Vyvyan collapsed beside the anarchist, swallowing thickly and sighing, letting his bright blue eyes close. He lay still for a few minutes in the cool grey light of Rick's room, and had just fallen into a light sleep, when the brunette's insistent voice and hands awoke him once more.

"Vyvyan? Are you awake? What was two years?" Rick's voice murmured, as fingers shook his bicep hard.

Groaning, the punk twisted to face the anarchist, eyes still closed, frowning faintly. "Rick, go to sleep," he muttered tiredly.

Rick sighed petulantly, and laid back heavily on his bed, body pressed up against Vyvyan's.

The flame-haired punk was just drifting off again when Rick spoke up once more.

"I bet that wasn't the first time you've done that, Vyvyan," he stated, watery blue eyes roaming around his own grimy ceiling, then down to watch the punk's bare chest rising and falling softly with shallow breaths.

Mumbling in bad temper, the punk twisted over in the bed, burying his face in the pillow and tugging the duvet over his head, the air in the room distinctly chilly.

"Vyvyan?" When there was no reply, Rick sulkily huddled up against the punk, resting one hand upon the flame-haired students' waist. He settled himself under his own heavy duvet, enjoying the cocoon of body-heated warmth underneath it, and closed his eyes, preparing to allow himself to drift into grateful dreams.

A faint, tired groan sounded out into the cool air of Rick's bedroom, before Vyvyan murmured.

"…I had a boyfriend. We…started going out when we were fifteen. We broke up just before I moved in here – he turned into a bit of a cunt."

Rick slapped him gently on the arm to reprimand his language, but was intrigued by this new information.

"…It's been two years since I slept with him," Vyvyan admitted quietly. "Or, with anyone."

Rick cleared his throat quietly, about to speak, when Vyvyan continued.

"We were together for a few years. And that's all I'm gonna say about it."

"…What do you mean, he turned into a…you know?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Rick. Go to sleep." Vyvyan snuggled more forcefully into the pillow and tugged the duvet tighter around himself, eyes squeezed tightly closed.

The anarchist relented and settled down, mind buzzing with intrigue. Hands pressed lightly against Vyvyan's back, he closed his watery blue eyes and absorbed the punk's words.

Vyvyan was gone when Rick awoke later that morning. Bright, burning sunlight flooded his room, and he rubbed his pale blue eyes sleepily.

The punk in question was downstairs, the rough brown blanket from his bed wrapped around his shoulders. He stared at the buzzing television blankly, sucking on a cigarette, oblivious to everything.

His mind raced. He had left Rick in bed that morning after acknowledging just how much of himself he had revealed to the anarchist.

He feverishly dragged on the cigarette, leg tapping agitatedly. Mike and Neil were nowhere to be seen. He tugged the heavy blanket tighter around himself, swearing under his breath at the freezing climate of the flat, and his own weakness.

He didn't know what had possessed him to talk about his ex-boyfriend. He had never discussed him with anyone, ever. He had taken great pains to hide the relationship at the time, luckily keeping it secret for the duration, and now he considered that he had already been careless in his dealings with Rick. No-one else had ever known about his attraction to the same sex, and now his proclivities were probably common knowledge thanks to Bloodbath McKray's intervention.

"…He's gonna fucking kill me," he muttered to himself under his breath. Not only were the punks he knew violently intolerant, there was probably a price on his head after attacking the big black-haired bastard.

Shivering faintly, he flicked away the burning stub of his cigarette and stomped it into ashes with his heavy Doc Marten boot, promptly lighting another and sucking on it desperately, torn by conflicting fears and desires.

Rick dressed leisurely, slipping on his grey shirt and his sunshine-yellow dungarees. He couldn't help grinning to himself as he recalled the events of a few hours ago. Technically, he was no longer a virgin, and he had received his first (and distinctly fantastic) blowjob.

Though he would never admit it to the punk, he had found great delight in being held, in sharing a bed with someone, in being kissed chastely. Running his hands through his messy, greasy brown hair, he opened his door and made his way downstairs with only barely-restrained eagerness. He had woken up hard and aroused, and was quite ready to take advantage of Vyvyan to get some release.

Approaching the punk, who was still tightly wrapped in his blanket and on his sixth cigarette, he grinned and sat down on the sofa beside him, blushing faintly.

Vyvyan stared almost lifelessly at the television, sucking on his cigarettes desperately, barely even aware of the anarchist next to him.

He flinched sharply when he felt a wet kiss on his cheek, and he turned to look at the excited-looking brunette.

