In contrast, Raylan has spent plenty of time in random beds and was an old hat (badumtish) at getting comfortable next to a new body. Not that he wanted to be loud about that, but he adjusted around Tim's adjustments and settled easily. He could nap anywhere to start with, so being laid out in a bed with a person he gave cared about meant that he drifts right off to sleep.

He had his own good and bad nights, a few nightmares of his own but nothing that came near to the trauma of real war. His nightmares also tended to have a trigger - too much dangerous stress after a particularly gruesome or thinnly won gunfight, sometimes the ugliness that they saw on the street or in the jungle, or when he was too deep in his own head. Something he would call regular for someone doing their job. It kept him from bed all together, sometimes. Obviously not a problem tonight.

The draw up out of the blissful black of sleep was a quick one, Tim only getting a few of those kisses in before Raylan's waking was announced with that sharp intake of breath through his nose and a soft hum that shifted into a moan as Tim's fingers trace over and across him, finding the mostly hard length of morning wood. His hips lift into the touch, hand sliding off his stomach and pushing its way under Tim's arm, fingers looking for hip or thigh or- anything really. Contact. Encouragement. All he knew was that he was warm and bed lazy and he welcomed however Tim wanted to greet the day.