"Mn, good." He sighs, half drowsy already as he's settled in.
"Goodnight." Hearing his name fall from Raylan's lips was nice if he was honest with himself. Not many folks called him James, just those closest to him. And at this point, Raylan's certainly earned that spot.
He dozes off, only vaguely aware of the soft thank you, whispered at his back that he is too deep in his drift to respond to. He slumbers comfortably, body going boneless and heavy within minutes of his breathing evening out into blissful sleep. But it's only an hour or two before his body starts tensing and twitching and soft grunts of noises are rumbling in his throat. Words that he can't quite utter in his sleep.
Luckily though, when he does wake with a startled gasp, it's with enough wherewithal not to elbow the man behind him. He's covered in a cold sweat and takes a moment to clutch Raylan's hand, moving it to his chest over his heart and curling in on himself as he tries to catch his breath and hope he hasn't woke the other up.
Raylan slipped into his own comfortable darkness, body tucking snuggly against the form in his arms in those few hours, breath brushing rhythmically along James's shoulders. The whiskey and rum meant he was less likely to dream - half the point of it anyway; he had his own nightmares that he worked to subdue - he couldn't relive those agonies.
As drunk as he was, this wasn't a black out drunk and so the latter half of the jerking and rumbling of noises started to pull him up out of it, brain taking a long second and long enough for James to clutch at his hand to roughly guess that something was wrong.
"Hey," he sounds, voice sleep rough as he wraps himself around the pirate, now unthinkingly pressing his lips to the man's shoulder, once and then again before propping himself up on an elbow so he can rest his lips on James's outer shoulder. "It's okay darlin', you're safe. It's alright."
He set another few kisses along James shoulder, just holding him and giving him the space to catch his breath. If James didn't say anything after a few minutes, Raylan would follow up with: "Nightmare? You okay?"
Unfortunately for Flint, his demons would no longer be quieted by getting drunk. At least, he had to get himself very deep into a stupor or near to blackout to not dream. He's trembling against Raylan when he feels those lips brush along his skin and the soft, soothing words. He'll give the hand a little squeeze in return but he turns his head away and into the pillow to hide the tears threatening to fall, burning his eyes.
He'd relived the death of Miranda over and over since his return from Flotilla, plagued with her ghost. He doesn't think she means to torment him, but she's there as a reminder and its his mind tormenting itself. He'd woken up this time only to be staring at her lifeless body as if it were laying in bed with them. Cheek pressed to the pillow near his, blood soaking into the cloth. Then those dim, distant eyes moved and focused on him, lips opening without sound.
He shut his eyes tight and curled in on himself just before Raylan stirred and when he opened his eyes again she was gone. He was shaking like a leaf, chest rising and falling with quick, choppy breaths. He's fighting off the need to sob, swallowing everything back because he doesn't want Raylan to see him break. How many nights had he already done this, enough was enough. It was still terrifying.
He just closes his eyes and listens to Raylan's words, feeling his heartbeat against his back and those soft lips and light feathery breaths on his skin. He slowly but surely calms down, lifting his other hand to wipe at his eyes and try to shake it off.
"It's Miranda," He admits. "I see her face... she haunts me, awake or asleep."
He doesn't know if he even told Raylan about what happened to her, "It's still so fresh. Before I died, before I came here she was murdered. I was there. I still feel the warm splash of her blood on my face when she was shot in the head..."
His breath hitches, "You'd think... after being given a year in Flotilla on top of my time here I would've been able to stop seeing her."
Raylan had dealt with Tim's PTSD nightmares, the ones from the sandbox and the one from the Entities, the full throated terror of bloodied and helpless, defeated weeping of a broken man. He hated that he had any experience in this and in the same breath, was glad for it. He could recognize the sound of a tear torn voice, even at its edges and simply kept quiet and still, letting James speak as he would.
He had seen a lot of people shot dead. He'd done some of the shooting himself and knew, in part, the traumas that came from it. To even imagine Winona having been shot, or Willa, while she was in the womb-- It would have been devastating.
"Nah.. No, folks don't leave anyone that easily. A year is.. nothin'... Not after we're young." He took a few seconds to just breathe in the smell of James, mulling over how best to put things. "The dead have a habit of stickin' around. Those you love." Those you hated.
"I hear Arlo sometimes. Talk to him. I know it's in my head but.. That doesn't stop it from feelin' real. I'm startin' to think it's what might be defined as unfinished business. It's okay. Natural. She's not here. There's no one here but us." He presses another kiss to James's shoulder.
"One of these nights, you should tell me more about her. Maybe rememberin' her instead of runnin' from her will help put her to rest." He had no idea if that would work, but it was worth a shot. Even if only to help put her away except on the worse nights, where every dark crevasse seemed to yawn open.
All Flint can do at that moment is listen and nod, drawing in breaths through his nose as his nostrils flared and trying to hold them so he can let it out slow past his lips. It's not just her, of course, he has many ghosts that plague him at night or when he's alone with his thoughts, but she is the one he sees the most when he's awake. Clear as day.
He'll unlatch their hands in favor of carefully and slowly turning over in Raylan's embrace so he can flip to his other side and face the Marshal. He'll sort of slip down a little so he can wrap his arms around his waist and bury his head in the circle of his arms and chest without pressing in on those wounded ribs. He closes his eyes and just breathes, trying to envelope himself in the other to provide some baser comfort to his brain. Surround himself with the smell and the warmth of another. There were nights Miranda had held him like this after the murderous and wrathful things he'd had to do as Flint. Especially those first few nights.
