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It’s the same every time.
Another game, another endless bathroom break. Mitsui sighs and slumps forward so his crossed arms press against his stomach. He’s been in the slightly grimy stall for at least ten minutes, and there’s still nothing, despite the swelling fullness of his bladder that only grows more irritating.
Every single damn game is like this, and Sakuragi and Miyagi don’t even bother to hide their laughter anymore when Mitsui excuses himself for the third time – it doesn’t take a genius to see the pattern. Akagi and Kogure start to give him concerned looks as well, and after a few games, Mitsui has just accepted that this is apparently how it’s gonna be.
He had no issues like this in middle school, but now it takes him a few tries to calm down enough to pee, and sometimes it doesn’t work at all and he has to sprint off the court as soon as the buzzer sounds.
A lot of the time before games he spends in bathrooms now. They all look more or less the same, cramped stalls and stained tiles. White tiles, green tiles. This one has light blue ones, though the color looks washed out and sickly in the windowless room. There are cracks in some of them. Mitsui follows the thin lines with his eyes, takes a deep breath. Still nothing.
Then he hears the door get pushed open.
“Mitsui?” Kogure’s voice echoes through the bathroom. “Are you still in here?”
“Yeah,” Mitsui calls back, a little breathless as he feels his stomach tighten. “I’ll be right there. Go ahead.”
There are light footsteps on the tiled floor, coming closer. “Akagi wants to get started with the warm-up in a bit.” Kogure is right in front of the stall now – Mitsui can see his shadow through the gap under the door.
“I just need a minute,” Mitsui says and pushes harder against his stomach. With Kogure here, he probably won’t be able to go at all, but he tries anyways.
“Okay.”
Kogure doesn’t leave. At least Mitsui doesn’t hear any more footsteps. Apparently ‘okay’ means ‘I’ll wait right outside the stall for you to finish taking a leak’. Fantastic. He could do without a concerned, responsible vice-captain for once.
“Mitsui?” Kogure asks again, after a minute.
“You don’t have to wait,” Mitsui says, then clears his throat to cover the edge carrying in his tone.
“Could you hurry? Akagi said I shouldn’t return without you.”
“I can’t.”
“Huh?”
“I can’t hurry.” Mitsui stares down at the cracked tiles again. “It won’t come out.”
“Oh,” Kogure says. “Because I’m here?”
“I think it’s because of the game.”
“You’re nervous?”
Mitsui lets his head sink to his knees. “No. Maybe. Is that important?”
He hears Kogure sigh on the other side of the door. “And you’re sure you really need to go?”
“Yes,” Mitsui says into his lap. “I can’t play like this.” Sometimes he can hold it, but right now the pressure in his lower abdomen is impossible to ignore. He shouldn’t have listened to Akagi telling them to stay hydrated even before the game. But it’s summer, and it’s hot, and not drinking would raise questions.
It’s quiet for a while. Mitsui resists the urge to groan or maybe punch the stupid ugly tiles, and instead tries to relax somehow. Which is hard, with Kogure pacing in front of the door.
“Mitsui, we really need to get going,” Kogure says, and stops after a few rounds through the bathroom. “The game starts at five.”
“I know.” Mitsui pushes. Feels his breath hit his legs. Nothing. “But I can’t.”
“Right. Sorry,” Kogure says. Mitsui sees his sneakers under the door, tapping and shifting for a while before he speaks again. “Then can you let me in?”
“What?” Mitsui’s head jerks back up. “No.”
“I want to help you.”
“Just tell Akagi I’ll be there in a minute.” Mitsui frowns at the door. Is Kogure really that worried he’ll miss the game? So far he has always made it just in time.
“Please?” Kogure’s voice is soft, muffled through the door. “Let me try something, okay?”
Maybe Mitsui held it in for too long and now it’s affecting his brain – or he’s just willing to try anything at this point – but he sighs and leans forward to slowly unlock the door. Hesitantly, Kogure steps in and closes it again behind him. He looks down at Mitsui, quietly, unreadable.
“What?” Mitsui glares up at him, curled around his lap. He probably looks stupid like this, but Kogure doesn’t laugh.
“Is this why you’re always gone before games?” Kogure asks. “And why you’re in the stall?”
