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“You want me to do what?” Shane laughs incredulously, shutting the book he had open in his lap. He was almost certain he heard Ilya properly, but he had to make sure.
“I want you to hold your piss.” Ilya replies simply, rolling onto his side to face Shane better. “Did you not understand first time? Should I say in Russian? Я хочу, чтобы ты сдерживал мочу.” His hand reaches over, fingers gently running down the side of Shane’s face, brushing along the blush rapidly spreading under his freckles. No matter how long they’ve been together, Ilya doesn’t think that he’ll ever get over how beautiful they look.
Shane can’t help but lean into Ilya’s touch, even with how much he wanted to hide his face in the pillows under him. “Ilya, my love, where is this coming from?” His blush only deepens, but his cock twitches at the thought of what Ilya might have planned. Sure, they’d experimented in the bedroom before, gone outside their comfort zones in more ways than one, but this was…uncharted territory.
It was Ilya’s turn to start blushing as he tries to word and translate what he wanted to say. “Well… I notice, sometimes, after long games, and when we are in car a long time, you get–what is word? Squirmy? Squirmy.” He starts, avoiding Shane’s gaze and busying himself by fiddling with the sleeve of Shane’s shirt. “Is very hot, like when you are about to come. I want to see more often.”
“I guess I just-” Shane cuts himself off to think about it for a second. He had never really thought anything of those situations, though he supposed they were more common than he had noticed. Sometimes he just couldn’t help but forget to use the bathroom, too engrossed in the game to go during intermission, too concerned about reaching their destination to bother stopping at a gas station to piss. Shane had never noticed Ilya’s sudden interest in these situations over the time they’ve been together, but he supposes it makes sense. Ilya loved to take control, both in and out of the bedroom, and Shane assumes this is just an extension of that.
Ilya shifts on the bed, continuing to find ways to busy his hands as he anxiously awaits Shane’s answer. Shane can tell how nervous he was, and wonders how long Ilya had wanted to ask about this. Before he can think too hard about it, he answers.
“I suppose we can give it a shot.”
The way Ilya’s face brightens after hearing his answer erases nearly any hesitation Shane has about the idea.
—
It’s a few days later, after sitting down and going over expectations and what they both wanted to happen, that they finally have time to actually do it. Ilya was straightforward with his wants, that he wanted Shane to hold it, and to not use the bathroom without his Ok. They’re at the cottage, Shane curled up against Ilya’s chest as the early morning sun shines through the open blinds.
Ilya wakes first, arm numb underneath the weight and warmth of Shane’s body. He shifts a bit, trying his best not to wake the other with his movement, and reaches down to brush his fingers across his jaw and over his forehead. “Sweetheart, is time to wake up.” He murmurs, leaning down and kissing him gently to wake him.
“Hmm?” Shane mumbles, stretching his arms up and nearly punching Ilya in the face in the process. “Oh. G’morning, Ilya.” He takes a minute to wake up, nuzzling into his chest for a moment before rolling out of bed and stretching his legs. Purely on habit and instinct, Shane makes his way toward the bathroom, fully intending on using the bathroom before breakfast before he’s stopped in his tracks by Ilya’s voice.
“Oh? Better just be brushing teeth, Shane. Did you forget already?” Ilya’s voice is clearly amused as he stands, wrapping his arms around him from behind and kissing his neck. “Be a good boy. I will make breakfast, da? Come to kitchen when you are done.” He kisses Shane’s cheek and squeezes his ass before leaving the room, feeling a bit giddy when he thinks about how things are going to escalate over the next few hours.
Shane takes a deep breath as he walks into the bathroom, trying his best to ignore the sight of the toilet and instead focuses on washing up, legs pressing together unconsciously as he runs the sink to brush his teeth and wash his face. It’s not that he has to piss that bad already, but just knowing that he wasn’t going to be allowed to go for…who knows how long, has made him hyper aware of the feeling.
Ilya is setting out the last of breakfast by the time Shane comes downstairs, making his usual protein smoothie, two slices of toast, and a large glass of water. “Sit. Eat.” He demands, eyeing Shane hungrily as he sits down at the kitchen island. He takes a bite of his own breakfast, noticing how Shane was only eating the toast and not touching his smoothie or water. “Drink, Hollander. You must stay hydrated. Is good for performance.”
“Asshole.” Shane murmurs, but obediently grabs the glass of water and downs half of it in one go.
