The third-floor bathroom of St. Mark’s Academy was supposed to be a place for quick, nervous pisses between classes—not the spot where Louis Rogers finally figured out what the hell all those late-night searches on his phone were leading to. But there he was, pressed against the cold tile wall, his breath coming in sharp little bursts as Oliver Hatfield’s fingers fumbled with the button of his jeans. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sickly yellow glow over the two of them, their faces flushed and their bodies trembling with something more than just the chill of the linoleum under their socks.
Oliver’s hands were clumsy, but not from lack of trying. He’d jerked off plenty of times imagining this—imagining *Louis*, his best friend since freshman year, the guy who still looked like he should be in middle school with his soft cheeks and wide, nervous eyes. But now that it was actually happening, now that Louis was letting him push his jeans down past his hips, Oliver’s brain short-circuited. His own cock was already half-hard, straining against his briefs, and when Louis’s pants hit the floor, revealing the thick, padded bulk of a diaper beneath his boxers, Oliver’s mouth went dry.
“Fuck,” Oliver breathed, his voice cracking. He’d known Louis still wore them sometimes—had even teased him about it once, back when they were both too scared to admit what they really wanted. But seeing it now, the way the white plastic crinkled as Louis shifted his weight, the way his cock was already tenting the front, made Oliver’s stomach flip. “You’re really gonna let me—?”
Louis didn’t answer with words. Instead, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and let them drop, the diaper sagging slightly under its own weight. His dick was already leaking, the tip glistening, and when Oliver reached out, his fingers shaking, Louis let out a whimper that went straight to Oliver’s balls.
“Touch me,” Louis whispered, his voice so quiet it was almost lost under the hum of the vents. “Please.”
Oliver didn’t need to be told twice.
His palm pressed against the front of the diaper, feeling the heat of Louis’s skin through the plastic, the dampness already seeping through. Louis gasped, his hips jerking forward, and Oliver groaned, his own cock now fully hard, aching against his zipper. He rubbed harder, his fingers digging in, and Louis moaned, his head falling back against the wall with a soft *thunk*. The sound of the diaper crinkling filled the bathroom, mixing with their ragged breathing, and when Oliver’s thumb brushed over the wet spot at the front, Louis’s legs trembled.
“Oh god, Oliver—”
Oliver’s name on Louis’s lips was enough to send him over the edge. He dropped to his knees, his hands fumbling with the tapes at the sides of the diaper. The scent hit him first—sharp and musky, the unmistakable smell of piss and something sweeter, something *dirtier*. His cock twitched, precome dripping into his briefs as he finally got the diaper undone, peeling it away from Louis’s skin with a wet schlick.
Louis was a mess. His cock was flushed dark red, leaking steadily, and his balls were already drawn up tight. The inside of the diaper was soaked, the gel beads clumping together, and when Oliver leaned in, pressing his face against the warm, damp plastic, Louis let out a broken sound, his fingers tangling in Oliver’s hair.
“You’re such a fucking freak,” Oliver murmured, but there was no heat in it, only awe. He pressed his tongue against the wetness, tasting salt and something else, something that made his own hips buck uselessly against the air. Louis whined, his thighs trembling, and when Oliver finally pulled the diaper the rest of the way off, tossing it aside with a wet plop, Louis was left standing there, completely bare, his cock bobbing with every sharp breath.
Oliver didn’t waste time. He surged forward, his mouth crashing against Louis’s, their teeth clacking together as Louis moaned into the kiss. Their cocks slid against each other, trapped between their stomachs, the friction making Oliver’s vision blur. He ground down harder, his hips moving in desperate little circles, and Louis matched him, their bodies slick with sweat, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing off the tiles.
“Gonna come,” Louis gasped, his nails digging into Oliver’s shoulders. “Gonna fucking come—”
Oliver didn’t let him. He pulled back just enough to drop his hand between them, wrapping his fingers around both their cocks, stroking them together. The sensation was overwhelming—Louis’s cock was hot and slick with precome, and the way he whimpered, the way his body jerked with every stroke, had Oliver’s balls drawing up tight.
“Do it,” Oliver growled, his voice rough. “Come on me, you little slut.”
Louis didn’t need any more encouragement. With a broken cry, his cock pulsed, thick ropes of come splattering across Oliver’s chest, his stomach, his chin. The sight of it, the way Louis’s entire body shook with the force of his orgasm, sent Oliver over the edge. He came with a groan, his cock jerking in his grip, his come mixing with Louis’s, painting them both in sticky white streaks.
For a moment, they just stood there, panting, their bodies pressed together, come drying between them. Then Louis let out a soft, embarrassed laugh, his face burning.
“Uh. I think I just farted.”
Oliver blinked. Then he burst out laughing, the sound echoing off the bathroom walls. He pressed a quick, filthy kiss to Louis’s mouth, not caring about the come smeared between them.