Raylan lifts and shifts his arms, welcoming a much softer man than the one he'd punched up on deck those many weeks ago into his chest, and using his heel to gently draw James's leg onto his own so they could tangle together. He couldn't do much, but he could be here and let his thumb brush back and forth along the patch of skin near his spine as he rests his lips against the peachfuzz scalp tucked against him.
Maybe the shelter of his chest would give James enough peace to go to sleep and if they laid there silently long enough, Raylan would slip back to it himself, his thumb strokes slowing until it stopped. There was once or twice where it started again as Raylan dipped back up, but eventually, he was still and not eager at all to move from the comfortable entanglement.
It works like a charm. Being enveloped in the warmth of the other cocooned in Raylan's arms and lulled into a peaceful slumber by the sound of his heartbeat. Flint relaxes and drifts easily and the pair finally get a good night's rest.
The morning comes, bleery and cool and Flint begrudgingly has to disconnect from the welcoming warmth of the other man to drag himself out of bed and get dressed. He's off to work on the repairs for the day, and being when or where he's from, early is the best time to go. But that also means his evening becomes pretty well free and he'll return by sunset to knock on Raylan's door.
They talk and laugh, maybe play a little bit of cards or dice. Flint's brought along a significant book. He lays it at Raylan's bedside and makes him promise not to let anyone else read it. It's his story, written by another version of him by another bargizen he doesn't remember knowing, but it's his soul, bared on it's pages. He's not ready to share it with others yet, not comfortable with the whole of the barge knowing. He especially doesn't feel safe keeping it in the Library after what happened recently.
Once they've drank enough to get sleepy, they'll curl up together in the same tangled position as the night before. Flint tucks himself up under Raylan's chin, if only so it's less likely that his embrace will end up around Raylan's chest. Their legs entwine, with the Marshal's thigh between his own and his arms hold him around his waist. He drifts off, almost easier than the night before, but it seems their second night is fated to be interrupted once more.
Flint's mind wanders of it's own accord, but instead of a nightmare he's given something else entirely. His pulse races as he's taken back to that red-lit closet, feeling Raylan's lips on his own, then trailing all over his body. His grip tightens on the sleeping form in his arms, hands moving south to find handfuls of his ass, pulling his hips in tight. He grinds against him in his sleep as the dream becomes heated and heavy, causing his body to react in the physical world where his cock is pressed against Raylan's hip between very little cloth. His breaths are raspy as he pants against Raylan's chest and moans softly, still ensnared in his lewd dream.
Laughter was something that had felt so very far away from until he and Flint had gotten enough in them, the various posturing of before let go in favor of the ease they were building with each other. He hadn't expected Flint to come back, no matter what his hopes might have been, and that didn't stop him from being deeply glad that Flint had. The whiskey, the cards, the dice - Raylan would have been happy to stay up all night passing the time but they did have responsibilities. Both of them.
So Raylan was just as happy to tuck into bed, forgoing any of the awkward politeness that had tinged the night before as he entangles their legs and presses a few innocent kisses to James's head before drifting off into sleep.
The body was an astute and self-aware thing; Flint's grabbing and grinding had woken something up in the back of Raylan's sleeping head, the part of him that wanted, and the Marshal, deep in his own sleep, started rolling his hips in time. His cock twitched and rose, body working it's best to roll and rub his length against Flint's hips for any friction he could get. His own softly breathed moan joins the fray and he's slowly pulled up into consciousness harder than hell and needy.
He knew he shouldn't, knew he should disengage but instead, he slips his hands in between them, tugging at himself, shamelessly aware of his knuckles pressing against Flint's cock at the same time and unable to imagine anything other than James between his legs, having him the way he'd had Flint in collage. Suddenly all he could see was Flint rolling underneath him, begging him to fuck him harder.
His body was largely on automatic, brain quietly sleep fuzzy beyond the driving need to feel that pleasure, to revel in the abandon of their hormones.
Being surrounded by the smell of the other man, especially as his own body responded in kind with his arousal, only served to fuel the fire. Slowly but surely as his cock got too hard, his need too painful, his mind finally began to pull out of the dream and come into consciousness. He became aware of the soft noises the other was making or the way his body moved against his own and he began to realize, sleepily, that this wasn't a dream anymore. He snaps awake, part of him ashamed of what had happened, but the stronger part of him only felt the absolute need for pleasure, that baser instinct to just get off and get it over with.
Raylan certainly didn't seem to mind, as he turns his eyes from those groping hands to the hazy, horny pair next to him, he could see the want there. Raylan was at least somewhat awake and hadn't pushed him away or woken him up. He'd rolled with it, and he could feel how fucking hard he was from all of it. He'd apologize later.
Instead, the hand pinned under his body moved as he shifted against him, coming up to cup Raylan's face and pull him into a hungry, sloppy, breathless kiss. The other hand moved off that firm ass to reach down between them so he could push the cloth off his hip and pull himself out. He gives a few languid strokes before he squirms his way closer, lining them up and pulling Raylan's hands away so he can wrap his own around both of their cocks. He presses them together, cleft in cleft, smearing precum around as he tugs at them and rocks his hips to create friction.
He moans into their heated kiss before he has to break, lips parted to catch his breath and pant. That hand on the others jaw slips back into his hair and grips at the base of his skull, pushing their foreheads together as he ruts desperate to come. This wasn't that much different from the many times he'd climbed in the bunk of one of the other young navy soldiers he knew. Or when they'd sneak off to mess around in private, letting their hormones drive them wild.
