Raylan huffed a breath but grinned a genuine grin for the half moment it had time to be there amid the rest of his thoughts.
"We are. Please don't kill him without talkin' to me first," he says with a pull of that grin again. "And don't think you're bringin' them boots into my bed either. I dunno about you, but I'm the kinda man that will stay up for a bottle, to my own detriment. It can breathe on the table til mornin', no worries about that."
Still, he took a shallow draft of his as he sat upright again.
"You wanna come to bed, James?" The question was asked with a full faced look - there was no point in shying away from what they were agreeing to. It didn't have to be more than what was offered, but since Raylan was selfishly taking James up on said offer.. He didn't want to beat around the bush.
There's a salute in agreement to talking to Raylan first before doing anything to Roman. He then raises his brows at the mention of his boots. There's a nod as he pushes away from the table to bend down and unlace everything before toeing them off and setting them aside under the table.
Then finally, when that question is made he pauses briefly, letting the warmth run up his throat a little and twist around in his stomach in exciting ways. He pushes down any of those dirty thoughts that spring up with it, throws the rest of the whiskey into his throat, and nods, rising up. He'll then shrug out of his jacket and throw it on the back of a chair.
"Need any help?" He'd made it to the chair, but could he make it back to the bed?
"Not with gettin' up," he replies, grunting softly as he uses the table to help leverage his weight up like it was proof. "But I'd rather ask for your help gettin' this damned shirt off than spend the next five minutes fightin' to get it off."
Smiling crookedly, he turns around, already starting to try to peel it off.
"If I snore too loud, feel free to kick me, but I got a feelin' we're gonna fight back and forth about who's gonna be big spoon in all this."
Flint nods, eyes respectfully moving over Raylan's body as he turns his back to him. He'll step in and gingerly sweep his hands over his shoulders to push off the cloth and guide it along as he slowly, carefully shrugs out of the plaid button-up. He'll pull it off him with the same sort of gentle caution, then give a little tug at the white ribbed tank.
"This too?" He asks quietly, wondering how far the other wanted to go.
"Likewise, just elbow me if I snore. And I guess we'll just see which way we fit better together."
A wince, a grunt, a view of the ugly bruising that matches his face lacing up his left side before he pulled out of the shirt, smirking at the tug as he turned around.
"Think I'll keep that on, this time. Keeps the tapin' a little more secure." He couldn't help but glance James up and down, swallowing the unwise suggestion that they lose their pants too, for full comfort. He also couldn't help the reach out and soft tug of James's shirt.
"Get as comfortable as you want," he says, turning to work his way over to the far side of the bed, turning down the blanket. He should probably take his own advice, fingers working at his button to shuck his jeans, leaving him modestly in his undershirt and pale striped boxers. Nothing sexy, nothing risque, just him, a regular dude.
"I promise to keep my hands to myself." Raylan carefully got himself into bed, nestling down into his pillow, hazel eyes watching whatever Flint did next.
He's realizing now that he's not fully prepared for this. He'd left his sleeping clothes in his room. The little tug and the sweep of those eyes tug at something else in him and he has to swallow a little raggedly as his mouth goes dry. He watches Raylan slip out of his jeans, noting the comfortable looking boxers and how nicely they fit on him. He looks away as the other climbs into bed. Modern underwear, as he's found out is a little more revealing than what he's used to. Then again some men wore nothing at all to bed.
He clears his throat as those eyes watch him with interest and he'll hesitate a moment before unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging out of it revealing the freckle-dappled skin beneath. There's a small half-moon tattoo on his right bicep that even his College version hadn't had yet. He adds the shirt to the chair with his coat. He then undoes his trousers, which are dropped to the floor, and stepped out of. He stoops to pick them up, folding and draping them over the chair as well.
He shouldn't feel so exposed, so naked when he's still in his underwear, glad he wore any at all. And he'd browsed the selection at the wardrobe to find something comparable to what he was used to, but comfortable. Which he'd settled on the tighter boxer brief, that hugged his thighs and ass and cradled his package nicely. It was a solid color, black seemed smart even if he was used to white linen, dirt and such showed much quicker on white cloth.
He moves to the bed, trying to calm his racing heart or ease the nervousness. He'd suggested this, offered it, and yet now that he's about to climb into bed with the man his mind is racing back to that closet. This was meant to be innocent. Like so many nights he'd shared with Miranda when he'd come home to Nassau. Sure, some nights were spent fucking, but most were just to share a bed. To have that companionship so he wasn't as alone as he'd felt in his cabin on the Walrus for days and weeks. To have a warm, soft body to curl up with for comfort.
He climbs into bed with the other, slipping under the sheets and the comforter to make himself comfortable. He'll move in close, tilting his head a little where he remains half-propped up on his elbow.
