Goodnight shrugged out his coat, tossed it and his waistcoat toward the chair once Billy had them off. He sighed beneath the kiss, hands firm as they ran down Billy's back, hauling him closer. They'd had a few moments after the fire fight, and he knew he didn't need to worry about Billy. But he did. He had, from the moment he lost sight of him to the moment he came back into view, Goodnight had worried.

His hands moved, finding the buttons on Billy's shirt. It was easy to work them open, to smooth his hands over bared skin.