037-040 » the reason for time

[villagemod]

WHO: Everyone.
WHERE: Eastern/Central Mathias
WHEN: Day 037-040
WHAT: The dead return and the living wake to changes within Mathias Township.
WARNINGS: Some explicit sexual content in threads. (PM this account to have a warning added!)
NOTES: Plotting post over here!

RECOMMENDED ♫ Kammarheit "Sleep after Toyle, Port after Stormie Seas"

DAY 037
THE DEAD RETURN
“The only reason for time is so that everything
doesn't happen at once.” —Albert Einstein
The dead return to Mathias forever changed by their experiences. Waking along the beach, near the tree line, or among the graves, they will find that their bodies are not as they remember them. They are whole again and not torn to shreds by the shadow creatures that cannot be described, but they are also not as they were before the Hunt. These residents will find, so strangely, that their bodies are in the physical state in which they first arrived in Mathias — any injuries or recovery they have made since their initial arrival no longer exists, as if their time in Mathias has simply been a horrible nightmare. Except they all now carry a last reminder of the Hunt with them: spiderweb-thin healed scars marking their injuries from the Hunt. Those who were injured by fire in the other realm also carry those burns with them.

The dead are not the only things that have returned to Mathias. Inexplicably, fall is back, with the temperature finally reaching above freezing and snow falling from trees to reveal beautiful autumnal colors. As the sun rises higher in the lightly cloudy sky and the day warms, the snow begins rapidly melting, puddles growing in the slowly revealed grass and little rivers forming in the streets. And with that snow comes the frozen blood from the deaths to the Hunt, tinting the street river on Phillips Drive a sickening shade of red.

Another oddity that residents will notice: houses with broken windows from the encounter with the fog on Day 015 have now been completely repaired, though any boards put in place are still there somehow. A small bit of good news, at least? And truly, how kind of Mathias to clean up its own mess.

Finally, alcohol is back. Enjoy in moderation, friends, for more will not be arriving the following morning.


THE NEW ARRIVALS
The newest arrivals to Mathias will wake up on the beach near The Grey Gull. It's quite chilly out with their wet clothes, but surely there's something to help warm them inside the restaurant. Indeed, their timing is perfect, for alcohol has finally returned to Mathias Township — and not just the cowboys' homemade moonshine.


DAY 038-039
THE CHANGE OF SEASON
The continued warm weather proves that the unseasonable shift of the previous day was not merely a fluke. Once again, the sun rises and brings with it a temperature that feels almost spring-like, save for the fact that each day there seem to be more and more leaves on the trees in hues of red and orange. For those who have been in Mathias for some time, this new type of weird may be almost normal at this point, but newer arrivals will likely find it quite odd.

The gently trickling river running along Phillips Drive is still somewhat pink in color as the snow continues to melt and refreeze each night. By Day 040, the bloody snow will finally be gone completely, though the relief will be... short-lived.

DAY 040
THE BLINDING WHITE
In the late morning of Day 040, when the sun is visible through patchy greyish clouds, the fog sweeps into town like a like a tidal wave. It moves in quickly and without warning, not from the waterfront but the forest, cascading through every street in a thick wave of white. Rather than a soft blanket enveloping the town, it is a heavy weight pressing down, blotting out the sky in a way that almost feels suffocating, for none can see further than their outstretch hand.

Those outside when it rolls in are left wandering blind, stumbling toward shelter as you're unable to even see your feet beneath you, let alone any obstacles in your path. Perhaps you call out for help, hoping for another voice to guide you toward shelter or simply another living soul. Or perhaps you were lucky enough to already be inside when the fog descended, quickly closing doors and windows to keep it from creeping in.

Unlike the last time the fog swept into the town, residents who encounter it are not immediately killed. Instead, they are simply disoriented, possibly losing their sense of time and place, and it is only after prolonged exposure that they will begin to feel off. A sense of being ill will cling to them if they are in the fog for too long, including dizziness, lightheadedness, or nausea — the time it takes to manifest varies from person to person, as does the duration it will last after leaving the fog.

By nightfall, the fog still has not dissipated.

---

CONDITIONS UPDATE

— THE WEATHER conditions are fairly typical for late fall: chilly "sweater weather" days and nights that can dip just below freezing. You don't want to be outside without a coat, but it won't kill anyone if they bundle up. Probably.

— THE FOG remains blocking the paths in the forest beginning a few dozen yards past the treeline, urging residents to stay huddled within the town proper, and it also now blocks the western section of town, beginning just past Hill Lane, before where residents know the chasm in the earth to be between Hill and Stine Road. Venturing into the fog blocking these areas is ill-advised.

— DISAPPEARANCES continue. Castiel and Sam Winchester have vanished, and Dean Winchester has not returned with the others after his death during the Hunt.

— THE GRAVEYARD has now seen around a dozen burials, both below and above ground. With the weather warming, though, something may need to be done about the handful of temporary graves aboveground...

— ALCOHOL has returned to Mathias! A small stock of beer and cheap wine may be found at the General Store, and some homes may have a small store of alcohol in the fridge or pantry. The Grey Gull has also been restocked with its lower-end offerings of a variety of alcohol types. Alcohol does not replenish in the same way as food.

— THE GREY GULL has been cleaned up and stocked with moonshine. Along with the newly restocked usual offerings, the place almost seems like an actual bar again.

— THE GENERAL STORE is in a bit of a state following the brutal slaughter of two residents during the Hunt. Cleanup on aisle 3, anyone?

---

OOC NOTES

— FOOD is now being mysteriously restocked as per usual, including inside homes and at the General Store. Alcohol is not being restocked. Use those rationing skills, friends.

— REWARD REDEPEMPTION is back and will soon have a new option for anyone looking to spend big AP and learn a bit more of the lore of the town.

— MADNESSES due to the Hunt have been earned by Klaus Hargreeves, Ellie, and Malcolm Bright and may now be claimed. Players may also claim additional sanity loss from the aftermath of the Hunt; only losses from the Hunt itself have been deducted from totals thus far.

