“Two more, please,” Dean shouts over the loud music and voices in the bar they’re in and gestures to the girl at the bar. Booze. That’s just what he needs now. Their last hunt had been a nasty one, two vampires that turned out to have already successfully changed at least eleven people in the little town in Iowa they’re currently in. Dean rubs his face tiredly. You cannot save everyone. This is something Dean has often been told and has told himself even more often, and still the words don’t feel right on his tongue.
"There you go," the barkeeper grins at him and swiftly puts the two beers in front of him before attending her other customers. For a weeknight it’s ridiculously crowded. Probably because this is the only place you can go to in this freaking town. Dean takes the bottles, trails back to his table and sees that Sam’s seat is empty. He’s gone to the loo, probably. The guy has a bladder like a five-year-old, Dean thinks.
There had been many times in their childhood where, after having spent hours in a car during a hunting trip, Sammy had almost pissed himself. Dean thinks about those times more than he cares to admit to himself.
He’s lost in one of his favourite Sammy-actually-pisses-himself-memories - he had dared Sam to hold his pee before they took off for a six hour drive and after almost five hours, Sam had started to leak, drop by drop, until he had started to cry and had alarmed their dad - when Sam returns to their table and it happens. He isn’t thinking straight. He shouldn’t say things like that. But when Sam sits down at the table, Dean‘s mouth speaks without consulting his brain:
“Hey Sammy, remember when I dared you to hold your piss for a day? And you failed? Think you could handle it now?”
He wants to bite his tongue the second after. This is not something you can say to your brother. This is not something you can do. They are not children anymore, and things are never innocent now. Not that they ever were, really.
Sam just looks at him blankly. And then, slowly, a blush creeps down his cheeks. “What are you saying, Dean?” he asks and raises an eyebrow. The thought of getting Sam to agree to a holding bet makes Dean’s cock twitch anxiously. He bites his lip, suddenly nervous.
It’s not like Sam would ever agree, he reminds himself and breathes through his nose. “It’s nothing,“ he lies, and his voice doesn’t sound nearly as casual as he wants it to sound. It’s in that moment that he realizes he can still play this whole thing off as a joke. “You have a bladder like a girl, is all,” he says and flashes a shit-eating grin at his little brother, who instantly rolls his eyes.
They both sip their beers quietly and Dean’s eyes start to wander around the room. No one here who could hold his interest. Ugh. It’s not like he’s picky, so why the hell is there no one there? He hasn’t even been hit on all night, goddammit.
"It’s not like you’re so much better," Sam breaks through his musings and looks at Dean with a frown on his face. "Yesterday, you pulled off to piss at the side of the road twice. And if I need to pee more often than you do, it’s because I take care of hydration. Not everyone lives on a sip of whiskey every once in a while."
Deans cock twitches again. Damn. He thought they were over this.
Later, he would say it was the combination of his tiredness, the blurry noises in the bar, and the swimming feeling of the alcohol in his head when he looked Sam in the eyes and said: “What do you say? Holding contest. You and I. We’ll see who can handle it better. We’ll both take a leak now, drink a couple of beers, go to the motel and go to bed and see how we’re dealing with it in the morning.”
Sam can’t believe what he’s hearing. He had just been to the bathroom but somehow Dean’s words make him annoyingly conscious of his bladder that suddenly feels heavy. His stomach tingles and he can feel his hands shaking slightly.
Without a word, he gets up and goes straight to the loo. His mind feels foggy with the beers he’s already had and suddenly a picture of Dean, holding his crotch and gritting his teeth comes into his mind. He swallows anxiously and needs a minute to get his half-hard penis to go limp enough to get the little amount he has in his bladder to come out. When he walks back to the table, he just nods at Dean who, with a look like he’s not quite sure what‘s happening to him, gets up and leaves for the loo.
The rest of the evening is awkward, to say the least. They both gulp down two beers and some shots and the whole time, Sam anxiously focuses on his bladder. It’s not that he has to pee, not yet, but he feels like he wants to pee anyway. Dean looks as if he feels the same way. And for the rest of the night, he does not look at anybody else at the bar but Sam.
They get back to the motel around eleven and Dean shoots a nervous glance towards the bathroom door. This is the point where he would usually take a piss. It’s not that he’s desperate yet, far from it, but his bladder is a heavy presence in his abdomen and he feels it with every step he takes. No way he’s backing out now, though. “So, how‘re you doing there, Sammy?” he asks and shoots a grin at his brother who stands next to his bed, looking clearly uncomfortable.