Manners would have demanded that Raylan avert his eyes as James starts disrobing, but too much whiskey and an unconscious bias towards maintaining his manners with womenfolk more than men meant he didn't. With the contrast of young verses full grown and fully developed, who would have guessed that Flint would turn out looking as well built as he was. Aside from the fact that that age created hearty men.
He does look away, into the bed as James starts work on his pants, only stealing an errant, respectful glance at those well fitted boxer briefs as the man climbs into bed with him. James wasn't the only one that felt a spike of anxiety - There was a difference between talking about it, agreeing on it, and doing it in full knowledge and in their right minds.
And now here James was, less than a foot from his face, trying to make him comfortable.
"Tonight? Not havin' any extra dead weight on 'em." He smiles softly, one of those smiles that were only given in bedrooms and safe spaces, lazy and pleased. "So either my side or my back. I usually end up on my back in the mornin's anyway."
His legs shift a little, moving out to bump a knee with James. "I'll move if anythin' hurts, it'll be alright."
Thank you sat unspoken, caught in the back of his throat by worry about what it would look or sound like if he said it right now - even whiskey couldn't stop that panic process.
"Oh." He clears his throat and nods, "Right, I'll uh..."
He points away from Raylan and slowly turns over to place his back to him. "This'll be easier, less chance of one of my arms striking you in the ribs when I'm sleeping."
Not that he typically moves that much in his sleep, but different bed, and, well, he doesn't realize how much he moves when he's having a nightmare. But either way, it's safer. It feels awkward and there is a soft sinking in his stomach as he's denying himself the chance for more contact. Like they had after spending the night in the closet.
"Mm," came the hum of agreement as Flint turns over, leaving Raylan to stare at his back and debate if he should move closer. The distance was almost palpable, almost agonizing, halfway towards 'wrong' in a way that Raylan couldn't exactly attribute to how snuggly he got when he was drunk.
'Even if it doesn't happen now, it'll happen in the night, right?'
Raylan scoots a little closer, knees and thighs coming up to bump into and lay against James, leaving a respectful amount of space between his groin and Flint's ass, and ghosts the back of his fingers up the pirate's back. As much as he was assuming, he wasn't trying to be lewd or improper about it. If James didn't flinch away, indicate he didn't want that contact, Raylan slides his hand around his waist, draping his hand over the stretch of his stomach.
"This okay?" His voice was soft now, the quiet bedwhisper of someone trying to not break the peace.
Flint wasn't comfortable, if he was honest, not with the amount of distance between them when he desired more. Luckily for him, it seemed the other felt the same as he felt the bed dip behind him and heard the soft shift of fabric as Raylan moved to curl up against his back. He hides a small smile, though his spine curls some, and his ribs shudder a little at the gentle, ghosting touch. It's not out of discomfort, however, but as if he's melting into the embrace.
"Mn," He nods with a soft, almost relieved sigh as he gets comfortable.
"As long as you're ok?" He casts a small glance back as one hand moves to trace Raylan's forearm to the hand on his waist. He'll entwine their fingers together to hold him there.
The melt in, the armless of hug of James's back curling towards him helped Raylan scoot his chest forwards so that they were touching there too, fingers tightening with a soft brief squeeze.
"Quickly gettin' there." There was the impulse to press a kiss to Flint's shoulder and one that Raylan managed to repress. That would be a step too far, wouldn't it? Would it?
"G'night James."
It was a good ten minutes later, once Raylan felt them both sink into the bed with the weight of real relaxation that he felt he could whisper what he'd wanted to before.
"Thank you." For being here, for caring, for needing this as much as he did and for not shaming either of them for it.
"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.
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"We are. Please don't kill him without talkin' to me first," he says with a pull of that grin again. "And don't think you're bringin' them boots into my bed either. I dunno about you, but I'm the kinda man that will stay up for a bottle, to my own detriment. It can breathe on the table til mornin', no worries about that."
Still, he took a shallow draft of his as he sat upright again.
"You wanna come to bed, James?" The question was asked with a full faced look - there was no point in shying away from what they were agreeing to. It didn't have to be more than what was offered, but since Raylan was selfishly taking James up on said offer.. He didn't want to beat around the bush.
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Then finally, when that question is made he pauses briefly, letting the warmth run up his throat a little and twist around in his stomach in exciting ways. He pushes down any of those dirty thoughts that spring up with it, throws the rest of the whiskey into his throat, and nods, rising up. He'll then shrug out of his jacket and throw it on the back of a chair.
"Need any help?" He'd made it to the chair, but could he make it back to the bed?
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Smiling crookedly, he turns around, already starting to try to peel it off.
"If I snore too loud, feel free to kick me, but I got a feelin' we're gonna fight back and forth about who's gonna be big spoon in all this."
