When the box hit the ground and Raylan pulled him close, that was what pulled a little note from the back of Malcolm’s throat and his free hand fumbled for purchase around Raylan’s ribs, settling just below his shoulderblade.

When it broke, Malcolm’s grip didn’t and he looked up at Raylan breathlessly. Was this okay? He hadn’t seemed sure at first. Malcolm had wanted this, of course, but had resigned himself to it being a hopeless fantasy. Part of him remained afraid of making things awkward and Raylan then wanting him to leave. But at the moment? Most of him was plastered up against the warmth of Raylan’s body, held in his arms and he was trying to temper the impulse to be absolutely giddy about that with caution. Searching eyes looked for any sign that Raylan thought he’d made a mistake and ended up lingering on his lips. He wanted to do that again.