“I’m doing great.” Sam says, rolls his eyes, strips down and lies down at the bed. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to sleep now. Shit day.” Dean knows Sam’s not as cool with the situation as he pretends to be. He must be feeling the alcohol in his bladder by now.
Dean sighs and lies down on his bed, fully dressed. Shit day indeed, he thinks, and falls asleep to the sound of Sam’s slow breathing.
It’s the middle of the night when Sam wakes up. His hand is wrapped around his cock and he pulls it back as if electrified before he shoots a glance at his brother to make sure he’s fast asleep. Then he puts it back. His bladder aches with the pee he’s holding and he remembers bits of the nervous dreams he’s had. One dream in particular stuck to his mind. He needed to piss and was in a huge storage hall full of toilets but whenever he sat down on one he got interrupted and had to get up and run away from something. He groans silently. Shit. A look at the clock tells him it’s only 3am and he should try to go back to sleep. He closes his hand around his cock reassuringly, turns to the side and drifts off to more dreams about trying to find a place to take a piss.
When Sam wakes up again his hand is still in his crotch and Dean’s eyes are on him. Sam jumps and takes his hand away, only to put it back when he feels like he’s about to leak. His cheeks grow hot as he stares at Dean staring at him. Dean is sitting on the edge of his bed, his knees jumping up and down. He’s absent-mindedly chewing his lower lip. It’s starting to get light outside so it must be early in the morning. “So what now?” Sam asks, trying to sound casual but feeling quite panicked. Dean seems to think about it. “How about coffee?” he asks and gets up, opening the drapes. Sam notices Dean wincing as he gets up, but trying to cover it but with a grin.
”Coffee?” Sam echoes. Coffee is the last thing he wants right now. The last thing his bladder needs. But he just shrugs. “Fine. Where do you propose we get coffee?”
“There’s a gas station two streets over.” Dean answers. “We drove past it yesterday.”
Sam is not even sure he could make it two streets over. He gives his cock a squeeze. “Huh” he says and makes no attempt to get up. “What do you say?”, Dean prompts, “Rock paper scissors, the loser gets the coffee.”
Sam nods, relieved.
He always wins at rock paper scissors. And this time is no expection.
The look Sam shoots Dean as Dean grumpily puts on his jacket and opens the door is almost one of pity.
The cold morning wind hits Dean hard as he steps outside and he immediately crosses his legs. Fuck, he thinks. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He puts his hand beneath his waistband and grabs his dick tightly. He can feel the piss pound inside of him and he’s aching for release. And if that weren’t enough to make him go crazy, he’s as horny as he hasn’t been in a long time. Watching Sam squirm in his sleep was the most delicious sight he could imagine. Fuck.
He gives his dick a last reassuring squeeze and starts to walk. His bladder feels so heavy and gets jiggled with every slow step he takes. But eventually, he makes it to the little gas station, goes in and heads straight to the cashier. He has to make it home fast, because - he doesn‘t even let himself finish that thought.
There’s a line of three people at the cash register and Dean groans internally.
Somehow, standing feels so much worse than walking. He puts his right hand into his pocket and tries to squeeze his dick discreetly. When a child at the other end of the room points to him and whispers something to his mother, his lets out a silent curse and removes his hand. Shit.
Without his hand on his dick, he suddenly feels vulnerable. A picture comes to his mind, a picture of him losing it in front of these people, in the middle of a gas station. He feels a furious blush creeping up his cheeks and unconsciously crosses his legs. He leans forward a little, to try and relieve the pressure but it’s not helping. Suddenly, he wonders how Sammy’s doing. “That bastard had better not gone to take a leak when I come back,” he mutters to himself.
"Sorry, what was that?", the cashier interrupts his thoughts with a raised eyebrow. Dean hadn’t noticed he was the first one in line now. Shit. This day was gonna be embarrassing, that was for sure. "Uh, nothing." he mutters, having apparently lost his wit, as well as his charm. "Just two coffees to go, please." The cashier looks at him suspiciously, then shrugs and turn away from him to fill two cops. The brown liquid streaming into the cups does nothing to make Dean feel better. He bounces his knees furiously and starts to get the money out of his back pocket before the cashier is even done making the coffee. The sooner he got back to the motel, the better.
