tinstar | Slingin' from the hip, never the heart.

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.

Tim's imagination is wild, and he indulges in it often for his own sanity, but it couldn't even begin to compare to the real thing. The way Raylan's mouth leaves a trail of heat and sparks down his body, the tantalizing scratch of facial hair against his skin, the pistol-calloused fingers that slip past his jeans and wrap around his fully erect cock.

There's no way he's stopping Raylan now. Consequences mean nothing when the other man's weight is so pleasant over him, and the liquor buzzing through his brain erases every 'what if' that tries to crop up anyway.

"Fuck," he breathes, his own hands stilling and stopping as he's momentarily overcome by the pleasure Raylan's wringing from his body. His hips arch off the couch, encouraging those slow strokes to become something more. One hand stays in Raylan's hair, tightening to give a single experimental tug. The other drops between them, and while he's not quite as coordinated about it, he gets his fingers into Raylan's jeans and around his length.

It reminds him of fooling around as a teenager in a way he doesn't entirely mind.

That 'Fuck' would fuel Raylan for days - it sounded perfect coming so breathily from Tim, the normal reservation the man kept around him feeling properly sluffed off now that Raylan had his hands on him. Now that they'd both accepted that this was going to happen and abandoned the rest of their sense. That panted word and the way Tim lifts up into him is the sole thing he focuses on, enough so that he doesn't hear the hum of approval sound from the back of his throat as Tim pulls on his hair.

Yeah, he liked that.

His hand strokes Tim more firmly, the silent answer to the ask those hips were lifting towards, and another hitched moan slipping from him as Tim's fingers wrap around him. His own hips did the same thing, just as eager to let Tim touch and feel him as he was to touch and feel Tim. His lips break off from Tim's chest - another mark, and murmurs.

"We gotta get these jeans off," he says, not indicating which pair he was talking about. But it was both, honestly. Begrudgingly, Raylan sinks back down, groaning out with a breath as Tim's hand is forced to leave his length even as he is forced to do the same so that he can tug down Tim's jeans. He didn't bring them down all the way, just enough to fully free Tim's dick. Just enough so that he could sink down and swirl his tongue around Tim's tip before sinking him into his throat.

The office would lose it's mind if they knew that Raylan Givens sucked dick. But his lovers knew that Raylan liked oral sex. He liked knowing he could undo a person with just the skill of his mouth before he undoes them with other things.

Edited 2025-03-19 14:07 (UTC)

Jesus Christ. Raylan sounds downright sinful moaning like that, and if Tim were less drunk, he'd be able to focus more on biting back his own noises so he could hear Raylan's better. But as it is, their moans linger together, and it might be the single hottest sound Tim has ever heard.

His skin aches sweetly where Raylan's teeth were. Not only will he be fending off nosy questions at work, but he knows he's also going to be making a concentrated effort to not get a boner every time the fabric of his clothes rubs against those beautiful marks Raylan has left behind.

At bare minimum it's going to keep things interesting for a few days.

Tim makes a soft disappointed noise in the back of his throat when Raylan leans back, and he can't even tell if it's more from the loss of sensation between his legs or the fact that his hands are now empty, however brief that may be. His hips lift to better assist getting his jeans tugged down, and he barely has time to settle again before that persuasive mouth is on his cock. And apparently, it's good for more than just talking himself out of trouble.

Tim's back arches reflexively off the couch, murmuring a wordless encouragement. Both hands drop, one coming to rest on Raylan's shoulder and the other sliding back into his hair, where he thinks he might keep it for as long as he can, somewhat obsessed with the feeling of the soft strands between his fingers.

The hand in his hair, on his shoulder, the soft encouragement of it all was divine. Tim tasted and sounded better than Raylan had imagined and he was almost jealous he didn't get to see that arch of his more clearly. But as it was, Raylan's vision was limited to looking up Tim's chest, watching that face of his as Raylan starts to bob and suck. No blushing, shy, first timer here - Raylan tests burying Tim in the back of his throat, swallowing once around it before relenting to the needs of his lungs.

While his mouth worked, so did his hands, pushing and shoving at his own jeans until they and the cowboy boots he worn in were clattering on the floor. If he were any more sober, he might feel weird about laying facedown naked on Tim's couch, but he was more consumed with moving a hand up Tim's hip to hold onto him. It's mate helped keep Tim's cock upright for the attention Raylan was giving it. While he was sure he could get Tim off like this alone, Raylan had always been something of a greedy man in these situations.