Raylan murmured a noise of surprise as the hand came up to collect his face, drawing him into a kiss that he met with equal abandon and fervor. He was never any good at restraining himself when things were so.. intimately close and with the memories of their collage selves and the blissful abandon they'd enjoyed in that red-lighted closet, there was no hope of restraint as he twisted his tounge with James's in the kiss.
His body scooted forward as much as it could, cock already weeping precum as his hand is pulled away and there was no argument as their foreheads rolled together, hot breath filling the space between then as Raylan's hips rolled into the stroking.
The shoot of pain from the grip in his hair only has him holding onto Flint more tightly, body thrusting as he moans with each breath. Eventually, the curl of heat in his spine starts to crawl along him, sending his body into a new roll as he encourages Flint's grip.
"Fuck I want you," he admits, kissing Flint roughly as he continues to thrust, soon enough curling back into his pillow with a throaty sound. "Flint. James- ah, please-"
Just don't stop. It didn't matter how much his ribs hurt or how shallow his rough breath had to be. He was at the point of needing to cum, no matter what position they were in.
His knee lifts, widening the space between them so Raylan can push in as close as their bodies would allow, dragging his thigh up the outside of his hip to wrap around him. He grips them firmly, jerking his hand over them a little faster as they both thrust and move in tandem, feeling how the other throbs and jolts in response to his own pulsing as if they were feeding off each other's arousal, not just the friction and desperate movement. He's breathless as the other clings to him, intensely turned on by how intimate and sensual this moment was, clouded and dizzy in his need.
Those words, raspy and vulnerable are enough to make his hips stutter and that firm ball of heat in his belly becomes overwhelming. To hear the other admit he wants him, to hear him beg like that, coupled with the heated memories and being surrounded by him is enough to push him over the edge. It ripples through him like electricity and with a few more strokes he comes, hard between them, slicking up his hand as he keeps rubbing them firmly together to push Raylan into and through his own orgasm.
He's got his arm snaked around his shoulders, clutching him tightly, but being wary of his ribs. His fingers dug into the opposite shoulder and his cheek pressed to the skin at the nape of his neck. He pants, making soft whimpering moans as his hips jerk and his cock shudders to spill the last few spurts of his load. It was a lot more intense than he imagined something so simple could be, but the pair of them were so desperate for some intimacy that it's no wonder this could give them some kind of other-worldly release. He feels like he's floating, the relief is euphoric in its own right. The tension between them since their College days had built up more than he thought. Sure he'd done this a time or two with his navy bunkmates but it was never like this.
"F-fuck." He tries to catch his breath as he just clings to the other in their throes, bodies moving of their own accord until they both start to come down and just breathe together. He trembles in the aftershocks, not wanting to disconnect from the other, enjoying the closeness and the way their bodies just reverberate with one another. He presses his sweat-soaked brow against Raylan's, nuzzling softly and moving in for a slow, sensual kiss once he's sure the other is finished.
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.
Reality didn't quite fade back in until Raylan was breaking the slow, deep kiss that he'd been thoroughly enjoying. So much so that when the other breaks he's dragging in a deep, lung-filling breath and huffing softly as if he'd run a marathon.
"I'm not." He murmurs in response. Though he had been a little sorry at the start of all this, being the one getting hot and bothered in their sleep and waking the other man up with a hard-on. But he's certainly not sorry for how it ended. He was more relaxed and content than he's felt in a long time. Despite everything he'd experienced as a College Student, it felt like years since he'd anything as good as that. And they hadn't even fucked.
"I think we both needed that." Badly, it seems, if how they're feeling is anything to go by. He's happily sated for now. And he kisses the other gently once more for a little while longer just to enjoy the taste of him and bask in everything.
"I might be a little sorry about the sheets. Or when I'll need to get up and move." Which he should do before things start to dry so he begrudgingly disconnects from the invalid to slip out of bed and go find something to clean up with. Flint washes his hands first, then grabs a towel from the bathroom and throws it at Raylan. He wets a cloth to clean himself before rinsing it out with warm water. He returns with it to sit on the edge of the bed, sitting next to Raylan and laying the warm, wet cloth on his hip.
There was no stopping the pleased pull of Raylan's lips. Not being sorry was a good precedent to set. His heavy breaths were an easy in to the huff and bob of his head in debatable agreement, eyebrows lifting and falling in a roll.
"Maybe we did," he admitted roughly, trying to not feel a little ashamed for how much he had enjoyed it or writhing in Flint's arms or how much better he felt for it all combined. "I'll handle the sheets tomorrow, but movin'.." He chuckles and ends it in a groaned hum as Flint pulls away.
"Suppose it had to happen, but the sights are worth it." Watching Flint walk away was reward enough for the discomfort and the creeping cold of the air on his skin. While Flint cleaned himself up, Raylan kicked off the blanket and tugged off his boxers to clean up the worst of the mess, smiling warmly at Flint as he ambles back and tossing the boxers towards the bathroom door.
"Screamin' at me for squirmin' that much," he starts as he rolls onto his back and plucks the wet cloth up, efficiently cleaning himself with oddly none of the shame he was feeling before. It wasn't the mess, it was the vulnerability apparently. "You're gonna haveta help me take off my shirt though and you gotta promise not to laugh at the the mechanics of me puttin' on new boxers."
The cloth was similarly thrown towards the bathroom door, ringed hand laid lazily over his stomach as he drapes a hand over Flint's knee, finger equally lazy in it's tracing over James's skin.
"Ya know, I'm not sure which one of us started that but I'll take that kinda wake up over nightmares any day of the week." Waking up to nightmares was not a new thing - Flint hadn't been in his bed long enough for Raylan to have one.