There was one thing Dean had not calculated when he had had the idea of getting coffee. With a cup in each of his hands he’s forced to look at the liquid while he walks in order not to spill it and he has no free hand to sqeeze his dick, discretion be damned. He walks slowly down the street. Despite of the chilly morning air, he feels droplets of sweat forming on his forehead. The coffee sloshes in the paper cups with every step, in unison with the urine in his bladder. Dean feels the piss creeping to the tip of his aching dick and it’s all he can think about to just take it out and relieve himself. The thought makes him giddy with need and want.
It happens when Dean has to stop at a red light at a fairly busy street.
He feels the liquid burning at the tip of his dick and suddenly, he spills. It’s only a few drops till Dean hastily grabs the cup in his right hand with his left to free one hand and grab his dick as tightly as he can. He manages to stop the piss but it hurts, it hurts so much. In his haste, he has also spilled quite a bit of hot coffee on his hand which immediately starts throbbing in pain.
In the corner of his eyes, Dean can see some construction workers staring at him, but he’s too far gone to care now. He clenches everything together, he just has to make it back to the motel. Just a little longer. He can do it. With one hand in his crotch, he crosses the street and walks towards the motel. He is going too fast, though. Startled by his new pace and the increased bouncing, Dean’s bladder lets go again. He cramps, doubles over and quickly places the cups on a nearby bench to hold himself. Fuck, he thinks. Jesus fuck. When he had suggested this game he had been so sure he would win. It hadn’t even occured to him that he might lose. Worse, that he might lose it in public.
Although, with the people staring and pointing at him now, he thinks that losing it right here would hardly be more embarrassing than the full blown desperation dance he’s currently doing. He manages to stop the flood again. Just a couple of drops. Anxiously, he removes his hands from his crotch and examines himself. There’s a dark spot where the tip of his dick lies in his pants, there’s no mistaking it in his light blue jeans. Fuck. He picks up the cups again and walks the final distance to the motel, with one hand tightly in his crotch and his bowed legs rubbing together to create some much-needed friction.
Back in the hotel room, Sam falls down onto his pillow again. He’s relieved Dean is gone because now he can finally hold himself as tightly as he needs. And god, does he need it. He feels like he’s filled to the brim, like his whole body is filled with piss and he could just explode with it every second. He puts one hand under his boxers and starts to stroke himself lazily, knowing that he needes a distraction from his urgent need to pee but that he won’t be able to get fully hard in this state. His hot cock is oversensitive beneath his hands and he gasps. Now he feels distincly less nervous. He feels amazing.
He thinks of Dean making his way to the gas station. Would he try to hold himself during the walk? Would he draw the attention of strangers to his urge? Sam relishes in the thought of Dean standing cross legged in the gas station while stammering out his order. Slowly, he drags his nails over his balls and the base of his cock and groans deeply. Dean panicking and realizing he wouldn’t be able to make it. Dean asking the cashier for the keys to the toilet. Sam picks up the pace of his strokes and faintly realizes that he’s moaning too loudly, that he’s moaning Dean’s name.
The cashier telling Dean that the toilet is occupied and Dean making his way to the restroom door to wait for the person inside to come out. Dean doubling over in front of the door with a pained expression on his face. His face flushed, his nails digging into his crotch, his legs bouncing and rubbing together. A dark spot forming in his crotch. A dark spot that gets bigger and bigger as Dean tries in vain to hold on, cursing loudly and shoving his hands even deeper into his crotch. A puddle of piss slowly forming around Dean’s shoes.
Sam throws his had back into the pillow and grabs his cock for dear life when he feels the piss starting to leak out of his semi-hard on. He squeezes the tip of his cock and cuts of the stream of piss. It hurts. It hurts so much. He chokes down a mixture of a curse and a sob and realizes that his boxers are wet. No use putting on new ones, he thinks defeatedly, they would get wet soon enough again. Instead, he gets up as slowly as he can to not startle his tortured bladder, and puts on a pair of old jeans. Now all he can do is wait.
When Dean returns, he is exhausted. He hasn’t leaked a third time, but he feels like it might happen any second now, and he has spilled quite a lot of the coffee. As soon as he’s back in the room, he drops down to his knees and holds himself as tightly as he can. He groans, loud and guttural, in a way he usually wouldn’t do in front of his brother.
