Silver Lining

Bad luck isn’t anything new for Tsumugi.

From his parents’ divorce to waking up and finding his phone at the brink of death (because he had plugged it in between his phone and phone cover, rather than the actual port), it’s something he takes in stride. Today is no different.

When he bumps into a staff member in the office and drops five hundred pieces of paper, he apologizes readily, realizing he should’ve been walking alongside the walls instead of inconveniencing others to move around him. He thinks it could’ve been a worse time. All of the pages were at least numbered, so it didn’t take nearly as long to organize them as if it wasn’t.

Then during lunch, the moment he gets to the front of the line at Cafe Cinnamon, he accepts the worker informing him that they’d just run out of the item he wanted to order. It’s disappointing, sure. But because of that, he’s able to try an alternative he was looking forward to, yet never got a chance to try.

And when it comes time to give a presentation to some stockholders, he somehow manages to save face after flashing an image of Natsume-chan. 

The memory of the men around the table raising an eyebrow at him will probably haunt him forever, but it’s fine! There could have been way worse images to show. Plus, it’s not like they’ll immediately jump to the conclusion that the pre-pubescent girl on the projector was the same Sakasaki Natsume-kun of NewDi, so he doesn’t need to worry about being burned at the stake later.

So once the meeting is over, and he feels the need to empty his bladder after the many intermittent gulps of water, he probably should’ve prepared to take a detour.

“Ah, closed for maintenance?” he reads to himself. “Hm, maybe down the hall there’s one.”

But alas, it’s out of service for the same reason.

“That makes sense, haha. I should try another floor.”

He can feel the sloshes inside of him with each step he takes, finding himself needing to clench more as time ticks. It’s definitely noticeable, but he doesn’t find it too unbearable. Only at the end of the hall, where he waits for the elevator, does he begin to think it uncomfortable. 

He taps his foot. The wait for the doors to open can sometimes take a while, even on the slower days, but he doesn’t remember it feeling like it takes this long. Objectively speaking, he has about an above average sense of patience, so he feels the movement to be a little entitled of him, but the pressure from within urges him to seek distraction. 

He glances at the stairs. Maybe it’s faster? Oh… but he’s already waited for a bit, so he should stick around—the elevator is surely going to come soon.

Tap, tap, tap…

Tsumugi swallows, starting to shake his entire leg instead of raising and lifting his foot. No, just a little longer, right?

Someone touches his shoulder, startling him and making a little leak from out of him. Ah- He clenches again, looking back to the person.

“The button?” They point.

In his distracted state about the urge of his body, Tsumugi realizes the moment he turns his head, that he’s forgotten to even hit the button to call the elevator.

“Oh, sorry!” He bows his head and then hits the button with a slight lean.

The person doesn’t seem impatient at all, laughing it off and admitting it’s happened to them once before. Their tone is amicable and soothing, but not enough to cure Tsumugi of his problem.

In the end, he does decide to take the stairs after all, excusing himself once again with a polite bow. But the moment he’s halfway down the steps though, he hears a ding, internally groaning.

It’s additional exercise, he tries to console himself. He’s been at the desk for long periods of time lately, so it’s good to stretch his legs when he can. It just so happens that he’s also practicing the stretch of his bladder!

But he eventually makes it a few flights down, to where he knows of a bathroom that usually gets fixed or cleaned in the mornings rather than afternoons.

The door being unmarked by a sign is like being greeted by angels into heaven. Tsumugi wastes no time hobbling inside after shoving it open. He still has it in his mind to be embarrassed about how loud of a sound it makes, and is about to give an apology for anyone he sees flinch, but the bathroom appears empty.

When he finally gets to the urinal, his hands shake, struggling with his button, tugging it through the hole and grabbing his zipper. Yes! Just the zipper left, just the zipper- Ah?!

You’re joking! Tsumugi feels the panic start to consume him. Right when he’s so close to home base—he tugs the zipper up and down, trying to un-catch the fabric of his underwear from the metal. If anyone sees him struggling like this right now, they’d think him mad, fumbling his pants like he’s playing around.

And then he hears the door swing.

In his anxiety, he snaps his head to the man. “Oh, h-hello, Eichi-kun!” Tsumugi politely laughs. It was rare to see the man outside of work-related reasons as of late. “What are you doing here?”

He stares blankly at him for a moment before replying. “I imagine the same reason you’re here, Tsumugi.”

Ah, right. Haha.

Eichi walks to the second empty urinal next to Tsumugi, situating himself before he starts moving his hands to unzip his fly.

