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He glances at the clock worriedly, nibbling his bottom lip roughly, to the point where he tastes blood on his tongue. But he can’t help it. It’s nearly three in the afternoon, and his professor is still going on a topic that they were supposed to have covered an hour ago. But he is still going on and on, repeating things over and over again like he cannot remember how he has already spoken about it.

His class is supposed to end at three, but they’re only halfway through with the material for today and he wants to cry. Not because the class is boring, but because he has to pee. He has to pee really badly, to the point where his legs are squeezed together and his legs jiggle. He’s thankful he’s at the end of the desk against the wall, so his desk partner, one of his friends, Yamamoto, stares straight ahead. Not even bothering to glance at Iwaizumi and his current predicament.

It takes everything in him not to make any noise and not hold himself. Because he is a college student, and college students do not hold themselves like a little kid who has no self control. No he is a nineteen year old student who is sitting here, in his history class, who needs to piss but he has control over himself.

That’s what he keeps telling himself, forcing himself to believe it is true. When it is over, he’ll be able to rush over to the bathrooms, and relieve himself. That makes his bladder twitch uncomfortably and he winces slightly, but forces himself not to think about it too much. That will only make it worse, and he doesn’t need worse right now.

Teeth grit and he screws his eyes shut, leaning against the wall for support. More than anything he wishes he was at home, able to use the bathroom whenever he wanted, and curled on the couch watching a godzilla movie with Oikawa nestled beside him, quiet for once and resembling something cute, not that Iwaizumi would say that though.

He imagines there are dirty dishes on the coffee table in front of them, a sign that the food either he or Oikawa, probably Oikawa, cooked earlier. As the sun sets and becomes nothing, the stars appear, and they twinkle. He knows that as soon as the movie ends Oikawa will drag his ass to the roof of the building and make him look at the stars with him, or Iwaizumi will reason that their balcony works perfectly well too.

They’ll drink hot chocolate because winter is still nipping at them, snow falling on the ground, and they’ll curl next to each other, whispering things about the future, and what they’ll do. That is what he would rather be doing right now. Not sitting here in an uncomfortable seat trying not to piss himself. How humiliating.

If Oikawa was in his situation the setter would have been a whining, squirming mess that would’ve complained and annoyed Iwaizumi to death, maybe. And if truth be told the setter would’ve probably already wet himself.

The last time either of them wet themselves was that one bus trip back in highschool. Now Iwaizumi might have a slight piss kink, but it was somehow so much more unarousing when it was his end of the humiliation. He liked it much better when Oikawa was the one squirming and panting from desperation.

He liked it a lot less when it was his bladder that was bloated and stretched into an uncomfortable way, pressing into his jeans. Yeah he does not like this one bit. Especially when he is in a room with about fifty people, and the only sound is the professor talking, so if he pisses himself it will surely be heard by everyone. And he can’t even ask to use the bathroom, people have tried countless times with this professor, but alas, he has always refused, even if they piss themselves, so now people give up on asking.

Deep in him he prays he won’t wet himself in class, or on the way to the bathrooms, the closest ones to this building. He just has ten more minutes of this class to go through, and then he can make a mad dash out of the classroom. All while he does not give himself away.

That is something he cannot do, let everyone know he has to pee, and he has to run to make sure he won’t have an accident. Oh that thought is not pleasant, to have the knowledge that he is on the verge of an accident if he doesn’t get to a bathroom within the next twenty-five minutes.

A blush creeps up on his checks, staining his nose and apples of his cheeks as well as the tips of his nose. Showing the faint freckles on his skin that are only visible when his skin gets darker or when you really, really look at them.

Another horrible pang of desperation rushes through him and his body jerks, his hand instinctively going down to grip the none too loose fabric of his jeans. Not his crotch, not his crotch, not yet. He shuts his eyes again, trying to regain composure as his hand grips his thigh for dear life. He needs to get out now.

Or he will positively wet himself in the next ten minutes, and that is not going to happen on his watch. He glances at the clock again, three minutes, he has three minutes left.

He can wait that long, he has to. If the professor does not let him leave, he’ll just get up and leave, say there’s been a family emergency. And that he can’t wait, he really can’t. He shuffles around in his seat every five fucking seconds. He hates it. Absolutely despises how he is completely losing himself because he needs to pee.

It’s frustrating, he has had control for so long, and now it is slipping through his very fingers. He just wants to make it home with dry pants. Is that too much to ask? The universe apparently thinks so.

A tiny stream starts and he gasps quietly as he pisses his pants, even just a little bit, his boxers are soaked, and he hopes, he prays there is no wet spot behind him. He has to tie his jacket around himself, for safe measures.

But that relief felt so good, and he wants more of it. Wants the full deal, and not just a tiny bit of pleasure, he wants the whole thing. All of it, he craves it. But not here, not now. He clamps down on the stream, and it stops. But his boxers cling to his dick in a way they are not supposed to, and he cringes at how he knows he will chafe from the wet fabric rubbing against his skin in an uncomfortable way.

Still that is infinitely better than completely peeing his pants. Anything as long as he doesn’t make a puddle under himself in a vivid yellow color. That would be the worst.

Not to mention Oikawa will know for sure if he does wet himself. Because first off the clothes, and second of all at this rate Oikawa will most certainly be home before him. Unless he’s staying late at practice, which would be annoying.

