It was pitch black in the share-house, 3am. Vyvyan groaned and opened exhausted, ice-blue eyes. SPG was snoring gently but audibly, and moonlight shed a feeble, dove-grey light through the cracks in the thick, dark curtains. The room was spartan, bare, essentially a cell, with a painfully plain bed, a small knife collection, and a chest of drawers upon which the hamster slept in a spacious cage, in debatably more comfort than the young medical student.

The young punk shifted sleepily under the thick brown covers, pushing them off of his head and sighing, woken inexplicably from a vague but highly pleasurable dream. Taking a few deep breaths, he blinked in the dark and slipped one hand down to his waistband, impatiently tugging open his studded belt and picking open his flies, taking hold of his eager hard-on and rubbing slowly. Unable to remember the specifics of the dream, he stroked leisurely, kicking off the heavy covers, breathing heavily, fingers working faster.

He froze when a sterile, bright light suddenly beamed across his body, and he stared in confusion for a few seconds, before recalling the tattered hole he had punched through the wall the previous afternoon into the bathroom, and through which he and Rick had shared a typical tiff. Grubby flaps of wallpaper obscured the full view into the bathroom, and without knowing why, Vyvyan shifted, lying on his front, and peering through them. Sprawled rather awkwardly across his narrow bed, he sighted Rick in front of the bathroom mirror, fiddling with his greasy pigtails and humming occasional notes from a song that was bound to be by Cliff Richard. After preening for a minute or two, the brunette sociology student approached the toilet, abruptly pulling down his pyjama bottoms and taking himself in hand.

Vyvyan pulled back slightly, staring, the position of his peephole granting visual access to everything. His hand had already shoved back inside his tight jeans, tugging at himself viciously as Rick began to relieve himself. The self-proclaimed anarchist was still humming randomly, oblivious, as the flame-haired punk began to orgasm, writhing on his front, face buried in the mattress as he struggled to restrain his strangled noises, sobbing faintly and bucking sharply.

Seconds later, Rick had left the bathroom, turning the light off, leaving everything in buzzing darkness once more. Vyvyan remained in his uncomfortable position for a few seconds, before groaning heavily and preparing to clean himself up.