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Wei Ying edges down the train aisle and flops back into her seat and says, “How’s your book, Zhan-er?” She tips her head just a little onto Lan Zhan’s shoulder to angle her face into the path of the heat vent. Outside, winter-bare barley fields blur past. It’s been barley fields for forty-five minutes.
“Fine,” says Lan Zhan, who is on her third reread of this particular paperback. Wei Ying likes watching Lan Zhan like things. “How was your exploration?”
“Fine,” Wei Ying echoes, sitting up, stretching a little to get the nervous energy of spending so long brushing up against Lan Zhan, of sitting next to her for hours and hours on a train across half the continent. “Next car’s fuller than ours, we got lucky. Our bathroom’s out of order, though.”
“Mm,” Lan Zhan says. Then, “Do you need the bathroom?”
“Not enough to go looking,” Wei Ying says. “Whatever, there’ll be one somewhere.”
“Hm,” says Lan Zhan.
Wei Ying dozes off on her shoulder. The two of them are together now, Wei Ying reminds herself. They are together officially and privately and as of last month, on the lease paperwork. They visit each other’s family on five-hour train rides. Wei Ying is allowed to nap on Lan Zhan, she thinks.
***
Wei Ying wakes up, warm and fumbling in and out of a sense of time. She isn’t sure what province they’re in, anymore. Her face has slid down; she’s drooling on Lan Zhan’s boob. Fuck, that’s — okay, embarrassing, and also a little hot. She hopes Lan Zhan doesn’t notice the wet patch. If they were alone, and if--if Lan Zhan were into it, Wei Ying would really like to just lay here and suck on her boobs over her shirt while Lan Zhan reads her book. Her gut throbs. Wei Ying shifts in her seat.
Outside the winter sky is pink and purple, the last dregs of sunset dripping down the horizon. They are heading north so fast, Wuhan to Beijing on the bullet line, that the sun is setting faster here than it is for the people they just left.
She thinks she feels Lan Zhan’s lips brush the top of her head. Maybe. It’s a little chilly in their carriage, and it seems like a lot of people got off at Shijiazhuang, but Lan Zhan is warm and her breasts are soft, bouncing slightly with the movement of the train.
“Mm, let me up, Lan Zhan?” she says, voice softer than she expects it to come out, still sleepy. “I gotta pee. Time to find the carriage with the working bathroom.”
Lan Zhan nods and shifts. Wei Ying gives herself one more second to imagine just— staying there, not having to get up, not for anything. Lan Zhan could just bring her food, uncap some water and let her sip from it, never make Wei Ying move.
She does really need to pee, though.
Wei Ying stands up with a sigh and shivers, laughing a little, when shifting uprights means she has to clench down for a second as her bladder gets jostled. Her trousers are black corduroy against the return to Beijing cold, loose for comfort on the train— which is good right now, in tight jeans she’d never have slept this long and this comfortably against Lan Zhan. Her bladder would have woken her faster.
Feeling heavy and overfull, laughing under her breath at the way her first few steps are kind of waddling, she starts to make her way down the rows of seats. Bathroom, then maybe… pretend to nap on Lan Zhan the rest of the way, but stay up this time, and feel the way her breasts bounce under Wei Ying’s cheek, maybe dare to kiss her nipple through her cotton shirt and bra.
It’s a good plan.
***
“Did you find it alright?” asks Lan Zhan, when Wei Ying returns, because she is default polite, even when she’s teasing Wei Ying terribly, and she asks things like that.
Wei Ying throws herself back in her seat, tense, and crosses her legs. “Uh, not yet!” she says. She is aware that she’s not smiling, that her lips are thin. In the reflection of the now-dark window behind Lan Zhan, her face looks a little pale.
A little frown flits onto Lan Zhan’s face. “You went to the cars behind us? Would you like me to look in the front cars?” She puts one warm hand on Wei Ying’s thigh but — Wei Ying flinches — the warmth is not helping the overfull feeling in her gut. Lan Zhan takes her hand away.
“Ah--sorry, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says. She wants the hand back, even if she has to cross her legs even harder. It didn’t feel this bad until she was pacing along the aisles, after she had to ask for the second time if a bathroom was full, only for someone to tell her it was an electrical problem with the doors in these three carriages, and had she tried car F? She started to feel trapped, like she couldn’t pee, which of course just made her suddenly desperate. More desperate, Wei Ying reminds herself, than she probably actually is. She’s not gonna lose a mind game against her own bladder.
“I’m just, haha, concentrating!” Wei Ying says to Lan Zhan’s concerned face. “You can put your hand there. I just really gotta pee. You don’t need to, uh, go look at the car in front of us, I mean, what would you do if you found a bathroom? You can’t like, pee for me. Sorry, that’s weird.”
Lan Zhan gives her a little smile, and says, deadpan, “I would if I could.”
“Hah!” Wei Ying says, weakly, squirming her hips, “My savior.”
