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For the briefest moment, Malcolm worried he was overstepping. He was worried that he was being impulsive and that he’d misunderstood, but Raylan kissed him back and held him closer and after a moment he let go of the undershirt, his hand sliding up to Raylan’s jaw as he tentatively urged the kiss deeper.

Raylan had opened this door; he'd kissed Malcolm first, broken that magical first barrier of intimate touch. Malcolm wasn't overstepping, not when Raylan welcomed him so willingly into his arms. The hand up his jaw quelled a little of the intensity of his kiss, slowing him down as his lips parted, tongue dipping out to taste the strange soft impossibility of the man in his arms.

Malcolm didn’t know if it would go anywhere from here or if it meant he did have any claim to anything in this room, but for the moment he was happy just to have the quiet affection and assurance that calmed his racing, swirling thoughts down into sweet, pleasant sensations.

As that kiss broke, Malcolm pulled back just enough to see Raylan’s face in the dimness of the room, his hand still on the marshal’s jaw, clutching it with gentle pressure. He looked like he might say something, but nothing seemed adequate and he leaned back in for another kiss instead.

Raylan didn't know either. He was in a blissful state of inbetween, where future planning and tomorrow or an hour or a minute from now didn't really matter.

As Malcolm kissed him again, Raylan slipped one hand up under his tee-shirt, humming softly into the kiss at the solid heat against his palm, completely oblivious to the thoughts racing in Malcolm's head. All he knew was that someone who cared about him was kissing him and he didn't hate it.

When the kiss broke again, Raylan kept their faces close, eyes studying what he could in the darkness. "I'm not outta your league," he said, the first reference he's made to the conversation he'd overheard. "My league is whiskey and cheating wives and girlfriends that steal from me for their husbands I didn't know they had, I'm.." He let out an uneven breath. "I'm not what you think I am, Malcolm."

Raylan's hand under his shirt was like fire on his skin and he was still distracted when Raylan told him he wasn't out of his league. It took him a fraction of a second to blink at him as he realized what he said and he carried on.

"I.... how did you... " His colour drained a little. "Did Doc tell you?" he whispered.

He'd been chewing over it for days, whether or not to say anything, whether or not to tell. Holding onto that kinda information felt dishonest in a way he wasn't comfortable with. Malcolm deserved to know.

"The night you woke up screamin' my name. Doc came in here, checked on me.. I wasn't asleep." How could he be, hearing his name screamed like bloody murder? That along was a little traumatizing, though he wouldn't admit it to anyone.

"I listened in on your conversation from the hall." His hand loosened, giving Malcolm the room and silent 'okay' if he wanted to pull away. To blame him. Raylan wouldn't argue against it; he deserved it but. He wasn't sorry.

When Raylan's grip on him loosened, his hand fell to the strap of Raylan's undershirt and tightened. He didn't pull away. He was processing, but one thing his hands knew was they wanted to hold on to the solid warmth beneath them.

"You..." He'd known. He'd know all along. "You weren't avoiding me."

He'd been sure that was what would have happened if he'd told him.

The hand on his shirt stopped any retreat and it was with a hesitant type of easing back into what he wanted, what he needed. What he had needed since the third day of high stress. Who cared if he was catching feelings along the way. He was catching feelings all over the place, none of which he knew how to handle like a sane human being.

"'Course I wasn't. Any awkwardness and you woulda spotted it. Started questioning, fell down a hole.. I didn't want that to happen. I didn't want you to know until I'd had some.. time to process. It's okay to trust Doc. Wasn't his fault - I just.." Just invaded Malcolm's privacy, even if it was rooted in concern.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Malcolm’s eyes stayed on his face.

“I don’t think you’re... some kind of saint with a perfect life or something. You’re just... so good at keeping it together. You keep it together for all of us. And I’m.... a mess. At all times here. That’s what I meant by that. I’m... nothing but maintenance. I feel like a bag of broken pieces.”

You got no kinda idea what my life is like, he thought sadly. How that might change things once Malcolm sorted that out, he didn't know.

"Harlan ain't a place where you survive without learnin' how to hide the soft spots." He'd learned young; he'd been doing it his whole life. That didn't mean, of course, that there weren't soft spots there. "Even then, you gotta watch out for someone takin' a shot at you, one way or another." And he was happy to extend that watch here, that self protection over Malcolm and Henry and Neal. He couldn't just watch people flap in the wind that didn't deserve it.

