singillatim | Summer of where the hell are we

Entry tags:

Summer of where the hell are we

Who: Raylan and you!
What: Feasting, MemLoss, around town SoL
When: Month of August
Where: Around Milton, Community hall

[Methusalah's Feast]

Raylan always made sure to come to these when he was able to without betraying himself in one way or another. He also made sure to come with plenty of firewood and dried fish over his shoulder and in his hand respectively, to offer new 'settlers'. Free supplies made things a lot easier when you were just learning how to survive like this and he remembers all too well how harrowing it was to just show up here in Milton out of regular life. It didn't hurt that he liked to see who came in, as well as take an opportunity to check up on the message board. It could be it's own form of entertainment sometimes.

At his side moved a wolf, tall at nearly hip level, with the standard kind of grey and white most people would think of when thinking 'wolf', but seemingly perfectly well behaved as his eyes stay on the rest of the room. Quiet but ready. All up until he got distracted by a smell and starts to nose into someone's meal.

"Goose! No, goddamnit, that's rude," he tuts as a long stride carries him over to push the wolf away. Goose didn't even look sorry, in the way he licked his chops, still eyeing the plate. Raylan sighs and offers an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that. Normally, he's got better manners then that."

[In the Woods somewhere]

It was cold. It was the first thing he'd noticed when he woke up and while a deluge of other wildly concerning circumstances were upon him, the cold dug at him more sharply than anything else. He felt sure that he must know who he was, if he could only warm up enough to think about it. What did it matter who he was if who he was didn't have any goddamn fingers? The flash of irritation warmed him only slightly, and he pulls the coat he's lucky enough to be wearing closer around his ears as step by step, he makes his way through the forest.

It was quiet and the kind of quiet that left live nerves under his skin. The kind of quiet that make his ears try and stretch somehow, to hear more clearly anything that might be moving in the roving mists. He couldn't decide if it had worked but after a little while, the crunch of something else stepping in the snow sent his ears right back to their proverbial stretching. Unnerved enough by not knowing who he was, the man without a hat hurries his stride a little bit, in the hope that what was making that noise was human.

"Hey! Hello, yes-" All it would take is eye contact for him to start moving closer. "Can't tell you how good it is to see someone else out here. Is there a- a town or something nearby? I seem to've gotten lost.."

[Around Milton - Wildcard]

Raylan hated this month. There was at least one shiny good part about it, but that withstanding, he wasn't sure how anyone here was sane anymore. The day in and day out that was only broken by terrible things upon terrible things, the gnawing hopelessness that felt harder and harder to fight each time they got knocked down was starting to fray his edges. So Raylan did what he always did when he felt like this (since there wasn't enough whiskey to drown it all out); he stayed busy.

Wood chopping was always needed. The library? Well there were some books he thought Tim might like. The clothing store? Just checking in, to see if anything new has come in. A few t-shirts end up over his shoulder after a quick hold up against his chest sizes it out. Hell, he even stops by the church, just to see the place again. He was happy to do anything that wasn't sit still and think. What he needed was a proper bath in the hot springs but honestly, he would need company lest his head get too far away from itself.

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More memory shit. It seems to be the theme lately. Tim getting caught by the green fog to have one of his very worst memories played out like a movie for passersby to see, and Raylan apparently waking up in the middle of a burnt out forest with no memory at all. Hard to say who got the shorter end of the stick with this one.

It's bullshit. This entire place is, and the worst part of it is that Tim was here and Raylan still went through it alone. There's a brief swell of anger -- his jaw goes tight and his knuckles whiten against the glass, and he takes a healthy drink to mask it all -- not so much at Raylan as the situation itself, though Tim thinks he's kind of an idiot for just sitting on it for so long.

And at the same time, the chances of Tim ever talking about it if Raylan hadn't come into his room that morning were slim to none. They're both kind of idiots when it comes to this kind of thing.

"Guess I can't fault you for workin' yourself to death every day since." He's been doing the same exact thing, after all. It's only just started leveling out in the last week or two.

His tongue presses to the back of his teeth for a moment, looking down into his glass as he considers something. It's delicate, this whole thing between them. As wild as the entire marshals office has learned that Raylan's love life is, Tim's never known him to treat any of them frivolously. Of course, he isn't an exceptionally pretty girl, and maybe Raylan isn't interested in much more than sex with guys, but--

Whatever. The decision is made with another sip -- even with the way he's actually pacing himself, he's working his way through his drink much faster than Raylan's working through his. Liquid courage is liquid courage, no matter how little of it he's actually had.

