abrightboy | No One's Born Broken

Malcolm rather liked being sandwiched between Raylan and a wall. It felt... secure. Solid.

He kicked his shoes and pants off distractedly, one hand coming up to cup Raylan's jaw while the other slid around his ribs and down to his hip. His breath hitched against Raylan's mouth when that hand closed around him, little sounds escaping with each stroke as the kisses got messier and hungrier.

The hand at Raylan's jaw slid up into his hair and Malcolm arched his body against Raylan's, his shoulderblades pressed to the wall for leverage.

Edited 2020-07-05 20:38 (UTC)

There was plenty Raylan might have wanted to do, but having Malcolm's hands on him, holding him close was too good. With a rough growl, Raylan wrapped his arms around Malcolm and lifted him off his feet, carrying him towards the bedroom, nipping little bites into their kiss as he went.

Once in there, Raylan set him down next to the desk they'd so helpfully supplied and lifted him up onto it, hands sliding around and up his back as he enjoyed them being at eye level together.

"I want you every night, in my bed, with me, where we belong," he breathed, only able to give words to his feelings in passing breathes of sanity.

Raylan, practically feral with desire - for him - was already a heady experience before he put words to it.

Malcolm wrapped his legs around him when he lifted him up, making the leverage to carry him easier. Helping. He was heavier than he looked. Once he was perched on the desk, he wrapped a leg around him again, holding him close, the hand in his hair coming to rest at the nape of his neck.

"I want that, too," he whispered.

His free hand slid up Raylan's chest and neck to his jaw and brought him in for another hungry kiss, his leg around Raylan's hip tightening its grip on him.

It did help; Raylan knew Malcolm was heavier, but every time he hefted the smaller man, there was another resolution to be doing more push ups in his idle hours. Lifting Malcolm was something his gut wanted to do and damnit, he was get the rest of his body in line.

One hand moved to sloppily pull the desk drawer open and pull out the small bottle of hotel lotion that had been tossed in there so they could be replaced with something a little better. Raylan broke the kiss with a half gasp for air as he pulled back enough to pop a cap, slather himself, smear two fingers between Malcolm's very firm cheeks and breathily whisper for him to scoot forward an inch. Between the desk, Malcolm's leg strength, and Raylan's steadying hand now free of a lotion bottle, they could manage his weight without issue.

Maybe it should have been sweeter, more tender and heartfelt, but Raylan was who he was and Malcolm had deep hooks in him. Their lovemaking was just as contrary and complex as they were, and he couldn't help but pour everything he was feeling into it.

It felt heartfelt to Malcolm, and that was sweet in its own way. Malcolm was certain that Raylan wouldn't pick a man for physical gratification if that was all he was after. When Raylan wanted him, it was coming from an emotional bond they'd developed, and that was tender. And if it made Raylan want to fuck him over a desk because he just couldn't stand to not? Well, that was just damn hot. He had never been wanted like this, much less by someone who knew him - someone who knew his darkness and his weaknesses - and loved him.

He scooted forward when asked, trying to take a breath through his breathlessness to relax into it as he eased himself onto Raylan just as much as Raylan eased into him. He pulled his other leg up around Raylan's waist, propping one hand on the desk for leverage and gripping Raylan's neck with the other.

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.

His eyes holding Malcolm's gaze said everything.

His grip on the desk was whiteknuckled as he held his ground, his arm slipping further around Raylan's neck to draw their faces closer until Malcolm could press his forehead to Raylan's temple, every little gasp and noise from his throat coming out close to Raylan's ear.

One of his hands clawed up Malcolm's back to hold him there, breathing such sinfully sweet sounds into Raylan's ear, and his own sounds got throatier and louder, half spoken swears breaking into more than a few. The heat that coursed through him was coiling tightly at the base of his spine, but Raylan's hunger was more than his need to unload and he held it at bay, turning to press and trail rough, scuff scratching kisses down Malcolm's jaw and neck.

He was so pliable in Raylan's grasp, letting his head tilt to the side to give him access, hand at his neck threading back up into his hair, grasping a handful and squeezing.

No attention was paid to the banging of the desk against the wall or how far their sounds might carry, all Raylan knew was that the hand in his hair drove him a little more wild, egged him on a little harder as his bent head hovered above Malcolm's shoulder, and had his off hand slipping around to Malcolm's hip to help pull him into his thrusts.

"Raylan," he gasped, suddenly right at the edge of climax. Raylan probably felt him twitch against his belly; it wasn't long before sticky warmth spread there between them, Malcolm squeezing him tighter with his legs for a moment as he rode out the orgasm. He was breathing heavily as he recovered enough of his sense from the fog of euphoria to work with Raylan's rhythm again.

There was no holding out against the onslaught of sensations and sounds, and Raylan followed Malcolm's climax with his own within two or three strokes. All he could manage was a rough, tight, half strangled noise as his fingers dented into Malcolm's skin, body tensing despite his shuddering movements, until Raylan dropped the weight of his head on Malcolm's shoulder and stilled.

