Fic: Take Care of You 4/5 Part 1 | Justified | Boyd/Raylan
Justified. Boyd/Raylan.
AU. Sequel to Set Fire to this House and Tear Down These Walls.
~15,000 words. Explicit. Chapter 4/5. Chapter One is here. All chapters here on the AO3.
Short disclaimer: All characters and scenarios belong to Elmore Leonard and Graham Yost and NOT ME.
Summary: Raylan and Boyd kept a secret for five years. Even in Harlan, secrets want to be told, and neither Boyd nor Raylan have any idea of the repercussions their private life will wreak on themselves and their home. Bullets will fly, families will be torn apart, and Raylan and Boyd will remember that it's much easier to come into Harlan than it is to get out alive.
In chapter four, Raylan deals with the aftermath of what went down in his motel room in the form of an AUSA, an old flame, and Ava Crowder. He also loves Boyd a lot then lies to him.
Thanks to betas engage_protocol andthornfield_girll, without which this chapter and all of the others would not nearly have been so awesome.
Take Care of You
Chapter 4: Take Cover Behind the Wreckage
When Raylan came in to the office after taking a few days for his shoulder, in a sling now to help the muscles knit back together where the buckshot ripped through, he came face to face with AUSA David Vasquez, a not-quite-greasy-looking lawyer he’d worked with before on a few cases.
“Hey, Raylan,” Vasquez said as they both reached his desk at the same time. He had a smile on his face that could be described as strained, except that was how it looked most of the time Raylan saw him, like constantly reaching for something, confidence or reassurance or whatever, was just par for the course with him.
“Vasquez,” Raylan said into his coffee. It had been a long drive from Harlan that morning, mostly because of the ache in his shoulder. He’d left Boyd with a hammer in his hand and a determined look on his face. He was trying not to worry too much.
“So, I just came from Art’s office,” the man said. “I was letting him know, Bo Crowder’s release has been set for next week, early on Monday. There isn’t anything I can do. With all of Sheriff Mosley’s arrests now under question--”
Raylan sighed. “Yeah, I know. We knew that the day it happened.” He drew a finger across his brow, rubbing a little between his eyes. The painkillers they gave him weren’t enough to make him loopy, but he was damn tired all the time and his shoulder still ached like it used to after long batting practice, the difference here was it didn’t go away after a stretch and a run. “A week, huh?”
Vasquez grimaced. “Yeah. Uh, listen Raylan. There’s one other thing. The statement you gave, after the shooting, I was gonna use some facts for my report on this case. Why it is Crowder’s a danger to you--”
“Bo Crowder,” Raylan said automatically.
“Yeah,” Vasquez agreed immediately and looked away then back at him.
Raylan took off his hat and threw it on his desk in frustration at himself more than anything. He knew Vasquez understood which Crowder they were and were not talking about, he’d read the damn file.
“Sorry, I just noticed, you never explicitly stated why, uh, Boyd Crowder was anywhere near your motel room, when he’d got there, or how long it had been. If you’ve got the time right now, we can get that taken care of, real quick.” Vasquez was visibly uncomfortable about the subject and Raylan looked at him, unsure if it was because he was weirded out, or because Raylan was so obviously against talking anymore about the matter.
He rubbed at his face again. “Sure,” he said and tried to smile at Vasquez. “I got time now. We can go in the conference room if you want.”
“Let me just get the reporter,” Vasquez said. When Raylan gave him a questioning look, he clarified, “The court reporter. She owes me a favor and it’s faster than typing out my messy scrawl later.”
Raylan went into the room with his coffee and sat, head tilted back and legs stretched out, until Vasquez returned. When he did, he had a leggy blonde trailing behind him, carrying her stenotype with her. Vasquez was helping her set it up on the far end of the table as Raylan roused himself. The AUSA looked him up and down then said, “You look like shit, man. You sure you’re supposed to be back already?”
“I gotta sort out the shooting paperwork,” Raylan sighed, leaning his elbows on the table as Vasquez sat down opposite him. “The stuff from the night before the thing at the motel.”
Vasquez raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean? You gave the Sheriff’s office that statement didn’t you?”
“Boyd fired my weapon. The issued one. I gotta file all that shit, since it was my gun. Art wants it soon because HQ takes it pretty seriously. Also...” he trailed off there, deciding almost too late not to mention that watching Boyd trying to sort out his own shit was driving him up the damn wall. He’d been running his mouth too much since they had him on these painkillers. He wished he hadn’t agreed so readily to give the statement right away.
“You mind going through it again with me?” Vasquez asked. “In the interest of clarity for the night’s events. It’ll be easier on us if we establish a timeline here, and a connection to Bo.”
Raylan frowned. “I don’t see how the first shooting, or the second really, has any bearing on the shit with Bo.”
“But Boyd’s actions in the motel room do. We’re talking about a frame of mind here, Raylan, caused by Bo Crowder. If--”
Raylan cut him off there. “Fine,” he said, nodding curtly and glancing at the reporter, who hadn’t yet put her fingers on the keys. “I get you.” Then he smiled and said, “Boyd’s gonna be pissed if any of this ever makes it into a courtroom.”
“He won’t be if it helps put his father back in prison,” Vasquez replied.
The reporter cleared her throat, looking wide-eyed back and forth at them both. “Would you like me to be recording this?”
Vasquez shook his head. “Sorry, no. We haven’t started yet.” He looked up at her from his papers and blinked, saying, “Oh, right. I’m so sorry. Raylan, have you met Winona? She started a few weeks back, I wasn’t sure if you’d worked together yet.”
Winona smiled and suddenly Raylan was taken back to one of the only seedy bars in Salt Lake, back to a pretty girl with a pool cue and a Kentucky accent, barely more than a week before Raylan went home for his father’s funeral.
“Shit.” The curse fell out of his mouth before he could hold it back.
“What?” Vasquez said, alarm in his tone. Raylan did successfully stop himself from groaning.
Winona’s smile grew bigger. “Recognized me, did you?”
Vasquez’s anxiety only seemed to grow. “You two know each other? Tell me this isn’t a conflict of interest. I can’t get another reporter on short notice.”
“Taking advantage of the new girl?” Winona asked with that sly smile Raylan remembered. He’d only seen her once after he’d come back from Boyd. He’d told himself at the time he just wasn’t looking for anything. “No,” she said, looking at Raylan. “We met a long time ago. Just a few times. I don’t know this man at all.”