"You didn't have to keep it to yourself for so long. This--" He gestures between them with his glass, the way they're sitting semi-vulnerable with each other. "-- doesn't have to be one-sided."

The passing tenseness of Tim's jaw and the way he gripped his glass told Raylan a lot - primarily that Tim hated the way they were fucked with as much enthusiasm as he did. They could agree on that, if anything, and Raylan was glad to know so well that Tim understands the need to keep oneself busy sometimes. It was the only way Raylan felt like he could make sure he didn't slip and fall off his rocker again. It was the only way to feel like he had even a modicum of control over anything at all.

He hadn't felt 'normal' in only god knew how long. Work at least let him pretend for a little while that he was still that. Just normal.

Tim continues and Raylan can't help the flickering, passing furrow of his brow at 'This doesn't have to be one-sided.' Having been married before afforded Raylan quite a bit of experience in conversations like this, though that did nothing for his actual skill in navigating them, and his brain happily supplied a handful of different suggestions about what Tim was trying to say and how Raylan should respond. It wasn't fair to Tim, to have to handle Raylan's personal baggage, to have to navigate all the scars that Winona had left on him.

A bit of grace for them both, then. He was sure that Tim wasn't trying to dig at him. Tim wasn't trying to start a fight. He had to hope that Tim wasn't suggesting that Raylan speaking up now meant that it was one-sided. Tim had asked, Raylan had answered; there had been no hiding, no deception. There was a carousel of comments replaying in the back of his head, from every lover, every relationship where it was deemed that Raylan wasn't giving enough of himself or opening himself up enough to have ribbons cut off and used against him. How long until Tim counted himself among those numbers?

"It's hard," he starts, less sure than he would like to be, "-to find a good time to ruin a perfectly good evenin'. Especially not when I'm sure this place is going to add to the pile, individually or together, radically soon after the last." He takes a drink from his cup and shifts in kind to turn his body to face Tim's more, so he can look him in the eye properly.

"But I promise it ain't from any effort to keep you out or away. Just.. there's plenty of things to worry about already and my feelin's gettin' hurt ain't one of them."

It's not exactly what he means -- he's not mad and he's not trying to be an asshole about this. It would probably be easier if he could just say what he means, but he'd have to know what that is first. He knows what he wants, he's just uncertain of how to put it into words.

This is entirely uncharted territory for him, and maybe he should feel some kind of way about it -- embarrassment or something -- but Jesus, he spent most of his adult life fighting it out overseas. So Raylan's just going to have to deal with him stumbling his way through this.

It's not like Tim didn't ruin a perfectly good two weeks by isolating himself and hardly opening up beyond that first nightmare. Raylan's support never wavered, even when Tim didn't feel like talking, even when all he wanted was the kind of physical touch that would take him out of his head and allow him to forget. It's hard to say whose baggage is heavier, who copes with it worse, but they're not exactly carrying it alone anymore. Whether they like it or not.

"I didn't think that." He knows better than anyone how difficult it is to open up, to be vulnerable. He's not interested in prying because he's not interested in Raylan prying past what he's offered in that sense. He's only interested in being here however his partner needs.

"Raylan--" He resists the urge to knock back the rest of his drink in one go, bringing the glass down to rest on his knee. The words taste foreign on the back of his teeth, and when his heart jumps hard against his chest, he lets out a short, quiet laugh of surprise.

At least he doesn't have the fucking aura anymore. He wonders what color nervous is.

"I worry about you all the time," he says finally, and miraculously, he keeps his gaze steady on Raylan. "Just-- differently than I've worried about anybody else."

He's protective, is what it is. Beyond what they had at home, because now he's maybe a little possessive, too. He doesn't exactly know what to do with all of it, but he does know it will fucking suck if Raylan wants to see other people.

It was strange, in a strangely good way, to be wrong in his assumptions. Impressive even more because Raylan thought himself clever enough to consider all the options. Except that none of his paths included Tim not thinking some version of the worst of him. It gave him a small kind of hope that he hadn't had in a very, very long time.

