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

Those were some delightful noises. Quiet but loud in the silence of the morning, unbidden by the clinging haze of sleep. As long as he can keep drawing those moans and gasps past Raylan's lips, it's going to be a fantastic morning. And maybe it's greedy, but even with the clarity of being sober, he already knows he's going to want many more mornings just like this one.

He gives a few more strokes before settling his grip at the base, his free arm coming up to rest heavily over Raylan's hips. It'll give him something to hold onto, and allow Tim to keep him in place when he inevitably starts trying to shift upwards. He drags his tongue from base to tip, swirling it around the head a few times. He repeats this process twice, really and truly taking his time, before finally taking it past his lips, sinking his mouth down lower and lower until it meets his fingers around the base. He stays like that for a few seconds before slowly pulling back and adopting a lazy pace for bobbing his head.

Everything was suddenly hooked and contingent on Tim taking his whole length, Raylan's breath caught in the back of his throat as he was teased. The sweet promise made by Tim's tongue kept him on a tightwire, right hand creeping over to softly grip his forearm. Touch was an anchor for him, something helped him feel like he had some control on floating off into pleasure.

Tim swallows him down and Raylan can't help but groan, low and tight from the back of his throat at the wash of lusty relief, and puts Tim's restraining arm to use. His hips lift slightly with the sound, but it only takes a little pressure for him to force himself to relax into the bed and let Tim wind him up. That thought alone, Tim being the one to wind him up twists with his desire in his chest, a feeling that is batted away in favor of focusing on how good Tim feels around him.

His off hand slides into Tim's hair, settling on his head but not pushing or urging. He already wanted to bury himself into Tim like he had last night and the small part of him that could have coherent thoughts only hoped that he got to wrap around his partner one more time before he has to face the possibility that this was just a one night stand. The possibility that they've ruined their working relationship. Right now, there was just this.

They have a few hours before they're expected to be anywhere. Even with part of that time taken up by Raylan needing to stop back at his place for at least a change of clothes and Tim needing to be dropped off at his car, it's plenty of time to have a lot of different kinds of fun. With any luck, they'll eventually be fully intertwined and will stay that way until the clock starts ticking too late.

He feels Raylan strain briefly against his arm, just as encouraging as the hand sinking into his hair. His slow, steady pace begins to increase, stilling every so often with Raylan's cock buried deep in his throat, holding it there for a few seconds each time before continuing. His tongue works around the length, taking his time with finding each of Raylan's sensitive spots to drag more of those lovely noises out of him. He's very intent on finding out just how much he can make Raylan push against his arm, just how hard he can get those hips bucking.

What he'd really like is to have those hands tight in his hair while Raylan slams his cock into the back of Tim's throat, leaving him gasping and watery-eyed. Maybe he'll get that this morning. Maybe another time, if there is another time. The maybes and possibilities feel endless right now. An unpredictable future, because even now, Raylan's keeping him on his toes.

The first hold, the deep bury of his length down Tim's throat earns a breathed out "Fuck," fingers tightening in Tim's hair like Raylan would hold on with the confidence of a bull rider. They loosened a little a moment later as Raylan registers that he's gripped. It wasn't that he was trying to be gentle, per se, only that he didn't know what Tim liked, what he didn't like. Part of the fun was always finding out.

There had never been any doubt in his mind that Tim was good at this, but it was different to be under those imagined skills and if Raylan had any sense of mind, he might be a little self conscious about the half, back of the throat moans that Tim was earning. His hips thrust up shallowly, unable to stop himself, restrained only by Tim's arm. Heat was already starting to coil low in his stomach and he was torn between choosing to let himself go down the path of unload down Tim's throat and pulling the man up so they could finish together. It hardly seemed fair, only one of them getting off, and Raylan wasn't sure if Tim would let him into a shower with him.

"How hard do you want it," he husks out with a breath. "How far down your throat can we bury it." It was a question, even if his tone didn't help that suggestion.

The hand in his hair tightens, just briefly, but Tim groans low in his throat in response, eyes slipping closed. His cock twitches where it's trapped between him and the bed, constrained by the thin fabric of his boxer briefs. His hips shift of their own accord, reflexively seeking some amount of relief. Raylan's voice comes as a nice distraction, Tim's lust-darkened gaze flicking back up again.

He removes his arm, instead curling his fingers into the sheets next to Raylan's hip. He pulls back just enough to speak, voice low with desire.

"Don't hold back."

He sinks his lips back over Raylan's cock, the second hand curling into the blankets to mirror it's mate on the other side, relinquishing all control to his partner. He doesn't intend on letting Raylan come this way, although he'd love to feel that hot load shoot down his throat. He's greedy, and he definitely wants to be fucked into the mattress now that they have more room than the couch.