Raylan was suddenly struck with the desire to apologize to her, but he knew that would be wildly inappropriate. He realized a split second later that she was about to get to know him extremely well.
“Okay, then,” Vasquez said. “Let’s not waste any more time.”
The AUSA took Raylan through in stages, asking his name, his position, a rundown of the events at the motel, before finally asking, “When did Boyd Crowder arrive at your motel room?”
“With me,” Raylan said, then added, “we arrived together from Harlan at four that morning. Hours earlier, our house had been broken into. We were fired upon by a masked assailant, who was later revealed to be Sheriff Mosley’s accomplice.”
“Did you hear verbal evidence of that?”
“The evidence will come out in the post-mortem and the from the crime lab,” Raylan replied darkly.
“So, Boyd Crowder lives in your house in Harlan? As your tenant?”
Raylan could feel himself making a face. “No, as my boyfriend,” he was surprised how easily it came out that time. He must be getting practice. Winona’s hands had slowed, but she looked back down at the stenotype when he raised his eyes to hers. “We’ve been together for five years,” Raylan wasn’t sure why he bothered to continue, but it seemed like an appropriate thing to record. “We’ve been living together just over six months, since I returned to Kentucky. The house in Harlan is my primary address and his.”
“And why did you both come in to Lexington to stay in your secondary address at the motel?”
Raylan answered as clearly as he could, though he might have taken longer than strictly necessary, fumbling and glossing over some of the shadier details, like how angry Boyd had been, the shit between Mosley and Johnny, and how he’d found out later Boyd had threatened the Sheriff. He did include that Boyd had been to see his father quite recently, that the man was displeased with his son, and that fact had informed Boyd’s state of mind before and after they’d arrested Mosley.
“So, you would assert that the idea of his father being released from prison sent Boyd into a state of emotional confusion and shock?”
Raylan shook his head. “No,” he replied emphatically. “A gun was fired a centimeter away from Boyd’s ear. He thought, in all the confusion, he’d seen me murdered in front of him. He was deaf and disoriented and already in shock by the time anyone could think about his daddy. The thought of Bo being released from prison just knocked the wind further out of him. He wouldn’t...” Raylan paused to take a breath.
Sure, it would have sounded great for the case to say Boyd had been so terrified of the idea of his Daddy coming after them that he’d near gone out of his mind, but Boyd would never stand for a lie like that and it made Raylan feel sick to even think about perpetuating it.
He thought, then, about how Boyd had said he didn't remember anything after watching Raylan's arm get bandaged up from the buckshot and Raylan believed him.
After he'd fallen to the floor in the motel room, thrust into some kind of panic attack at the thought of his daddy leaving prison three years early, Boyd had spent the ride to the hospital huddling in a blanket they’d thrown over his shoulders. He’d looked at Raylan a few times like he was staring into the face of a ghost, holding himself stiff and far off to the other side of the back seat of Art’s car, until Raylan said, “Boyd, I can’t take you lookin’ at me like that anymore. I ain’t dead, okay?”
He sort of nodded like he got it, but fell later into alternate bouts of blank silence and soft murmurings of things like, “How did they get here so fast?” as if he still wasn’t sure any of it was real, and "If you'd died, Raylan, I don't know what I would do," like he couldn't even contemplate it, like it was too horrific a thought to entertain.
The only thing Raylan could do was talk to him softly, answering his questions in a steady tone, “Someone called in a gunshot to local PD. They knew it was my address,” and “I’m right here, Boyd. You don’t have to do anything.”
It wasn’t until after they arrived at the ER, and the doctors were pulling Raylan towards a triage room, that Boyd made any move to touch him. After that, he held on tight.
“Boyd’s not the type to crumble at any kind of threat,” he finally said. “I’m not a doctor, so I don’t even know why you’re asking me this, but I can tell you, Boyd was--is--scared of his father. Any sane person in his position would be. But it was what happened to me--almost happened--that set him off like that. I assume you have his medical chart from after the scene?”
Vasquez shrugged. “ER doctors aren’t in the habit of questioning their patients too deeply on the reason for the physical manifestations of their psychological trauma.”
“Well, you’d be hard pressed to convince Boyd to go see a therapist,” Raylan responded. “Though I’m also little hard pressed to see how any of this would ever be useful to you in court.”
“Well, Raylan, if you could convince him to just come down and give a statement on what passed between Boyd and his father in the visitor’s room at Little Sandy, we’d have at least some indication that a threat to his life or yours has been made. You’ve said before that either is likely. Art Mullen’s about to tear what little hair he has left out of his head over this.”
Raylan pursed his lips. “You want me to call Boyd on the phone, have him tell you direct it’s nobody’s business but theirs?” He pulled out his cell just to be a jackass, though he was just as conflicted over the matter himself. He knew why Boyd didn’t want that shit out there, and he knew why Art and Vasquez did. Usually, the pull to side with the Harlan way of looking at things wasn’t set so deep in him that he couldn’t ignore it.
Vasquez glared at him until Raylan put the phone away, trying not to smirk. Then he said, “I have just one more thing to go over, if that’s okay with you, Deputy.”
Raylan nodded, grimacing at the use of his title. He didn’t feel like a Marshal in that room at that moment. He felt like a kid from the county, like he didn’t want to tell them anything anymore. “Go on,” he said with what might have been a surly tinge to his voice.
“To your knowledge, has Boyd Crowder, who you’ve been living with for some time, and known for many years, ever given you indication of his participation in criminal activity?” Vasquez looked him straight in the eye as he asked.
Raylan glared at the slippery bastard and worked his jaw for a moment. He knew what Vasquez was up to with this. If he established here that he knew nothing about Boyd being involved in anything, he’d be at least somewhat protected if Boyd was ever arrested on any kind of charge. There was no way Raylan could refuse to answer and not look bad.
He pulled his hands into helpless little fists and reminded himself this was why he always tried to be as unhelpful as possible around lawyers, even government ones. “No, Boyd Crowder has never informed me either directly or indirectly of any criminal behavior in which he may or may not have engaged. I have no knowledge of it, at all.”
Raylan paused and let how pissed he was show on his face and in the definite note of sarcasm in his tone, “You want to know if I hold him when he cries?”
“And, I think we’re done here,” Vasquez said, turning to Winona. “Thanks very much for your time with this.”
Winona turned her big eyes on Raylan as she replied, “It’s no problem.”
“Great,” Vasquez said to his paperwork and turned to leave. “I’ll talk to you soon about this, Raylan.”
