Malcolm Bright

"Then I'm doin' my job," Raylan managed, hand still moving and his own hips lifting into the motion now as his free hand gripped at Malcolm's waist, too aware of the hat that sat back on his head. He'd already said so much, he didn't doubt that Malcolm understood, but the slip had been a deep secret of his that was only appropriate to share now. Else, never.

Malcolm deserved to feel attractive and loved and wanted and Raylan knew full well what to do with those sympathetic feelings; jar them like Helen's preserves and put them on some back shelf to be forgotten about.

With a rough grunt of a breath, Raylan slid his hand back around Malcolm's neck and pulled him down, happier to busy those pretty lips wit something other than self doubt.