It'd been snowing for at least 4 hours now.

Well, at least that's what everyone at Cook County wanted to believe. Everyone with an optimistic point of view, anyway. In reality, it had to have been snowing for at least 6 hours straight, fat white snowflakes falling from the sky at a rapid pace, and it showed no sign of stopping.

No matter how many major trauma cases rolled in.

And not only was it snowing faster than the spread of the Coronavirus, but it was also at LEAST 15 below. And because so many idiots just had to drive on that night, and that particular night alone, consequently, even more trauma cases rolled in. Because fuck staying indoors and sipping some cocoa with your family, am I right?

And, because Murphy's Law had decided to slap everyone in the face with its fat cock not 2 hours ago, there was yet another twist to this unique situation that the faculty and staff of Cook County had been tossed into;

No fucking power.

Well, unless you count the backup generators, which did the bare minimum.

So, in other words, the incredibly busy hospital was pretty much running on fumes. And of course, those hard working ER docs and nurses who were currently working at least 3 hours overtime, each and every one of them, in order to make sure a lot of innocent people didn't die.

And some very, very pissy surgeons.

"For the last time, I'm telling you, he needs to be taken up!"

"And I'm telling you, it's a waste of our already depleted resources in the OR!"

As usual, two of the hospital's most prestigious, accomplished, professional...incredibly bitchy surgeons were feuding yet again over a course of treatment for some poor bastard, who currently lay unconscious in a gurney. He'd been one of the many fished from the outside world, within that massive expanse of falling snow and bone-chilling cold that lie just beyond those automatic double doors of Cook County General.

"He's in critical condition, Dr. Romano! He needs to head up to the OR now!" Peter Benton yelled at the short, bald surgeon, causing quite a scene. Any of the nurses tending to said poor bastard on the gurney were sure to keep their distance from the two, exchanging amused, sometimes tired glances as the situation escalated.

The taller surgeon set up his side of the patients gurney, beginning to literally shove him out the door and on his way to the OR singlehandedly. Romano jumped in front of the wheeled bed before he could get within a foot of the exit, his brow furrowed with anger.

"Oh no, not this time, Peter!" Romano yelled, moving around the gurney to stand directly in front of Peter, getting right in his face.

Peter glowered down at the man, ready to combat whatever bullshit he had to offer with a fiery vengeance.

"Right now, all I give a damn about is the fact that this man is stable, his pulse is at a normal rhythm, and his hypothermia can be resolved in the ER with some heated saline, just drop it already!" Romano yapped in Benton's grumpy face, his hands on his hips as he stared him down. Benton took a step closer, the look in his eyes darkening alongside his mood.

"He needs a laparotomy to rule out internal bleeding! For God's sake, he's been in an MVA!"

Romano stepped closer then, almost bringing himself nose to nose with the scowling physician.

"It was a slow moving MVA, and he sat in the cold for over 45 minutes! All the more reason to keep him down here to let him warm up! You can take it to the damned bank when I say he can wait, possibly until things improve from absolutely fucking horrible to a solid terrible at best. Transferring him would only threaten his life further, possibly giving him an arrhythmia. Do you really want that on your conscience, Dr. Benton?!"

"I'll show you one thing I won't have weighing on my conscience..." Peter growled, looking as if he was going to punch him straight in the nose, wiping that smug look off of his stupid face, the one that showed his gratification from pushing the taller man's buttons.

And Peter probably would have knocked the little shit out cold, had Dr. Weaver not stepped in between them, forcing them apart with her crutch.

"Alright, alright!" She yelled in their faces, jabbing at Romano's shin with the end of that cold metal stick, only making him pissier. "I could hear the both of you from trauma 1, with 10 different machines blaring!"

"Screw off, Kerry! This is between me and him!" Romano spat in the woman's face.

Weaver stood her ground between the two men, unfazed. "Tell you what. Neither of you are taking this patient anywhere. As of now, you're both off the case!"

"But Kerry—"

"With all due respect, Dr. Weaver,—"

Neither of them could get a word in. "I don't want to hear it! Now get out of here, both of you!" She squawked, already moving to take care of their former patient herself.

"He needs a surgeon to supervise him, Kerry! Not all ER docs can walk on water, you know!" Romano argued, fixing her with a narrow eyed look. "As much as you'd like to designate this entire hospital as your undemocratic queendom, you can't take over every damned case you please! I do happen to be Chief of Staff and Head of Surgery, of course, and I would be perfectly happy to—"

"Enough, Robert!" She berated, stopping him mid-rant. He stared at her with narrowed eyes, hoping to choke her to death with just his mind, like Darth Fucking Vader.