Raylan watched Winona put the stenotype back in it’s box and straighten up her own papers. He waited a few beats before he said, “I seem to remember you sayin’ you’d never go back to Kentucky. That was one of the things I liked about you.”
She looked up and smiled again. Raylan really did like that smile. She looked older, obviously, than she had six years ago, but it sat well with her. She was still one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. “My mother was ill,” she replied. “I came home to help her.”
“I’m sure sorry to hear that,” he murmured and she thanked him.
Winona tilted her head then and said, “I seem to remember you saying just the same, Raylan.”
“My father died,” Raylan replied, shrugging. “I had to come back for the funeral, just a week after we met.” He was fiddling with the broken lip of his drained coffee cup.
She walked towards him, a curious look on her face. “And that was when you... reconnected with Boyd?”
Raylan just smiled and she nodded, licking her lips. “I always thought, ‘I’m not looking for anything serious’ was sort of a cop out on your part. I wasn’t either. I just wanted to have sex with you,” she said and met his eyes. “Lots and lots of sex.”
It was on the tip of Raylan’s tongue to admit to her that even he hadn’t had any idea how bad he was gone for Boyd at that time, but luckily or not, his phone rang at that moment, vibrating loudly where he’d left it on the table.
He looked at the number, recognizing it as a Harlan one, but unknown to him and answered, “Givens.” He put a hand up to Winona, silently asking her to wait a minute. She raised her brows but didn’t walk away.
“Raylan?” A hesitant voice came over the line.
“Ava?” Raylan asked. “Where are you calling from?”
He heard her sniff, like she’d been crying and he saw red in the direction of Bowman for a split second before she answered, “From the station, Raylan. I, ah, shot Bowman this morning. He’s dead. They-they said I could call someone and I... couldn’t think of anyone but you who’d care.”
Raylan felt a weird sinking sensation as he digested her words, and he would have grabbed at the table, had he not been holding the phone with his only free hand. He saw out of the corner of his eye, Winona looking at him like she was real concerned about something, so he turned around and leaned up against the table, almost sitting on it, to make sure he kept his balance. He decided in that moment he was off the painkillers today.
“Okay,” he said calmly, but with his head bent low, wishing he could rub a tired palm across his eyes. “Ava, I can’t get there. I’m in Lexington. I’m gonna call Boyd for you--”
“No, don’t,” she cried immediately. “He’s gonna--”
“Ava, don’t be an idiot. Whatever you’re thinkin’, he’s not gonna do or say it. He’s gonna help you, all right? He loves you, honey. And you think he gives a shit about his brother after last time?”
Raylan looked up to see Winona, wide-eyed and backing away from him. She pointed towards the door and said quietly, “I’m just gonna go. I’m so, so sorry.”
He frowned at her, but couldn’t do anything else other than nod. He was still reeling, just realizing he had to be the one to tell Boyd his brother was dead.
Ava sniffed again and cried, “I don’t know, Raylan. It’s his goddamn brother.”
Raylan shook his head, like she was going to see it over the line. “Ava, Bo’s getting out next week. We should have told you before, but... shit. You have to let Boyd help you, okay?”
“I thought he wasn’t supposed to get out for years,” her voice came over hushed, terrified.
“Something happened. Let Boyd tell you, I’m gonna call him. You’re at the station down in town?”
“Yeah, they’re holding me here.” He heard her take a settling breath. “No one seems too upset about it.”
Raylan almost snorted. Of course, no one was upset. Not a soul in Harlan thought Ava deserved to be with that asshole, and no one was going to judge her for taking matters into her own hands. He only wished she had asked for help before deciding to do it in such a fashion. “Boyd will be there,” he said. “Just sit tight.”
She agreed and he clicked off the phone, opening it a moment later to dial Boyd’s number.
As it was ringing, Art swung open the glass door, stuck his head and shoulder in, and told him, “Rachel needs the room.” He pumped his thumb out the door in a get-out-of-here motion.
Raylan drew his lips into a thin line. “You hear about Bowman?” he asked, noticing the hard look in Art’s eyes.
“Tim caught it over the scanner,” Art responded.
“I gotta tell Boyd,” Raylan said, hearing the strain in his own voice.
Art swore and said, “You can tell him in my office,” on his way out of the room, just as Boyd answered finally.
Boyd’s voice came over the line clear and easy as Raylan followed Art in, “Tell me what? You’re lucky I heard this thing ring. I had it on the table in the kitchen.” Boyd sounded fine, preoccupied even, and Raylan closed his eyes, leaning against the wall next to the door, sorry to have to destroy whatever relief he’d found in home improvement in the hours since Raylan had left.
“So, you’re sitting down?” Raylan asked. He met Art’s eyes. The man was standing over his desk, looking hard at Raylan. He motioned to the couch as if saying, “You might want to do that, too.”
“No, I was getting a big ol’ glass of water,” Boyd answered and Raylan could hear the smile in his voice, indulgent for a change toward Raylan’s increasingly protective side. “Now, I’m sitting down. What is it? Did my daddy get his release?”
Of course, Boyd would think it was that. Raylan sighed again, leaning back against the cushions of the couch. His arm felt heavy in the sling and his shoulder was starting to itch like crazy instead of just ache. “Yeah, he did. Next Monday. But Boyd, that’s not...”
Art was sitting down at his desk now, his hand on the mouse of his computer, like he was actually doing work or something. Raylan didn’t buy it and he gave the man a death glare, wondering why the hell he thought he needed to hear this conversation. Art caught Raylan’s stare and matched it evenly for a few seconds then went back to pretending not to listen.
“Raylan, baby,” Boyd said after that moment of silence, clearly confused. “You think I’m gonna lose it over this? We already knew. At least we got the date now. At least we got some time to--”
Raylan made himself say it all in a rush, staring at the floor and not at Art as he did. “Boyd, your brother’s dead. Ava shot him. I don’t know the details, but she’s at the station in town. You need to get there, and for her sake, you need to not look like you’re upset. I’m gonna take care of some stuff here and then I’ll come home as soon as I can.”
The silence at the other end of the line stretched out for fucking centuries, so long, in fact that Raylan couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Boyd?” just to make sure he hadn’t dropped the phone.
“What do you mean I can’t be upset, Raylan? Jesus, she shot him?” Boyd’s voice was hushed, and certainly unsettled, but Raylan was sure he didn’t hear grief there.
“I know,” Raylan replied.
