Wrong

It's like a train wreck. No, scratch that, a train wreck is almost pleasant compared to this.

He doesn't know how he got started on this twisted path, but Carl will always be lurking in the bushes outside the courtyard every time Serge and Gilbert sneak in there to have sex.

They couldn't be more mismatched if they tried, Serge the gentle considerate lover and Gilbert the masochist; hurt me he cried, make it burn, make it sting! and Serge, bless his golden heart, he does try to do what his lover asks. Biting kisses across the pale flesh of his shoulders and back, a rough hand grasping his hardness, rapid thrusts, pressing Gilbert harder against the bench.

Cheeks flushed and heart racing, Carl tries to turn his head. This is wrong, it was an invasion of privacy (not to mention downright rude), but then Gilbert screams and Serge gasps I'm sorry I really don't want to cause you pain and Carl's eyes snap back to the pair. His body reacting in the most shameful way.

As the pair climaxes, so does he, wracked with shudders of guilt and shame as his seed spills onto the ground below him. Taking a moment to catch his breath, Carl straightens himself up and walks away, finally, before Serge or Gilbert can see him.