Work Text:
Bucky paused pacing in his apartment to read the latest text message.
[How you hanging in there]
He groaned, and stood there squirming in place as he answered — stopping to think about how he felt made things so much worse. He suspected the guy knew that. [By a thread] he responded.
[Five more minutes then the lock can come off. Gonna make it?]
[Hope so.] Bucky resumed pacing short circuits. The movement helped, as long as he was walking he felt in control.
[Not gonna cheat and take it off early I hope]
[Course not.]
Bucky had been messaging with a guy he’d met on an online kink forum a few months back, though never in person, that morning and mentioned he was bored and had the whole day to himself. Wetfistmele had been more than happy to suggest different ways Bucky could entertain himself, and Wetfist by extension, as he reported how he was feeling throughout the day.
[Come on, give me some details. How bad is it?]
[Why? You getting off on my pain?]
[You mad if i say yes? If it actually hurts call it quits. No glory in hurting yourself.]
[No pain. I just gotta piss so fucking bad]
[wish i was there to see it. If you leak you should send me a pic]
[not gonna leak] Bucky said, distracted from the fluttery feeling caused by the idea of meeting Wetfist in person by a surge of desperation. He hoped he wasn’t going to be made a liar about leaking. [fuuuck. How much longer]
[2 min. U got this]
Bucky clenched his thighs together and bounced on his toes. Jesus, he didn’t think he’d ever had to piss so badly before. He started to root in his pocket for the key, just to have on hand when the alarm went off and his stomach about dropped out of his body. If wasn’t there.
Bucky dropped his phone on the counter and dug into both pockets, feeling panicked.
“Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck, where is it?” There was no one there to answer and he began racing around the apartment looking at likely spots. The alarm on his cellphone went off when he was in his bedroom looking and he groaned loudly.
Fist buried between his thighs he hurried over to shut it up and saw he’d missed several messages from Wetfist. He didn’t bother to read them.
[I can’t find the key. What the fuck do I do?]
[where were you when you put the lock on?]
[in my bedroom. Its not there]
[did you look under the bed?]
Bucky had not, afraid to lower himself to the ground without losing his tenuous control. He rechecked the kitchen counter again before shuffling back to follow Wetfist’s suggestion. He dropped his phone on the bed so he could hold the mattress for support as he gingerly knelt down. There was no sign of the key.
It was not on his nightstand or on the bathroom counter either.
“Son of a bitch,” Bucky snarled, trying not to panic.
[if you don’t have lock picks you could cut your belt off] was the most recent message waiting for him when he returned to his phone.
Bucky really didn’t want to cut his belt but that probably would work if he it came to that. He tugged experimentally at the lock, wondering if he could just snap it off, but the way it jarred his bladder quickly shelved that idea. He was afraid he’d start leaking if he tried.
He didn’t have lock picks in his room; there was a set up with his gear for a call out but that was too far away. His neighbor across the hall probably had a set on him though, and Clint was enough of a disaster that he probably wouldn’t give Bucky too much shit for asking to borrow them. He hit dial on his phone and tried not to feel too relieved when it was answered on the first ring.
“Can I borrow your lock picks?”
Clint sounded bewildered when he answered, “Uh, yeah? Sure, um. What?”
“Are you drunk? Lock picks, can I borrow them or not?”
“I’ll bring them over.”
“Now?” He tried to make it a question instead of a demand, but wasn’t sure how successful he’d been.
“Yeah.”
“Door’s unlocked.”
It hadn’t been, but Bucky quickly threw the bolt back, then retreated to stand behind his kitchen island, to hide how he was clutching his dick.
Clint didn’t disappoint; Bucky had barely gotten into position before he came through the door, locking it behind him.
“You can just leave ‘em on the counter.” Bucky hoped his voice didn’t sound as strained as it felt, but from the look Clint was giving him it did.
“Sure you don’t need help using them?”
“I know how to pick locks, Barton.”
“Yeah. But uh, you look a little shaky over there.”
