Tim tastes like sweat, salt, whiskey, and himself, the best mix that Raylan's mind had barely been able to imagine, and Raylan finds it its own kind of intoxicating. That or he's been thinking about doing something like this to Tim for long enough that actually getting to feel and taste the younger man is an overwhelming rush that's going to carry Raylan away.

Belt and button's open, Raylan slides a hand under Tim's waistband and moves it around his hip as he breaks off from Tim's neck. The short hairs of his goatee scrap along Tim's skin as Raylan moves down his neck and collarbone, lips coming to settle on Tim's chest so he can bite and suck again. His hand comes back again, long fingers brushing across the low of Tim's hips, fingers searching for the length that he felt pressed against him so he can curl them around it and stroke softly.

If Tim wanted to stop him, he could, but nothing in Raylan thought that he would. They'd danced around this for too long, come so dangerously close to something like this a few times before, stopped by sobriety and concern, that Raylan was sure Tim wanted this as much as he did.