onto the carpet below, but he was too caught up in his arousal to care anymore. He pushed on his bladder, squeezing his muscles to force out every last drop. When his stream finally trickled off into nothing, he blinked his eyes open, enjoying the feeling of the warm, wet fabric clinging to his legs and his ass. He reached down to unzip his pants and take care of his cock, which was nearly completely hard by now.
He froze as he caught a glimpse of movement in his peripheral vision.
Anthony was standing at the entrance to the living room, looking more than shocked.
Ian’s heart sank. He scrambled desperately for an excuse, something to make all of this seem okay, but he had nothing; how could he possibly explain sitting on the couch covered in his own piss, with his raging boner already in hand?
“A-ant,” he stammered, unsure of what he was even saying, “I didn’t... I... fuck.” He stared up hopelessly at Anthony.
Anthony didn’t speak; instead, he moved across the room to kneel on the floor, between Ian’s still-soaked legs. When he looked up at Ian, there was a slight smirk on his face, beneath the surprise.
“You’re into that, huh?” he asked. His voices wasn’t judgemental or disgusted, as Ian had been afraid of. In fact, he sounded interested.
Ian blushed, avoiding his gaze. “I g-guess so, yeah.”
Anthony bit his lip, reaching up to tug Ian’s cock gently. Ian moaned.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Anthony prompted.
Ian shrugged, still reeling from the sensation of Anthony’s hand around his dick. “I thought... you would think it was weird. And gross.”
Anthony slid his other hand along the soaking wet fabric covering Ian’s inner thigh, up to the waistband of his pants.
“I don’t think it’s gross,” he whispered. “And I think seeing you that turned on was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.” He pulled Ian’s jeans and boxers down, just enough to free his cock fully. Ian moaned as Anthony leaned in to lick a broad line from the base of his dick to the very tip, no longer caring about the embarrassment of being caught. Anthony closed his eyes as he took Ian’s cock into his mouth. Ian moaned, tangling his fingers in Anthony’s hair; the warm wetness of Anthony’s mouth was an overwhelmingly pleasant contrast to the damp, now-cold fabric that clung to his legs. Anthony took Ian’s cock in all the way, swallowed around it, and in Ian’s overwhelming state of arousal that was all it took; he was coming hard into Anthony’s mouth, nearly shouting his name.
Anthony pulled away just enough to swallow, wiping the corner of his mouth with one hand, and grinned breathlessly up at Ian.
“Haven’t seen you come that fast since we were teenagers,” he said, and Ian lazily hit his knee against Anthony’s shoulder.
“Shut up,” he panted, still reeling from the orgasm.
Anthony smirked, pushing himself up into a standing position. He reached for Ian’s hands, pulling him up off of the soaked cushion.
“You gonna get that cleaned tomorrow?” Anthony asked, and Ian nodded hurriedly, still blushing as he pulled his wet jeans back up. Anthony smiled, leaning in for a kiss.
“You need a shower,” Anthony murmured against Ian’s lips. “How about I join you, and you can help me take care of this.” He grasped Ian’s hand, moving it to the front of his pajama pants, and Ian grinned as he felt Anthony’s own cock straining against the thin fabric.
“Yeah, okay,” Ian breathed, and Anthony grinned, pulling him by the hand toward the bathroom.
It was two in the morning, and Ian was horny.
Normally, he’d go to Anthony for help with that. But Anthony had gone to bed a couple of hours ago, exhausted after hours of editing, and Ian didn’t want to disturb his boyfriend for such a small problem. Instead, he was sitting on the couch in the living room, muted porn playing on the TV screen. His hand was in his pants, fingers wrapped loosely around his cock, but he couldn’t bring himself to jerk off to the porn; it was only mildly interesting, and his mind was wandering to different and much more shameful things.
