When they finally made their way upstairs, it turned out that their rooms were on the same floor, only a few doors apart, so they said goodbye in front of Carver's door. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to step closer, to place a tentative hand on Carver's shoulder, to catch his gaze…

And before Nate knew it, they were kissing, soft and sweet at first, until Carver shifted a little and brought their bodies closer. The feel of him, hot and hard and wonderful, made Nate's brain short-circuit. Instinctively, he deepened the kiss, claiming that perfect mouth, and Maker, Carver's kisses were just as he remembered them, no holds barred, no questions asked. He tasted so good, too, with just a hint of peat and wood smoke from the whisky on his breath, and his own unique taste lingering below it, recognizable even after all those years.

Nate lost himself in the kiss, in the tightening of Carver's muscles under his hand, the scent of him, the rasp of his stubble against his cheek. And he didn't want it to end, he wanted it to go on forever, wanted it with an intensity that was almost frightening.

When they finally broke the kiss, they were both panting, and Nate felt a flush rise to his cheeks. "Carver, I…" He swallowed hard. "Can I see you again? Tomorrow?"

Carver's fist was clenched in the fabric of Nate's shirt, and he seemed unwilling to let go. "Oh yes." His lips were still so close that Nate could feel them move. "Or, you know, you could come in with me now, and stay the night."