Author's Notes: Dearie dearie me, you'd all presumed me dead by now, eh? Well, here I am again, proving you all wrong in this brief instant that I actually DO update! Ah ha ha! How about THAT, HUH? HUH! …Hm, perhaps I shouldn't be updating, considering my mental state… Oh well, it's never seemed to throw you lot off before. I guess I'll continue anyway for your sakes. The things I do for my adoring public… You're all so very very lucky.

Warning: This far already and you STILL need a warning? Goodness gracious me, what WILL we do with you? In this chapter… let's see… Foul language, and, oh yes, boy smut, boy smut, and, hey, MORE BOY SMUT! MWA HA HA HA! (… see what I mean, about my mental state? Yeesh. I sacrifice my very sanity for you people.)

Disclaimer: It's quite simple, you lot: I don't own Outlaw Star, nor do I own any characters, ideas, or idiosyncrasies therein.

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The receptionist glanced up from her computer screen as she heard the main doors bang open. People usually had a bit more respect for the ER—or at least the glass doors—; this had to be something dramatic. Or someone, in any case.

As a matter of fact, it was a rather attractive, young, red-haired male who looked quite flustered. When the receptionist looked a bit closer, she could see dried blood coating his shirt, and a faint bruise coloring a patch of skin above his left eyebrow. "Excuse me, miss… do you have a wheel chair I could use?"

"Oh, yes, right over there…" The receptionist gestured behind her desk, where several such devices lay dormant. "Do you require assistance, sir?"

"No, thanks, I'm fine." Quickly, the young man maneuvered a wheel chair out of its alcove and towards the double doors leading to the parking lot. "I'll be right back." The receptionist blinked once as he dashed out into the night, intrigued in spite of her normally jaded nature.

She became even more so when the redhead returned, wheeling another (slightly battered) young man, instead of the girl she had expected. Males of such an age were not prone to worrying about injured colleagues, unless they had mammary glands. This was something... interesting.

Deciding to devote herself to their abnormal case, the receptionist had an answer waiting when the redhead returned to her desk. "Yes, we're in a bit of a lull right now, so a doctor should be with you any minute now. Please have a seat." The young man looked quite relieved.

Indeed, within moments, a nurse came into the waiting room to take the patient and his friend into the ER. The receptionist watched them go, chin resting on her hand. They might be worth watching.

However, the two young men were soon out of her line of sight, and she was forced to return to the monotonous work that awaited her in her computer. At least for a few moments. Voices carried wonderfully well in a sterilized building.

"Oh thank GOD!"

"Yes, Mr. Starwind, he'll be quite all right… Most of his cuts are minor, Band-Aids and some antibiotic should do the trick…his head needs a few stitches, but… My goodness, did you bandage this?"

"Yea… yea, I did."

"Not bad, for an amateur."

"Um… thanks?"

There was a brief, quiet chuckle.

"I thought you were injured." The voice was that of the redhead… Mr. Starwind, apparently. It wasn't exactly eavesdropping, what the receptionist was doing… anyone in the general vicinity could hear the conversation. Therefore, she had no qualms about again placing her attention on the dilemma of these curious young men.

"Now, is there anything else that seems to be bothering you, Mr.…?"

"Luo." This speaker was new; it had to be the wounded male in the wheel chair. "Fred Luo. Well… my leg… does seem to be a bit… off…" There was silence for a few moments; the receptionist assumed that the doctor was examining the latest complaint.

"Well, nothing serious seems to be out of line, Mr. Luo… Did you have a spill of some sort?"

"Yes, I… landed rather heavily on it."

"Ah, yes. It does seem to be quite bruised. Luckily for you, however, it's neither sprained nor broken. You might want to go easy on it for a while, however."

"But of course, doctor." The receptionist couldn't help but chuckle. It was quite impressive, to have a sense of humor while injured. Intriguing indeed.

"So, the stitches…?" That was the redhead again. "Does that mean… well, is it really bad?"

