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Natlan’s night sky remains the same as he remembers. The tribes and land, broken and rebuilt time and time again carry countless memories. His heart aches in pain as so many of the souls in his chest recognize their homeland — the Khaenri’ahns scream and cry as well, flooded of memories of their last months, days, dying while still mourning their lost home. A real pity.
Capitano has lived long enough to have mourned for each of them, over and over. The curse that eats him away is his worst company, although one that he has grown used to. Still, he dislikes how it strips him from the pleasures of being alive. Coming back to Natlan only intensifies this melancholy, this ache — to feel something more, to experience bliss.
He can’t share this desire with anyone. Capitano doesn’t want to inflict the sight of his decaying body to any possible partner; sometimes he can’t stand staring at his own reflection. So he must do so alone, far away from the Fatui camp.
He sneaks away from the designated guards. Thankfully, his troops are camping in the Masters of the Night-Wind territory, which he knows pretty well. It doesn’t take long until Capitano finds a secluded area, hidden under the shade of a big tree. He walks over the roots and rests his back on it, taking a deep breath. It is a quiet night; all he can hear are the Iktomisaurs cries, calling for each other. The Abyss shouldn’t attack.
Releasing the air in his lungs, Capitano takes his helmet off. The night’s cool breeze feels good on his face, even though he lost sensation almost completely long ago. How many years was that again?
It doesn’t matter, he thinks, taking off his gauntlets and having them rest on the ground besides his helmet. This is as far as he is willing to go with undressing. There is no reason to get rid of his armor. It’s actually better to be clothed and covered, knowing what he is going to do.
Capitano takes his canteen and opens it, drinking a mouthful of water. Something so ordinary, although there is pleasure in it — not from the usual relief of quenching one’s thirst, but from knowing what will happen next. He just needs to be patient. The night is still young. There is enough time for him to indulge.
He dismisses the thoughts of his soldiers asking why he doesn’t eat or drink in the company of others. Doesn’t dare think of the last time he ate proper food out of his own volition. He focuses on the water, how it fills his mouth, how each drop hits his tongue. How his muscles work to diligently swallow it down. Capitano closes his eyes and remembers the time before his body became his prison, of hot summer days in which drinking water felt like a blessing against the heat. When pausing his training to rehydrate himself helped him focus. When he could do so any time he wanted in front of others.
Capitano drinks. He drinks and drinks, until the canteen is left empty. An entire day’s worth of water, gone in minutes. He licks his lips, savoring the very few drops that spilled down his face. Wonderful. Delicious. Agonizingly good. His stomach is full — he can feel the heaviness of all the liquid — which makes him sit down. A little uncomfortable, but a good sign. Anticipation is all that’s left.
Waiting is something he is far too used to by now. Being unable to sleep definitely helps; Capitano stays seated in silence, enjoying the breeze on his face for once, relaxing while knowing he is truly alone. No one to see him. No one to judge him. No one to witness his late night indulgence, his particular way of chasing gratification.
Time passes. His stomach begins to feel better. The fullness is gone; instead, there is a growing pressure down below. His bladder fills, making him sigh. There is a part, still deep inside him, that has the basic instinct to get up and look for a place to relieve himself. Capitano restrains it — he doesn’t want it to be over. This is all part of the buildup, when it all truly begins.
He doesn’t remember when he came up with that habit — not exactly an habit, more like a solution to his problem of occasional longing for something physical. All he knows is that, with a body like his, the pangs of a full bladder are exciting, and the relief of letting its content out is almost akin to an orgasm. The longer it goes — the more he releases — the better it feels. Testing his endurance with something so simple is exciting, and making his muscles worn out leaves him with a pleasant ache. The warmth of piss — leaking through his clothes, flowing on his hands, surrounding his crotch — ignites something primal, almost forgotten.
It turns him on to no end.
Capitano grunts, starting to sweat as he settles down right where he is. The need to go is already there, and without much to do, there is not much to focus on other than his bladder urging for him to answer nature’s call. He closes his eyes, rubbing his thighs together, stubborn. A low sigh passes his lips as he recalls times long gone, moments of his life as Thrain when he took a long, satisfying piss.
After going through strenuous physical exams. Sneaking away during a fancy party with Guthred’s help, having his second-in-command keep watch for him while he watered Khaenri’ahn flowers with his blasting release. Almost doing it all over his armor after a fight with the Abyss, struggling to keep his leaking cock on check while trying to undress just enough to avoid making a bigger mess. Being drunk and taking so many bathroom breaks.
His cock twitches. Capitano knows it’s not going to get fully hard — that would be too much to ask in his current condition — yet it feels exciting nonetheless. The urge to piss runs through his body, tingling. As the minutes pass, the waistband of his pants becomes increasingly uncomfortable, digging against his abdomen. One hand goes towards it, his fingers playing with the button and zipper, wondering if he should at least undo them.