"Yeah, enough Robert." Peter sneered, mocking Kerry's petulant tone. Romano moved to step closer to the man, confrontationally, only to be stopped by Kerry's hand on the front of his chest, shoving him backwards.

"That enough out of both of you. I'm calling down Drs. Anspaugh and Corday to take care of this. In fact, I'll even set the two of you up with a new case that's probably right up your alley." She informed them, confusing the two men as she limped towards the phone in the corner to dial to the surgical floor.

"I didn't hear about any incoming traumas. None with an ETA under 30 minutes, at least." Peter said matter-of-factly to the red headed doctor, giving her a quizzical look.

"Maintenance has been backed up, and somebody around here should take a good look at the other backup generator. We've only got backup power in half of this hospital, if we don't bump up the amount of electricity coursing through this busy establishment, patients are going to start dying!" She berated. Both surgeons picked up on her suggestion, glaring at her with widened eyes.

"You're not serious...but what about all the other surgical cases?!" Romano whined as Weaver punched in the number for the surgical floor.

"Well, like he said, there's no incoming trauma for a little while. We've haven't been able to scrape up anyone that isn't completely overloaded with patients already, but at the moment, the two of you are causing a lot more harm than good up here." She dismissed them, pulling the phone off the hook and up to her ear.

"You do know that I spent almost a decade in medical school, not some cheap trade school. How do you expect me to fix a damn generator?" Romano voiced his concerns, as well as his shortcomings for once in his life. Weaver brushed him off.

"You'll have help." She said shortly over her shoulder, concentrated trying to get on the line with someone at the surgical desk. "You two are smart, you'll figure it out."

"And what happens if we're needed back up here and we've been electrocuted to death by that old mechanical monstrosity?!" Romano complained to the unsympathetic doc.

"There's some flashlights and a toolbox in the janitor's closet. I think..." Weaver deadpanned, turning most of her attention to the task at hand. "Now go! Before I inform Anspaugh about how big of a pain in the ass you've been, especially on a catastrophic night like this. For God's sake, what if this poor soul heard your incessant bickering?!"

Romano shoved the double doors open with the force of a thousand aggravated, post-menopausal soccer moms named Karen. And they all were insistent on seeing the manager. Hell, he almost rammed one of the heavy doors straight into poor Carter, who slammed himself against a crash cart to evade the sudden obstacle.

He stormed down the hall, his royal blue surgical gown billowing with each and every brisk step. Peter followed him closely, not breathing a word as they made their way to the janitor's closet.

Quite a demeaning task for the two highly accomplished surgeons.

Not much longer, the two petulant physicians were balls deep in the bowels of Cook County, the only light in the basement hallway being a little flashlight that Romano held in one hand, still leading the way. Benton trailed behind him, honey colored eyes boring into his back as he carried the toolbox in one hand and his own flashlight in another.

"I still don't know why you had to get us into this mess." Peter wondered aloud, causing the man in front of him to scoff humorlessly without looking back at the man.

"The hell are you talking about? None of this would've happened if you'd just admitted from the start that I was right. We'd both be seeing patients right now if it weren't for your pettiness." Romano snarled back at him, maintaining his fast pace in the cold, dark hallway, hellbent on completing their lowly task as quickly as humanly possible.

"My pettiness?! The man could have bled out from the inside while we waited on him to warm up. You were just being lazy, not wanting to waste hospital resources on some sad sack that took a hit to the gut with his steering wheel! Pettiness my ass."

Romano threw open the door to the dark room where all the electrical crap was kept. If they didn't find the generators there, they wouldn't find em at ALL.

"Oh, get over yourself Peter! Would you rather the guy have had an arrhythmia, putting him through more trauma than just leaving him there for just another half hour? Or were you just so full of yourself you just wanted to say 'Fuck it!' And start cutting without a second thought, or hell, you probably didn't even think first before you drew that conclusion, did you?" He ranted as the two piled into the room, shutting the door behind them.

Peter threw the toolbox down noisily, like that one annoying guy at your local gym that throws down his barbells on the floor as noisily as physically possible whenever he's finished his set, exuding a raw sense of fragile masculinity.

"Alright! I'm sick of you shit, Romano!" He roared at the shorter man, shining his flashlight straight into his face just to annoy him further, illuminating his features which were contorted into an expression of blind fury. The bald man smacked the offending light right out of Peter's hand, leaving it to hit the floor with a crack as it switched off against the cold, hard cement beneath it.