Rick raised his eyebrows expectantly, teeth flashing in a quick smile. Leaning one hand heavily on Vyvyan's denim-clad thigh, he pushed his mouth against the punk's and gave a few sloppy smooches, his other hand fumbling for the medical student's fingers. Licking his lips at the acrid taste of cigarettes on the punk's mouth, he planted Vyvyan's cool, pale fingers against his own crotch.

To his surprise, the punk pulled away from him sharply, frowning and looking to be in a very bad mood. The flame-haired medical student went back to his cigarette and stared stubbornly at the television, cold blue eyes watering very slightly. He was very pale, and the pink acne scars on his cheeks stood out sharply in contrast.

As he heard Rick inhale to interrogate him, he interrupted him in his unusual, croaky voice.

"That's all you want, isn't it?"

The anarchist was silent for a few seconds. "…What do you mean?"

Vyvyan sighed in restrained temper and shook his head slightly. "Never mind."

Uncertain, Rick stayed in his awkward position, leaning uncomfortably on Vyvyan's leg and trying to get eye contact with him.

"I don't have to go to my lecture for a few hours, Vyvyan," he announced hopefully.

The punk finished his cigarette, stubbed it out on the carpet, and crossed his arms belligerently across his narrow chest.

Starting to feel peeved, Rick got up and promptly settled weightily on the punk's thighs, facing him and forcing himself into Vyvyan's line of sight.

Instinctively, defensively, Vyvyan prepared to shove him off, but the anarchist would have probably cracked his skull open on the television set in the fall.

"Piss off Rick," he murmured, hands clamped tightly on Rick's strong biceps in restraint, but his breathing was more laboured now, as the anarchist ground closer to him, rocking slightly on his lap. He avoided Rick's watery, intense gaze, but that meant he couldn't help but focus on Rick's slowly grinding hips in those godforsaken yellow dungarees.

"I know you just want to get your rocks off," Vyvyan continued quietly, feeling blushes burning under his skin.

"Don't you as well, Vyvyan?" Rick replied.

The punk said nothing, breathing hard and feeling himself stiffen. Rick took one of his hands and once again encouraged it to his crotch.

Quick as lightning, Vyvyan seized Rick by the waist, hauled his weight into his arms and slammed him onto the sofa, pinning him down with his own body. Breathing heavily, barely aware of the light, chilled rain that had begun to patter down on the bright window, he lowered his face to Rick's. The anarchist quickly lifted his head to catch the punk's lips, but Vyvyan avoided it, his lips going to the Rick's ear.

"Is this what you want, virgin?" He whispered, and groped Rick roughly through his dungarees, suddenly squeezing tight, and heard the anarchist make faint, gasping sounds of pain.

"Vyv…?" Rick asked breathlessly, as the punk pulled back and looked at his aqua blue eyes, even more watery than usual.

"I've already fucked this up," Vyvyan murmured to him, expression deadpan, and tone enigmatic.

The sociology student stared up at him, baffled, before Vyvyan lowered his smoky-tasting lips to his own and kissed him very gently.

Frowning, suddenly tentative of the medical students' strange behaviour, Rick hesitated to reply to the kiss. The punk, however, continued to peck him lightly, repeatedly, moving to his cheeks, his jawline, his neck.

"…Vyv?" Rick asked again, his voice tight.

Pulling back and heaving a huge, weary sigh, the flame-haired student stroked the anarchist's face briefly with cool fingers, before tugging softly at the greasy pigtails.

"Sorry Rick…I'm feeling…a bit messed up." He sat back upright on the sofa, gently shifting Rick's legs to make room.

"Is it because…of your boyfriend?" Rick asked propping himself up to sit (somewhat nervously) beside Vyvyan. The punk leant his elbows on his thighs, hunching forward.

"…Him, me, you, Bloodbath," Vyvyan sighed. "And no offence Rick, but you're not exactly agony aunt material. Problem is, I don't know anyone who is."

He laughed mirthlessly, having no idea why he was opening up like this. He wasn't even drunk.

Rick had to agree with the punk. Even he was aware of his own self-centredness, brazen confidence and general disdain for soul-searching. In fact, the punk's evident introspective nature, bizarre brand of sensitivity and obvious issues were alien to him.

He watched Vyvyan get up and go to the fridge. It was only about ten o' clock in the morning, but the punk pulled out one of his trusty bottles of vodka (this one was shoplifted), and take a long swig, before settling back down on the sofa, reeking of alcohol and bitter smoke.

"You don't like me at all, do you?" the punk asked bluntly. Before Rick could answer, he continued. "It's okay. I don't blame you."

The anarchist was beginning to feel quite unnerved and irritated by Vyvyan's melancholy mood. Feeling his old, hot temper welling and his loud-mouthed indignance returning, he slapped the punk viciously hard across the face.