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"This too?" He asks quietly, wondering how far the other wanted to go.
"Likewise, just elbow me if I snore. And I guess we'll just see which way we fit better together."
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"Think I'll keep that on, this time. Keeps the tapin' a little more secure." He couldn't help but glance James up and down, swallowing the unwise suggestion that they lose their pants too, for full comfort. He also couldn't help the reach out and soft tug of James's shirt.
"Get as comfortable as you want," he says, turning to work his way over to the far side of the bed, turning down the blanket. He should probably take his own advice, fingers working at his button to shuck his jeans, leaving him modestly in his undershirt and pale striped boxers. Nothing sexy, nothing risque, just him, a regular dude.
"I promise to keep my hands to myself." Raylan carefully got himself into bed, nestling down into his pillow, hazel eyes watching whatever Flint did next.
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He clears his throat as those eyes watch him with interest and he'll hesitate a moment before unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging out of it revealing the freckle-dappled skin beneath. There's a small half-moon tattoo on his right bicep that even his College version hadn't had yet. He adds the shirt to the chair with his coat. He then undoes his trousers, which are dropped to the floor, and stepped out of. He stoops to pick them up, folding and draping them over the chair as well.
He shouldn't feel so exposed, so naked when he's still in his underwear, glad he wore any at all. And he'd browsed the selection at the wardrobe to find something comparable to what he was used to, but comfortable. Which he'd settled on the tighter boxer brief, that hugged his thighs and ass and cradled his package nicely. It was a solid color, black seemed smart even if he was used to white linen, dirt and such showed much quicker on white cloth.
He moves to the bed, trying to calm his racing heart or ease the nervousness. He'd suggested this, offered it, and yet now that he's about to climb into bed with the man his mind is racing back to that closet. This was meant to be innocent. Like so many nights he'd shared with Miranda when he'd come home to Nassau. Sure, some nights were spent fucking, but most were just to share a bed. To have that companionship so he wasn't as alone as he'd felt in his cabin on the Walrus for days and weeks. To have a warm, soft body to curl up with for comfort.
He climbs into bed with the other, slipping under the sheets and the comforter to make himself comfortable. He'll move in close, tilting his head a little where he remains half-propped up on his elbow.
"What is best for your ribs?"
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He does look away, into the bed as James starts work on his pants, only stealing an errant, respectful glance at those well fitted boxer briefs as the man climbs into bed with him. James wasn't the only one that felt a spike of anxiety - There was a difference between talking about it, agreeing on it, and doing it in full knowledge and in their right minds.
And now here James was, less than a foot from his face, trying to make him comfortable.
"Tonight? Not havin' any extra dead weight on 'em." He smiles softly, one of those smiles that were only given in bedrooms and safe spaces, lazy and pleased. "So either my side or my back. I usually end up on my back in the mornin's anyway."
His legs shift a little, moving out to bump a knee with James. "I'll move if anythin' hurts, it'll be alright."
Thank you sat unspoken, caught in the back of his throat by worry about what it would look or sound like if he said it right now - even whiskey couldn't stop that panic process.
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He points away from Raylan and slowly turns over to place his back to him. "This'll be easier, less chance of one of my arms striking you in the ribs when I'm sleeping."
Not that he typically moves that much in his sleep, but different bed, and, well, he doesn't realize how much he moves when he's having a nightmare. But either way, it's safer. It feels awkward and there is a soft sinking in his stomach as he's denying himself the chance for more contact. Like they had after spending the night in the closet.
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'Even if it doesn't happen now, it'll happen in the night, right?'
Raylan scoots a little closer, knees and thighs coming up to bump into and lay against James, leaving a respectful amount of space between his groin and Flint's ass, and ghosts the back of his fingers up the pirate's back. As much as he was assuming, he wasn't trying to be lewd or improper about it. If James didn't flinch away, indicate he didn't want that contact, Raylan slides his hand around his waist, draping his hand over the stretch of his stomach.
"This okay?" His voice was soft now, the quiet bedwhisper of someone trying to not break the peace.
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"Mn," He nods with a soft, almost relieved sigh as he gets comfortable.
"As long as you're ok?" He casts a small glance back as one hand moves to trace Raylan's forearm to the hand on his waist. He'll entwine their fingers together to hold him there.
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"Quickly gettin' there." There was the impulse to press a kiss to Flint's shoulder and one that Raylan managed to repress. That would be a step too far, wouldn't it? Would it?
"G'night James."
It was a good ten minutes later, once Raylan felt them both sink into the bed with the weight of real relaxation that he felt he could whisper what he'd wanted to before.
"Thank you." For being here, for caring, for needing this as much as he did and for not shaming either of them for it.
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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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