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Three sodas, a complimentary sencha with lunch, and a bottle of water later and Umezawa’s back teeth are floating.
Every time he attempts to excuse himself to the nearest restroom however, Ippo tells him they’re running late for the next item on their stacked itinerary. And every time Umezawa tells himself it’s fine - that he’ll go when they get to the next place. At the arcade. At the department store. At lunch.
And now Ippo says they’re going to the zoo.
He could easily cut their day short. Make his excuses now and regret it when later their busy schedules keep them apart again. But Umezawa is greedy for every second of Ippo he can get; it only fuels that greed further knowing that he’s the rare exception Ippo makes the time for outside of his boxing career.
And so they go to the zoo, and Umezawa lets Ippo drag him in the opposite direction of the toilets to laugh at the gorilla that looks like Takamura.
And, before Umezawa can think about relief, Ippo is asking if they can ride the Ferris wheel at the amusement park before it closes - and buying drinks for them both when they get there. By this point, he’s had to go for so long that the urgency has shifted to a dull ache. Impossible to ignore, but not as acutely painful as when it had started, lulling him into a false sense of security.
It’s when they’re leaving the amusement park and walking back to Ippo’s place when Umezawa finally hits the wall.
“Ippo, uhh…I’ve…I’ve gotta take a leak…” Ippo doesn’t respond right away, and Umezawa feels himself start to sweat. Feels the visceral pull to relieve himself with every passing second. “Like, seriously.”
“Oh?” And the look Ippo casts over his shoulder seems innocent. “Well, we’re only ten minutes away.”
But Umezawa doesn’t think he can hold it for five, let alone ten.
“I…I’m not gonna be able to make it,” he stresses, coming to a stop. It’s far beyond an ache now, his knees knocking as the next wave of pain has him struggling not to double over.
“No..?”
And Umezawa is too out of it to register the excitement in Ippo’s voice, mistaking it instead as concern. A hand settles on his back before pushing, and Umezawa drags his leaden feet, his face colouring with embarrassment as Ippo directs him into the nearest alley.
His feet are soon coming to a stop, and Umezawa finds himself shielded behind a dumpster and facing the wall - Ippo’s hand still on his back.
“Go on, I’ll keep watch,” he says. Only Umezawa can’t. He can’t do this. Not in broad daylight. Not with Ippo there. Not with people walking past every five seconds. There’s no way he can— “Umezawa-kun..?”
“I…can’t. Ippo—”
“Sure you can.” Ippo’s hands push Umezawa’s out of the way, and seconds later there’s the unmistakable sound of his belt being unbuckled followed by the slow crawl of his zip south.
And then his dick is out and in Ippo’s hand.
Umezawa finds himself tempted to say ‘well, that wasn’t the part I was having trouble with, buddy’, but Ippo’s fist gives him a little squeeze - just as his other hand sneaks around to press directly on his bladder.
Umezawa hears it before he feels it, the stuttering sprinkle of urine on asphalt as his body tries for one last desperate attempt to hold it in; before any and all muscle control slackens and it becomes a gush - a stream of hot, sweet agony.
He can barely hear himself moaning over the ringing in his ears, and Umezawa is soon bracing himself against the wall with a forearm, his breath hitching in little gasps as tears roll down his face. As Ippo’s hand begins to stroke.
This can’t be happening.
“Ippo—?”
“See? Doesn’t that feel better?”
As the pain in his core is replaced with a heavy numbness, Umezawa comes to the realisation that, not only is this happening, he’s still pissing.
And he nods. Because Ippo is right - he does feel better. He feels so much better. It’s not long at all before he starts to perk up under Ippo’s touch, feeling a hot curl of embarrassment at the fact. This makes him some kind of sicko, right..?
Ippo’s hand speeds up, and Umezawa doesn’t have to look to know from the sound that the last flecks of urine are now hitting the wall and his shoes.
His bladder is empty, but Ippo isn’t letting go, coaxing him into full hardness now. And Umezawa can’t seem to do anything but gasp: “Ippo…” and let it happen.
Before long he feels that familiar tug of arousal behind his dick - getting closer with every passing second. Ippo is slotted right up against him, his breath ragged in Umezawa’s ear - the press of his own erection evident even through their clothes.
Just when did he start humping me? Umezawa wonders in a daze when he registers a rhythmic movement against his behind. As Ippo grunts and jerks him off and grinds fast enough that they could be fucking if not for all the layers separating them.
And shit, why is that so hot..?!
“Ippo, I’m gonna…shit, I’m gonna—” and he can’t seem to do more but utter a choked, wet gasp as white hot pleasure shoots out of him in ropes, hitting and mingling with the puddle of piss between his feet.
Umezawa slumps in his afterglow, feeling for all intents boneless - wrung out. He tries to catch his breath; and feels Ippo’s strong hands guide him down until he’s kneeling, spent and trembling, on the ground.
The cold, wet sensation of his own fluids bleeding through his jeans distracts Umezawa from how Ippo is then moving to position himself between him and the wall. He looks up and is immediately greeted with the hard outline of an erection straining the fabric of Ippo’s gym pants. He looks up further locking eyes with him; and is reminded of the almost Pavlovian way one’s mouth pops open without conscious thought in the dentist’s chair - as Ippo pulls out his dick and his lips obediently part.
Feeling the wet heat of Umezawa’s mouth is too much. Ippo barely has to stroke a handful of times before he’s spending into it. And Umezawa isn’t shying away - sucking and swallowing each and every spurt until the balls nudging his chin have emptied.
So it surprises Ippo when Umezawa keeps sucking. He looks down, startling at the intensity of that gaze when he finds Umezawa staring right back. As a tongue flicks over his slit in silent request.
Umezawa sucks again, and Ippo reaches out - runs a hand through that slick pompadour, messing it up as something compels him to ask: “thirsty?” in a teasing lilt neither of them have heard before.
Umezawa looks almost drunk, his eyes half lidded and vacant. He continues sucking as if that’s answer enough; and whines pitiably when, with each passing second, Ippo still does nothing.
And he’s knelt, in his own mess, in broad daylight - not only with his dick out, but with a bigger one in his mouth. And something about this feels like…payback.
As it finally floods his mouth, salty and pungent, and Umezawa swallows, he wonders: just how long has he thirsted for it..?