His brother, who is currently sitting on the back rest of the outworn couch, pressing the fabric into his crotch and slowly moving up and down. Oh dear lord. If Sam only knew what that image was doing to him. How much he would like to touch him right now. He wants to go over there and press on Sammy’s bladder, make him sob, make him beg for release.
Dean feels another spurt of piss leaking into his jeans and forces himself up with a crooked smile. “Got you coffee. I take it you haven’t lost it yet, then. Who’d have thought.” Sam grimaces and slowly gets up from his position on the couch to get his cup.
“Spilled much?” Sam asks with an evil grin and points from the half-empty paper cups to Dean’s darkened crotch. Dean mouths a curse at him, removes his hand from his crotch, stands up straight and chugs down his cup of coffee. He looks at Sam, challenging him, but breaks his straight pose after only a couple of seconds to bend his knees and scratch his nails at the top of his thighs. The sight momentarily makes Sam lose focus on his own desperation. He relaxes for a second, and that’s all it takes.
A huge spurt of piss leaks into his jeans and it’s all he can do to cross his legs, take his cup and start to sip. There’s no way back now. He’s not even sure he would make it to the bathroom if he tried. He probably wouldn’t be able to undo his zipper before he started pissing uncontrollably. With every sip he takes, a new spurt of piss leaks into his jeans. His hand is in his jeans and under his boxers now, alternately stroking his burning cock and squeezing the tip shut, still trying to hold on, however impossible it seemed.
Dean’s gaze on him is a heavy presence. His brother is aroused, he can see that. Is aroused of the sight of him peeing. Or having to pee himself. Sam isn’t sure. He isn’t sure of anything besides the fact that there’s a flood of piss inside of him that’s slowly forcing its way out and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it. As soon as he has gulped down the last bit of his coffee, Sam turns to walk to Dean.
He doesn’t know what he plans to do, he just does it. He steps right into his brother’s personal space, his brother with the flushed cheeks and the blown pupils, and crowds him backwards to the wall. “I’m losing it,” Sam says, as if there was any way Dean hadn’t noticed the dark streaks of piss that went the whole way down his legs, “It hurts so much, Dean.”
As if in a reflex - and that’s probably what it is - Dean puts his arms around Sam and hugs him tightly. “It’s okay.” he says. “It’s okay.” Deans hand snakes down Sams upper body and Sam shivers. Dean is so beautiful in the morning light. His long dark lashes and his freckles, his face like he’s in pain but also like he’s taking care of Sam first. Like he always does. A sense of longing starts to burn in Sam, as strong as his need to finally relieve himself, longing for his brother, longing for Dean.
He lets his head drop down to Dean’s shoulder and grabs his brother’s hand, slowly guiding it towards his dick. A little voice, far back in his mind is screaming at him, that this is wrong, that Dean is going to push him away any second now, but then he feels Dean’s hand pushing down on his cock and he moans loudly. How long he had wanted this, had rarely let himself think of this. He bites down on his lips so hard he’s sure he’s drawing blood and clenches everything together, trying to hold on just a little longer.
The pee rushes inside of him and his body feels heavier then ever. Despite his clenching, spurt after spurt comes rushing out of him, wetting Dean‘s hand that firmly strokes his leaking cock through the fabric of his jeans. He feels heavy with lust and want, though there’s no way he’s getting hard in his current state. He feels Dean turning his head slightly, mouthing at his cheek, his hot breath ghosting over his ear and that‘s all it takes for Sam to lift his head and press his lips to Dean’s.
Their first kiss is desperate, heavy with suppressed need, and Dean’s tongue in his mouth is hot and overwhelming. They had kissed before, years ago, when Sam was barely more than a child and didn’t know how to hide his feelings for his brother. It had happened four times before Sam left for university, saying goodbye not only to a life as a hunter, but also to a life of constantly fighting the urge to tell Dean what he needed from him.
As he focuses on Dean’s soft lips and the stubble slightly scratching his chin, he feels his whole body starting to shake and the piss begins to stream out in earnest now. He grinds against Deans hand, pressing it into his crotch as tightly as he can and biting Dean’s lip hard, desperate, and the floodgates open completely and he finally, after what feels like an eternity, feels his bladder aching, but empty.
