Raylan pulls back slightly, giving Tim the room to chuck his shirt and chuckling at the dedicated resolve about it. He gets the nod of direction and nods himself, slowly and carefully (and reluctantly) pulling himself back up onto his knees and onto his feet. He wasn't a hundred percent stable, but he was less drunk than Tim and less likely to cause himself some head injury from a fall in their most vulnerable situation.

Confident in his body, Raylan wasn't embarrassed to be seen naked or, apparently, to stroll across Tim's apartment to the kitchen. Quickly wiping himself down, he gets a glass of water and a few more paper towels and pads back to Tim.

"Figured a swallow or two of water wouldn't go amiss. All that noise we made. You're not gonna get complaints in the mornin', are you?"

Now that his only task was done, he was going to have to figure out what to do with himself. Sitting back down was, somehow, not an option. You just didn't put your bare ass on another man's couch like that. So, instead, he hunts for his pants, fishing his boxer shorts out from them. If nothing else, it might look like he's getting dressed, rather than stalling.