There is a lull. Wei Ying tightens her crossed legs. When she really has to pee her, well, her pussy gets a little extra wet. Which she already was heading towards, what with the napping against Lan Zhan’s boobs for a few hours. So it’s really disconcerting to feel her underpants get a little slick when she’s actively thinking about not wetting herself.
“Do you not want to go?” Lan Zhan finally asks.
Wei Ying feels herself flush. “What! No, I promise, I really want to go, jeez.”
“...to look for another bathroom.” Lan Zhan clarifies. Wei Ying blushes harder.
“Um,” she says, voice cracking a little. “Honestly, it is super not fun to walk up and down the aisles looking for a bathroom in a moving train! How far away are we — like, forty-five minutes? I think I’d rather just wait till we get to the station.” She feels herself start to sound actually a little upset. “I looked through like, four other cars behind us before I gave up and turned around, Zhan-er! I’m tired and it was embarrassing. People kept telling me to check where I’d already checked. I can hold it.”
Lan Zhan puts a hand on her shoulder. When Wei Ying, wanting some sympathy and maybe to have her hair pet and be told she’s done a good job surviving this fucking family visit and that she deserves to not have to drag her sloshing bladder down any more train aisles, snuggles in, Lan Zhan slides an arm around her shoulders and pulls Wei Ying into her side.
“If that is what Wei Ying wants,” Lan Zhan says. Her neck looks a little pink. She holds Wei Ying for a quiet moment, her thumb stroking Wei Ying’s elbow.
The train hums contentedly below them. It was soothing earlier. Now it ratchets up the sensation. Wei Ying squirms against it, the pressure, the dull pang, the way her trousers felt loose before but seem tight now. The way the gentle rocking of the train won’t let her hold still.
“Is it… uncomfortable?” Lan Zhan asks into the hush.
Wei Ying sighs — carefully, it takes the pressure off to hold her upper body still. “Yeah,” she says into Lan Zhan’s neck. “Yeah I feel all swollen, Zhan-er, and it hurts to hold it. Don’t jostle me or I’ll explode or like, cry. I can wait, though.”
Wei Ying is surprised that she said all that — that she whined so quickly — but then she realizes that Lan Zhan’s voice was low, like her sex voice, like the voice she uses when she pinches Wei Ying’s nipples until Wei Ying is squirming away and pawing at Lan Zhan’s arms. It’s the voice she uses to ask Wei Ying if it hurts, if Wei Ying wants it anyway. (Yes, and yes).
Lan Zhan clears her throat. Her hand tightens on Wei Ying’s elbow for a moment, then releases.
Wei Ying swallows. Very tentatively, she takes Lan Zhan’s free hand from where it rests against the seat, and threads their fingers together. Lan Zhan makes a little noise and lets her. Wei Ying bites her lip and draws their joined hands over Wei Ying’s body, then rests them where her shirt rides up, right on the button of her trousers, below her navel.
Lan Zhan definitely makes another little noise. Something cut off. Her hand cups Wei Ying’s lower belly where Wei Ying is tense, clenched, swollen. Lan Zhan’s warm hand feels good.
Wei Ying pulls her own hand away, but Lan Zhan’s stays on her, rubs in a soft little circle. Wei Ying squirms her hips. She really doesn’t think she could take a deep breath right now. She can’t really focus on anything but keeping her thighs tight together.
“It’s — it’s not far to the station, right?” Wei Ying asks after a little while of silence, between light little pants that feel safe in her lungs, not putting even the idea of pressure on her bladder. God, has she drunk any water recently? She opened a water bottle a few hours ago. Is that what this is? She only remembers taking a few sips, but she had a huge boba at the station before they left. Didn’t she go before they got on the train? She doesn’t remember.
“Thirty-eight minutes,” Lan Zhan says, low in her ear. Her hand is still circling gently, undeterred by Wei Ying’s shifting hips. Thinking about the boba was a mistake. That was a lot to drink; it was fine filling her stomach, but how much can a bladder hold, anyway? Maybe there’s more on its way down. Fuck. She really can’t hold any more.
When Wei Ying glances up, squirming, Lan Zhan’s eyes are dark. “You are certain you do not want to go look for a restroom?”
“I--um,” Wei Ying says. Her cheeks are so red. “I don’t think I wanna risk standing up right now, Lan Zhan. I’ll save my energy for the station.”
“I would help you to the restroom,” Lan Zhan offers, her gaze still very heavy, fixed on Wei Ying, fixed on the way her hand moves in little circles on Wei Ying’s belly. Wei Ying has to press her lips together and clench her fists to ride out a wave of urgent need for release, even just a little bit. It feels like her bladder is sloshing back and forth, back and forth, to the rhythm of the train.
“I can wait thirty-eight minutes,” Wei Ying breathes. She can. Mind over matter. The train leans the smallest bit and she bites her lip.
“Thirty-seven now,” Lan Zhan says, and kisses her temple. Wei Ying has to swallow a whimper. She thinks she can feel herself getting fuller. Like those two sips of water are going to be what breaks her, when they make their way down.