“I’ve got it.”
“What do you got locked up?” Clint asked. There was something about his tone, and the way he was starting at the counter as if trying to look through it to the lower half of Bucky’s body that made him think Clint knew exactly what he was up to.
“That’s private,” Bucky bit out. He needed Clint to get the fuck out of there.
“Is it?” Clint licked his lips nervously, then lifted the hand holding his phone and lock pick set and waved them in Bucky’s direction. “I think maybe you’ve been telling me about it all day, Bucket18.”
Bucky’s jaw dropped. “No fucking way.”
Clint carefully skirted the counter, moving slow and Bucky made the decision not to move. To allow him to come around and see the way he was barely holding onto his sanity and dignity.
“You gonna let me help?” Clint asked as he approached.
Bucky was about to say no, he wasn’t ready to do anything surrounding this kink with an actual person, but his bladder contracted hard enough to make him whimper and dance on the spot. “Get it off me, please get it off me.”
Clint knelt down and had the lock in one hand to get a good look and see what picks he needed. “You’re gonna have to be still when I do this,” he warned opening the pack.
“Fuck you.” Bucky snapped but did his best to still his hips. He tensed at the next rush of urgency and nearly knocked Clint’s hands away.
“I’m good, but I can’t pick the lock I can’t put the picks in the lock.”
“If I piss myself it’s your fault.”
“My fault?”
“This was your idea.”
“I didn’t tell you to throw away the key. Buck, the zipper’s not even in the lock, what are you doing?”
“I wanted to make sure I couldn’t cheat and go without the lock off,” Bucky said through clenched teeth, and did not elaborate the he’d put his underclothes on backwards. “I need the belt off now.”
“I’m working on it. You’re doing good,” Clint soothed and got the tools reinserted. Seconds later the lock clicked open and Clint gently pulled it off. He grabbed onto Bucky’s hips and held in him place as he stood.
“You think you can keep holding it a little longer?” he challenged.
“No,” Bucky bit out, but didn’t try to move away.
“You should try, for me. I didn’t really get to enjoy this yet. You barely told me anything in your messages.”
“Clint.”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Clint said as he pressed closer, sliding a hand between their bodies and cupping it over the hand still gripping Bucky’s jeans.
“Do you want me to piss myself?”
“God, yes.”
“I don’t. Fuck, I don’t know.”
“It’d be easy. You’ve been holding so long,” Clint said soothingly. His other hand came up to rub at the small of Bucky’s back. “Been so good for me. Wouldn’t it feel good to just relax and let go?”
“I don’t. Clint. I gotta go so bad.”
“All the people in the world you coulda been, you could’ve lived halfway across the world instead of across the hall. Seems like fate, don’t it? You can relax with me, it’s okay.”
“Fuck, Clint. I. It’s so bad.”
“How long can you hold it?”
“I don’t know.” Bucked huffed. “Thought I was gonna lose it before you even got here. I gotta go so bad. Not long.”
“You don’t have to. Let go. No glory in hurting yourself.”
“Fuck, fuck Clint.”
Clint trailed his hand up over Bucky’s front and gently rubbed his belly just above the still buckled belt. “You want me to undo this for you?”
“Clint.” The name was a whine and Bucky rocked his hips forward, searching for something to help him hold on.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Clint said, bending to whisper in Bucky’s ear. “But you want this, don’t you. You told me you wanted someone to hold you down, or block the way. Force you to piss yourself. Was that just talk?”
“I—” Bucky couldn’t think. He had said that. But that had been to a faceless stranger, not the coworker he’d been lusting after in secret. He wasn’t sure if he should go through with it now that the opportunity was there, but it was hard to keep any thought in his brain, the threads kept slipping away as desperation washed away everything else. “I, Clint. Please.”
“Move your hand,” Clint ordered. He dropped his hand to Bucky’s and pulled it away, moving his own over the half hard bulge and rubbing it through the thick denim. “Feels good, doesn’t it. Holding so much, not knowing when some’s going to spill out. Riding the edge of desperation.”
