Usually there's copious amounts of alcohol involved when one thing leads to another. They can rely on a natural sort of flow when they're not mired in self-consciousness and doubts about who's doing what where or clumsiness, awkwardness, stuttering uncertainty. Bumbling around in the dark helps alleviate that somewhat, but the inhibitions and the fear of the darkness swallowing up a desire to touch, hold, pull, kiss, feel are still there.
With both legs outstretched and an arm slung low around his waist, he reclines a bit to the side, elbow grazing the wall as one hand plants itself firmly on the ground, life mimicking art of two entwined lovers carved in moving marble. His hat slides off and ends up a few inches away in the dark on the floor as he breathes out an approving sigh, free hand sliding into the short, soft tufts of Raylan's hair on the back of his head. His grip is tight enough to feel the hurting in yesterday's grown out roots, more salt than pepper these days but who has the heart to point that out to him?, callouses scraping against scalp an unspoken warning that this is playing with fire, with someone who plays rough, and that he shouldn't stop because they're only just skirting the surface.
Henry hisses, panting lightly as he turns, bumping cheeks before temporarily abandoning the effort to engage in those lips, deciding that this kind of attention is nice to indulge in for a while. One leg shifts, bending at the knee, heel digging in, undecided between straightening up and taking control or just kicking out uselessly until he can't hold them both up any longer. If he could grab onto Raylan's hip with his other hand he would, but he's fairly certain they would both slide down onto the ground then if he even started to try. So he's stuck, almost down on one elbow while his other hand loosens its grip from Raylan's hair, fingertips combing down to run over the nape of his neck.
He's too afraid to say anything that might ruin the moment, so there is only the sound of them kicking around and seams stretching beneath taut muscles, rubbing fabric against fabric, skin against skin between hot and heavy breaths in the dark.
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With both legs outstretched and an arm slung low around his waist, he reclines a bit to the side, elbow grazing the wall as one hand plants itself firmly on the ground, life mimicking art of two entwined lovers carved in moving marble. His hat slides off and ends up a few inches away in the dark on the floor as he breathes out an approving sigh, free hand sliding into the short, soft tufts of Raylan's hair on the back of his head. His grip is tight enough to feel the hurting in yesterday's grown out roots, more salt than pepper these days but who has the heart to point that out to him?, callouses scraping against scalp an unspoken warning that this is playing with fire, with someone who plays rough, and that he shouldn't stop because they're only just skirting the surface.
Henry hisses, panting lightly as he turns, bumping cheeks before temporarily abandoning the effort to engage in those lips, deciding that this kind of attention is nice to indulge in for a while. One leg shifts, bending at the knee, heel digging in, undecided between straightening up and taking control or just kicking out uselessly until he can't hold them both up any longer. If he could grab onto Raylan's hip with his other hand he would, but he's fairly certain they would both slide down onto the ground then if he even started to try. So he's stuck, almost down on one elbow while his other hand loosens its grip from Raylan's hair, fingertips combing down to run over the nape of his neck.
He's too afraid to say anything that might ruin the moment, so there is only the sound of them kicking around and seams stretching beneath taut muscles, rubbing fabric against fabric, skin against skin between hot and heavy breaths in the dark.