They sit like that for another space of time. Wei Ying’s legs are so tense they’re shaking. She’s leaning across her seat as if she’s sleeping on Lan Zhan again, but with none of the earlier lassitude. She'd like to sleep, and just check out for a while until they're off the train, but she can't take her mind off it. Every time she starts to get sleepy, her body jolts her back, newly alarmed, overfull and urgent that she take care of business.
Wei Ying stops squirming her legs tighter and resigns herself to little rocking motions of her hips, keeping the pressure of the seam of her pants hard against her pussy as if that will somehow help her keep everything inside. No one can see her directly in the train car right now, thank god, but there are other people around. She hopes no one walks by.
Lan Zhan can definitely feel the way she’s rocking, even if no one else can, which is embarrassing on its own.
The train enters a long, gentle curve and Wei Ying whines, just a tiny bit, as she clenches down hard to keep from leaking.
Lan Zhan presses her lips to Wei Ying’s hair again and says, “Wei Ying is doing very well.”
“Lan Zhan,” she whines in a whisper, panting and heading rapidly into some deeper and newfound level of embarrassment. “Lan Zhan, it’s fine, you can just help me find the first bathroom at the station, okay?”
“I will.”
“But don’t judge me, I really can hold it.”
“Mm.”
“I — mmf — I can, I swear.” Her hips are rocking harder now.
“...Wei Ying. I will help you to a bathroom,” says Lan Zhan. Her voice is low again.
“No!” Wei Ying says, when she feels Lan Zhan shift like she’s about to get up. “Um, no, Zhan-er, even if you help me, if I try to stand up for too long I’ll lose it, um, I’ll really — unspeakable things will occur, okay? So just let me lay here.”
Lan Zhan’s hand stills for a moment on her belly. For a single breath, it almost feels like pressure. Wei Ying’s stomach flips at the possibility of it.
“It would be alright,” says Lan Zhan. Wei Ying shivers.
“Um, what would—”
“It would be fine if Wei Ying had an accident. Not the end of the world.”
Wei Ying huffs a little laugh, very carefully. “Let’s, um. Let’s not find out.” She doesn’t even want to think about it. It would be such a fucking relief to let go, to let all of this spill out of her. She can’t imagine it, can’t even think of the possibility, or she’ll lose the tenuous control she has.
Lan Zhan’s hand keeps stroking her belly. “Alright,” she says.
Wei Ying lets her eyes close. Breathes. Feels Lan Zhan against her, around her. The sweet smell of her hair. It really isn’t going away, though. Her thighs are shaking and her hips are still rocking in a little, desperate beat. The pressure of the seam of her trousers feels like the only thing keeping her from losing it, but it’s pressure on her clit, too, and that feels a little like needing to pee, and it all just — compounds. Her face feels hot. It seems like she can feel more liquid, swaying pressure slowly trickling into her bladder, like it’s getting fuller, bigger. It feels like Lan Zhan should be able to feel it—
“God, Lan Zhan, this sucks,” Wei Ying whines. “I feel like I should be swollen. Can you feel it under your hand?”
Lan Zhan’s breath stutters and her hand freezes, then her hand cups Wei Ying's stomach and the motion means that Lan Zhan presses down, just a millimeter, just the smallest amount, but Wei Ying’s stomach swoops and she gasps and feels she’s going to— “Oh, fuck fuck fuck, shit,” she chants under her breath, and she has to squeeze her eyes shut and throw a hand down to clutch, humiliatingly, at her own crotch, pressing hard like it will help. Lan Zhan’s hand has let up and pets her even more softly, like an apology, but that soft touch combined with Wei Ying’s own sudden movement when she grabbed herself is worse, and she feels a tiny spurt escape into her underwear before she can cut it off. Then in two breaths it happens again, just the smallest, but definitely — happening, fuck. She stops it. Breathes. Tries not to cry.
She gets herself under control. Her hand is still clutching the crotch of her trousers. She doesn’t think she peed enough to bleed through them, but she can feel the way her underwear is a little wet and warm. Another few minutes go by. She’s just thinking that she’s hit equilibrium when something shifts, twinges, and everything gets impossibly fuller— like, really, impossibly, in all senses of the word. Desperate to breaking.
Wei Ying gasps and opens her eyes wide and looks up into Lan Zhan’s dark, heavy gaze and says, in a high, panicked voice, “Shit, um, I lied. Zhan-er, I lied, I can’t make it.”
“Wei Ying can,” Lan Zhan says immediately, low, and it really is her sex voice, Wei Ying hasn’t been imagining how low her tone has been, that is exactly how she says that specific phrase in bed.
Another little spurt escapes her, and Wei Ying can feel it happen even with her hand clamped down on herself. Wei Ying feels her eyes get hot. “I can’t, I can’t, I just um. I just lost it a little, Zhan-er, please. ”
Lan Zhan nods, kisses the top of her head again, and says, “It is alright. Give me a moment. Stay as still as you can.”