He wanted everything he could get, in case this was a one night stand. In case Tim comes to his senses in the daylight and decides that this was all a mistake.

Raylan gasps a good breath as he pops Tim out of his mouth, and goes back to stripping off the jeans so they were both naked. He wanted him more than he probably should but this had felt so impossible twenty minutes ago.

Edited 2025-03-20 11:59 (UTC)

Tim hadn't gone out tonight planning on getting too drunk to drive, nor did he invite Raylan up with the intention of getting him naked, but he's certainly glad he did. Because now his fantasies are being shattered in the best way possible, exceeding and breaking every expectation he might have had. Even as it's happening, it almost doesn't feel real.

"Jesus Christ, Raylan."

Raylan's mouth working his cock is too incredible to be anything but real. He doesn't even bother to try and keep the traces of surprise out of his pleasured tone, because nobody could've guessed that Raylan is this good at sucking dick. And he can't help but to watch through a half-lidded gaze, those lips looking delightfully obscene wrapped around his girth, his fingers still curling into that soft hair.

Tim groans low in his throat when Raylan's mouth pops off his dick, propping himself up on one elbow as Raylan gets rid of his jeans. Tim does the same, finally properly freeing himself from the confines of the denim, kicking military boots off to the floor. The second they're both properly naked, Tim's using the hand in Raylan's hair to drag him up and in so he can feel their bodies flush together. He catches Raylan's swollen lips in an open-mouthed kiss, his moan muffled when he tastes whiskey and Raylan and himself on the other man's tongue.

The exclamation earns Tim a low hum of appreciation from Raylan, mouth busy as it was at the time - yes god, Raylan is proud of his other non-gunslinging skills, proud that he could draw such a compliment from his partner. It somehow felt like proof that he was good at more than being a pain in the ass asshole. Good at more than being an unstoppable force, good at putting that tunnel vision he sometimes got to better use.

Raylan got a brief scan of how amazing Tim looked, naked and wanting underneath him, before he was easily pulled down, a soft groan echoing Tim's wildly hot moan into his mouth as his tongue twists with snipers, body shuddering slightly as their cocks rub together, trapped between the space of their bellies. One hand slips up under one of Tim's shoulders, resting on his elbow to support some of his weight, while the other smooths up Tim's bare leg and hip and side, relishing in the open and unbroken swath of skin. Bare skin on bare skin was one of the most sinfully delightful feelings. It felt too good, too right to be between Tim's legs, and Raylan kisses him until his lungs are burning from the lack of proper air.

Breaking the kiss with another little sound, Raylan wastes no time in drifting his lips along Tim's jaw and neck to the untouched side. Make them ask some questions. Goddamn - that statement was going to haunt him in the best way.

"I've wanted to do this with you for months. Wanted to know what you sound like, taste like." He nips at Tim's neck, hand moving from Tim's waist to between them to gather their cocks together in his fist and start stroking lazily. "I want to feel what it's like inside of you."

It would be embarrassing later, that he admitted that out loud, but chances had to be taken. He wouldn't be upset if Tim said that this was as far as they went though - he knew too well some of the hang-ups that could be stuck onto the act and hornier than he was at 17 or not, he would never push for something more than what his partner was comfortable with. This was about trust as much as it was about desire, and only one of those things could be irrevocably broken with thoughtless actions.

Tim laughs breathlessly. It's not at Raylan, but at his own disbelief. Not only is this actually happening, but it turns out that Raylan's wanted it as long as Tim has. And yes, the words do a lot to his dick, but they also do a lot to his heart. And Tim knows the second it skips and stutters in his chest, that he's absolutely fucked.

Literally and figuratively. Because the truth of it is, his feelings go a little deeper than lust, in a way that he's categorically refused to acknowledge or address. Wanting to be bent over and screwed senseless by his partner is a lot different than wanting to wake up next to him the morning after. Sex is the easy part, and it's all the little feelings in between that complicate things. Tim goes to great lengths to keep shit uncomplicated. He sleeps with strangers, exclusively one night stands, never stays the night, and never invites anyone home because it's easier to leave a place than to kick somebody out of one.

If he were less drunk, he probably would've told Raylan to shut up and fuck him then. But the alcohol buzzes in his brain and the words for months make his ears ring, and his hand is running through Raylan's hair over and over again because he really just can't get enough of how it feels.

