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Shiloh was very glad to reach the door to his room, walking having turned out to be a lot harder than he remembered it being. He was grateful Ian was there to hold him up, and he’d leaned on him most of the way, happy to have the help and the contact.

He stumbled into the room past Ian, and by the time Ian finished closing the door, Shiloh had somehow ended up on the floor, wrestling with taking his boots off and looking very silly in his ducky costume. He tilted his head to look at Ian, his hood sliding off.

“Yeah, good,” he answered, smiling up at him.

Past the point of debating his actions, Shiloh patted the spot on the floor next to him, and went back to removing his boots, then his socks. He was determined that Ian and him were going to have a ‘chat’, but clothes would only get in the way of the dialogue he was thinking of. Maebe had stolen his booze but that wasn’t about to slow him down, especially now that they were alone, and the door was shut, and he was almost completely certain there was no one lurking in the dark corners of his room.

Shiloh thought Ian looked very handsome in his skeleton outfit, and Maebe hadn’t been the only one who’d stared with an appreciative glance upon first sight of him. Unfortunately, Shiloh hadn’t yet summoned full potential of alcohol, so the glances had been subtle, and fleeting.

In his room, however, he was totally allowed to stare. He could look all he wanted. In fact, in the privacy of his dorm room, he wasn’t limited to just looking, and Shiloh intended to take full advantage of that fact, before his liquid courage wore off. Barefoot, and still dressed in his towel, Shiloh pushed himself off the floor and crawled over Ian, straddling his legs. He leaned forward, just enough so that their faces were almost touching, and he pressed a quick kiss, soft and affectionate, to Ian’s lips, before settling back and nodding his head.

“Lots of fun,” he said cheerily, taking the opportunity to admire Ian’s costume close up, tracing his fingers over the bone patterns on his chest. “Did you?”

“Mmm,” he mused, running his finger over the last rib before glancing up at Ian, smiling. “It wasn’t too chaotic, was it? Maybe we should have gone to see what they were all shouting about.”

His voice was soft, and sometimes his words slurred together a little, but for the most part, it was easier to formulate his thoughts, alcohol or not. Ian was right, the party had been chaotic, and distracting, but Shiloh only remembered it as being hard to focus, probably because of the drinks he’d been downing in rapid succession. As it were, he was quite pleased to be settled in Ian’s lap, the room quiet aside from the sound of their breathing, until, as Ian’s hands moved tenderly over his legs, Ian asked his question.

It made Shiloh smile again.

It was a little knowing smile, like he was in on some secret, and he leaned in to kiss Ian again, happily draping his arms over Ian’s shoulders. His lips lingered longer this time, pressed firmly against Ian’s until he finally pulled back with a breathy sigh, not moving far, just enough so that his cheek rested against Ian’s.

“We’re having it, already,” he couldn’t help but giggle softly, his breath warm against Ian’s face.

“Yeah,” Shiloh answered, soft sounds escaping him as Ian’s lips found the nape of his neck, then his throat, and he had a hard time focusing on Ian’s voice, and an even harder one trying to articulate his words well enough to come up with an answer. That had been precisely his excuse, and judging by the way they were entwined on the floor, hands on each other, everything was going entirely according to plan. He laughed again, softly, and pulled himself back just far enough to press his lips to Ian’s temple, reveling in his own lack of inhibition, and at the same time, utterly enjoying it.

That was the whole point of getting smashed, after all. He didn’t want to overthink where things were going, as he gently pushed himself off of Ian. In fact, he didn’t want to think at all, not about what had happened, not about what was going to happen, he just wanted one night where all he had to do was feel, go with the flow, and where nothing bad would happen. He wanted, in other words, to make the most of his inebriation.

He shrugged off his towel as he rose to his feet, swaying a little and he reached out and clasped onto Ian’s shoulder with a laugh, steadying himself as his ducky costume fell unceremoniously onto the floor. He finally managed to straighten up, and he held a hand out to Ian to help him up, grinning down at him.

“Maybe,” he answered coyly.

“Maybe you should have called me Slyduck.”

Shiloh laughed, wrinkling his nose at Ian and his nicknames. His hand was still closed around Ian’s, and he took a moment to enjoy standing next to him, to enjoy the warm fingers resting against his back.

Then he was squeezing Ian’s hand, and dragging him towards his bed, which upon reaching, he pushed back the blankets and crawled onto it, pulling Ian on after him.

“Chicken?” Shiloh countered, looking up at Ian with a grin. He couldn’t read Ian’s expression, and he furrowed his brow a little bit trying to figure it out, before giving up and giving in to his own wishes, reaching over to tug Ian closer. He thumbed at the sleeve of Ian’s costume curiously, noticing for the first time how tight it was. His brow furrowed again, and he glanced back up at Ian.

“How did you even get into this? How are we gonna get you out?”

Appeased by Ian’s compliance, Shiloh settled back against the pillows, his hand still on Ian’s forearm. He rubbed it gently, while Ian played with his hair, and returned Ian’s smiling expression. But the expression didn’t stay long on Ian’s face, even as he leaned in, nosing him affectionately. The smile gave way to seriousness, and Shiloh met his eyes, not uncertain, because he’d made up his mind, and there was no performance anxiety that came from being sober. He stared back at Ian, taking in his answer.

He couldn’t have asked for clearer instructions.

A mischievous look on his face, Shiloh’s fingers slipped from Ian’s arm and over the contours of his chest, and stomach, until they found the hemline of his skeletal shirt. He slipped them underneath, and they grazed over the warmth of Ian’s skin, splayed against without a whole lot of room to maneuver beneath the taut fabric. His hands strayed to Ian’s sides, and he finally closed his fingers over the bottom of his shirt, tugging it upwards with the same insistency as he had tugged at Ian’s arm only moments ago.

“Like this?” he asked cheekily, meeting Ian’s gaze again.