villagelogs | 037-040 » the reason for time

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037-040 » the reason for time

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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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."

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.

"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?"

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."

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

Edited (adding a belated warning) 2021-03-16 06:17 (UTC)

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.

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.

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.

Edited 2021-03-18 02:46 (UTC)

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.

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.

"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.

The only rolling Raylan was doing was the slight cock and push of his hips as he rolled a little, letting Henry settle on the bed next to him without them loosing much of any contact. He could feel the weight getting heavier, could feel the pull of his own barely gotten sleep urging him closer after such a good workout and Raylan hummed at the hand rubbing at his thigh. It was sweet, especially after all the hard work Henry put into making him shake in the first place.

Raylan did not tend to sleep in these kinds of messes but he was finding the bed and Henry's arms harder to pull himself out of than he thought, something that rubbing didn't discourage. It would be fine, right? A little sticky and a little gross in the morning maybe, but that's why they made showers anyway. The snuggle in and the arm that secured it's spot around his stomach was the last straw against his barely there resistance, and he hummed a note as he ran his hand up and down Henry's forearm.

"I suppose I can't, you askin' like that an all," he muttered back. He could already tell - two minutes of silence, if that, and Henry's breathing was bound to get shallow. It would only take a minute or two more before Raylan joined him in it. It was childish but there was some logic dictating that he couldn't have a nightmare after all that and with this company in the same night. He couldn't help but foolishly hope that was the case so he might get to enjoy waking up not alone too.

At some point during the night Henry had latched on like an octopus. Maybe he was unconsciously worried of someone or something coming to take Raylan away. Maybe he was dreaming about Scrooge McDucking into a bathtub of hundred dollar bills. Whatever the case he had latched onto Raylan, one arm wrapped around his waist and one leg wrapped over Raylan's knee and shin.

He isn't particularly agitated. He's probably too tired to even let his mind put on a half-formulated dream sequence. But he sleeps right through even when Raylan starts to stir, and any good intentions of getting up and cleaning up and possibly some kind of breakfast to go together with trying to convince Raylan to go home even though it would mean no more twilight stolen moments or hanky panky funny business under the housemates' watchful gaze nudged further along into the day.

Under the harsh break of first light of day they are just two scarred and broken men lying there alone together. And while it's still up for discussion whether having one octopus-cowboy is any good for warding away evil dreams in the long run, it turns out Henry is at the very least a gunslinger, a gambler, a biter and a bit of a covert nuzzler.

Later, Raylan might muse on what it was, exactly that kept the terrors at bay that night but for the actual passing of it, he stayed passively contained for the most part. There was a brief instance of him trying to pull out of bed once and easily reigned back in with the strong arm around him and the hot breath against his spine. Some part of him had more than desperately needed this; a night of satiation that ended with an actual morning uninvaded by screams.

It wasn't Malcolm's fault but Raylan's system had been hard pressed with all the interruptions.

But morning had to come sometime and Raylan greeted it with a deep breath and a stretch, barely getting into the roll onto his back before hitting the wall that was Henry's chest. Grunting softly, he shifted enough so he could see Henry's face. It was peaceful when he was asleep; easy and unguarded. It gave Raylan a sense of what he looked like when he was young, before life got around to digging into him too much harder.

Raylan was reluctant to wake Henry, happy to soak in the preprotest nuzzle and did for as long as his bladder would let him before gently trying to escape the tangle of limbs and sheets he'd found himself in.

Henry the octopus would not be so easily roused without the Malcolm alarm clock to wake him and send him running, scrambling for his Doc mask to affix on his way to pacifying the ruckus. With Raylan slipping away his hands find a pillow to substitute for the warm body, slipping his arms around it with one leg hiked up at the knee as he buries half his face into the shadows of the pillows.

Unbothered by the mess they had been laying in, the sheets cling to his limbs, wrapped around his leg beneath his bare bottom exposed to the morning chill, slithering around under his body and lapping back up over one wrist and hand.

