"Both New Yorkers have some serious power behind their arm," he agreed in a tone that was genuinely impressed.
If it wasn't so obvious that Raylan was having a very bad, no good day, Tim might have pointed out the number of times the older marshal got in over his head and got the shit kicked out of him. But today didn't seem the day for it, so he held his tongue and processed what Raylan was saying.
As he listened he began to work the tension downwards and along the tops of the older man's shoulders. Following the line of the collarbone with his thumb he worked with the grain of muscles. Applying friction to warm and then steady, repetitive pressure to sooth and encourage blood flow.
"Might as well give em the opportunity to get their licks in while I can't fight back," he said, using both long fingered hands to work on either side of shoulder and top of the torso. Even at full strength, Tim didn't see himself throwing a punch at Neal or Malcolm. "I'll go anywhere you go, Raylan," his gut told him the older marshal needed the honest verbal assurance. "If it's what you want."
The last bit was both a question and a statement. Something was up, something big and Tim had an idea what it might be, but he was giving Raylan time to get there himself. If it was what he assumed he wasn't going to delude himself into thinking that Raylan would come out of that conversation wanting anyone breathing the same air in the same space.
Sitting up he placed one hand on the powerful muscles branching off from the neck to the shoulder and began to rub with his fingers. His thumbs pressing and rubbing from top towards bottom, along the defined column of muscle on either side of Raylan's spine.
no subject
If it wasn't so obvious that Raylan was having a very bad, no good day, Tim might have pointed out the number of times the older marshal got in over his head and got the shit kicked out of him. But today didn't seem the day for it, so he held his tongue and processed what Raylan was saying.
As he listened he began to work the tension downwards and along the tops of the older man's shoulders. Following the line of the collarbone with his thumb he worked with the grain of muscles. Applying friction to warm and then steady, repetitive pressure to sooth and encourage blood flow.
"Might as well give em the opportunity to get their licks in while I can't fight back," he said, using both long fingered hands to work on either side of shoulder and top of the torso. Even at full strength, Tim didn't see himself throwing a punch at Neal or Malcolm. "I'll go anywhere you go, Raylan," his gut told him the older marshal needed the honest verbal assurance. "If it's what you want."
The last bit was both a question and a statement. Something was up, something big and Tim had an idea what it might be, but he was giving Raylan time to get there himself. If it was what he assumed he wasn't going to delude himself into thinking that Raylan would come out of that conversation wanting anyone breathing the same air in the same space.
Sitting up he placed one hand on the powerful muscles branching off from the neck to the shoulder and began to rub with his fingers. His thumbs pressing and rubbing from top towards bottom, along the defined column of muscle on either side of Raylan's spine.
"That why Neal punched you?"