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

Raylan gives him a toothy half pulled grin, hips pushing forwards with a gentle grind, bangs wild and half in his eyes. Bending, he brushes his lips across Tim's as he answers with a brief chuckle.

"Guess you're gonna have to tell me, ain't ya."

He pulls back, tugging at the boxers until he could cast them aside and drop himself gently back down to kiss Tim all over again. Seems he couldn't quite get enough of that, like a thirsty man sipping at a shallow pool. He wishes they had lube and makes a note to buy them some for- Well. Later was later. Now was now.

Raylan spits into his hand, smearing it against Tim's hole before repeating the move to slick himself a little. He watches Tim's face, hungry to watch the reaction of his invasion with non-drunk eyes, like he was verifying that Tim was a glorious in the morning light as he was in the evening dark. Rubbing his tip against him, Raylan hitches a groan himself as he starts to press in.

His heart skips again-- it's that fucking grin, and the sunlight coming through the window, catching and highlighting the lighter streaks in his hair, and the way his body cages Tim's and Tim still feels wholly comfortable. He's not drunk now, he can't keep pretending like it's just the sex.

And even knowing he's fully fucked, he kisses back hungrily, exploring as much of that mouth with his tongue as he can before Raylan's pulling away. The second he suggests they do this again -- and he is going to suggest it before the morning's over -- he'll be leading himself into an inescapable trench, always stifling growing feelings with each hook-up. A unique kind of self-destruction.

He settles into the bed, spreading his legs a little further to give Raylan better access. His hands slide up the other man's forearms and over his shoulders, coming to rest in the hair at the nape of his neck. His breath catches in his throat when Raylan's length starts to press past the tight ring of muscle, lips parting, head sinking back against the pillows. It feels just as incredible as it did last night. Better, actually, now that his senses aren't dulled from alcohol.

It was offical. Tim was glorious, head rolled back, breath all caught because of him. It was its own high and Raylan can't stop himself from bending down to pepper lazy kisses up the top of Tim's chest as he starts thrusting. Last night was for heady reckless need and Tim had driven Raylan to that already this morning, but he wanted to make sure they both enjoyed as much as they could.

He moans softly as he buries himself deep, nipping at the bruise on Tim's neck, sucking as a hand slides up to slip itself around Tim's shoulder. Sweet nothings rattle behind Raylan's teeth, held back by the bearing reality and self consciousness and he breathes them out in another moan across Tim's skin as he starts moving faster and harder. His off hand slides down the line of Tim's body, gripping his ass as Raylan drills into him with long, strong strokes. He wanted to drive Tim to the edge, to unravel him, to hold him as he comes undone around Raylan's attentions.

"I love the way you sound," he murmurs. "I wanna make sure your neighbors get a sample." The pace is paused with a deep bury, a roll of his hips, shallow thrusts giving way again to the long steady pound. He meant to back up that desire properly, instead of the hasty need of the night before.

Jesus. He didn't realize how drunk he was the night before, how muffled everything actually was. Truthfully-- it's been a long time since he's had sex sober. There would probably be a lot to unpack there if he ever went to therapy, but, well. He's been ignoring that particular suggestion of his mother's for almost two years, he's not going to start listening now.

Without the alcohol running through his veins, everything feels that much more intense. Raylan's length buries all the way to the hilt, filling him perfectly and leaving him stretched to his limit. Tim can barely keep he groan in the back of his throat.

Those teeth find the already aching mark on the side of his neck, and that's really the beginning of the end for Tim. A sharp intake of breath precedes the moan as a bright jolt of pleasure shoots up his spine. Raylan moves faster, harder, clearly recalling exactly how Tim liked it from last night. One hand moves above his head, flattening against the headboard to keep Raylan from quite literally fucking him up the mattress. His back arches, both legs hitching around Raylan's waist so that he can shift the position of his hips, searching for that perfect angle, right there.

"Fuck, Raylan--"

It's loud, easily carrying over the creaking of the bed as Raylan thrusts. The head of Raylan's cock nails that sweet bundle of nerves inside him, and Tim sees stars as his whole body tenses briefly. At this rate, he really will have a stack of noise complaints by the time he gets home tonight.

Some younger, less experienced men tended to hear that kind of endorsement and do something stupid like doing something different. Raylan knew better. He kept his exact pace, his exact angle, thoroughly enjoying the fact that Tim has to brace himself on the headboard against the assault and the way his tensing gripped Raylan's length like a soft vice. Gone were the husky words of last night - Raylan was more chatty when he was buzzed than not - replaced by that focused attention that got Raylan more trouble than he asks for outside.