He'll be missing holding onto Raylan soon enough but for now he is easily appeased by a pillowcase that still faintly smells like him.

Since he was up and in there, Raylan decided to go ahead and get his shower out of the way with only a brief stop back in the bedroom to snag the shampoo from it's alternate use once he remembered it wasn't where it should be. It wasn't the nice pine smelling shampoo that Malcolm had brought home for all of them, but it got him clean and smelling that way, and gave Henry another ten minutes.

He took the time to find and learn about all the little bruises and marks that had been left across him, an echo of the soreness he felt in his hips and ass, fingers dancing over the strange new scars across his chest as something of an afterthought. Maybe this all wouldn't be as bad as he thought it might have been, in the dark of night. He still felt inexplicably.. fractured somehow, deep in his depths, but knowing what waited for him on the other side of the bathroom door made it tolerable. Less miserable. Even enjoyable, apparently, some nights.

Not wanting to linger too long in his own thoughts, Raylan got out and dried off but didn't bother getting dressed. Padding back out into the bedroom, he carefully crawled back into bed behind Henry, sliding his arm around Henry's stomach as he leaned in to press a few soft kisses across his shoulder. He didn't know how much it would take to get Henry awake, but he was willing to take it slow. Right now they had all the time in the world.

He could have gotten dressed and went downstairs to make coffee, but as much as he didn't want to wake up alone, he didn't want Henry to wake up alone either. Maybe he was being sentimental. After last night, he felt entitled to a little of it.

'Tis the one luxurious day where Henry gets to sleep in and not worry too much about it, not feel too guilty, and he's taking full advantage of it. He's vaguely aware of things moving in the physical realm, the sound of the shower a distant pitter-patter like raindrops on the lid covering up the well. For as much as the darkness and the wetness had tormented him, the well was a safe place, cool and dark and even when he sleeps he doesn't always stretch out fully, curling up a bit as if making himself smaller with bent knees and a bowed head helps him feel safer.

Eventually Raylan gets him stirring out of his nightmareless sleep and he reaches out, stretching his arm a bit further. Breathing out slowly through his nose, a bit of rubbing and grinding against the pillow wedged between his legs has him slowly realising Raylan isn't there anymore.

Before any sort of disappointment can set in, he covers the back of Raylan's hand with his palm and groans, turning his head just enough to catch a blurry outline of that familiar face before rolling back over again to face the pillow. Pressing the heel of his palm against his eye socket, he swallows down the discomfort in his dry throat and grunts again. A half dozen things to say float past his mind. Good morning, asshole. What time is it? Mmh, can't feel my legs. Instead Henry rolls over again, shuffling over a bit to make some space, eyebrows furrowed with his eyes still closed. One hand tugs up the sheet between his legs, inadvertently making himself artfully decent.

"Hey. ...you stayed." He seems surprised by this. Like this is how the one night stands don't usually go. Even though they were never just a one night stand to each other. He can't help that small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, but God he's so tired he seems to be still drifting in and out of sleep. Fingertips rest on Raylan's cool thigh and rub the top of his leg a little bit although he looks like he might be checking back out of the consciousness hotel again.

"You doin' okay?" He asks in a hoarse, ragged murmur after a stretch of silence which made him seem like he was on the verge of falling back asleep again.

Soft waking's was a weakness of Raylan's; those rare mornings where no one was rushing out anywhere, where he wasn't being negged into an argument for whatever reason, and he smiled at the way Henry shifted and uncurled, loosening his arm enough to not impede it. His smile broke into a broad grin at the groans that he was greeted with. Which one of them had been drinking themselves into the ground last night?

Even as unsure as he was about where they would stand in the daylight of morning, Raylan kept his hand draped over Henry's center and, at the touch that immediately set to work dissipating his concerns, pulled his leg up in a little movement to give Henry's fingers a fraction more contact. This was nice, being able to touch and be touched without a massive cloud of 'Is this okay; will he strike out at me or push me away for doing it' hovering directly over him. He wasn't used to that kind of uncertainty.