— SANITY REGAIN is now available! Players will submit a form with some details of the progress their character has made and the mod will review and decide on the numbers of points that will be regained.

— MOD STATUS The usual reminder that it's mostly just Amy steering this ship for now, so things will probably be pretty slow for a while. Apologies in advance, and please don't feel shy about pinging me if you're stuck waiting for something.

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[thering]

He's a little softer tonight. More pliant. Less inclined to throw Raylan around. The poor Marshal probably won't take it as well as he could, having been made to fall apart and still trying to pick himself up again.

A small part of him thinks this isn't a good idea. He's never been able to successfully fondle and caress and fuck his own or anyone else's problems away. It always created more come morning. But right now he doesn't feel saddled with that familiar guilt of maybe letting his other head get the better of him. This isn't that. This is more than... whatever he can reduce it to.

He does feel a little self-conscious of the days old barely there stubble that Raylan's lips were brushing over, evidence he cannot hide that he might have let himself go while they were gone. He should have been a better man. Stronger than that.

"That is all you can do," Henry reassures him. He slips his arm under Raylan's side and tries to encourage him to roll over more on top of him, to take that weight off. It's okay. He can manage supporting them both. There aren't many people here who wouldn't be squashed under the weight of the law bearing down on top of them. He should indulge while he can.

Of course, if it means that a broad, warm hand gets to meander further down his back and finds its way down to the curve of his ass while they grind like horny teenagers, that is a purely incidental byproduct of their new configuration.

"You are who you are," Henry repeats, lips nipping at lips and jawline and the side of Raylan's throat where yesterday's five o'clock shadow tapers out into smoother, softer skin as his fingers thread through Raylan's hair, giving a testing sort of firm grip to hold his head still while hips move as much as their entangled legs allow them to.

"Don't apologise for being you. Doing you. I'm not," he drawls, a hint of playfulness creeping back into his voice after a long day of being Doc and trying to gorilla glue the house together.

[tinstar]

Raylan would have almost preferred it. No reassurances or his own excuses, no more words to twist and pull, contorting and warping his guilt into some weird amalgamation of both their views on it. A little roughness to remind him that he was still full in all his nerves, drag him back to the raw line of senses.

But he would take the roughness of stubble against his lips and cheek, which didn't come close to even registering as a statement to Henry's state of mind the past few days, the sturdiness of the chest he relented a fraction more of his weight by the second, pulled and plied by the husks against his ear that sent heat through his veins and the grinding against him that he followed shamelessly. His hand tightened on Henry's shoulder, fingers catching and pulling his shirt a little as his hair is gripped, hot breath and teeth pulling a rough faint note from the back of his throat.

Raylan lifted his head and muttered a few simple words- "You're right but shut up." - before kissing Henry with a rough abandon, tongue and teeth breaking any more comforting reassurances. A second later, he was pulling back to claw off his couple of layers of shirts, displeased by the lack of range and skin to skin contact Henry's roaming hand was currently getting.

There was no stopping this now, not without direct words. They had a closed door. They had a modicum of peace and Raylan had always used sex, even when he was married, as a way to force himself to stop thinking about all the terror and death that waited for him on the other side of the door. It wasn't any different now.

He didn't even stop to think that Doc might pick up a bit of confidence in where this was heading that Raylan hadn't had before. Then again, Doc knew him well enough, it was likely the gunslinger would think up his own excuse for it.

[thering]

Not needing to dispense the reassurances anymore is a burden lifted from his shoulders. He doesn't feel the need to juggle multiple roles. And it feels less like this is an excuse for distraction (even if it is) and more of what they want to do. A resumption of business as almost-usual, kicked off in the depths of the tunnels and left to fester like an infection he had tried to ignore until he is reminded why it all matters, why it had nearly broken him scraping the shreds of Raylan up off the snow now that he is able to hold a warm and very much alive body squirming on top of him.

Blunt nails scrape along the back of Raylan's head and a quiet noise of approval rumbles up Henry's throat when he can get his hands on warm, exposed skin. More skin than scars, still. He can feel that much even if he hasn't gotten a close look at the new lines on Raylan's body. It is a good sign.

They're probably the only annoying folk around these parts who would lie down with their belts still on. Henry with his preference for snug-fitting pants is probably going to end up regretting showing up in his usual attire when he finds himself suddenly overdressed. To be fair he is almost always overdressed, but he isn't able to put in a more coordinated effort fixing that, just tugging on his shirt before trying to unbutton with the one hand until too much frustration mounts and settles in, cutting through that hazy heat of desire to do something more about it.

Eventually he uses both hands to work his shirt buttons off from the last one to the first, leaving it hanging open barely clinging on to his shoulders. A freed up hand slips down the length of their bodies, rubbing over the tent in Raylan's pants, dipping in between their tangled legs. No point kidding themselves that neither of them wanted something tonight.

No decent man kneels steeped in sin and prays for bruises. But John Henry has never pretended to be a decent man. The marks they would leave on each other's bodies is the only way to soothe the sting of these indelible scars.

[tinstar]

It could be both things. It was both things and in the dark tussle of it all, Raylan could find no shame to shovel onto it. A desired abandon that predated all the bullshit they'd just been through, setting them closer to the more carefree mindset of then. Not that there was any 'carefreeness' to be spared. No, everything was stolen, meal times, their moonshine or dinner party, any moment they weren't harassed with the realities of Mathis. It was all taken cautiously.

One day, at some point, either of them might feel comfortable falling asleep in something less then all of their clothes ever it seemed, but this week wasn't going to be it by any smart estimations. It didn't matter.

Raylan pushed up and gave Henry the room to tend to his shirt, one hand moving between them to tug his belt open, pulling it off in one smooth, practiced motion. Never mind that it was a two step process only because of how long it was, but as soon as it was done, he was tugging and pulling Henry's open. Something he only got halfway through with before the hand down his front blanked out everything for a half second before he was tugging it open more fervently, moving up to kiss Henry again with a muted growl of need, hips pushing into his palm as Raylan tugged the following button behind Henry's belt open, fingers fumbling for the zipper as his chest bumped and brushed against him in a tease of what was to come.

