The Hillbilly Remix Challenge - Ghosts in the Tunnels by thornfield_girl
Remixed Author: nigeltde
Remixed Story: A House Halfway
Title: Ghosts in the Tunnels
Author: thornfield_girl
Characters Raylan Givens, Boyd Crowder
Pairings: Raylan Givens/Boyd Crowder
Rating: R
Word count: 3,666
Spoilers: Current canon, no spoilers
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: Justified belongs to Elmore Leonard and Graham Yost.
A/N: Thanks to norgbelulah and engage_protocol for being great betas as usual.
Summary: Raylan and Boyd get trapped in an abandoned mine. And, it’s cold. And Raylan still doesn’t trust Boyd.
It isn’t their mine. No, this one has long since been abandoned, maybe even before their fathers’ time, but that doesn’t make it better. It feels the same. It smells the same. It’s enough to make you fucking dizzy if you think about it long enough, because you realize how many years men have been smelling this and feeling this, and nothing changes or gets any better.
So Raylan doesn’t think about it. He pushes that away and concentrates on finding Boyd before he can kill Dickie Bennett. He’s been doing that all night, in people’s homes and in the woods, and now in this place. He's cold and tired, and would like to be at home in bed.
It has occurred to him to wonder, more than once or twice, why he is putting so much effort into this task. He doesn’t care if Dickie Bennett dies, and he doesn’t care if he has to put Boyd Crowder in jail for it. He could let this go. It would be a win-win situation.
But then, that would make him exactly what Boyd is, what everyone thinks he is deep down, and then where would he be?
It’s the principle of the thing.
There is motion in his peripheral vision, barely visible in the inadequate flashlight beam. The mine just sucks that light in and gives nothing back, but Raylan catches it, just barely. He doesn’t know if it’s Boyd or Dickie, but he follows the movement.
He draws, comes around the corner with as much caution as is possible in the black, and calls out, “Don’t move! Federal Marshal!” He fights down a strong urge to laugh, because it’s Boyd, and Boyd knows very well who and what he is, and he has never cared one damn bit. He’s never really believed it.
Boyd has frozen in his tracks, hands held aloft, even with his shoulders. Raylan can’t see his face, but he’s sure it bears a smirk. He grinds his teeth and moves forward to cuff him. He feels his boots land on soft, rotted wood, and has just a fraction of a second to note that this is not a good thing, before it gives way and he’s falling. Sliding, really, but unable to find purchase anywhere.
His terror is absolute in these moments. Then he feels it, the hand around his forearm, long-fingered, strong and hard. He looks up, but he sees nothing. It’s too dark, and his flashlight is long gone, however far down this thing reaches.
“I got you, Raylan,” comes the voice from above him, and he believes it completely. It’s not the first time he’s heard it, these words in this voice, with these smells all around them.
Raylan twists his arm slightly so he can grasp at Boyd’s jacket, and Boyd begins to pull him up. He scrabbles with his feet to try to help, and is making progress, when the pulling stops. Boyd is still holding him tight, fingers digging into his arm.
“Boyd?” he calls.
“Just keep holding on, Raylan.”
Boyd’s voice is calm, but something about it doesn’t sound right. Raylan understands why just a second later, when he hears Dickie Bennett’s smug, moronic fucking voice pipe up, saying, “Oh yes, you hold on tight, Raylan. You can hold hands all the way down for all I care, that don’t surprise me in the least little bit.”
“Dickie, you fucking asshole,” Boyd says. “Raylan was trying to save your sorry ass. He would have shot me again to protect you, I truly believe that.”
“Oh, and that is much appreciated,” he said. “You can jump in and keep him company, or I can shoot you right now.”
“Boyd,” Raylan called, “You can let me go if you promise to kill that little fucker.”
“Tempting, but I ain’t gonna let you go. I’ll kill him when we get out of here."
Raylan will have something to say about that if they do get out, but now is not the time to argue.
Raylan can't tell what's happening up above, but he hears a scuffle and he feels Boyd pulling at him. Suddenly, all resistance gives way, and there's a spray of small rocks and dust before a boot connects solidly with the side of his head.
They're sliding fast, and then falling, but not too far before landing on hard ground. Raylan feels a sharp, agonizing pain in his left wrist, and stars swim in the utter darkness behind his eyelids.
He almost passes out, but then he hears Boyd saying his name. "Raylan." He's groping around
in the dark and makes contact with Raylan's shin. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah... sort of. I think I broke my wrist. Fuck, that hurts. Goddamnit."
He fumbles around for his phone, and tries to call the office, but if course there's no reception down here.
"Could have been much worse," Boyd replied.