This is bad. He’s not sure if he’s imagining it, but the zipper might’ve gotten part of his foreskin in his jostling and he’s barely keeping it together. If he hears one drop of liquid splash onto the porcelain, it’s over. The dam will break, streams will trickle, and his white pants will be painted a dark grey in a pattern that would undoubtedly scream that he’s wet himself.

“Are you hurt?”

“Eh?” Tsumugi’s face flushes as he peeks over to Eichi. He stands tall, hands stilled at the front of his pants as he gives him a concerned look.

“You’re whimpering.” O-Oh? Was he? “And you look like you’re uncomfortable.”

“Ah, well! I’m just having trouble ‘going’ is all. You know how it can get sometimes, ahaha.”

“…Surely it’s not because of me?”

Wha-? Tsumugi slowly opens his eyes from his light laugh, staring at Eichi. There’s something delicate about his expression, yet discerning and distant all the same. His eyes are expecting, looking for the confirmation of his assumption—the nature of where his feelings stand.

The tone he used was joke-ish, yet a pitiful, rueful accusation belies the jovial nature of the comment. No, the deprecation seems to be self-targeted, Tsumugi being the mirror that bears the brunt of it. And yet still, it wants to be directed towards him, like he’s hurt by how he cannot make out Tsumugi’s feelings in the midst of uncertainty.

It reminds him of that almost self-assured way, back during that time, in which he asked him if their contract was the reason why he stood by his side.

A pang hits his heart. “No!” Tsumugi turns toward him, stepping forward with his hands balling at his sides. “You don’t make me uncomfortable, Eichi-kun. Truly!”

Eichi’s eyes go wide for a moment, until he blinks, and then his gaze trails down to stop between his legs.

“Ah! Um!” Tsumugi moves his hands back to cover his embarrassment.

Eichi sighs. “So it's stuck.”

There’s no way to deny it now that he’s seen it, and now that the temporary distraction is gone, Tsumugi feels his face warm as his knees turn inward. “Y-Yes… it would seem so.”

“Why not pull your entire pants down and use the stall?”

“Well…” Tsumugi squeezes his eyes closed and bends his knees a bit, realizing how bad of an idea it is the moment he does. “I’m scared it’ll rip, um, the part that’s close to my…”

“Hm...”

Whimpering, Tsumugi feels tears start to form at the corner of his eyes when he blinks then open again, looking to Eichi.

And he’s given a slightly bewildered, almost sheepish kind of expression when they meet each other’s gazes, before Eichi stalks off toward the row of stalls.

“Come here.”

H-Huh? He follows after him the best he can.

“Can you sit? I might be able to free you with a bit of slack.”

He has no confidence in doing anything with his lower body that isn’t relaxing his muscles right now, but he shakily replies, “Excuse me then.”

Brushing past Eichi and the stall door, he turns around to sit. The fabric of his pants squeeze more of his thighs as he plops himself down as gently as he can. The impact his butt makes, despite how small it is, makes urine slip out of his urethra and wet more of his underwear.

If Eichi notices, he doesn’t say anything, instead kneeling to get a closer look at his situation.

He's right in that the bend creates a bit more slack to maneuver the fabric, but Tsumugi is twitching and jerking his legs so much it undoes whatever progress Eichi might be making.

One of his knees is grabbed. “Hold still. I almost have it.”

“A-Ah, yes, s-sorry.” He grits his teeth, willing himself to stop his body.

Eichi delicately pinches his underwear, tugging it in a few directions before Tsumugi can feel the give. At this moment, he doesn’t care that Eichi is handling his penis. He just cares that it's free, free from the prison of his clothing, feeling the exposed air of the room, angled away from his body.

He lets go.

Eichi’s eyes fly open in shock, before they clench tight and he leans away from a blast of urine hitting him in the face and part of his shirt. He turns to spit at the side as he pushes Tsumugi’s penis back, angling his head toward his own chest and face.

It’s warm how it trickles down on his torso, bathing him in reward for finally listening to his body. He lets out a long sigh, leaking like a hose, relaxing the rest of his muscles against the toilet as he feels a tingle of satisfaction etch itself onto his face.

The sensation is so pleasant he doesn’t realize he’s done pissing, until he opens his eyes to Eichi’s unreadable expression.

Oh. Oh no. Oh god. Oh no, oh god.

Tsumugi’s face is hot. So, so hot.