Wei Ying squeezes her eyes shut and does, desperately trying to keep any more of the curling, hot pressure in her from escaping. Lan Zhan leans over and fishes under their seats for her bag and pulls out their dinner things. Lan Zhan packed them a light dinner for the train, but most of it was wrapped in cling film and a paper bag, or is in the recycling bin somewhere. In Lan Zhan’s hands when she straightens is a small lidded tupperware container, empty now, that held their rice.
The set of Lan Zhan’s mouth looks like she remembered the container being bigger, and so did Wei Ying, thanks, but Lan Zhan doesn’t hesitate. She shrugs off her big, soft sweater, the blue-green one with wide sleeves that falls like a robe down to her thighs. She covers Wei Ying’s body with it, even though no one can see them directly.
Wei Ying looks up at her, jaw clenched, clutching her crotch. Lan Zhan pets her hair once.
“I do not think this is big enough. But if you want, you can take the edge off,” Lan Zhan tells her, brandishing the rice container.
“Y-yeah,” Wei Ying breathes. “Yeah, please, Lan Zhan. Just a little.”
Lan Zhan still pauses. Wei Ying squirms, and feels all the liquid shifting in her, low between her hips.
“It may be harder to hold the rest of it in if you go a little now,” Lan Zhan says in her serious, even voice.
“I don’t care,” Wei Ying whispers, hiding her face in Lan Zhan’s neck. “Please, Zhan-er, just a little. It’s too much, I just need to piss a little bit, I swear. Then I’ll make it to the station.” Her hand not holding herself clenches in Lan Zhan’s soft sweater. She meets Lan Zhan’s dark eyes and whispers, “Please, say I can?”
Lan Zhan drags in a long, shaky breath. Okay then. If Wei Ying could think, this would be very — very. Lan Zhan looks hot. Lan Zhan looks like she’s into it.
“Pull down your trousers, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan whispers to her, unscrewing the tight lid of the tupperware. Wei Ying fumbles to obey, careful to stay under the forgiving drape of Lan Zhan’s sweater. She doesn’t pull her pants down far, just barely to mid-thigh, but it’s also more nude than she ever intended to be on a train.
She’s glad it’s Lan Zhan. She’s glad Lan Zhan is here.
“Good,” Lan Zhan murmurs. “Sit up a bit.”
“I can’t!” Wei Ying gasps, whines, even as she struggles to.
“Good,” Lan Zhan repeats as she manages it. The word sits warm in Wei Ying’s gut, which normally feels good but right now she’s bursting, she’s too full, she’s gonna run over with just one more jostle of the train, one more nice word falling from Lan Zhan’s mouth. She has like, seconds. She's afraid Lan Zhan won't be fast enough with the container. “Spread your legs a little, and brace your feet on the floor.”
Wei Ying closes her eyes and tries to do as she’s told. Her legs are shaking, and spreading them seems like a deadly idea. She sneaks a knuckle back down to press against the top of her pussy, on her clit and just below. Lan Zhan has to be almost ready, right? She can't see where the container is, under the sweater, but she needs it to be ready.
“Now tip your hips forward,” says Lan Zhan’s calm voice.
Wei Ying’s breath catches. She’s half hunched over, even with her feet on the floor. She cannot, she cannot tip her hips up and press her bladder like that, oh god. “Can’t,” she pants. “Zhan-er, I can’t do that.”
“Wei Ying can,” Lan Zhan says. Her hand slides under the sweater, navigates the way Wei Ying is hunched over herself and spreads warm and steady across her lower stomach. Wei Ying whimpers. Lan Zhan’s other hand is, finally, holding the tupperware against her thigh. “I’ll be ready. Wei Ying just needs to have her hips at the right angle.”
With a shuddering breath, Wei Ying cants her hips up. Immediately she feels a trickle under the knuckle she has pressed against herself. Then, Lan Zhan gently tugs Wei Ying’s hand away. Wei Ying whines and stares down at the sweater where it’s draped over what’s happening in her lap and feels the trickle become a stream, and — she can hear it hitting the bottom of the tupperware, fuck, it seems so loud and she’s peeing too hard, it’ll be a mess.
She whimpers, “Sorry, sorry Lan Zhan I’ll try to — umf — I’ll try not to go so hard.”
“It is alright,” Lan Zhan says in her ear. “Wei Ying is doing very well. I will warn Wei Ying when it is nearly full.”
Wei Ying chokes down a sob, because she just wants to go, she doesn’t want to stop, but she told Lan Zhan that this would be fine and that she wanted it, even if she could only pee enough to fill the container.
Wei Ying discovers that she couldn’t hold back any more even if Lan Zhan had told her to ease up. The stream pours out of her, and it hurts but it feels so good, her gut swooping at the feeling of release even as she tries to only let go in terrible, tiny, euphoric increments. The sound is muffled now like Lan Zhan has covered part of the top of the tupperware with her hand. She’s probably getting pee on Lan Zhan’s hand, goddammit. Her eyes prickle. She almost wants to cry in some sort of insane desire to flush as much water from her system as possible, like tears could take the pressure off down below.