"Why don't you just fucking drop it so we can get this hunk of metal working again and get the fuck away from each other. I'm sick and tired of hearing your God damned voice yapping in my ear, undermining my diagnostic training. If you have a problem with the way I take care of my patients, you can TAKE IT UP WITH THE MEDICAL BOARD!" Benton roared in his face, towering over him. Romano refused to back down still.

"Yeah. Okay, Peter." He growled, voice getting lower.

"I'll drop the matter, just like you wanted to drop Mr. Harper straight on his ass by dragging him up to OR before he had a chance to defrost!" Romano yelled at the taller man vengefully. Benton just threw up his hands, turning his back to the man as he went to retrieve his flashlight from where it lay on the ground. He smacked it against his hand a couple of times, frustrated when it didn't turn on, no matter how much he battered the switch.

"Great. Fantastic. You fucking broke it!" Peter snarled at him, throwing the dead flashlight in a random direction. It hit a large, metallic, box shaped machine that looked like it'd been off for a while, in need of some doctoring up.

...get it?

I know, I hate me too.

Peter immediately began trying to snatch the bald man's flashlight, pulling harder on it when he clutched onto the light with both hands in order to keep it from him.

"Give me the damn thing so we can get out of here!" Peter yelled, trying to pry Romano's fingers away from the light to no avail.

"No way in Hell! You couldn't even make the right call on a slow MVA, why should I let you fix that hunk of shit?!" Robert yelled back, pulling on the flashlight with all of his strength, digging his heels into the ground to keep the other man from getting it. Benton immediately doubled his efforts.

This pathetic little game of tug-of-war ended as soon as Peter gave Romano a hard shove, causing him to fall straight on his ass on the hard cement below him.

Triumphant, Peter sauntered off to the mechanical box with his prize, taking a look at its sorry state.

"You cocksucker!" Romano howled, peeling himself off the ground, dusting himself off before trudging on after Peter. He tried pushing the taller man out of the way of the box, using his shoulder to give himself a better visual of the electric disaster.

"Fuck off! I'm trying to work!" Peter yelled, shoving Romano back, straining to see through the light that shook as he fought back against the strange bald man. He gave up pushing him with his own shoulder eventually, turning and shoving him with both arms, catching him off guard.

Robert fell back onto the cemented ground below him, but not without grabbing onto Peter's blue scrub top to break his fall, pulling him down with him.

Peter fell against him then, and before they knew it, they were chest to chest on top of each other, the flashlight rolling on the ground beside the pair.

They looked at each other with wide eyes, shocked at their current position.

He could feel the heat coming off Romano's broad chest then, a pleasing contrast against the frigid air of the electrical closet. His hot breath hit his neck as he breathed heavily, slightly winded from their little spat. It was cold enough to see their breath in there, and then some. Peter could feel his toes beginning to get numb.

He looked down at Romano's face then. Even in the darkness, he could just barely make out a bit of coloring that'd risen to his cheeks, despite the bitterness of the room they were in.

The man came to his senses, immediately pulling himself off of Romano, picking up the flashlight, and wordlessly returning to his work. The other man got up from the floor, leaning gingerly against some other bulky machine, gazing down towards his feet as Peter did his best to finish their awful task.

And around 15 minutes later, he did just that.

"Alright. Well there's a big green light that turned on in this damn thing. I'm gonna assume that means it's working. Now let's go back to doing some real work." Benton announced to the man in the corner, who eyed him condescendingly.

"Isn't that what got us down here in the first place, drawing conclusions?" Romano snarked at Benton, who scowled at him. "Honestly, does that pea-sized little brain of yours retain any information at all?"

"Fine. Have it your way." Benton snapped, putting the toolbox down from when he'd picked it up, ready to leave. "You can stay here and make absolutely sure with your 20 years of surgical experience that I got the generator working. I'm getting the hell out of here. I'm freezing my ass off." He finished, turning towards the door.

He gave the knob a quick turn, expecting to leave his boss all by himself in the freezing cold and give himself the last word. His mind was already drifting to the large thermos of hot cocoa he knew they kept in the lounge.


To Benton's complete and utter horror, the knob wouldn't turn. So he tried harder.

But no matter how he turned the knob, shoved the door, or grumbled profanities at the damn thing, it still wouldn't budge.

"What's the matter, Peter? Need my help opening a door too?" Romano mocked, walking up to the struggling surgeon.

"It's locked." Benton stated simply, realizing the severity of his current situation. He was locked in a freezing cold room, and everyone upstairs would probably be too busy to notice for a while. But that wasn't even the worst part;

He was stuck with Robert Fucking Romano.