"Figured you wouldn't complain too much." Protests seemed like the last thing on Henry's mind, judging by the way he started to drift off again. "Little sore but you didn't manage to put too much of a hitch in my walk. I'm fine," he confirmed, grin finally settling back down into a pleased smile. "Also figured it'd be rude to get dressed and start my day without at least sayin' good mornin'."

That was a passable excuse, right? Before they left the bedroom and put their hats and masks back on, mortaring walls that had been allowed to crack the night before. So what if Raylan was a little greedy under it all.

Henry has decided that he would rather wake up with Raylan's company than to see pieces of Raylan and other people he knows strewn across the snow. This is much preferable, even if they are both rather sore.

He's pretty sure he had snapped, last night. Not in a verbal kind of way but the dam broke nonetheless and a torrent of helplessness-induced rage and misguided betrayal and month-long frustration came gushing out, leaving still waters that used to run miles upon miles deep now shallow and easier to tread.

A moment of self-consciousness comes when he sees the bruises, and then it goes. It wasn't a drunken, angry type of lashing out. And Raylan is grinning. This, he decides, makes the few marks okay.

"Oh, that right? I think you're learning. I could make a gentleman out of you yet." Doc flashes a small smile right back. Honestly it's no secret that he's a bit of a whore. It wouldn't bother him none to be treated like one. Although he has to wonder if Raylan even keeps the company of many whores. He seems like the type who plays for keeps.

"Is it time?" To get dressed. Hats and masks and all. Waistcoat, at least for one of them. No point asking what the time is, really. He just has so many masks in his collection, he needs to know if it's time to be John Henry or Hank or Doc or Oi, Asshole.

"Could I convince you to stay a while?" A clothing optional sort of staying a while. Raylan can get dressed if he wants. It'll be a while before the old man lying beside him would want to go through the same circuit through the bathroom and come out the other side having put on all his layers and feeling ready enough to take on the rest of the day.

If he had snapped, it was the most acceptable way to snap, despite the complaints from Raylan's shoulder socket. Better this than any of the alternatives. The marks were okay. An acceptable reminder of what had happened. What he'd allowed. It felt a little ridiculous to focus on that so much, but it wasn't small to Raylan. On the contrary, it held quite a number of his fear and prideful flaws and as happy as he was, there was some large part of him that was still waiting for the shoe to drop.

"Mm, somehow I doubt it. Even as persuasive as you are, my resistance to manners is unstoppable." Mainly because he didn't think he was that bad, over all. Not in comparison. To Arlo. But Raylan had never been with whores. Had never needed to, and while he had a little black book back in the day, it didn't take him long to figure out there wasn't any happiness or real satisfaction to be found there. Playing for Keeps was the only game in town, despite the fact that Raylan had put up that particular set of dice.

His face softened into a very warm curl, lazy and relaxed as he nodded in answer to both questions. "Probably so. On both counts." Shifting, he let his head fall to the pillow, hand tucking up under it as he settled in. "For a little while anyway. Before people start comin' lookin' for us.. How'd you sleep?"

People. Yes. There might not be anyone else in this house but it's almost too easy to forget about the people outside of it, lingering close by. People who might not see him as the type who lounges around in bed pulling a pillow over his face. But he would put on a brave and serious front anyway. They might need it to get through the next few weeks.

"Better than I had in days," he admits quietly. He gets nightmares too even if they're nowhere near as animated as Malcolm's. At worst he might mumble a string of protests and kick at the sheets tossing and turning restlessly, or sob and whimper in some mid-sleep agony. Maybe he was too exhausted to conjure these scenarios up. Maybe they should consider these brief little getaways more often.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Doc tries to disentangle himself from the sheets and pulls a corner of it up over Raylan before settling back down again. It had seemed selfish to be hogging.

"Did you manage a few hours yourself?" He hopes so. It doesn't mean that Raylan would never have nightmares or flashbacks. Reliving it to some level is unavoidable. He can't exactly fuck all his problems away either. But maybe, even if it was just for the one night, they could call a dreamless sleep a win.

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

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