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“What?” Shiloh mirrored, surprised by the question as much as Ian was surprised by his reaction.

That moment’s hesitation was all it took for his own hesitation to slip in, snatching like a predator at the part of him that sung and making his smile fade, reminding him what people might think, reminding him that he wasn’t brave enough for this, that it was easier to pretend he hadn’t enjoyed it, that his heart wasn’t beating loudly in his chest.

In his head, Haruka growled, and effectively shushed that part of him. Then she fell back into her sleepy silence, and left him alone to deal with the rest.

Her intrusion had been a quick slap upside the head, and it knocked him just enough to keep him from crashing and burning, but it did nothing to help him answer Ian’s ‘what’.

He didn’t know what, or what to say, and he certainly didn't want to admit to his inexperience, but the warmth crawled up his face again anyway, his face as much of a shade of badly mixed blue and pink as his hair.

He had definitely liked it. It was a culmination of years dreaming, all pressed into a simple, gentle kiss and he was infinitely glad he had liked it. It had made sense to him, just as he had always thought it would. It made the butterflies dance in his stomach and the proverbial sparks fly. It was amazing. He had liked it before too, but everything had been lost in haste, Ian quick to take his reaction as a rebuttal, and to blame himself, and Shiloh had been quick to hide the fact that he might have liked it, too naïve and insecure about it all, too intent on making Ian take responsibility for his feelings, because Shiloh sure as hell couldn’t.

But here, it was just the two of them, no potential for interruptions, both of them too exhausted to do anything but just be. Ian had let his guard down in front of him, and Shiloh had done the same. He didn’t know what it meant, or what it would mean the next day, but Ian had asked for permission to do it again, asked him out loud this time, his hand gently pushing the hair from his face and any permission that Shiloh wanted to give got caught in his throat, so he nodded meekly instead, his heart thumping even harder.

There was no disgust, only innocent anticipation that didn’t go unrewarded as Ian leaned over him and kissed him again.

His initial excitement gave way to a happy, sated feeling the long Ian’s lips remained against his and it was nice, was all he could think, kissing was nice. At this moment, it didn’t have to be anything else, just warm and soothing, an escape for them both from thinking, from their demons, from everything beyond this moment. Ian hand dropped from his face, curling around his back in a gentle tug forward and Shiloh dipped his face away finally, exhaling a soft shuddering breath.

He gave into the arm around him, not pulling back yet he leaned against it, grateful for it’s support. Opening his eyes, he stared almost shyly at Ian, leaning his head back onto the pillow while he caught his breath, and his nerve.

“That was... definitely something,” he said softly, his tone teasing and his expression oddly content.

Shiloh couldn’t help the laughter that escaped him, and he turned his face from Ian’s gaze, trying to stifle the sound in the pillow.

“No, it was totally awful,” he teased again playfully, rolling back to look at Ian. He reached up with his hand, timidly seeking out the other hunter’s face with his fingers, tracing the contours of it with unsteadiness that betrayed the grin on his face. Shiloh laughed again, a shaky chuckle.

“It was good.”

He had thought about it, and that was the truth. Shiloh didn’t have much in the way of experience for comparison, but he had enjoyed the warmth of Ian’s lips, the taste of him, the subtle scent of his cologne.

It was strange the he was the one reassuring Ian; even though he hadn’t a lick of experience in these matters, and his own skill level was total beginner, Ian had asked him if it had been good. Of course it had, Ian was the one who had brought the good to the table. But it seemed par for the course that Shiloh was once again the steady one, well versed as he was in pushing any feeling other than happiness so deep it couldn’t dare scratch the surface.

He watched Ian press his lips to his fingertips, one by one and Shiloh suddenly felt altogether too warm as Ian continued to his wrist, his hand sliding over his back. The feeling was almost ticklish, and he flinched a little as Ian’s hand rested between his shoulders. The fever easily explained why Shiloh’s skin felt as though it were burning up, but it was only partially the reason, Shiloh’s head swimming as though he were in a dream. He couldn’t believe that he was doing this finally, that he was lying next to someone, or, as Ian pulled him up gently, over top of someone, someone that had kissed him and that he had wanted to kiss and it was all so new. It was intoxicating, and he collapsed onto Ian with a sigh.

It had been good, that was all that mattered. He’d deal with everything else later.

“There’s nothing to thank me for, Ian,” Shiloh said softly, smiling down at him. “What are friends for, right? Although I don’t think that friends usually do this.”

He gestured haphazardly at the both of them. He was sure, at least, that there weren’t any of his friends that had done this sort of thing with him. He wasn’t entirely sure what it meant, in any sense, or in any long-term sort of setting but feverish and sleepy, he was content to let it be simply that Ian was attracted to him, and he was attracted to Ian. It seemed simple enough, and he reached up with his own hand to touch Ian’s face again, trailing more boldly this time over his jawline before moving upward, brushing Ian’s bangs from his face.

“Do they?”

“Where was I going to go?” he asked, his eyes dancing with laughter. “You were hogging my bed.”

His fingers slid from Ian’s face, coming to rest on the pillow, his fingers intertwining gently with the short strands of Ian’s hair. His touch was curious, exploring new territory before timidly pausing, or pulling back, not as sure as the fingers tracing his own jawline in their venture. He surmised Ian had done this sort of thing before, had done all sorts of this thing before, and he wondered if the pace, that seemed blistering and fast to him, was boring to Ian. He didn't have long to dwell on it, because as soon as Ian called him attractive out loud, Shiloh’s hand stilled altogether, his face taking on a stupid doe-eyed expression again, and his cheeks burning pink. It was one thing to think about it in his head, and another to hear it said out loud, by the man currently pressing his thumb gently over Shiloh’s lips.

“I’m not, really,” he argued with a grin, his wall of defense against his embarrassment. He knocked on his head gently with his hand.

“Not a whole lot going on up there, see? You’re just thinking too hard.”

Jokes were good. Jokes were evasive.