Flint sits casually naked and tosses the clean towel he found over the wet mark. They still had to sleep there and both were too hazy and a little sleepy to care about cleaning up properly, so a towel would have to do. He smiles softly at the little affectionate touch on his knee, his free hand coming to lightly trace over the knuckles and wrist.
"Or you could just sleep naked." He shrugs, "No sense putting them on til you need to wear'em again."
He'll tip his head to let his eyes roam slowly over his body as he lays, stretched out and satisfied, looking really damn good and relaxed. He gives his thigh a pat.
"C'mon, sit up then so I can get that shirt off you." He waits patiently and expectantly.
"As for the wake-up, I'll have to keep that in mind." He gives a little lopsided smile. He definitely agrees.
A little adjustment of that thrown towel and they were good to go; It would be enough to keep them dry for the night and Raylan would dutifully do laundry tomorrow. He only had the one set of sheets, anyway. Raylan's features bob, lips curling at the suggestion and the reciprocal soft touches. It wasn't like sleeping naked was showing off anything James wasn't familiar with now.
"Mm," he hummed in acknowledgement, lifting his hand to silently as for something to grip to help him leverage his weight up without using all of his muscle, grunting with a wince and a sharp inhale that was held as they worked the shirt off and he fell back with his exhale. It was easier to breathe when he wasn't bent at all. His ribs were definitely going to need re-binding tomorrow.
"You can toss that with the rest." And then get back in bed, but saying so felt.. weird and needy since that was presumably the plan anyway.
Flint will grasp that hand, giving the other something solid to grip onto, gently pulling him up when the other starts to move so as not to jolt or jerk him too quick so that it hurts even more. Once he's upright he'll carefully pluck at the edge of the shirt and lift it off his body, being wary of the bandages as he moves the cloth up and over them, then over his head. He tosses it with the rest where it's piled near the bathroom door.
He'll get up from his spot on Raylan's side of the bed to walk around to his. Only sparing a half-thought at the idea that that was now HIS side of the bed before throwing it into the back of his mind. They weren't an old married couple.
He slips in with the other once more to grab the edge of the blanket and pull it up over them as he scoots in closer and curls up at Raylan's side, snuggling down next to him. He drapes a lazy arm over his belly and drops a kiss or two on the outside of his shoulder as he makes himself comfortable.
"You know... all of this wouldn't be such a pain in the ass if you'd go to the infirmary and get yourself healed up. I heard there are people here with powers to do that."
Hazel eyes followed Flint, off hand already tugging and tucking his legs under the blankets and draping one over Flint's knees as they tuck in and get comfortable. Raylan rests his hand over Flint's forearm, securing him there and giving himself a little range to drift his thumb back and forth in the habitual comfort and self comfort that he could offer.
"Mm," he hums again, in acknowledgement with as deep a breath as he could manage, though it came out stuttered and with a slight groan. "You mean the same people that broke my ribs in the first place or the folk that left Tim with-"
Raylan grips his wrist in a sort of reassurance with an inhale and a shake of his head. "Somehow it ain't fair to take that out."
Not when he'd caused so much pain. He needed to suffer for it and while none of this had been planned, pain was humanity. It was supposed to be the largely inescapable. He didn't deserve to escape from it.
He easily tangles their legs together as they get comfortable, his own thumb moving over Raylan's hip. Flint's brow furrows softly as he listens, trying to pick at the sleepy words or to read the tone of them. He doesn't know what happened to Tim, or that tidbit that goes unsaid, he thinks to ask but figures that's something Raylan can tell him when he wants to talk about it.
"Are you saying you want to suffer?" He asks, a little unsure. Because it's not fair not to? That sounds sort of silly.
"One of the first things I learned about you was how much you care about other people, and want to help them or protect them because that's what you do. How are you supposed to keep doing any of that if you can barely get out of bed and dress yourself? And then you'll only beat yourself up more when you can't do your job." Which he imagines is part of what is happening now.
Though he'll lean in a little closer as he lowers his voice, "At the very least, think of the other things we could get up to if you could breathe properly without your ribs hurting."
Raylan stays quiet, glad for the darkness save for the soft lamplight of the streetlamps that he couldn't actually go out and touch anymore. It would hide the faint pinch of his features at the objectively fair questions, his thumb continuing it's brush back and forth as James continues.
He huffs a careful little chuckle, head turning to curl a smile towards him.
"That last one is the first good argument for it," he grins, legs tightening fractionally in something akin to a leg hug.
"As long as I can draw my gun, I can do my job. No one else gotta know how hard it is to put on or take off a shirt 'xcept you and Roman ain't much of a runner. Gimme a few days more an' I'll think about it, how's that?"
"There are a lot of people that aren't afraid of guns, and pulling it means you have to be ready to shoot it, which I know you don't want to do. You'd have any other way if your ribs weren't bothering you." He raises his brows at him and drops more kisses along his shoulder and neck.
"Why do you want to torture yourself so?" It's less about him being stubborn and wondering what the other is feeling or what's going through his head. They've shared so much already and Flint's poured his guts out, it's only fair that Raylan gets the chance to do the same.
"Mm, that's the secret. I don't draw it unless I mean to kill someone with it. While I'd rather not kill someone, I got no problem addin' someone else to the list. My mouth still works too." He felt like he had a few options there. Even if James was right about the rest of it.
Humming again at the question, the levity seeping out of his tone, Raylan took a long second before answering.