"Bullshit! Lemme see the thing." The bald man yapped, shoving Peter aside yet again. He tried just about everything Benton had with the door, and even kicked it a few times but the fact was simple; they were locked in.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." Romano muttered to himself, staring at the door as if it'd just cut him in line at McDonald's. Pagers wouldn't work, either. Both of theirs had died not 3 or 4 hours into the absolute clusterfuck of winter wonderland themed-casualties from the constant pages they'd received. What'sherface got impaled by a broken snow shovel, What'shisname was bleeding out on his gurney after getting hit with a snow plow. And the list goes on.

"This is all your fault." Benton said disdainfully, moving to sit down against the far wall of the room, accepting his cruel fate. "None of this ever would've happened if you'd just taken him up. Now, because of you, we're gonna fucking freeze."

"You mean if you'd just left him be until his temperature stabilized. Don't keep fighting me on this, Peter, you know you're going to lose." Romano grumbled, sitting across from him. They glared at one another from their respective spots on the floor, each hoping that the other would burst into flames from their stare alone so they'd finally be warm.

"You just can't stand the thought of your subordinate coming up with a better course of treatment than you. You arrogant little prick." The man growled, still staring at Romano with dark eyes full of blood lust.

"Whatever, Peter. We'll just have to see what Anspaugh has to say about your undermining my authority."

"Yeah. You're exactly right. We will just have to see what Anspaugh has to say about you threatening a patient's life by refusing to book him an OR. Good idea."

They were quiet for a while. A real long while, staring at the ground, the humming generator, out of a small window that was on one wall, which was almost completely blocked by the snow, yet allowed a little bit of light into the room so the two men's scowling faces could be seen.

The only sound came from outside. The distant whirring of over 35 mph winds, maybe an occasional car here or there.

Peter fixed his eyes on the man in front of him, hoping that while he'd been trying to think of a way out of this mess he'd succumbed to the cold already. He was disappointed to discover that he was still sitting up, looking at his Rolex. He shifted in his spot, feeling colder with each passing minute as the cold cement beneath him slowly leeched every ounce of heat he had left from him.

He noticed after some staring at the bald man that he was shivering on the opposite side. Romano merely tried to heat himself up by crossing his arms, or drawing his knees up to his chest. Nothing helped, though, and he continued to shake like a leaf.

An idea popped into Benton's head. It was an idea that, had almost his entire ass not been numb already, he would have brushed off as soon as it came to him. Something he never thought he'd want to do in his wildest dreams.

He got up from his spot, and sat down next to the balder man, putting his arms around him, drawing him closer.

"The hell are you doing?! Get the hell off of me, you creep!" Romano howled, trying to shove Benton off with little success. The taller man pulled him closer, craving the heat coming off him like John Carter craves fentanyl.

"Do you want to freeze in the basement of this cesspool?! Shut up and come here." Benton snarled at Romano, holding him around his waist. The bald man remained taut next to him, shocked at the sudden contact.

He remained still until he eventually complied, his desire to get warm outweighing his better judgement as he curled closer to Peter, wrapping his arms around the man.

"This is weird, Peter." Romano said quietly after another moment. The other man pulled him closer, using him as a glorified heating pad.

"Yeah, I know. But at least we've both stopped shaking like meth addicts. This place is like a damned meat locker." Peter grumbled. Romano's fat head rest against his shoulder, his hot breath warming the base of his neck. His arms were around his chest. Peter held him tightly around his shoulders, his hands shoved under his surgical gown to keep his fingers from freezing and snapping off like a bunch of icicles.

They were close. Of course, they had to be in order to generate at least a reasonable about of heat. Hell, Peter could even smell the cologne on his boss, something sweet with just a hint of spice. The scent filled his head with each new breath he took. Coupled with their closeness, it made his heart beat just a little bit faster, but he couldn't figure out why.

It's not like he'd never been this close to a colleague before. Hell, it's not like he'd never been this close to Romano before. They'd always brushed arms or stood side by side, observing various organs in a trauma, their shoulders or hips touching. He'd never batted an eye then.

But for some reason, in that moment it was just...different.

"How long do you think we're gonna be stuck down here?" The bald man asked him, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Well, depends on how badly they need us. As soon as casualties start rolling in someone's probably gonna catch on and come looking for us." Peter informed him, remaining level headed towards the direful occurrence.

"Over the past few years of working in this hellhole I've come to realize that ER really stands for Everyone's Retarded," Romano grumbled. "We'll probably be frozen solid by the time anyone actually stops and realizes where we might be."