Wei Ying is only a few seconds into panting through the first waves of raw relief of letting it just stream out of her when Lan Zhan murmurs, “Halfway, sweetheart,” in her ear. It feels like she’s only just started. She grits her teeth, groans as quietly as she can manage. Then Lan Zhan says, “Stop now, Wei Ying,” and Wei Ying chokes and tries so hard to stop. She’s still peeing; it’s still streaming hot and wet out of her, and she’s going to overflow the container. She knew from the start that there was too much inside her to let it all out. She’s shaking and the stream won’t stop. She clenches down and it pauses but spurts again. The tupperware even sounds full. She can hear the splash. She feels so full, so wet, shaking with the effort. Then— then she’s done it, she’s stopped, and she’s heaving little sobbing breaths. There is the sound of tupperware being lidded, and the rustle of the paper bag — either Lan Zhan has wiped her hands on it, or tucked the tupperware into it, or both.
Wei Ying isn’t moving, just shuddering, trying to keep herself under control, trying to ride out the warring euphoria and terrible pressure, both rising and rising in her. Her belly hurts, her breasts are tingling like she wants to be touched, but she feels like if she’s touched she’ll lose it again.
Lan Zhan tugs up her trousers and softly guides her to sit back down, folds her legs for her, lets Wei Ying curl up in her seat. Lan Zhan tucks the sweater in around her even more securely, until instead of shuddering Wei Ying is just finely shaking.
When she feels in control enough to talk, Wei Ying dares to say, finally, “Lan Zhan. Are you, uh. Are you into this? Is it, like, turning you on?”
She thinks it is. But she needs to be sure, one way or another.
Lan Zhan makes a little noise. Before Wei Ying can start to walk that one back, though, Lan Zhan says, “Yes. I am. It does.”
Wei Ying lets another shiver pass through her, confused pain-pleasure. The pressure is rising again, but it feels even sharper, even better this time. She pants through it.
“I didn’t know this was like, a real life sex thing,” Wei Ying admits. “I thought it was like, a dirty old man thing.”
She can hear the tiny smile when Lan Zhan says, “Maybe I am a dirty old man.”
“Hah,” Wei Ying says weakly. “But it really turns you on?”
It’s Lan Zhan’s turn to shift in her seat. Just minutely, but it’s there. “It does,” Lan Zhan says readily. Her hand is on Wei Ying’s back. “But that is incidental. I would help like this in any case.”
“It, um.” The train rumbles along through the rising night. Wei Ying’s bladder twinges, and she clenches down, and says, strangled and too-honest: “It feels. Good. So.”
Lan Zhan’s warm hand strokes her back. Lan Zhan’s breath seems to catch. “Good,” she says, dark and heavy and low. “Wei Ying should feel good.”
“Wei Ying needs to shut up and focus if Wei Ying doesn’t want to pee all over the seat,” Wei Ying says through clenched teeth, even as the words bloom good and bright between them. “How—how long have I got, Zhan-er?”
Lan Zhan’s watch flashes on her wrist as she angles it. “Seventeen minutes,” she says, after she clears her throat.
“Okay,” Wei Ying gulps, grips Lan Zhan’s wrist like a lifeline. “Okay, I’m not sure I can. Oh god, I’m really not sure, what if—”
Lan Zhan wraps her arm around Wei Ying’s waist, puts her hand under the sweater, and down, gently sliding under Wei Ying’s unzipped trousers to cup her pussy over her wet underwear as best she can with Wei Ying’s legs crossed. Then she presses down right where Wei Ying held herself before.
“Th-thanks,” Wei Ying says, ragged. Another wave of urgency seizes her and she tightens, presses her own hand down hard on Lan Zhan’s knuckles to keep it all inside. “Fuck, it’s harder now— Lan Zhan, please help me, please keep your hand there. It’s harder to keep it in, now.”
She can hear the catch in Lan Zhan’s breath, louder this time. Lan Zhan’s hand tightens. “Wei Ying,” she says, strangled.
“Zhan-er, hold onto me,” Wei Ying pants. “I’ll only make it if you hold onto me!” She thumps her head on the back of her seat, frustrated, tingling, overwhelmed. Then she rests her face, open-mouthed, on Lan Zhan's shoulder and pants.
“I have you,” Lan Zhan says, her fingers tight and sure on Wei Ying’s sloppy, warm underwear.
“Okay,” says Wei Ying, and curls in on herself, curls against the warm curves of Lan Zhan, and breathes, and breathes.