"Part of it feels like cheatin' somehow. The rest.." His hand squeezed softly. "I'm the reason Tim left. The.. everythin' that happened in this last breach. People who break other people's heart should suffer. And before you suggest heartache is sufferin' enough.. I dunno that I should be allowed a reprieve, and you-.. You bein' here can't ease the aches of broken ribs. If you know what I mean."
"Hey." Flint's brow furrows softly and he pushes himself up onto his elbow to look down at Raylan so he can reach up and gently take his chin and turn his eyes to him.
"You didn't make him leave. That was his choice. And if he didn't love you enough to stay and to talk it out and work through it, then he wasn't worth it from the start." His thumb brushes over his chin.
"And the breach, that wasn't us as we are now, it was different. Not just a whole other version of ourselves in a whole other world, but like a past self from a whole other timeline. Even if we remember and still feel what it was like. It wasn't us. It was a version of us. A version of you that wasn't tethered or didn't know he was with Tim. And if he couldn't handle that? That's on him. It didn't change anything, it didn't change how you felt, or how you're feeling now because of it. It's Tim's loss. You need to stop beating yourself up for things you couldn't have known or done anything about. You don't have to apologize or feel guilty for just living and enjoying yourself while you can." He leans over and gives him a little peck on the forehead.
"You didn't do anything wrong. You don't need to punish yourself."
It was very near physically painful for him to look up into James's eyes and even while Flint moved, he avoided it as he shifted a little in kind, until his chin was taken. There was no ability for him to hide behind distance or the walls and masks he normally sported, not like this, not in this most vulnerable place after what they'd just done. He felt like he was spatchcocked and laid raw but over a barrel, proverbially speaking, Flint wouldn't be where he was exactly if Raylan didn't trust him.
And that somehow made the pirate's words weightier. Steve, Gonou, Stoker - They'd all said some variation of what James was, some less direct, some more sharply pointed but there was a validation amid all the Reasons it wasn't his fault that he hadn't felt before. Maybe it was because James was hitting some high notes that the most childish or most logical parts of him hand poured over, trying to figure out where he was wrong. Why he couldn't understand why Tim couldn't see the way it was, the way reason would see it.
If Raylan were a softer man, it might have even made him cry but the knot in his throat was ineffectively swallowed down as he reaches up to cup James's face, thumb brushing along that well shaped cheekbone.
If I had loved him the way he loved me..
The words wouldn't pass his lips.
Instead, Raylan pulled Flint down as he lifts himself up to meet him, chastely kissing him with a soft intensity that had nothing to do with sex. This was the language he could speak, this soft physical language where he could let out a little of the deep rooted hurt that lived like a wild tree him in, to be able to give over, to give up a little of the hurt to make room for something better.
Those eyes search Raylan's own after his words, but more come to mind. He can see how the other suffers with this.
"If he cared for you, he'd still be here. Not me." He shakes his head gently but pushes his cheek into the touch.
"And if one Breach was all it took then --" The kiss cuts him off from his speechifying and he'll gladly close his eyes and shut up to be pulled into it. It's a soft, slow, chaste thing, like the first time he kissed Thomas. He massages his lips against Raylan's, kissing him sweetly in kind. His fingers spread out over his jaw and cheek, brushing over the shell of his ear and back through his salt and pepper hair.
Maybe he was just a little fired up on Raylan's behalf, more pissed off that Tim has hurt him like this over something so absolutely stupid. Tim didn't deserve Raylan if that were the case.
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"Goodnight." Hearing his name fall from Raylan's lips was nice if he was honest with himself. Not many folks called him James, just those closest to him. And at this point, Raylan's certainly earned that spot.
He dozes off, only vaguely aware of the soft thank you, whispered at his back that he is too deep in his drift to respond to. He slumbers comfortably, body going boneless and heavy within minutes of his breathing evening out into blissful sleep. But it's only an hour or two before his body starts tensing and twitching and soft grunts of noises are rumbling in his throat. Words that he can't quite utter in his sleep.
Luckily though, when he does wake with a startled gasp, it's with enough wherewithal not to elbow the man behind him. He's covered in a cold sweat and takes a moment to clutch Raylan's hand, moving it to his chest over his heart and curling in on himself as he tries to catch his breath and hope he hasn't woke the other up.
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As drunk as he was, this wasn't a black out drunk and so the latter half of the jerking and rumbling of noises started to pull him up out of it, brain taking a long second and long enough for James to clutch at his hand to roughly guess that something was wrong.
"Hey," he sounds, voice sleep rough as he wraps himself around the pirate, now unthinkingly pressing his lips to the man's shoulder, once and then again before propping himself up on an elbow so he can rest his lips on James's outer shoulder. "It's okay darlin', you're safe. It's alright."
He set another few kisses along James shoulder, just holding him and giving him the space to catch his breath. If James didn't say anything after a few minutes, Raylan would follow up with: "Nightmare? You okay?"
CW: Terrifying corpse imagery, death, nightmare
He'd relived the death of Miranda over and over since his return from Flotilla, plagued with her ghost. He doesn't think she means to torment him, but she's there as a reminder and its his mind tormenting itself. He'd woken up this time only to be staring at her lifeless body as if it were laying in bed with them. Cheek pressed to the pillow near his, blood soaking into the cloth. Then those dim, distant eyes moved and focused on him, lips opening without sound.
He shut his eyes tight and curled in on himself just before Raylan stirred and when he opened his eyes again she was gone. He was shaking like a leaf, chest rising and falling with quick, choppy breaths. He's fighting off the need to sob, swallowing everything back because he doesn't want Raylan to see him break. How many nights had he already done this, enough was enough. It was still terrifying.