"You mean to tell me I could've had you like this months ago?" Not acting on this sooner is quickly ranking to be one of the biggest regrets of his life. Especially now that Raylan's skin is flush against his own, feeling better than he could've imagined. Tim's head drops back as that mouth moves along his neck, his breath hitching quietly in his throat when he feels those teeth against his skin. And when Raylan gathers their lengths together to stroke, Tim follows the touch with a lift of his hips.

When he speaks again, he cants his head to murmur directly in the other man's ear.

"Fuck me, Raylan."

It was a rush of validation, hearing that Tim wanted him too - that he hadn't been alone in it even though they both had no idea, clung so tightly to propriety and the ideals of keeping things 'simple'. Tim had his back. Raylan had Tim's. He couldn't figure it as more than just lust, everything in him rejecting those ideas because they just couldn't happen. Statistically, the chances... They both knew how Raylan's relationships tended to go.

In the morning, Raylan would reflect on what it might mean that they were doing this, admitting these things, but right now, Raylan's everything was focused on Tim's reactions. On how he lifts into him, on how good those fingers felt in his hair. Tim's words in his ear make him shiver. It also reassured him. If Tim was worried about him wearing a condom, he'd be more than happy to wrap it up, but he didn't seem to care in the moment so neither did Raylan.

He pulls back a little, enough to spit in his hand and reach down between them, rubbing the spit into Tim's hole and playfully almost threatening a fingering by the way he presses. But he doesn't take it further than that, primarily because he's too busy spitting on his fingers some more so he can make his cock a little slicker. There's no preamble or hesitation in the way he lines himself up, watching Tim's face as he teases him with a circular rub of velvet soft skin, but even he doesn't have the patience for that for more than a few heartbeats before he starts pressing himself into Tim's hot clutch.

He wanted to see Tim enjoy it, and wanted to make sure that if there was any pain, that he could be gentle about it. Never mind that the daydream about how Tim would take it was right up against the test of reality.

Tim has a lot of sex with a lot of strangers. He's always careful, always uses protection even in the drunkest of states. But Raylan's not a stranger. Raylan is his partner, the person who watches his back, the reason why he doesn't always need to position himself strategically to see the whole room when they're together. There's an implicit trust between them that Tim has only ever extended to his war-time brothers, and it exists here, too.

Tomorrow, his back is going to be very angry they're choosing to do this on the couch. Tonight, Tim isn't willing to part from Raylan long enough to move to the bedroom. Not right now, not with the heavy warmth of that body he's craved so long against his and those nimble fingers teasing against his hole. His legs lift, wrapping around the other man's waist, using the leverage to angle his hips and give his partner easier access.

There's nothing that could've prepared him for how it feels to have Raylan's cock pressing inside him. There's some discomfort, a little bit of pain that only shows in the brief crease of brows between closed eyes. But it all quickly gives way to the sheer pleasure of being stretched and filled. The hand that hasn't left Raylan's hair tangles and tightens as his breathing hitches and shudders, his back arching further off the couch the deeper that length slides into him.

If there was any hesitation or doubt left in Tim's mind, it's long gone once Raylan's buried fully inside him. All that matters now is enjoying this for what it is, and for every second he can get it. He grinds his hips upwards, groaning low in his throat as he feels every single inch of Raylan's cock.

Tim was fucking beautiful. The grip in his hair, the way Tim's breath coming tight and shuddered, the way he felt so tight around Raylan's length. Raylan drank in the sight of him, dark eyes almost black with his passion and singular focus. He grunts softly, eyelids fluttering as he sinks in balls deep, and he pauses for a few heartbeats, letting Tim's body get used to the invasion.

If they had lube, if they had something more reliable than the headless drive of passion, Raylan would take longer, would aim to fulfill every dirty thought that Tim had, with an easily given promise to take care of him in the aftermath of it all.

"We'll have to make up for lost time," he says, voice tight and husky as his hips start moving, thrusting shallowly but with a growing confidence if Tim can take it. Raylan was a gentle sort on the surface but underneath it, he was different. Arrogant. On the edge of possessive and aggressive. They weren't fragile men; they'd seen too much to be fragile and vulnerabilities that may come would never be classified by such by Raylan.

It doesn't take Tim long at all to adjust. They aren't fragile men, and Tim wasn't a fan of gentle sex. Soft touches and slow movements were best saved for married couples, in his opinion. He craves roughness, something hard and fast that both numbs his mind and makes him feel alive. There's no point in it if it doesn't make him sit a little stiffer in his chair the next day.

