Not so bad at all and with the press of the kiss into his palm - a gesture that Raylan found hopelessly romantic and sweet - there was less and less debate on if Raylan was going sweet in return. He knew he was. And the best part about it was that James wasn't going to leave him for his secret abusive and cock fighting husband, or steal ten thousand from his daughter. That didn't stop a million other things from being possible, but he felt like the pirate did actually Like him.
Flint had done nothing but prove that he liked him. Who else had ever really wanted to help soothe any aches that Raylan was feeling, in the way they were talking about? He had fully believed Tim when the sniper said that he loved him, but this was what was lacking. There were no soft validations for Raylan, no easily falling into each others arms in the same way he was finding here. No hope that wasn't rooted in the fear of being left again.
There's a twitch of arousal in his stomach as James passingly sucks the tip of the offered digit, making his gaze a little more intense as he speaks. It was liberating to not feel a twist of anxiety, like the next words that would come from the pirate would be damning or admonishing. Liberating to not be disappointed for daring to think it would be. Raylan's breath was a little shallower as Flint's fingers ghost over his skin and he hums softly, lips curling at the edges with an echo of regret in them.
"Now there's an argument for me gettin' healed up," he murmurs. Generally, people wanted him to do the holding. Big man with his big goddamned gun, but right now, he wanted to be held. Wanted to be held the way Flint wanted to hold him.
"I wouldn't mind curlin' up into your chest and listein' to your heart drummin' under my ear. Goin' to sleep to that sound with your arms around me." His hand slid from Flint's neck to run it down his side, draping it around his waist at an angle. "I'll look into tomorrow, how about that. Least for the ribs. Heard somewhere that my face is prettier with a few bruises."
And those would be gone long before the ribs healed on their own.
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Flint had done nothing but prove that he liked him. Who else had ever really wanted to help soothe any aches that Raylan was feeling, in the way they were talking about? He had fully believed Tim when the sniper said that he loved him, but this was what was lacking. There were no soft validations for Raylan, no easily falling into each others arms in the same way he was finding here. No hope that wasn't rooted in the fear of being left again.
There's a twitch of arousal in his stomach as James passingly sucks the tip of the offered digit, making his gaze a little more intense as he speaks. It was liberating to not feel a twist of anxiety, like the next words that would come from the pirate would be damning or admonishing. Liberating to not be disappointed for daring to think it would be. Raylan's breath was a little shallower as Flint's fingers ghost over his skin and he hums softly, lips curling at the edges with an echo of regret in them.
"Now there's an argument for me gettin' healed up," he murmurs. Generally, people wanted him to do the holding. Big man with his big goddamned gun, but right now, he wanted to be held. Wanted to be held the way Flint wanted to hold him.
"I wouldn't mind curlin' up into your chest and listein' to your heart drummin' under my ear. Goin' to sleep to that sound with your arms around me." His hand slid from Flint's neck to run it down his side, draping it around his waist at an angle. "I'll look into tomorrow, how about that. Least for the ribs. Heard somewhere that my face is prettier with a few bruises."
And those would be gone long before the ribs healed on their own.