"You're making it extremely difficult not to be." He murmurs, tipping his face into the touch and kissing his palm.
Later he might reflect on his own words and realize he should really take his own advice. Let alone the rest of what Raylan will admit to him about not wanting to feel guilty for enjoying each other's company, or feeling wrong about feeling any of what they feel for each other in either the soft or steamy moments shared. A lot of his own words come from a place of understanding Raylan's torment, his pain, and his guilt. The words echo not only from his younger, freer more understanding, and more caring alternate self, but from those first moments shared with Thomas. When they first shared a bed and he was soft and slow with him. Reassuring and soothing his own aches over feeling the way he did or the lies society told him about it.
"Losing someone you love is some of the most excruciating pain you can feel. Even more so if you blame yourself for that loss." If anyone knew that pain well, it was him. Blaming himself for anyone and everyone he ever loved, cared for, and lost. Miranda, Thomas, Gates. Losing them had been his fault and he understands how hard it is not to torture yourself over it. He understands, but he also wishes he'd had someone, like this to talk him out of torturing himself over it. He wants to soothe Raylan's pain, the man didn't deserve this. He was a good man.
His lips part as that thumb brushes over them and he can't help but to gently wrap his lips around the tip to suck on it a little. He'll release a heartbeat later, still staring into Raylan's eyes the whole time, still wrapped up around him as he speaks those words.
"I like being here. And I don't want to feel anything else." No guilt for this, nothing but the comfort and warmth and whatever other fluttery feelings are twisting themselves up in his chest. These new and wonderful things that dull out the darkness, the rage, the hurt.
"My only regret is that," His hand ghosts down Raylan's throat and over his clavicles to barely touch his ribs.
"I can't hold you properly like this." He wants to be able to pull him in and hold him close like the other had cradled him the night before after his nightmare.
"I can barely touch you without being afraid to hurt you." That cautiously exploring hand comes to rest on his waist.
Not so bad at all and with the press of the kiss into his palm - a gesture that Raylan found hopelessly romantic and sweet - there was less and less debate on if Raylan was going sweet in return. He knew he was. And the best part about it was that James wasn't going to leave him for his secret abusive and cock fighting husband, or steal ten thousand from his daughter. That didn't stop a million other things from being possible, but he felt like the pirate did actually Like him.
Flint had done nothing but prove that he liked him. Who else had ever really wanted to help soothe any aches that Raylan was feeling, in the way they were talking about? He had fully believed Tim when the sniper said that he loved him, but this was what was lacking. There were no soft validations for Raylan, no easily falling into each others arms in the same way he was finding here. No hope that wasn't rooted in the fear of being left again.
There's a twitch of arousal in his stomach as James passingly sucks the tip of the offered digit, making his gaze a little more intense as he speaks. It was liberating to not feel a twist of anxiety, like the next words that would come from the pirate would be damning or admonishing. Liberating to not be disappointed for daring to think it would be. Raylan's breath was a little shallower as Flint's fingers ghost over his skin and he hums softly, lips curling at the edges with an echo of regret in them.
"Now there's an argument for me gettin' healed up," he murmurs. Generally, people wanted him to do the holding. Big man with his big goddamned gun, but right now, he wanted to be held. Wanted to be held the way Flint wanted to hold him.
"I wouldn't mind curlin' up into your chest and listein' to your heart drummin' under my ear. Goin' to sleep to that sound with your arms around me." His hand slid from Flint's neck to run it down his side, draping it around his waist at an angle. "I'll look into tomorrow, how about that. Least for the ribs. Heard somewhere that my face is prettier with a few bruises."
And those would be gone long before the ribs healed on their own.
There's a small, triumphant smile at that. Finally, his arguments towards healing have succeeded, and maybe he was a little selfish for the thoughts that followed if the other wasn't wounded.
"Deal." He murmurs and leans in to capture Raylan's lips as a reward, kissing him slow and soft once more to just savor it a little.
"I like your face either way, but I'd prefer without the bruises. You and I have been hurt enough for a lifetime." He shifts back to lay flat on his back and pats his chest.
"C'mon, if you put your head here, your ribs should be alright, less of a chance my arm is dead weight on you." If Raylan drapes himself over him he could still listen to his heartbeat and tuck in with him. He can wrap the arm under him around the back of his shoulders, and the other hand will rest on his thigh.
Raylan hums a note into the kiss, pleased at the agreement and the way Flint didn't hesitate in kissing him so sweetly. The remarks leave Raylan smiling as he shifts, pulling his arm out of the way before it could be pinned underneath and turns a little himself with halting motions.
"Probably two or three lifetimes, an' we still got a long way to go," he only half jokes as he lifts and rearranges the blanket before laying himself down carefully on Flint's chest, slowly relaxing his weight into it to make sure his ribs weren't going to give him any complaints that he wasn't expecting. A second later, Raylan's leg was tucking up over James, free hand and arm draped along the free side of him with as heavy a sigh as he and his sated, agonized body could give.
"I'm gonna end up droolin' on you and I apologize in advance." But it was said with a curl of a smile as his thumb brushed back and forth a few times. James had a strong heartbeat and Raylan had forgotten how good it was to hear one like a drum under him.