“Why didn’t she ask us for help?” The anger was evident in Boyd’s tone, strangled and helpless. “We could have--”
“I know, darlin’,” Raylan interrupted. He felt the guilt over that rise up in him fast and chokingly. “But Boyd, you can’t show her you’re mad--”
“The hell I can’t, Raylan. No way she needed to do that by herself.”
“Boyd, she won’t take it well. You think she’s in her right mind right now? She asked me not to call you.” Art shifted in his seat and Raylan looked up at him as he spoke. There was real worry in his boss’ eyes and Raylan just didn’t know what to do with that at all, despite the fact that he’d been met with this particular expression from Art at least three quarters of the time they spent together over the last week.
“She did what?” There was hurt now in Boyd’s tone and Raylan didn’t know what to do with that either. He knew Boyd spent more time with Ava than Raylan had lately. Because he’d been off work a lot more, he’d had a little bit of time to come by Ava’s when Bowman was gone. He’d been helping her with some house stuff under the guise of a cheap handyman she’d told Bowman she’d hired.
“She’s not thinking, darlin’. She just shot a man. You,” he slowed, looking at Art, but went on, “know what that’s like. I told her you’d be there soon. She shouldn’t have to do the rest of this on her own.”
Boyd sighed. “You’re right. Okay, I’m out the door. Baby, when you gonna be back here?”
“Tonight, I hope,” Raylan said, raising his brows at Art. “I’ll take the time off, if I have to.”
Boyd laughed, but it was a humorless sound, brittle and sad. “And here I thought maybe we could take a vacation this year.”
Raylan snorted. “Whatever gave you that idea?” Boyd didn’t say anything else for a second and Raylan closed his eyes, taking a plunge that never should have been so long coming. “I love you, darlin’. I’ll be there soon.”
Boyd really did laugh now. “Oh, Raylan,” he said softly. “You know me.”
“I do.”
When Raylan hung up the phone, carelessly snapping it shut one-handed, he kept his eyes closed for a moment, steeling himself before he opened them to meet Art’s suitably concerned look.
“You sure you boys are okay?” He asked the question, still facing his computer, with his little reading glasses down on his nose and Raylan thought the man had never looked older in his life.
“Yeah,” he agreed automatically. He felt a stab of guilt for putting Art through everything he had in the past few days, and for continuing to bring his personal shit into the office.
He thought of what Art had said to him in the car, when they were driving towards the hospital and Boyd was staring frighteningly off into space as Raylan finally started to feel light-headed from blood-loss. He’d said, “Shouldn’t be surprised, putting you back in where you sprouted, Raylan. I always knew you were all kinds of trouble, even back in Glynco. I saw that boy and I knew he was trouble too, and that was before I found out who he is, or was anyway. You two are peas in a pod. I really shouldn’t be surprised.”
Raylan had said then, “You actually surprised, Art? Or you jus’ tryin’ to make me feel bad?”
Art had his eyes on the road, but his voice was stern when he answered, “You only get to feel bad about shit that’s your fault. That goes for him too. Jesus Christ, Raylan. Nobody picks where they come from.” Then he started muttering almost inaudibly about boys being so goddamned frightened of their daddies and men still living in the damn nineteenth century.
And that was really all Raylan needed to hear.
When they got to the hospital and Boyd clamped his hand in a grip like a vice on Raylan’s unbloodied forearm, refusing silently to let go, Raylan had looked to Art, who stood frowning on the other side of a row of white-clad doctors and pink-scrubbed nurses, and said, “You wanna tell them that absolutely no one wants to see him really lose it over this?”
Not even Raylan at that point had any idea what Boyd would do. Art seemed to get that, so he pulled what looked like the head doctor aside, talking quickly, pointing between them and flashing his star. They took them to the same exam room.
Boyd had sat next to him and watched, riveted, as a surgeon pulled all the buckshot from Raylan’s shoulder. They examined Boyd, asked him questions that he barely answered, and said that he needed to just calm down on his own, that there wasn’t anything they could do but pump drugs into him that he probably didn’t really need.
They got frowns from a few people coming in and out, probably because after Boyd’s grip on him loosened, Raylan’s free hand crept up somehow to hold on to the back of Boyd’s neck and eventually pull him close, his forehead falling down to rest on Raylan’s good shoulder. When the resident came in to measure him for the sling, she glanced between them and said, “Your boss alleges you two are brothers?”
Boyd had lifted his head at that and glared darkly at the girl, who looked both startled and chastised. “Yes,” Raylan said tiredly, having trouble thinking through the painkillers they’d pumped into him. “Brothers. That’s us.” And Boyd put his head back down.
When Art came by later to check on them, Raylan tried to put together a reasonable thank you and he was waved off with little fanfare. They’d put him in a bed to wait for something, he couldn’t really remember, and Boyd was in a chair pulled as close as possible to it, his head buried in his arms and Raylan’s lap. The look Art gave him was somewhat reminiscent of a few he’d received from Helen recently, when he said, “Shit, Raylan, I didn’t know the boy loved you like that.”
Raylan was pretty sure he just choked in response, but he remembered Boyd turned his head to look at Art and Raylan just knew he was smiling like a fool.
Soon after that, he was tired enough he curled himself up around Boyd a little more, despite Art’s lingering presence in the room, and dozed off. He slept until Helen arrived to get them, as neither he nor Boyd were in any condition to drive.
Now, Raylan wasn’t over the moon that Art had seen Boyd like that, but he did like that there wasn’t any more question about Boyd’s suitability or presence in Raylan’s life.
In the aftermath of Boyd’s intense reaction to the danger he’d been in, Raylan had realized, perhaps belatedly, and was still coming to terms with the fact, that if he had died, or if he were to at any time in the future, Boyd would have absolutely nothing.
The house wouldn’t be his. He wouldn’t have that support, would have to go back to the mine, full-time, if he even chose to continue with legitimate employment. Sure, Helen would be there for him, and certainly Ava as well, but the question remained, would he take their help? Would he be capable of that or would he be somehow beyond it?
Raylan thought about how he hadn’t denied what Mosley had said, that Boyd had as good as promised a man death if something were to happen to him. Raylan didn’t know what he could do to stop it. He remembered Boyd that morning, getting ready to begin whatever he was doing to the damn house, and he decided at least he could try and let that be something Boyd could hold onto, if he had to. He’d have to will it to him.
Raylan blinked and saw Art was still staring at him. “You know any good lawyers?” he asked, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees.
Art shook his head and grumbled, “You know, that’s really not very reassuring, son.”
Raylan pulled himself to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nevermind,” he said. “It’s nothin’, Art.”