Two hours and another large glass of water later, the two of them are sat together on the couch. A nature documentary is playing in the background, but Shane can’t bring himself to pay attention. The pressure in his groin has only grown as the hours passed, and he’s becoming increasingly uncomfortable. He’s not desperate by any means, but the pressure in his bladder keeps increasing and he can’t stop thinking about it. “Ilya…” Shane whines softly, leaning further into Ilya’s shoulder and mouthing at his neck.
“Da, sweetheart? Everything ok?” Ilya hums, turning his head to press his lips against Shane’s head. He knows exactly what Shane is whining about, has felt him grow more restless as time has passed. “Are you thirsty? I can get you drink.” He smirks at Shane’s resulting whine, shifting to hide his growing erection.
“No! No, ‘m not thirsty.” Shane whines, pressing his legs together and grabbing at the thigh of his shorts. “Just…I really need to go.” It’s not a lie. Any sane person would have gone by now, and he wants nothing more to just bolt off the couch and just go. But Ilya hasn’t told him he was allowed to yet, so he sits.
Ilya bites his lip as he looks Shane up and down, seeing how his thighs were shaking with need already and how flushed his face was. He can’t help himself, reaching down with one hand to pull Shane’s shirt up and relishing in the flinch it resulted. “What is wrong? Feels bad…here?” At the same time as he finishes the question, Ilya places his hand on Shane’s distended stomach and presses gently.
Shane chokes on a whine that rapidly turns into a moan at the feeling of Ilya’s large hand pressing against his full, full bladder. He swears he can feel piss rush through his cock, one hand flying to grab himself while the other grabs onto Ilya’s wrist. “Fuck, fuck, wait, Ilya-” He gasps, barely able to stop the leak that threatened to escape. Shane tries to writhe away from Ilya’s hand, but the other man holds him in place for a second longer before pulling his hand away and standing up.
He takes a few gasping breaths, one hand still clutched to his groin as the wave of desperation Ilya caused passes. “Fuck, Ilya, I can’t–I don’t think I can hold it.” Shane whines, leg bouncing restlessly and his free hand cupping his bladder. He gasps even at the light touch, feeling just how full he was and how distended the begging organ was. Despite the slight pain he felt, it was overshadowed by feelings of desperation and arousal. His cock twitches under his palm, and Shane can’t help but whimper and press his head against the back of the couch in need when Ilya walks out of the room.
He hears the door of the fridge open and close, heart rate increasing when he sees Ilya return with a bottle of water, and a can of ginger ale. “No, I can’t–” he starts.
“Cannot what, Hollander?” Ilya hums, setting the two drinks on the coffee table and standing in front of Shane, the other man's eyes closely following the movement. “Cannot hold it? Too bad. Be a good boy for me, hm?” Ilya reaches for the bottle of water first, but changes his mind at the last second and instead grabs the ice cold can of ginger ale, eyes flicking down to Shane’s erection straining the front of his shorts. He takes a step closer to Shane, blocking him in between his legs, and bends down with the can in his hand.
Shane trembles underneath Ilya, eyes moving across his face and upper body, briefly catching sight of how hard he was as well, how much this was all affecting him. His attention is ripped away quickly, when instead of opening the can, Ilya slowly presses the edge of the can against his erection. “Fuck–!” he cries out, the cold can seeping through his shorts and causing him to leak a spurt of piss. Shane tries to press back against the couch, desperate to get away from the feeling but part of him wanting to grind up against the can and Ilya’s hand. The contrasting sensations make his head spin, hands fisting the couch cushion as he keens softly.
“Ilya, please, please–” He doesn’t even know what he’s begging for. For Ilya to stop? To let him go? Shane’s only thoughts are the pressure in his bladder, and the agonizing feeling of Ilya dragging the can up his cock, gasping for breath when he reaches the tip. A few more drops escape, and Shane tries to reach to pull Ilya’s hand away, to grab at his cock, to do anything to stop the leak, but Ilya is faster, grabbing his hand and pressing it back down against the couch.
“Hands off.” Ilya’s voice is heavy with arousal, his own chest heaving slightly with the sight of Shane desperate and writhing underneath him. His breath hitches when he looks down, finally moving the can off of Shane’s tip and seeing the quarter sized wet spot on his shorts. “Fuck, Shane, did you–? Is that?” He questions, dropping the can on the couch and grabbing Shane’s chin, kissing him hungrily. Ilya felt like he was going insane, knowing that Shane was so desperate that he was leaking into his shorts, but was still trying so hard to hold on for him, made him feel dizzy.
He pulls away after a moment, reaching back toward the coffee table and nearly knocking over the bottle of water in his frantic attempt to grab it. Ilya’s hands shake as he twists the cap off, grabbing Shane’s chin again and pressing the bottle against his mouth. “Open.”
