A/n: Inspired by the Neon Trees song of the same name which may have been inspired by the play about female masturbation in Victorian Times (when orgasms were used to treat "hysteria.) And now I need to see this play. Also, I don't own Community, the Neon Trees or any plays. Yet.


In The Next Room

Annie isn't the type to make a lot of noise, but Abed can hear her anyway. Maybe it's just because his head is right next to the wall of her bedroom, but somehow Troy never seems to hear anything, so maybe it's just that his ears have grown attuned to the tiny noises she doesmake.

She doesn't do it every night either, which is kind of a relief. The nights she does, he spends an extra hour and thirty six minutes awake, trying to either get the courage to rub one out himself, terribly conscious of Troy snoring quietly above him, or to get his erection to go away so he can sleep and hopefully not dream of his best-female-friend turned roommate.

But tonight she is.

He hears the fabric of her unassuming pajamas – purple flannel pants and a white tank top – hitting the wooden floors. He hears the ripple of cotton sheets as she lays them aside. The squeaks of her mattress as she settles into the perfect position.

He finds himself already hard, his ears straining to hear. His nerves are alive with anticipation.

Then it's just the brush of skin on skin for a while. He wonders how thin these walls actually are, that he can hear the hitching of her breath so clearly, the little sighs she makes. The image of Annie naked comes unbidden to the front of his brain, as it does almost every time. The image of her hands roaming those generous breasts, tracing their way down her stomach, of her fingers prying apart her nether lips to check her readiness.

She makes a little breathy sound and he imagines her: eyes closed, biting her lower lip to keep herself quiet, her body flushed and shivering with a mix of desire and embarrassment, though she knows herself to be alone.

He hears a quiet hum, and he knows she's brought out her vibrator, a blue silicone phallus he accidently caught a glimpse of when unpacking her room. She brings it up another notch – a sound like a hive of bees muffled by a pile of pillows – and he imagines her brushing it along her lips, dewy with her own lubrication.

Fuck it, he thinks, and he reaches into his pajama pants to grip himself, stroking to the time of the vibrations in the next room.

He hears a gasp in the next room, and he can see it so clearly, the brush of the vibrator against her clit, and the withdrawal when the sensation proves to be almost too much. He imagines her circling her clit, then dipping down deeper, so the vibrations hit both her clit and that elusive G-spot deeper inside. Then again, until she hits just the right set of notes that send her head tipping back.

He hears her breathing speed up, and he times his strokes accordingly, imagining her coming just before he does, her big blue eyes opening, glassy with pleasure. Her lips are bright red with pressure, opening in a surprised moue, as if she didn't realize it would be like that.

He lays back on his bed, waiting for a few seconds, imagining her doing the same, her body unwound and relaxed before he gets up to change. He grabs a new pair of pajamas and heads for the bathroom, careful not to wake Troy up.

Just as he emerges from the blanket fort, Annie's door opens. She looks almost exactly how he had pictured, though she's now clothed. Even in the half-light of the living room, he could see her flushed cheeks and the bee-stung red of her lips. Her hair is loose about her shoulders, its darkness setting off the milk-pale of her complexion.

He feels his mouth go dry, but he manages to get out a greeting that only sounds a little sleep-garbled.

"Evening, Abed," she says in response, her cheeks practically glowing red.

"I'm just headed to the bathroom," he says quickly.

"Oh," she breathes out, "Me too. But I can wait, you go ahead." She inclines her head toward the bathroom, and Abed nods and makes his way as quickly as possible across the floor, his heart beating rabbit-quick in his chest.

It's just a physical reaction, he thinks as he cleans himself up. He doesn't feel any shame, and he's unclear if he should. He doesn't have any parameters for this, and all he feels is a slight jangle of nerves, anxiety that she might find out, what she might think if she did. Despite Annie's apparent comfort with her own body, she's still easily squicked out when it comes to the male anatomy.

When he emerges, she smiles at him and slides past to use the facilities herself. Everything's normal, or at least ignored. He breathes out as the imagined knot in his stomach loosens.

He slips into the bottom bunk, listening to the faint wheezing of Troy above him, and he hears the padding of Annie's footsteps against the hardwood floor, the snick of her door shutting and the sigh of her sliding under the covers.

He lies awake, still listening until he's sure she's gone to sleep, and silence suffuses the apartment. Only one hour and twenty four minutes left to go.