As he turned to go, Art called after him, “Hang on a minute, Raylan. One other thing.”
Raylan turned back and raised his eyebrows at his boss, fitting his uninjured hand into his back pocket.
Art was looking at him real sternly and Raylan suddenly knew what was coming. “Under no circumstances,” Art said, jabbing a finger in Raylan’s direction, “are you to go up to Little Sandy on Monday, Raylan. There is absolutely no need for you to be there. I know you can swing it and I know that you want to, because you’re an idiot. But I am telling you, no. Do not do that.”
Raylan put on an innocent face, or his very best attempt, and waved Art off, promising he wouldn’t. He spent the next couple hours slogging through the damn paperwork as fast as his brain would let him and was out the door and on his way to Harlan by four.
It was dark by the time Raylan arrived at home, the days were growing shorter as fall passed them by. He saw Boyd’s truck in the drive and came into the house quietly, not sure exactly what to expect.
He was surprised, in an unexpectedly pleasant way, to see Boyd and Ava sitting together on the couch they’d pulled out of storage, now that Boyd had most of the drywall back up in the living room. The room was dark, only illuminated by the light over the oven coming in from down the hall. The radio from the kitchen was on the floor, plugged into the far wall and playing bluegrass in from Lexington.
Boyd had a bourbon in his hand and Ava’s head pillowed in his lap. He watched Raylan come in quietly and lean against the doorframe to the room. His eyes were watchful, but tired, and his free hand was in Ava’s hair. She was sleeping, or passed out by the look of the nearly empty bottle at Boyd’s feet, and she had one hand twisted up in Boyd’s shirt and the other dangling to the floor.
Raylan looked at the bottle and then met Boyd’s eyes. He moved silently from the doorway, coming up slow to bend over Boyd and kiss him softly on the lips. Boyd breathed a long sigh into him, like he’d been holding it until Raylan came home, and Raylan put his hand to his cheek.
Boyd’s face was raised up to him when their lips parted and Raylan gave him a look as he toed the bottle on the floor, making it clink hollowly. “I didn’t have the heart to take it away from her,” Boyd murmured. “Not today.”
Raylan kissed him again in response, not really prepared or inclined to say anything about it, as Ava stirred, groaning a little and looking up at them.
“Don’t mind me,” she grumbled. “Uh huh, jus’ go on, makin’ out much as y’please.”
Raylan smiled at her and said, “You’re lucky I trust him so much, honey. Somebody else might not be so welcoming, come home to a man with a woman’s head in his lap.”
She giggled drunkenly and rolled over onto her back to look into his eyes. “Lucky,” she said and laughed breathlessly. “Yessir, that’s me.”
Boyd set his glass down, shifting too, as Raylan grimaced and said, “Okay, come on.”
He slipped off the sling, handing it to Boyd, who said, “Raylan, I don’t know...”
Raylan had her up in his arms, hers curling around his neck, eyes closing and lungs breathing heavy sighs, as he replied, “I can have it off for a little while. You gonna get her upstairs?”
Boyd shook his head, shifting again stiffly, like he needed to get the feeling back into his legs.
Raylan turned and started toward the stairs, actually a bit worried about his aching shoulder. He did have most of her weight on his right side, but he wasn’t about to take too many chances with healing up fast.
Ava had her face pressed to his neck, breathing hot against his collar. She twisted a little and spoke softly, still slurring into his ear. “You ‘member when y’came home, Raylan?”
“Mhmm,” he responded, thinking more about not missing any of the steps on his way up.
She laughed and he cringed, it was a little loud and distressingly bitter. “I thought,” she got out between hiccups that were rapidly turning into something close to sobs. “I thought you was gonna save me, Raylan.”
He heard a thump behind him, and when he got to the top of the steps he saw Boyd sitting down on one of the lower ones, his head buried in his hands. “Shit,” he muttered, because Ava was crying about white horses and men in cowboy hats.
He laid her down on the bed in his old room and she clung to his shirt, forcing him to slide her over and sit down at the edge of the dusty old mattress. He pried her hands off him, watching the hot tears stream down her face, and tried not to think of his mother, of how many times he’d seen her try to hide her tears from him, of how she’d never, ever thought anyone was gonna get her out.
At least Ava wasn’t shy with him about the tears, though Frances Givens had never touched a drop of alcohol again after the first time Arlo beat her under the influence. Helen had told him that when he was a teenager.
Raylan put a hand up to Ava’s brow, brushing strands of hair away from her eyes. “It don’t work like that, Ava,” he said. “You were the only one, could make that choice. There wasn’t anything I could do. Woulda told you that sooner, but I thought you knew.”
She smiled and shook her head, though he wasn’t sure to what exactly. “Figured it out sooner or later, I guess.”
Raylan bent low to brush a kiss across her damp cheek. “It don’t mean we can’t help now. You know that, right?”
She smiled. “That’s what Boyd said.”
Raylan heard a creak of the floorboards and turned to see that Boyd was standing in the doorway, looking a little worse for wear, and staring at them with haunted eyes. Raylan made himself smile at his boy. “Well, you know how smart he is, right?” Boyd’s mouth quirked at him.
He turned back to Ava, and saw that she was out cold already. He wasn’t sure if she looked peaceful or not, but at least her mind wasn’t running it over and over again. He didn’t blame her for drinking so much.
“Put your sling back on, Raylan,” Boyd said, still lurking at the door. Raylan stood, treading softly and taking the sling from Boyd’s hand. He didn’t put it on right away.
He stood very close to Boyd, but they didn’t touch. Everything felt slightly off, strained in a way that it usually wasn’t. Raylan wasn’t sure if it was because of what Ava said, or how either of them felt about what happened that day. He thought it was strange that he couldn’t read it right. The look in Boyd’s eyes said he felt the same.
Raylan brushed past him, looking away and walking to the bathroom to get a glass of water and some aspirin for Ava when she woke, knowing she’d need it. When he came back into the room, Boyd hadn’t moved from the door and he felt eyes on him as he set the glass and pills down on the side table, the one where he’d kept that ten year old lube from the first time they were together.
Very little about the room had changed since that time, since Raylan was in high school, really. It had been the one thing Boyd never touched in the house. Raylan remembered then, he’d caught Boyd sleeping in this room the second time he came back to Harlan, the time when this thing, their relationship, had truly become real.
