Rori's Corner: Ohhaitharr, everyone. I think I have tortured my fellow luv – and seme, apparently, pffttt – in her jenius mind with all the possibilities of "crack pairings."

Luv you, Androgynous my luv :3

Taint Me a Fusion

Chapter 1: A Rebel Like You

"And why are you staying here?"

"Isn't that obvious? I'm freakin' homeless."

He was calm and collected, admired by the men and loved by the ladies as a gentleman, and he was also one of the most popular hosts in the famous downtown host club named Volare. With his tall stature, toned and lithe body, and looks of gold and personality equally on par, he was inherently attractive to his daily customers and peers in accordance. Since his salary was relative to the customers he served per day, he was ultimately paid in large sums of money. His life was stable, prestigious, and most of all, feeling the absence of trouble. It didn't matter that he was living the same, colorless lifestyle that he had been given since the tender age of sixteen.

Gamma paused when the sounds of rash voices and raspy retorts came into existence as he was nearing an alleyway. He sighed, running a hand through his gelled blond hair and quirking an eyebrow at the scene of cowards blatantly demanding money from a lone figure sprawled over the unyielding cement.

"Yo, I know you have them bucks. Cough 'em out," one of the bullies, a bulky and pierced member of a bike gang, snarled. The other chortled with laughter, an indecent snort accompanying the sound. When the victim didn't respond, the other man raised his foot over him, preparing to stamp down on the latter's stomach. Ugly snickers erupted, but they trailed off when a hand shot up from the ground and wrapped around the biker's ankle, halting it in mid-attack.

"Hrm? You got some fight still in ya', punk?" sniggered the bully, his piggy eyes hardening as he tried to force his foot down. The clutch didn't relent; it was tightening despite its weak hold.

"Y-you...bastards, don't...think I'm..." there was a cough in the rasping voice, and chancing the opportune of his victim's weakness, the biker sneered and brought his foot down, immediately eliciting a strained cry along with groans in pain from the rebel. The target's legs from where Gamma could see were twitching, and his labored pants drinking in gulps of air were sporadic. The scene was pitiful.

Gamma's footsteps thudding against the leaf-strewn pavement stopped the bullies' next approach on the beat-up victim. The popular host drawled in a cool voice as he held up his hands to calm the suspicious bikers, "Oi, oi, ganging up on a one defenseless guy is really cowardly, you know." He let a wry smirk to grace his lips as the two bared their teeth in an attempt to intimidate him, each trying his best to flex his bulging muscles in a hulking manner.

"You wanna' take the place of 'at punk over 'er?" sneered the bully with a blue mohawk. A flash of light glinted off of his gold tooth.

Gamma chuckled humorlessly, dropping his hands that were held up in defense. The two offending bikers inched towards him, faces set in growls and sneers. Making an irritated sound with his tongue, Gamma retrieved something from his expensive leather jacket. The item was a short black rod, but when he pressed the switch located on the side, it lengthened into a pool stick encased in wood but made of steel. He leaned on the weapon with his arm, eying the bikers condescendingly before saying in a warning tone, "This is your chance to retreat, and unless you're an even more pathetic bunch than I thought you were, you will take this opportunity."

"Ahn? Retreat? What kinda' flashy words you using, you rich punk," snorted the other bully.

"You think that pool stick gon' hit us?" the one with the blue mohawk said, spittle flying out of his mouth when he roared with laughter.

Gamma frowned, patting back a stray strand of hair on his forehead. They were debating with each other on who to go first on the "rich-ass punk who be going all up in their business," and he let them bicker. It didn't matter who went ahead; the result would be the same. Both would end up utterly beyond recognition by his hands. Gamma glanced around and saw that the vulnerable victim was stubbornly trying to sit up, though the moonlight could only illuminate half of his body. He returned his attention to the two bikers when they suddenly stopped whispering to each other under hushed breaths; they were now leering at him with their beady eyes. Gamma raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk playing on his lips. "Was that enough time for you to prepare?"

One of the bullies snorted, spitting on the ground and wiping a dirty hand over his lips. "Yah, we was preparin' ta' dispose your body, punk!" The other nodded in agreement, and catching his partner's eye, he abruptly flicked out a knife from his pocket and charged towards the aristocratic host with a battle war cry. Gamma side-stepped him easily, flipping the pool stick to his other hand and arcing the rod with swishing noises to knock his opponent out cold by striking him in the back of the neck. A gurgle could be heard from the biker as he fell to the ground, face first. Gamma nonchalantly pressed his heel into the unconscious man, using his back as a source of support.

