"You're drinking an awful lot of water," Violet murmured as he examined his easel. Cheslock shrugged as he gulped down a fifth glass. "Well, it's hot out." Violet gave him a suspicious look, the turned back to his drawing. He couldn't figure out what to sketch, but maybe he'd get an idea if Greenhill posed for him? While the dark prefect convinced his friend to assume a ridiculous position, his fag subtly crossed his legs. The week before, he'd run into Violet's dorm room (being a prefect, he got a room all to himself, the lucky bastard), intending to ask a question about the homework. Instead, he found Gregory Violet gasping and rubbing himself through his pants, a puddle of urine spreading around his slender hips. Cheslock left before the prefect noticed him, hands over his mouth and face bright red.
After that "incident", he noticed that Violet glanced at anyone who happened to be rushing to the toilets, eyes lighting up with arousal. He always looked away quickly, a faint blush coloring his cheeks, but it was obvious if you were looking for it. Clearly, he was... "interested" in those sorts of things, and Cheslock had to admit that he could see the appeal. He made up his mind, then, to put on a bit of a show for Violet at the Swan Gazebo the next day.
It didn't take long for the liquid to reach his bladder, and Cheslock began to shift anxiously from foot to foot. No one else had noticed his discomfort, too busy discussing the new boy, Ciel Phantomhive-an earl with the skills of a butler. Violet was too engrossed in his painting to notice, but it would defeat the whole point if he wasn't watching. Cheslock put a hand on his shoulder. Making a point to press his thighs together, he asked in a strained voice how much longer they'd be staying at the gazebo. Violet stared at him, blinking, then turned away and hid his face with his hair. "Um, about thirty more minutes. Why do you ask?" Cheslock bit his lip and bent over to whisper in Violet's ear. "I... need to use the restroom..." "Er-! Can you wait?" The younger boy shrugged nervously. "I don't know..." Violet swallowed and looked down. "Just, just try."
Every few seconds, Cheslock noticed the prefect's eyes darting to him and then away again, but his bladder was the more pressing matter at this point. His entire abdomen ached, and he couldn't be still if he tried. Finally, he realized that he was going to lose control right there on the gazebo, in front of the P4 and their fags. Cheslock groaned softly, wondering if this had been a bad idea after all, but it was really too late for second thoughts. I'll hurt myself if I wait any longer, he thought. Taking a deep breath, Cheslock relaxed a bit, then cried out in mock surprise as urine ran down his legs. Redmond heard and looked over, gasping when he realized what was happening. "Oh my-! Cheslock, are you... are you having an accident?" No shit, Sherlock, Cheslock thought angrily, sinking to his knees in the puddle he'd created. Violet's purple eyes were glued to his fag, wide with shock and thinly masked delight.
When Cheslock finally finished emptying his bladder, there was silence as everyone stared at him. After an incredibly awkward pause, Greenhill cleared his throat. "I will... get some clothes... from Purple House." "N-no. No, I'll take him," Violet said, grabbing Cheslock's arm and pulling him to his feet. The two walked away quickly, Violet taking off his cloak and throwing it over his fag to hide the evidence of what he'd done. "Thanks." "Mmmhmm." They didn't speak until they reached the dorm, when Cheslock turned to smile at Violet. "Did you enjoy the show?"