Raylan already felt undone and lost, groaning tightly as their bodies fit together in just the way he needed and holding Malcolm's eyes with a deep intensity as his hips started moving, filling the room with more than their heavy pants. Feral might have been the totally correct word; there was nothing in the Marshal at the moment but feelings, need and instinct.

It was hard to say who was clinging onto who; Raylan curled into him like letting him go and letting too much space between them would break whatever spell he was under.