"That's true... except now we're fucking trapped down here. Are you alright?"
"I'm fine. Don't worry, Dickie'll get caught and they'll figure it out. He ain't exactly a mastermind."
"Unlike you." Raylan's gratitude for Boyd's rescue attempt is already fading, rendered almost meaningless in the larger picture.
"That's right, Raylan. Unlike me. But even I've been in some pretty close scrapes, and even I've been on the inside, because try as you might, you can't anticipate everything. And Dickie, he can't anticipate shit."
"Well, I hope it doesn't take too long, because it's fucking cold down here, and it's gonna get colder."
Boyd is quiet for a bit, and then he says, "We should stabilize that wrist." Raylan hears him moving around and realizes he's taking off his shirt.
"Boyd, what are you doing? You'll freeze."
"I'm just gonna use my undershirt. And I need something to use as a splint... you got a credit card?"
"Yeah." Raylan uses his good hand to pull his wallet out, and tosses it to Boyd. "I'm just glad it's too dark for you to read the numbers."
"Shut up, Raylan. Don't be an asshole when I'm trying to help you." Raylan smiles despite himself and shuts up.
Boyd puts his shirt and jacket back on, then uses his knife to cut the t-shirt into bandages. Raylan feels him crawl near, feels his hand gently take him by the elbow.
"I'm gonna be as careful as I can, but I might hurt you. It's not on purpose, I swear." He runs his hand lightly down Raylan's arm and holds it as he wraps a layer of cotton around his wrist. He holds it straight and presses the card against it, then wraps more of the makeshift bandage around it, a little more snugly than is comfortable.
Raylan hisses once, and Boyd stops, waits, then continues. He does not apologize, and Raylan doesn't expect it, because this is an act of kindness, despite the pain it's causing.
When he's finished, Boyd holds the arm and tells Raylan to keep it still, as if he couldn't have figured that out. They sit side by side, leaning up against the wall of the old mine. They don't speak for a long time, and Raylan does not presume to imagine that he knows Boyd's thoughts.
He's sure that Boyd is not affording him the same courtesy, and sure he's at least partly right about them anyway.
The cold settles into his skin, seeps down into his bones, and he struggles not to shiver. He tries to make himself still.
Boyd leans into him, shoulder to shoulder, and he can feel the difference almost immediately, in that small, localized area. He presses back without letting himself think much about it, and they stay like that for awhile. He watches their breath puff out in front of them, and it makes him feel even colder.
"Raylan..." He knows what's coming before Boyd says it. It pisses Raylan off that he let him be the one to bring it up. It makes him look scared, and he knows it, and that's stupid. Boyd should be the one afraid of this.
Raylan sighs. "Yeah."
"We have to get warm. We're gonna-"
"Yep," he interrupts. "I know. Okay."
"Take off your jacket." Boyd already has his off, and Raylan starts to struggle out of his. "Here, let me-"
"I got it." That comes out sharper than he would have liked. He gets the jacket off, and Boyd takes it from him, doubles it with his and lies down on his side. Another sigh from Raylan, and he says, "I gotta be the inside spoon?"
"Your wrist, Raylan. You need to keep it in close to your body." Raylan strains for any trace of laughter in his voice, and surprisingly, he can't hear any. He almost wishes he could.
He lies down next to Boyd and lets him draw the jackets over both of them. Boyd slides his arm under the jackets and rubs his hand up and down Raylan's bicep. He wants to tell him to stop, but can't quite manage it. He's already feeling so much warmer.
After a bit, Boyd is still, and quiet. He hasn't spoken since they laid down. Raylan thinks he might have fallen asleep, when Boyd says, very quietly, "Was a time when this would have been much more difficult for me."
Raylan isn't sure how to respond. Boyd has never referred to this before, and he's certainly never wanted to bring it up. It isn't something he ever wanted to talk about.
Boyd continues in the silence. "Age has its benefits, I suppose."
"It's been a long time, Boyd. I'd imagine you're over your little crush by now." His heart was beating faster, just from acknowledging this thing. Though why it should be so hard to think about, he doesn't know. It wasn't him. Just Boyd.
"You'd think so, wouldn't you?"
Raylan shifts away slightly, and the jackets start to slide down. Boyd pulls him back in tightly and fixes them, saying rather sharply, "Quit it. What do you imagine I'm gonna do to you?"
Raylan doesn't answer. He's not afraid of Boyd at all. He never was, even back when it happened. He reaches up with his uninjured arm and lays his hand, in a kind of apology, on Boyd's forearm where it's draped over his waist. He feels a small, warm huff of breath against his neck and shivers.