His breath stays hot and ragged on Tim's neck, nipping kisses moving across his collarbone, hand wrapped around Tim's shoulder helping to pull his weight down. The cry of his name makes his stomach twist with desire even as they were swimming in pleasure, making him drive harder like he had something to prove. And maybe he did - some part of his male pride demanded he performed well in bed, to ensure that his lovers ranked him high, wanted him back for seconds or thirds. And it was Tim. Raylan was sure he was stacking up against a lot of one night stands and wild nights the like he himself hadn't seen in two decades.

He wonders too, briefly, if he'll be able to make Tim cum with nothing other than this - nothing other than Raylan slamming into that magic spot and filling him. He did fit perfectly inside the sniper in a way he would avoid looking too deeply at later.

Raylan knows exactly what he's doing. That much was made evident from last night, but it's far more clear in the sober light of day. That intuitiveness clearly lends itself to something more than just narrowly avoiding being shot. And a part of Tim already knew Raylan had to be good in bed -- the long list of women he'd gotten himself into trouble with in the short time they've known each other proves that. But it's another thing to experience it, the way Raylan seems to intrinsically know how to fuck him just right.

Tim's moans don't lessen. They only get louder, more continuous, punctuated by grunts each time those hips snap forward. It's relentless and intense and entirely all-consuming, and Tim knows he's going to plunge over that edge far faster than he wants to. The one hand stays firmly planted against the headboard, which has started to thump against the wall behind it, and he makes a vague mental note to move it forward a few inches. For next time. There has to be a next time.

The other hand stays tangled in Raylan's hair, not pulling or pushing but simply gripping like it's an anchor. He doesn't feel like he can let go without fully drowning in the pleasure, certainly not long enough to touch himself. Ultimately, he doesn't think he's going to need to. Not with the way Raylan's rhythmically pounding into that spot and his own length catches between their stomachs occasionally. He can feel that raw, tight heat building quick and steady in his core.

Tim's sounds wash over Raylan and right into his veins, like a drug. It left him moaning out with his breath with each thrust, fingers tightening on Tim's hip as he keeps driving on like a piston in an engine. Given a whole day, he would gladly ride Tim into any surface the man wanted or, alternatively, maybe let Tim drive him into a surface or two, but the fact that they had life waiting on them felt normal in a way Raylan was sure they were both going to need.

The hand in his hair felt just as good as everything else, urging him on to finish the job, to fuck Tim right. Sweat starts to prick at the corners of Raylan's hairline, bead on his shoulders and neck as he pounds away, and he starts having to create mental distractions to avoid cumming too soon.

But as soon as Tim tips over that edge, as soon as his body clamps down and thrums on Raylan, he gasps out a husky-"Oh fuck-," he pushes up onto his elbow, thrusting speeding up as he races over his own end and pausing, buried deep in Tim as he unloads. He got only half a look at Tim arching and lost in pleasure before his eyes have to close under the wash of sensations. Cum or not, his body still wanted and Raylan steals Tim's lips up in a deep kiss as his hips start moving again, more slowly but no less deep.

As though he couldn't just stop. As though he had to sample Tim a little more before he lets the day take them.

Tim can't say anything, can't find enough words to string together for any kind of warning, let alone a whole sentence. That dam breaks like its been hit with a wrecking ball, crumbling apart all at once as wave after crashing wave of pleasure washes over him. All he can do is moan and rack up those noise complaints, cling to Raylan like the other man is the only thing keeping him afloat in the sea of euphoria. He feels Raylan follow shortly after, filling him with a hot, sticky load. It's filthy and obscene and a feeling he could definitely get used to.

They kiss, still rocking against each other slowly. A decidedly unhurried come down, which is nice. Because after this is when they actually have to face what's happened. Fucking drunk, falling sleep together, fucking sober -- they're past the point of being able to blame it on the alcohol, now. And they have to be on the same page before they're sitting side-by-side at work.

He's still in no hurry though as he unwinds himself from Raylan, unhitching his legs, lowering his hand from the headboard. The one in Raylan's hair stays though, lazily stroking as he chases Raylan's mouth for a few more short kisses.

"I don't think I'm gonna be able to look the 90 year old lady who lives below me in the eye again."