"You're not maintenance," he assured, thumb brushing back and forth over the small of Malcolm's back. "You're self reliant, smart, self aware.. and that last one is rarer than you think, considering how much you've suffered." Considering the situation Life had put him in. "It's okay to be in broken pieces. That's not your fault."

The thumb at his back released some of his tension and he let his hand splay on Raylan's chest again instead of gripping the strap of his shirt. When he'd loosened his grip, Malcolm thought he was getting ready to leave.

"You let us see the soft spots," he noted softly. "What does that mean?"

Raylan smiled softly, eyes moving over Malcolm's face. "It means y'all are workin' hard at gettin' me to trust you with the same things you trust me with. Not a small feat.." A beat passed as Raylan considered saying more. "Any place else and both of you woulda had to work a lot harder to get me to lay down next to you and not be weird about it."

Malcolm let out a shaky breath, but it came with a small smile.

“You know....technically, you got me to lay down next to you,” he pointed out coyly. He searched Raylan’s face one more time, then leaned in and kissed him gently, hesitantly, to see if that was something that was still okay with him.

"I cheated," he muttered before Malcolm kissed him, spending his hand to spread across Malcolm's back some more. He liked how Malcolm felt, the way his skin felt under his hand, a logical contrast of sensations that Raylan was slowly getting entrapped by, he could feel it now. Like needing a drink or some quiet.

He hummed softly when it broke. "Once I knew you wouldn't kick me for tryin' to enjoy something.. simple.. Fundamentally basic.." He watched Malcolm's face, feeling far too much like he was out on a thin branch. "I know you want it too. Connection. Something good in this shithole of a place."

"I always want... connection. Nobody wants to be in a relationship with someone they can't sleep beside. Who sees things sometimes. Who barely holds themselves together when they have medication and a regimented routine to rely on. ....I know you care what happens to me. I... of course I want this. You're a good person who shoulders a lot of crap and only some of it belongs to you. Of course I want you."

Raylan inhaled, chin lifting a little as he brushed his thumb back a few times on Malcolm's back. They were getting into areas, promises, half promises, admissions that he wasn't ready to. Malcolm wanted him? Malcolm didn't know what he brought into a life, or how many flaws he had or how angry he really was.

"I'm not as great as you think, I promise," he assured, withdrawing a little. Not with as many bodies that he's laid in the ground. Justified or not, the world was a better place for it and Raylan felt no real guilt beyond that of humanity. He'd still taken those lives. No matter the reward. He didn't even feel bad about them. But intrinsically, something in him still pointed out the wrongness of it. And that he couldn't shoulder so gracefully.

Oh no, everything in him shouted. He’d gone too far or too fast. He’d said too much and he couldn’t take it back.

What had Vijay told him about why he didn’t have any friends? You’re always so intense.

He directed his gaze at Raylan’s throat. It was easier than looking at his face and whatever awkwardness or discomfort he may or may not have put there.

“Oh.” He swallowed. “...I understand.”

He understood what the pushback meant, however gentle it had been. Something simple and fundamental. Something nice amidst the shithole. Not... anything too complicated by being so personal. Nothing so fast. Maybe nothing so serious.

He dared lift his eyes a little bit to find Raylan’s eyes, finally. “It’s okay,” he said with a small nod for assurance.

[Note to the eventual reader: Thread detoured over here and Raylan's response will be double posted.]

How? He understood what? Raylan did not understand and the pinch of his brows said as much. Something had played wrong; he wasn't reading something right and he felt the urge to distance himself before more damage was done - to himself or Malcolm. "I-"

Doc coming up the stairs and into the room was a blessing in disguise and Raylan swiveled his half raised head towards the door, body drawing back a few inches. He glanced at Malcolm and shifted up on his elbow, arm draping over his own hip as he listened. Having momentarily forgotten about Neal or Negan or anyone that wasn't sitting on or in the bed currently, it was a sharp reminder of where they were. Where they weren't.

"If they can withstand that, they'll fit in fine." At the suggestion of staying here a few more hours, Raylan nodded, glancing at Malcolm again before pushing the blankets off and turning his legs out to sit up and then stand up. "I gotta piss," he said by way of explanation as he headed around the foot of the bed and towards the bathroom. He needed to just. Not be seen for a few minutes.

"Get comfortable."

Edited 2021-01-30 02:15 (UTC)

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