Raylan's hip and right arm go numb after a while. He wants to change position, but he can't lie on his left side. He's shifting around uncomfortably, wincing at the jabs of pain in his wrist, and Boyd tells him to stop. He rolls onto his back.
"Come here, Raylan. You can rest on my shoulder for a few minutes. It's probably a good idea to keep the wrist elevated anyway."
Raylan hesitates, but only briefly. There's no difference, really, only that it seems more... something. Affectionate. "Alright," he says, and rests his broken wrist on Boyd's chest. "Thanks."
It's almost comfortable. He starts to drift off, and when he feels Boyd's fingers combing slowly through his hair, his first instinct is to pull away, just as it was more than twenty years before. He isn't afraid of Boyd, that much is true. Boyd won't do anything Raylan tells him not to - at least where this is concerned.
He thinks of all the bad, all the betrayals, all the ugliness. He thinks of how Boyd was back then, when they were basically children, how different he seemed from everyone else, and how he's grown into exactly what was always expected of him. Raylan hates that, wonders if there was ever a time when Boyd could have made the choice to get out.
Then Raylan just lets that shit go, settles into the warmth of him, the smell of him that the coal dust and earth can't drown out. He lets Boyd's fingers stroke through his hair, and he lets them move down his back, rubbing more heat into him, soothing him.
He knows he was right to push Boyd away all those years ago; there was nothing good in that for either of them that would have lasted more than a few minutes. But now, now they were trapped in a collapsed mine, trying not to die of hypothermia so they could probably end up dying of thirst, and maybe a few minutes of something good wasn't something to dismiss so lightly.
He knows Boyd can feel him getting hard, but he doesn't care, because what the fuck, maybe right now he shouldn't be pushing this down, out, away; this is a gift.
Boyd is breathing steadily, and Raylan concentrates on that. He can hear it, and he can feel his chest rising and falling with it. If life were always this simple, a matter of living or dying, of wanting or not wanting, Raylan thinks maybe he could be happy. These things are the boiled-down essence of life, and the choices are easy.
Raylan shifts only slightly, but it's all that's needed. Boyd's hand is on his neck, pulling him close, and they're kissing, and this is not like the other time. Then, Raylan was full of fear, though not of Boyd. Now, there was only what he wanted, and that was nothing worth being afraid of anymore.
Now Boyd is talking, and he doesn't really want that. It's extraneous, it complicates things. The breathing, the living, the wanting - that's all he cares about right now. But he doesn't know how to shut Boyd up. He's never learned that trick.
"Raylan," he's saying, in between kisses and shot through with panting breaths, "you really want this?"
"Uh huh... Shh." Raylan is half on top of him now, left leg draped in between Boyd's legs. Boyd is grasping at his hip with one hand, the other is tangled in his hair.
"Did you want it back then? I thought you didn't. I thought I was wrong."
"God, shut up, would you?" Raylan's voice is desperate with lust and frustration. There's no reason to talk about this. It's over, long since.
Boyd does, but only for a short time. He gently pushes Raylan over onto his back, reaches down with both hands and unbuttons Raylan's jeans, sliding the zipper down.
When Boyd has his hand on Raylan's dick, he says, "You lied because you were afraid."
"Yes," Raylan gasps, and Boyd starts to move his hand. Raylan can feel the roughness, the scars and callouses that the hands of a man like Boyd must always bear.
A coal miner, a thug, a hard man: he is all these things. This is not the essence of him, though. These are the things he does, how he keeps living. In this place, in this moment, it's hard for Raylan to remember why he hates that so much.
"You were right to be," Boyd continues, and Raylan can't fucking take it anymore. He puts a hand to Boyd's cheek and urges him down, puts their mouths together, and doesn't let up until he comes.
Raylan remains silent through his orgasm, as he is in much of his life, and Boyd moans with it instead, as if the pleasure is all his.
They lie still for a moment, then Raylan says, "Well, I guess you're lucky I broke my left hand. But you'll have to take care of your pants."
"You don't have to," Boyd says.
"Sure I do. Fair's fair."
"Oh, Raylan. Ain't nothing fair, don't you know that yet?"
"Jesus, Boyd." Raylan is getting irritated now. "Do we have to do this? Can't you just stop for five goddamn minutes so I can pay back the very competent hand job you just gave me?"
"It's too late, Raylan." He sounds full of regret, and Raylan snorts a laugh.
"I'm sure that can be remedied." He hesitates, then kisses his face, not finding his lips right away in the dark.
"That ain't what I meant, and you damn well know it," he says, pushing Raylan away. Now Boyd sounds pissed, and Raylan cannot imagine what it was he did to cause that.
"I didn't force you to put your hands in my fucking pants, Boyd. I was under the impression that this was something you wanted to do, that maybe you've been wanting to do for a good while now."