The drive of Raylan's thrusts slow to a stop in the span of those few short kisses, head dropping down to almost rest on Tim's shoulder as Raylan tries to catch his breath. Tim untangles from him but there's no rush from him to hurry, so Raylan doesn't. He doesn't think about later either, or them at work. It was a can he would kick down the road as far as he could.

Those kinds of conversations tended to close doors, in Raylan's experience. 'This was nice but-'. Putting off that gut punch of demanded discipline again, which he feared would be harder, now that he'd fully gotten to enjoy a night with his partner. Now that he knew what it was like to hold Tim against him in the lazy warmth of bed and what it felt like to sleep next to him.

He can't help but huff half a laugh at Tim's new conundrum, shifting his hips to slide himself out as he lifts up enough to bring Tim's face into focus, wearing that shit eating grin again.

"If she gives you any looks, bring her a pie and a smile. It'll charm her right into defendin' your right to be young," he drawls, shifting himself out from between Tim's leg but settling next to him, one hand staying on Tim's hip. "Maybe you'll get lucky and she'll've left her hearin' aids out. I'm more worried about your wall."

God. He doesn't want to move. Not when Raylan's looking down at him like that, hair falling into his face, wearing that easy grin. What if he got to experience this vision every morning? What if he always got to fall asleep with Raylan's arm flung over his waist? It feels wildly within reach, despite what logic and history are trying to tell him.

He could use a drink. Which is kind of how they ended up here. His internal clock says it's probably just after seven. No immediate reason they have to climb out of bed and face the day yet, so against Tim's better judgment, he doesn't.

"She'll know it's store bought," Tim mutters. Because he doesn't know how to bake a pie. Hell, he keeps a small stock of MREs in one of his cabinets for nights he gets home too late to order carry-out, or just wants something a little bit familiar.

Raylan mentions the wall, and Tim's curiosity gets the best of him. With a sigh, he pushes himself up with one hand, half-turning to examine the wall behind the headboard. There's a distinct line of chipped paint where the wood thumped repeatedly against it. Tim only gives a little grin of his own as he drops himself back onto the bed, purposefully landing so his head rests on Raylan's bicep.

"Worth it."

Raylan can't help but chuckle at Tim's declaration and the way the man drops back down on him makes Raylan only snuggle in more, tangling their legs loosely together. It would be so easy to get used to this, so easy to let idle heartbound daydreams take over and promise the world. Tim looked perfect with the sun peeking across his skin, that little toothy grin leaving a softness not normally seen in the sniper's expression.

"Easily fixed. Next time maybe the frame gets moved a little. And that little old lady won't expect a homemade pie from a bachelor. It'll still get you points in your favor."

God, he wanted to kiss him again already, bruise that mouth a little more like another mark that Tim would hav'ta carry around to remember their night together. Maybe he'll get lucky and that'll be what digs in Tim's head. Maybe it leads to another night together.

"You thought about what you're gonna say when Rachel spots that mark I left on your neck?" It looked good too, in that lewd primal way. He was going to be as distracted by it as he was the love bruise he could feel under his collarbone.

Next time.

He's almost positive that Raylan hasn't even realized he's said it. And maybe he just means the next time Tim has sex in general, but Tim's choosing to believe that he means the next time they have sex. After all, Raylan stayed the night, and he doesn't seem rushed to get dressed and see himself out. It reasons that they might both want a next time. Tim reaches up, idly fingering the bruise Raylan left on his throat. It aches pleasantly beneath his touch. Also worth it.

"Probably just gonna tell 'er to guess and see what happens. Seems fun. Let 'em all start up a bettin' pool they ain't ever gonna get the answer to."

It would be their fault for ever expecting to get a straight answer from him of all people. Nobody keeps their personal life as closely guarded in that office as he does. Not even Rachel, though she's a very close second.

"Next time," he ventures, trailing a hand down Raylan's side and bringing it to a rest on his hip. "Maybe we try out some surfaces that aren't the bed. Or the couch."

It was almost innocent, a boot in the truth of it, a boot in the hope that they might get to enjoy this again. Because he was positive that Tim had enjoyed their night together, as accidental and whiskey encouraged as it was. He was fully aware that not all of Tim's nights were like this, and he hoped that there was a reprieve from whatever darkness was kicking around Tim's head, but that didn't stop the possibility that Tim didn't want more than what it was.

