What he didn't expect out of this was for Raylan to be so chatty, but he's not complaining. Quite the opposite, in fact-- each word in that honeyed accent spurs him on further, turning his grunts and moans into something more desperate and heady. If he weren't so drunk, if Raylan didn't feel so damn good slamming into him, he'd be making more of an effort to swallow down his own noises so he could hear more of Raylan's. As it is, their groans mix and linger between them in a way that's too intoxicating.

It's only a few short moments before Raylan's getting what he wants. He can only swear, a short string of fucks and Jesus Christ as he's pushed right over that edge, hot and sticky cum striping his stomach and chest. His whole body tenses and tightens, back arching fully off the couch as he throws his head back. Both arms wrap around to dig his fingers into the other man's shoulders, practically clinging as he rides out wave after wave of sheer euphoric pleasure.

His ears are ringing and his head is swimming and it's insane just how much better this was than the many nights spent with his fantasies and right hand.