***
The worst part is when the train slows and finally stops, and they have to wait a moment and then button up Wei Ying’s pants and get the luggage. The buttoning-up doesn’t actually happen, because Lan Zhan barely gets the zipper up before Wei Ying goes wide-eyed and tugs it back down again. Lan Zhan strokes her face in apology and proceeds to gently, possessively manhandle Wei Ying through deboarding. She wraps Wei Ying in Lan Zhan’s own thigh-length sweater, soft and big and — if it’s held closed — covering Wei Ying’s unzipped trousers. Then Lan Zhan pulls their winter coats off the hook and helps Wei Ying into hers while she stands half bent over, shifting from foot to foot and trying not to piss herself or cry.
If she thought she was waddling before, Wei Ying had no idea what was coming for her. She has to help herself along with a hand on seatbacks or Lan Zhan’s elbow, shuffling her swollen bladder so carefully down the aisle. Lan Zhan grabs their suitcase and duffel from the small-luggage section while Wei Ying leans against the wall by the door and breathes and tries not to look any of the other people congregating at the train doors in the eye.
When the doors finally slide open on the freezing midnight hum of Beijing West, Lan Zhan steps down first, then puts the luggage to one side and holds a hand out for Wei Ying to gingerly stumble out of the train, flushing as the step to the platform jostles her, and a little pee escapes. At least she's in so many loose winter layers, now — and her corduroy trousers are black, as well — that it will be hard for anyone but Lan Zhan to tell that her crotch is the littlest bit damp. She and Lan Zhan step out of the way of the other passengers and Wei Ying leans against Lan Zhan and breathes until she feels a little more under control. Lan Zhan's hand on her hip and the weight of all the layers of clothes feels good, helps her to calm down, to feel tethered, even as she feels like if she doesn't get to the restroom soon she's going to go mad. She can feel her pulse in her pussy, in her bladder. Lan Zhan is breathing a little quick, but waits so patiently until Wei Ying is ready to move.
It’s late, and few domestic trains are running. The crowd is present but distant, clumping around platforms, streaming ahead of them up the escalators. Lan Zhan lifts Wei Ying’s duffle onto her shoulder and takes up her own rolling suitcase, then gives Wei Ying her other arm to lean on as she shuffles desperately onwards.
Wei Ying is panting, every shift of her hips jarring its way through her body, shuddering against her swollen bladder. It hurts, bright sparks of sensation in her gut that her nerves can't process anymore. She’s fine on the escalator; she leans heavily against Lan Zhan again, tucks her face in Lan Zhan's neck and whispers, experimentally but with real feeling, "Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, it hurts to hold it. Don't you want to see me go? I've been holding it forever, I really just wanna pee, is that what you want?" and Lan Zhan's hand, looped around her back and resting on her hip, briefly tightens to a punishing grip that makes Wei Ying groan against her neck. She can hear Lan Zhan's heart pounding. But once they're off the escalator then they’re in the main concourse, and Wei Ying has to walk again. It's not going great; she waddles even slower but feels herself start dripping, a little warmth running liquidly down her thigh. They have to stop for a moment while Wei Ying doubles over, panting and squeezing her legs together. “There’s a bathroom just outside on the way out to the east parking lot,” Wei Ying says, when she has her breath. “I remember it. Take me there, Lan Zhan, please.”
"I will," Lan Zhan breathes. Lan Zhan strokes her back, her side. It is a caress; there is heat behind it. The pressure builds in Wei Ying’s gut, between her legs. They leave the main concourse and file through one of the bright, tiled side-halls, mostly empty except for them.
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Wei Ying chants under her breath. “It’s just a little further.” Lan Zhan obligingly helps her pick up the pace. They leave the bright white-tile hallways and step through glass doors into the Beijing cold. This part of the station is covered but open-air, like a parking garage, and is a tangled series of hallways and walkways under overhangs. The lights here are sodium-yellow, and Lan Zhan pauses a half-step to read the sign for the east parking lot, which does have a little bathroom symbol on it, when Wei Ying gasps and drags herself away from Lan Zhan. She stumbles a couple feet and leans, panting, up against the cold brick wall between two pillars.
“Give me a minute,” she says to Lan Zhan, panting, reaching under all her layers to clutch at her crotch again. Then she rips her hand away quickly as two businessmen exit the glass doors and wander past them, heading off to the tunnelled walkway to parking lot east. As soon as they’ve rounded the corner she presses her hand back where it was, but she’s begun leaking steadily again. She swallows a sob.
“Zhan-er, actually, um? I don't think I can make it to the bathroom," she says in a high-pitched rush, the realization crashing down around her. "I-I'm losing it again. I think I give up. Please, I can feel it—”
In a moment Lan Zhan is there, wide shoulders and delicate face and long, loose hair. She's wrapped in a calf-length wool coat, standing right in front of Wei Ying and blocking her from view from the rest of the walkways and the parking garages. She places a strong hand over Wei Ying’s shaking one on Wei Ying’s crotch. This close, Wei Ying can see the flush on Lan Zhan’s ears, the way she wets her lips. She really is into it. Wei Ying had been hoping, maybe, she’d be into it enough to follow Wei Ying into the bathroom stall, to cup Wei Ying’s face in her hands and tell her that she can do it, now, as Wei Ying finally sobbed and let go. But Wei Ying is not going to make it to a bathroom stall. She is not going to make it more than a few seconds. Fuck. She clenches down punishingly but it only makes the trickle slow, not stop. Fuck, fuck.
