Before Raylan's lust addled brain could come up with any suitable reply, his world was being spun and the not so gentle knock of his head against the floor followed by the surprisingly strong pinning of his arms had him grunting softly, hips pushing up for more despite the clench of Henry's knees. He couldn't tell if it was the heat they'd build up ebbing away that made him shiver or if it was the sudden, swift callused hand on his neck, tipping his head back like a show horse, earning Henry a throaty, hitched half moaned sound that was muted by the kiss. Raylan had been in a lot of beds with a lot of different women, and now exactly one man, but it had never come with such rough play. 

No, nothing like the New Yorkers.

Sliding his free hand up Henry's thigh, Raylan got bold and let his hand wander between them, fingers finding the hard length that felt like it had almost put its own bruise into the soft skin of his hip and stroking firmly down and back up before sliding away around Henry's waist as the almost wrestling turned soft again. More and more, Henry seemed like a storm that had finally let out some of the rain furiously onto very dry crops, the intensity ebbing and raging unpredictably.

It probably spoke to how desperate he was to find it intoxicating. The relinquishment of control for half a second to someone he could trust to not kick him around for it.