He doesn't expect to be disappointed, not if the way Raylan's thrusting picks up is anything to go by. Tim rocks his hips upwards in time for each one, finding a steadily increasing rhythm that has him pulling Raylan's hair and panting between moans.

"Then you better go hard," he groans, and for encouragement, his free hand comes up to rake blunt nails down his partner's spine.

He wants to see Raylan unravel at the seams, to witness first hand all that charm and confidence become something primal and animalistic, unable to control himself. He wants to find out how Raylan sounds and looks coming deep inside him.

Raylan was delighted to see that Tim could take it. That Tim wanted to take it like that because god, did Raylan want to give it to him. The groan and the nails down his back earn Tim a tight encouraged groan in return and a sharp snap of his hips, deep and hard, circling himself once or twice before he starts thrusting again.

One hand moves down Tim's leg, catching him by the knee and pulling it up, spreading Tim out underneath him so that he could roll his body, smoothing out the steady, firm pace of thrusts. Raylan's bangs had already fallen in front of his face, but that didn't get in the way of his view of Tim bent underneath him.

"Wanna make you feel me for days, put a hitch in that step of yours."

He feels that sharp snap all the way up his spine, a jolt of pleasure that steals an even louder moan from him than before. He'd like to think that if he were a little more sober, he'd be trying to be a little quieter for the sanity of his neighbors. But it actually has nothing to do with how drunk he is, and everything to do with who's doing this to him.

Raylan looks unbearably good-- hair falling into lust darkened eyes, muscles tense where he holds Tim against the couch. Firm and in control in that way Tim craves, but typically struggles to submit to for lack of trust. But that's obviously no concern with Raylan.

"Fuck." He has nothing smart to say to that, because the idea of Rachel looking across the office at him sideways every time he shifts uncomfortably in his chair is thrilling, and the euphoria that Raylan drives through his body with hard thrust is all-consuming. One hand drops between them, curling fingers around his own length to stroke in time with Raylan's movements.

Unless he got sign otherwise, Raylan was geared to go full tilt but all it would take was a word to stop him. In this state, he might have to be hit to snap out of it enough to listen but he'd stop as soon as it was registered.

Tim's moan comes with a tight grip of him around Raylan's cock, and he moans with his partner, feeding off the sound, fucking harder with the very specific purpose of driving Tim over the edge. Hell, in the moment, Raylan was fantasizing about taking Tim to bed, sleeping for a few hours, and waking him up again with a cock in his ass. If he fucks him right, will he earn the right to stay the night? To wrap Tim up in his arms, to wake up next to him?

He watches Tim stroke himself, grunting softly at how good it looked and enjoying the view before his free hand bats Tim's away so he can take over, long fingers matching the pace of his hips.

"I wanna be the only thing that makes you cum tonight."

Edited 2025-03-24 01:35 (UTC)

Tim would be hard pressed to stop him right now. Everything is white hot pleasure and sheer bliss, each of Raylan's relentless thrusts pushing him that much closer to the edge. Heat is pooling rapidly low in his belly, and it's not because he's drunk, or because he went out tonight with the intention of being picked up by a stranger and didn't. It's because Raylan is the one setting all of his senses on fire right now.

This can't be a one time thing. Ultimately, if all Raylan wants is a one night stand, there's nothing to be done about it. Tim will accept that this exhilarating, mind-blowing night is the only one he gets. But if there's a way to convince Raylan that this should happen again, and then again and again, he's going to find it.

There's control in the way that hand replaces his own, and laced within the words Raylan speaks. A sense of dominance that has Tim fully losing his mind, his moans starting to hold an edge of desperation.

"You're about to," he manages between labored breaths, because he can feel that pressure building and building and building, and it'll only be a matter of time before he's shaking apart entirely.

Hearing Tim like this was intoxicating.Tim held himself together so well, so effortlessly to the outside world that getting to see him on the edge of unraveling felt to Raylan like he was getting to watch something that only happened once every ten years or something. Or, perhaps, it had just been too long since Raylan let himself enjoy this kind of engagement.

He moans again at Tim's prediction, swearing softly under his panting- "Fuck, you feel so good" as his own pool of imaginable heat coils around the small low of his back. He had to restrain himself; had to strike the right balance between fucking Tim hard and deep and his own orgasm. The small grunts and half moans that had been slipping out with his breath had gone unheard by his own ears but they got louder as he pumps, as he races Tim towards climax, fully intending on following with him.

"I wanna watch it paint your chest, I wanna see how much you've wanted this." He didn't normally talk like this, but there has been something in the quality of Tim's sounds that egged him on towards it.