Once the zipper was down, he wasted no time in running his hand across, around Henry's hip before it ran up his body, fingers pausing to linger on the scars he might meet along the way, full with a stop by his nipples. Raylan couldn't help a playful pinch of the one between his fingers before they continued up to start pushing the shirts off. No, no doubts about where this was leading.

Let Mathis deal with herself for a few hours; the cowboys were busy.

[thering]

A hiss and an undignified noise that no one in Mathias has managed to successfully get out of the sometimes taciturn, sometimes overly melodramatic gunslinger cuts through the noise of belt buckles clinking and fabric rustling between them as he tenses up at the pinch, trying to laugh it off lowly and breathily. He clearly hadn't been expecting it, but it wasn't unwelcome.

It's not going to be possible for him to lie there and try to shove his pants off and look in any way graceful for even attempting it. Still he sort-of-tries, lifting his lower body off the mattress and sliding his thumbs between his outer thighs and his trousers to try and shove the rough fabric down lower. He should probably let Raylan help but he isn't always as patient behind closed doors as he has demonstrated he is capable of being during the day.

Don't mind him just- lying there watching in the meantime, touching, tugging on what was left of Raylan's clothes to take off, panting lightly as his eyes flit from one scar and one patch of smooth skin to the next, drinking in a sight he could not see when they were both bumping and almost-giggling in the dark. No doubt Henry looks different too, without the layers to cover up the scars that the West had put on him. Even the freshest one under his collarbone looks like it had been made by an old gun. Or maybe he just makes everything look old and faded like a pair of worn jeans.

Verbal appeals to vanity, Henry tends to reserve for the women who end up straddling him. This is something else. This is him musing how it's too bad that Mathias got to Raylan first, marred his skin with her scars and the promise of more suffering in the days and weeks to come. He should have liked to break him in himself. At least Henry's company doesn't make for an unbearable kind of suffering.

The open zip bites into his skin but he remains undeterred, slipping his hand into Raylan's pants, pushing the open flaps down low enough to give him a few long, slow, testing strokes. The worry that Raylan might get cold feet has lingered in the back of his mind, drowned out by the reassurance that calling all this off would not mean outright rejection playing over and over in a broken record loop.

"...you never did tell me your safeword," he muses breathlessly. Men should probably establish these things before they go touching each other's dicks but sometimes they do do things ass backwards in the south.

[tinstar]

There was something about they breathed and groaned, a slip of sound that gave him all the context and knowledge of doing it 'right', that stoked Raylan's fire hotter for every one he earned. It seemed the roughness Raylan was eager to get under went further than just some light bondage or restraints. He grinned devilishly at it as he pulled back, shifting onto his knees, helping Henry pull his pants off before tossing them to the floor with a heavy clunk of his belt.

His own were pushed down a bit and he'd been about to step off Henry's side of the bed to strip when Henry shoved his hands down his pants. The rough pressure of it, the fact that he was still half dressed - all of it - made his breath hitch, brain shorting out for a long second as his cock twitched eagerly into Henry's palm. A question on top of it was borderline blissfully, demandingly cruel. He didn't think well with anyone's hand on his dick.

"Wors- Wishti- Wres-" Worcestershire sauce was what he was going for but it was a pretty shitty word if he couldn't even say it, so he opted for something simpler. "Gun oil." His accent was heavier in the moment, stretching 'oil' to something more akin to ohall.

He'd never chosen one before; had he done it right? It didn't really matter to him, he had other ways of expressing him being done with something, but there wasn't going to be any cold feet unless they talked about Raylan taking anything. Possibly unbeknownst to Henry, Raylan had already taken the first few steps with being okay about this kind of contact. It was an idea their tryst in the tunnels had done nothing to dissuade, amid all the trauma of the past few days.

Too wrapped in his own need, he forced himself to pull away and to his feet, but only long enough to shuck his pants. Once he was free of them, a hand was reaching out for Henry's neck to pull him into a rough kiss as his weight came back down to where it was before, wriggling and alive on top of him.

[thering]

No, he hadn't really done it right. They're supposed to agree on one that doesn’t ordinarily come up in common conversation. Gun oil is cutting it dangerously close for men who love their firearms. But they can rectify it next time when Raylan doesn't have a hand on his dick and can say his words without stumbling over them. Henry thinks it's endearing and maybe there will be some teasing in the near future if he ever finds some Worchestershire sauce lying around in a vacant house.

His hands grip and linger on Raylan's hips as one foot slides a little further back, enough to dig his heel in so they can grind the hard edges of their bodies together and find a place they easily fit in against each other. Now there is only skin left, and heat, desperate rubbing and bumping against each other in the cool autumn chill wrapping around them in the room.

Rolling them around, the bed creaks in protest at their shift in weight as Henry tries to take over, stay on top. If they're lucky they'll manage to stay in bed all night. With his weight on his knees he slams Raylan's wrists almost too loudly against the headboard, pulling them close together so that one splayed hand can slip between two layers of fingers and hold those arms there. It frees up his other hand to resume the handjob he'd been trying to give before they both got rid of their clothes while he bites the side of Raylan's neck, hard enough to leave a mark before soothing the sting of teeth with soft nips and kisses. There's something deliberate, slow and almost calculated about the way he's using his hand, callouses on his palm scratching along the shaft before curled fingers rub over the head, thumb applying just enough pressure until Raylan looks like he's about ready to kick and buck before he goes back to slow and short strokes near the base again.

Henry's been thinking about them. Thinking about this. The idea of... blowing off some steam, with someone he trusts, it appeals to the primal part of him he has trained himself to keep under wraps. He hasn't brought any Gun Oil with him, unfortunately, the kind they would need to be wrestling for who gets gets to be closer or further away from the pillow whilst leaving a headboard-sized dent in the wall, but he hasn't thought that far ahead anyway. Maybe they can work that out once they bruise the shit out of each other.

