He gasps in air as the kiss breaks, dizzy from the intensity of it, his whole mind occupied by Raylan's hand under his shirt and the grip on his neck.
Shame we're not someplace with a bedroom, Raylan says. Neal has the chance for another sip of air, the first edge of the words There's mine, and then Raylan is kissing him again and Neal's mind fills with a delightful static. When he's allowed another gulp of air, he gasps, "Can we. Can we be where there's a bedroom."
He's disoriented by how turned on he is. He doesn't care if it's his bedroom or Raylan's bedroom or an unoccupied cabin with no lock.
Raylan is, unquestionably, stronger than he is, for all that Neal takes care to keep himself in attractive shape. That's the point. It's attractive. Yeah, it helps with the scaling of walls and hauling of safe cracking gear, but that's not the whole point of it. Raylan has the strength of a man who needs to use it. Neal's bright blue eyes are huge as he looks into Raylan's steady brown ones, his breathing reduced to greedy little pants.
It was all the gunslinging and manhandling that set Raylan up the way he was. Sure, he wasn't lifting weights, but he was using muscles that he'd been strengthening since he was a teenager. First baseball, then mining, then Marshaling. If there was one thing Raylan knew how to use better than his guns, it was his hands. He just didn't know how well that power worked on people, though he'd enjoyed its rewards many times.
Neal's answer was music to his ears. Half unexpected - Neal had a lot of options around the Barge - half not. This kind of electricity was hot, heady, powerful in it's own rite and Raylan could feel he wasn't wrong in the question of if it was shared. His eyes roam over Neal's face, taking in the needy pants, the way Neal's lips looked post kiss.
"I think we can make that happen." Except he was absolutely going to kiss Neal again, hard and hungry, before pulling away and letting go of his neck so he could shift out of the booth, hand already out to 'help' Neal to an upright position after straightening his hat. His erection was promising, tight jeans somehow tighter, and he wasn't going to bother adjusting himself or trying to talk it down.
"Leave the bottle to whichever lucky fucker finds it," he says. "We can be in my room inside five minutes.. If we make it outta the elevator with our clothes on."
God, this is incredible. He's never been so unconcerned about what comes after, so completely without anxiety about making sure he's good enough. He doesn't know what to think, so he doesn't try. Raylan pulls him to his feet and that smokey voice rolls through Neal and makes him shiver. Raylan is hard, Neal notes. Raylan is not the only one who's hard.
He kisses the other man again, pulling himself against Raylan, fingers tangled in the man's shirt at the small of his back. He presses in close enough to feel the shape of that erection through the marshal's clothes, close enough that Raylan can feel Neal's own. Neal kisses Raylan's jaw, his neck, desperate to feel hot skin against his lips. He exhales into the taller man's ear, "Not all our clothes."
Raylan can't help the soft grunt of approval as Neal melds himself against him, one hand forced to catch the hat that Neal's enthusiasm knocks off, and his free hand wraps back around the man as he takes a half step back to balance their weight. His hips press in, rolling against the length he felt, hand fisting in Neal's shirt in kind as his mind spins around how fast this was all moving. There's a rough little exhale of breath as Neal's lips move, and Raylan tilts his head up and to the side enough to give him all the room he wants. The words against his ear make him shiver and growl hungrily as he leans into it, forcing Neal's weight towards the door.
"I'll let you strip whatever you want off me," he promises, hand slipping down to grab Neal's ass, something he's wanted to do since they started kissing. He felt unstoppable, fully consumed, and more than ready to get Neal behind a door and panting in need.
They would have to break apart to get down the stairs that led to the Main Deck, giving Raylan a minute to put his hat back on and almost strighten himself out a little, eyes sweeping the deck as they hit it and head towards the elevator. As soon as that button was hit, Raylan was already stepping in to grab Neal's neck again, pulling him into a kiss that would let them tumble into the doors as they opened, with no thought to the possibility that anyone might be in there.