“It’ll look weird if I’m standing at the urinal holding my dick and nothing comes out,” Mitsui mutters.
“If Akagi finds you he’ll drag you onto the court, you know that. He didn’t look like he’d wait much longer.” Kogure leans back against the door. “Maybe you should tell him. He’ll understand.”
Mitsui drags his hands over his face. “I can’t go out there like this. And I’m not gonna tell Akagi. It’s bad enough that you’re in here.” Nothing would be worse than pissing himself on the court, in front of all those people. Not even losing.
“Sorry,” Kogure says. “I get it. I won’t tell him, of course.”
“You said you want to help me?” Mitsui says, eyes on Kogure’s shoes.
“Right.” Kogure steps a bit closer. “Can you stand up?”
“Do I have to?”
“I think it might help.”
Slowly Mitsui gets up, pulling down his shirt so it covers his crotch and looks pointedly away from Kogure. His bladder feels so tight and heavy he can barely stand straight.
Kogure reaches for his shoulders and gently turns him around so he’s facing the toilet. Mitsui shuffles awkwardly, while his sweatpants pool around his ankles.
“I don’t think this changes anything,” Mitsui says after a few seconds of looking down at the toilet bowl.
“And you really can’t go?” Kogure asks next to him.
Mitsui feels his jaw clench. He wants to tell Kogure that it’s not gonna work, that it just is like that. That it’s certainly not easier with Kogure staring at his dick. But Kogure is in here with him, trying to help him. Not judging him at all or making fun of him, like Sakuragi and Miyagi would. It would be sweet if it wasn’t so damn weird.
“I just can’t,” Mitsui presses out through his teeth. “I told you. Nothing comes out.”
Kogure is behind him now, so close Mitsui can feel him against his back, and reaches around Mitsui. Slides his hand down under Mitsui’s shirt and then settles low on his stomach.
“Kogure,” Mitsui says, and tenses up against him. It’s not unpleasant, Kogure’s hand is warm and rubs soothing little circles over where his bladder sits.
“Is this alright?” Kogure mutters, and wraps his other arm around Mitsui as well. Further down, to where Mitsui is still covering himself. “Move your hands?”
Mitsui lets Kogure push under his hands but doesn’t let go of his shirt. “What the hell are you doing?” he gets out, though the words lack the intended bite with how choked he sounds.
“Let me hold it,” Kogure says. His hand hovers right over Mitsui’s cock. “So you don’t have to worry about, you know. Aiming.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
Does he? Kogure wouldn’t do anything just to humiliate him. He wants to help, even if it seems absurd. They already got this far. And there aren’t many other options left anyways. With a shaky breath, Mitsui slowly lets go and his hands drop at his side. “Go ahead then.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes,” Mitsui says, though his cheeks are burning. He grits his teeth and resigns to just looking ahead at the wall.
Kogure hums and takes Mitsui’s soft dick into his hand. Warm fingers wrap around him carefully, holding him in place.
Mitsui swallows the gasp that builds in his chest at the touch and tries to calm down. Sure, this is happening. He’s locked in a gym bathroom, Kogure is holding his dick because he can’t piss, and he’s minutes away from being supposed to go out on the court. If Akagi comes looking for them now-
“Relax,” Kogure mutters, right next to his ear. His palm is still flat against Mitsui’s stomach, pushing down. “Are you still thinking about the game?”
“Not really,” Mitsui says and squirms slightly under the steady movement. “But- you’re watching.”
“Is it that bad?”
Mitsui huffs. “It’s embarrassing, Kogure.”
“I don’t mind.” Kogure lets out a small laugh. Mitsui feels it, hot against his neck. “It’s normal. Everyone does it.”
“Not like this,” Mitsui says. Winces when Kogure’s hand presses a little too firmly against his aching bladder. “Don’t push so hard.”
“Sorry,” Kogure says, and goes back to stroking gently over the skin. “Don’t worry, okay? You’ll do great. You always do.”
“I just-“ Mitsui starts, then hisses when Kogure pulls back his foreskin a bit. “I never had this in middle school.”
“You mean you have a reputation to lose now?”