"I'm sure it won't be much longer. After all, there were some traumas about a half hour away right before we left, I wouldn't give it much longer before Weaver—ah, damn!" Benton was interrupted as soon as Robert went through with his bright idea of shoving his hands under his scrub shirt, warming them with the man's bare skin.

"Couldn't have given me a heads up?! Jesus, your hands are so cold." Peter squirmed against the other man's palms, fixing him with an irritated look. Romano scoffed at him.

"Oh come on, don't be such a baby!" He moved his hands up along the man's chest, the harsh cold from them soaking into Peter's skin. Peter was just praying that the bald man couldn't feel his heart beating a mile a minute underneath those hands.

"I don't have any faith at all in those quacks. You know this one time they kept an open radial fracture down there for 6 hours? 6 fucking hours, Peter." Peter was in fact having a terrible time trying to concentrate on the man's rant as he began absentmindedly stroking his chest with one of his hands, still cool from the outside air. Romano's cool skin against his own gave him goosebumps. He shivered at his boss's touch.

Romano picked up his slight shivering, picking his head up to look at him.

"What's the matter, is my story just that harrowing or are you getting cold again?" He questioned him, oblivious to how flushed the man's cheeks were. What the hell was wrong with him?

"Hold on a second, I've got an idea. Just don't freak out." Robert advised him, pulling away from the man tentatively, pulling off his surgical gown.

To Peter's complete and utter mortification, his boss then got back down, shoving himself between the man's legs. His knees had been drawn up to his chest in a fashion not unlike Romano's previous position, in a desperate attempt to conserve heat.

The taller man remained completely still, every muscle as tight as a cork in a bottle of Merlot as Robert pushed himself up against his chest, pulling his large surgical gown over himself and the man behind him.

"Here, wrap this around you a bit more. Pull it up to your shoulders, and for God's sake, ease up! This was your idea, remember." The bald man told him, so nonchalantly. Peter was sweating, the slightest hint of perspiration revealing itself on the top of his forehead by his hairline.

He was sweating.

In a room that had to be at most 20 degrees Fahrenheit.

And it that same room, his boss, the cold, vindictive Robert Fucking Romano was currently wedged in between his thighs, his back flush against his front, making him feel hot and a little nervous all of the sudden. And he was pulling a thin as shit surgical gown constituting as a makeshift blanket over the two, up to their shoulders.

This is too weird.

"There. It's a little more comfortable, at least. Jesus this floor is hard as shit. Now where was I?" Romano continued as if they'd sat in that position together every day of their whole lives. Peter wanted to say something, anything addressing their current position, or how quickly things had just escalated.

Instead, he just looked down at the back of the man's big bald head, his jaw clenched as the man finished his ER horror story.

"For 6 whole hours that poor sonuva bitch sat, strapped to a gurney, IV in his arm waiting for the surgical consult that'd seemingly never come. Sounds more like some glorified form of torture than optimal patient care, if you ask me. Weaver's running a butchery down there, honest to God." He ranted some more, shaking his head. That movement alone was restricted on account of his head leaning right against Peter's broad chest.

"Could you imagine if I tried pulling a stunt like that?" Romano laughed at his own thought. A real laugh, too. Not one of the ones he'd let out in OR when someone had just said something stupid, or whenever Anspaugh would give him one of his dumb jokes and he'd have to laugh just to stay on his good side.

Peter had never really heard the man give anyone a genuine laugh. The sound made something stir in that broad chest of his, but he didn't know why. He had some strange desire to hear him laugh again, or to see his smile as he humored himself with his own musings.

"Weaver would have my head on a silver platter if I did that with an appe. The old broad already has enough against me! She'd have every soul in every position of authority fixed on taking me down if I so much as gave someone an extra stitch down there! It's a double standard, I'm telling you." The bald man pointed out.

He sat up slightly, turning his head to look at the taller man when he didn't put his usual two cents in on the matter. Romano observed his expression, finding it hard to read, gazing into those soft brown eyes.

"You feeling okay, Peter? You're never usually this quiet." Romano noted, looking a little concerned

The bald man never received an answer. Not a verbal one, at least.

Robert gasped quietly as Peter's lips hit his own in soft a kiss. He failed to respond to the kiss, but didn't pull away, his eyes closing briefly at the contact.

The taller man pulled away after a moment, leaving Robert gazing at those glimmering, captivating eyes of his. He licked his lips, which were still tingling from their collision with the other man's.

Neither man said a word.