He can't help but smile a soft crooked smile at Tim's admittance. He couldn't help but take some modicum of pleasure in the fact that Tim cared enough to worry in any capacity.

"I imagine it's likely the same way I worry about you." His arm shifts from it's place along the back of the couch to lay against Tim's shoulder, fingers drooping to settle on the flat of his back lazily. "I like this thing we're doin'. I want you here. All the better to keep an eye on you, my dear."

It was teasing, but that didn't make it any less true. His eyes drift from feature to feature across Tim's face.

"I told Zoey about us today, by the way.. I hope that's alright - I needed to.. I needed her to know." What he had needed to do, and what he did, was manage expectations. No, he didn't want to see anyone else. He was Tim's. Tim was his. It would take a hellva argument to convince him otherwise, at this point.

Raylan's hand settles against his back, a tingling warmth spreading from the simple touch, making his heart thump a little bit harder in his chest. He's fucked -- but it's okay, because it kind of sounds like Raylan's fucked, too. Except due to the fact that Raylan's at least a little more normal than he is, he probably doesn't view it as being fucked.

Still. It's an assurance that starts to soothe his frayed nerves. Honestly, he didn't even think he was capable of feeling nervous anymore, and it's wild to discover the hidden emotional range Raylan has managed to unlock. When Tim smiles, he brings his glass to his lips to try and hide it.

He kind of hates that any one person can make him feel this way, but he'd hate it a hell of a lot more if it didn't seem like the feelings were being reciprocated. And, well-- this is almost a situation of not thinking he'd make it this far, because he's not sure what to do with it now that he has it.

"That's fine," Tim assures, and it's true -- he's never had a problem with anyone knowing that he's gay, at least not since getting out of the military. Why should he when he can kick the ass of literally anyone who decides to turn it into a problem?

Here, outside the boundaries placed upon them by their shared workplace, he doesn't see much point in keeping it a secret. He only has been because outing Raylan before he's ready would be a supremely shitty thing to do, and while Tim might be an asshole, he's not that kind of asshole.

"What... exactly did you tell her?" He knows that Zoey has a crush on Raylan, and he's pretty sure after their trip to Silverpoint with their betraying auras, Raylan's gotta know too, if he didn't already. She wasn't flickering pink because of Tim, anyway. There's history there between the two of them, something Tim will never be able to touch because he wasn't here for those particular horrors.

No, he didn't view it as being fucked. He viewed it as something ultimately dangerous to the status quo of their lives. His life. A life that was a million miles away. A life he didn't have to worry about right now and when the time came that he would have to worry about it, they would figure it out together. He hopes, anyway.

Tim smiles and Raylan can't help his own in return. This was going well, so far.

"Well," he starts, pulling away only so he could reach the bottle and pour them another few fingers, arm returning to its place over Tim's shoulder once the bottle found it's home back on the table.

"I told her that we were.. somethin' that I'd like to find out about. I didn't wanna apply any labels without havin' a conversation with you about it." He smiles a little behind his own sip of whiskey, eyes squinty and warm. "Might be that you don't want to name this. Might be that you do."

Despite the confidence of his words, his heart was crawling up into his throat, tight and burning from the whiskey that didn't help as much as it should. Part of the reason he had been dancing around it was that he didn't want the conversation to end whatever this thing they were doing was. But here it was and there was no point in delaying the agony of maybe's any further.

"Might be my gettin' ahead of myself, thinkin' that we're datin'.." His gaze stays on Tim's face, gauging the reaction.

This is going absurdly well given that Tim feels like he's flying by the seat of his pants. He knows what he wants, it's right there within his reach, and he's-- what? Scared? He walked into a war at eighteen not fully knowing what to expect, and he managed to do that with far less anxiety than he's doing this.

He'd held a gun before he enlisted. He'd survived his father before he survived the desert. He's never really put his heart on the line before. Really, he didn't think he'd make it this far.

His expression has remained carefully schooled, something he mastered without having to expend too much focus. Does he want to name this? That feels dangerous, but maybe it only is in the context of home. Things are different here, where every day is a fight for basic survival, and they really only have each other to lean on. There isn't any harm in naming it if it doesn't really change anything.

The word 'dating' comes into the mix and that does get a reaction out of Tim, his brow creasing with a slight frown.

