A/N: This is a fic that I wrote in honour of my rather kinky friend's birthday, so I pushed myself pretty far out of my comfort zone to give her something she'd like. WARNING: The fic contains watersports. If you don't know what that means, you're probably not ready to board this ride (a quick Google search will explain why). I understand that this kink isn't for everyone (it's really not even for me), and while I did try to make this as accessible as possible, the fact is you might just not want to read it. If you don't like it, that's okay! But you've been warned, so read at your own risk.

Also, the title's maybe a bit of an obscure joke, but if you check out the Fact Core lines you should get it. Heh.

You don't have to do this, Dougy.

The words spun in Doug's mind as his eyes darted around frantically, watching for anyone who would follow them into the restroom. He didn't have to do this. Henry had assured him over and over that he could back out at any moment, no matter what. He could back out right now.

One complication: He was nervous as hell, but he didn't want to back out.

The restroom was mercifully empty, just as Henry had said it would be. Of course, that made perfect sense, given that it was in a lower part of Aperture—a dead space no one ever used anymore—and it was two in the morning. Still, Doug's heart thrummed in his chest. What if someone had seen them leave and decided to investigate? What if more people used this restroom than he thought? What if they—a mouth landed on his, momentarily pushing the what-ifs far from his mind.

Ever since he'd started working with Henry, Doug had found himself staring at his coworker's lips. They were so full and looked so soft that they prompted awful, ridiculous thoughts in Doug's clearly weak mind. Here they were surrounded by insane tests, and Doug kept getting caught up in the idea of testing just how soft Henry's lips actually were. It was a terrifying fixation and he was disgusting for even thinking about it and that wasn't what science was about anyway—and about four months ago, he'd gotten to test his hypothesis. Results were good. Very good.

Doug whimpered and nearly lost himself in the kiss, but he was distracted by an escalating problem. He broke away. "H-Henry," he managed, trying not to be too possessed by how constant kissing had swollen the other man's already plump lips. He was in a rather delicate position, and he'd ruin everything if he lost focus and released too quickly. "I-I think I'm ready." As he said it, his nerves escalated. Was he honestly going to do this? He'd never been one to broach the norm, preferring to hide in the shadows of averageness; how was he ever going to get through this?

Henry ran his fingers through Doug's somewhat shaggy mop of hair, looking fondly into mismatched eyes. "You sure? You know you—"

"—Don't have to do this. I know." Doug smiled back at him, though the expression was strained—both from nerves and from the increasing urgency in his abdomen. "I'm okay. A-and I'll use the word if I need to. Promise."

Henry kissed him again, briefly this time, and nodded as he pulled back. "Long as you promise." He took a moment to truly examine Doug, a tiny smirk etched into his face as the other squirmed a bit. His gaze seemed to burn into the young programmer, and Doug saw his own face redden in a dingy mirror. To his surprise, Henry continued. "You're not ready yet, though. You don't get to let go until I say you do."

Doug felt another rush of heat flood through him and he made the quietest of sighs; he always liked that commanding tone of Henry's. Still, his knees turned inward as he tried to hold in what was threatening to burst out of him. "H-Henry, I—" He felt a finger on his lips and knew to be silent. Swallowing nervously, he nodded. His hands went to cover his crotch.

Only a few hours ago, he'd chugged down his first cup of water. He couldn't even remember the number the last one had been—only that Henry'd told him it was plenty and patted his cheek in satisfaction. Doug hadn't relieved himself all day, and the ache had set in not long ago. Now it was insistent, begging for release. Henry wanted this—he wanted to see Doug with his pants soaked right in front of him—but he unfortunately didn't seem to want it quite yet. The problem was that Doug didn't know how long he could hold off.

As Doug's fingers became wedged between his legs, Henry seemed to mirror him—but only to unzip his fly. He removed his pants and threw them into a safe corner, far from the action, before rubbing himself through his boxers. Doug reached record levels of blushing as he realized his coworker was already hard. With Henry looking at him like that, with the knowledge of what lay beneath just a thin piece of fabric, Doug's cock twitched involuntarily. He let out a tiny whine. Not helping, body . . .

