tinstar | Malcolm x Raylan: Cowboy Surprise

Malcolm x Raylan: Cowboy Surprise

Art was suspicious right off the bat when Raylan took a week off with the express note that his phone would be Out Of Order til the next Monday, but the Chief Marshal wasn't going to look gift horses in the mouth. Not when it suggested he'd have a few days of peace, until Raylan caved to turning his phone back on again. Still, he watched the younger Marshal walk out of the office and promised himself to check into the state of Harlan within 3 days to make sure that the place wasn't on fire. The smoke would reach him before he called, he was sure.

But Art didn't have much to worry about - Raylan had no plans on staying in the state for his vacation, beyond one day spent closing up Arlo's and securing it the best way he could before getting on a plane to New York City. He wanted to surprise Malcolm - it'd been near two months since they'd last seen each other and frankly, Raylan was tired of missing him. They'd called and texted, stayed in a fairly consistent, if odd houred, touch but it wasn't the same.

Once he landed, Raylan rented a car and navigated his way towards Malcolm's apartment, stopping to grab a bouquet of flowers. It was.. Extra, but Raylan didn't want to show up empty handed, just in case. Thirty minutes later, Malcolm's door buzzer was being hit, like Raylan was here to deliver something. Well, he was, but that was half the fun.

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Tucking the keys into his pocket, Raylan chuckled, bobbing his head in concession before greeting the kiss with a little hum and letting his weight sink forward, pinning Malcolm between the island and himself.

"That's what the gun is for. Not being there most of the time helps. Course, a smart man deals with his problems before they get to his shitty motel door." Or he tried at least. "It's avoided getting shot up so far, somehow. Not exactly a permanent residence."

Even if he'd been there for over a year now.

But he didn't pay any mind to any of that, choosing instead to kiss Malcolm again. When the kiss broke, he muttered, "I'm going to try my best to make sure you don't get caught up in any of my shit."

But he knew it would happen, sooner or later. It always did.

"Well, that's hardly fair, is it?" Malcolm returned with a smile. "You deal with my 'shit' every single day we're together."

He took one hand from around Raylan's ribs and threaded his fingers through the hair at his temple, up over his ear.

"We're in this together, right? That's what it's about. This, right here. And also all the shit. Whatever comes."

His head tilted a little with the fingers in his hair, eyes warm and curious as they studied Malcolm's face so close. "Your shit is only a danger to you," he replied softly, unable to argue against the pull of wanting to believe it would all be okay, to take refugee in the security that Malcolm promised.

He wanted this, this togetherness, this solidarity of selves against the world, but he couldn't help but worry that Malcolm would change his mind later. Still, that was later and Raylan wasn't going to let it sour or ruin the now.

"You make it very hard to argue, you know that?" Malcolm wouldn't have much of any time to answer before Raylan was kissing him again, less chastely then before.

Malcolm would dispute that his 'shit' was only a danger to himself. However much he relished going to bed with Raylan - and he really, really did - he was still quietly terrified of harming him in the night while he slept.

And then there were the John Watkinses of the world, who had come for his loved ones once and could do it again.

Not that he wouldn't gladly break his own hand again to save Raylan's life if he had to...

The kiss put a kibosh on the ramping up of his mind to racing as thoughts dissipated and only Raylan's heat remained. The hand in his hair slipped to the back of his neck as Malcolm eagerly returned it, humming into it, pressing against Raylan as much as his position sandwiched between the taller man's body and the counter allowed.

This time, the John Watkinses of the world would be going against a career Marshal instead of two women ill prepared for that kind of ugliness. They could argue about it later. When Raylan could think more clearly.

The wrap of his arms had him stepping back a half step, bringing Malcolm with him with a sound from the back of his throat before gently breaking the kiss.

"You're also terrible for coming up with any idea that isn't falling back into bed." Malcolm was.. inspiring, to say the least.

"Am I?" He grinned, kissing him again. "Maybe it was the two months," he teased.

His hand slid down from Raylan's neck to pluck open his first few shirt buttons one by one.

"They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but it has effects on other parts of the body, too," he pointed out.

"I don't think it had anything to do with the months," Raylan husked, face alit with amusement, eyes staying locked on Malcolm's face as he inhaled a little deeper as Malcolm started working on his buttons. Still, Raylan covered Malcolm's busy hand with his own, stopping it.

He glanced down for a second, eyeing their hands; woolgathering Helen would have called it before he spoke. "That's not all I came here for." He could get sex, if he wanted it - it'd never been a problem before, and his age hadn't dampened the attention he got. He knew Malcolm had meant it as a lighthearted remark, but Raylan hated the idea of being misinterpreted as shallow.

He didn't say it but it was written all over his face as he looked back up to meet Malcolm's gaze. "I want to enjoy what other people get," he continued, thumb brushing against Malcolm's skin. "I want to come home to someone, talk about our days, go out for date night, fight over dishes and where I leave my socks. I wanna hold hands and make out like we're teenagers and have all the time in the world for that in between."

Maybe it was a stupid way of going about his feelings, but it was that or silence, but he'd started the suggestion and now he felt like he needed to.. clarify.

"That and we're gonna run up a hellva water bill if we're not careful." That at least, came with a lift of a smile.

The notion that Raylan came to him - to him - just for sex was so absurd, that for a moment he was confused by Raylan's need to clarify that. Malcolm had eyes. Eyes trained in noticing and interpreting human behaviour and facial expressions. He saw the way people looked at Raylan. The way they reacted to his presence. He also saw how barely comfortable Raylan was with all this. If Raylan just wanted to get laid, he wouldn't go to a man, much less a man with Malcolm's general bare bones experience with human connections at all, much less sex. The fact that Raylan wanted to touch him so badly meant something to Malcolm, because he understood how many obstacles should have been in the way of it.

