leak now or forever hold your pee

First it was the delays in getting out. Then it was the delays in coming back. And he had just been leaving the familiar asteroids of his home space when he realizes his body is doing the thing it does every so often where it processes all the liquid he drank all at once. It's only happened a few times, usually after leaving the bar, and he's always been lucky to find a toilet, but. He won't be finding any here.

He knows he's probably fucked when he starts fantasizing about using nearby rocks and asteroids as makeshift toilets, the craters and holes pocking their surface offering a welcome place to hide his waste. Ohhhh, why didn't they give him landing gear? Why did this have to happen now?

He's in the last stretch of his flight returning home and it's gotten worse, way worse. It's all rushed to the tip of his dick, screaming for relief. It's *urgent*, and he regrets the tall coffee, the large refreshing fruit drink he had, the water after eating salty chips, and the soda he shared with his friend before leaving for his mission. He reeeeally really has to go. Words like "accident" and "can't hold it" float through his mind. He holds himself very very still, promising himself not to wriggle like a child. But his hand movements belye his state of distress, suddenly moving to rub his chin, or frantically rub the top of his thigh back and forth, or squeeze his knee, or just vaguely tremor in the air. None of it's doing anything. But he's trying. He's *trying*.

This must be what people say when they describe their eyeballs as floating. If the contents of a man are his mind, then he must be one giant ocean of piss, too large for one man to hold, with only one way out.

And make its way out it does.

"Oh, fuck!" he can't help but exclaim when he loses control, just for a second, forgets to manually Not Pee as he has had to do every second this flight.

"Commander?" asks his superior over the radio.

Fuck, why must he be all alone in space and yet so watched? "No matter," he assures him, slightly out of breath. "Nothing of substance, I assure you."

He hates this. Hates that day one of having a freaking diaper and he's used it. Just a bit, but are you serious? The padding his dick is pushed around by is now warm and damp, a foolish call to attention of his weakness.

Well. He hasn't really *used* it, has he?

Anyone in his situation could be forgiven for letting some off the top. There's only so much a man can do, after all. But largely he has control. And now that he has made some room in himself, he should be able to keep it up. In fact, he is determined to.

By some miracle, he releases little more than some necessary drops by the time he lands. He is one big muscle, and he is positioned entirely against the wall of ocean. He feels something like that boy stopping the sea, in that ancient story, by putting his finger in the hole. No one ever truly appreciated how strong and noble that boy was, thinks Luc. He should be given a congressional meal of honor.

Luc holds his urine as he lands.

He holds it as he deboards.

He holds it as he takes off his rather unwieldy belt and spacesuit (well, he may have lost more dribbles, but with the positions he had to put himself in to get himself out of those damn constrictive leggings, no one could blame him.) He holds it, but it struggles, it fights to leave him.

And as he strides very very very very quickly towards the toilets, he can't hold it anymore.

The spurt rushes out of him warmly and welcomingly, and he frantically wiggles and stops it, and stops the next one too. And he makes it two more steps before the finger in the dam fails entirely.

Fuck.

Fuuuuuuuu-uuuck!

His whole mind is eclipsed with relief, from the tip of his dick to the top of his head. The warm ocean rushes out of him, warming his pubis, crotch, and wetting his ass. He didn't know pissing could feel this good. In for a space-penny, he thinks, and pushes it out harder. Now the liquid creeps up the padded waistband a bit, and down the upper thighs where, prepped for zero gravity, the absorbent material blessedly continued. He can't really tell where his pee stops and the diaper begins, in truth. He is an ocean of warmth. Warmth, and relief. And he is very, very, very, very wet.

Why do babies even get potty trained? he thinks. Why do they even allow it?

He realizes that he has stopped very suddenly in a busy hallway, with his esteemed colleagues and some *very* important politicians in the building, and probably has had a very weird look on his face for the last...he doesn't know how long he's been standing here.... between twenty seconds and five years?

At a quizzical look from his officemate, he says "just...forgot something on my grocery list," he says, kicking himself for how wobbly and gutteral his voice comes out. And he shuffles, probably more awkwardly than necessary, to the nearest bathroom. He knows he is bright red.

He strips his pants and looks at himself in the mirror. Damn, it really did take it all. By this point, some slight urge has returned, and he pushes that one out too, watching for evidence in the mirror, and it's warm and continues for quite a while. It feels kind of amazing. After repeating this a few times and he's sure he's done, Luc slowly disrobes himself of the one-size-fits-all human-style absorbency garment. It's heavy, warm, and falls to the ground with a wet slap. He wraps it in paper towels and stuffs it in the trash can. It doesn't smell like anything, bless technology. And he leaves the tiny restroom, sends his final report, clocks out, and floats home.

Several days later, Spacecaptain Luc Buonevaire pulls up his pants in the morning, looks in the mirror, and releases just a spurt of pee. It takes some time to start, and he stops it quickly, but it burns like hot nickel in the inside of his thigh. The dampness feels like no more than sweat, but knowing that it's urine excites him. You can't see it from the outside. A thrill shoots through him.