He just closes his eyes and listens to Raylan's words, feeling his heartbeat against his back and those soft lips and light feathery breaths on his skin. He slowly but surely calms down, lifting his other hand to wipe at his eyes and try to shake it off.
"It's Miranda," He admits. "I see her face... she haunts me, awake or asleep."
He doesn't know if he even told Raylan about what happened to her, "It's still so fresh. Before I died, before I came here she was murdered. I was there. I still feel the warm splash of her blood on my face when she was shot in the head..."
His breath hitches, "You'd think... after being given a year in Flotilla on top of my time here I would've been able to stop seeing her."
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He had seen a lot of people shot dead. He'd done some of the shooting himself and knew, in part, the traumas that came from it. To even imagine Winona having been shot, or Willa, while she was in the womb-- It would have been devastating.
"Nah.. No, folks don't leave anyone that easily. A year is.. nothin'... Not after we're young." He took a few seconds to just breathe in the smell of James, mulling over how best to put things. "The dead have a habit of stickin' around. Those you love." Those you hated.
"I hear Arlo sometimes. Talk to him. I know it's in my head but.. That doesn't stop it from feelin' real. I'm startin' to think it's what might be defined as unfinished business. It's okay. Natural. She's not here. There's no one here but us." He presses another kiss to James's shoulder.
"One of these nights, you should tell me more about her. Maybe rememberin' her instead of runnin' from her will help put her to rest." He had no idea if that would work, but it was worth a shot. Even if only to help put her away except on the worse nights, where every dark crevasse seemed to yawn open.
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He'll unlatch their hands in favor of carefully and slowly turning over in Raylan's embrace so he can flip to his other side and face the Marshal. He'll sort of slip down a little so he can wrap his arms around his waist and bury his head in the circle of his arms and chest without pressing in on those wounded ribs. He closes his eyes and just breathes, trying to envelope himself in the other to provide some baser comfort to his brain. Surround himself with the smell and the warmth of another. There were nights Miranda had held him like this after the murderous and wrathful things he'd had to do as Flint. Especially those first few nights.
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Maybe the shelter of his chest would give James enough peace to go to sleep and if they laid there silently long enough, Raylan would slip back to it himself, his thumb strokes slowing until it stopped. There was once or twice where it started again as Raylan dipped back up, but eventually, he was still and not eager at all to move from the comfortable entanglement.
NSFW after this - Naughty Dreams
The morning comes, bleery and cool and Flint begrudgingly has to disconnect from the welcoming warmth of the other man to drag himself out of bed and get dressed. He's off to work on the repairs for the day, and being when or where he's from, early is the best time to go. But that also means his evening becomes pretty well free and he'll return by sunset to knock on Raylan's door.
They talk and laugh, maybe play a little bit of cards or dice. Flint's brought along a significant book. He lays it at Raylan's bedside and makes him promise not to let anyone else read it. It's his story, written by another version of him by another bargizen he doesn't remember knowing, but it's his soul, bared on it's pages. He's not ready to share it with others yet, not comfortable with the whole of the barge knowing. He especially doesn't feel safe keeping it in the Library after what happened recently.
Once they've drank enough to get sleepy, they'll curl up together in the same tangled position as the night before. Flint tucks himself up under Raylan's chin, if only so it's less likely that his embrace will end up around Raylan's chest. Their legs entwine, with the Marshal's thigh between his own and his arms hold him around his waist. He drifts off, almost easier than the night before, but it seems their second night is fated to be interrupted once more.
Flint's mind wanders of it's own accord, but instead of a nightmare he's given something else entirely. His pulse races as he's taken back to that red-lit closet, feeling Raylan's lips on his own, then trailing all over his body. His grip tightens on the sleeping form in his arms, hands moving south to find handfuls of his ass, pulling his hips in tight. He grinds against him in his sleep as the dream becomes heated and heavy, causing his body to react in the physical world where his cock is pressed against Raylan's hip between very little cloth. His breaths are raspy as he pants against Raylan's chest and moans softly, still ensnared in his lewd dream.
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So Raylan was just as happy to tuck into bed, forgoing any of the awkward politeness that had tinged the night before as he entangles their legs and presses a few innocent kisses to James's head before drifting off into sleep.
The body was an astute and self-aware thing; Flint's grabbing and grinding had woken something up in the back of Raylan's sleeping head, the part of him that wanted, and the Marshal, deep in his own sleep, started rolling his hips in time. His cock twitched and rose, body working it's best to roll and rub his length against Flint's hips for any friction he could get. His own softly breathed moan joins the fray and he's slowly pulled up into consciousness harder than hell and needy.
He knew he shouldn't, knew he should disengage but instead, he slips his hands in between them, tugging at himself, shamelessly aware of his knuckles pressing against Flint's cock at the same time and unable to imagine anything other than James between his legs, having him the way he'd had Flint in collage. Suddenly all he could see was Flint rolling underneath him, begging him to fuck him harder.
His body was largely on automatic, brain quietly sleep fuzzy beyond the driving need to feel that pleasure, to revel in the abandon of their hormones.
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Raylan certainly didn't seem to mind, as he turns his eyes from those groping hands to the hazy, horny pair next to him, he could see the want there. Raylan was at least somewhat awake and hadn't pushed him away or woken him up. He'd rolled with it, and he could feel how fucking hard he was from all of it. He'd apologize later.