“Ilya, please-” Shane whines against the lip of the bottle, weakly pushing at Ilya’s arm and squirming in an attempt to get away.
“Drink.”
Shane drinks. He nearly chokes on the first swallow, water dribbling down the sides of his mouth as he tries to keep up with the rate that Ilya was tipping the bottle. It feels like there’s no room left in his bladder for any more liquid, stomach sloshing with the onslaught of fluid he’s forcing down his throat.
Ilya gives him a moment to breathe halfway through, using his thumb to wipe some of the water before forcing the rest of the bottle into him. “Fuck, such good boy for me.” He groans, tossing the empty bottle to the side and noticing how Shane had only grown more squirmy underneath him.
“I need-I need-” Shane starts, barely able to form a coherent thought outside of ‘fuck i need to piss i’m going to piss myself i need to piss.’ His hands haven’t moved despite desperately wanting to grab at his cock, even more desperate to be good for Ilya. “I need to pee, please, ‘m gonna fucking piss myself.” He moans like he’s being fucked, hips jerking upward as another leak gushes out of him. It lasts for multiple seconds before he’s able to stop it, a sob escaping as he feels his shorts getting more and more soaked.
Shane’s hip arch upward, desperate for any contact on his aching, leaking cock, and he presses his head against the back of the couch once again. He can hear Ilya’s labored breathing, how he mumbles something in Russian before reaching down and shoving his hand inside Shane’s shorts. It feels heavenly to finally have contact against his groin, and he presses frantically into Ilya’s hand. “Harder, please, it’s gonna come out.” His face is flushed, tears gathering in his eyes as he feels another leak coming. Shane’s pleas go unheard, and something in him snaps when instead of squeezing his cock harder, Ilya uses his other hand to press against his bladder.
Ilya notices the moment Shane’s resolve breaks, a broken sob bursting out of him moments before Ilya feels his hand rapidly becoming soaked in the hot liquid. “Fuck.” He moans, English leaving him as his own ignored member twitches, and it only takes one thrust of his hips against Shane’s thigh before he’s coming harder than he thinks he ever has. “Fuck, Shane. You kill me.”
“‘M sorry, I tried to hold it, I promise I tried.” Shane sobs, piss still streaming out of him as he presses his face into the couch cushion under him. It feels endless, and he trembles as a puddle grows underneath him. The stream lasts over a minute, Ilya’s hand still holding his cock, and despite the tears running down his face, Shane can’t help but buck his hips up into his hand. “Fuck, please.” He whines, thrusting desperately for a few moments before he’s coming, spilling into his already soaked shorts.
The two of them breathe heavily for a moment, Shane still crying softly as Ilya pulls his hand away, soaked in his come and piss. “Look at you, sweetheart. Made such a big mess.” Ilya breathes, reaching up with his other hand to cup Shane’s face and wipe away some of his tears. “No tears, da? Did so good for me, such a good boy.” He grabs a handful of napkins off the coffee table, wiping off what he could from his hand before helping Shane stand up. “Come, we take bath now.”
Shane’s legs are weak, stumbling a bit and cringing at the feeling of his soaked shorts against his body. He wants to argue, say that he wasn’t good, that he didn’t wait for Ilya to say he could go, but he’s too exhausted to form the words. The two of them make their way to the bathroom, Ilya continuing to murmur words of comfort to Shane as he comes down from his high and the tears finally stop.
“So good, sweetheart. Held so much for me.” Ilya sits Shane down on the toilet and helps him pull off his soaked shorts and underwear before running the bath, trying to keep a close eye on the other as he pulls off his own clothing. He doesn’t say much once they’re both in the bath, focusing on making sure Shane was okay and coming back up into himself properly.
“Wait, Ilya, did you get to-” Shane stops himself, words hard to find as he turns and nuzzles his face into Ilya’s neck. “You didn’t get to come, ‘s not fair.” He whines a bit, worried that after all of that, Ilya was being left unsatisfied.
Ilya’s cheeks rapidly turn pink, and he reaches over for the bottle of body wash. “Ah, I–do not worry, sweetheart. I did.” His words are mumbled, clearly embarrassed that he had come nearly untouched at the sight of Shane losing control.
Even still halfway under, with his thoughts still hazy, Shane understands the underlying context of what Ilya was saying. “Wait, you came untouched?!” He’s quickly cut off by Ilya covering his mouth, pressing his lips against Shane’s ear.
“Next time I am fucking you in puddle on couch.”