[tinstar]

It had been Raylan's intent to reach between them at some point, get a feel of what had been teasing him behind Doc's jeans since he started paying attention but the combination of the soft skin of Doc's hip on his cock and the hard length nuzzled against his own hip, he was distracted. It was a deep flaw, the way his brain completely shut down when he was hungry for something like this, but he wouldn't have traded it for anything. Without it, it would have taken longer to get them to this point and he quite likes where this was going. He didn't want to chew over this kind of need, he didn't want to suffer that kind of tension on top of everything else in Mathis.

Maybe that was selfish.

Raylan instinctively knew what Henry was doing when he started applying force and he fought against it for a few seconds, lips curling in a devilish grin as he fisted his hands into the bed. It made Henry work a little harder but wasn't nearly enough to stop the turning and Raylan grunted at the way his wrists were slammed back. Feeling a bit like he was being stretched out, strung up in an oddly good kind of way, Raylan's body shuddered, bowing with a half moan at the way Henry took his cock up again.

But it was the bite on his neck that earned a louder, guttural moan of surprised approval as his head turned further to the side, chest lifting into Henry's with the following breath. The pain swept through his system, followed by a wave of pleasure he didn't expect. There was something about this, this lack of soft gentleness, the lack of manners or consent for every fractionally bold touch that Raylan was finding intoxicating - this wouldn't be possible with a softer bedmate, a woman; it didn't fit his role and frankly, not a lot of people thought about wrestling with Raylan in bed.

The thumb pressing against his weeping sensitive tip had Raylan growling under his breath, chest falling so his hips could push up as his vision blurred out to nothing except the man over him, threatening to unseat Henry if he didn't apply himself and when the gunslinger relented, Raylan openly moaned and fell into a pant with a muttered 'fuck' under his breath. He couldn't do anything about anything, strung up and laid out like a thing to be used and while he'd never admit it out loud, it was hot as fuck.

There was an attached bathroom though, that would no doubt have a jar of Vaseline or baby oil or shampoo, something to keep them moving right along once they stopped to think about it.

[thering]

That's probably part of the problem, that Henry's not really stopping to think, or stopping, or even just thinking in general. Thinking tends to lead to overthinking and that leads to reservations, hesitations, second-guessing. This is all instinct and desire and once he stops rolling with it, all the reasons to stop what they're doing will slowly, gently, inevitably bubble to the surface.

It's not really time to stop. Not yet. Not when Raylan's making all the right noises, reacting in all the right ways. The distinct lack of an 'ow, what the fuck?' and hands trying to free themselves to shove him away compounded with the way Raylan gives him more prime real estate to work with down the side of his neck is enough of a signal to keep going. He's careful not to snatch away all of Raylan's control in one fell swoop, not after the harrowing traumatic time he's had, but he's also being rougher than he normally allows himself to be, putting more of his weight down when Raylan starts struggling too much and threatens to throw off his balance.

At some point, with the benefit of hindsight, perhaps one or the both of them would think that it would have been better for Henry to use his words at this juncture. Maybe he should be ceding less control to his other head. But as he grips both their cocks in his hand, jerking them both off at the same time, he asks without really asking if Raylan wants this, finding a place halfway across Raylan's collarbone to leave a telltale darkened red spot that he can hide easily under a shirt whilst his hand dips between Raylan's legs amidst their continued frotting, teasing and trying to elicit a reaction with a bit of gentle taint prodding.

Though he might not need an explicit invitation, one should never show up uninvited attempting to break in through the back door. He should like to be coming back, over and over again.

Course, if Raylan wants to be begging for it like a common street whore and showcase his prowess at dirty talk, he shouldn't let the suggestive touching stop him.

[tinstar]

As soon as his hands are free, Raylan is sinking one to fist into Henry's hair as the other grabs and claws a bit at his shoulder with blunt nails and a rough grunt of a breath as their lengths are held and moved together. He didn't even notice the hand slipping between them until there were fingers sliding under his balls.

That's when the first sense of a slight panic invaded his breathing. His legs tightened before they shuddered open with what room the cage of Henry's knees brought, brain moving from impulse to impulse. You guard a gate for so many years, it's hard to open them up but for all the reasons Raylan brain scrambled to bring for why he shouldn't let this happen (the pain that his dick was already throbbing in hunger for more over, the fact that he'd never done so before, never wanted too, surely this would pass) were toppled by all the reasons he should with only one remaining on the surface. Respect.

Even with that, there was no stopping for Raylan. They'd gone over an edge that he wasn't easily pulled back from after such promises have been made to his body.

"Swear to god, you tell anyone what I'm considerin' lettin you do," he threatened darkly, the tone of it all undercut by the need in his breath, body shuddering with a bowing twitch again under Henry's working hand. He didn't know what the end of that sentence was but he could figure that out later when the pressure of Henry's fingers weren't making him sink and lift his hips, body trying to accommodate two promises of mindless release at once.

Dirty talk would come another night maybe, when Raylan wasn't worried about taking it in the first place. He wanted to believe that Henry wouldn't do that but there was no amount of reassurance that would substitute time and watching Henry respect the rules he was sure they both had about the bedroom. What happened there was no one's business but their own. Raylan freely gave that to other people, he could spare a night of it for himself.

[thering]

He's not sure how to read that reaction at first. Normally it's something he has no trouble with but it's different when a lust-addled brain is marinating in a messy bath of different desires tugging in different directions. The temptation to give a playful-sounding lighthearted response makes his lips twitch and has him humming but he gives them both a minute, looming over Raylan almost ominously before dipping in low to plant a deceptively chaste, reassuring kiss to the corner of his lips.

"We don't have to. It's okay," is what he ends up saying. Henry isn't terribly opposed to being Raylan's dirty little secret - even if that's not necessarily what he's saying. He is no stranger to keeping his various trysts under tight wraps, although he can't control what slander the vicious rumours morph into. And he isn't terribly opposed to getting fucked either. But first they need some ground rules. Some base level they are both comfortable with.