He decides against it. The pressure is part of the experience. It’s the closest he will ever have to a lover’s touch in those lonely centuries. Capitano bites his lip, holding his cock with one hand, squeezing the head. With his eyes closed shut, he plays pretend, fantasies mixing with memories from a life that should have ended long ago.
Capitano pictures Guthred, on his knees by his side. It is easy to imagine how his hands would hold him by the shoulders, how Guthred would speak to him — compose yourself, you can hold it. There would be the slightest blush painting his cheeks, and Capitano would pretend not to notice Guthred’s hard breathing at having him pliant and vulnerable in his care.
He pictures Ayizu, wise and bold, leaning close and whispering in his ear — I bet letting out a little leak would feel really good. His wavy hair would brush against Capitano’s face, and one of his hands would travel downwards Capitano’s arm, holding his wrist tenderly. He’d scoot close, and Capitano would swallow his saliva the moment Ayizu’s bulge brushes against his figure.
The first droplets escape him, urging him back to reality. Capitano does his best to hold back, clenching his muscles, grunting as he feels each drop come out of his pee hole — a temptation. They land on his underwear, warming the fabric around the head of his cock. Even after he stops, the subtle wetness is inviting. He shifts in place, legs trembling, holding himself with both hands and digging his feet on the ground.
His hands sweat. Capitano looks at the tree’s roots, imagines himself turning around. It would be so easy, to take out his cock, aim at the tree’s bark and go. Spray it with all the liquid inside him, leaving a huge dark stain that would disappear with time. Let it all out with all the strength he has, having to take a step back not to get splashed by the sheer force of his stream, loud and hissing as it hits the wood.
A stronger breeze comes, making his hair sway, face getting hit by the cool wind. It is then that Capitano realizes how hot his body is in comparison, how heavy his breathing got in the last few minutes. He leaks again, a single weak spurt, and the warmth of his piss surrounds his cock, inviting him to let loose.
He pushes himself backwards with his trembling legs, resting his back against the tree. His knees buckle, making him not wish to spread his legs, thighs squished together, hands placed between them. Capitano knows that a single leak was not enough to appease his body, that his pants are still dry. He huffs, pressing his fingers on his crotch, craving to feel more.
When the piss starts to cool down, he leaks again. This time, he allows it to last a few seconds, coming out in a strong spurt that spreads through the front of his underwear and creates a single wet spot on his pants, right where the head of his cock is. Capitano makes himself stop, torturing his body while rubbing one of his thumbs all over it. The stimulation makes him moan, his half hard cock dripping precum that sticks to his underwear along with his piss, making for a greater mess.
The fabric rubbing against him is titillating. The wet confines of his clothes, now sticking to his skin, urges him to do something depraved. Without his gauntlets getting in the way, he can feel the warmth in his thumb, and as he allows himself to let out another leak, it spreads to his fingers, his palms. The droplets run down his skin, and although so much has changed in his body, the temperature feels just right. Warm and human.
Capitano starts and stops pissing, working his muscles in a cycle of letting out small spurts intertwined with longer ones, that lasts a couple seconds. He finds great pleasure in testing himself, in fighting this losing battle. The wetness between his legs spreads, soaking the front and reaching the back of his underwear. His pants get drenched, and as he changes position to get on his knees, the mere act of spreading his legs just a bit is enough to make the liquid slosh, running down his thighs, some of it falling to the ground as it drips from his crotch and ass cheeks.
He places one hand on the ground, steadying himself, whining as a strong spurt comes out of his cock. It hisses, embarrassingly so, and he ends up gritting his teeth while forcing himself to stop, rutting against his hand. Capitano closes his eyes, pretends it to be someone else’s hand — it could be Guthred’s, with his long and skilled fingers, though it could also be Ayizu’s, calloused from war and age. Capitano rubs his cock, delirious as his imagination goes back and forth between the lovers from his past, picturing the ways they would hold him, how they’d encourage him with their words, how they’d welcome him in to share this dirty little secret.
It becomes increasingly difficult to control his voice and breathing. Capitano knows he is in a compromising position, pissing himself and masturbating to it. His body gets warm, not only from the piss but also from sweating himself out, the ache of using all his strength to push himself to his limits. Even after letting some of it out — no, perhaps especially because of his constant leaking — he still feels full. His cock throbs inside his pants, and sometimes Capitano can’t fully know if what is coming out is piss or precum.
He tugs at his pants, pulling the fabric even tighter to his body. Capitano can trace the outline of his cock, follow the very weak stream of piss that insists on running down his length to the underside of his balls before following suit to his inner thighs. It tempts him to open his pants, sneak his hand inside and feel it directly, wrapping his fingers around his soaked cock and dirtying himself further.