"VYVYAN! WILL YOU GET A GRIP!"

The punk raised a hand to his reddening cheek, looking shell-shocked.

"WILL YOU JUST STOP MOPING VYVYAN!" Rick yelled, standing now, hands on hips in his 'I'm superior to you' pose.

Vyvyan had time to suck in a shocked breath as the anarchist leaned down and grabbed his face in both hands, kissing him as passionately as he could, listening to the punk's tiny, laboured breaths and hitched noises of pleasure. Shakily, Vyvyan's hands went to Rick's neck, fingers raking desperately through his greasy hair, and he stood on unsteady legs as Rick pulled him up, still kissing him ferociously, tongue raping his own with wet, forceful heat.

Vyvyan's high-pitched groans were smothered by Rick, and he staggered backwards as Rick bulled forward into him, banging the punk's shoulder blade painfully on the doorframe, before shoving him back against the far wall into a pool of bright light from the front door.

Eyes closed, chest heaving against Rick's, Vyvyan clawed his hands needily down the anarchist's waist, groaning vaguely as Rick thudded his hips against him sharply, biting his neck viciously hard.

Choking back a cry of exquisite pleasure, Vyvyan scrabbled at Rick's body, trying to get him to head upstairs.

Finally utilising his superior strength, he found the will to shove Rick away from him and start stomping upstairs, boots thudding each step as he panted his way to his own room, hearing Rick immediately behind him. He was barely through the door when Rick dashed in behind him, slamming the door shut and seizing Vyvyan's jacket, ripping it from his shoulders, and ineffectually tugging at the black T-shirt.

Vyvyan started fighting back, throwing his weight against the anarchist so that Rick stumbled back against the door, barely staying upright. The punk grabbed his wrists and slammed them above his head, watching Rick struggle, then he leant in swiftly for another violent, graceless kiss. Their lips smacked noisily, faces pink and damp, breaths coming in shuddery gusts against each other's mouths.

Rick struggled harder and managed to disengage his wrists from the punk's hot hands, yanking his dungaree braces down and pulling the shirt roughly over his head, watching Vyvyan's body with hazy eyes as the flame-haired student tore off his T-shirt and fumbled at his waistband.

The anarchist's fingers went like magnets to Vyvyan's belt, pulling it open and unzipping his flies in seconds. In his haste to get Rick's dungarees off, the punk ripped a nail, drawing blood, shoving him onto his bed and yanking at the yellow material, growling in frustration until he had ripped them off, pulled off the red suede boots, and stripped his underwear.

On all fours above Rick, one hand pushed down at his own tight denim waistband, the other rubbing Rick energetically, whilst they kissed roughly, lips swollen and breaths inconsistent, hot and harsh.

An hour and a half later, Vyv was struggling to reach his fifth orgasm. Rick had just come with a vast, shuddering sigh, a numb and flooding climax that was almost unbearable.

The anarchist's hair was dark and soaked, plastered to his forehead, and his eyes were dazed and sleepy.

Vyvyan's fingers and palms were wrinkled and wet as if he had been sitting in a hot bath for hours, and he had difficulty holding onto Rick's slippery, heavy hips.

They had been in the same position the whole time, Rick on the bottom, and the punk swore that next time he would let Rick do all the work.

Muscles protesting painfully, he managed a few more thrusts before he gave up, pulling out and slumping beside the anarchist, aching, dehydrated and exhausted. The bedsheets underneath him were warm and damp.

His eyes half-open, he gazed at Rick, who was glowing. Nuzzling his own head into the warm, wet pillow, he raised a hand, which shook visibly as if in withdrawal from some hard drug, and slicked the hair from Rick's hot forehead. The anarchist turned onto his side to face Vyvyan, groaning in pain at the change in position. He flashed his square white teeth in a quick grin, and the punk matched it.

The flame-haired student looked at the anarchist's muscled upper arms, his stomach and thighs, watching the exhausted muscles twitch.

Licking his lips, his mouth tasting dry and vile, Vyvyan spoke quietly. He realised for the first time that a heavy rain was battering the window, and the air was noticeably cool as they began to lose heat. His voice was even more cracked than usual.

"I'll give you a lift to college if you can't walk," he smirked.

Rick let out a sweet, breathy laugh, running the back of one hand across his face in an attempt to dry it.

"I think that throwing a sickie would be prudent, Vyvyan," he replied, grinning, stretching painfully and hearing about five joints crack loudly, causing him to sigh in a muted, tired distress.

Vyvyan toyed with his soaked pigtail for a few minutes while Rick, looking half-asleep, rubbed one thumb continuously over the punk's white, damp chest.

It wasn't long before both fell in a light snooze, lightly entwined.