#raylan should c h i l l

[im-not-thinking-confetti-cannons]

Day 20: Shotgunning

Warnings: drug use

Rating: E

Pairing: Boyd x Raylan

“What’ve you got there?”

Boyd looks up at the sound of Raylan’s voice, one eyebrow raised, and – that’s fair. Raylan knows the answer to the question even as he asks it. He spent enough time in Miami – and hell, in college – to know what a blunt looks like, never mind what it smells like. 

“Raylan,” Boyd drawls, and his voice is looser than usual, soft around the edges in a way that tells Raylan exactly how long he’s been hiding out on the back porch, smoking. Boyd smiles, too, wide and a little crooked. “You should join me.”

Raylan snorts, but he sits down on the porch swing next to Boyd anyway. Almost immediately, Boyd leans against him, laying his head down on Raylan’s shoulder as he puffs on the diminishing blunt. “I guess someone has to keep an eye on you,” Raylan says, and Boyd hides his laugh in the collar of Raylan’s shirt.

“Responsibility is a good look on you, Raylan.”

Raylan reaches up, scratching his nails gently through the hair at the base of Boyd’s neck and earning himself a sweet little shiver and a satisfied sigh. “You think everything’s a good look on me,” he accuses.

Boyd takes another drag. “Why, you’ve found me out, marshal. I happen to be unrepentantly attracted to my boyfriend.” He rolls his head to look up at Raylan, teeth bared in another of those too-wide smiles. “Now I forget: what might be the penalty for a crime of that caliber?”

“You are high,” Raylan mutters, but he’s smiling, too. Boyd is relaxed, the permanent tension he’s been carrying for what feels like the past five years no more than a memory. It’s a pretty sight. “I think we might be able to negotiate a deal for you, though.”

Boyd makes an inquisitive little sound. “Oh? And what is it you think I have to negotiate with, Raylan?”

The sound of his name in Boyd’s mouth is sinful on a normal day, when Boyd is sober, when he isn’t flirting. The way he says it now is downright salacious, but knowing he’s being seduced doesn’t make it any easier for Raylan to resist, not when Boyd’s eyes are dark and he’s pressed up against Raylan’s side like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

“We can start with this,” Raylan says, and he tilts his head just enough to brush his lips over Boyd’s. The kiss is soft and sweet, barely a kiss at all, really, but Boyd still hums into it, his eyes fluttering shut as Raylan leans back.

“If your intention is to dissuade me from making these same choices again, Raylan, I’m afraid you’re failing.”

“Boyd, when was the last time I dissuaded you from anything at all?”

Boyd laughs, slowly opening his eyes again. “Don’t sell yourself short, now, You can be downright persuasive when you want to be.”

He lifts the blunt again, but this time Raylan catches his wrist. And when Boyd just looks at him questioningly, Raylan shrugs. “You did say I should join you,” he says, pulling both Boyd’s hand and the blunt towards his own mouth. “Can’t see why you should be the only one having fun.”

“Oh, Raylan, if fun is what you want…”

Raylan rolls his eyes, but he takes a drag anyway, breathing shallowly enough that he won’t send himself into a coughing fit. It’s been a lot of years since he dabbled in this particular vice, and he’s a cocky son of a bitch, but he does know his limits.

He doesn’t exhale, though. Not right away, at least. Boyd is still looking up at him and his lips are just slightly parted, and a bolt of want so strong it almost hurts shoots right through Raylan. It's enough that he doesn't think twice about tilting Boyd's chin up and slotting their mouths together again, breathing out right into Boyd's open mouth.

Boyd moans, and arousal pools at the base of Raylan's spine, hot and liquid. "Maybe fun is what I want," he murmurs, nipping at Boyd's bottom lip and earning himself a hitched breath and a shaky little sigh. He smiles, leaning back and plucking the blunt from Boyd's fingers. "Maybe that's what you wanted in the first place."

"You caught me, Raylan," Boyd says, and his voice is still lazy around the vowels but it's deeper now, rougher. "Now, I believe all that's left is for you to decide what you're going to do with me."

"Is that all?" Raylan muses. He takes another hit, blowing this one out towards the backyard. Boyd huffs his displeasure. "Well, I think I might be able to manage that. Hold still."

Boyd obediently doesn't move while Raylan shifts, swinging one leg over Boyd's thighs so he can settle in his lap. Immediately, Boyd's hands come up, his fingers creeping under Raylan's shirt, greedy for that skin-on-skin contact. It's enough to make Raylan arch into the touch and throb in his jeans, everything made just a little better by the pleasant haze he can start to feel sneaking in.

"Raylan," Boyd breathes, asking, wanting, and Raylan gives him what he wants, taking another drag before leaning down and letting Boyd lick it from his mouth. Nails scratch down his back, just on the right side of too hard, and it's Raylan's turn to shiver, to gasp and pant and lose himself a little. 

He's not sure who moves first, but he's the one who drops the blunt and goes for Boyd's belt, and Boyd is the one who abandons his quest to claw up Raylan's back to do the same to his. There's no finesse. There's barely any coordination. But Raylan gets Boyd's pants unzipped just far enough to pull his cock out, and Boyd manages the same, wrapping his fingers around Raylan and stroking him with a grip tight enough to make Raylan snap his teeth.  

"It ain't a race, baby," he murmurs, but he wraps his own fingers around Boyd's cock a little tighter, makes the drag a little more inescapable when he starts moving his hand. Boyd's head tilts back against the back of the swing, and Raylan takes the opportunity to nip at his neck, to suck a mark right there under his jaw. Boyd's cock jumps in his hand when he feels Raylan's teeth, spilling precome that Raylan spreads down the length of him.

"Raylan," Boyd says again, and then he's angling his hips up and pulling Raylan down a little more so he can get his hand around both of them. Raylan can't help but buck up into the touch, shifting to brace his hands against the back of the swing as Boyd strokes them together.

"Fuck." Raylan's voice is high and a little breathless. The callouses on Boyd's hands and the want etched clearly on his face are both driving him quickly towards the edge – never mind the way the head of Boyd's cock keeps catching under his own, rubbing against that sensitive spot that makes him see stars. 

He leans up and steals a kiss, more or less panting into Boyd's mouth, and Boyd tenses and groans and comes, spilling all over his own stomach. Raylan can feel the way he pulses, the way Boyd's hand tightens to draw out those trembling aftershocks, and that's enough to drag him over the edge too, adding to the mess on Boyd's stomach.

For a moment, they just sit there, both of them breathing hard, coming down from the intensity of it all. Raylan knows he'll have to move, that his knees are going to punish him for this little bit of afternoon delight, but Boyd is still lax and loose underneath him, still smiling lazily, and Raylan finds he's not in a rush to chase that expression away.

"Five minutes," he says, and closes his eyes as he settles, tucking his face into the crook of Boyd's neck. He feels Boyd's little laugh more than he hears it, but he also feels two arms settle around him, warm and reassuring, so he only nips at Boyd's neck in retaliation. 

When Tim finds them there, twenty minutes later, they're both asleep, both of them clinging to each other. They're sweet, Tim thinks, as he snaps a picture he'll never show to anyone outside of the house. 

He doesn't wake them.

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