"Nothing of the sort. I'm just afraid the cut won't heal properly on its own if I don't help it along. No, no, there's no concussion, luckily. Other than a slight jarring and a nasty looking cut, his head is quite all right."

"I'm not sure, doctor." Fred Luo sounded much better than he had looked when he came in. "That all depends on whom you ask."

All three laughed at this.

"All right, let's see about those stitches…"

After that, they moved into another room, quite abruptly ending the receptionist's ability to listen in. Grumbling slightly, she once again returned to her computer.

However, when the two young men emerged from the ER (this time without the wheelchair—the one called Fred Luo seemed to be vociferously protesting being treated like an invalid, and the one called Mr. Starwind was reluctantly allowing him to walk on his own), she flashed them both a bright, cheery smile. "Have a nice night, gentlemen."

The redhead smiled in return, and the dark-haired man that was Fred Luo waved jauntily in her direction. As they exited, the receptionist couldn't help but notice that Mr. Starwind was holding Mr. Luo rather tightly around the waist, and that Mr. Luo had an arm draped rather possessively around Mr. Starwind's neck.

Ah, so that was it.

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It was cold. The fact couldn't be questioned; snow covered the ground outside, your breath formed a cloud in the air when you made the mistake of being out of doors long enough to breathe, and a few presumptuous icicles had even had the audacity to hang down arrogantly from the rain-gutters.

It was the time of year for layers upon layers of bedclothes, preferably with at least one goose-down comforter and a few sets of flannel sheets somewhere in the mix.

Unfortunately, such luxuries were quite out of the average college student's budget.

Gene shivered, curling into a fetal position under his covers. He wrapped icy cold arms around his legs, hoping to trap what little warmth he possessed and keep it within his now compressed form. The idea was sound; however, when actually put into practice, it didn't hold water.

Or body heat, actually.

In any event, the guitarist was quite cold. He was certain that specific parts of his anatomy were turning blue, and if they weren't, logic dictated that they should have been.

All in all, he wasn't having a pleasant time of things. And, considering that sleeping was one of his favorite past-times, this God-forsaken cold was adding insult to injury. He wondered bitterly if the weather systems were now against him as well. It really, really wouldn't have surprised him.

However, as he got bored with that train of thought, his mind began to wander in other directions… for example, what would happen if he just happened to meander over to Fred's bed and…?

No. Certainly not. He was stopping that little contemplation before it went any further. That was out of the question. No way in any number of hells. Not happening. He wasn't THAT desperate.

…Then again, it went beyond desperation, didn't it.

The redhead squirmed, partially due to the uncomfortable cold seeping into the very marrow of his bones, and partially due to the traitorous thoughts that had taken up lodging in his brain. If the change in climate wasn't against him, his mind most certainly was. Stupid vital organs and their perfidious ways.

His brain wasn't backing down, though. Unknowingly, Gene found himself rolling over, letting only his eyes peep out of the blanket-cocoon he had created in order to keep warm. His gaze rested on Fred, silent and unmoving across the room. The other man's bandages were still on, but they never seemed to give him any problems, nor did the pain. A few days after his attack, the vocalist had seemed as good as new, save a few minor scars and other telltale marks. He looked, for lack of a better term, perfectly fine.

At the moment, he looked very warm.

The blush came unbidden, but Gene didn't notice it. It couldn't hurt, right? It was said, after all, that sharing body heat was one of the best ways to warm oneself. And in these conditions… Well, it certainly couldn't be healthy for the redhead to freeze to the point of incoherence, alone and frigid in his own bed.

And, of course, if he explained himself properly… Fred would behave, wouldn't he? There wasn't really any risk of Gene waking up with a foreign hand down his…

The guitarist gave his head a sharp jerk. He wasn't quite sure what thoughts like that would lead to, and he most certainly didn't want to find out at this point in time. Right now, he was focused on warmth, and finding some way to heat his rapidly-heading-towards-numb body. It was instinct, after all, to seek out warmth, wasn't it?

Just keep telling yourself that.

He was going to have to admit it to himself sooner or later. He was going to have to admit….

