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Ewen did not wake again until the light of mid-morning shone on his face through the louvres of the shutters; they had not troubled to draw the curtains, the night before. Keith was now so far over to his side of the bed that the crush was almost insupportable, and Ewen lay for a moment appreciating the heavy warmth against him; appreciating rather less the cold plaster of the wall at his back.
At last he sat up, and wriggled to the bed's foot, only to find his hand taken in that hard, warm grip again. "Where are you going?"
"I didn't know you were awake!"
"I am now. So, where?"
"You seem to need more of the bed," Ewen pointed out. Keith tugged, so that Ewen fell back towards the pillows. "Is that a reason for you to go? Dammit, man, I spent more time in bed with those bloody maggots than I have with you! What I need isn't the bed - "
"Keith - " Ewen pressed his face to the broad chest where the knife scar was still livid red; in his nostrils was the smell of clean sweat and something else, uniquely Keith.
"Be quiet. Not the bed. You;" The grip was on Ewen's shoulders now, shaking him exasperatedly. "You're like your country, all air and water, you slip through my hands. But I'm English, and that means earth and fire. I'm a red-blooded man, Ewen - surely you've seen enough of my blood to know that? - so unless you're as green as your damn plaid - "
"Keith." Ewen's urgency silenced the other at last ";No," he said, and then, fearing lest he be misunderstood, "No, I'm not green. And I'm not going anywhere. I don't know where I was going, but now what I want is for you to stop talking - "
The sentence was never finished. "Come here," Keith said, kissing him ruthlessly; and then, hesitating, "If you're sure - unless you're still tired - "
"Strangely enough," Ewen said, sliding one hand round the back of Keith's neck, "I find that I am no longer so tired."