"He is," Raylan agreed, voice still rougher from the moonshine and the late hour than normal and he couldn't help the brush of his thumb back and forth across Malcolm's hand. He could feel the inevitability of them sinking back into the same position they'd left when Doc came back the other night. He was still fighting it.

He knew Malcolm would feel his heartrate rise again and he stared at Malcolm, unsure the best way to answer.

"I don't want a bedwarmer, Malcolm," he whispered. "And I don't want to hurt you." He didn't want to be hurt in return either. Raylan took a shallow breath in before he continued. "Historically speakin', I'm apparently somethin' of a mess and an asshole."