"We don't have to do anything we don't want to." Brushing the back of his finger against Raylan's cheek, he moves in for a deeper, softer kiss. They clearly both want things. But they want several things. Their bodies want things with each other though their minds and raw emotions maybe in different places.

"Would you like me to let you instead?" he offers in a deep, quiet murmur, unable to stop throwing in a drawl of a playful little promise. "I'll play nice."

[tinstar]

His head was spinning, body throbbing with the heartbeat that threatened to deafen him in the wake of sudden slowing and he had to blink a few times to get Henry's face to come into focus, hands loosening to slide and settle on his shoulders. His stomach and legs still threatened to tremble like a wire drawn taught, something that settled only slightly with the reassuring kiss that Raylan huffed softly against.

"I know," he muttered in return. He didn't feel pressured, he didn't feel taken advantage of; Henry wasn't crossing any lines that Raylan wasn't allowing him to. It was just scary as hell. Scary as it had been his first time. The inherent coolness that everyone else perceived off him was well practiced; this wasn't.

Raylan hummed quietly into the softer kiss, one hand shifting to slide up Henry's jaw, fingers ending in his hairline. Something about the timber of Henry's voice so close, so intimately about him, made Raylan twitch again. He sighed roughly and chuckled.

"Crazy thing is I don't want you to play nice. And I don't think I'd rather change spots here." The next breath he let out was uneven for a whole set of different reasons. "This is just.. promise me you ain't gonna sling this at me later. That it ain't gonna matter on the other side of that door. Or when we get home."

Not them being in bed, that was going to happen and Raylan had to figure out how to explain that to Malcolm at some other time that was not now - No, his only rule was that he didn't get kicked later for daring to trust someone and taking a chance.

[thering]

"You don't." It maybe should have sounded more like a question than a statement. But he can guess that this is all new for Raylan and he can intuit that it's not necessarily new and uncomfortable in a bad way. Those anticipatory gasps and encouraging little whines don't really elicit playing nice behaviour.

"Nothing happened tonight," Henry reaffirms with an instinctive nuzzle against Raylan's hand. A part of him craves the soft, affectionate gestures even if the other part seems hellbent on unleashing a rough and raw storm upon anyone foolish enough to get caught in it. Nothing has ever happened between Doc Holliday and any Marshal. Even when they're ready to grapple with this and maybe end up talking about it sometime when they're alone, Raylan can be rest assured that Henry - casual, shameless flirting aside - could make a case for being even more repressed and image-conscious than he is.

"Nothing we would use against each other." Now doesn't feel like the opportune time to be deciding and agreeing upon their cover up story of what happened tonight. But they can have that discussion later - closer to when the night is actually over.

He slowly, slowly lowers himself down next to Raylan, still panting lightly, head threatening to slide off the edge of the pillow, one leg slipping down over the other, knee hitting the sheets even though it does nothing to hide how hard and borderline desperate he is. He still wants but it feels less confrontational this way. Less like they're going too fast. Even if it is risking this coming on like a freight train feeling like it's losing some steam.

"Is that okay?"

[tinstar]

He did. No, he knew what force was. What violence in this way was, what having someone press their will on you was. Henry wasn't any of those things, for all the roughness that he'd shown. It was no rougher than life. No rougher than how it felt to let none of this out no matter how practiced they were at it.

"Not nothing," Raylan husks back, fingertips pressing into Henry's face as he urged those blue eyes back up from the nuzzle to his. "Nothin' to them, but not nothin'." Not nothing to Raylan.

To everyone on the other side of that door, they could craft whatever the hell they wanted but in no world was Raylan going to let this be nothing. Nothing they would use against each other was much more palatable. Henry hadn't kicked him while he was down yet, despite the opportunities life had given them. That also wasn't nothing.

He muttered a soft 'No,' as Henry started shifting his weight, one hand coming down to catch the hip that would have settled onto the bed and using the opportunity to slip his leg out from under Henry's so he could place it right back on top when he came back.

"I ain't runnin' or hidin' from this." If he wasn't going to run or shy from anything else, why would he run from this. He didn't want to take this slow, he didn't want to take this the toned down, sweet romance route. He wanted what was real. Raw. Unbridled.
"I don't need kidgloves. You're drivin' this train. So drive. Just start slow."

[thering]

A fair number of people on the other side of that door have already crafted their own theories about the two cowboys in town and what they're doing. Henry is a man built and broken by rumours and he can be trusted to correct them if they should ever bubble to the surface in his presence, even if he would insist that there is nothing happening between them. This whole lot of nothing.

"Hmmh. Since when did you get so good with your mouth?" Must be that they're glancing and grunting at each other too often. Not enough words being exchanged to have a proper conversation. But this isn't nothing, it's true. And maybe Raylan has come to accept this not-nothingness a lot faster than Henry has. But he'll come around. Eventually.

"I have to get up and I didn't want to," he grumbles with a hint of the same kind of petulance he can't help but let leak out when he's hung over. Not to mention, Raylan is making it difficult. It would be a good time to ask Henry to go fetch the wine and chocolates he would need to win him over, if that was required. But as far as he knows, Marshals tend to prefer the direct approach. He can't be driving anything if he needs to be buying dinner and cutting flowers.

"Wait for me." A hint of a playful smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as a slap against Raylan's outer thigh followed by a few soothing rubs fills in the brief silence between them. "Don't have too much fun on your own now." Henry's going to need some time checking the bedside drawers and shopping in the bathroom. He's not heard of half the labels on the bottles in there.

[tinstar]

If they had, Raylan had heard nothing of it which, if asked, only spoke to their cowardice or the chasm that Raylan kept between him and other people when it wasn't business. He didn't much care either, until it came to them coming to his door and by then, there was no control over what they thought beyond deciding if it was worth proving or disproving.

