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Rick stared down at the unconscious punk, lost for words. He stood motionless for several seconds, breathing hard, until a tentative tap sounded on his door.
Mike's voice was heard distantly. "Everything alright Rick? You still alive in there?"
The anarchist moved slowly, head swimming, to the door, and opened it. Mike stood in the corridor, wearing his dark sunglasses despite the gloom. Neil hovered behind him, looking as nervous and depressed as usual.
Rick blinked hazily, his voice quiet as he gestured feebly back into his room. "Neil, get him back to his room."
The hippy looked up, alert at being instructed. "What was that Rick?" he asked, edging closer.
Rick suddenly snapped. "I SAID GET HIM TO HIS ROOM!" he screamed deafeningly in the tall hippy's face, fists clenched and body shaking with anger, before shoving past both of them and stalking darkly downstairs.
Mike thumbed at the collapsed medical student on Rick's floor. "Better do as he says, Neil," before leaving the long-haired hippy to it, in a state of considerable anxiety at the prospect.
Rick crashed down onto the drawing room sofa, shivering vaguely with shock. He crossed his arms hard over his chest, glowering at the television, seeing nothing, one leg tapping in agitation.
He bit his bottom lip unthinkingly before gasping in pain at the healing cut there.
Mike soon came down the stairs and busied himself on the phone, probably about some dodgy deal with one of the Balowski brothers.
The anarchist stared unseeingly ahead, bright, rapid movement on the television screen meaning nothing to him. He heard more tentative footsteps some minutes later, and Neil's timid voice.
"He's in bed, Rick."
The anarchist took in the words but ignored the speaker utterly. He stood in stony silence and proceeded to mount the stairs once more, his heart still paining him with tremors of shock.
It was another hour before Rick found the nerve to leave his own room where he had been essentially hiding away, trying to consolidate the furious flurries of aghast disbelief and gouging doubt in his head, whilst at the same time, a blank numbness parasitised his thoughts.
He went to Vyvyan's door, listened for signs of wakefulness, and heard nothing.
Twisting the handle as quietly as possible, he entered, closing the door behind him, and it occurred to him that he had never been in this room before. The faint, melancholic rain that had begun to detach from pregnant clouds pattered noisily on the window, the curtains open just a crack. The miserable afternoon shed just enough light to see clearly by.
Very cautiously, he approached the bland but surprisingly neat bed, on which Neil had managed to deposit Vyvyan, who was curled, fully-clothed, on top of the covers, goosebumps on the skin of his pale arms.
Not entirely sure what he was doing, he extended a hand, slowly moving it towards the unconscious punk, when he frowned in confusion. One of Vyvyan's wrist cuffs had ridden partially up his forearm, and a deep, dark scar was obvious on the small amount of white skin that showed.
Curiosity got the better of the anarchist, and he started to undo the cuff, as carefully as possible so as not to wake the flame-haired punk.
Quick as a flash, Vyvyan opened his eyes and seized him by the wrist in a ferocious grip, practically snarling in anger. Rick yelped in shock, trying to yank his arm away.
The punk sat up suddenly, eyes cold and hard as ever, fingers digging sharply into Rick's wrist, nails forming painful half-moon dents. Groaning in pain, the anarchist landed a quick, hard punch to Vyvyan's stomach, the punk gasping, but maintaining his grip. Rick seized a handful of Vyvyan's spiked hair, yanking hard, the punk yowling in agony, then grabbing Rick by the front of his shirt, dragging him bodily down onto the bed and slamming a heavy hand against his throat, mounting him and pushing down hard with his palm as he weighted the brunette down with his own body.
The anarchist flailed, coughing, strangled cries sounding from him, but he grimaced with satisfaction as he managed to kick Vyvyan hard between the legs, the punk screeching in response.
There was a half-second's pause, and Vyvyan slid the brutal grip of his hand from Rick's throat to his jaw, the anarchist still gurgling and bucking fruitlessly, now totally pinned down by the punk's heavy body. Their eyes met briefly - pale, watery aqua, and vivid, cold blue, and there was a moment's indescribable clarity, before Vyvyan seized Rick's mouth in a vicious kiss.
The anarchist tensed hard, then writhed even harder, tiny, stifled noises against the punk's mouth as he was kissed violently. Vyvyan was nipping his lips painfully with every forceful, clumsy kiss, tasting of stale vodka and heat. Rick fumbled one hand to the back of the punk's neck, grabbing the thick chain and preparing to yank it to throttle him and end the assault, but instead found himself seizing one denim-clad shoulder in pleasure as the fully-clothed punk thrust hard between his legs and began to grind rapidly and powerfully against him.
Vyvyan momentarily pulled back from Rick's mouth, one strong hand blindly reaching down and grabbing one of the anarchist's denim-clad thighs, lifting it sharply and continuing to pound even harder between his legs, the mattress squeaking loudly in protest at the frantic rhythm. Rick sobbed in disbelief and pleasure, finding himself rock-hard and close to an adolescent release. The punk lowered his head again and bit down hard on the side of Rick's neck, muffling his own feverish, rapid breaths and vague groans.
The relentless friction soon came to a head, the two inexperienced students both shuddering hard, Vyvyan gasping and drawing blood from Rick's neck, the anarchist yelling out sharply, struggling to thrash out his orgasm under the crushing, pounding weight of the punk, his fingers raking red marks down Vyvyan's damp arms in the cool gloom. Vyvyan's hips slowed, thrusting hard but without rhythm, the bedsprings easing their noisy, squeaking complaints.
They shivered and sighed out their climaxes, chests heaving with exertion. There were a few seconds of sweat-tainted stillness, and Vyvyan pulled back slowly, shakily getting off of Rick and moving back, as the exhausted anarchist pulled himself up on trembling arms, neither looking at each other. Neither lingering, nor hastening escape, Rick stood, eyes down, and left the cool, dim room, leaving the punk sitting silent on his bed.