Bucky whimpered and rocked his hips again, thrusting forward into Clint’s hand.
“Tell you what. Five more minutes. Just last five more minutes and I’ll take you to the bathroom.”
The humiliating words sent a frisson of electricity down his spine, making him shiver with the arousal.
“Okay.”
“Think you can?”
“No,” he admitted in a whisper.
“Bet you can. I’ll take care of you either way.”
Bucky nodded. His eyes were clenched shut, blocking out the view of Clint as he focused on holding just a little bit longer.
It was a delicious torment; he was half hard underneath Clint’s hand. It wasn’t pain, exactly, but it was so intense it felt related.
“Fuck, fuck. I can’t,” he chanted. He had to make an effort to not bruise Clint’s arms as he hung on for dear life.
Piss dribbled out, a tiny leak that he could feel soaking into the fabric of his underwear.
“Two more minutes,” Clint soothed when Bucky whined. “You’ve got this.”
“I can’t. I can’t. I’m leaking. I— Fuck!”
“Doesn’t count,” Clint said, pulling back so he could watch.
More piss blurted out, wicking through the fabric and a dark spot appeared beside Clint’s hand.
“I can’t, I can’t.”
“You look so fucking good like this.”
The words were quiet enough Bucky didn’t know if Clint meant to say it out loud, but it helped take away some of the shame holding him back from fully appreciating his predicament.
“Thirty seconds, Buck.”
“I can’t,” he moaned as warmth spread down his front again. He made an effort to clench up, to stop the flow again but the piss gushed out of him noisily.
“Fuck.” This time it was Clint groaning. He stilled his hand but kept it in place, feeling Bucky lose it all.
Bucky fell forward and plastered himself against Clint as all of the tension in his body melted. Clint shifted to hold him up while Bucky shamelessly pissed himself.
It was quiet when he finished, his brain still fuzzing around the edges and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do next.
“All done?” Clint asked after another minute. Bucky nodded his head against Clint’s chest. His pants were starting to cool and arousal was being displaced by discomfort.
“You did so good, Bucky, so good. Come on, let me take care of you.”
And that was something else a Bucky had confessed in their private messages. He hesitated and Clint picked up on it.
“I want to take care of you. Please let me.”
Bucky took a deep breath, then nodded.
Clint placed a gentle kiss on Bucky’s forehead. “I’m gonna grab a towel.”
Bucky’s apartment was set up the same as Clint’s so it was easy for him to find the linen closet.
“Step on this, dry your feet off.” Bucky followed Clint’s directions, grateful he hadn’t been wearing socks. The wet jeans were bad enough. Clint guided him into his bathroom and undressed him while the tub filled. He even poured some of the body wash under the tap for bubbles. The scent that rose up was comforting.
“Relax in here for a minute,” Clint said once Bucky was laying back in the tub and he’d turned off the water. “I’m going to go clean up then I’ll come scrub your back, okay.”
“You don’t have… it’s my mess.”
“It’s the mess you made for me, because I asked you to. You wouldn’t’ve done it otherwise, so feels right to clean it up. It’s part of taking care of you.”
“Are you sure?”
“We probably should’ve talked more about this first, but I’m exactly where I want to be.”
“I can’t believe you’re the guy I’ve been talking to for months. That’s… how is that even possible.”
Clint laughed. “I don’t know how we didn’t realize sooner. Between my archery username and your Bucket.”
“How is Fist Me an archery name?”
Clint laughed harder. “Fistmele is an archery term. You thought I just had my name as Fist Me? No wonder you didn’t bat an eye at the omo kink if that’s what you thought I was going to bring up.”
Bucky flushed and shrugged.
“I’ll explain it later. Are you okay that it was me, and that I stayed?”
“Yeah. Like you said. Fate.”
“So will you do this with me again?”
“Yeah. Yeah I think so.”