"You ain't seen nothin' of what I can do with it," Raylan couldn't help but drawl back, fully aware of the suggestion underneath it, that off hand reaching between them to grab and stroke Henry's length teasingly. It was true; he didn't open his mouth as often as maybe he should, definitely not as often as his housemates but given time, he might be taught to. This though? The first step in accepting it was letting it happen in the tunnels. The bruise from it was still tender and ugly on his hip - he had accepted that he enjoyed it, that he wanted it. Wanted more, whatever that was.

Raylan chuckled, the sound a deep rumble from his chest at the petulant tone that ebbed into an unsympathetic utterly pleased hum. No, the direct way was the best, no wine and chocolates needed, though if Henry found some and laid them out, Raylan wouldn't say no to a little wooing. He winced with a grin at the slap and rub, the sound seeming to echo around the room back at him.

"There's shampoo in the tub if we're desperate," Raylan directed, reaching down to stroke himself slowly a few times to relieve the worst edge of his hardon and he spent the time Henry was rustling around thinking about what was coming and how to handle it. He watched the straight lines of Henry's shoulders and hips in the soft light as he moved, appreciating the muscle that a hard life had put on the gunslinger. This all might be new, but he didn't regret it or the chance he was taking here.

Maybe, for all her flaws, Mathis was just.. different. Raylan both had no luck and all the luck right now, and he knew it.

[thering]

The bedside drawers had yielded nothing of interest and frankly it's terrible to send a 19th century old man into a 20th century bathroom. He doesn't know what's what. The shampoo had been a good suggestion after all, and he takes that. But when he returns to the bed, not wanting to spend too much time figuring out what he can loot from the bathroom, he brings along a half dozen bottles.

"Feeling experimental?" he asks as he dumps his haul next to Raylan and climbs back on top of him. He likes the view from up there, being able to pin Raylan down and nip and nuzzle, assert a playful kind of dominance that masks how raw and rough he can get, establish some semblance of control. Henry brought that shampoo, along with shaving cream, hair gel, body butter, something called Deep Heat, something else called Vaseline, and a rather intimidating-looking Nair for Men bottle. This probably happens a lot. Seems like this old dog needs to be trained to play fetch a little better.

"None of them said 'fuck your brains out' on the label," he grumbles with a rise and fall of his eyebrows, dragging all the products close enough for Raylan to pick up and sift through without having to get up. That may very well be the first time he's soiled his mouth with such an uncouth word since he got here. Just another little thing that happens behind closed doors or when the planets are aligned and the wind is blowing from the southeast.

[tinstar]

Raylan's face curled into full amusement as Henry returns with an arm full of products, eyeing the pile as he shifted his legs unconsciously back to where they were so that Henry could proverbially saddle back up as his weight went onto one elbow so he could reach. Save a horse, ride a cowboy or something like that. Having been ridden plenty, this distribution of weight over his hips and upper legs was familiar and welcome, not to mention putting him back in a spot he enjoyed being.

"Decided to bring the whole cabinet just in case then, huh?" The question came with a teasing glance of his smile up before he really started paying attention to the bottles he was pulling up into his fingers. "Body butter ain't bad but it's thick as hell," he informed, tossing it off the side of the bed carelessly as he inspected another bottle and looked up at Henry almost wildly. "Nair??" The shock broke into a truly pleased laughter that had his head tipping back a little with the near cackle.

"Jesus man, how long you been in the modern century? This stuff," he said, wiggling it at him, "Will strip you of every hair you got down there and possibly a layer of skin, ain't rinsed off in time. We'd both be smoother than a baby's ass. I mean.. it'd make you look bigger but I don't think you need any help in that department. Shavin' cream ain't bad but I don't think it'll stand up to the uh.. friction. And.. oof, Deep Heat. Can't blame you for pickin' up this one but the heat it'll apply to your parts aren't the fun kind." He shuddered a little at the thought. "Use it for sore muscles."

The hair gel got its own laugh and discard without the explanation and Raylan rolled onto his back with the last two options in hand. "Vaseline will slick but it's sticky. I vote for option two."

EDIT: There should have been an ~adult content~ warning 15 tags ago my bad

[thering]

Well. You learn something new everyday, and two out of six ain't bad. And it seemed that grabbing an assortment of products had the unintended side effect of getting Raylan relaxed again.

"I do love it when you talk dirty," he jokes and chuckles right back. "Next time I'll bring the whole cabinet with." When was the last time Raylan had laughed like that? Quite a while before he got ripped to shreds and burnt up to a crisp, and probably not since then. Henry takes the shampoo with one hand and the Vaseline with the other, setting them both aside, down by Raylan's legs out of sight from where his head is at.

"Roll over," he says while dismounting his cowboy ride momentarily. He grabs Raylan's hip and helps him along, slipping his hand in behind Raylan's knee and dragging one leg up once he's lying face down on the bed. Henry leans in close, one hand in the middle of Raylan's back and leaning most of his weight into it as he hovers behind Raylan's head, dipping in to the side of his ear, lacing an intimate murmur with a half-octave lower rumble of a threat.

"Don't turn around." Teeth gently tug on the shell of Raylan's ear before Henry leans back again and the weight of his hand is lifted. Whatever bottle he's opening, Raylan can at least be sure it's one of the options they had agreed upon, that won't have him howling in unexpected agony from Surprise Deep Heat or Accidental Nair. It's definitely cool on the skin, and slick, and a little messy, a wet line drawn from his tailbone down to where Henry's taking his time exploring and teasing Raylan who really needs to unclench for this to happen. And at the first sign of resistance or protest, Henry nips it in the bud by leaning over again, free hand grabbing Raylan's wrist and dragging his arm across behind his back, pushing it just high up along his back enough that it starts to get that little smidge of uncomfortable, on the cusp of that first jolt of pain.

"I said, don't turn around." Although Raylan is free to deliver his protestations, complaints, feedback and abuse verbally amidst the turbulent mix of wants and anticipations and uncertainties while he's slowly getting stretched out in what must feel like new and interesting ways, and see how far it gets him.

