hi. Before you read this, if you didn't gather, this story is about omorashi or desperation/wetting. Basically, peeing yourself. I know. I apologise.
It's the worst in his life he has ever had to go, and he's getting close to losing it. His bladder's gone from being strained to aching to downright painful, he's hunched over, hands jammed in his crotch and face screwed up in the effort to just hold on, just a minute more. Just a minute more, and maybe they'll all get out.
He's trapped in an elevator. A freaking tiny elevator in his and Al's motel. The sign on the wall says it can fit sixteen people, but there's only five people and it's incredibly cramped. Of course, Alphonse's size isn't helping with that. The civilians are eyeing him off and he should be embarrassed, but all he can concentrate on right now is not wetting himself, thank you very much. He leans back against the wall, breathes hard, and focusses all his strength on holding those muscles tense, a groan escaping from him.
God, all he wanted, all he wanted was to go to HQ and collect his new mission. And visit the bathroom on the way. He knew he shouldn't have trusted the new elevator, but with his aching bladder he hadn't wanted to brave the stairs, so in he and Alphonse had climbed.
That was forty minutes ago.
Ed moans with the strain, leaning so far over he's practically doubled. Next to him, Alphonse shifs uncomfortably, and a man on the other side- that was, an arm's length away- pulls a deck of cards from his pocket and starts shuffling them.
Top floor to the bottom, and somewhere in between the elevator had ground to a halt with a screech.
"Hey- aren't you the Fullmetal Alchemist?" asks a woman, and panting, Ed glares up at her. Alphonse quickly intervenes, stepping in front of him, or as much in front of him as he can fit in the tiny room.
"Miss, please don't bother him, he's not- well…" his voice falters because he doesn't want to say out loud Ed's predicament, even though it's obvious to all. He needed to piss, desperately. He was going to wet himself, and very soon.
Edward huffs and groans and crouches, a little, trying to ease the pain, then stands up straight and cringes. "Al," he whispers urgently, and Alphonse shoots him a helpless look.
"Just try to hang on, Brother," he murmurs, and Ed hisses in frustration and pain, turning and slamming his fist onto the 'open door' button. He slumps back against the wall and his panting turns to whimpers. He raises a fist to his mouth and bites down on it, then suddenly shoves it back to his groin and doubles over again. He's squirming, moving, shifting his weight from foot to foot in the vain hope it will help him, but everyone knows the inevitable.
Edward pulls his bottom lip in with his top between his teeth and bites against the desperation, bites until they bleed. The elevator suddenly shudders to life, and with a screech, they are moving, down, down, numbers flicking over all too slowly.
The people in the room heave a sigh of trepid relief as they tick by; 6, 5, 4…
Something snaps and the pain subsides. Edward gasps as the sharp feeling goes to numbness, and then all he feels is warmth and wetness, rivulets down his legs and he hangs his head, shoulders curved, drawing as far back against the wall as he can.
3, 2, 1.
The elevator screeches to a stop, the doors pull open, and three civilians make an awkward escape as Edward hunches against the wall, bladder still releasing itself upon his shaking legs. Seconds pass and it trickles to a stop, and he's left threading his lip between his teeth, incisions along its length and sucking out the blood while he trembles.
Eventually, Alphonse speaks. "… come on, Brother."
Silently, Edward follows him from the elevator, eyes screwed tight and cheeks hot.
end