Peter sat there, shocked at what he'd let himself do, not even sure why he'd done it in the first place. What the hell was wrong with him?!

He expected his boss to slap him right across the face, to get away from him and freeze in his own separate corner of the room, disgusted by the actions of his subordinate. When this was all said and done, Romano would probably have him fired and blackballed, and he'd have to skip town to even get a paying job as a dietician.

He was surprised, but far from displeased as Romano got up slightly, moving to sit so he was facing the man head on, straddling his thighs so that Peter's legs were straight. He pulled the surgical gown around his shoulders, then looked back into his eyes.

Peter's breath hitched in his throat as he observed the pure, unadulterated emotion in Robert's eyes. Passion, mixed with raw desire. Whatever had been bottled up inside of him had been released with just that momentary brush of their lips, a fleeting touch, lasting less that 10 seconds. That's all it took to bring whatever feelings he'd kept hidden from the man surging up like smoke from a blazing campfire.

Peter settled his hands on both of Romano's hips, holding him in his place. He rubbed the clothed skin there with his thumbs in a gentle caress.

The bald man took Peter's head in both of his hands, tilting his face upward so that those dark orbs met his own coffee colored ones completely. His pale face was illuminated almost completely by that window on the far side of the room, basking it in white light, reflected off of the snow outside.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Romano leaned in, his slow, yet heavy breaths creating little frosty clouds as they came, until he was so close Peter could feel his breath right against his mouth.

Their lips locked with Romano finally closing the short distance between the two. Peter wrapped both arms around Romano's waist, drawing him closer as he savored the surprising softness of the man's delicate red lips.

He ran the tip of his tongue along Robert's lower lip. The man in his arms moaned softly, opening his mouth to Peter's hot, wet tongue. He had no hesitation in exploring the terrain of his mouth, probing every inch of him, slowly.

Their noses brushed as Romano tilted his head slightly, parting his lips further, moving his hands from Peter's face to his sides, pushing them under his shirt, feeling his rib cage. His fingers ran over the hundreds of little goosebumps that'd popped up from the action.

The taller man couldn't give a damn how cold Robert's hands still were, concentrated on their dueling tongues and racing hearts.

They parted only when they needed to stop for air, chests heaving from their close contact. They looked into each other's eyes, the excitement of their wordless exchange reflected off both of them.

"You warm enough now?" Romano rasped, fingers still running their way across the long bumps in the man's chest. Peter gave him a small smile, still breathless after such an intense kiss.

"Come to think of it, I'm still a little cold. I don't suppose you could help with that, could you, Dr. Romano?" Peter said huskily. Their lips clashed again in another passionate kiss, tongues and hands exploring in their own intricate pattern.

Eventually, the taller man had managed to tear his lips away, earning a disappointed whine from Romano. He gently nudged the man forward, laying him down on the concrete floor below them, the warm surgical gown resting between his body and the cold ground.

He then pulled himself on top of the shorter man, holding his head with both hands, his lips pressing hot kisses against the sensitive skin of his neck. Robert didn't feel cold at all anymore. All he could feel was the delightful heat rising in his gut, and the mind numbing, intoxicating pleasure that surged through his body every single time Benton's lips made contact with his body, which ached for him. He didn't care about being locked in a room, the fact that it had to be at least ten below outside, and that this right here might be how he dies.

All he wanted in that moment was Peter, and every ounce of love he was willing to give on that long, dark night.

The bald man had to admit, he'd thought about it a lot. Not necessarily being with another man, but being with Peter.

His musings had started off so innocent. His eyes would often seek out those large, strong, yet incredibly deft hands as he worked with surprisingly delicacy on his patient's vital organs.

Of course, it hadn't been intentional. Just a busy morning in which he'd only managed to choke down half a cappuccino before going into the surgery with the man, running on 3 hours of sleep after 5 or 6 grueling hours of surgery right beforehand. The thought just kind of popped into his brain as he worked, his eyes almost glazed over from the unbearable amount of time he'd spent staring at people's vital organs.

And once he'd started thinking about it, he just couldn't stop. He really couldn't. No matter how hard he'd try.

Eventually, it'd become a habit. Some not-so-PG musings in the OR with Benton here, having to force himself to look away when they were changing in the locker room there, and before he knew put it lightly, he had a thing for Peter.

He'd always wondered what it would feel like. Those big, strong arms, those large, delicate hands, and how they'd feel caressing every inch of his naked body. He'd always wanted to familiarize himself with the feeling of the man's soft, sultry red lips pressing against his own, tasting his warm, bare skin, venturing lower, and lower...

