tinstar | Malcolm x Raylan: Cowboy Surprise

He glanced around the open plan space around them, the expansive windows, the glass door to the terrace.

"It is nicer here," he admitted.

Not just the decor. Like Raylan pointed out, there weren't malevolent locals looking to call Raylan out or hunt him down hanging around the neighbourhood, either.

"If you don't mind driving." He glanced over sidelong as he started chopping the other ingredients. "You'll text me if you're not going to come, right?"

"Then it's settled," he said with a nod. "You'll stay here and I won't have to worry. The only way I'm stayin' out there is if I don't have a choice. If that happens, I'll call. Leave a message if I have to. Something to listen to. Always better than reading."

Raylan set his glass down so he could move around behind Malcolm, sliding his hands around his waist and silently reslishing the feel of t-shirt and the solid mass of man under it.

"The drives kinda relaxing after a day of bullshit too. Gives me a little time to decompress on the road."

Malcolm grinned, letting some of his weight lean back into Raylan as he pushed garlic and oregano into the bowl with his knife before picking up the onion.

"Just remember that if you spend too many nights with Jim Beam instead of me, I might get jealous," he teased. He angled his head up to look at Raylan over his shoulder. "But if you text me when you're leaving Harlan, maybe there'll be something to eat when you get home." Whether Malcolm made it or ordered it.

"I only spend it with Jim when you're not here," he countered, turning his head a little to better see Malcolm's face. "And I never see him before I drive."

Well.. Most of the time.

Raylan leaned in and kissed him briefly. "That sounds fantastic," he enthused softly. "I like the idea of comin' home to see you. You don't gotta stay up for me though, at any point. I don't blame ya for grabbin' what sleep you can."

He watched Malcolm continue with the herbs.

"Still thinkin' about lookin' into the Lexington PD?"

"Sleep is like food: unless there's a compelling reason, I only take it out of biological obligation."

He wasn't going to sleep before Raylan got home unless he'd said he wasn't coming at all.

"Which can wait until you get home to make it compelling."

About the PD, he paused his chopping a moment, then resumed.

"I don't know. I'm not sure they'd even have me."

Raylan could only hum, choosing not to argue the more basic fact of it wearing him down faster. Somehow, he knew better.

"If that's what it takes." It did make him feel good, to be so compelling.

"Course they would. Hell, you get the right scent under your nose and they won't be able to stop you. We weren't. I wasn't and that's sayin' somethin'."

"Tim checked me out," Malcolm said quietly. "He found out everything. They could too." He looked over. "Most people won't be as open-minded as Tim."

"Yeah, but Tim's Tim. And he's got better resources than the locals. Don't worry about that. You'll overpower 'em with your New York style and think circles around 'em before they can blink. Hell, you might get bored." Raylan had met his eyes and stayed steady there as he answered.

"We're not gonna be here long, either way."

He nodded.

"I think I might... focus on Life Things for once," he said. "At least until I get too antsy for a murder to solve. Learn to cook. Learn to play pool. Try and figure out who I am in the parts of me that aren't... trauma."

He slid the onion into the bowl and mixed it with olive oil and lemon juice as the recipe directed, then regretfully had to step out of Raylan's grasp to set it in the fridge.

"They said to make it first so the flavours can soak in while you make the rest of the meal." He turned and pressed a kiss to Raylan's mouth, then took a sip of scotch. "I should preheat the grill, right?"

Raylan didn't look surprised, but he was studying Malcolm's profile more closely with the answer. That was a good thing and Raylan wasn't going to get in the way of it, but he would be keeping a more keen eye on Malcolm's general mental well-being. Nightmares had a habit of coming back around and he didn't think Malcolm's traumas would ever just go away.

He shouldn't let his mother know, but Raylan couldn't say that.

"Okay," he agreed reasonably. Nothing but support here. "I'm happy to help with the pool and cookin', though I wonder how you'd take poker." Would his genius partner turn into a card shark?

After leaning a little into the kiss, Raylan hummed an 'Mmhmm' note of confirmation as he collected his glass. "Won't take it long, maybe 5 minutes. Enough time for you to get the meat ready to go on it. I'll come out with you, keep an eye on it if need be. The grill, not the meat. Or just you, when you're out there."

Malcolm smiled a little at the remark about poker, grabbing the packages of meat from the other side of the counter.

"Before we go out there, which one of these do you want?" Malcolm asked, tilting the package of two towards him. He'd freeze the other.