"Oh, well, thanks for the favor, Raylan."
"Fuck you. I didn't say that. I didn't say I didn't want it too. This is all we have to offer each other right now, Boyd. We used to have a friendship, but that's gone. This is all that's left of it. Do you want it or not?"
"No," he said flatly.
Raylan turned back onto his side and said, "Fine."
Boyd rearranged the jackets over them and they lay there, quietly stewing in their own thoughts, staying warm, staying alive. Raylan can feel his erection pressing into his thigh, but he tries to ignore it. Boyd's decision makes no sense, but it's his choice.
Raylan doesn't feel sleepy anymore, and he can tell that Boyd is just as restless. Finally, he says, "You know, I think I remember hearing about this collapse. Back in the '70s, wasn't it?"
Boyd takes a second before answering, and when he does, he sounds slightly stilted at first, like he's making a conscious effort to sound normal. "Yeah," he says, "my uncle Lee, my mama's brother, he was in it. He made it out, but a couple men died down here."
"When you and me were in the mine, I always thought I'd die down there. It seemed inevitable. When the walls came down, all I thought was... finally. We're getting it over with."
"That's why you didn't move at first," Boyd said quietly.
"Didn't see the point, because I always knew I'd die in the black. But you got me out, and I was out for a long time. And now we're probably gonna die down here together anyway."
"Don't be so melodramatic, Raylan," Boyd said.
"You're telling me? You're the one still holding a grudge because I rejected you twenty years ago."
Boyd huffed a sigh and wrapped his arm further around Raylan. "We ain't gonna die. We should get a little light in here come morning, and if no one is here by then, we'll start to figure out how to get out."
"Alright," Raylan replies, and he believes him, because it's easy to believe Boyd, if you want to enough. He waits a few minutes before speaking again, and then he says, "Once we get out of here, things will go back to the way they always were."
"Even now," Boyd replied, "they're the way they always were. This has always been part of the way things were, we just didn't talk about it. It's only you who sees that as an impossible conflict."
"I don't want to have this kind of conversation with you. We don't know each other well enough for that anymore."
"Bullshit," Boyd laughs. "And you know it is. I know you, Raylan, and you know me almost as well. We just don't strictly understand each other anymore. If we ever really did."
Raylan has no answer for that, doesn't even know if he's right or not. Regardless, he still does not want to talk about this shit, as if they have a relationship they need to discuss.
All they have is a dead friendship and some unresolved sexual tension. Or, half-unresolved, now, and Raylan doesn't like that. He hates the idea of Boyd carrying that forward, and he hates even more the vague notion that he now owes him something. He’s always hated unpaid debts.
Raylan sits up then, the jackets sliding to the ground. "Boyd," he says, and puts his right hand on the man's chest. "I should have told you back then, should have said the real reason I pushed you away. I'm sorry I wasn't ready to do that yet."
Boyd reaches up and touches his arm. "I ain't still mad about it. Come back down here, Raylan. It's cold."
Raylan rubs his chest and starts to go further down, but Boyd grabs his wrist. "I really don't need it. I'd rather just have you lie down next to me."
Raylan frowns into the darkness. He wants the debt paid, he wants to give Boyd what he needs, but he feels like it can never be enough. After all the ways Boyd has helped and hurt him, all of the things they've done for and to each other, that they're now able to offer each other something as simple as mutual survival, mutual comfort, seems like a blessing.
He lies down again, on Boyd's other side, so he is facing him. Boyd slides an arm under his neck, and they huddle close under the jackets.
They sleep, maybe. It’s hard to tell. It’s very cold, despite the body heat, especially the hard ground. Raylan’s wrist aches terribly. The only reason he thinks he must have slept is that he startles awake to the sound of voices echoing somewhere high up above. They listen closely, and Raylan picks out what he believes is Rachel Brooks’ voice.
Boyd says, “Your people, right?”
It’s an interesting choice of words, coming from Boyd, but he can think about that later. Or maybe he won’t. “Yeah, I think so,” he replies.
Boyd’s hands are on his face, suddenly, and they pull him in. He kisses him hard, once, and then once more, softly. Then he lets him go, and calls, “We’re down here!”
They are pulled out with ropes. They give brief statements while the EMTs check them out and put a temporary cast on Raylan’s wrist. When Boyd is sent on his way, he glances over and raises a hand in farewell. Raylan waves back and says, “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you.”
Boyd just laughs and walks away.
-END-
Prompt: Nate just lets that shit go, steps into the warmth of him, the smell of him that his worn USMC shirt can't contain, because what the fuck, maybe right now he shouldn't be pushing this down, out, away: this is a gift. This has been his saving fucking grace.