"I don't--"

He stops. He doesn't date. Not since coming back stateside and realizing he's a hell of a lot less whole than he was when he left. The baggage is heavy, too heavy to ask someone else to carry, but-- he didn't ask Raylan. He just did it, and even when Tim was difficult about it, he made it clear he wanted to be there.

Fuck. They're already dating, aren't they? That's exactly what they're doing, they've both just been hesitant to name it. Truthfully, Tim still is a little hesitant. But not as much as he's tired of the uncertainty. He takes a long drink from his glass that doesn't do nearly enough to loosen the tightness in his throat.

"Raylan, I'm gonna be real honest with you -- I haven't dated anyone since high school." And what even is dating in high school other than trying to find the next semi-private place to hook up with the same person for a year and a half until it all implodes?

His track record isn't great. He doesn't know how to be in a relationship, but he pulls in a breath and looks Raylan in the eye when he speaks again.

"But that doesn't mean I don't want to."

Some of the easy going, laissez faire mirth slipped away at Tim's slight frown and flinch of his brow, and Raylan doesn't rush to fill the silence as Tim figures out how he wants to answer. If Raylan had to guess, and he wasn't inclined to, he would guess that Tim was about to say that he doesn't want to put a label on things, that he doesn't want them to be 'dating' so specifically. The concern that Tim would want to see someone else on the side suddenly grips him uncomfortably until Tim finishes, with a wash of soft relief.

"I don't mind bein' the first if you don't, darlin'." He gives Tim a soft smile. "I'm not lookin' for references."

There was also the fact that Raylan had probably started and ruined enough relationships to cover the both of them, but that felt in bad taste to say out loud, true or not.

"This doesn't have to be anythin' you don't want. I know you and I aren't exactly practiced at talkin'-" Considering how long it's taken for them to have this particular conversation. "-But we can figure that out. Even if that means we go on as we have been."

He had full confidence in that statement. Neither of them were stupid, just scared. Tim enjoyed being with him, he was sure of it but he wasn't going to push for something that Tim didn't want.

No, Raylan's certainly right about that. Neither of them are very good at talking. Not only is it a small miracle that this conversation is even happening, it's a smaller miracle that it's going so damn well. It'd be different if they were back home, he thinks. He would've spooked by now. Shut it down long, long before this, went back to the safety of one night stands and nameless faces.

Things are irrevocably different here. Here, where forces both natural and supernatural are trying to kill them at every turn. Their jobs aren't here to complicate things, and without that, Tim doesn't really have much to lose. Not even Raylan, truthfully. Even if this doesn't work out for some reason, he doesn't think it's possible for it to cause enough of a rift for them to not have each other's backs as long as they're both here.

It seems like a lot of security to have in something that doesn't even exist at home. Who knows if it ever could, but they've been dealt a new hand, and this is just making the best of it.

Tim sighs, shrugging his shoulders in a very nonchalant way, because, well-- it's how they've been having this whole conversation, as scary as it is. Making it easy even when it's not. It's like Raylan said -- they'll figure it out.

"Well," he says, and there's a faint smirk pulling at his lips as he tips his head. "Are we supposed to kiss on it or somethin'?"

Some part of him felt like Tim deserved something more extravagant for a declaration. Something more romantic then them just sitting in front of a fire, something more elaborate and sure then Raylan's soft considerations that gave Tim plenty of room to run if he wanted to. He wanted to blow Tim away in the same way the realization of depth of feeling had hit him. Something that actually took the man's breath away.

He'd have to think on that.

For now, he just flashes a grin at his capital P partner.

"There aren't any rules 'sides the ones we make darlin'. But if you're offerin'-" The grin spread. "Does this mean I get to introduce you as my boyfriend?"

He didn't think that Tim would have a problem with that, but he couldn't help but think of Bigby and his objections to anything close to that label.

"Jesus," Tim says, but it's with a quiet laugh. That's what they are -- boyfriends. Capital P Partners. It's weird, because they've been sleeping together with increasing regularity for months, sharing these vulnerably tender moments in between, but it's the labels that make Tim feel like they're officially crossing some sort of line.

It's their ballpark, though. Outside the confines of their lives back home, the shared profession that makes it all complicated and messy. There aren't any rules, just like Raylan says, and maybe they should eventually talk about what does happen if or when they ever make it home and there are rules again--

But not right now. Not anytime soon. One miraculously had conversation at a time.