“Everyone thinks I’ll do so great,” Mitsui says. “And then I’ll miss, or they shut me down, or I collapse again-“
“Mitsui.” Kogure softly rubs over his stomach. His fingertips trace up, to his chest, down his side, then back right above his crotch, more firmly. Mitsui’s skin tingles under his touch. “You’ll be fine. You’re amazing. And even if we lose, there’s the Winter Cup, and college, and whatever comes after that.”
“You think I’m amazing?” Mitsui asks, and the pressure makes him double over a bit.
You are,” Kogure mutters. “You were so good the last few games. You’ll just play like that again, okay?” His voice is so soft, so reassuring. It wraps itself around Mitsui like hot water, easing the knot in his chest.
Mitsui shivers and a few drops trickle out. He hears them hit the toilet – it’s not much, not nearly enough – but it makes him want to sob with relief.
“There you go,” Kogure says. “Can you do that again?”
“I- I don’t know.”
“Just let go, okay?”
Kogure exudes a sense of calm that somehow drowns out the biting stench in the stall and the anxious flickering of the fluorescent lights above. Mitsui closes his eyes. Focuses on the steady pressure on his stomach, on Kogure’s head resting on his shoulder, on his body pressed flush against Mitsui’s back. It’s warm, behind him, around him.
“Breathe,” Kogure says. “You’ll be fine. You’re doing so well.”
Kogure still holds him, carefully, aiming down and Mitsui lets his head fall back. Finally, fucking finally he feels that barrier break down.
“Shit,” Mitsui says and lets his head drop to the side, face against Kogure’s neck.
“Good?” Kogure mutters, and his thumb keeps moving soothingly.
“Yes,” Mitsui gasps. “Fuck.” Everything just flows out, in a steady stream, until there’s nothing left. Relief floods him and drains all the tension from his body. A little lightheaded, Mitsui sinks back against Kogure with a shudder. “Thanks.”
“That was a lot,” Kogure says.
Mitsui groans. “Please can we just not talk about this?”
Kogure smiles. Close. Mitsui glances up at him from where his head still rests against Kogure’s shoulder. There’s no hint of judgment or disgust in his eyes, they just meet his, warm brown and gentle and so, so close.
Mitsui feels his face heat up. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”
“Of course not,” Kogure whispers back, and when he does his lips brush against Mitsui, just barely.
Then Mitsui remembers that Kogure’s hand is still around his cock, because the fingers tighten and Mitsui lets out a low, raspy whine, feels himself twitch against Kogure’s grip. Forgets about where they are for a moment, about the ugly tiles and the upcoming game and Akagi waiting. There’s just Kogure’s hand around him, and Kogure’s body pressed against him, and Kogure’s eyes, and his lips, soft and pink, millimeters away, if Mitsui just-
“Mitchi?” Sakuragi’s voice rips through as the bathroom door gets slammed open at the same time. “Are you in here?”
Kogure tenses behind Mitsui and quickly turns his head away. His hands stop moving.
Mitsui closes his eyes. “Yes?”
“Gori is threatening me! He’s already hit me twice!” Sakuragi steps into the room. “Can you please come back to the gym?”
“I’ll be right there,” Mitsui says, and prays that Sakuragi won’t do anything dumb like try to look into his stall.
“I told him to send Rukawa so I could focus on the game, but he just hit me. As the most important player I need to warm up, so hurry.”
“I said I’ll be right there, Sakuragi.”
“Great. Oh, and did you see Kogure? He was gonna look for you too but he’s gone missing.”
“I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.”
“I’ll check the other bathroom,” Sakuragi says. “And come back fast.” With that, he leaves, and the door falls shut.
Kogure lets go of Mitsui and takes a step back. It’s cold suddenly, but Mitsui pulls up his pants and follows Kogure out of the stall.
“Mitsui,” Kogure says over the running water of the sink. His eyes flick to Mitsui in the mirror, then down to his hands again. “That was- I didn’t do anything you didn’t want, right?”
“No.” Mitsui reaches for the soap dispenser. “I mean it was weird. And embarrassing as hell. But it helped.”
“Good.” Kogure’s shoulders drop and he shuts off the water.
“Kogure-“
“After the game, okay?” Kogure smiles at the mirror and hands him a paper towel.
Mitsui nods slowly. “Okay.” When he’s about to push open the bathroom door, he pauses. “And thanks. Really.”
“No problem, Mitsui.”