God, is Raylan a fucking sight right now. Shirtless, hair mussed, that mark looking beautiful against sun-kissed skin. Tim only has a few seconds to commit it to memory, and he does-- the rise and fall of Raylan's chest, every single out of place hair, the curve of the mouth he'd just kissed.

Then that perfect mouth is on his neck, a symphony of skillful teeth and teasing tongue, and Tim's breath stutters in his throat. Once he's been tipped onto the couch his head tilts, giving Raylan as much access as he needs to accomplish what he wants. One hand moves to the back of Raylan's head, fingers tangling into his hair like he's dreamed of doing many times before. He can feel his belt being tugged loose, and his legs spread a little wider around Raylan in response.

"Never were one to half-ass somethin'."

And speaking of that, his free hand trails down the other man's spine, over his ass to roam and squeeze through his jeans.