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

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?"

There's a second where Tim thinks Raylan's going to turn him down. And while he'd accept it, because it's honestly probably for the best, it would really fucking suck. It's not like he puts himself out there often. Or at all. Which has less to do with rejection and more to do with not wanting to saddle anyone else with his baggage. This is likely just a step in the direction of making things messy and complicated anyway, so maybe Raylan's right to call it here--

But then the jeans clatter back to the floor and Raylan's hitting him with that crooked smile, and Tim almost can't believe that worked. Just like that, Raylan's staying the night. They'll wake up intertwined with wandering hands and he'll be able to experience Raylan again in a whole new light.

His mouth twists in that way that indicates he's trying not to smile, hands sliding flat up Raylan's chest and shoulders, crossing arms loosely behind his neck. He doesn't even mind that he has to look upwards a few inches to view Raylan properly. There's even something he likes about it.

"You can try to sleep in," he offers, "But I plan on makin' it real hard."

He didn't quite expect Tim to go full arms around his neck, an easy but intimate posture that somehow suggested to Raylan that they could get comfortable standing like this together. It made something in his chest go warm. Yes, this was probably going to be messy, definitely complicated considering their job, the position they both held in the office. But that had never stopped Raylan before and he knew Tim had baggage. They all had it in some manner, and Tim's flavor of baggage wasn't something Raylan minded. He would support Tim, regardless of what was happening between them. If things went south-- well, he'd deal with that bridge when they came across it.

For right now, all he wanted was what Tim was offering. The chance to lay down properly in a bed, wrap himself around the sniper, and pretend that this wasn't going to be complicated. Better to look at everything in the morning anyway.

"Oh, you know I love a challenge," he chuckles as he bends to steal Tim's lips in a kiss, one hand sliding down to rest on the top of his ass.

"Lead the way, darlin'."

Almost every aspect of this situation is foreign to Tim. They're at his place, spending the night together, about to fall asleep all tangled up. It's so far removed from the string of one night stands with no last names that he subscribes to. The one thing that is familiar about it is Raylan, and that creates a sense of security that he's not used to outside of them kicking down doors together. But it's enough for Tim to lean into what he wants instead of shy away from it.

The alcohol also helps. Kind of a problematic amount, but that's just more of that baggage.

"I know, it's usually a pain in my ass."

And now he can mean that figuratively and literally. He smirks into the kiss, giving Raylan's hair a light tug before moving to lead the way. His stomach does something stupid and fluttery at being called darlin', but it's studiously ignored. He points out the bathroom as they pass it, and kicks the flannel he'd thrown into the doorway toward a laundry basket.

The bedroom is much like the living room in that there's not much in the way of personal belongings. A dresser with a TV across from the bed, which is impeccably made with neat creases and lined folds. There's another framed photo of the same older blonde woman on one of the bedside tables, and next to it a very battered copy of The Wizard of Oz.

The light switch is ignored, but he turns on the lamp beside the bed as he starts to pull back the bed sheets, moving a bit stiffly each time he has to bend at the waist.

The tug in his hair earns a hum and a flash of impishness in his expression as the kiss breaks, playful eyes following Tim before the rest of his body did. Ironically, he thought of the same exact joke - wasn't he a real pain in the ass now - but he didn't know how comfortable Tim was with that kind of commentary. He knew how comfortable he was about it, but that comfort depended entirely on if he felt secure in his situation. Tim and his apartment were safe. Tim had- no, shared - some secrets that Raylan did; on the plainest level, they faced the same threat.

Raylan gets to enjoy the full view of Tim's back as they're led along, him glancing around the room, eyes lingering for a moment on what must be a picture of Tim's mother before his attention is drawn to which side of the bed Tim got in on. Important information. The stiff movements get a smirk, but Raylan doesn't say anything until he crawls into the sheets next to Tim.

"I snore too loud, just elbow me real hard."

He waits until Tim turns off the light to drape a loose arm over Tim's waist, scooting fractionally closer. He unabashedly loved this shit, though it was always better if they fell into tangles for those post sex cuddles he enjoyed so much. Once they were both settled, Raylan pushes his luck a little further and drops a kiss onto Tim's shoulder without a word - a silent 'Thank you' before he drifts off.

"Don't gotta tell me twice," Tim murmurs, but his voice holds an unmistakable teasing tone.

It takes him a moment of shifting to truly get settled. He expects to have more trouble with it than he does. It's easily been years since he's shared his bed with someone in this capacity, and having another body behind him feels strange at first. But it's Raylan, and that means the arm that settles over his waist is safe, and the kiss that's placed on his shoulder is soothing. It only takes a short moment for Tim to properly relax, leaning back somewhat into Raylan's chest as he falls asleep.

--

Tim doesn't dream that night, and that means it's a good night. Bad nights are plagued by nightmares, which are the only dreams he ever has anymore. Those result in him waking up in a blind panic, ears ringing, teeth gritting on sand that's not there, nose burning from invisible gunpowder. And for the rest of the day, he's never quite able to get that dryness out of the back of his throat.

The right amount of alcohol helps to stave them off. So does the right kind of bone rattling sex, and he got both last night.

Sunlight is just starting to seep through the curtains, but like always, it's Tim's natural biological clock that causes him to stir. They've shifted throughout the night, Raylan on his back and Tim on his side just a few inches away. It's nice, waking up first. It means Tim has a moment to lay there and stare at his partner in the morning light.

First, he's taken by the reality that Raylan's even there, that last night really happened and it wasn't all some very elaborate, vivid, alcohol-fueled fantasy. But then there's the fact that Raylan looks unfairly gorgeous like this, sheets pooled at his waist, hair a tousled mess, expression relaxed to the point of almost vulnerable. Tim almost doesn't want to ruin it, but, well--

He did say he was going to make it hard to sleep in.

He inches closer until he's pressed along Raylan's side, leaning up so that he can press slow, gentle kisses along the stretch of skin that's Raylan's collarbone, gradually working up his neck. One hand snakes beneath the sheets, fingers trailing lazily over the delicious curve of those hipbones before ghosting along the side of Raylan's cock.

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.

It makes sense that Raylan's quick to wake. Tim is, too; it's the nature of their jobs, providing a sense of awareness that's always ready to be flicked on at the drop of a hat. Or in this case, a kiss of the neck. It's nice, feeling the hum in Raylan's throat beneath his lips. Raylan's hand finds his hip, and Tim let's it stay there for a moment while he traces lazy fingers over the dips of hipbones and the curve of Raylan's thighs, only ever brushing feather-light touches along Raylan's length as he does.

This only lasts for a few moments though. Last night was incredible, but he never got the opportunity to find out what Raylan's cock tastes like. And now he's in the perfect position to do just that. Without stopping the gentle kisses along Raylan's clavicle, he shifts to put himself between his partner's legs, bracing a hand on either side of Raylan so that he's hovering. He kisses down the center of his chest, over the lines between the muscles of his stomach, shifting himself further beneath the sheet as he goes.

This could easily devolve into something more hurried and eager eventually, but for now it's only 6 AM, and Tim's content with taking his time.

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