The smell is unmistakable. The glint of wet eyelashes, the slow blink of him confirming to Tsumugi if what just happened just happened, the patch of wetness on his shirt underneath his chin.

He just pissed all over Eichi’s face.

“Well.” Letting go of Tsumugi’s dick, Eichi gets up from his knee, slowly moving to a stand. “At least you’re not pressed for time anymore.”

“Wait, E-Eichi-kun, I’m so, so, so sorry! Please, let me make it up to you!”

Eichi halts after his turn. “…What could you possibly offer to me in this situation, besides the mutual agreement of forgetting this ever happened?”

Eichi’s right. What could he offer him? Although he’s frugal with how he makes use of his family name and assets for personal use, that doesn’t change the fact that he could easily have anything he wanted. What could someone from a poor family, a poor agency—as a poor man in other aspects—consider to even provide for him?

He thinks there’s nothing, but he realizes that even the lowest of the low have their uses. He could still fall back on that fact, and become the toilet that he made of Eichi just moments ago.

“Um. You still need to go don’t you? Then- Then you can pee on my face as payback!”

Eichi finally turns back around to face him. “Pee on your face.”

Tsumugi nods, his smile wavering as it dawns on him how absurd of a suggestion it is.

“It sounds more like a request for you than something for me.”

“Yes, I know, I’m sorry that it’s not—” “But I’ll accept it.” “—Huh?”

Tsumugi blinks at Eichi.

“I’ll pee on you and call it even.”

“…Really?” Tsumugi laughs. He feels his chest lighten with reassurance. “Thank you!”

“You’re…” The corner of Eichi’s mouth twitches, his eyebrows slanting in concern. “I feel like most people wouldn’t be happy in your position.”

“Eichi-kun isn’t mad at me. What’s not to be happy about?”

Eichi doesn’t reply, but stands himself in front of him with a small sigh out of his nose. At the buckle of his pants, his belt is unthreaded, left to splay outwards to the side before he tucks a hand into the hole of his underwear and grabs his penis.

Tsumugi hasn’t had many an opportunity to see the man naked before. It’s not like they were ever lovers or anything, no, but on the few rare occasions they visited a bathhouse before or after fine’s activities, he’s gotten a glimpse of his legs.

And in between them, his penis always dangled elegantly, resting largely in its cut state. Tsumugi thought it suited him. A man like Eichi.

“It’s rude to stare, you know.”

“O-Oh, yes! Sorry!” Tsumugi rests his eyes, holding the toilet bowl with his palms facing downwards. He sits properly, upright and accepting of his retribution.

He yelps on reflex once Eichi starts, and a few drops of it land on his bottom lip before he closes his mouth back up. Ah. It’s bitter. The stream splits off into two when it hits the bridge of his glasses, his nose. It splatters to the edges of his cheek, rolling down them and spreading on his shirt.

Eichi exhales a small sigh of relief, letting the stream slow to a stop.

But when Tsumugi thinks his revenge is already over, the stream starts again with Eichi humming a small moan.

It sprays on his cheek, sliding down his sideburns and getting caught in the little nooks and crannies of his curls at the side of his head. He feels them get absorbed, letting the droplets too quick to penetrate the oils of his hair slide to the other lower curls.

Eichi-kun…

Tsumugi peeks an eye open, trying to discern the expression on his face through the blurry droplets of piss on one of his lenses. He can’t make anything out but the pink that flashes for a second, running across where his lips would be.

“Hah…”

The stream returns in strength, hitting his forehead and rushing down the gaps of his glasses, dampening his eyelashes and eyelids.

Could it be?

Tsumugi feels a tingle within his cheeks. The warmth of blood rushing meets with yet another second wind of urine hitting his face. And when he feels the patches on his torso start to spread downwards to his pants, his blood also beats it there.

Because of your health…

“Nn.”

The strength of the stream increases with a pulse before it stops in another dribble, and Eichi lets out another exhale—a breath too hot, too satisfied for mere bladder relief.

Is this the second-best thing?

Tsumugi’s lips gently part open, waiting to cradle the next incoming burst with his tongue… but it doesn’t come. “E-Eichi-kun?” It embarrasses him how breathy it comes out.

A hand that isn’t his grabs the base of his penis. “Ah?!”

“…Are you swelling from how it pinched you?”

Tsumugi’s heart begins to pound faster. Oh no. He didn’t. He didn’t just pop an erection, just from-

The hand strokes upwards. “It looks painful.”