Remixed Story: A House Halfway
Title: Ghosts in the Tunnels
Author: thornfield_girl
Characters Raylan Givens, Boyd Crowder
Pairings: Raylan Givens/Boyd Crowder
Rating: R
Word count: 3,666
Spoilers: Current canon, no spoilers
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: Justified belongs to Elmore Leonard and Graham Yost.
A/N: Thanks to norgbelulah and engage_protocol for being great betas as usual.
Summary: Raylan and Boyd get trapped in an abandoned mine. And, it’s cold. And Raylan still doesn’t trust Boyd.
It isn’t their mine. No, this one has long since been abandoned, maybe even before their fathers’ time, but that doesn’t make it better. It feels the same. It smells the same. It’s enough to make you fucking dizzy if you think about it long enough, because you realize how many years men have been smelling this and feeling this, and nothing changes or gets any better.
So Raylan doesn’t think about it. He pushes that away and concentrates on finding Boyd before he can kill Dickie Bennett. He’s been doing that all night, in people’s homes and in the woods, and now in this place. He's cold and tired, and would like to be at home in bed.
It has occurred to him to wonder, more than once or twice, why he is putting so much effort into this task. He doesn’t care if Dickie Bennett dies, and he doesn’t care if he has to put Boyd Crowder in jail for it. He could let this go. It would be a win-win situation.
But then, that would make him exactly what Boyd is, what everyone thinks he is deep down, and then where would he be?
It’s the principle of the thing.
There is motion in his peripheral vision, barely visible in the inadequate flashlight beam. The mine just sucks that light in and gives nothing back, but Raylan catches it, just barely. He doesn’t know if it’s Boyd or Dickie, but he follows the movement.
He draws, comes around the corner with as much caution as is possible in the black, and calls out, “Don’t move! Federal Marshal!” He fights down a strong urge to laugh, because it’s Boyd, and Boyd knows very well who and what he is, and he has never cared one damn bit. He’s never really believed it.
Boyd has frozen in his tracks, hands held aloft, even with his shoulders. Raylan can’t see his face, but he’s sure it bears a smirk. He grinds his teeth and moves forward to cuff him. He feels his boots land on soft, rotted wood, and has just a fraction of a second to note that this is not a good thing, before it gives way and he’s falling. Sliding, really, but unable to find purchase anywhere.
His terror is absolute in these moments. Then he feels it, the hand around his forearm, long-fingered, strong and hard. He looks up, but he sees nothing. It’s too dark, and his flashlight is long gone, however far down this thing reaches.
“I got you, Raylan,” comes the voice from above him, and he believes it completely. It’s not the first time he’s heard it, these words in this voice, with these smells all around them.
Raylan twists his arm slightly so he can grasp at Boyd’s jacket, and Boyd begins to pull him up. He scrabbles with his feet to try to help, and is making progress, when the pulling stops. Boyd is still holding him tight, fingers digging into his arm.
“Boyd?” he calls.
“Just keep holding on, Raylan.”
Boyd’s voice is calm, but something about it doesn’t sound right. Raylan understands why just a second later, when he hears Dickie Bennett’s smug, moronic fucking voice pipe up, saying, “Oh yes, you hold on tight, Raylan. You can hold hands all the way down for all I care, that don’t surprise me in the least little bit.”
“Dickie, you fucking asshole,” Boyd says. “Raylan was trying to save your sorry ass. He would have shot me again to protect you, I truly believe that.”
“Oh, and that is much appreciated,” he said. “You can jump in and keep him company, or I can shoot you right now.”
“Boyd,” Raylan called, “You can let me go if you promise to kill that little fucker.”
“Tempting, but I ain’t gonna let you go. I’ll kill him when we get out of here."
Raylan will have something to say about that if they do get out, but now is not the time to argue.
Raylan can't tell what's happening up above, but he hears a scuffle and he feels Boyd pulling at him. Suddenly, all resistance gives way, and there's a spray of small rocks and dust before a boot connects solidly with the side of his head.
They're sliding fast, and then falling, but not too far before landing on hard ground. Raylan feels a sharp, agonizing pain in his left wrist, and stars swim in the utter darkness behind his eyelids.
He almost passes out, but then he hears Boyd saying his name. "Raylan." He's groping around
in the dark and makes contact with Raylan's shin. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah... sort of. I think I broke my wrist. Fuck, that hurts. Goddamnit."
He fumbles around for his phone, and tries to call the office, but if course there's no reception down here.
"Could have been much worse," Boyd replied.
"That's true... except now we're fucking trapped down here. Are you alright?"