Ayizu would definitely do something like that. He’d rut against Capitano’s leg while commenting in his raspy voice — you are making such a mess, all for me to see. Ayizu would pepper his face with kisses, jerking him off while he wets himself, and it would be glorious.
Guthred would hug him from behind, humping and grinding on Capitano’s ass. He would squeeze the base of his cock, play with his foreskin and snicker at having his hand soaked with Capitano’s piss. Guthred would tease him, words filled with desire — only I know how dirty you truly are, Commander. It would turn him delirious.
Capitano wants them to witness it, the moment he loses control. It gets closer with each second, the momentum building up inside him, so similar to an orgasm. Even when he tries to stop it completely, he keeps letting out a very slow trickle, so agonizingly good that he swears he can feel each drop leaking from the tip of his cock, passing through his pee hole. His bladder pangs, spasms, and he moans, squirming in desperation and pleasure.
He doesn’t want it to end, but he also wants to let it all out. Capitano’s eyelids flutter, his thoughts running wild — he alternates between fantasizing and focusing on the present, wishing to stop leaking while also knowing that there is no avoiding the inevitable. No matter how many centuries he lived, how many hardships he endured — there is still only so much his body can handle.
A stronger spasm rushes through his body and Capitano knows he is done for.
His head tilts back and a long moan escapes his lips as he starts pissing full force, his muscles aching and pushing the contents of his bladder out. His stream, which was barely a dribble at first, becomes a massive gush, soaking his pants and underwear even further, getting all his crotch area so amazingly warm. It flows through the front of his pants and runs down his legs, dripping in between them in multiple smaller streams that fall to the ground, raining down the blades of grass and gathering in a puddle on the earth below.
Capitano keeps rubbing himself, whimpering and moaning as he keeps going, soaking his hand. He grabs his crotch, feeling the piss cascading in between his fingers, running over his palm. It all contributes for a bigger mess, as the fabric follows his movements and it makes the stream go absolutely everywhere, from gushing upwards near the waistband of his pants to rushing downwards and pooling further back.
The pressure in his abdomen diminishes and all Capitano can hear is the loud hiss of his stream and the pitter-patter below his figure. His cock throbs — deliciously so — as he empties himself, his entire body focusing on pushing every drop out. His mind goes into a haze, and all the thoughts that rush through his head become a jumbled mess of how it all feels so, so good.
He maintains the same pressure as the initial burst for good long seconds. Then, as he relaxes further and his bladder gets emptier, the stream begins to lose force, running nicely down his ruined pants before turning into a very weak dribble. Capitano sighs, shivering as his weakened muscles relax to the point they can’t even respond to the urge to hold his piss anymore, letting it flow freely.
His body manages to push out a couple of strong spurts right at the end, and once it all comes down to droplets lazily hanging on his glans, Capitano slumps back against the tree, sitting on his puddle. He groans, basking in the relief while also having his hand go up and down his half hard bulge, using the wet and disgraced fabric of his underwear to stimulate the head of his cock, chasing a new high that he knows to be terrifyingly close.
Piss drips down the squishing fabric of his pants, warm to his touch, and Capitano can only picture Guthred and Ayizu, both smiling at him, eyes hazy with lust, hungry hands all over his body. He shuts his eyes tight, immersing himself in his fantasies where all he can do is let his past lovers take care of him, giving him the praise he deserves after holding all that liquid for so long while touching his wet and messy body without disgust or shame, wishing to drive him over the edge.
It doesn’t take much for his orgasm to take him away. Capitano trembles, his cock now spurting cum into his already ruined underwear. A low groan comes out of his mouth, his entire body quivering and surrendering itself to pleasure. His hips rut, albeit shaky and weak, and he whines the moment it ends, his crotch area growing extra sensitive after all the heavy petting.
Capitano lets out another relieved exhale, his mind still cloudy from the intense and recent events. For the first time in a long while, he smiles, letting his fingers run lazily over his soaked pants as he allows himself to keep on wetting with little spurts whenever he feels the urge to do so. His dark pants are now glistening under the moonlight, the only witness to such indulgence.
There will come a moment when his pants will get cold and sticky, uncomfortable. He will have to gather his belongings and find a body of water to wash himself and clean his mess before coming back to the Fatui camp. Come morning light, he will focus on his actual objectives again, prioritizing his mission.
For now, however, he can simply enjoy the good ache that comes with tiring one’s body in pleasurable ways rather than fighting. He can forget the curse that rots his existence, the burden he carries deep in his chest. He can swim in a river beneath the moonlight without worrying about who might see him naked and vulnerable. Capitano can allow himself the joy of simple things; to reclaim, even if only for a few hours, what has been taken from him.
He can feel human again.