Raylan shoves him toward the door, with enough force to move but not so much that it would knock Neal over, and he feels another little rush of heat. It’s punctuated by a sharp jolt as Raylan grabs his ass.
I think that is simply something you enjoy, mon beau.
Something he enjoys. Go figure.
The walk down the stairs gives Neal a reprieve, though he’s still disheveled and breathing quickly. He can’t resist touching his own kiss-fattened lips, savoring the sensitivity.
Across the deck they go, and he watches Raylan’s purposeful stride and tries not to get mentally derailed by the pressure of his cock against the inside of his underwear, the way it rubs against cloth with every step. He’s just starting to feel on even ground, able to think the way he’s used to. He presses the elevator button, half-turning toward Raylan with a bit of smooth innuendo on his tongue, but the other man sweeps him up again before he has the chance. Kisses the breath out of him, drives him back into the elevator and makes Neal forget entirely whatever he was about to say.
Mercifully the elevator is empty. There’s no one to interrupt as Neal presses himself helplessly against Raylan and gets held there. He tries to touch the other man’s face. Raylan grabs his wrist and pins it to the wall of the elevator. Neal gives a low whine, the noise one of sweet desperation. Knots, cuffs, chains—he can slip out of those with barely a thought. Another person’s force? Not so much.
It feels like Raylan doesn’t want to give him a chance to breathe, and he’s certainly half-senseless again by the time the elevator chimes and the doors open. He ignores the chime, kissing Raylan desperately.
The lingering heat of his anger was flaring into his arousal, like he had something to prove; a physical response to Neal yelling at him. Raylan wanted to make him puddle and whimper in the best kind of ways, the sweetest revenge, the honeyed venting of steam. And once he got started, it was going to take a train of horses or a simple, serious 'Stop' to get him to get off this track.
He could tell Neal liked it, being lightly shoved around, pinned, held captive against him so he didn't bother restraining his softer impulses and there was barely a thought behind grabbing that hand coming towards his face and pinning it against the wall. Neal would have to work harder than that to touch him. Raylan's free hand slips from Neal's neck, smoothing down the fabric of his shirt and reveling in the feeling of hard flesh he knew was under it. But his hand didn't stop there, moving further down to grab and stroke Neal through his trouser pants.
God he couldn't wait. Except the elevator had dinged seconds ago, and neither of them were moving. Raylan snarled softly under his breath, letting Neal's wrist go in favor of pulling him off the wall and setting him towards the door with another little push. He bent to snatch up the discarded hat from the elevator door, pulling out his blackberry and following Neal towards his door. No time was wasted in getting Neal against said door, grinding against his ass as he unlocks it and opens it up. Once inside, the hat was tossed carelessly off too the side and the door was locked.
"I do anythin' you don't want me doin', you tell me," he commands as he moves forward to sweep Neal up again. Can't have that beautiful brain going and getting caught up on any bullshit that didn't matter right now.
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He gasps in air as the kiss breaks, dizzy from the intensity of it, his whole mind occupied by Raylan's hand under his shirt and the grip on his neck.
Shame we're not someplace with a bedroom, Raylan says. Neal has the chance for another sip of air, the first edge of the words There's mine, and then Raylan is kissing him again and Neal's mind fills with a delightful static. When he's allowed another gulp of air, he gasps, "Can we. Can we be where there's a bedroom."
He's disoriented by how turned on he is. He doesn't care if it's his bedroom or Raylan's bedroom or an unoccupied cabin with no lock.
Raylan is, unquestionably, stronger than he is, for all that Neal takes care to keep himself in attractive shape. That's the point. It's attractive. Yeah, it helps with the scaling of walls and hauling of safe cracking gear, but that's not the whole point of it. Raylan has the strength of a man who needs to use it. Neal's bright blue eyes are huge as he looks into Raylan's steady brown ones, his breathing reduced to greedy little pants.
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Neal's answer was music to his ears. Half unexpected - Neal had a lot of options around the Barge - half not. This kind of electricity was hot, heady, powerful in it's own rite and Raylan could feel he wasn't wrong in the question of if it was shared. His eyes roam over Neal's face, taking in the needy pants, the way Neal's lips looked post kiss.
