Malcolm Bright

This was probably a better pace than the hurried faux bravery Raylan had chosen in the moment and he met it with a little less fever than before, hands slipping around Malcolm, one finding its way under his jacket to get a palm closer to the skin hidden underneath. Raylan felt like he was a teenager again, making out in a dark corner of some high school stairwell, but this wasn't high school and Malcolm wasn't some cheerleader looking for a good time.

After a few seconds, Raylan deepened the kiss with a little rumble from the back of his throat, losing himself to his own impulses a little bit. He couldn't help it; there was no arguing how good it or Malcolm felt, or how good it felt, in the moment, to not be holding the impulse back under a firm country bootheel.