tinstar | Malcolm x Raylan: Cowboy Surprise

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.

Raylan rolled his shoulders in a shrug, face betraying the casual vibe of it.

"Ya know. To a point." No, he was a total nerd about it. "Enough to get by with everyone else who happens to know about it." He knew historical rosters and all that shit. "Enough to know by the end of the game if it hurt or helped the player, but I'm not doin' any calculations. They hire people to think that for us."

Malcolm saw all of it play across his face and had a hard time suppressing a smile.

"Just enough to get by." A nod. Like he did everything, of course. Pretending to skate while probably knowing more than everyone. "I suspected as much," he said with a knowing look.

He squinted his eyes. "Uh-huh." He sensed Malcolm sensing something. "How much longer til dinner, Mr. Questions."

For no reason whatsoever, Raylan wondered how Malcolm would look in a hat. Like a proper fedora or something.

Malcolm had definitely sensed something and Raylan noticing him sensing something made him grin broadly.

At the question, he turned and opened the grill, turning over the chicken before putting the steak on, carefully positioning it before closing the lid.

"About ten minutes," he declared. He picked up his glass and examined it before taking another sip and setting it down. "I hope the salad... soaks enough by then."

"It's been soakin' for twenty so far. If we let the meat rest after it comes off, we can give it another ten on top of that." Raylan reached for him, tugging him in against him, which everway Malcolm wanted, but Raylan wanted an arm around him while they waited.

"You were right about the view out here. Worth the price. I don't see Lexington often like this." Any part of it.

Malcolm ended up with his front tucked against Raylan's side, gripping the back of his shirt with one hand, bbq tongs in the other, so he could see the grill to Raylan's left and the view in front of him with a turn of his head.

He grinned as Raylan remarked on the view.

"I'm glad it was on a high enough floor for that, but I was really happy just to find an outdoor space. You're from the country. You need air." He canted his head in concession. "Probably more air than this, but this is the most you can get in the city."

Raylan liked this view too, Malcolm and his Bright eyes looking up at him.

"You're right. I'm a man who needs a porch. Possibly with an eve. Something to hang plants off of.. and prop my feet up on. A place meant for cold drinks and sweet tea... But I've been living in the city long enough to get used to this as a substitute. It's not bad, they've been doin planting initiatives, beautification." He made a passing sarcastic rolling shift of his eyes before he grinned at Malcolm.

"I'm going to put a herb garden over there," Malcolm told him, nodding towards the far end of the terrace. "Something to do while you're at work." He grinned. "Beautification."

He leaned over to lift the lid of the grill and flip the steak over, then closed it again.

"Oh?" He glanced over at where Malcolm had nodded, nodding himself a little as he cracked at grin at Malcolm's playful back banter.

"Just so long as you don't start planting hedges or useless trees up here," he conceded. "What kinda herbs are you thinkin?"

"Well... the list is in my phone, which is absolutely not being turned on for at least twenty-four hours." Because Raylan suggested it and it sounded like the best idea all week. "But I definitely remember basil, oregano, parsley, dill... thyme... lemongrass... " He reached across Raylan to lift the lid of the grill, then had to untangle from him to test both the chicken and the beef with the meat thermometer. "It's done," he said, putting them each on the plate and covering them with tin foil.

"We bring it in to rest, right? Can you grab my glass?" he asked as he headed in with the plate.

"Absolutely not," he echoed with a pointed lift of his eyebrows. The phone needed to stay off. He was being greedy and he knew it, but he didn't care. He wasn't going to be answering his phone either.

Nodding at the question, Raylan pushed off and grabbed Malcolm's glass as they headed inside.

"Will you consider a tomato plant too? Fresh tomatoes should be valued like gold, in my opinion."

Malcolm's brows shot up as he set the plate down on the table.

"When I was looking up patio herb gardens, I definitely saw something about growing tomatoes in containers!" he exclaimed. "You want that? We can have that," he confirmed, nodding, as he headed for the fridge to get the salad. "Oh!" he said, snapping his fingers. "I found an amazing ring design," he added, speaking of things he was researching online while he was in New York trying to take his mind off his father's blackmail. "Remind me to show you after supper."

"I've seen people grow 'em out of those big plastic buckets," he offered as he set Malcolm's glass down on the table along with his own and followed into the kitchen to get forks and a couple of knives.

He was already ready to snack on some fresh tomatoes.

His eyebrows lifted again as he followed Malcolm with his gaze, back to the table. "I will." You betcha.

"Good work with Jeremy today, by the way. Never thought you not drivin' would be a boon, but you were right to not promise him anything."

A plastic bucket? It would probably be a handpainted ceramic pot. Malcolm had an aesthetic to maintain.

Malcolm put a serving spoon in the salad, looking up when Raylan mentioned Jeremy.

"Oh, thanks. I mean, in an emergency, I know how a car works, but. That would have been a drive I didn't come back from."

He spooned out a few beans and pulled the foil off the meat, cutting himself a third of the chicken breast.

"Likely after he made me watch him carve someone up in the name of his 'art'."

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