His world was spinning more than a little bit and while his hands eased their grip, he didn't move them, unable to do anything more than stand there, weight half propped on a knee against the side of the desk as he willed color and sound back into his senses. With them came a more astute awareness of how he'd acted and Raylan couldn't help the soft, "Sorry, I don't know what got into me," from his half hidden position.

He knew exactly what got into him and that scared him a little bit.

Malcolm's own grip loosened and the hand clutching Raylan's hair let it go and threaded through it tenderly.

"Do not apologize; that was entirely consensual," Malcolm pointed out with a smile. He smoothed his hand over Raylan's hair and tilted his head a little, trying to see his face. "You don't feel like you were doing something...wrong do you?"

He huffed a breath of amusement in reply, head slowly lifting to return half lidded hazel eyes to Malcolm's face, lips curled in that lazy, easy smile he'd perfected at some point in his life.

"No," he assured with a faint lift of his eyebrows. "Not wrong. Just.." His head bobbled a little bit. "Intense," he finished with a slight squint of one already squinty eye. "I don't wanna hurt you, that's all."

"I will let you know if you're hurting me," Malcolm promised. He set a kiss on Raylan's smile. "I know how to use my words." He gave him another gentle kiss. "It was intense. But it was very, very good." He glanced down between them and laughed almost self-consciously. "Even just based on the mess I made."

He could take that reassurance, though it did little to quell the weird, unsettlement at how high he'd gotten on that. Raylan glanced down at the mess with a grin and when he turned his head back up, it was to kiss Malcolm again with a firm, unwavering resolve. He used it, only partially, to distract from his gentle extraction.

"As much as I like your mess, let's go rinse off before it cools... If my legs are still workin' right."

Malcolm slid down off the desk as Raylan moved away, but keeping one hand on Raylan's shoulder to steady himself. He wasn't sure his legs were in much better shape, but they did carry him to the bathroom in Raylan's wake.

"We should. Um. Probably order some dinner," he noted as he took a washcloth down from the towel bar and wet it in the sink. "Something special, to celebrate. What's your favourite?" he asked Raylan as he wiped himself up.

Raylan opted to lean in the shower and turn on the water, adjusting it either way with a hand coming to check the stream before he straightened and opened up the curtain to the other side.

"My favorite? Fried Chicken. But you don't wanna order that in - it loses somethin' on the way." With the water set, he stepped in and ducked under the water briefly before fighting with and tossing the small box that held the soap over the curtain rod.

"I can always appreciate a good steak," he offered. See? Simple man.

Malcolm picked up the soap box and tossed it in the trashcan, then slipped into the shower.

"Hi," he said, ducking his head under the spray. "Steak? We can do steak. Champagne? Is that too pretentious? Too momentous for the moment? We have the bourbon."

If Raylan had put a bet on it, Malcolm did exactly what he would have bet on and it made him chuckle as he stepped back to make the room, body already half soaped.

"Hi," he replied, hands already reaching forward to soap Malcolm's chest and stomach as he spoke. "Too pretentious for a new apartment?" He scoffed. "Nothing pretentious about it. Hell, I'm half surprised we didn't get struck by lightning on the way out, outta spite. That's gotta be worth a bottle at least, right?"

Malcolm grinned. "Part of me is telling me to play it cool, but I actually want to make a really big deal about it," he admitted, looking around for shampoo and then grabbing the little bottle off the shelf. "I've never lived with anyone. I'm excited." He squeezed shampoo into his hand and then reached up to work it into Raylan's hair.

Raylan slid one slick hand up Malcolm's neck and jaw so he could bend down and kiss this silly, wonderful man he'd fallen in love with. It wasn't the first time Raylan had lived with anyone, but he was excited too.

"Make a big deal outta it then," he said when it broke. Just this once, at least. "Because it is one. This is the first place I've had with someone in.. shit, almost ten years. I'm excited too," he admitted, hands sliding around Malcolm's waist so he could wash his back and still find an excuse to be against him.

"But I think we should be celebrating in the apartment too. Maybe we'll do that by having a drink on the terrace together when I get home tomorrow."

"Jim Beam?" he suggested. "And our first sunset there?"

He leaned up for one more kiss before walking them both a couple of steps to put Raylan's hair under the spray. "Right after the furnished grand tour," he said. "Tilt your head back."

Raylan smiled. "Sounds perfect." And it really did.

Malcolm's kisses would never not broaden his smile and Raylan let himself be shifted and moved around until he was under the stream and tilting his head back as told, closing his eyes as the soap was washed from his hair.

"Lookin' forward to how you dress the place up. You did your own in New York, right?"

"I did," he conceded, moving back to bring Raylan out of the spray again so he could smooth conditioner through his hair. "But I have constructive feedback on that to improve the experience," he noted with a grin. "Couch: must be comfy, for example."

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