[tinstar]

Even Raylan couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed like that, the moonshine party or their dinner with the Hargreaves, maybe, but either way, it was overdue and the edges of it lingered on his face as Henry took the bottles. "Wait til I get goin'," he threatened with a little lift of his eyebrows and an impish grin at the following command.

Shifting to roll over, Raylan chuckled at the helping, eager hand until his knee was getting hiked up. Any attempts he might have made in turning in a silent question was the sudden press of Henry's hand on his back, pushing him into the bed with a breathy, soft grunt of surprise. Not facing what he was about to do was probably for the better, all the less eyes on him as he processed it, but it was the weigh on him, the promise that underlaid the husked command in his ear that somehow drew stark attention to the way his cock was trapped against his belly and the sheets.

The tug of teeth at his ear had him gripping the sheets in anticipation and as a way to keep them locked into place. Nothing about this was traditional and he had no idea what to really expect outside of 'Reverse Shitting' but the promise of a pleasure and release he desperately needed, he trusted Henry to know what he was doing. To not hurt him, really hurt him, no matter how rough their play had been so far. The contrast of the cool slick feeling was almost shocking and earned a little pull of his breath on its own, Raylan not aware of just how much heat his body was putting out in a general capacity, it only took a second of teasing before he was forcing his body to relax to sink and open, hips pushing back against Henry oh so slightly with a rough faint note at the first pressures of the intrusion.

But that too only lasted a second; the stretching being so new, Raylan couldn't help pushing up a little, head turning back, and action that got him roughly planted back. He felt a little like a whore, the way his grunt turned smoother around the edges, ending as something completely different.

His breathing got more erratic the further Henry got on, smooth back twisting and tensing as Raylan writhes sweetly beneath him, words muttered out unintelligibly but somehow still twangy as hell, as two sides of him fully warred with one another. "ohfuckhenryjesusah-" He was used to being a quiet lover - how anyone was quiet doing this would be beyond him once he had the brainpower to even think about it. But once Henry had fully had seated himself, Raylan nearly begged his next words, a simple, "Wait, just wait- just.."

Give him a second to breathe, to adjust, to encourage his ass to relax a little more and maybe even his one hand that was still gripping the sheets like they were keeping him sane.

[thering]

It required a certain kind of patience and focus to take this very slow, to know when to push deeper and when to keep the touches light and on the periphery, a kind of patience and focus difficult to muster up amidst lust-driven urgency. Somehow he manages, out of sheer will and a lingering desire to not fuck the first time up so badly that it'd send the poor Kentucky boy running to the hills.

Is it surprising that Raylan is rather vocal? A little bit. He's probably said more to Henry in the past few minutes alone than their last three hour drinking session. It's a little encouraging, a little dirty, and the room will probably echo with the sound of Raylan's cracked and torn voice once he's in the throes of getting a proper hard fuck.

"Okay. It's okay. Just relax," he reassures quietly in a lover's murmur, letting go of Raylan's wrist so his warm hand can rub down the outside of Raylan's thigh, hot to the touch. Nobody's watching him figuring out how much he likes this. Nobody apart from Henry can hear him. He needs some time to slick himself up anyway so those few moments are spent reassuring and lulling Raylan into a false sense of momentary comfort and relief. Fuck but he could cum on Raylan's ass right now with his slicked up hand on his dick, just like this.

"Don't hold your breath. Just breathe," he encourages between his own hot, heavy breaths. A wet, sticky hand grabs the back of Raylan's thigh, holds him open and relatively still before starting out slow, just an inch in and pulling back half an inch until he's in deeper than he could have gone before. His hand moves to apply some pressure down on Raylan's tailbone, to keep him from crawling up and trying to find some space between the headboard and mattress to hide in, to make it easier to find that sweet spot that'll have him cursing and swearing crying for Jesus.

A come to Jesus moment builds character. Good for the soul, and all that. Getting fucked into a bed outside of the home they have taken stewardship of is also good, pleasurable, builds up all that tension that's been simmering between them with the promise of release to follow. In the pursuit of that relief Henry finds that arm again, white-knuckled gripped so tight it might rip the sheets in half, and this time when he slams it against Raylan's back he pushes it up just high enough where it just starts to hurt, where it gets that instinctive muscle-tightening reaction and has Raylan clenching down hard and tight gripping onto the entire length of his cock.

"Fffuck-" he curses, the fractured veneer of his self-restraint slipping away as he pushes in deep and rolls his hips, bringing Raylan what little relief he can from the friction between his writhing body and the sheets. Maybe next time he should take him on his knees. Give the poor man his arm back so he can jerk himself off while he's getting rammed from behind.

[tinstar]

Henry was wise to take it easy, to take it slow. If this became a bad experience, Raylan wouldn't ever turn back to it again, too skittish to take the chance a second time. The voice in his ear did a lot, raggedly uneven breath slowing to a hold before he was almost gasp his next breath. He knew what it was like to be inside someone, to fill them, but the feeling of being filled was completely different then he'd imagined. He was easily soothed by the muttered words and the reassurance, hand relaxing only slightly as he focused on his breathing as instructed. He hadn't even been fully aware of the hitch of a breath stuck in his throat.

But then Henry started moving and Raylan let out another breathy moan, the hand on his tailbone effectively pinning him where he was. He did enjoy it, the thrumming pressure against a most sensitive internal spot that he didn't know existed, the way he felt spread and utterly consumed by the man above him in the moment. Raylan was glad they weren't doing this at home - no way he'd be able to keep his mouth shut without biting a pillow or wearing a gag, neither of which seemed like bad options in the moment.

He didn't expect his off hand to be wrested from the sheets and he hissed out his breath as his arm was turned backwards and up, body clamping down as expected as his hips rolled up, body pushing up towards the headboard to relieve some of the pressure on his arm. Too much longer and Henry will have crawled and bent Raylan up against it. But there was a bit of power to be reclaimed there, with the way Henry groaned out a swear behind him, there something satisfying in knowing that it was him causing it.