"Next?"

The second the other had emerged in his range, Gamma brandished his weapon and drove it into the biker's guts, knocking the air out of him and sending him skidding across the cement to make contact with the sturdy wall opposite. A faint groan in defeat met his ears, and Gamma smirked knowingly. He prodded the unconscious body below him and deemed that the weakling would be out for six hours. These cowards could only be matched up to this caliber: weak, brainless, and pathetic men.

Now, there was one more thing that needed to be taken care of. Or, more precisely, one more person involved in this meaningless fight. Even as he was languidly striding over to the victim, he could already sense the other trying to sit upright while coughing into a hand. Gamma crossed the distance and peered around the trashcan which blocked the upper half of the beat-up victim. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of silver hair and emerald orbs which were straining to open. The lad had a boyish face; attractive and fresh, which was likely to work on girls in their teens and women of high standards, and he was attired in a stylish and rebellious outfit: long-sleeved black shirt with a skull depicted at the center, an equally dark jacket which was unzipped, an authentic silver necklace glinting under the pale moon, baggy black pants which were held up with a leather studded belt, and lastly but not least sneakers that didn't look worn-out.

Gamma sighed, kneading his forehead with two fingers. Of all people, he was to deal with a rebellious teen who was most likely a runaway from a rich family, judging by his haughty demeanor (he was glaring at him while trying to steady himself onto his feet, despite the injuries dealt to his body) and the stylish clothes he wore. Gamma retracted his pool stick and stuffed it into his pocket, all the while feeling lethal vibes emitting from a certain rebel.

"...You..." was the first word uttered by the target, and it was a hoarse croak. The silver-haired teenager cleared his throat, wincing at the dryness and pain simultaneously received, before continuing in a less-than-friendly tone, "Why did you save me?"

The brat should really be more grateful. "Why do you think? I'm not heartless, kid," replied Gamma, looming over the other. There was a strained sound coming from the teen, and a split second later he realized that the rascal had scoffed at him.

"Quit pretending," he snarled, his jaded eyes flaring up unexpectedly; fierce like the turbulent storm. Gamma was taken aback, though he didn't want to admit that a kid had surprised him. The teen was now leaning on the wall, a scowl adorning his good-looking face as he eyed the man before him with a narrowed gaze. "I saw how you fought," he started, and then turned his head when a cough overtook him. He breathed unsteadily for a few seconds, his jade eyes fluttering shut as if trying to stay intact with the world. His hand slipped off the wall, causing his body to lurch forward. Gamma caught the teen just before he made contact with the ground, impulse quickening his instinct.

"What an un-cute brat," mused Gamma as he pulled the silver-haired rebel into a standing position.

He was mumbling something. "I don't...need...help from you...bastard."

Ungrateful, highly unlikeable, and also grating on the ears. And he was still helping out this brat. Gamma reckoned that there was something wrong with him today. Perhaps he drank wine instead of beer today – though that couldn't be helped, since Lady Orlando had specifically requested wine. The teen was struggling in his grasp now, hands shoving against his chest and therefore causing himself to be pushed back against the wall and Gamma to stumble back a step. The blond host was now officially peeved at the ungrateful attitude of the rebel. Dusting his jacket, he said dismissively, "If this is how you're going to act, brat, then I won't help you."

The teen scowled, half-lidded eyes peering blearily through as he breathed, "I don't need your freakin' help."

Gamma stood still for a minute or so, just staring at the wobbly rascal. And then he turned his back on the latter, coldly sauntering away without a backward glance with his face impassively looking forward. The brat was a really agitating specimen, more stubborn and irritating than anyone he had ever met before. Gamma paused at the sound of a body giving way, collapsing with a dull thud on the cold pavement. He swiveled on his feet, quirking an eyebrow at the sight of the unyielding boy who was now helplessly lying on his front, hands fisting and breaths wavering. Gamma paused, considering the pros and cons. The lad was more troublesome than he would've preferred, and he was also a rebellious sort of kid. But then again leaving the brat here in the dust left him with an unsettling feeling, and wearing a half-amused frown, he supposed it was guilt. Guilt, and...there was something else.

He knelt down on one knee, tilting the sharp jaw up to face him, and immediately the pink lips tasting blood scowled. An emerald eye – the other squinting weakly – glared with all the power he had left over. Gamma's lip curled as he took in the defiance.

He was right. There was something else, and it undoubtedly tipped his monotonous life upside down. It was the first time in a while that he felt such a spurge of interest.

