This isn't written by me but i like this fanfic, i found it on midnightomorashi.tumblr.com
Midosuji leaned over his handlebars, sweat dripping from his face, limbs burning as he pedaled. He was not the type to coast, no matter how far in the lead her was, but this time there was a little something extra at stake. With every movement, he could feel the pressure in his bladder building, and the checkpoint was still 10 km away, and there was a particularly steep hill just before the checkpoint.
“Gross,” he mumbled to himself, as he considered the possibility of wetting his pants. He had heard of marathon runners doing it, but was hardly willing to sacrifice his dignity for the race, especially knowing that Imaizumi was following close behind. He was a weak cyclist, and an even weaker person, but he had improved greatly since the last time they had raced together. Midosuji refused to let Imaizumi forget that he was inferior.
The faster he rode, the more urgent his need became. The shifting in his abdomen was torture, and it took all of his focus just to keep going. In his desperation, he had hardly noticed that his pace has dropped significantly, and before he even had a chance to notice, Imaizumi was riding next to him.
“Do you think I am a worthy opponent now?” Imaizumi flashed a grin, and laughed maniacally, passing Midosuji.
“Hmm, I am not sure. Maybe we should ask your mom for a second opinion?” Imaizumi paled briefly, and shook his head.
“You are much more like a tyrant than an athlete Akira!”
“I prefer King to tyrant. If you are nice maybe I will even make you my court jester!” He cackled, and pedaled as hard as he could, quickly overcoming Imaizumi.
The two kept pace for the next few kilometers, passing each other, and falling behind again. Just a kilometer before the final checkpoint, the final hill came into view. Not only was it steep, but the incline was sharp. Midosuji had confidence in his lithe, powerful body, but could feel his muscles burning just looking at the rise. His focus was lost when he started to speed up, and a small amount of piss leaked into his bike shorts. Midosuji’s breath caught in his throat, but he regained control before anything else escaped him. He knew the brief slip had to have made a wet spot on his shorts, but hoped that it would not be visible to Imaizumi, or that he would be too focused on the climb to notice.
Imaizumi had fallen behind Midosuji again, and saw a small, wet stain appear on Midosuji’s shorts. He laughed, and recalled a time in middle school when a former team member had wet himself during a race. They were younger, and he was a teammate, a friend. No one made much of it, although they all were thankful it hadn’t happened to them. With Midosuji though, it was different. Akira had tormented him for years, and even told him that his mother had died, just to win a race. Imaizumi aspired to be the fastest cyclist in the world, but he would never do the things that Midosuji did. He sought to be the best through his strength alone, not through more devious tactics. Even so, he was not beyond seizing an opportunity for payback when it was presented to him. Imaizumi took a deep breath, let out powerful laugh, and accelerated towards Midosuji.
Midosuji was panting hard, his freakish tongue hanging from his mouth. Imaizumi noticed the fatigue, as Midosuji seemed to be lacking his usual zeal for sadism during races.
“You look thirsty. It is a pretty tough stretch through here. You really should take a drink,” Imaizumi grabbed his water bottle, and squeezed it into his mouth, purposefully splashing, leaving the water dripping down his face.
“Not at all. I hydrate before my races to avoid cramps. I can see you have been training hard, but your technique is not as advanced as you think, is it?” Midosuji noticed his grin, and knew that Imaizumi must have noticed a certain something too. In reality, Midosuji’s mouth was sticky and dry, and he longed to drink the water sloshing in his bottle, but knew all too well what the outcome of that would be.
“Yes, well, we will see who is really the best in about 500 meters,” They both looked ahead, and the checkpoint drew closer.
Both pushed themselves, Imaizumi always slightly behind Midosuji. Midosuji was sure that he could take the checkpoint, and manage to make it to the bathroom before anything catastrophic happened. Just 250 meters from the checkpoint, Midosuji felt his bladder control slipping again, and the wet spot on his shorts spread, now even more visible on the seat of his pants before he was able to stymie the flow. He was so close to the win, and there was a porta-potty just over the line. He swerved to the left, so that he would be closer to the stall once he passed the line. Just before he crossed, he put on his brakes after noticing his lead, figuring the faster he could stop, the faster he would make it to the facilities.
Imaizumi threw himself into the race with every fiber of his body, but even so, Midosuji took the checkpoint just a fraction of a second before him. He sighed, and shook his head as he coasted to a stop, but his opportunity to humiliate Midosuji had not been lost.
Midosuji had thrown his bike on the ground, and was hobbling to the bathroom, his lanky frame shaking from exhaustion and desperation. Imaizumi got off of his bike, and Onoda, who had just crossed the line rode up next to him, and stepped off.
“You did a great job! That was a really close one!” Onoda was like a puppy, and his encouragement was appreciated after the disappointing loss. He did not always understand the first year, but he was a team player whose attitude was generally appreciated.
“Yes, well, why don’t we go congratulate our winner?” Without waiting for a response, Imaizumi jogged over to the porta- potty, and parked himself in front of it.
“Nice job. I guess I am not much of a challenge for you after all, right Midosuji?” he leaned back on the door, and crossed his arms.
“Move, Imaizumi,” Midosuji’s eyes were wide, and his panic was palpable.
“Are you in a hurry? I just wanted to congratulate you on your victory. Job well done,” a crowd of spectators, as well as the arriving team members had gathered around the Midosuji, hoping to congratulate him as well.
“I deserved the win. Now, move,” Midosuji shifted his weight back and forth, like a child trying to hold it.
“No, I think we should discuss your technique a little more first. Maybe I could learn a thing or two from you,” and with that, Onoda walked over, tripping on a rock on his way, and falling into Midosuji.
Midosuji lurched forward. The shock of Onoda slamming into his side was just enough that he lost all control, and he knew that there was no hope of regaining it. The hot liquid flowed past his shorts and covered his bare calves. He felt his warm piss spreading down his legs and puddling in his shoes, soaking his uniform. Midosuji’s face was red and hot with embarrassment. He sighed, partially with relief, partially in humiliation. Onoda wore a deer in the headlights expression, totally unprepared for the events unfolding before him. Imaizumi was expressionless, except for a slight smile. Everybody gathered around was silent.
Imaizumi looked Midosuji straight in the eyes, and laughed once.
“Gross,” and with that, he walked away, leaving Midosuji standing in a puddle of his own piss.