He woke slowly, reluctantly… From the darkness, he could tell that it must still have been the small hours of the morning.
He lit the candle with a wordless motion, blinked and squinted against the sudden intrusive light and checked his pocket watch.
Just after one.
Merlin… He'd barely had two hours of sleep!
His bladder spasmed, reminding him of why exactly he had woken up, tangled in his bedsheets…
He had dreamt that he was swimming… Not in the frigid waters of the black lake, but in the sun-warmed stream that babbled not far from his childhood home. In some odd reminiscence of his boyhood, he had needed to pass water, and instead of clamouring his way up the bank and finding some private place to relieve himself, he tried to empty his painfully full bladder as he floated along, only to find himself frustratingly unable to do so.
His bladder contracted again, this time more urgently. He slipped a hand down between his legs and squeezed his prick through the thin cotton of his nightshirt.
He did, quite desperately, need to relieve himself…
He continued to squeeze himself, rubbing the head of his member between his thumb and forefinger…
The gentlemanly thing to do would be to make his way to the lavatory, just down the hall, but he was tired and it was late (or perhaps early) and his bladder was terribly full…
Perhaps an old man would be forgiven for such an act of eccentricity… The thing was there for a reason, after all.
He sat upright with a groan, the added pressure suddenly causing an urgent wave of need to wash over his bladder, and if it was not for the hand already between his legs he would have certainly leaked.
He carefully shifted his legs over the side of the bed and pressed his thighs together tightly to prevent an accident before reaching below the bed and pulling the porcelain chamberpot from its hiding place.
Now for the next challenge…
If he were to use the pot he would need to let go of his prick and use that hand to move his nightshirt out of the way and aim himself so that he wouldn't make a puddle on the floor.
There was nothing else for it, he wouldn't be able to hold it in very much longer anyway…
He released his prick, and immediately a dribble of hot urine escaped, running over his bollocks before trickling down between his thighs.
He gasped and urgently moved his nightshirt out of the way as another spurt escaped, following the same path, this time dripping onto the floor.
He spread his legs and brought the pot into place, using his free hand to aim as he began to piss forcefully against the porcelain.
He sighed and relaxed as his bladder rapidly emptied itself…
The pot was half full when the stream finally ceased, and he carefully placed the pot underneath his bed and slipped beneath the covers again.
He would have to take care of it in the morning, he couldn't bring himself to let the house elves deal with it, but for now, he was tired, so he blew out the candle and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.