Ian had discovered, in his early teenage years, that he had a strange fascination with the idea of pissing himself - a fascination that quickly turned sexual. The first time he’d worked up the courage to actually try it was when he was fifteen, standing in the bathtub in his parents’ washroom, biting down on his hand to hold in the moans as the warm liquid streamed down his legs and soaked the old boxers he was wearing. Afterwards, he’d been so turned on that it only took a few quick strokes of his cock before he was coming harder than he ever had before (an orgasm that was still second only to the first time he’d fucked Anthony at seventeen). As time went on, Ian had grown more adventurous with his experiments, pissing himself while fully-clothed and venturing beyond the bathtub (and even into the backyard, once).
But that was years ago. Once Ian had moved in with Anthony, he’d stopped his wetting habit altogether. The risk of his parents finding out that he was some kind of sick pervert had been scary enough; he couldn’t imagine the humiliation that he’d feel if Anthony found out. The idea had made him sick to his stomach; would Anthony even want to have sex anymore if he found out that his boyfriend got off on pissing his pants? The idea had quickly put a stop to Ian’s adventures in that particular area of his sexuality, and he hadn’t even thought about it in years.
But now, his bladder was full and his cock was slowly twitching to life, and even the vaguest idea of pissing himself was driving him crazy. He tried to tell himself that he should just forget about it, just jerk off and crawl into bed with Anthony and go to sleep like a normal person, but once the thought had popped into his head, he just couldn’t leave it alone. He missed his experiments more than he’d realized. I’m going to do it, he thought wildly, and that was it; he had to do it now.
He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply as he tried to reason with himself. Anthony was asleep, but he’d always been a light sleeper; he would almost certainly be woken up by any noise in the bathroom, meaning that the bathtub was out. But anywhere else would make a mess that was much harder to clean up. He briefly considered going outside, but it was a chilly winter night, even in California; no way he could enjoy pissing himself if he was shivering the whole time.
But God, the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to do it. He dropped a hand down to his abdomen, pressing softly on his bladder, a little more pressure until a wave of desperation surged through him. He held in a moan, one hand slipping beneath the waistband of his jeans to stroke his half-hard cock. Breathing deeply, he relaxed the muscles in his abdomen, just a little, rubbing his thumb over the head of his dick to feel the tiny spurt of wetness that escaped. He bit his lip, squeezing his eyes shut tighter; God, this was turning him on.
He sat still for a second, trying to convince himself to stop. But another voice in the back of his mind was urging him to continue. Just a little, the aroused part of his brain begged his rational side. After all, his boxers and jeans could hold a little bit of liquid without dampening the couch, right? He could just throw the wet clothes in the wash before he went to bed. Anthony would never have to know.
Ian tipped his head back against the couch, relaxing his body as much as he could. He pulled his hand out of his jeans, moving both hands to press against his bladder. He let out a sharp gasp as another small stream of piss spurted into his boxers. “Shit,” he groaned softly to himself. It felt so good; his cock was twitching against the wet fabric.
Ian pushed one hand between his legs, feeling the crotch of his jeans. It didn’t feel wet yet, so he relaxed a little more, stifling a moan as more warm liquid poured into his jeans. It was harder to stop the flow this time; the crotch of his jeans felt noticeably damp, and when he looked down, a small wet patch had spread across the front of his pants. He spread his legs, examining the damage that had been done to the couch beneath him. He sighed in relief when the saw that the wet spot there was only two or three inches wide; it would easily dry before Anthony woke up.
Unless he made it bigger.
He tried to push the thought out of his head the moment it entered, but it was no use. He moaned aloud at the thought of letting go completely, of soaking his jeans and the cushion beneath him and jerking off in the mess afterwards.
God, he wanted to.
He racked his brains for a way to pull it off without getting caught, hand falling to rub his cock through the wet fabric as he did. After a few painstaking moments of trying to think through his arousal, he remembered that there was a 24-hour dry-cleaners only a few minutes’ drive away. He could drop the cushion off there after he was done, tell them that his dog pissed on the sofa or something. When Anthony woke up and asked why the cushion was missing, Ian could just say that he spilled soda on it. A pretty flimsy excuse, sure, but at least Anthony wouldn’t suspect what had really happened.