"Yo, kid," Gamma said, flipping the silver-haired teen on his back.

"Don't you - " there was a colorful word involved - "...call me a kid," he snarled, his face now facing him in the bare and illuminating a dim sheen of ethereal blue. There was cold sweat coating his forehead, a bruise forming on the side of his mouth along with droplets of blood trailing down his jaw, and his clothes seemed to be brand new but utterly dirtied and disheveled. Something was lying on the cement besides the lightly breathing rebel, and Gamma cautiously extended a hand to the area right besides the latter's abdomen. He picked up the rectangle I.D card fitted inside a plastic wrap. There was a picture of the silver-haired teen, who surprisingly wasn't scowling in the photo, and besides it were the words: Gokudera Hayato, Age: 16, Sex: Male, D.O.B...

"Hmm, driver's permit, eh?" murmured Gamma, and with a wry smirk, stuffed it into his chest pocket. The lad apparently hadn't heard, or else he'd have stirred; he seemed to have fallen asleep on the concrete. The blond host grabbed his collar and tugged, pulling the slumbering teen up and away from his dreamless sleep. He blearily cracked open an eye, saw that he was mere centimeters away from the older man, and instantly reverted to his scowling, resisting self. Gamma held a steady grasp on the struggling hands, raising an eyebrow at the angry spluttering of the latter.

"Oi, kid," he interrupted Gokudera's impatient rantings, hands still clamping on the other's smaller ones. The teen glared, mouth slanted in agitation. "Hold still, will you? You trying to give me a migraine or something?"

"Let go of me," the silver-haired rebel snarled, eyes flashing as he tried to force his hands away from the iron clasp in vain.

Gamma sighed, and in the blink of an eye, dropped his hold on the rebellious hands, and before Gokudera had the grace to apprehend the situation, an arm had already wound itself around his waist. He yelped in surprise when he lurched backwards, and just as he closed his eyes, suspended in anxiety for the impact that never followed, he was caught and held by someone; a person who was seeping warmth to his bruised and cold self. His jade eyes fluttered open in shock, mouth wordlessly agape as he stared into steel-blue eyes, ones that were vaguely entertained and devoid of earlier enhanced annoyance.

"Calmed down, princess?" the man drawled, the tone halfway between teasing and mocking.

Gokudera gawked, for once at a loss of words as he took in the offending, transgendered nickname and the way he was currently being held bridal-style. He felt the arm supporting the back of his thighs and the other one around his waist, and immediately his face heated up – though he was unconscious of the details, as in rather he was blushing in embarrassment, pride, or...something totally different. All he knew was that he was hitting the stress meter when he finally realized what the other had called him, and also that they were exiting the alleyway and quickly emerging into the streets. Wriggling, seething, and ultimately punching the solid and unyielding chest of his captor, Gokudera protested in a hoarse voice that was the result of a dry throat, "Let go of me, you insane bastard! I said - "

"Shut up," Gamma cut in gruffly, his eyes looking disapprovingly down at him. Gokudera wavered, staring uncomfortably but unrelentingly back, lips set in a scowl. The older man captured him in a steel exchange between blue and green, and somehow the latter had the feeling that he was reprimanding him. Before Gokudera could notice the slight curl at the corner of Gamma's lips in the heat of the unblinking stare contest, he suddenly became aware of their entrance into the milling sidewalk and the neon-lit stores.

And he was still being carried bridal-style. Gokudera's neck warmed up, and he could already sense the incoming heat threatening to color his cheeks.

Gamma didn't let him have time to spout another rebellious round of protests in the public, and so having signaled a cab on the sidewalk, he thrust the passenger car door open while still carrying the silver-haired teen. He chuckled at the begrudging mutters of "I'm going to kill you" as he carefully laid him into the backseat, gently as a prince would to his princess. Gamma climbed in after him, ignoring the pointed glare and the almost pouty lips as he directed the chauffeur, a woman in her mid-thirties who was looking on at the scene with surprise and total interest.

"Where are we going?" came a growl on his left.

Without turning his head to look at the peeved teen, Gamma answered in a suave voice while slumped into the leather seat, "Where do you expect? To my house, of course."

Rori's Second Corner: I'm interested in how many people are interested in Gamma/Gokudera. There are barely any Gamma fics, and even less yaoi ones – it's just totally disheartening.

I have a plot set up. M-hm. I swear.

To Androgynous: Did you expect this pairing? LOL

To Everyone Else: I hope to see you sometime next...week/month/year?! Crossing my fingers :3