Well. Sooner or later. Later sounded like a viable option.

The here and now… Well, still, it could wait. He might be creeping closer and closer to self-realization, but for now…

He could push it to the back of his mind, and simply… do what felt right.

Deciding, the redhead steeled himself for the shock of cold that would greet him once he left the protection of his covers. Oh, yes, he was quite chilled now, but THAT was under two layers of covering. He couldn't even fathom what would happen to him with nothing besides his rather sparse pajamas between him and the arctic air of the dorm.

Well, that was that.

He'd just have to take the covers with him.

Tugging at the blankets, Gene eventually yanked them out of the foot of the bed, where they were tucked. Attempting to wrap himself up so that all exposed skin was covered with blanket, and yet still in such a way that he was able to walk, the redhead slowly stood.

Unfortunately, his quest for warmth sufficient enough for his temporary mission had left his legs somewhat bound together. He'd have to hop over to Fred's bed.

So.

It was heat or dignity.

Easy enough decision.

Without a second thought, Gene began to bunny-hop over to his roommate's bed, executing this feat as silently as possible so that no angry neighbors would find a sudden, raging desire for the blood of a certain redheaded guitarist.

However, he was loud enough that he woke Fred during his little trek. So, when he reached the side of the vocalist's bed, dark eyes were peering up at him amusedly.

"A visit so very late at night?" His voice was sleepy, but full of good-humor. "My my, to what do I owe this special treat?" Gene attempted to scowl, but his rather chilly lips weren't cooperating. It was an effort to keep his teeth from chattering.

"Can't sleep."

"Oh?"

"It's cold."

"Oh, I see." Fred sat up slightly, inspecting the seemingly mummified Gene. Raising one navy eyebrow, he grinned. "And what am I supposed to do about this rather atrocious predicament you're in?"

"Er…" Gene hadn't thought this far along. How, exactly, was he supposed to go about this? He had thought that his roommate would just invite him into bed, not diverge into one of his teasing moods. This was certainly not something he wanted to deal with while he felt his body temperature slowly dropping below healthy levels. "Well, actually, I was thinking…" The redhead struggled with the words, somewhat embarrassed.

"Yes?"

"Would you mind… I mean, that is… would it be ok…"

Fred laughed.

"Well now, I'll be kind. Since it doesn't look like you're going to be spitting it out any time soon… And I certainly don't want you freezing to death…" The navy-haired young man pulled back his covers slightly, expression inviting. "Would you like to sleep with me?"

"Yes!" Without thinking (which was how, it has been discovered, that Gene executed most of his actions), the redhead all but dove into his roommate's bed, eager for the promise of warmth. Taking his blankets with him, he burrowed into Fred's warm bedclothes, almost sighing with relief as he felt his body begin to thaw. "Aahhhh…" The other man just laughed again, busying himself with rearranging Gene's blankets so that the bodies of the two students were pressed together.

It was then that Gene realized exactly what was going on.

"H-hey…" Still not fully recovered, the redhead found his voice slightly hampered by the cold. "I just want to sleep, ok? Nothing else." He gave Fred a look. "All right?"

"But of course." His roommate returned the look with an innocent smile. "I understand you perfectly, Ge-ene. However…" Gene didn't like the sound of that. "I think that some compensation is in order… I am, after all, warming you up." No, he didn't like the sound of that at all.

But the vocalist did have a point.

"… All right, what do you want?"

"Oh, you make it sound like such a chore!" Fred drew his eyebrows together in an expression of mock-grief. "It's not even that much, really, you make such a big deal out of things."

"You haven't told me what it is yet."

"Oh, no, I haven't, have I?"

"No."

"Hm." The other man appeared to ponder this for a moment. "Well, it would take too long to ask you for it and then expect you to give it, and I desire my payment right now, so…" Without another word, he leaned forward, capturing Gene's chilly, slightly parted lips with his own warm ones.