"I think we can make that happen." Except he was absolutely going to kiss Neal again, hard and hungry, before pulling away and letting go of his neck so he could shift out of the booth, hand already out to 'help' Neal to an upright position after straightening his hat. His erection was promising, tight jeans somehow tighter, and he wasn't going to bother adjusting himself or trying to talk it down.
"Leave the bottle to whichever lucky fucker finds it," he says. "We can be in my room inside five minutes.. If we make it outta the elevator with our clothes on."
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He kisses the other man again, pulling himself against Raylan, fingers tangled in the man's shirt at the small of his back. He presses in close enough to feel the shape of that erection through the marshal's clothes, close enough that Raylan can feel Neal's own. Neal kisses Raylan's jaw, his neck, desperate to feel hot skin against his lips. He exhales into the taller man's ear, "Not all our clothes."
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"I'll let you strip whatever you want off me," he promises, hand slipping down to grab Neal's ass, something he's wanted to do since they started kissing. He felt unstoppable, fully consumed, and more than ready to get Neal behind a door and panting in need.
They would have to break apart to get down the stairs that led to the Main Deck, giving Raylan a minute to put his hat back on and almost strighten himself out a little, eyes sweeping the deck as they hit it and head towards the elevator. As soon as that button was hit, Raylan was already stepping in to grab Neal's neck again, pulling him into a kiss that would let them tumble into the doors as they opened, with no thought to the possibility that anyone might be in there.
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I think that is simply something you enjoy, mon beau.
Something he enjoys. Go figure.
The walk down the stairs gives Neal a reprieve, though he’s still disheveled and breathing quickly. He can’t resist touching his own kiss-fattened lips, savoring the sensitivity.
Across the deck they go, and he watches Raylan’s purposeful stride and tries not to get mentally derailed by the pressure of his cock against the inside of his underwear, the way it rubs against cloth with every step. He’s just starting to feel on even ground, able to think the way he’s used to. He presses the elevator button, half-turning toward Raylan with a bit of smooth innuendo on his tongue, but the other man sweeps him up again before he has the chance. Kisses the breath out of him, drives him back into the elevator and makes Neal forget entirely whatever he was about to say.
Mercifully the elevator is empty. There’s no one to interrupt as Neal presses himself helplessly against Raylan and gets held there. He tries to touch the other man’s face. Raylan grabs his wrist and pins it to the wall of the elevator. Neal gives a low whine, the noise one of sweet desperation. Knots, cuffs, chains—he can slip out of those with barely a thought. Another person’s force? Not so much.
It feels like Raylan doesn’t want to give him a chance to breathe, and he’s certainly half-senseless again by the time the elevator chimes and the doors open. He ignores the chime, kissing Raylan desperately.
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He could tell Neal liked it, being lightly shoved around, pinned, held captive against him so he didn't bother restraining his softer impulses and there was barely a thought behind grabbing that hand coming towards his face and pinning it against the wall. Neal would have to work harder than that to touch him. Raylan's free hand slips from Neal's neck, smoothing down the fabric of his shirt and reveling in the feeling of hard flesh he knew was under it. But his hand didn't stop there, moving further down to grab and stroke Neal through his trouser pants.
God he couldn't wait. Except the elevator had dinged seconds ago, and neither of them were moving. Raylan snarled softly under his breath, letting Neal's wrist go in favor of pulling him off the wall and setting him towards the door with another little push. He bent to snatch up the discarded hat from the elevator door, pulling out his blackberry and following Neal towards his door. No time was wasted in getting Neal against said door, grinding against his ass as he unlocks it and opens it up. Once inside, the hat was tossed carelessly off too the side and the door was locked.
"I do anythin' you don't want me doin', you tell me," he commands as he moves forward to sweep Neal up again. Can't have that beautiful brain going and getting caught up on any bullshit that didn't matter right now.
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