Raylan let out a soundful grunt, hips moving with the roll of Henry's hips as he discovered just how good it felt to be hit in such a way. Sure, if he had been up on his knees, his free hand would certainly be around his dick, but there was a devilish pleasure in not being allowed to, one that would eventually soil the sheets without a single touch needing to be applied there, though Raylan would writhe in a whole new ecstasy over it. The idea of being used still held up to this kind of abuse.

"M-more," Raylan husked encouragingly from his less then advantageous position, ass lifting and clenching a little more. "Go on." Go on, fuck me, use me, was his tone, comfortable in the lack of eyes to judge him, in the security that him sounding and acting this way wasn't going to get him judged by Henry, or anyone else.

The coming to Jesus bit would come with cumming while moaning 'jesus', it just took some time.

[thering]

While 'Jesus' is not one of the many names he has - not the kind of responsibility he wants either, thanks - he would happily and eagerly lap up these reactions from Raylan, who almost seems like he's having a little bit too much fun (if such a thing was possible). There might be some light verbal teasing in store in the future, when they catch another time alone, intermixed with low and sultry dirty talk and a suggestive nudge. But not tonight, while they are working their way towards being well spent.

'I had sex with Doc Holliday and he broke my arm' is not what he had in mind when he talked of rewriting his legacy. At the first sign of them coming dangerously close to banging a Raylan-sized hole in the headboard as opposed to the headboard-sized hole in the wall, he lets go of Raylan's arm. Grabbing a handful of ass and then a fistful of hair instead, he prevents Raylan from muffling all his cries as he leans half over him, fucks the last traces of lingering aggression and volatility out before finding his own cusp of his pleasure and tumbling into an intense sort of orgasm after a long dry spell. Mathias has piled on too many things to worry about that being unable to pull out, with Raylan chasing him down right to the balls for friction, and resolving to make an inevitable mess cumming in deep that will dribble out between Raylan's legs is the least of his worries right now.

The mounting tension in his muscles slowly oozes away as he slumps, weak-limbed and worn out, forehead resting against a sweat-slicked shoulder, struggling for air. He's soft again, in several senses of the word, pliable, unspoken anger at Mathias and partially at Raylan for dying on him, irrational as that thought is, taken out and melting away, the bottle he's been stuffing everything into finally emptied so he can start filling it up again.

"Raylan. Givens. ...you kissed your mama with that mouth?" he chides between fast, shallow pants, a hand resting on the exact place he had left a bruise on Raylan's hip, thumb brushing gently over uncharacteristically soft skin, less possessive and more like it's his favoured spot that he will always gravitate towards. There's something magnetic about this particular kindred spirit that he will likely always gravitate towards, even if they never do this again.

[tinstar]

If this was something he was practiced at, he might not have been so vocal but there was a lot he couldn't hide from or behind right now and the longer it went on, the more Raylan realized 1) it was him making all those half gasped desperate little sounds that hadn't nearly been so moan-y at the start and 2) he sounded a bit like a well used whore doing it. If that was the only price to pay for this, he'd take it. Or was in the middle of taking it, badumtish Only comfort he could take in that was that John Henry had seen more than Raylan would in his very long life.

With his free hand propped against the headboard, Raylan tried to stop them working themselves closer to it, however useless it was against Henry's driving force that threatened to curl him against it, and he let out a groan of breathy relief when his arm was released, only to suck it back in with a hiss as Henry fists his hand into the salt and pepper hair. Raylan swore, off hand fisting in the sheets so he could help push himself back in time, fully given over to feeling like a bow or something that was being drawn taut. Like this was something he shoulda been doing much sooner than this.

The hot panting breath in his ear, across his shoulders as Henry leans over him was the last bit of something in the whirlwind of sensation that Raylan could handle, and finding just the right way to jut his hips back so the sheets gave him delicious teasing friction. His orgasm was almost a surprise, as tightly wound as Henry had gotten him, and the sound of it was lost in the next thrusts that gave him no time to question what had just happened. The drive to continue here was the same one that drove them outside, a resolve to not stop til they were done, even if Raylan knew exactly what he was asking for.

Once Henry stilled, Raylan was finally able to even being to notice the prick of sweat across his back as they seemed to fight the room for enough air to breathe properly and with his head free, all he could do was hang it and try to catch his breath. His body felt like it was drumming with his heartbeat, with no avoidance of attention to his ass and the way it was no doubt going to feel later and it was a big ask for him to do anything but huff a half chuckled breath.

"Never while sayin' any of those words, I promise you," he barely managed to say in return, the room and color of it only starting to bleed back into his vision. "Jesus," he breathed out, a sweetly surprised and deeply satisfied admission as his legs threatened to tremble in time with the wash of nerves running down his forearms. Raylan wasn't naïve enough to think it was always like that, but if it was even half as good without the roughhousing and play.. He swallowed hard and focused on the glow of now.

"We're gonna need a shower to clean all this up in a few minutes." Covert laundry doing too, something he'd take care of later. But not at this exact moment - he wasn't sure his legs were working right for that.

[thering]

"Jesus wouldn't've approved of those noises you were makin'," he drawls, words slurring together as he feels the dangerous pull of after-sex fatigue, starting to feel a heavy sinking like lead in his bones that would inevitably lead to him drifting off lying here just like this.

"Mmmm no," he mumbles, chest and stomach rising and falling with each increasingly controlled breath. His hand smoothes down to Raylan's thigh, stroking it up and down in long, slow rubs, as though maybe he could soothe the twitching into stopping or rub some feeling back into them. Henry's tired to the bone and he's made a bed in worse messes before, neither of which are really spurring him into action. Raylan will have to roll him into the bathroom at this point because he's reluctant to get up again.

He nestles in a little closer, sliding his arm down over Raylan's stomach, giving him another reason not to leave and get cleaned up. "Don't get up," he murmurs into the pillow, shoulder sagging as he starts to nod off. Clearly, despite appearances, the hat and the waistcoat, the grooming and the hours spent slaving away over laundry hides the fact that Henry could be the irresponsible, messy slob between the two of them.

They can just be lazy for a few minutes, right? No harm would come from it.