To hell with a little younger; catch Raylan more sober and two rounds were achieved easily enough, with gusto. Maybe some part of it was an eternal fight against his age. He did well in things that made him a man and old age threatens to steal it from him. Maybe it was just pride and health.

The boxers snap in place and instead of getting his jeans, Raylan grins at Tim's shit stirring nature and the results that it would no doubt get, grabbing his half finished whiskey and emptying it down his throat. He tries to look busy kicking one boot upright, but watches sidelong as Tim gets up and pulls on his boxers. He was a little sad that stretch of skin from chest to knee was getting covered up, that unbroken line was always a delicious one. He bends down and gets his jeans-

The invitation made his heart skip a beat. Of course he was going to say yes. Only an idiot would get dressed and leave after that suggestion. He was a weak man sometimes, but this one didn't bother him. There was nothing wrong with wanting contact, connection. Wanting Tim. Right? He looks over and after a heartbeat of his own, drops his jeans.

"We talkin' six AM wake up?" He gives Tim a crooked smile and ambles closer, pushing his limits and sliding his hand around Tim's waist as he steps in. "Do I get to be the big spoon?"