That was good enough. Ian bit his lip, eyes slipping shut once again as he released his bladder, completely this time.
Hot liquid flooded his boxers, slowly at first, but gushing out faster and faster as Ian relaxed into the feeling. It soaked through his jeans in an instant, pouring out onto the couch cushion beneath him, soaking through the fabric there as well. The warm wetness was more than he could handle; moans began to escape from his lips, the feeling too intense for him to stifle them. He could hear rivulets of piss pouring over the end of the cushion and dripping down onto the carpet below, but he was too caught up in his arousal to care anymore. He pushed on his bladder, squeezing his muscles to force out every last drop. When his stream finally trickled off into nothing, he blinked his eyes open, enjoying the feeling of the warm, wet fabric clinging to his legs and his ass. He reached down to unzip his pants and take care of his cock, which was nearly completely hard by now.
He froze as he caught a glimpse of movement in his peripheral vision.
Anthony was standing at the entrance to the living room, looking more than shocked.
Ian’s heart sank. He scrambled desperately for an excuse, something to make all of this seem okay, but he had nothing; how could he possibly explain sitting on the couch covered in his own piss, with his raging boner already in hand?
“A-ant,” he stammered, unsure of what he was even saying, “I didn’t... I... fuck.” He stared up hopelessly at Anthony.
Anthony didn’t speak; instead, he moved across the room to kneel on the floor, between Ian’s still-soaked legs. When he looked up at Ian, there was a slight smirk on his face, beneath the surprise.
“You’re into that, huh?” he asked. His voices wasn’t judgemental or disgusted, as Ian had been afraid of. In fact, he sounded interested.
Ian blushed, avoiding his gaze. “I g-guess so, yeah.”
Anthony bit his lip, reaching up to tug Ian’s cock gently. Ian moaned.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Anthony prompted.
Ian shrugged, still reeling from the sensation of Anthony’s hand around his dick. “I thought... you would think it was weird. And gross.”
Anthony slid his other hand along the soaking wet fabric covering Ian’s inner thigh, up to the waistband of his pants.
“I don’t think it’s gross,” he whispered. “And I think seeing you that turned on was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.” He pulled Ian’s jeans and boxers down, just enough to free his cock fully. Ian moaned as Anthony leaned in to lick a broad line from the base of his dick to the very tip, no longer caring about the embarrassment of being caught. Anthony closed his eyes as he took Ian’s cock into his mouth. Ian moaned, tangling his fingers in Anthony’s hair; the warm wetness of Anthony’s mouth was an overwhelmingly pleasant contrast to the damp, now-cold fabric that clung to his legs. Anthony took Ian’s cock in all the way, swallowed around it, and in Ian’s overwhelming state of arousal that was all it took; he was coming hard into Anthony’s mouth, nearly shouting his name.
Anthony pulled away just enough to swallow, wiping the corner of his mouth with one hand, and grinned breathlessly up at Ian.
“Haven’t seen you come that fast since we were teenagers,” he said, and Ian lazily hit his knee against Anthony’s shoulder.
“Shut up,” he panted, still reeling from the orgasm.
Anthony smirked, pushing himself up into a standing position. He reached for Ian’s hands, pulling him up off of the soaked cushion.
“You gonna get that cleaned tomorrow?” Anthony asked, and Ian nodded hurriedly, still blushing as he pulled his wet jeans back up. Anthony smiled, leaning in for a kiss.
“You need a shower,” Anthony murmured against Ian’s lips. “How about I join you, and you can help me take care of this.” He grasped Ian’s hand, moving it to the front of his pajama pants, and Ian grinned as he felt Anthony’s own cock straining against the thin fabric.
“Yeah, okay,” Ian breathed, and Anthony grinned, pulling him by the hand toward the bathroom.