But if it is a normal day his boyfriend will be home, starting on dinner perhaps, and thinking about volleyball and aliens.

And if he comes home reeking of piss with soaked pants, it will be painfully obvious what happened. He is certain Oikawa will make fun of him if he does wet himself. Make fun of him for being so weak that he could not hold it. His darling Iwa-Chan, who wet himself.

The professor tucks the books away and sighs,” We’ll continue this discussion tomorrow.”

They stand to leave and Iwaizumi quickly ties his jacket around his waist, despite the cold outside, he knows it will be better than the wet spot showing everywhere. Not that he knows there is a wet spot, but he rather not risk it.

He shuffles out and makes a beeline to the bathroom, only for his heart to drop to his stomach as the signs say cleaning, no use. He won’t be able to use the bathrooms here, nor any store, they don’t have bathrooms open to the public. He has to use the one at home.

Then it’s a rush to get home, he gets to the apartment complex, and starts up the stairs, cringing as some leaks but he refuses to grab himself again, so he whines softly, stopping in his spot to bounce up and down as more piss soaks through him. He looks down to see the damage, there is a wet spot. It’s there, and he won’t be able to hide it.

He groans and bounces a bit more, he’s so desperate to go. It’s a need he can’t deny much longer, but he knows if he runs up the stairs he will piss himself. So he has to hobble up, eventually sliding a hand between his legs as he finishes the first flight, the next three are daunting.

He really doesn’t want this, but he just whimpers involuntarily and trudges up, growing more and more desperate with each passing minute until he’s crying from it.

They stream down his face and his nose runs while red becomes his new skin tone, sweat runs down his forehead as he scrunches his nose up. Trying his best not to piss himself, but it’s barely working. He wobbles as he reaches the third flight, and then the stream starts, a slow trickle, but he knows it won’t stop, his eyes widen and he books it, until he’s at the door, he shouts,” OIKAWA OPEN THE DOOR! TORU!”

He had his hand occupied, he can’t get his keys, which are at the bottom of his book bag and he reluctantly removes one of his hands, the stream intensifies and with horror he realizes he is pissing himself.

It runs down his legs and leaves a hot wet trail behind. He cries again,” Toru please open the door!”

He hears shuffling but it’s too late, his bladder is nearly empty and he looks down. There’s a puddle underneath him, and his pants are soaked. Dark streaks down his legs as a clear sign of his body's incapability to hold his pee.

The door opens and he slowly looks up, straight into Oikawa’s stunned face and he sniffles then hiccups pathetically. Oikawa grabs his wrist, yanking it out of his crotch and into the house quickly, shutting the door behind them carefully as Iwaizumi completely breaks down.

The humiliation was too much for him, it felt nearly orgasmic to let his pee go, but he wouldn’t be nearly as embarrassed if it had been into a toilet rather than his pants. He had to go, and he couldn’t wait until Oikawa opened the door. Not two minutes longer, not even a minute longer.

He’s vaguely aware of Oikawa slipping his shoes off of his feet and then holding a tissue up to his face,” Blow Iwa-Chan.”

He does as told, snot is wiped off his upper lip, and Oikawa sighs gently,” It’s alright, it happens. Now come on, you need a bath.”

Iwaizumi’s body shudders as he hiccups but follows the younger anyway. Into the bathroom they do and Oikawa starts a shower, he wads up more toilet paper and makes Iwaizumi blow again, clearing his nose up.

Now he's crying is equally as embarrassing as his accident, that’s what it is. An accident. He didn’t mean to, he really didn’t. It just happened, he had drunk a lot in the morning without a chance to pee, and the professor wouldn’t let him go. And the bathrooms had been closed, and no stores had public restrooms, and he couldn’t help it.

Oikawa pressed a kiss to his temple,” I know Hajime, I know.”

With a start he realized he had spoken aloud, and Oikawa heard everything. He allowed his clothes to be stripped off, and as much as he wanted to throw his soiled clothes again, he knew he was too broke to do that.

But they both stepped into the shower where Oikawa soaped him up, and Iwaizumi soaped Oikawa up in turn, his hiccups diminishing into little sniffles as his tears dried up.

Oikawa clicked his tongue,” C’mere, you need to wash your hair. I’ll do it for you.”

Under normal circumstances, this would never happen, but he was tired and embarrassed, Oikawa had seen enough, and so he let himself be taken care of. It was nice every once in a while, and it felt similar to the after-glow of sex, the care put into each other by hands and touches, words and thoughts.

They stepped out a moment later and Oikawa towelled them both off before they went to the bedroom and got dressed again. Oikawa led him back to the living room, setting him on the couch before pulling a blanket around him and putting a movie on as he returned to cooking dinner.

Hurrying it up, and it was maybe an hour later when he finished, plating it and coming over to Iwaizumi, handing him a plate. He took it and ate slowly, always appreciating the good taste that came from Oikawa’s cooking, his own was less than superb, but it was good.

They curled up on the couch, and as the godzilla movie ended Oikawa put another one on. It lasted until they were passed out on the couch, late into the night. Iwaizumi curled against Oikawa, who had his arms wrapped around his spiker. It ended in peace.

Something rare.