Okay, so, I wrote a little more. I can't promise I'll ever update this fast again, but I was bored all day, so you're lucky. After writing it, I noticed that the tone was different from the first part, and hopefully I didn't ruin the story completely. I know the story hasn't advanced anywhere yet, but I'm working on it. There will be a plot. A long, twisted, nearly epic plot. I'm excited already.

Read on, and let me know if I need to rewrite this or leave it alone. PS, I know Dylan is completely out of character in this story, but that's partly because I don't like his character on the show. He's too kind hearted and good, and I thought he would be more human if he was slightly evil, or at least not as wholesome and well intentioned as he seems. Maybe that's just me, I'm kind of weird. Anyway, sorry if it's weird.

…………………………………………………….

Jay didn't need to open his eyes before he knew something was wrong.

First, there was the matter of the raging headache. The universal pain of tequila and GBH threatened to push his eyes out from the inside, and keeping his eyes shut seemed like the safest way to keep them where they were supposed to be.

Second, he was warm. He'd woken up enough times in his bed to know that warmth was not something he woke up to often, because Canada was cold and the landlord was cheap, making his mornings freezing. So, unless Gary was visited by the heartwarming ghost of Christmas past and bought a new heating unit, something strange was going on.

Which would also explain the awkward position his body was in, which appeared to be on top of something. He hoped like hell he'd twisted in his sleep and it was a pillow, but unless pillows generate heat – and suddenly, that explained the warmth. One mystery solved, anyway – and move – and it was moving, up and down, it seemed – it probably wasn't a pillow. There were very few other things it could be, and Jay found himself wishing it was the headache causing him to imagine things, because otherwise, it meant someone was there with him.

The thing that was the most wrong, he noticed, was the fact that he didn't really care if it was wrong or not. His head hurt, but he was comfortable. He hadn't had any nightmares or wet dreams, so he'd slept well. And while there was a nagging sense that something bad had happened, he hadn't yet remembered what it was, and he wasn't sure he wanted to.

All his thoughts in order, he decided that it would be in his best interest to just go back to sleep before he woke up too fully and realized why everything was wrong. Satisfied with that logic, he slipped back into unconsciousness.

………………………..Dylan…………………….

Jay's stirring had woken him up. By the time he realized he was waking up and was able to come up with the hope that he would move off his chest, Jay had gone back to sleep and Dylan still couldn't comfortably take a deep breath. He could barely even sigh in disappointment.

The moment was a strange one in Dylan's life, for a number of reasons. First of all, he didn't like sleeping with other people, especially in dorm beds that were really too small for even one person, much less two grown (He glanced down at Jay, remembered the previous night's discovery, and amended it to "mostly grown" with a silent snicker) men. He'd only let Marco spend the night once, and the result was two hours worth of sleep, and no desire to let anyone else steal the blankets and push him into the wall ever again. Tom had never been allowed to spend the night, but that was probably because Tom was too excited about finding someone else to fuck him senseless to want to spend any time with him. Having had no other serious bed partners left Dylan with his bed to himself – until now. The fact that waking up with Jay Hogart snuggled into him wasn't strange at all brought the moment to an intensely strange level.

Secondly, Jay was a little bit cute while he slept. Just a little. Just enough to make Dylan find himself OCCASIONALLY glancing at him. Not cute enough to be staring at him. Not cute enough to make Dylan wonder what it would be like to watch him sleep any other time. A time when he could roll over onto his side and watch him more comfortably. Not cute enough to make him wonder if it was the alcohol or the sex that made him sleep unnaturally deeply, or if it was just how he always slept. Not that cute. But still. Cute. His features were soft and relaxed. Not smirking or sneering or insulting or guarded or any other bad boy cliche. Trusting, almost, like you could easily hurt him, and Dylan found that to be the cutest thing of all.

Third, it was strange how he was stroking the kid's hair AGAIN. Dylan was pretty sure he'd told himself to stop earlier, but just in case, he did it a second time. He immediately stopped. And reminded himself of everything Jay had said to him in high school, what an asshole he really was. How he didn't need to be sweet and kind to him, because he sure as hell didn't deserve it. Besides, it wasn't attraction he was feeling right now, it was victory. Dylan continued to convince himself why he shouldn't be making himself comfortable right now. While he was distracted, his hand made it's merry little way back into soft hair and continued what it was doing.

All in all, it was a strange morning. Dylan wondered if every morning with Jay was this strange, and couldn't decide what the feeling was that he had when he realized he would never know.

Hey?Hey! Now that we've got that out of the way...review.