"I'm fine. Don't worry, Dickie'll get caught and they'll figure it out. He ain't exactly a mastermind."
"Unlike you." Raylan's gratitude for Boyd's rescue attempt is already fading, rendered almost meaningless in the larger picture.
"That's right, Raylan. Unlike me. But even I've been in some pretty close scrapes, and even I've been on the inside, because try as you might, you can't anticipate everything. And Dickie, he can't anticipate shit."
"Well, I hope it doesn't take too long, because it's fucking cold down here, and it's gonna get colder."
Boyd is quiet for a bit, and then he says, "We should stabilize that wrist." Raylan hears him moving around and realizes he's taking off his shirt.
"Boyd, what are you doing? You'll freeze."
"I'm just gonna use my undershirt. And I need something to use as a splint... you got a credit card?"
"Yeah." Raylan uses his good hand to pull his wallet out, and tosses it to Boyd. "I'm just glad it's too dark for you to read the numbers."
"Shut up, Raylan. Don't be an asshole when I'm trying to help you." Raylan smiles despite himself and shuts up.
Boyd puts his shirt and jacket back on, then uses his knife to cut the t-shirt into bandages. Raylan feels him crawl near, feels his hand gently take him by the elbow.
"I'm gonna be as careful as I can, but I might hurt you. It's not on purpose, I swear." He runs his hand lightly down Raylan's arm and holds it as he wraps a layer of cotton around his wrist. He holds it straight and presses the card against it, then wraps more of the makeshift bandage around it, a little more snugly than is comfortable.
Raylan hisses once, and Boyd stops, waits, then continues. He does not apologize, and Raylan doesn't expect it, because this is an act of kindness, despite the pain it's causing.
When he's finished, Boyd holds the arm and tells Raylan to keep it still, as if he couldn't have figured that out. They sit side by side, leaning up against the wall of the old mine. They don't speak for a long time, and Raylan does not presume to imagine that he knows Boyd's thoughts.
He's sure that Boyd is not affording him the same courtesy, and sure he's at least partly right about them anyway.
The cold settles into his skin, seeps down into his bones, and he struggles not to shiver. He tries to make himself still.
Boyd leans into him, shoulder to shoulder, and he can feel the difference almost immediately, in that small, localized area. He presses back without letting himself think much about it, and they stay like that for awhile. He watches their breath puff out in front of them, and it makes him feel even colder.
"Raylan..." He knows what's coming before Boyd says it. It pisses Raylan off that he let him be the one to bring it up. It makes him look scared, and he knows it, and that's stupid. Boyd should be the one afraid of this.
Raylan sighs. "Yeah."
"We have to get warm. We're gonna-"
"Yep," he interrupts. "I know. Okay."
"Take off your jacket." Boyd already has his off, and Raylan starts to struggle out of his. "Here, let me-"
"I got it." That comes out sharper than he would have liked. He gets the jacket off, and Boyd takes it from him, doubles it with his and lies down on his side. Another sigh from Raylan, and he says, "I gotta be the inside spoon?"
"Your wrist, Raylan. You need to keep it in close to your body." Raylan strains for any trace of laughter in his voice, and surprisingly, he can't hear any. He almost wishes he could.
He lies down next to Boyd and lets him draw the jackets over both of them. Boyd slides his arm under the jackets and rubs his hand up and down Raylan's bicep. He wants to tell him to stop, but can't quite manage it. He's already feeling so much warmer.
After a bit, Boyd is still, and quiet. He hasn't spoken since they laid down. Raylan thinks he might have fallen asleep, when Boyd says, very quietly, "Was a time when this would have been much more difficult for me."
Raylan isn't sure how to respond. Boyd has never referred to this before, and he's certainly never wanted to bring it up. It isn't something he ever wanted to talk about.
Boyd continues in the silence. "Age has its benefits, I suppose."
"It's been a long time, Boyd. I'd imagine you're over your little crush by now." His heart was beating faster, just from acknowledging this thing. Though why it should be so hard to think about, he doesn't know. It wasn't him. Just Boyd.
"You'd think so, wouldn't you?"
Raylan shifts away slightly, and the jackets start to slide down. Boyd pulls him back in tightly and fixes them, saying rather sharply, "Quit it. What do you imagine I'm gonna do to you?"
Raylan doesn't answer. He's not afraid of Boyd at all. He never was, even back when it happened. He reaches up with his uninjured arm and lays his hand, in a kind of apology, on Boyd's forearm where it's draped over his waist. He feels a small, warm huff of breath against his neck and shivers.
Raylan's hip and right arm go numb after a while. He wants to change position, but he can't lie on his left side. He's shifting around uncomfortably, wincing at the jabs of pain in his wrist, and Boyd tells him to stop. He rolls onto his back.