And he'd always thought it was one sided. That the other man would never live up to his fantasies.

Until now.

"Jesus Christ, Peter..." Romano moaned, his lower back arching as Benton nipped at the pale, freckled skin on the side of his neck, caressing it with his teeth. His hands moved underneath Romano's scrub top, feeling his chest.

They were close, radiating against each other, driven by the other's touch. He could feel Peter's chest rising and falling against his, their legs tangled together as the man's kisses intensified, occasionally moving back to his lips, taking his breath away. Something hard was pressing into Romano's thigh, and he was almost sure it wasn't the man's dead pager.

He cried out into the cold, dark night as Peter shoved his knee in between his legs, pressing it against the perfect spot. Romano moved his hips against the man's knee, trying to gain some friction against him.

He moaned his name loudly, shaking as the fiery sensation in his pelvis grew more intense with Benton's ravenous exploration of his throat.

"God, you're hard." The taller man noted breathlessly as he stopped for air, pulling his head up to gaze at the man. The pale light from outside illuminated him perfectly, highlighting his pink, kiss swollen lips. His eyes bored into his, beseeching, pleading with him wordlessly to keep up his hot and heavy examination of his body. His hips continued to move at a quick pace against Benton's knee as he whined, desperate for something else, something more, already so worked up without any skin on skin contact below his ribs.

"You warm enough now, Dr. Romano?" Peter asked, caressing the man's cheek, holding himself up on his elbows to look at him.

"I suppose I am, Dr. Benton..." The other man replied, whining softly as that knee was nudged a bit harder against his erection. "But we really should keep going. Just in case..."

Benton wasted no time pulling himself on top of the man, straddling his thighs. Romano looked at his illuminated figure. That handsome face of his was colored in the silvery light that reflected off the snow outside, his lovely dark eyes looking at him with something he'd never thought he'd see in them, not in a million years.


Lavish, hot-blooded, almost frighteningly intense desire shone through those chocolate tinted orbs. His eyes wandered lower to his scrub top, a few tufts of his soft, black chest hair peeking out from the deep V-neck of the garment. He wanted so badly just to take it off of him, to drink in the sight of his bare chest, his abdominal muscles rippling as he breathed heavily, wanting more of the short surgeon.

His eyes continued to venture lower, to the thick outline of his member bulging against the fabric of his scrub pants. He brought a hand up to it, brushing over Benton's hardness, causing him to let out a shaky sigh.

"Go ahead. Touch it." He invited, giving Robert a daring look.

Tentatively, he reached his hand into Benton's scrub pants, past the waistband of his boxer shorts, gasping when he felt the man strong and ready against his palm, hot against his skin. He wrapped his hand around him, stroking it slowly yet keeping a firm grip on his hardness.

"Yes, just like that..." Benton groaned, throwing his head back as Romano continued, pausing between his slow strokes to rub his thumb against that extremely perceptive bundle of nerves as the tip of his length. His stomach clenched deliciously as he watched the man react to his efforts, his hips moving gently against his hand.

Another moment went by before Peter brought his own hand down between Romano's legs, pushing it underneath his garments until he reached his goal, rubbing up and down his manhood. He writhed as Peter sped up, spreading his legs as much as he could with the other man's still covering them.

Romano moaned loudly, his other hand gripping the fabric of Peter's scrub pants. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the sensation of Peter's hand stroking his throbbing, aching member.

Peter gazed at the man as they continued on their merry little way, taking in the sight of his flushed cheeks and supple lips, which were parted slightly as his moans and groans of appreciation grew louder and more frequent. He squirmed underneath him, slowly losing his composure as he grew closer and closer to his release.

Eventually, he pulled Romano's hand away, bringing both hands to the sides of his scrub pants. Hooking his thumbs underneath his pants and boxer shorts, he pulled them down slowly, staring into his boss's eyes lustfully. The bald man shifted his gaze from his face down to his now bare thighs and swollen member, thick and dripping with his own precome. He licked his lips at the sight, admiring its remarkable size. It stood past Benton's navel.

"I want it inside of me..." the words passed Robert's lips before he could even register their meaning, causing him to blush hard at how forward he sounded. A rare occurrence it was, the Great Rocket Romano embarrassed over some lewd thing he'd spewed to a colleague.

Peter chuckled airily at him, his hand moving underneath his scrub top to brush against his stomach, the fingers there skimming over the broad expanse of skin, moving in randomized, intricate patterns.