"Yeah," he says, mouth twisting a bit as he attempts to smother a smile before giving up and letting it happen, because he's starting to feel warm from the whiskey and at some point, his free hand found it's way to resting on Raylan's bicep across the back of the couch. "I think I'd like those braggin' rights."

It feels like a coveted spot, being Raylan's Partner. Being with someone so obnoxiously charming and stunningly handsome. Loyal and protective and fierce. Tim spent a couple of years watching a string of pretty blonde women worm their way into the position he's now occupying, and now that he's here-- it almost doesn't feel real.

"You know I don't care who knows," Tim says. "So however you wanna handle tellin' other people, I'll follow your lead."

It was a decidedly good look on Tim, that softness that was settling into Tim's eyes to match some of the ease doing the same. Raylan shifts his arm fully down onto Tim's shoulders, easy himself now that it was all in the clear. Those blurred lines served them and would probably continue to do so but he was sure they could handle it.

Even if they had to argue a little, something he knew was going to be a rough time for both of them - right now everything felt shiny bright. His proud grin felt too wide for his face, probably bordering on stupid. This wasn't home. They weren't going to have to go fifty miles out of the way of anywhere to go on a date, or worry about someone coming down on them for being out of the textbook ordinary.

"I don't know that anyone wouldn't figure it out, just to look at us. If they figure it out, they figure it out. I don't want us to hide. We don't deserve shoulderin' anymore of that then we already have."

His free hand, glass set somewhere smoothly out of the way, comes up to catch Tim's chin as he leans in.

"Only matters what you think, anyway," he husks before kissing Tim soundly.

That arm settles over his shoulders, warm and secure, solidifying everything along with it. It feels right. Like this is where they were supposed to end up. Not on this particular couch in fucking Canada, but together. As if maybe they would've eventually ended up here if they were still at home.

It's impossible to say, and it doesn't matter anyway. This is where they are, and here, Raylan has decided he doesn't care who knows. Tim would've been fine keeping it under wraps -- he understands the intricacies of masculinity and sexuality, navigating judgement and ridicule. Tim was in the military while Don't Ask Don't Tell was alive and well -- once he was no longer serving, he decided he didn't give a shit who knew. If somebody wanted to have a problem with it, they could get their ass kicked by a gay guy. And that's exactly what's happened on more than one occasion.

He doesn't get the feeling it's going to happen here. Interlopers have a lot more important shit to worry about than who either of them are fucking or dating. He could've kept the secret, but he's glad he doesn't have to. That he doesn't have to stop himself from standing too close or touching too long. They don't have to hide the sliver of happiness they've found in this hell hole.

Tim's smiling faintly, leaning in as soon as Raylan's fingers are on his chin, their lips brushing almost before the final words can leave his partner's mouth. Reaching blindly, he sets his glass behind him on the side table, leaving his hand free to slide into Raylan's hair as they kiss. He can taste the whiskey, feel the sparks of desire, a bit pushy in the way he tips his head to deepen the kiss.

This is his now. He wants as much of it as he can get.

One thing is for sure - if Raylan had known how Tim felt at home, their stake outs and late nights might have been much different. Thankfully, he wasn't the kind of man to focus on those kinds of what ifs. The only time they had now was here. If they made it home, then they could maybe steal more. He hoped they could, and damn what Winona would think. God, even worse, what her mother would think. Raylan firmly pushes those thoughts away - they'd stolen plenty of his joy already.

There was always going to be a deep, jaded part of him that will expect trouble for this choice. It felt like the way of life, here or there, and under the wild nerves about how people would take the news, he was equally excited. Tim had spent his adult life proud about it, if not loud for socially understandable reasons, but Raylan hadn't gotten a chance to feel that. Save for once or twice, and twenty years prior stops counting after a while.

And now that didn't matter either, because Tim had his fingers in his hair and was inviting him to more - an invitation he was more than happy to accept as his hand leaves Tim's chin and slides around his waist, fingers lightly pressing in suggestion that Tim shift just a little so Raylan could pull him into his lap. He had less than zero arguments about cementing this all for them by wrapping around Tim and making him breathless and eager. By proving all over again that he wanted Tim, exactly how he was, however he was.