“Harder,” she whispers to Lan Zhan, even as she feels the fabric under her hand grow warm and wet, slowly but damningly. It’s just a little. Much less than she peed into the container on the train. She could come back from this, if only she could stop it.
“Mn,” says Lan Zhan, but instead of pressing down bruisingly on Wei Ying’s knuckles over Wei Ying’s pussy, Lan Zhan’s hand moves up, parting the folds of her coat and sweater that Wei Ying couldn’t bear to have zipped, until she’s touching the warm skin of Wei Ying’s swollen belly under her unzipped trousers.
Wei Ying whimpers. “Lan Zhan…?” she asks. “I'm about to, uh. I'm really about to -- um."
"'About to' what?" Lan Zhan asks, low and soft and terrible, her eyes flicking between Wei Ying's desperate, flushed face and Wei Ying's hand on her crotch. Wei Ying's breath tries to hitch on a little sob.
Wei Ying squeezes her eyes shut and whispers harshly, "About to pee myself, Lan Zhan!"
"Alright," says Lan Zhan around a ragged breath.
Wei Ying squirms, lightheaded. "So, um, you might need to... step back cause I really don’t, I don’t know if I can—”
Lan Zhan’s hand continues to trace warm circles on her belly. Wei Ying’s hips are squirming hard now, almost like she’s trying to dislodge Lan Zhan, or her own hand. She’s desperate, she's giving up, and even if she wasn't she'd be losing anyway; even if she was still dragging Lan Zhan towards the bathroom she'd be peeing herself as she walked.
“Wei Ying has done very well,” Lan Zhan says. She leans in, kisses Wei Ying’s cheekbone. “It is alright. Let go now.”
“I can’t,” Wei Ying babbles, even as the trickle starts up again beneath her fingers, as the wet patch edges down towards her thigh. “It's too much, Lan Zhan, I can’t.”
“It is alright,” Lan Zhan repeats. She straightens the sweater and Wei Ying’s coat so they wrap thick layers around her securely. Wei Ying doubles over, clutching herself her forehead on Lan Zhan’s shoulder, her thighs clenched together. Lan Zhan steps in, close. “I will cover you. No one can see.” She hears Lan Zhan swallow. “It will… I believe it will also feel good for Wei Ying.” Her hand runs through Wei Ying’s hair. “If it will, Wei Ying should do it.”
Wei Ying really does sob. She wants it, she's given in, but she can’t--she can’t let herself.
She must have said that out loud, because Lan Zhan strokes her belly and says, “Sh. Wei Ying can. It is alright.” Wei Ying shudders. A few tears slide down her cheeks. “Go ahead,” says Lan Zhan, soft and warm and low. Her hand stills on Wei Ying’s belly, right over where she’s hot and aching and sloshing-full. Ever so gently, Lan Zhan presses down.
“Ahh—!” Wei Ying cries out, and for a second the trickle becomes a hot stream before, more out of surprise than anything else, Wei Ying manages to stop it entirely. “It’s too much, Lan Zhan,” she sobs. “You made me--and it feels so good, I can’t, haah, I've been trying to stop it for so long and now I can't do it on purpose, not out here, I can't, but I want to, I really want to. I wanna feel good, Lan Zhan.”
Here in the shadows, Lan Zhan ghosts a kiss on Wei Ying’s lips. “If it feels so good,” she says, “Wei Ying must let go. It is alright. No one can see.”
Wei Ying groans and kicks her legs apart and tries to let her cramping stomach do what it needs to. She feels for one suspended second just how heavy her belly is, how much she needs to go, all of it sloshing around inside her for hours. Then Lan Zhan strokes her so softly, no pressure at all, and whispers, "Wei Ying," and somehow that does it, that unlocks it. The trickle is suddenly a mad rush, and it's started now and she really, really could not stop it this time. She clutches her hands in Lan Zhan’s coat and feels the stream of piss hiss heavy and hot and hard into her underwear, the crotch of her corduroy trousers, down her pant leg. It feels so, so good, it feels like the release of an orgasm when she’s been working herself up for too long and finally hits the crest. It hurts, a terrible ache that puts more tears on her face. Lan Zhan’s hand on her belly now presses down again and Wei Ying chokes, feels herself pee impossibly harder as Lan Zhan groans quietly, hears the sound of it even through her clothes. She feels the way the sweater starts to hang heavier at her front, and her socks getting wet in her boots.
She’s mumbling, “Zhan-er, Zhan-er, fuck it feels good, fuck I’m making a mess, oh god I’m really making a mess Zhan-er, careful.”
Lan Zhan just steps in closer, just presses more firmly on her stomach. She says, low, “Good.”