"Mm," he hummed brow pinching as he glanced back and forth. "That one," he said, gesturing to the one in Malcolm's left hand. It didn't really matter; they were both good cuts. "Make sure you salt and pepper it too; seasonin' beef isn't the same as seasonin' chicken."

Malcolm set it down again and headed out to the terrace, going over to the grill to turn on the tank, then the controls, then pressed the ignition.

It poofed to life.

He adjusted the controls a little, then - since he was passing Raylan - kissed him again and headed back inside to open the meat, put the extra in the freezer and worked on seasoning it. He grabbed the meat thermometer before he headed outside with it on a plate, a pair of bbq tongs hanging from his fingers.

Raylan followed him out, taking to lean against the terrace wall as he kicked the grill on. The passing kiss got a tight grip of his hand on Malcolm's waist before he walked away and he watched him go.

Domestics was never something he got a lot of, even when he and Winona were together for some reason. She didn't cook, or at least not more than 3 meals, and here Malcolm was trying his best to cook for Raylan, to feed him like he'd been fed. He knew it was.. a little foolishly young of him to enjoy the sight of someone he trusted padding around his space, but he was.

"I'mma haveta get you a 'Kiss the Cook' apron to complete the look, ain't I?"

Malcolm laughed as he put the chicken onto the grill, covering the beef back up with a piece of tin foil. The chicken needed longer to cook.

He turned around and looked at Raylan. "Well. If it works."

"Oh," he started as he pushed off his perch, one hand reaching out for Malcolm's waist to draw him in. "It does." Grinning, Raylan kissed him, taking care to not get too unchaste lest he distract Malcolm from watching the meat.

"We'll have you cookin' southern barbeque in no time. Might skip the casseroles though. Never much been a fan."

Malcolm looked quite satisfied with the attention as the kiss broke. "I don't appear to need an apron," he teased.

About the casseroles, he made a bit of a face. "Doesn't seem much point in learning food that neither of us will eat," he agreed. He picked up his glass and took a sip.

"So... poker," he said, looking over, recalling its earlier passing mention. "If you were wondering how I might take to it, can I assume you play?" he asked.

"Just in case I ever forget," Raylan countered with a bounce of his eyebrows and a smirk.

The smirk grew into a shit eating grin. "I do. I used to have a poker night many many years ago; I didn't host but I was dedicated to gettin' to play. You interested in learnin' at some point? It's pretty simple, just remember a few different sets and what makes them up. Won't be nothin' to you, I'm sure."

"I haven't really played it, but I've studied it a little. Poker is more a psychological mind game than anything else," Malcolm pointed out with a grin. "A battle of wits. So I'd absolutely like to learn from you."

"Mm, so long as you follow the rules. No hands under the table, things like that." Raylan smirked behind another sip of his whiskey. "You think you're gonna be able to stop bein' vocal about everything you see long enough to play? Though if I have any tells you pick up, I wanna know. So I can beat them back outta existence."

Malcolm nodded with a rueful smile. Yep. He could see how it was, Raylan. At the part about Raylan's tells Malcolm smirked, then gave him an innocent look.

"But if I tell you your tells, how am I supposed to beat you?" he asked.

"Luck," he replied with a little lift of his head. "Just like everyone else. I'm more worried about you countin' cards. Don't, by the way. That'll get you shot in the wrong back rooms."

He may have seen that happen once or twice.

"Is it gonna be a terrible scandal to your family?" Not that it mattered but he wanted to be prepared.

Malcolm grinned. "Getting shot in a back room?" he teased. "I'm sure my family has survived worse scandals," he added dryly. He looked at Raylan fondly. "Do you really think I'm capable of counting cards?" He was very touched. "Well, you might be relieved to learn that, while I have an almost eidetic memory, I am not good enough at math to count cards. I will almost certainly have to rely on reading everyone's cards on their faces, as I don't believe in luck."

"I think enough attention to studying a path, you're capable of anything darlin'." And he meant it.

He'd look up 'eidetic' later.

"What about statistics? Lots of those in poker, and none of which I pay attention to."

"Really?" Malcolm said with piqued curiosity. "You like baseball, too, which is also really statistically driven. Do you pay attention to those stats?" he asked.

Maybe he didn't care about trends and individual player achievements. Maybe he liked watching the game move. Maybe he liked the ebb and flow and aesthetic of it.

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