abrightboy | No One's Born Broken

Malcolm finished maybe a third of his soup in that time, but gamely took another bite.

"I'd love to enjoy eating something," he said, setting his spoon down to take a sip of bourbon. "To really enjoy it, instead of it being... I don't know. A biological obligation that my body mostly rejects."

"What.. what stops you? Why is your mind so against food? What happens up there?" He wanted to know, honestly - there was no correction here, Malcolm was doing what he could and Raylan could only strive to understand the reasons.

Malcolm thought about how to explain it.

"You know when you're really nervous about something? Like... public speaking or... I don't know. A review? And your stomach knots up and you feel sick? I feel like that all the time, thanks to severe anxiety and also the medication for anxiety." He shrugged. "I don't really even remember what it feels like to not be at least vaguely nauseated."

Raylan hummed and frowed softly, nodding in understanding. His Opinions about Malcolm's Medications would be kept to himself - what did he know, but it only reinforced his theory.

"I wish you could. And you've.. never been off your meds since the doctors put you on them? How.. how do they know they're working?"

"I haven't been on the same medications all this time. It's a constantly evolving thing. The body gets used to one, it loses its effectiveness, they trade it out for another. They change combinations and dosages. But...I've occasionally been off of them. I miss a dose now and then when I get caught up in something... it's not good. I hope you never see me... fully unbalanced."

Raylan could only shake his head a little, face pinched in consternation.

"Alright." He drained his drink and poured another and tried to change the subject.

"So, you talked about Tim but how did Rachel take you showin' up?"

Malcolm watched Raylan's face. He could see he wasn't happy with Malcolm's answer. He pressed his lips together, turning his glass around on the table, but answered the question asked.

"Suspiciously. She didn't seem quite convinced that anyone would ever visit Kentucky to visit Kentucky."

He paused and looked from his glass to Raylan. "Do you remember the hallucination I had at my mother's house?"

He huffed a breath. "She's right. There's not much here."

Raylan looked over. "Yes. And if you're saying that that's what happens all the time, I believe you. I'm not a doctor. But seems to me that your brain has never had a break to even defend itself as..I don't know.. less broken than everyone thinks you are. Everything's been buried under meds so long, your brain screams at you in the night." He shook his head.

"I don't wanna talk about this. Not my place."

"I'll find out when you're working and I go take in the sights."

He planned on spending a lot of time in Lexington, if he could manage it.

He picked up his glass and took a sip, then looked at Raylan.

"You wanted to understand it when you asked the question." He leaned forward, a splayed hand on his chest. "I'm not offended. I don't... it doesn't feel right when you say my business isn't your business. What you're saying... I get where it's coming from. Most people with... difficult anxiety don't start as early as I did. But I suffer from intractable symptoms of PTSD and if they weren't mitigated I could't function, much less work. Psychotherapy hasn't been able to resolve my trauma."

"Go see UK's campus. It's where I went to college. Not a bad spread."

Raylan's eyes found some spot on the carpet to focus on for a long minute. "I said it wasn't my place, not that it wasn't my business. I am not certified in psychology or any of the medicinal needs it might demand."

He wasn't going to speak on anything else.

Malcolm nodded.

"That's fair," he conceded. "But... for the record... if you ever want to ask me anything...... I want you to feel like you can ask."

Raylan nodded. "I do. I have. I am," he said, gesturing with each statement. He shifted in his seat a little as he continued. "You've spent your whole life listening to what other people think is best for you. I do not aim to be counted in their ranks. I'm not here to tell you how to live or deal with whats in your head." He was here to help.

And that's all he wanted to do. Not impose some false idea of reality on will alone. That would only be more damaging.

Malcolm looked utterly charmed for a moment, blinked and looked like he was going to say something, then didn't, then looked at Raylan.

"You noticed that, huh?" he said with a huff of a laugh, fingers fidgeting with his glass.

"Kinda hard not to, after being around a few times. I don't hear much choice in your stories. You got one choice and you made it, and it was the right one. And then.. all that was.. taken over and it doesn't.." Raylan looked over with a heavy breath. It didn't seem like Malcolm had been given much choice back.

"Like I said before. You're strong as hell to have accomplished what you have over everything else." Raylan chased the words and the still twisted feeling in his chest back down with a wash of bourbon.

Malcolm wasn't accustomed to being described as 'strong'. It was implied by Gil sometimes. With most people, the gist was 'clever but mentally frail'.

He watched Raylan's face for a moment, then got up, abandoning about a finger of bourbon and half a bowl of soup to walk around the table and straddle Raylan's lap, sliding his arms around the Marshal's neck and pressing a lingering kiss to his mouth before burying his face in the crook of his neck.

"Here's another choice of mine," he murmured into Raylan's skin.

Raylan watched Malcolm and his face as he processed that and set his glass off to the side on the table as Malcolm slid over him, freeing his hands to wrap them around Malcolm's back and kiss him back with a soft inhale of breath.

