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Ian indulged him, and the shirt came off without a word from either of them, Shiloh staring appreciatively at the present he’d just unwrapped. His gaze travelled over Ian’s skin, over his tattoos, the Arabic script particularly catching his attention as Shiloh wondered what it meant. But it disappeared along with the others as Ian’s arm slipped beneath him and pulled them together, their faces once again only inches away.

Shiloh breathed softly, daring to run his hands up Ian’s sides, and over the smooth muscles of his back, before settling over the swell of his shoulders, lightly massaging the skin there.

They were so close that all Shiloh had to do was tilt his face upwards and their lips would meet, and so he did, pressing his lips against Ian’s but not kissing him, just lingering there as he breathed, watching Ian intently.

Shiloh may have initiated it, but as Ian swept him up in another kiss, Shiloh was made very aware of who was the one who had the expertise to finish it. His hand trailed up the back of Ian’s neck, his fingers curling into his hair as he held him close, sinking into everything Ian had to offer. Meanwhile Ian’s hand roamed over his back, and though it was warm against his skin, he shivered at the touch, at the intimacy of the situation. It was the uncharted territory that usually left him nervous and blushing, but tonight, though his face was flushed, he had no intentions of leaving anything unmapped.

“Thinking… Is… Overrated,” Shiloh whispered back where he could, a process made difficult when in the middle of making out and he gave up on saying anything further, not that there was much to say that wasn’t already being said by the way he moved against him, his own thoughts rapidly slipping out of focus.

His shirt was loose, quickly pulled off and tossed aside, and Shiloh was glad it was only a second of a distraction, eager to return to exploring Ian’s mouth with his own. His skin was paler than Ian’s, especially in places not tanned by the sun, and there were no tattoos, only thing marring his skin was the faint outline of a bruise on his side, the only proof of the trouble he’d gotten into a few nights ago, and the reason he was so drunk right now. His fear shield had worked quickly to heal it, it no longer hurt, and if Ian asked about it, Shiloh had no intentions of answering.

He did, however, have every intention on continuing, and he laced his arms around Ian’s back as Ian kissed his way along his skin, Shiloh’s breathing heavy and his eyes closed as Ian’s mouth wandered; all he could do was make appreciative noises in return, lost in the moment. Shiloh might have been without inhibition, but it didn’t change the fact that he’d never done this before, and every sensation was new, and exciting, and it left him breathless.

A second later, so did Ian, moving just enough so that their eyes met and Shiloh stared, almost disbelieving. Yes, he wanted this. What he didn’t want was this, the questions, the questions that lead to doubt and hesitation, questions that without answers of absolute certainty would let the darkness pool in. But, granted, it was a delicate situation, and Shiloh, at the moment, was being nothing short of reckless.

Taking a deep breath, he let himself sink back against the mattress, and Ian’s arm, and tried to consider Ian’s questions anyway, out of respect for himself, and out of Ian. He’d wanted oblivion, and he definitely wanted this, he knew that, as his hand moved to Ian’s upper arm, stroking it idly. He’d downed a considerable amount of alcohol, and while it made thinking hard, it made guessing what tomorrow would bring practically impossible. It hurt to think, and he whined instead, pulling Ian closer.

“I want you,” he said softly. “And no matter what happens tomorrow, I know I’ll still want you.”

There was a pause, and he glanced at Ian.

“So stop asking stupid questions, and kiss me again.”

---

When Shiloh woke, he assumed it was morning but the headache gnawing at his brain made it difficult to judge. At the very least, it was sometime later, and groggily Shiloh moved to lie back into the sheets, and next to Ian. Next to Ian…

Shiloh sat up abruptly, next to Ian who was still asleep. Ian who, as Shiloh lifted the blankets, was sleeping next to him, naked as the day he was born. The fogginess of his mind quickly cleared with the shock of remembering what had happened, and Shiloh lifted the blanket again, just to refresh his memory once more.

He wanted to make sure he remembered it right, after all.