"Come here, Raylan. You can rest on my shoulder for a few minutes. It's probably a good idea to keep the wrist elevated anyway."
Raylan hesitates, but only briefly. There's no difference, really, only that it seems more... something. Affectionate. "Alright," he says, and rests his broken wrist on Boyd's chest. "Thanks."
It's almost comfortable. He starts to drift off, and when he feels Boyd's fingers combing slowly through his hair, his first instinct is to pull away, just as it was more than twenty years before. He isn't afraid of Boyd, that much is true. Boyd won't do anything Raylan tells him not to - at least where this is concerned.
He thinks of all the bad, all the betrayals, all the ugliness. He thinks of how Boyd was back then, when they were basically children, how different he seemed from everyone else, and how he's grown into exactly what was always expected of him. Raylan hates that, wonders if there was ever a time when Boyd could have made the choice to get out.
Then Raylan just lets that shit go, settles into the warmth of him, the smell of him that the coal dust and earth can't drown out. He lets Boyd's fingers stroke through his hair, and he lets them move down his back, rubbing more heat into him, soothing him.
He knows he was right to push Boyd away all those years ago; there was nothing good in that for either of them that would have lasted more than a few minutes. But now, now they were trapped in a collapsed mine, trying not to die of hypothermia so they could probably end up dying of thirst, and maybe a few minutes of something good wasn't something to dismiss so lightly.
He knows Boyd can feel him getting hard, but he doesn't care, because what the fuck, maybe right now he shouldn't be pushing this down, out, away; this is a gift.
Boyd is breathing steadily, and Raylan concentrates on that. He can hear it, and he can feel his chest rising and falling with it. If life were always this simple, a matter of living or dying, of wanting or not wanting, Raylan thinks maybe he could be happy. These things are the boiled-down essence of life, and the choices are easy.
Raylan shifts only slightly, but it's all that's needed. Boyd's hand is on his neck, pulling him close, and they're kissing, and this is not like the other time. Then, Raylan was full of fear, though not of Boyd. Now, there was only what he wanted, and that was nothing worth being afraid of anymore.
Now Boyd is talking, and he doesn't really want that. It's extraneous, it complicates things. The breathing, the living, the wanting - that's all he cares about right now. But he doesn't know how to shut Boyd up. He's never learned that trick.
"Raylan," he's saying, in between kisses and shot through with panting breaths, "you really want this?"
"Uh huh... Shh." Raylan is half on top of him now, left leg draped in between Boyd's legs. Boyd is grasping at his hip with one hand, the other is tangled in his hair.
"Did you want it back then? I thought you didn't. I thought I was wrong."
"God, shut up, would you?" Raylan's voice is desperate with lust and frustration. There's no reason to talk about this. It's over, long since.
Boyd does, but only for a short time. He gently pushes Raylan over onto his back, reaches down with both hands and unbuttons Raylan's jeans, sliding the zipper down.
When Boyd has his hand on Raylan's dick, he says, "You lied because you were afraid."
"Yes," Raylan gasps, and Boyd starts to move his hand. Raylan can feel the roughness, the scars and callouses that the hands of a man like Boyd must always bear.
A coal miner, a thug, a hard man: he is all these things. This is not the essence of him, though. These are the things he does, how he keeps living. In this place, in this moment, it's hard for Raylan to remember why he hates that so much.
"You were right to be," Boyd continues, and Raylan can't fucking take it anymore. He puts a hand to Boyd's cheek and urges him down, puts their mouths together, and doesn't let up until he comes.
Raylan remains silent through his orgasm, as he is in much of his life, and Boyd moans with it instead, as if the pleasure is all his.
They lie still for a moment, then Raylan says, "Well, I guess you're lucky I broke my left hand. But you'll have to take care of your pants."
"You don't have to," Boyd says.
"Sure I do. Fair's fair."
"Oh, Raylan. Ain't nothing fair, don't you know that yet?"
"Jesus, Boyd." Raylan is getting irritated now. "Do we have to do this? Can't you just stop for five goddamn minutes so I can pay back the very competent hand job you just gave me?"
"It's too late, Raylan." He sounds full of regret, and Raylan snorts a laugh.
"I'm sure that can be remedied." He hesitates, then kisses his face, not finding his lips right away in the dark.
"That ain't what I meant, and you damn well know it," he says, pushing Raylan away. Now Boyd sounds pissed, and Raylan cannot imagine what it was he did to cause that.
"I didn't force you to put your hands in my fucking pants, Boyd. I was under the impression that this was something you wanted to do, that maybe you've been wanting to do for a good while now."