Something Raylan would respect, if it was laid out. Even if he didn't really want to.

He can't help but chuckle at Tim's assessment. It was always a hellva lotta fun to watch him fuck with people, until those people were Raylan, but the rumor mill would go wild and Raylan would bet there'd be a betting pool by lunch about how Tim got all marked up. One he'd put twenty dollars in so no one suspects anything. Not that he thought they would anyway.

Tim's trailing hand has Raylan's skin growing goose bumps, and he can't help but smile at the suggestion. The hand draped on Tim's hip grips him slightly, Raylan's smile widening into a soft, impish grin as his heartbeat picks up.

"Lookin' to break a table huh? Really, we just outta make a nest in your livin' room." His expression softens a little, grin coming back down to an easy smile. "Just tell me when. No whiskey required."

Just in case Tim had the idea to get it into his head that Raylan would only do this drunk. Drunk or sober, he wanted Tim. It might all be a mistake - there were office rules for a reason and Raylan was forever eyeing the door out of Kentucky - but that had never stopped him before. It wasn't going to stop him now either.

It was probably just a matter of time before things went haywire, as they tended to do. That's normally enough to make Tim play it safe. A long line of nameless faces meant the feelings aspect never has to come into play. It's not just meant to protect himself. It's more about not subjecting anyone else to all this damage.

Damage that not even Raylan fully knows the extent of. The vicious cycle of trauma and drinking and nightmares. Some are harder to come back from than others. Some feel impossible to pull himself out of until he does. None of them are something he wants other people around for.

But this -- Raylan's crooked smile and the hand gripping his hip, everything highlighted in an early morning post-sex glow. He's thought about it too much to willingly let it go now that he has it within reach. Even if it means selfishly breaking a few of his own rules.

Maybe it'll end in disaster, but maybe it'll be as worth it as the broken furniture.

"What if I said tonight?"

Is it greedy? Almost certainly. Does he care? Definitely not.

Raylan lifts his eyebrows in a soft surprise, but it comes with a "Well," as he rolls towards Tim, gently pushing him onto his back so that Raylan can half hover from his position as he continues.

"If you said tonight, then I'd have to say that we gotta get goin'. Get the work day started so we can end it again," he says, smile spreading as he leans in and steals Tim's lips up in a kiss. When it breaks, he keeps his face close.

"Come shower with me. I don't care about comin' into the office smellin' like you and no one would know the difference anyway."

Right now, there were no downsides. That might change as some of the rose colored film rubs off, but that was always going to come so Raylan plans on enjoying what Tim will allow him to for as long as he can.

Gotta get going, Raylan says, like he hasn't just rolled them into the perfect position for Tim to wrap legs around his waist and keep him there for a little while longer. It's tempting, especially with the way Raylan's hair falls in front of his face like this. Tim reaches up to push it back, fingers threading through the locks and coming to rest on the back of his head as they kiss.

He's never much been one for leisurely kisses, or for lazing around in bed, but he finds himself wanting to do both with Raylan. This already feels like such a slippery slope, but he's not turning back now.

"You're gonna make it real hard for me to focus today, you know."

Nobody else will know the difference, but all he's going to think about when he catches his own scent on Raylan is their time together this morning. He gives Raylan's hair a gentle tug, nudging him by the shoulder so they can both get up.

"Shower then coffee. Can't say I have much in the way of breakfast, though."

Unless Raylan wants to eat an MRE, which Tim very highly doubts.

Edited (i don't shell out for paid time just to forget about my icons gdi) 2025-06-02 04:26 (UTC)

Lingering in bed was a luxury better had by those people who were wholly comfortable with each other and the secrets that slipped out in that kind of environment - it was dangerous for them to indulge in it. Even if Raylan did love how Tim's fingers felt carding through his hair to settle around his neck or the way he felt underneath him. He could see a future of them laying in bed and enjoying each other, ordering room service at a hotel, laying around in each other's company until noon or later.

Raylan smiles cheekily at the reminder, eyebrows bouncing softly. He wasn't sorry at all - now that he knew he could make it hard to focus, there was a satisfaction in it. In knowing that Tim wanted him as much as he wanted Tim. In knowing that he would end up back here in Gutterson's bed at the end of the day.

"We can get breakfast on the way," he promises, bending to kiss Tim's neck despite the tugs and nudges before crawling off him and standing up, still smiling. "Lead the way."

Slingin' from the hip, never the heart. | Open Post

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