"Mn," He agrees laying himself out and allowing the other to make himself comfortable while he tucks his arm under his neck and pulls him in to hold him against him. One hand gently brushes up the back of his neck and into his hair as he speaks, turning to press a kiss onto the top of his head. His fingers play along his scalp before brushing lightly at the shell of his ear. The other hand splays out over his thigh.
He gives a small, gentle chuckle, holding back a little so as not to jostle the other too much.
"I've had worse, a little drool won't bother me." His eyelids are already getting heavy now they're comfortably tucked in. With luck, his mind will recognize it and be silent tonight.
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"You're making it extremely difficult not to be." He murmurs, tipping his face into the touch and kissing his palm.
Later he might reflect on his own words and realize he should really take his own advice. Let alone the rest of what Raylan will admit to him about not wanting to feel guilty for enjoying each other's company, or feeling wrong about feeling any of what they feel for each other in either the soft or steamy moments shared. A lot of his own words come from a place of understanding Raylan's torment, his pain, and his guilt. The words echo not only from his younger, freer more understanding, and more caring alternate self, but from those first moments shared with Thomas. When they first shared a bed and he was soft and slow with him. Reassuring and soothing his own aches over feeling the way he did or the lies society told him about it.
"Losing someone you love is some of the most excruciating pain you can feel. Even more so if you blame yourself for that loss." If anyone knew that pain well, it was him. Blaming himself for anyone and everyone he ever loved, cared for, and lost. Miranda, Thomas, Gates. Losing them had been his fault and he understands how hard it is not to torture yourself over it. He understands, but he also wishes he'd had someone, like this to talk him out of torturing himself over it. He wants to soothe Raylan's pain, the man didn't deserve this. He was a good man.
His lips part as that thumb brushes over them and he can't help but to gently wrap his lips around the tip to suck on it a little. He'll release a heartbeat later, still staring into Raylan's eyes the whole time, still wrapped up around him as he speaks those words.
"I like being here. And I don't want to feel anything else." No guilt for this, nothing but the comfort and warmth and whatever other fluttery feelings are twisting themselves up in his chest. These new and wonderful things that dull out the darkness, the rage, the hurt.
"My only regret is that," His hand ghosts down Raylan's throat and over his clavicles to barely touch his ribs.
"I can't hold you properly like this." He wants to be able to pull him in and hold him close like the other had cradled him the night before after his nightmare.
"I can barely touch you without being afraid to hurt you." That cautiously exploring hand comes to rest on his waist.
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Flint had done nothing but prove that he liked him. Who else had ever really wanted to help soothe any aches that Raylan was feeling, in the way they were talking about? He had fully believed Tim when the sniper said that he loved him, but this was what was lacking. There were no soft validations for Raylan, no easily falling into each others arms in the same way he was finding here. No hope that wasn't rooted in the fear of being left again.
There's a twitch of arousal in his stomach as James passingly sucks the tip of the offered digit, making his gaze a little more intense as he speaks. It was liberating to not feel a twist of anxiety, like the next words that would come from the pirate would be damning or admonishing. Liberating to not be disappointed for daring to think it would be. Raylan's breath was a little shallower as Flint's fingers ghost over his skin and he hums softly, lips curling at the edges with an echo of regret in them.
"Now there's an argument for me gettin' healed up," he murmurs. Generally, people wanted him to do the holding. Big man with his big goddamned gun, but right now, he wanted to be held. Wanted to be held the way Flint wanted to hold him.
"I wouldn't mind curlin' up into your chest and listein' to your heart drummin' under my ear. Goin' to sleep to that sound with your arms around me." His hand slid from Flint's neck to run it down his side, draping it around his waist at an angle. "I'll look into tomorrow, how about that. Least for the ribs. Heard somewhere that my face is prettier with a few bruises."
And those would be gone long before the ribs healed on their own.
no subject
"Deal." He murmurs and leans in to capture Raylan's lips as a reward, kissing him slow and soft once more to just savor it a little.
"I like your face either way, but I'd prefer without the bruises. You and I have been hurt enough for a lifetime." He shifts back to lay flat on his back and pats his chest.
"C'mon, if you put your head here, your ribs should be alright, less of a chance my arm is dead weight on you." If Raylan drapes himself over him he could still listen to his heartbeat and tuck in with him. He can wrap the arm under him around the back of his shoulders, and the other hand will rest on his thigh.
no subject
"Probably two or three lifetimes, an' we still got a long way to go," he only half jokes as he lifts and rearranges the blanket before laying himself down carefully on Flint's chest, slowly relaxing his weight into it to make sure his ribs weren't going to give him any complaints that he wasn't expecting. A second later, Raylan's leg was tucking up over James, free hand and arm draped along the free side of him with as heavy a sigh as he and his sated, agonized body could give.
"I'm gonna end up droolin' on you and I apologize in advance." But it was said with a curl of a smile as his thumb brushed back and forth a few times. James had a strong heartbeat and Raylan had forgotten how good it was to hear one like a drum under him.
no subject
He gives a small, gentle chuckle, holding back a little so as not to jostle the other too much.
"I've had worse, a little drool won't bother me." His eyelids are already getting heavy now they're comfortably tucked in. With luck, his mind will recognize it and be silent tonight.