"Oh, well, thanks for the favor, Raylan."
"Fuck you. I didn't say that. I didn't say I didn't want it too. This is all we have to offer each other right now, Boyd. We used to have a friendship, but that's gone. This is all that's left of it. Do you want it or not?"
"No," he said flatly.
Raylan turned back onto his side and said, "Fine."
Boyd rearranged the jackets over them and they lay there, quietly stewing in their own thoughts, staying warm, staying alive. Raylan can feel his erection pressing into his thigh, but he tries to ignore it. Boyd's decision makes no sense, but it's his choice.
Raylan doesn't feel sleepy anymore, and he can tell that Boyd is just as restless. Finally, he says, "You know, I think I remember hearing about this collapse. Back in the '70s, wasn't it?"
Boyd takes a second before answering, and when he does, he sounds slightly stilted at first, like he's making a conscious effort to sound normal. "Yeah," he says, "my uncle Lee, my mama's brother, he was in it. He made it out, but a couple men died down here."
"When you and me were in the mine, I always thought I'd die down there. It seemed inevitable. When the walls came down, all I thought was... finally. We're getting it over with."
"That's why you didn't move at first," Boyd said quietly.
"Didn't see the point, because I always knew I'd die in the black. But you got me out, and I was out for a long time. And now we're probably gonna die down here together anyway."
"Don't be so melodramatic, Raylan," Boyd said.
"You're telling me? You're the one still holding a grudge because I rejected you twenty years ago."
Boyd huffed a sigh and wrapped his arm further around Raylan. "We ain't gonna die. We should get a little light in here come morning, and if no one is here by then, we'll start to figure out how to get out."
"Alright," Raylan replies, and he believes him, because it's easy to believe Boyd, if you want to enough. He waits a few minutes before speaking again, and then he says, "Once we get out of here, things will go back to the way they always were."
"Even now," Boyd replied, "they're the way they always were. This has always been part of the way things were, we just didn't talk about it. It's only you who sees that as an impossible conflict."
"I don't want to have this kind of conversation with you. We don't know each other well enough for that anymore."
"Bullshit," Boyd laughs. "And you know it is. I know you, Raylan, and you know me almost as well. We just don't strictly understand each other anymore. If we ever really did."
Raylan has no answer for that, doesn't even know if he's right or not. Regardless, he still does not want to talk about this shit, as if they have a relationship they need to discuss.
All they have is a dead friendship and some unresolved sexual tension. Or, half-unresolved, now, and Raylan doesn't like that. He hates the idea of Boyd carrying that forward, and he hates even more the vague notion that he now owes him something. He’s always hated unpaid debts.
Raylan sits up then, the jackets sliding to the ground. "Boyd," he says, and puts his right hand on the man's chest. "I should have told you back then, should have said the real reason I pushed you away. I'm sorry I wasn't ready to do that yet."
Boyd reaches up and touches his arm. "I ain't still mad about it. Come back down here, Raylan. It's cold."
Raylan rubs his chest and starts to go further down, but Boyd grabs his wrist. "I really don't need it. I'd rather just have you lie down next to me."
Raylan frowns into the darkness. He wants the debt paid, he wants to give Boyd what he needs, but he feels like it can never be enough. After all the ways Boyd has helped and hurt him, all of the things they've done for and to each other, that they're now able to offer each other something as simple as mutual survival, mutual comfort, seems like a blessing.
He lies down again, on Boyd's other side, so he is facing him. Boyd slides an arm under his neck, and they huddle close under the jackets.
They sleep, maybe. It’s hard to tell. It’s very cold, despite the body heat, especially the hard ground. Raylan’s wrist aches terribly. The only reason he thinks he must have slept is that he startles awake to the sound of voices echoing somewhere high up above. They listen closely, and Raylan picks out what he believes is Rachel Brooks’ voice.
Boyd says, “Your people, right?”
It’s an interesting choice of words, coming from Boyd, but he can think about that later. Or maybe he won’t. “Yeah, I think so,” he replies.
Boyd’s hands are on his face, suddenly, and they pull him in. He kisses him hard, once, and then once more, softly. Then he lets him go, and calls, “We’re down here!”
They are pulled out with ropes. They give brief statements while the EMTs check them out and put a temporary cast on Raylan’s wrist. When Boyd is sent on his way, he glances over and raises a hand in farewell. Raylan waves back and says, “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you.”
Boyd just laughs and walks away.
-END-
Prompt: Nate just lets that shit go, steps into the warmth of him, the smell of him that his worn USMC shirt can't contain, because what the fuck, maybe right now he shouldn't be pushing this down, out, away: this is a gift. This has been his saving fucking grace.