Raylan turned at that thought, and looked at Boyd. At the time, he hadn’t thought anything of it. He’d stood there, letting Boyd tell him that he didn’t want to know--should never know--what he was doing. Raylan had been so willing, so ready to keep his ignorance of just what Boyd had done, to his life, to himself, to be there for Raylan, to be what he needed. He’d never understood just how vulnerable that made Boyd, then and now. Especially now.
He wondered, just for a moment, if Boyd was no longer the person he needed to be to get through this shit with his daddy. Raylan didn’t know if he could stand that, one way or the other.
He could tell by Boyd’s expression that he was off balance, uncertain of what Raylan was thinking. It was rare these days that they weren’t on the same page. Raylan tilted his head, only slightly, and moved, walking soft still but fairly fast and pushing Boyd back from the room, pressing him up against the wall in the hallway, just at the head of the stairs.
Raylan hated all this uncertainty. He hadn’t felt this way since the beginning, or at least since the night Boyd kicked out the foot he’d been keeping in the door.
“I didn’t come back here to save anybody,” he said, pushing at Boyd’s hips, pressing himself close there, but keeping some distance between their chests, their lips. His hands were at Boyd’s shoulders.
Boyd’s eyes were wide and Raylan could tell by the look in them that he was a little drunk. “I know that,” he replied.
Boyd’s hands were on him now, at his waist, sliding up his back. “I didn’t come back here for that,” Raylan insisted.
Raylan knew Boyd thought he was just talking about Ava when he said, “Baby, I know,” and kissed him. Raylan felt the pull of a groan, something not far off from a whine, at the back of his throat, not wanting to think about why Boyd didn’t understand, when he always did before, always. He closed his eyes, knowing he couldn’t say, not wanting to fight about it, not then, when Boyd tasted so sweet and warm and he pulled Raylan in and up somehow, responding to the sound like it was only of desire.
Boyd was the one who pushed Raylan to the bed, limbs loose and carelessly strong with drink. His smile was the same way, easy and big, and his eyes were sharp, clearer somehow than they’d been in days. Raylan had to remind him twice to be careful of his shoulder, until he stopped caring about it as well.
They undressed swiftly, mostly on their own, though Boyd helped with Raylan’s shirt. Raylan couldn’t stop himself from smiling at how into it Boyd was.
They’d messed around a little since the hospital, but Raylan had been so tired and Boyd still too worked up and weird about everything for them to really enjoy anything. It seemed strange to finally be so ready after the catastrophe or tragedy or whatever of the day and with Ava sleeping just in the next room over, but it was right too.
It seemed like something they’d do.
“Raylan,” Boyd said between kisses, like he was the only thing he’d ever wanted and Raylan couldn’t stop a shudder running down his spine. All the things that Boyd had done flashed through his mind, everything between them, it felt like too much.
Boyd pulled back immediately, staring openly at Raylan, who couldn’t meet his eyes. He pulled himself closer, climbing up into Boyd’s lap, pressing his lips again and again to his temple, down past his ear and the side of his neck. Boyd’s arms came around him steadily and his mouth was near Raylan’s ear as he whispered, “Baby, what’s wrong?”
Raylan laughed then, breathless and strained. “Nothing,” he murmured as Boyd’s hand came up around his neck, strong, pulling him up.
“Look at me,” Boyd said and Raylan did. “That’s bullshit.”
Raylan looked into Boyd’s eyes, they were dark and dilated wide. They were sure and honest like they’d always been. His cock was pressing hard into Raylan’s leg and suddenly all Raylan wanted was to get him off. He didn’t want to think about any of it anymore. He was done.
Boyd must have seen that, and he must have seen something else in Raylan’s expression as well, some tell, because he smiled then, wickedly, and with a burst of controlled force, pushed Raylan down onto his back. Boyd kissed him hard and long, hovering over him, bracing his hands up at Raylan’s shoulders, pinning him down.
Raylan drew one leg up, leaning it against Boyd’s hip, letting the other stretch out across the bed as Boyd straddled it. He let himself smile up at Boyd, who looked like he knew just what Raylan needed, and fuck if he didn’t. He always did.
Raylan lifted his head up, craning his neck to bring his mouth closer to Boyd’s, who was holding himself just far enough away it would be a strain. Raylan panted into Boyd’s open mouth, licking his tongue across Boyd’s lips and teeth, desperate to be closer. He groaned. He almost said please.
Boyd’s mouth bore down on Raylan’s then, and he drew his hand down, trailing it across Raylan’s chest and stomach, grasping strong and sure at Raylan’s erect cock. He drew himself up and near, to wrap his fingers around them both, panting with want and need. Raylan’s hands found their way to Boyd’s hips, and his skin was hot, as if from a fever.
“We’re gonna,” Boyd said, breathless but not broken, to Raylan. “We’re gonna do this together, baby.” And he started to move.
At first he went so, so slow that Raylan writhed with it under him, the friction between them burning low and only threatening to overwhelm, enticingly, maddeningly. Raylan’s fingers dug into Boyd’s skin as he forced himself to keep the pace Boyd set. Boyd knew, though, he reminded himself, Boyd knew what he needed.
When his hips bucked up, ready to go faster, he bit his lip and Boyd murmured, “You’re so good, baby. It’s so good right now.” And Raylan moaned at him until he picked up the pace. Boyd’s fingers were slick with sweat from their bodies and a smear of pre-come. Everything was tightening up, focused to a point and Boyd laughed, low and lovely, pressing their lips together again, messy and and warm and wet. “We’re gonna do this together, baby,” he said, a strange control in his tone. Raylan’s eyes rolled back at the sound. “Tell me, Raylan. Tell me that.”
Raylan’s hips jerked and he wrapped his hand around Boyd’s fingers as they worked. “Do it,” he grunted, a guttural sound, something desperate. “Together.” He felt it building fast, coming on strong. “Boyd,” he warned and Boyd’s hand stopped moving, just for a second, prompting him to cry out with the need for it.
Boyd’s lips came close again to his ear and their hands began to move again, faster still until he said, low and filthy, “I love you so damn much, son,” and they both came all over each other.
Boyd’s eyes were heavy-lidded and he smiled languidly at Raylan as he collapsed to his side, the left one so Raylan could roll over enough for them to keep looking at each other. Boyd pressed his lips to Raylan’s chest, lapping at him and sucking their come off his skin. Raylan felt his well-fucked smile spread into a grin and he tilted his head back, even as he grasped at Boyd’s thigh across his leg, to make himself easier to get at.
“We taste so good,” Boyd said, drawing the word out. “You an’ me, Raylan.”