He should have been expecting something like this. Really, he should have However, in spite of 'should have's', Gene merely found himself sitting (or lying, actually) still in shock as Fred kissed him. He then found that he had to admit that, just perhaps, he actually liked being kissed by Fred…

By that time, though, his body had decided that already, and he was, finally, returning the kiss, parting his lips further when Fred's probing tongue requested it. His cold-muddled mind couldn't help but release a moan as the navy-haired student explored his mouth, and, though he tried to stop it, Gene whimpered softly as the other man pulled away. Wide cerulean eyes looked up into smiling dark ones.

"Mmm, that was very nice, Ge-ene." Fred grinned. "Very nice indeed…"

"Fred…"

"Oh, don't worry, I'll be a good boy and keep my word." Leaning forward, the taller man gently rubbed noses with the redhead. "I won't violate you in your sleep, I promise."

Gene grunted in response.

Chuckling, Fred pressed his lips gently against Gene's forehead. "Are you always this grumpy when your sleeping pattern is interrupted?"

"Maybe."

"Well." Shifting slightly, Fred rested his chin on top of Gene's pillow-mussed hair, arms wrapping loosely around the other man's torso. "Let's make sure you get your good night's sleep."

Gene tilted his head downward slightly, wide eyes staring as his palms pressed themselves against Fred's warm chest. "Mm…" He couldn't manage to continue the conversation further without risking a serious detriment to his mental health. Frozen brain cells, it seemed, were not the most efficient to be found.

However, there seemed to be one rebellious sect within him that simply had to be heard. Gene bit his bottom lip, trying to keep quiet. Sure, it would sound innocent enough, but he never did know how Fred would take things… Inhaling slowly, he waited, listening for the other man's breathing pattern to slow, indicating that he was asleep.

It happened sooner than he had expected, which would have seemed suspicious, had his brain cells been functioning properly. However, he now took it for face value.

Closing his eyes, Gene whispered the words he wasn't sure he wanted the other man to hear. "… Thank you, Fred." The statement itself held a great deal more than innocent gratitude, and on some level, the redhead knew that.

And that was enough for right now.

As he was drifting off, Gene felt lips curling against his hair in a smile, but wasn't quite conscious enough to register it.

"You're welcome, love."

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Gene kept his eyes shut when he awoke, having no desire at all to move away from this delicious warmth he was currently enveloped in. Instead, he nuzzled a bit closer, sleepily hoping that his alarm was not set to go off soon. He was insanely comfortable in his current location, and saw no real reason to leave any time soon.

Luckily, his alarm remained silent. It was, after all, a Saturday morning.

Humming his contentment at having a good night's sleep, Gene curled up slightly against his anonymous source of warmth.

It took his brain a good five minutes to remember what it was, and another two to identify the sensation on his scalp as gentle fingers stroking through his hair. This was not enough, however, to knock him out of his morning reverie, and he opened his eyes with minimal apprehension.

Sure enough, he was looking at skin that was not his own.

Feeling that he should be somewhat disturbed by this, the redhead blinked twice. He eyed the lock of navy hair that had just fallen into his visual range critically, then reached out to touch it with questioning fingers.

He was quite, quite certain that he probably shouldn't have been feeling quite as comfortable as he was.

In spite of this, he risked looking up into the sparkling dark eyes he knew awaited him.

"Good morning, Ge-ene."

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Author's Notes: Well well, was that intriguing enough for you? I figured that I should offer some fluff as an apology for the long delay… Although, using that logic, I'm afraid the next chapter will have to be quite steamy in compensation, ah ha ha… Yes, I have absolutely no confidence in my updating skills. It's quite ironic, too, considering how punctual I am in other matters… Well, you can't rush creativity.

I apologize again for not having a song in this chapter, there simply wasn't room for one. But, since I know you people live and die by my musical tastes (har)… I suppose that I can offer a suggestion. If you don't mind Romanian, you might want to listen to "Despre Tine" by O-Zone. However, if you simply must have English, "Unbroken (Hotel Baby)" by Monster Magnet is certainly worth a listen. And that, my friends, is this chapter's version of "Music with Sage."

See you all next time.