"Not unless you're planning to get lubed up with electrical grease," he said huskily, his hands moving to Romano's own garments, pulling them down to his knees just as he'd done to himself. He then moved back on top of the man, lining his hips up with his own taking one of his hands. He laced their fingers together, and all of a sudden, Romano felt like some young, giddy schoolboy hooking up with his crush of 8 or so months in his father's garage, set off track during some simple task, forgetting about it completely as soon as their lips first made contact.

"Just relax. I'll do all the work..." Benton purred, his free hand moving down to Romano's bare ass, pulling him closer. That one action alone caused the shorter man to yell as their hard members pressed against one another, the movement of their hips generating friction between the two.

Robert wrapped his legs around Benton then, restricting him to his spot, claiming the man as his, and his alone, not to be touched or even gazed upon by anyone else, if only for that one night. His grip on the man only grew tighter as his thrusts got faster and harder, allowing his hips to grind closer and closer against his own.

"Faster, Peter..." he moaned as he got close again, his hand gripping Peter's tightly. His other hand held the back of the mans head as he returned some of his attention to his neck, sucking on the flesh there, striving to leave a telltale mark on him.

Romano took to repeating Peter's name as he grew closer and closer to his climax, his hips moving as fast as they could between the other man's body and the floor in a desperate attempt to reach oblivion. The taller surgeon's name was eventually replaced with loud moans of ecstatic pleasure as he rocked harder against him.

He moved his free arm to clutch Peter's robust shoulders, hanging on as he rode out his intense orgasm, his carnal cry loud enough to make the other man's ears ring.

Benton didn't slow his thrusts against the man until he reached his own release, erupting all over Romano's groin and abdomen. He bit down on the spot between his neck and his shoulder hard, holding the trembling man in his arms.

Robert stared up at the ceiling, reveling in the feeling of Peter's body covering his own still, holding him, closer to him than he'd ever thought he would be in his life. The man kissed away the beads of sweat that trickled across the sides of his head or down his neck as they cooled down from their exertions. He savored their combined scent and the feeling of Peters tough muscles underneath his hands.

He slid his hands underneath the man's scrub shirt yet again that night, feeling his surprisingly soft, rich skin against his palms.

The time they'd shared in that electrical closet on its own made Robert want to leave his wife and kids, and he wasn't even married.

"That was amazing." Romano said simply, fingers trailing down Benton's spine. "You're amazing, Peter."

He earned another laugh from his subordinate. "You're not concerned about my clinical skills any more, are you Dr. Romano?"

"As long as we get to do this more often you can beat your patients with a stick, give them some cocaine and call that thorough treatment, and I won't bat an eye." The bald man said, smiling.

Peter pulled himself off of the man, allowing them to sit against the wall next to each other again, leaning against each other. The taller surgeon used Romano's now slightly wrinkled surgical gown to clean the both of them off from their fun, allowing them to pull their scrub pants back up against the bitter coldness of the room. Jack Frost had already begun nipping at their balls before they knew it.

They were quiet for a while, listening only to each other's breathing, and the whirring of the wind from outside.

The taller surgeon put an arm around Robert, pulling him closer. He put his head against Peter's chest, leaning against him, taking his hand from where it lay on his other side in both of his own. He brought it to his mouth, kissing his knuckles gently.

"You think we're going to die in here?" Robert asked him, not really caring whether they did or not.

"Well, if we do, and we're still in this position, I think the rumor mill is gonna have some pretty juicy material till rapture." Peter replied, humor lilting in his voice. Romano chuckled, giving that hand another loving kiss.

"I'm sure Weaver will be pretty horrified to say the least. Our deaths will bring great publicity upon the hospital, though."

Just then, the knob to the door turned. By the time the intruder had shined their flashlight in the faces of the two lovers, they had long since pulled apart, as if nothing had happened.

Their time together, like a variety of good things, had been interrupted by the lowly John Carter.

"Jesus Christ! It must be 10 degrees down here!" He acknowledged, his arms crossed rather dramatically against the cold. "Weaver sent me down here to look for you guys, and also said that if I turned up without you we'd all be fired and then deported. What's taking so long?"

"Damn door's been locked from the outside ever since we got down here." Peter explained, as if nothing had happened. "Did those traumas come it yet?"

"Yeah, they really need you guys up there. Snow plow vs. mini van. A whole family's up there fighting for their life. One hell of a night, huh?" Carter informed the two, turning around to exit to the hallway.

And with that, Peter grabbed the toolbox he'd been unceremoniously assigned to carry while Romano had taken care of the flashlights.

And off they went to save lives, with the vivid memory of their time together still fresh in their minds, enough to warm them on that cold Chicago night.