The past few days had done wonders for what Raylan could and couldn't say, the comfort and boldness of Francis no longer relegated to the dream of memory; the warm buzz of being in a trusted bed, wrapped around a trusted man making it easier for the normally control obsessed Marshal to relinquish it all and let himself go in a way he hadn't since he was young. There was no shame here, no rules beyond enjoying themselves, no room for doubting what he was doing as he works in Flint's embrace and grip.
All Raylan could feel was the stroke of Flint's hand and the way the man's cock swelled and pulsed, spilling and introducing the hot slickness into the grip and more than enough to set the coiled ball of heat at the base of his spine to explode. He shuddered with a breathy, helpless moan across Flint's ear that caught in his throat as he tenses and adds to the hot mess between them, hips taking to their own stunted thrusts for the last.
It was only then that the rest of the room faded back into reality around him, body thrumming a pulse along all of his nerves as he lets out what sounds like a deeply relieved breath, limbs hanging loosely around James's thigh and shoulder. That had been intense and Raylan doubted it really had anything to do with him not being the one pulling at his own dick.
Still starry-eyed and high off it, he breathed in the smell of them, nuzzling James back before tilting into that kiss and sliding his hand up and over his shoulder until he could cup the pirate's jaw, tongue adding itself into it for another taste of his seasalt whiskey and rum mix. A few long seconds of enjoying it later, his lungs still burning with a need for more air than he was pulling in, Raylan broke it with a roll of their foreheads together.
"I'm sorry if I started somethin'," he murmurs, only fractionally worried that their bodies had crossed a line that they hadn't wanted to. Not everyone enjoyed waking up to that, for some reason. "But only a little," he adds with a huff, kissing Flint again more chastely this time, for reassurance, for promise, for the hellva it.
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All Raylan could feel was the stroke of Flint's hand and the way the man's cock swelled and pulsed, spilling and introducing the hot slickness into the grip and more than enough to set the coiled ball of heat at the base of his spine to explode. He shuddered with a breathy, helpless moan across Flint's ear that caught in his throat as he tenses and adds to the hot mess between them, hips taking to their own stunted thrusts for the last.
It was only then that the rest of the room faded back into reality around him, body thrumming a pulse along all of his nerves as he lets out what sounds like a deeply relieved breath, limbs hanging loosely around James's thigh and shoulder. That had been intense and Raylan doubted it really had anything to do with him not being the one pulling at his own dick.
Still starry-eyed and high off it, he breathed in the smell of them, nuzzling James back before tilting into that kiss and sliding his hand up and over his shoulder until he could cup the pirate's jaw, tongue adding itself into it for another taste of his seasalt whiskey and rum mix. A few long seconds of enjoying it later, his lungs still burning with a need for more air than he was pulling in, Raylan broke it with a roll of their foreheads together.
"I'm sorry if I started somethin'," he murmurs, only fractionally worried that their bodies had crossed a line that they hadn't wanted to. Not everyone enjoyed waking up to that, for some reason. "But only a little," he adds with a huff, kissing Flint again more chastely this time, for reassurance, for promise, for the hellva it.