There's still a lot of questions, a lot of What Ifs, a lot of uncertainty -- but none of it matters in this very moment. With Raylan's hand moving to his waist, the taste of whiskey on his partner's -- his boyfriend's -- tongue when lips part beneath his own, it's becoming increasingly difficult to care about anything else.

Including the food simmering away over the fire, which he'll have to attend to at some point. But not right now. Tim shifts his weight, allowing Raylan to tug him into his lap. It's a joint effort, Tim swinging his leg over to straddle Raylan's lap comfortably. Not the first time they've been in this position at this point, but now Tim feels wholly like he belongs here, officially, and God does that feel good.

Absolutely nothing is going to ruin at least the next few hours for him, but if he gets his way, they won't be getting much sleep tonight. The hand in Raylan's hair stays, fingers lacing through the strands as they kiss for a few moments longer. When Tim draws back, he can't help the grin that slips easily onto his face.

"When's the last time we pulled an all-nighter together?"

Raylan hums into the kiss as Tim shifts to settle on top of him, hands easy around the smaller man. This was, without question, his favorite place to have Tim, naked or otherwise. Tim did belong there, fitting over him like they were made for it. It was a recurring thought when he was with Tim, something that niggled at the back of his mind like an admonishment of the days and nights they'd missed.

"Can't remember," Raylan murmurs, eyes dark with lust and fingers already working their way up under Tim's shirt to get at his skin so he can spread his palms across him. His lips curl, teeth flashing in an echo of that beautiful grin on Tim's face. God he looks good like that, pleased and relaxed and smiling at him that way.

"But it definitely involved a van we didn't take enough advantage of. An' now, we can pull an all nighter with almost no consequences. Have a hellva lot more fun too-" The last is murmured as he stretches up to steal Tim's lips again.

What food?

This is something he can get used to. Something he kind of already is used to, given their last couple of months of fooling around, but now it comes with an added sense of security. He doesn't have to worry about this slipping between his fingers, about what if Raylan doesn't feel the same way when he's the one who put it all on the line by broaching the subject.

They have a lot of lost time they're still making up for, but they're here now. Fitting together like puzzle pieces, those fingers cool against his skin as they push beneath his shirt. A silent shiver slips down his spine, and he barely allows the words to leave Raylan's mouth before he's leaning in too for another hungry kiss.

... The food will be fine. At the very least, they can get in one round before it has to be attended to. Work up a real appetite in the process. Tim shifts his weight, spreading his legs a little wider to bring their hips closer together. Kissing until he can't breathe, then tipping Raylan's chin with one hand so he has more room to kiss along his neck. Nobody here to hide marks from.

"Now we get to re-christen all the furniture in the house," he murmurs, teeth scraping lightly where Raylan's pulse thumps in his throat. "As a couple."

The world narrows down to just them when they're kissing, Raylan drawing in a half ragged breath as it breaks and his head tilts at Tim's direction, more than happy to give him all the surface area he wanted. One hand moves to grab Tim's ass as his hips grind up to move against him with a suggestive push while the other enjoyed the expanse of his back, stuck between wanting to pull it off Tim and enjoying the velvet smooth hardness of him.

"I say we start right here." The hand roaming Tim's back moves out from under his shirt to come up and cradle the back of his neck, fingers getting into the dark blonde hair as he turns to continue his honey silk and husking murmur into Tim's ear. "Then the floor, the table.. won't take you to bed until you're properly worked out and tired."

As he continued, his other hand slides off Tim's ass and moves up to do what he'd started to try to do a few seconds ago and urge that shirt up.

It's hard to say what causes the shiver that slips down Tim's spine -- that honeyed voice murmuring dirty promises into his ear, or the slightly cool touch of the hand against his heated skin. Probably both, and the effect Raylan has on him as a whole, often making him feel like it's the first time he's ever been touched in a particular way.

Sometimes that is the case, when those touches are softer, sweeter, more intimate than sexually charged. There will be a lot more of those now, and he wonders if the novelty of Raylan making him feel brand new will ever wear off.

"You're gonna spoil me," Tim says, sounding a lot more breathless than he did just moments before. He leans back just long enough to finally tear his shirt off and then comes back in for another kiss, and--

Yeah. He can get used to this.

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Summer of where the hell are we

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Shall we let this one fade off to make room for new?

yesssss the ye old fade to black