Dean isn’t sure what’s happening to him. He just knows that Sammy’s in his arms, where he belongs, and that’s something that feels as good as this can’t possibly be wrong. Part of him knows that he will freak out over this kiss later, that things are seriously fucked up, but right now he can’t bring himself to care.
He breaks their kiss when he notices that Sam is done peeing and realizes that he won the bet. His grin comes easily, because no matter how messed up things might be, in this moment they seem so simple, so perfect. “Looks like I won.“ he says, gesturing to the puddle around Sam’s feet. “Not that there were ever any doubts.“ Right after he said these words, he’s reminded of his own urge and presses his hand firmly into his crotch. “Fuck, Sam“, he gasps nonsensically.
Sam seems to need a moment to gather himself. His face is flushed, he looks like he’s just been fucked senseless, but eventually he clears his throat and asks: “So, uh. How does that work now? You won so you can go to the restroom?“
“Yeah, I guess“, Dean says, but he’s not moving.
“How about we check out of the motel first, and you go use the restroom downstairs after you’re done? Think you can manage it?“
Dean stares at Sam, completely taken aback. He knows there’s no way he’ll be able to check out without pissing himself, not if he is forced to stand up straight without holding himself. But, like he has ever since the previous night, he chooses not to listen to the rational part of his brain, he just wants their game to continue, even though his abdomen is throbbing in constant pain now.
“You may wanna change your jeans,“ he tells Sam, kisses his cheek and starts packing the few things he bothered to unpack.
He’s done in a few moments, although he’s constantly doubled over now and he doesn’t dare remove his hand from his crotch.
When they get out of their room, Dean slowly stands up straight and removes his hand from his dick. Sam watches as Dean shivers and bites his lips in pain. He takes his brother’s hand, decides to carry his duffle for him, and leads Dean down the stairs. Dean walks slowly, every step taking an enormous amount of concentration for him and during their short walk down the deserted staircase, Dean stops twice to violently shove both of his hands into his crotch.
Now that Sam has relieved himself, there’s no holding back his erection. He’s sure everybody’s able to see, that Dean is able to see, but he can’t bring himself to care now. All he can think about is Dean, desperate Dean, Dean who kissed him just a few minutes ago and who may kiss him again in no time.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, they make it to the motel’s reception. No one is there, so they ring a rusty little bell on the counter and wait. In a corner of the room, an elderly couple watches them curiously and Sam is reminded of how they must look to other people right now. Himself, sporting a huge hard-on and probably looking like he has just been thoroughly fucked and Dean looking for all the world like a man who’s losing the battle against his bladder.
The dark spot on Dean’s jeans is unmistakable now. Dean’s fingers tremble as he tries to keep them still, to keep them from holding himself, and he leans heavily against the counter. Sam presses his brother’s hand reassuringly as a middle aged man walks up behind the counter and smiles and them professionally.
“Checking out?“, he asks them, not showing any indication that he notices something’s off about them. Sam waits for Dean to say something, to pay for their room, but Dean doesn’t move. He just stands there, trembling hard and chewing his lip unconsciously. Sam takes their money out of Dean’s pocket and notices Dean flushing when his hand brushes against his ass in the process. He pays for their room, his eyes not leaving Dean for a second. Any moment now. There’s only so much Dean can take, and he’s long reached his limit. Sam’s cock burns in anticipation for what’s bound to happen next.
And sure enough, with his hand digging into Sam’s, his thighs trembling and the eyes of the couple in the back on him, Dean falls apart. He groans unvoluntarily, which earns him an puzzled stare of the guy behind the counter, and the dark spot in his crotch starts to get bigger and bigger. Dark streaks form down the legs of his pants and Sam can hear the soft dripping sound of his brother’s piss leaking to the floor.
Dean winces as he tries to stop the flow, but he doesn’t stand a chance. He feels humiliated, but most of all, he’s just overwhelmed by Sam’s hot gaze that barely ever leaves his crotch, and Sam’s obvious erection. It’s not like he can cover up his accident now anyway, so he decides to just relax, let his muscles finally, finally unclench, and thoroughly pisses his pants.
Under the shocked stares of the three other people in the room, Dean lets himself be dragged towards the impala by Sam, where Sam proceeds to press him against the hood and grind his erection against Dean’s soaked crotch. Giving up control never felt better.