"Check?" Henry asked, wanting to confirm that Doug was doing all right.

Doug nodded. "Check." He was still nervous, still convinced he was going to screw this up, but he was okay. That, however, didn't stop his breathing from turning ragged as Henry pulled down his boxers, fully revealing the length beneath. He wanted to give the man a helping hand, but he knew Henry didn't want assistance. In his distraction, Doug almost wet himself, but he caught himself at the last second. "Henry . . ."

"Hold it, Doug." Henry's voice was strained, already taut with groaning as he stroked himself. His eyes were trained on Doug, watching the ever-deepening blush in his cheeks, noticing his awkward posture, getting off knowing that the programmer was holding so much in just for him. His hand was pumping faster already, his moans escalating and echoing in the resonant space. Doug was just grateful there was probably no one around for miles; Henry had never been a quiet sort of person.

As Henry's hand moved faster, Doug's legs turned more and more inward in an attempt to delay the inevitable. His abdomen ached and he felt like a balloon stretched dangerously close to the point of popping. By now he was clutching his crotch in a decidedly undignified manner, beads of sweat gathering along his forehead as he tried to hold back the flood. A few drips of urine did wet the front of his pants, despite his best efforts. Henry didn't seem to mind; in fact, when he noticed, he let out a particularly long moan.

Doug felt warm. He knew that if Henry didn't give him the word soon, he'd have no choice but to let go prematurely. The muscles below his navel were working hard, but they were already overstrained and they couldn't hold out forever. Henry bit his own lip out of habit, but his moans rang louder and louder, cacophonous in the tiny room. There was no way Doug was going to make it. He was going to release and he was going to fail and fuck, Henry was going to cum soon, wasn't he, and—

"Now, Doug!"

Amazingly, he didn't release immediately. He wouldn't have thought himself capable of it, but he froze, the whole concept of this suddenly hitting him. He couldn't possibly . . . but as Henry reached his breaking point, one last cry filling the space, Doug reached his own.

Warm piss rushed down his legs and to the floor, splattering against the hard surface. It soaked his pants, his socks, his shoes, but he didn't care. It felt too amazing, finally being relieved of the violent pressure against his bladder, finally letting go of all the tension that had built in his body. Doug wasn't nearly as loud as Henry, but his sigh of satisfaction made his feelings quite clear. After holding it in for so long, his body was in ecstasy. And he was a fucking mess.

As the final streams of urine died down, Doug opened his eyes—which had apparently fallen closed outside his own consciousness—and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. It was an embarrassing sight. His face was mottled from exertion, his hair noticeably mussed with sweat. His pants were pretty well-soaked through the front, and he was standing in a puddle of his own piss (streaked white with Henry's contribution). His hands, which had been grappling with his crotch until the last second, were as wet as his pants. It was humiliating.

Henry was already back to wearing his own pants. He approached Doug with a smile and caught the other's lips with his, apparently not bothered by the mess he was sure to embrace. The kiss was deep and passionate, but it was not at all hard. Meanwhile, Henry's fingers ran through Doug's sweaty hair, gently combing it in gratitude. Despite his embarrassment, Doug found he was . . . proud. He'd challenged himself, and he'd met that challenge. It hadn't just been for Henry; he'd proven something to himself as well.

"Thank you," Henry murmured, his head now resting momentarily against Doug's shoulder. "You were great. Reward time." He pulled away and moved to where he'd laid a large tote bag earlier. Still smiling, he dug out a soft cloth and brought it to the sink, which thankfully still spouted clean, warm water. After lathering some gentle soap from the bag into the cloth, he wrung it out and turned to Doug again.