Raylan was getting hard again and he was dizzy with it, coming down and right back up. “You an’ me,” he repeated, then said, “Want you again, Boyd.” It was fast for him, really fast, but nothing about tonight seemed normal anyway.
Boyd grinned at him like he’d just been given a gift and he pulled himself up on Raylan, dragging him in for a searing kiss. Raylan found himself laughing at the end of it, it was so damn good. “Come on,” Boyd said. “I’ll suck you off in the shower.”
When he started to move off, clasping Raylan’s hand in a loose grip, Raylan wrapped his arm around Boyd’s waist and held on. “No,” he protested, breathing deep into Boyd’s neck, pulling him closer. He didn’t want to wash this off yet.
He was holding Boyd up on his lap, so he had to look up when his boy’s hand came to his cheek, setting their eyes to meet. “Raylan, I really want your cock in my mouth.”
“Me too.” As soon as he said it, he realized how badly he wanted it, wanted to give Boyd everything he could.
Boyd’s grin turned downright filthy as he murmured, trailing a hand through Raylan’s hair. “You want to sixty-nine it?”
All the breath blew out of Raylan’s lungs as he replied, “Jesus, yes.”
It wasn’t something they did often, and Raylan wondered briefly if it was a good idea, on account of his shoulder, but he told himself he’d be careful and his thoughts fled quickly to other things. Boyd’s cock was hard as his own when they started and when they were finished, both getting off with the crazy intense power that comes with going twice in a row, they grinned stupidly at each other and stumbled into the shower.
On to Part 2.
AU. Sequel to Set Fire to this House and Tear Down These Walls.
~15,000 words. Explicit. Chapter 4/5. Chapter One is here. All chapters here on the AO3.
Short disclaimer: All characters and scenarios belong to Elmore Leonard and Graham Yost and NOT ME.
Summary: Raylan and Boyd kept a secret for five years. Even in Harlan, secrets want to be told, and neither Boyd nor Raylan have any idea of the repercussions their private life will wreak on themselves and their home. Bullets will fly, families will be torn apart, and Raylan and Boyd will remember that it's much easier to come into Harlan than it is to get out alive.
In chapter four, Raylan deals with the aftermath of what went down in his motel room in the form of an AUSA, an old flame, and Ava Crowder. He also loves Boyd a lot then lies to him.
Thanks to betas engage_protocol andthornfield_girll, without which this chapter and all of the others would not nearly have been so awesome.
Take Care of You
Chapter 4: Take Cover Behind the Wreckage
When Raylan came in to the office after taking a few days for his shoulder, in a sling now to help the muscles knit back together where the buckshot ripped through, he came face to face with AUSA David Vasquez, a not-quite-greasy-looking lawyer he’d worked with before on a few cases.
“Hey, Raylan,” Vasquez said as they both reached his desk at the same time. He had a smile on his face that could be described as strained, except that was how it looked most of the time Raylan saw him, like constantly reaching for something, confidence or reassurance or whatever, was just par for the course with him.
“Vasquez,” Raylan said into his coffee. It had been a long drive from Harlan that morning, mostly because of the ache in his shoulder. He’d left Boyd with a hammer in his hand and a determined look on his face. He was trying not to worry too much.
“So, I just came from Art’s office,” the man said. “I was letting him know, Bo Crowder’s release has been set for next week, early on Monday. There isn’t anything I can do. With all of Sheriff Mosley’s arrests now under question--”
Raylan sighed. “Yeah, I know. We knew that the day it happened.” He drew a finger across his brow, rubbing a little between his eyes. The painkillers they gave him weren’t enough to make him loopy, but he was damn tired all the time and his shoulder still ached like it used to after long batting practice, the difference here was it didn’t go away after a stretch and a run. “A week, huh?”
Vasquez grimaced. “Yeah. Uh, listen Raylan. There’s one other thing. The statement you gave, after the shooting, I was gonna use some facts for my report on this case. Why it is Crowder’s a danger to you--”
“Bo Crowder,” Raylan said automatically.
“Yeah,” Vasquez agreed immediately and looked away then back at him.
Raylan took off his hat and threw it on his desk in frustration at himself more than anything. He knew Vasquez understood which Crowder they were and were not talking about, he’d read the damn file.
“Sorry, I just noticed, you never explicitly stated why, uh, Boyd Crowder was anywhere near your motel room, when he’d got there, or how long it had been. If you’ve got the time right now, we can get that taken care of, real quick.” Vasquez was visibly uncomfortable about the subject and Raylan looked at him, unsure if it was because he was weirded out, or because Raylan was so obviously against talking anymore about the matter.
He rubbed at his face again. “Sure,” he said and tried to smile at Vasquez. “I got time now. We can go in the conference room if you want.”
“Let me just get the reporter,” Vasquez said. When Raylan gave him a questioning look, he clarified, “The court reporter. She owes me a favor and it’s faster than typing out my messy scrawl later.”
Raylan went into the room with his coffee and sat, head tilted back and legs stretched out, until Vasquez returned. When he did, he had a leggy blonde trailing behind him, carrying her stenotype with her. Vasquez was helping her set it up on the far end of the table as Raylan roused himself. The AUSA looked him up and down then said, “You look like shit, man. You sure you’re supposed to be back already?”
“I gotta sort out the shooting paperwork,” Raylan sighed, leaning his elbows on the table as Vasquez sat down opposite him. “The stuff from the night before the thing at the motel.”
Vasquez raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean? You gave the Sheriff’s office that statement didn’t you?”
“Boyd fired my weapon. The issued one. I gotta file all that shit, since it was my gun. Art wants it soon because HQ takes it pretty seriously. Also...” he trailed off there, deciding almost too late not to mention that watching Boyd trying to sort out his own shit was driving him up the damn wall. He’d been running his mouth too much since they had him on these painkillers. He wished he hadn’t agreed so readily to give the statement right away.
“You mind going through it again with me?” Vasquez asked. “In the interest of clarity for the night’s events. It’ll be easier on us if we establish a timeline here, and a connection to Bo.”
Raylan frowned. “I don’t see how the first shooting, or the second really, has any bearing on the shit with Bo.”
“But Boyd’s actions in the motel room do. We’re talking about a frame of mind here, Raylan, caused by Bo Crowder. If--”
Raylan cut him off there. “Fine,” he said, nodding curtly and glancing at the reporter, who hadn’t yet put her fingers on the keys. “I get you.” Then he smiled and said, “Boyd’s gonna be pissed if any of this ever makes it into a courtroom.”
