Somehow, the assurance that this was normal to someone, somewhere, namely the man in his arms, had allowed Raylan to go on something of an autopilot. One arm was traded for the other as he let Malcolm push the jacket off, their kiss broken only for a half breath of air before one or the other leaned back forward like they were in some competition to see who could out kiss who. Between the motions, Raylan pulled the rest of Malcolm's shirt free, letting him run his hands up the fit angles of Malcolm's back.

"Door," he managed, just as roughly as before, just as futilely for a half second as he kept Malcolm against him until he pushed him away at the hips, eyes dark and promising that this wasn't going to be their last touch. "Before you make me do something terrible in this stairwell."

No, he didn't know what. Seemed to be the theme of the night but Raylan had just enough scotch and need and protective fury under his belt that it didn't matter. He could look at it all in the light of the morning. Later.