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.

Watching Tim unravel beneath him was better than his imagination could have ever crafted, the half panted swears and the arch of Tim's back shoving Raylan over his own edge. His hips and his hand doesn't stop their sweet assault, unloading with a shuddered breath that shivered down his whole body. His hips bury him deep for it and while his hand lets Tim go, his hips can't help but continue to thrust, slowing down to a stop like a machine that has to wind down.

Raylan needs a few heartbeats, eyes dark and glassy, before he lowers himself down a little. He keeps their stomachs and chests apart but bends his head to rest it on Tim's shoulders as he deals with the whiteout of his vision and the drumming in his ears. Goddamn.

"Jesus," he mutters against Tim's shoulder. He was gonna need a minute before he moves again.

Another hard shiver runs through his body from head to toe, groaning softly at the feeling of hot semen shooting deep inside of him. He watches the beautifully controlled way Raylan shudders apart -- hair falling into dark eyes, pupils blown out with lust -- and commits every detail of it to his drunken memory. At bare minimum, he'll be thinking about that expression every time he jerks off for weeks.

Tim laughs softly, because yeah. Jesus. The tempo of his heart is trying to slow, hard breaths beginning to even out, but his mind still feels clouded with a dizzying afterglow. His hand moves back into Raylan's hair, fingers idly winding around and through the soft locks, now a bit damp with sweat.

"Yeah." He can tell without even moving that he's definitely going to be stiff and sore tomorrow. "We should've done that sooner."

Those idle fingers in his hair gets a soft, sighed out hum of a note and he huffs a breath in agreement, dropping a kiss onto the hickey that was darkening on Tim's neck. Pushing back up onto his elbows, Raylan smiles down at Tim, answering as his hips shift to dislodge himself from Tim's clutch.

"No time like the present, hmm?"

He didn't dare ask if it was going to happen again. Instead, he would enjoy his view of Tim underneath him, the comfort of the weight of his legs on Raylan's, and not try to worry about what came next. Cuddling post sex was one of Raylan's favorite activities but that was less easy to do on a couch covered in wetness that would be quickly getting cold.

"You got paper towels or somethin' in the kitchen? Unless you go real old-school and hate your shirts."

Edited 2025-03-25 18:50 (UTC)

There's a soft, pleased noise from Tim when Raylan pulls out. He settles back into the couch for the time being. If he tries to stand right now, his legs will be trembling, and it seems like a bad thing to try to combine with the unsteadiness he already feels from the alcohol. Besides, Raylan seems more than content to take charge of the cleanup, and Tim wants the chance to get more unfettered views of that lean body.

"Not my drinkin' shirts," he mutters, and reaches down to snag his flannel from beside the couch, balling it up and throwing it towards the open door of his bedroom with surprisingly good accuracy given his inebriation.

The apartment is small and open, so he's able to just point across the room where the kitchen is half visible. Traditionally, this is where things get awkward, and where Tim typically dips out before the dust has even settled. But, well-- this is his place, and he knows without a doubt that Raylan would leave if he made the desire known, and maybe that's why that desire isn't there at all.

Tim isn't usually the kind to want that close contact after sex, but he also usually doesn't invite people in, or fuck someone whose last names he knows, or want to do it again in the near future. He bets Raylan would look fantastic tangled up in his bed sheets, and he's quiet as he tries to figure out the most nonchalant way to invite Raylan to stay.

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.

Tim watches openly and unashamed as Raylan crosses the room, taking in the lovely curve of his ass and the nice set of his shoulders. He could easily get used to this, Raylan walking confidently through his apartment wearing nothing at all. Too easily, maybe. But that doesn't stop him from watching on the walk back either, and goddamn are those hip bones tantalizing. If he were a little younger and a little less drunk, he'd be angling for round two right now.

"I hope so," he answers, with a little bit of a shit-eating grin.

He takes the water first, not realizing how dry his throat is until he's taking a drink. Setting it aside, he goes about cleaning himself up, wiping at his stomach and chest before shifting a little stiffly to clean up Raylan's bodily fluids on him, too. The paper towels are tossed, also accurately, into a nearby trash can before he pushes himself into a somewhat more upright position.

God, yeah. He's gonna be sore as hell tomorrow. Following suit, he finds his boxer briefs and pulls them on, still moving a bit gingerly. Really, he's just doing a bit of stalling of his own. His heart skips uncomfortably in his chest before he speaks again.

"Could try for more of 'em in the mornin'."

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?"

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