His fingers only stop their unbuttoning as Collins' fingers as the Irishman fists that grip in his hair, earning a little note of approval as his head is pulled back, as his neck is so sweetly assaulted. He imagined that Collins had been pent up, or maybe that was his own denied need rearing its head. Heartbeat thrumming under Collins' lips, Raylan groans softly as the shorter man steps away and watches him as much as he could without adjusting too far.

"I'd feel comfortable with my bullets back in my gun and it all tucked away somewhere. You know they count bullets, the US Marshals? To account for every shot fired." The statement was ended with the soft clank of his belt against itself as he pulls it off and tosses it to the side before walking around the bed. It didn't take long, he found his clip, sets it in place, checks the chamber and tucks it into the nightstand drawer. Everything else is set off to the side somewhere, pants and boxers shucked in one go, and Raylan ambles back to where he was with his hands wide. Nothing in them that would be unexpected.

He drops back onto the bed and scoots up towards the center, half propped on the headboard with his ankles crossed as he watches Dennis. A name he hadn't been given leave to use yet, but it was on his mind.