Instead, the hand pinned under his body moved as he shifted against him, coming up to cup Raylan's face and pull him into a hungry, sloppy, breathless kiss. The other hand moved off that firm ass to reach down between them so he could push the cloth off his hip and pull himself out. He gives a few languid strokes before he squirms his way closer, lining them up and pulling Raylan's hands away so he can wrap his own around both of their cocks. He presses them together, cleft in cleft, smearing precum around as he tugs at them and rocks his hips to create friction.
He moans into their heated kiss before he has to break, lips parted to catch his breath and pant. That hand on the others jaw slips back into his hair and grips at the base of his skull, pushing their foreheads together as he ruts desperate to come. This wasn't that much different from the many times he'd climbed in the bunk of one of the other young navy soldiers he knew. Or when they'd sneak off to mess around in private, letting their hormones drive them wild.
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His body scooted forward as much as it could, cock already weeping precum as his hand is pulled away and there was no argument as their foreheads rolled together, hot breath filling the space between then as Raylan's hips rolled into the stroking.
The shoot of pain from the grip in his hair only has him holding onto Flint more tightly, body thrusting as he moans with each breath. Eventually, the curl of heat in his spine starts to crawl along him, sending his body into a new roll as he encourages Flint's grip.
"Fuck I want you," he admits, kissing Flint roughly as he continues to thrust, soon enough curling back into his pillow with a throaty sound. "Flint. James- ah, please-"
Just don't stop. It didn't matter how much his ribs hurt or how shallow his rough breath had to be. He was at the point of needing to cum, no matter what position they were in.
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Those words, raspy and vulnerable are enough to make his hips stutter and that firm ball of heat in his belly becomes overwhelming. To hear the other admit he wants him, to hear him beg like that, coupled with the heated memories and being surrounded by him is enough to push him over the edge. It ripples through him like electricity and with a few more strokes he comes, hard between them, slicking up his hand as he keeps rubbing them firmly together to push Raylan into and through his own orgasm.
He's got his arm snaked around his shoulders, clutching him tightly, but being wary of his ribs. His fingers dug into the opposite shoulder and his cheek pressed to the skin at the nape of his neck. He pants, making soft whimpering moans as his hips jerk and his cock shudders to spill the last few spurts of his load. It was a lot more intense than he imagined something so simple could be, but the pair of them were so desperate for some intimacy that it's no wonder this could give them some kind of other-worldly release. He feels like he's floating, the relief is euphoric in its own right. The tension between them since their College days had built up more than he thought. Sure he'd done this a time or two with his navy bunkmates but it was never like this.
"F-fuck." He tries to catch his breath as he just clings to the other in their throes, bodies moving of their own accord until they both start to come down and just breathe together. He trembles in the aftershocks, not wanting to disconnect from the other, enjoying the closeness and the way their bodies just reverberate with one another. He presses his sweat-soaked brow against Raylan's, nuzzling softly and moving in for a slow, sensual kiss once he's sure the other is finished.
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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.
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"I'm not." He murmurs in response. Though he had been a little sorry at the start of all this, being the one getting hot and bothered in their sleep and waking the other man up with a hard-on. But he's certainly not sorry for how it ended. He was more relaxed and content than he's felt in a long time. Despite everything he'd experienced as a College Student, it felt like years since he'd anything as good as that. And they hadn't even fucked.
"I think we both needed that." Badly, it seems, if how they're feeling is anything to go by. He's happily sated for now. And he kisses the other gently once more for a little while longer just to enjoy the taste of him and bask in everything.
"I might be a little sorry about the sheets. Or when I'll need to get up and move." Which he should do before things start to dry so he begrudgingly disconnects from the invalid to slip out of bed and go find something to clean up with. Flint washes his hands first, then grabs a towel from the bathroom and throws it at Raylan. He wets a cloth to clean himself before rinsing it out with warm water. He returns with it to sit on the edge of the bed, sitting next to Raylan and laying the warm, wet cloth on his hip.
"How's the ribs?"
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"Maybe we did," he admitted roughly, trying to not feel a little ashamed for how much he had enjoyed it or writhing in Flint's arms or how much better he felt for it all combined. "I'll handle the sheets tomorrow, but movin'.." He chuckles and ends it in a groaned hum as Flint pulls away.
"Suppose it had to happen, but the sights are worth it." Watching Flint walk away was reward enough for the discomfort and the creeping cold of the air on his skin. While Flint cleaned himself up, Raylan kicked off the blanket and tugged off his boxers to clean up the worst of the mess, smiling warmly at Flint as he ambles back and tossing the boxers towards the bathroom door.
"Screamin' at me for squirmin' that much," he starts as he rolls onto his back and plucks the wet cloth up, efficiently cleaning himself with oddly none of the shame he was feeling before. It wasn't the mess, it was the vulnerability apparently. "You're gonna haveta help me take off my shirt though and you gotta promise not to laugh at the the mechanics of me puttin' on new boxers."
The cloth was similarly thrown towards the bathroom door, ringed hand laid lazily over his stomach as he drapes a hand over Flint's knee, finger equally lazy in it's tracing over James's skin.
"Ya know, I'm not sure which one of us started that but I'll take that kinda wake up over nightmares any day of the week." Waking up to nightmares was not a new thing - Flint hadn't been in his bed long enough for Raylan to have one.
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"Or you could just sleep naked." He shrugs, "No sense putting them on til you need to wear'em again."
He'll tip his head to let his eyes roam slowly over his body as he lays, stretched out and satisfied, looking really damn good and relaxed. He gives his thigh a pat.
"C'mon, sit up then so I can get that shirt off you." He waits patiently and expectantly.
"As for the wake-up, I'll have to keep that in mind." He gives a little lopsided smile. He definitely agrees.