When Malcolm tucked his head into Raylan's neck, he rested his head's weight on him gently as he sighed again as he absorbed the comforting weight and warmth.

"I can get behind this one too," he murmured back. "I just wanna see you happy. Whatever that looks like."

"Everybody tells me that. When they want me to do something I don't want to do," like go on vacation, like eat more food, like not working so much, "when they're breaking up with me...." He lifted his head and looked Raylan in the eye. "You actually make me happy."

He nodded with a slight movement as Malcolm talked. He knew. It was part of the reason he wanted to prove Malcolm wrong in it. Just in a singular human instance. Even if it was just him holding to a more true sentiment of the statement.

The confirmation that he made Malcolm happy made Raylan smile crookedly, stupidly, and reach out to pull Malcolm back into a kiss. They were circling around It again, even if Malcolm didn't realize and Raylan knew it was going to be hard to keep that promise of cementing how he felt in an inarguable way pressed down and hidden.

"Good. Just keep me up on how I'm doin'. Don't let me start slippin'."

Malcolm smiled broadly at that.

"I don't know; you seem like an Ever Vigilant kind of guy, but I'll hold you to the high standard you've set," he teased, running his fingers down along Raylan's neck to fidget at the strap of his undershirt.

His eyes lingered there a moment, then he raised them back to Raylan's face. "It's late. Take me to bed."

Raylan smiled crookedly in return, teeth not quite peeking out from the scant break in his lips and he glanced down at the fingers fussing with the strap of his shirt, sharply aware of the heat that it started to coil low in his stomach. When he met Malcolm's gaze again, the smile broke into a grin at the question and Raylan leaned forward to kiss him again.

"That I can do," he muttered against Malcolm's lips as he half lifted, half guided Malcolm off his lap and to his feet. If he were stronger, he would have just scooped Malcolm up and carried him to the bed but frankly, Malcolm was mostly muscle and a little heavier than Raylan had expected the first time. But instead, Raylan pulled Malcolm's shirt from his trousers so he could spread his hands over the smooth hot skin underneath, using the lean of his weight to guide them towards the big bed that Malcolm had gotten with the room.

"That you can do," Malcolm agreed heartily, smiling into the next kiss, letting himself be backed into the bedroom and towards the bed as his hands tugged Raylan's undershirt up from the waist.

What Malcolm knew objectively: sex had never, in his life, been as good as it was with Raylan. What Malcolm suspected: that only partly had to do with Raylan's level of experience and had largely to do with how wrapped up in him Malcolm's emotions were. Raylan's touch felt like love and it made everything so much more potent.

He pushed the undershirt up his body and let the kiss break as they got to the bed so he could pull it off over his head and toss it aside.

Humming a rough note of approval at Malcolm's hands moving up his body, Raylan lifted his arm so the shirt could be discarded before he started tugging Malcolm's tie open so he could get to the buttons underneath while he stole Malcolm's lips for another needy kiss.

Raylan knew what he was doing; he was pouring all his feelings into every touch and caress, hungry for what he had and more. Everything he couldn't ask for yet. Everything he needed.

The kiss broke with a heavy breath as Raylan fought with the last few buttons so he could push Malcolm's shirt off. "I don't know if you thought to bring any.. supplies with you, but if not, hotel lotion isn't that bad," he muttered, hands coming down to Malcolm's belt.

"Of course I brought supplies," he breathed. "I was coming to see you."

And considering keeping his hands off of Raylan once they were alone somewhere was not something that would ever cross his mind.

"More than a single use worth," he added with a smile. "I have a few days here, you know," he informed him happily as he worked Raylan's belt open. He looked up at his face. "I have to stock up on you."

Raylan's terminology and so appropriate, though he never seemed to 'stock up' on enough to keep him from feeling inconsolably lonely once they were separated again.

Once he got Raylan's jeans open, he moved reluctantly away from him, stepping out of the bedroom to drag his bag inside the doorway and riffle through it, finding the tube under his clothes and tossing it to Raylan before returning to push his pants down over his hips, even as he leaned up into a new kiss.

The answer made Raylan's everything twitch a little. It shouldn't have been a surprise, it almost wasn't, but it was incredibly hot to hear. He, himself, had stopped really thinking about it, still dealing and overcoming accepting doing it at all with such raw, unguilty pleasure, so the news that Malcolm planned was heady.

Enough so that Raylan almost followed him, just to not stop touching. But the brief break allowed him to toe off his boots and socks in time to catch the bottle of lube, free hand already eager to slip around Malcolm as he leaned down into the kiss. The bottle was tossed up onto the bed for the moment so he could hold onto Malcolm, shuffling out of his jeans before doing much the same to the smaller man, greedy to pull them onto the bed.

Malcolm had hopes the first time he visited after the gala night. This particular preparation could definitely be called a plan.

He laughed in delight as they tumbled onto the bed, quickly claiming Raylan's mouth for another kiss, one arm pinned under Raylan while the other hand reached up to touch his face as they kissed.

"Of course, once we have an apartment here," he noted breathlessly, "it'll have its own supplies..."

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