Doug felt a little nervous as he felt the other man's hands on his belt, but he didn't object even as Henry peeled off his sopping pants. He shivered. He'd felt pleasantly warm upon release, but now the chilly underground air hit his wet legs so that the hair on them would have stood on end if not for the liquid slicking it down. Henry laid a few towels on the floor, mopping up most of the mess, and added another, bulkier one on top of it all to give Doug a place to stand. The filthy socks and shoes were removed as well, and then Henry began to clean Doug's body with the cloth. Doug sighed contentedly.

As the warm, gentle material wrapped around Doug's cock, he felt himself twitch, hardening under Henry's touch. There were reassuring lips against him when the area was clean, a soft kiss pressed against his tip, and he shuddered. "Henry . . ." It wasn't a protest, exactly. He was just . . . overwhelmed.

The man hushed him, the cloth gently massaging Doug's scrotum and under his shaft. "I told you, Dougy. Reward time. Check?"

"Check."

Henry's lips moved over Doug's cock.

The sensation had never been something the rather inexperienced man could get used to. Henry's soft lips felt decadent on Doug's mouth, so when they circled his shaft . . . he took in a shuddering breath. After so much exertion, the feeling of Henry's tongue dragging along the responsive organ sent shivers up his back. His fingers tangled in his coworker's hair for balance, never pushing but simply keeping him steadily on his feet. Damned if that wasn't nearly impossible to do.

Henry, Doug had come to learn, was extremely talented in this area. His hands supplemented where his mouth couldn't, the cloth folded neatly in his lap for the time being. He seemed to know all the right pressure points, familiarity and experience making the suction perfect for a delicate yet resilient man like Doug. His face was buried in soft dark curls of pubic hair, which Doug knew must reek of sour urine, but Henry didn't seem to mind. In fact, it seemed to feed his enthusiasm, if his already increasing speed was any indication. He moaned against Doug's length, the soft vibration making Doug tighten his fingers slightly in Henry's hair.

It didn't take long for Doug to relax into the ministrations, the warm mouth taking him deep before a tongue swirled around his tip. Doug found himself whimpering, his head thrown far back as Henry settled into a proper rhythm. He was sweaty and smelly and so, so aroused. "H-Henry . . . Henry, I . . ." The peculiar foreplay made it so that Doug was already approaching orgasm—much too soon to be respectable. He could feel pressure building again, this time so much more pleasant but even more agonizing in the knowledge that he was going to climax too quickly. The whine that escaped his lips was long and drawn-out, and finally Henry pulled away—but not to slow down.

"It's all right, Dougy," he said, his hands momentarily subbing in for his mouth completely. "This is your orgasm. Just let go."

As Henry's mouth returned, he gave a particularly hard suck—and that was it. The pleasure pushed forth and spilled over, Doug's body spasming into the onslaught of his climax. Henry didn't pull back, his tongue still twisting around the sensitive flesh to prolong Doug's ecstasy. He didn't even mind that Doug's fingernails were now digging hard into his scalp, the cock bucking into his mouth as a thick stream of cum shot into his throat. He didn't mind the pain, especially when Doug, quiet as he was, had called out his name.

After a few moments, Doug's fingers relaxed. He looked as though he were about to fall over, so Henry quickly stood and ushered him against a wall. At least there was no cum to clean up. As Doug rested, his coworker cleaned him off again, finishing the job with one last towel. He offered Doug fresh pants, socks and shoes, and this time it was Doug's turn to give him a thankful kiss. "I'm exhausted," he admitted.

Henry chuckled. "Well, it's been a long work day. But you did great." He bent to pick up the mess of garments on the floor, tossing it all into a trash bag to be incinerated. "Still, I think we both could use a real shower, don't you? Let's head up to my apartment—I can clean you up and we can pass out or watch TV or something if you want." His eyes were searching, and Doug knew he just wanted to ensure everything was all right. And it was.

Usually worried eyes shone brightly as Doug smiled and nodded, taking Henry's hand in his. "I think that'd be great." They headed to the employees' apartments, neither smelling pleasant, both feeling contented and safe in the most dangerous science facility in the world.