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"Mm," he hummed in acknowledgement, lifting his hand to silently as for something to grip to help him leverage his weight up without using all of his muscle, grunting with a wince and a sharp inhale that was held as they worked the shirt off and he fell back with his exhale. It was easier to breathe when he wasn't bent at all. His ribs were definitely going to need re-binding tomorrow.
"You can toss that with the rest." And then get back in bed, but saying so felt.. weird and needy since that was presumably the plan anyway.
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He'll get up from his spot on Raylan's side of the bed to walk around to his. Only sparing a half-thought at the idea that that was now HIS side of the bed before throwing it into the back of his mind. They weren't an old married couple.
He slips in with the other once more to grab the edge of the blanket and pull it up over them as he scoots in closer and curls up at Raylan's side, snuggling down next to him. He drapes a lazy arm over his belly and drops a kiss or two on the outside of his shoulder as he makes himself comfortable.
"You know... all of this wouldn't be such a pain in the ass if you'd go to the infirmary and get yourself healed up. I heard there are people here with powers to do that."
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"Mm," he hums again, in acknowledgement with as deep a breath as he could manage, though it came out stuttered and with a slight groan. "You mean the same people that broke my ribs in the first place or the folk that left Tim with-"
Raylan grips his wrist in a sort of reassurance with an inhale and a shake of his head. "Somehow it ain't fair to take that out."
Not when he'd caused so much pain. He needed to suffer for it and while none of this had been planned, pain was humanity. It was supposed to be the largely inescapable. He didn't deserve to escape from it.
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"Are you saying you want to suffer?" He asks, a little unsure. Because it's not fair not to? That sounds sort of silly.
"One of the first things I learned about you was how much you care about other people, and want to help them or protect them because that's what you do. How are you supposed to keep doing any of that if you can barely get out of bed and dress yourself? And then you'll only beat yourself up more when you can't do your job." Which he imagines is part of what is happening now.
Though he'll lean in a little closer as he lowers his voice, "At the very least, think of the other things we could get up to if you could breathe properly without your ribs hurting."
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He huffs a careful little chuckle, head turning to curl a smile towards him.
"That last one is the first good argument for it," he grins, legs tightening fractionally in something akin to a leg hug.
"As long as I can draw my gun, I can do my job. No one else gotta know how hard it is to put on or take off a shirt 'xcept you and Roman ain't much of a runner. Gimme a few days more an' I'll think about it, how's that?"
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"Why do you want to torture yourself so?" It's less about him being stubborn and wondering what the other is feeling or what's going through his head. They've shared so much already and Flint's poured his guts out, it's only fair that Raylan gets the chance to do the same.
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Humming again at the question, the levity seeping out of his tone, Raylan took a long second before answering.
"Part of it feels like cheatin' somehow. The rest.." His hand squeezed softly. "I'm the reason Tim left. The.. everythin' that happened in this last breach. People who break other people's heart should suffer. And before you suggest heartache is sufferin' enough.. I dunno that I should be allowed a reprieve, and you-.. You bein' here can't ease the aches of broken ribs. If you know what I mean."
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"You didn't make him leave. That was his choice. And if he didn't love you enough to stay and to talk it out and work through it, then he wasn't worth it from the start." His thumb brushes over his chin.
"And the breach, that wasn't us as we are now, it was different. Not just a whole other version of ourselves in a whole other world, but like a past self from a whole other timeline. Even if we remember and still feel what it was like. It wasn't us. It was a version of us. A version of you that wasn't tethered or didn't know he was with Tim. And if he couldn't handle that? That's on him. It didn't change anything, it didn't change how you felt, or how you're feeling now because of it. It's Tim's loss. You need to stop beating yourself up for things you couldn't have known or done anything about. You don't have to apologize or feel guilty for just living and enjoying yourself while you can." He leans over and gives him a little peck on the forehead.
"You didn't do anything wrong. You don't need to punish yourself."
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And that somehow made the pirate's words weightier. Steve, Gonou, Stoker - They'd all said some variation of what James was, some less direct, some more sharply pointed but there was a validation amid all the Reasons it wasn't his fault that he hadn't felt before. Maybe it was because James was hitting some high notes that the most childish or most logical parts of him hand poured over, trying to figure out where he was wrong. Why he couldn't understand why Tim couldn't see the way it was, the way reason would see it.
If Raylan were a softer man, it might have even made him cry but the knot in his throat was ineffectively swallowed down as he reaches up to cup James's face, thumb brushing along that well shaped cheekbone.
If I had loved him the way he loved me..
The words wouldn't pass his lips.
Instead, Raylan pulled Flint down as he lifts himself up to meet him, chastely kissing him with a soft intensity that had nothing to do with sex. This was the language he could speak, this soft physical language where he could let out a little of the deep rooted hurt that lived like a wild tree him in, to be able to give over, to give up a little of the hurt to make room for something better.
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"If he cared for you, he'd still be here. Not me." He shakes his head gently but pushes his cheek into the touch.
"And if one Breach was all it took then --" The kiss cuts him off from his speechifying and he'll gladly close his eyes and shut up to be pulled into it. It's a soft, slow, chaste thing, like the first time he kissed Thomas. He massages his lips against Raylan's, kissing him sweetly in kind. His fingers spread out over his jaw and cheek, brushing over the shell of his ear and back through his salt and pepper hair.
Maybe he was just a little fired up on Raylan's behalf, more pissed off that Tim has hurt him like this over something so absolutely stupid. Tim didn't deserve Raylan if that were the case.
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