Wei Ying whimpers. "Hell, I'm still peeing," she whispers against Lan Zhan, "Zhan-er, what the hell, how is there so much?" After another moment she thinks she's finally stopping when she realizes she’s still wetting herself but without any of the pressure, her body’s not even pushing it out anymore, there’s just so much that it’s still flowing down her legs. Wei Ying is such a mess, such a fucking wet mess, and Lan Zhan is right there for all of it, oh god.
“Lan Zhan, ah, don’t get too close," she warms, feeling her clothes getting heavier is it bleeds through layers. "It’s okay, I know you said you like it but you shouldn’t get, um, get any on you.”
"Hm," Lan Zhan says. Lan Zhan’s hand, the one not pressing Wei Ying's belly, comes up and cups Wei Ying’s soaked crotch. Wei Ying chokes. She's soaked, so sensitive. Lan Zhan strokes her there, even as she’s still wetting herself. “As I said,” Lan Zhan says, with the tiniest hint of smugness. “I like it.”
Wei Ying’s voice breaks on a whimpering laugh. “Okay,” she whispers, hiding her facing in Lan Zhan’s neck again. “Press, um, press harder on my stomach, then. Help me finish.”
Lan Zhan groans, faintly but clear, and presses down hard on Wei Ying’s stomach. Wei Ying yelps as another stream of pee spurts with renewed vigor into her clothes. She groans while Lan Zhan forces the last of it from her, until her shaking legs are barely holding her up, and she’s floating on bliss and sticky-sweet humiliation at the state of her — everything — under her coat. It's all wet. Her shirt, two sweaters, her underwear, her butt, her thighs.
“Good,” Lan Zhan whispers, her voice shaking just the tiniest bit, which is a wonder. A marvel. Something to appreciate, Wei Ying thinks, always. “You were so good.”
She kisses Wei Ying hard and sweet on the mouth. Wei Ying hums into it, feeling honey-warm and happy. Her socks are wet, but Lan Zhan loves her. Lan Zhan, additionally, loves that her socks are wet. It’s all very nice. Wei Ying might never look Lan Zhan in the eye again, but that’s alright.
After some glowing, blurry minutes, Lan Zhan helps Wei Ying up away from the wall and picks up their luggage again, batting Wei Ying’s shaky hands away from the duffle. They walk together to the car, Lan Zhan with an arm around Wei Ying’s waist. Wei Ying leans into it, even as her trousers begin to chafe. Gross.
Lan Zhan is the sort of person who pays for covered parking, so there’s little ice to contend with on the car when they get to it. Wei Ying’s just starting to worry about whether she’s going to end up trying to change clothes in a station parking garage in Beijing in early December, when Lan Zhan pops the trunk of her too-fancy Audi and pulls out a towel and a blanket. Because of course Lan Zhan keeps all the things you’re supposed to keep in your car. She probably has snow chains and a first aid kit, too.
Wei Ying watches, just starting to shiver, as Lan Zhan lays the towel down on the creamy beige leather of the passenger seat, upon which Wei Ying has barely ever even been allowed to eat. With absolutely no change in expression to suggest that this is a monumental turnabout, Lan Zhan holds the door open and gestures for Wei Ying get in.
Wei Ying would argue more (eating fries in Lan Zhan’s car is absolutely apocalyptic, but Wei Ying’s entire… piss-damp self is fine? What? Is this how she finally gets Lan Zhan to let her eat KFC breakfasts in the car?) but she’s still a little blissed and increasingly cold and honestly fucking exhausted because it’s past midnight and it feels like she’s been doing a two-hour ab workout, so she lets Lan Zhan bundle her into the seat, careful not to dislodge the towel, and stays still while Lan Zhan pulls the blanket over her.
Lan Zhan tucks the blanket in carefully around Wei Ying’s ankles and hips and kisses her mouth once again, in a funny way, like — like Lan Zhan is grateful. Which Wei Ying can’t quite believe until Lan Zhan says, quietly, “Thank you.” Then, while Wei Ying stares at her, wide-eyed, Lan Zhan shuts the car door for her and walks around to the other side and slides in, slipping the key in the ignition and letting the engine purr to life.
Lan Zhan looks beautiful in the golden light of the car’s doorlights, as she lets the engine warm up for a minute and fiddles with the dashboard. Wei Ying watches Lan Zhan turn the heat on high, angle the vent at Wei Ying’s chest instead of right in her face, and put Wei Ying’s seat warmer on the second-to-highest setting.
Wei Ying feels kind of impossibly in love.
“Do you want music?” Lan Zhan asks, backing them out of the parking space and easing the car towards the exit.
“Nah,” sighs Wei Ying, watching lights slide across Lan Zhan’s face, watching Lan Zhan point them, finally, towards home. “Nah, this is good.”
Lan Zhan’s tiny smile is a quick thing in the dim streetlights, and mostly shows in her eyes; Wei Ying catches it anyway.