Then he flopped back onto the mattress for good, not sure whether to be surprised, terrified, or incredibly pleased with himself. He settled for the latter, it being the happier path, the one of least resistance, and he turned quietly onto his side, propping his chin up in his hand as he glanced at Ian. He was so handsome, and peaceful looking. Shiloh reached out carefully, gently brushing the mess of bangs from Ian’s face with a smile. He’d done it. They’d done it. Shiloh stared at Ian’s sleeping face with a sort of wonder, like he still couldn’t believe it.

Shiloh’d had the power of alcohol on his side, and couple with exhaustion, it meant his sleep had been uninterrupted, nearly comatose.

It had been great.

No dreams, no nightmares, no worries. As he watched Ian, however, his peaceful sleeping expression changed, which at first Shiloh thought was cute, that Ian just must be having a dream. But the uncomfortable expression passed over his face again, and stayed, Ian looking increasingly unhappier the longer Shiloh watched. Shiloh’d had enough nightmares in his lifetime to recognize the signs when he saw them.

“Ian?” Shiloh asked softly, torn between not wanting to wake him, and wanting to get rid of whatever was ailing him. When Ian didn’t stir, Shiloh reached out tentatively, gently rocking Ian’s shoulder with his hand.

“Ian,” he repeated, a little louder this time. “Ian, it’s okay…”

He had thought that his initial wakeup had been less than stellar, but a little headache was nothing compared to the panic in which Ian awoke, and Shiloh’s fingers squeezed his shoulder, trying to reassure him that it was okay, reminding Ian that he was right there.

Then Ian was awake, and Shiloh was ducking his head, face red at the new nickname.

“I’m okay,” he said, nuzzling Ian’s hand. Despite his embarrassment, his face was still wrought with concern, and he placed his hand over Ian’s on Ian’s chest, rubbing it soothingly. Ian’s chest rose and fell beneath his hand, and it wasn’t the calm, easy breaths of someone having just woken up from a good sleep. He was tense, and Shiloh continued with his gentle massage, frowning a little.

“But what about you?”

“Concerned about me?” Shiloh asked with surprise. “Why would you be concerned about me?”

Even though he’d moved closer, Ian was being evasive with his words and Shiloh leaned back against him, taking a small breath before moving his hand from Ian’s chest, slipping his arms around him and scooting closer.

It was a lot harder to be so forward without any extra help, but considering the state of things, and the state of them, Shiloh knew it was silly to act shy now. His hands rubbed against Ian’s backside, making the same soothing motions as he had before, the tension still obvious.

“A little fuzziness, but a few drinks never hurt anyone.” he said, smiling, “I remember all the good stuff.”

He was smiling just thinking about it, but Shiloh drew back, just enough to meet Ian’s eyes, and the smile faded again in favor of worry.

“What’s up, chicken?”

The kiss was just enough to set Shiloh’s own heart racing, and his face dipped from view again as he nudged his cheek against Ian’s, hiding the flush creeping into his skin against the pillows. “Yeah,” he said softly, because there wasn’t anything else he could say, that was the truth. “Was it, uh… Was it good for you too?”

Shiloh wasn’t one to often give in to self-doubt, but it wasn’t like he had anything for comparison, to him it had been amazing. He could only imagine how it had been for Ian, who had to deal with a fumbling newbie.

But he didn’t have long to dwell, or to hide, because Ian was settling back into the pillows and pulling him with him, and Shiloh, tucked beneath his arm, nestled against him, one arm around Ian and the other coming back up to rest on his chest. His fingers trailed over it as Ian admitted what was going on, moving in gentle little circles. When Ian shuddered, Shiloh stopped, and leaned up quickly and without thinking, to press a kiss to Ian’s tense lips.

It was easier to do that, than to think about the bugs. He had no idea how to make the nightmare that the Sahara had been go away except to not think of it, to bury it so far down that not even his sleeping mind could dredge them up.

“No doubt,” Shiloh said quietly, lying back down and resuming his gentle massage. “It was awful… That must be awful. But we’re here now, I’m here, and they’re all gone, dead and burnt and far away from here. It’s just you and me in my bed.”

He grinned up at him.