But as Raylan continued, he realized that it was a roundabout way of explaining that he wanted a relationship - a full-tilt, proper exclusive relationship - and that road was just the one he drove to get to that point.

Malcolm turned his hand slightly to grip the fingers of the hand that stilled it.

He kept his gaze on Raylan's face, assessing every movement. Finally, he just said "Where do you leave your socks?"

Malcolm's apartment was consistently immaculate, clearly the domain of a fastidious person living alone.

"Because I think what this place could really use is some socks on the floor," he noted conversationally, but with no hint of a joke in his eyes.

The fingers turning into his had Raylan's smile pulling in something close to hope. Maybe this could work. Maybe he just needed practice being okay with this, with what it meant for him personally. He was willing to put in the effort.

The unexpected question made him laugh, breaking the tension around him in one fell swoop. "In my boots if I remember, where ever I take 'em off when I don't or when I need fresh ones. There's a clean up once a week at least so I can drop 'em off at a coin laundry and get them washed. Where do you put yours? I must have overlooked a hamper."

"It's in the bottom of that closet," Malcolm said, lifting his other hand from around Raylan's ribs to point at the door next to the kitchen without letting go of those fingers. "Louisa comes in and picks it up once a week."

Raylan scoffed. "Of course. I can't say much, I drop mine off at a coin laundry." His head tilted, one eye narrowing a little. "You even know how to do a full load of laundry from end to end?"

Malcolm pressed his lips together a moment, then gave Raylan a playfully rueful look.

"I put that load of sheets in your washing machine that time. I feel like I kind of know how the rest of it would go."

"I guess the room didn't flood with suds, couldn't have messed it up too badly," he said teasingly.

Raylan kissed Malcolm again, less eager than before, but no less warm or softly intense. "Why don't you show off your restratable axe target."

"...You want to throw axes?" Malcolm said, raising his eyebrows. "You have to see my axes first!"

He untangled himself from Raylan, letting go of his hand last, only when he couldn't reach it anymore, heading towards the cases at the end of the room. He opened a drawer underneath the one on the right and pulled out two antique bearded axes and held them out to Raylan.

"These are iron so they're a little heavier than yours." Once he'd handed them off, he exclaimed "I have four more!" and turned to grab another two, setting them on the coffee table before digging the target out and hanging it over the fireplace.

Raylan's stupid happy smile followed Malcolm as he slipped away, fingers following Malcolm's hand before they dropped away and he ambled behind. He lifted his eyebrows at the velvet inlays to hold them in place, though he shouldn't have been surprised. Once the axes were in his hands, he started hefting them, trying to find where his hand was most comfortable.

"These are what you practice with?" Impressive. Raylan walked back around the back of the couch, stepping back up into the 'kitchen'. "You weren't kidding about the weight. They used these just for fighting or.." He could imagine trying to chop wood with these. Powerful swings.

"They used them for everything. Battle, building fortifications, chopping firewood..."

He came to stand beside Raylan. "These are from the early 14th century."

He heaved one back and threw it hard. It embedded in the centre of the target with a thwump.

"Shit," was all he could say before watching Malcolm throw. Yeah, he's not going to get used to seeing that much power come out of the shorter man, and would relish every second.

"You ever miss and hit your cases? Should I wait for you to clear the board?" He looked at the axes. "But replicas, right?" AKA well made enough to withstand the throwing. He seemed to remember Malcolm saying that but he was making sure.

"No, they're authentic." He walked up and pulled his axe out of the board. "Not replicas. I said not replicas." He looked at the cases as he stepped back beside Raylan. "I haven't broken the cases." He gestured towards the window behind them with his axe. "But I did go through that window in my sleep. Glass breaks sometimes. It can be replaced." He gestured towards the board. "Go ahead and throw!" he said with a grin.

"Ah," Raylan sounded, but the answer wasn't as helpful as he would have liked. He kept a soft tilt of a frown on his lips despite himself. He didn't like the idea of possibly breaking something that was from the 1300's. At all.

"If you're sure," he finally decided with a little shake of his head as he stepped into place, hefting the axe again to get the blade in the right direction before throwing it in a smooth move, thunking it into the target.

Someone had been practicing, if his form was any indication.

Malcolm grinned broadly, looking at Raylan with barely contained glee.

"You've been practicing," he noted happily. "With the big axe, I'd guess."

Raylan rolled his shoulder in response, smile threatening to curl his features. "May have been. That poor tree is about short a limb because of it too." He couldn't let Malcolm show him up so badly again. Raylan highly doubted he'd be winning any contests with it, silver or otherwise, but he didn't want to look like a fool.

Sue him for wanting to impress his would be boyfriend.

"The bigger axe is heavier. Thought it might help with muscle memory."

"Practiced the limb right off the tree." He looked over coyly. "Missed me that much or just that competitive?" he teased.

Raylan gave him a coy look from the side of his eyes as he walked over to pull their axes down and amble back, handing Malcolm's to him. "Maybe a little bit of both. Couldn't let you show me up after two months of practice now."

"Besides," he continued as he got out of the way. "You were right. Good for letting off some... mounting frustrations."

"Right?" Malcolm confirmed, expression suggesting he knew exactly what Raylan meant as he hefted the axe again for a moment, then gave it a good, hard throw.

Dead centre.

"After this throw, let's move back," he suggested.

Raylan nodded at the suggestion and stepped up, getting and throwing like he had before. The axe landed on the left side of the target with room to spare.

With a hand free, Raylan finished the unbuttoning that Malcolm had started and pulled his overshirt from his jeans.

"I'm almost afraid to ask how far back you can hit it period." See previous concerns about the safety of Malcolm's weapon rack.

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