“Ah…” Tsumugi moans. “N-No, I-”

It’s almost angry—the quick pump of his dick, the squeeze of it. He throbs against Eichi’s hand honestly, swallowing another moan.

His glasses slide further down his nose when he dips his chin against his chest, bucking into another stroke. He hasn’t shed a tear, but his eyelashes clump against each other when he attempts to look up at Eichi.

The view remains blurry, but he can make out more of his face. He feels his heart rate quicken even more, staring at the vague arch of Eichi’s eyebrows, furrowed in… envy?

“Eich- Ah!”

His cock is pumped faster, sloppier than how he would usually indulge himself in. And when the tightness that grows around him again borders on pain, he mewls in a sort of twisted pleasure.

Eichi adjusts his grip to stroke him in a twisting motion, almost as if he was wringing him out single-handedly, and Tsumugi lets his head dip backwards, gasping. “E-Ei…”

His hips shake, thrusting into each and every descent of Eichi’s hand, pressing himself into the meat of his palm, the warmth of the twist.

“Eichi- I’m- Argh!”

He comes against the press of fingers, rocking up to it with the thrust of his hips. And panting, he lowers back to a rest against the toilet seat when the pulses of his orgasm dwindle down.

“So much pus.” Eichi squeezes upwards, draining the last bit of it out of Tsumugi’s tip, pooling around the ring of his finger and thumb.

He removes his hand to glance at it, then flicks the fluid in between Tsumugi’s legs, landing in the toilet bowl with a few plops. And then, he leaves the door of the stall to swing open when he leaves him.

“Hah, Eichi-kun, wait!!” Tsumugi flails, almost slipping on the small puddles of pee around him.

He pushes the stall door that has begun to swing closed, fast-walking past the row of stalls… only to find the man at one of the sinks, washing his hands in a meticulous manner. His face seems red from his exertion of rushing over to it.

Considering that the rest of his body and clothing is in a worse state, Tsumugi finds the attempt to be ill-prioritized. “U-Um.”

The man continues to lather against the running water before he shuts off the faucet and dries his hands like normal, scrunching the paper towels after they’ve wiped his hands.

“Erm… What about…” Tsumugi wants to look back at the stall.

There’s no mirror where the trash is. “I’ll have it taken care of, if you don’t wish to handle it.”

“Eh?” Tsumugi stares. “Then- Um. Your shirt’s still a little…”

At that, Eichi turns around deliberately, giving a pointed scan up and down his body. ”For that matter, you’re worse off.”

Looking back to the mirrors over the sink, Tsumugi flushes in embarrassment. His dark blue shirt has become more pitch-black, his legs are dressed in a combination of white pants and grey, stringy shorts, and then- Ah!

He covers himself with his hands.

They… really can’t leave like this.

“What should we do?” Tsumugi whines, squeezing his eyes.

He hears Eichi make a couple of steps before the faucet starts to run again, and Tsumugi can’t even inquire when he opens his eyes to see him throw a handful of water at him.

He gasps. “Eichi-kun, what are you-” Splash.

“Making our cover.”

 

When they step out one after another, Tsumugi stares at the back of Eichi’s head as they make their way down the hall. 

A part of him wants to address whatever… thing happened back there, but another part of him is just glad everything is almost over. After they both return to their dorms and change, the only evidence left of his embarrassing ordeal is the mess Eichi says he’ll have taken care of. And he hopes the only other evidence, the lingering stench of pee, is mainly coming from his nose.

Carefully following Eichi on a path that’s less populated, Tsumugi shifts to maintain his gaze at their feet until a couple of legs etch into view.

“Oh, hey it’s Tenshou- Whoa!? What happened to you two?”

Tsumugi feels himself redden, looking up to their acquaintance.

But Eichi merely laughs in a polite manner, guarded, as if he were prepared to be attacked. “Tsumugi here was just demo’ing what it’d be like as a Sports Survivors circle member.”

“Dang, what kind of activity were you guys doing to get so drenched?”

Eichi shrugs. “A kind of watersports.”

It takes all of Tsumugi’s will not to choke, but somehow their passerby believes it, letting them go with a friendly warning to not overdo it. Eichi returns the farewell and Tsumugi himself bids his goodbye with a face he hopes is normal. Then before they know it, they make it back to their own dorms without an individual to suspect them of their activities or without another word shared between the two of them. 

Removing his clothes in the comfort of his room, Tsumugi finally sighs in the relief he sought. He was lucky it was Eichi that helped him out like a good friend. All things considered, his bathroom trip could have gone worse.