Tim's groan and the way it vibrates around him tells Raylan almost all he needs to know. The removal of the arm, the clearance, god the way Tim grips into the sheets. Somehow that was hotter than everything else. Like Tim was preparing to be throat fucked properly. Jesus. Everything in him wanted to give that preparation exactly what it was readying for. And he would.

Raylan can't help his own groan, hand tightening back up in Tim's hair as he watches, as he thrusts, as he starts hitting the back of Tim's throat with each lift of his hips. He couldn't get enough of the view, of the reality that Tim was letting him do this, that Tim wanted him to do this.

"Like it when I fuck yer throat, don't you." This one wasn't really a question, and it was topped with a gentle hold of his cock down Tim's throat, waiting a few beats before relenting and letting the younger man breath again.

This is where it shifts, where the slow, sensual morning naturally begins to give way to a needy desperation. Tim's eyes slip closed, relishing the way Raylan's cock stretches his lips, the slide of the length against his hollowed out cheeks as Raylan fucks roughly into his mouth. His throat's going to be sore after this -- just one more thing in the long list of reasons he's going to be thinking about Raylan's everything all day long.

It's a wonderfully obscene combination, the huskily spoken words and the feeling of Raylan's cock held deep in his throat for those few moments. Tim moans, something that would've been relatively loud if it weren't muffled around a mouthful of cock, swallowing to keep from choking.

Fingers curl into the sheets a little bit tighter, inhaling deeply through his nose once he gets the chance. His hands are where they are to give himself something to hold onto, but also to give him the leverage to pull back if Raylan tries to come too soon.

The moan sent a primal kind of thrill through Raylan, and he knew he was in trouble. He can't help but think about what Tim said last night - that they should have done this sooner. Raylan was a greedy man, masquerading as a gentleman, and the more of Tim's sounds he heard, the more he wanted, and he was already hungry for them after the night before.

There's a sharp grunt of breath out as Raylan continues, another low groan following it as his head falls back, eyes closed as that heat coils tight around his low stomach.

"Tim-" he warns, unable to say anything else or provide any other hints. If they didn't stop right now, he was absolutely going to fill Tim's mouth with more than just flesh.

It's too easy to get lost in this feeling -- Raylan fucking roughly into his mouth, filling the back of his throat, combined with that hand twisting into his hair, not too tight but tight enough. It's a concentrated effort to pay attention to those movements, the growing uneven jerk of Raylan's hips, his name being spoken in warning.

He pulls back all at once, releasing Raylan from his mouth and denying him the chance to unload. Crawling back up his partner's body, he's smirking when he leans down to capture Raylan's mouth in a lazy, open-mouthed kiss.

"Good mornin'."

His voice is quiet, a little hoarse from the previous abuse, and he doesn't quite pull back far enough to not be murmuring it against Raylan's lips.

The groan of protest that comes from Raylan is almost pained, joined by the trembling of his body at the denial but he doesn't try to hold Tim there, hands much preferring to move across his skin as he moves up. One palm moves over Tim's ass as Raylan fervently kisses him back and he smirks at the greeting.

"Very good," he murmurs back, kissing Tim again as that hand works it's way under the waistband of his boxers. His off hand helps pull them down over Tim's backside before wrapping up to drape his fingers at the nape of Tim's neck. "Almost perfect," he husks, breaking the kiss so he can roll them over, the hand not holding his weight slipping between them to pull the front fabric down to free Tim's length to bump between their stomachs.

It was dangerous to even think but god he could get used to this. Waking up to Tim, blowjobs or not, just the solidness of him something Raylan had always found reassuring. He was deadly and beautiful and a little bruised and battered, and now letting Raylan see into the most vulnerable part of him. How the soft mornings could be, before they were awake enough to let any sense or reason stop them.

Edited 2025-04-06 21:09 (UTC)

The way Raylan groans and shakes from the denial is quite possibly one of the hottest things Tim has ever seen. It's a reaction he'd like to elicit from Raylan over and over again, until he's a writhing, whimpering mess beneath Tim's hands and mouth. Maybe, if Tim ever gets to do this again. If he ever gets another chance to wake up with Raylan in his bed. Or him in Raylan's bed. He's not picky.

His heart beats a little unevenly in his chest, and he tells himself it's just the anticipation. Just the anticipation that builds with Raylan's hand on his ass, pushing his underwear down to expose more of his skin to the cooler air. Just the way he's rolled onto his back, inhaling sharply when his cock is freed from the confines of the fabric. Anticipation and desire and lust. Nothing more.

"You about to show me what a perfect mornin' looks like?"

He arches his hips upwards, giving a pleased hum when he feels both their lengths caught between their stomachs.

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.

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

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