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

[tinstar]

Raylan's job took him everywhere, from Harlan to Los Angeles to Paris. The Marshals service was demanding but Raylan leaned into the work, traveling as needed to get to get his man.

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[tinstar]

His fingers only stop their unbuttoning as Collins' fingers as the Irishman fists that grip in his hair, earning a little note of approval as his head is pulled back, as his neck is so sweetly assaulted. He imagined that Collins had been pent up, or maybe that was his own denied need rearing its head. Heartbeat thrumming under Collins' lips, Raylan groans softly as the shorter man steps away and watches him as much as he could without adjusting too far.

"I'd feel comfortable with my bullets back in my gun and it all tucked away somewhere. You know they count bullets, the US Marshals? To account for every shot fired." The statement was ended with the soft clank of his belt against itself as he pulls it off and tosses it to the side before walking around the bed. It didn't take long, he found his clip, sets it in place, checks the chamber and tucks it into the nightstand drawer. Everything else is set off to the side somewhere, pants and boxers shucked in one go, and Raylan ambles back to where he was with his hands wide. Nothing in them that would be unexpected.

He drops back onto the bed and scoots up towards the center, half propped on the headboard with his ankles crossed as he watches Dennis. A name he hadn't been given leave to use yet, but it was on his mind.

[onlyhearmusic]

Collins didn't reply to Raylan's insistence of securing his weapon, and while there were surely thoughts about it on his mind, he gave little of it away as he simply watched Raylan coolly as one might imagine a domesticated hawk would eye its handler. Careful and keen but with no attachment. Collins was no hawk but he was clever and experienced enough to know how to hide his inner workings.

Once Raylan returned to their game the tension did seem to ease back out of the Irishman though he hardly gave the marshal's hands a glance. Was it trust or was it simple ego? A desire for any reason to go back to fighting or a lack of care at all for his own well-being? It could have been all of those things, or none of them at all. Instead of giving anything away, Collins merely went straight to work. He tied Raylan's wrists in the way promised--an easy slip knot that would allow the marshal to escape just about any time he wanted so long as he remained calm and in control of himself but gave them the illusion of Collins being in control.

It wasn't perfect but it would do. Collins would let it be enough. That was what compromise was all about, wasn't it? He could manage that. He could still have what he wanted...

And what he wanted was before him now. He stopped for a moment, head cocked to one side, as he admired the form before him. A song was on his lips, silently sung as he watched the lawman in front of him. When he surged forward, the song was still on his lips as he kissed the marshal passionately, possessively.