“He won’t be if it helps put his father back in prison,” Vasquez replied.
The reporter cleared her throat, looking wide-eyed back and forth at them both. “Would you like me to be recording this?”
Vasquez shook his head. “Sorry, no. We haven’t started yet.” He looked up at her from his papers and blinked, saying, “Oh, right. I’m so sorry. Raylan, have you met Winona? She started a few weeks back, I wasn’t sure if you’d worked together yet.”
Winona smiled and suddenly Raylan was taken back to one of the only seedy bars in Salt Lake, back to a pretty girl with a pool cue and a Kentucky accent, barely more than a week before Raylan went home for his father’s funeral.
“Shit.” The curse fell out of his mouth before he could hold it back.
“What?” Vasquez said, alarm in his tone. Raylan did successfully stop himself from groaning.
Winona’s smile grew bigger. “Recognized me, did you?”
Vasquez’s anxiety only seemed to grow. “You two know each other? Tell me this isn’t a conflict of interest. I can’t get another reporter on short notice.”
“Taking advantage of the new girl?” Winona asked with that sly smile Raylan remembered. He’d only seen her once after he’d come back from Boyd. He’d told himself at the time he just wasn’t looking for anything. “No,” she said, looking at Raylan. “We met a long time ago. Just a few times. I don’t know this man at all.”
Raylan was suddenly struck with the desire to apologize to her, but he knew that would be wildly inappropriate. He realized a split second later that she was about to get to know him extremely well.
“Okay, then,” Vasquez said. “Let’s not waste any more time.”
The AUSA took Raylan through in stages, asking his name, his position, a rundown of the events at the motel, before finally asking, “When did Boyd Crowder arrive at your motel room?”
“With me,” Raylan said, then added, “we arrived together from Harlan at four that morning. Hours earlier, our house had been broken into. We were fired upon by a masked assailant, who was later revealed to be Sheriff Mosley’s accomplice.”
“Did you hear verbal evidence of that?”
“The evidence will come out in the post-mortem and the from the crime lab,” Raylan replied darkly.
“So, Boyd Crowder lives in your house in Harlan? As your tenant?”
Raylan could feel himself making a face. “No, as my boyfriend,” he was surprised how easily it came out that time. He must be getting practice. Winona’s hands had slowed, but she looked back down at the stenotype when he raised his eyes to hers. “We’ve been together for five years,” Raylan wasn’t sure why he bothered to continue, but it seemed like an appropriate thing to record. “We’ve been living together just over six months, since I returned to Kentucky. The house in Harlan is my primary address and his.”
“And why did you both come in to Lexington to stay in your secondary address at the motel?”
Raylan answered as clearly as he could, though he might have taken longer than strictly necessary, fumbling and glossing over some of the shadier details, like how angry Boyd had been, the shit between Mosley and Johnny, and how he’d found out later Boyd had threatened the Sheriff. He did include that Boyd had been to see his father quite recently, that the man was displeased with his son, and that fact had informed Boyd’s state of mind before and after they’d arrested Mosley.
“So, you would assert that the idea of his father being released from prison sent Boyd into a state of emotional confusion and shock?”
Raylan shook his head. “No,” he replied emphatically. “A gun was fired a centimeter away from Boyd’s ear. He thought, in all the confusion, he’d seen me murdered in front of him. He was deaf and disoriented and already in shock by the time anyone could think about his daddy. The thought of Bo being released from prison just knocked the wind further out of him. He wouldn’t...” Raylan paused to take a breath.
Sure, it would have sounded great for the case to say Boyd had been so terrified of the idea of his Daddy coming after them that he’d near gone out of his mind, but Boyd would never stand for a lie like that and it made Raylan feel sick to even think about perpetuating it.
He thought, then, about how Boyd had said he didn't remember anything after watching Raylan's arm get bandaged up from the buckshot and Raylan believed him.
After he'd fallen to the floor in the motel room, thrust into some kind of panic attack at the thought of his daddy leaving prison three years early, Boyd had spent the ride to the hospital huddling in a blanket they’d thrown over his shoulders. He’d looked at Raylan a few times like he was staring into the face of a ghost, holding himself stiff and far off to the other side of the back seat of Art’s car, until Raylan said, “Boyd, I can’t take you lookin’ at me like that anymore. I ain’t dead, okay?”
He sort of nodded like he got it, but fell later into alternate bouts of blank silence and soft murmurings of things like, “How did they get here so fast?” as if he still wasn’t sure any of it was real, and "If you'd died, Raylan, I don't know what I would do," like he couldn't even contemplate it, like it was too horrific a thought to entertain.
The only thing Raylan could do was talk to him softly, answering his questions in a steady tone, “Someone called in a gunshot to local PD. They knew it was my address,” and “I’m right here, Boyd. You don’t have to do anything.”
It wasn’t until after they arrived at the ER, and the doctors were pulling Raylan towards a triage room, that Boyd made any move to touch him. After that, he held on tight.
“Boyd’s not the type to crumble at any kind of threat,” he finally said. “I’m not a doctor, so I don’t even know why you’re asking me this, but I can tell you, Boyd was--is--scared of his father. Any sane person in his position would be. But it was what happened to me--almost happened--that set him off like that. I assume you have his medical chart from after the scene?”
Vasquez shrugged. “ER doctors aren’t in the habit of questioning their patients too deeply on the reason for the physical manifestations of their psychological trauma.”
“Well, you’d be hard pressed to convince Boyd to go see a therapist,” Raylan responded. “Though I’m also little hard pressed to see how any of this would ever be useful to you in court.”
“Well, Raylan, if you could convince him to just come down and give a statement on what passed between Boyd and his father in the visitor’s room at Little Sandy, we’d have at least some indication that a threat to his life or yours has been made. You’ve said before that either is likely. Art Mullen’s about to tear what little hair he has left out of his head over this.”
Raylan pursed his lips. “You want me to call Boyd on the phone, have him tell you direct it’s nobody’s business but theirs?” He pulled out his cell just to be a jackass, though he was just as conflicted over the matter himself. He knew why Boyd didn’t want that shit out there, and he knew why Art and Vasquez did. Usually, the pull to side with the Harlan way of looking at things wasn’t set so deep in him that he couldn’t ignore it.
Vasquez glared at him until Raylan put the phone away, trying not to smirk. Then he said, “I have just one more thing to go over, if that’s okay with you, Deputy.”
Raylan nodded, grimacing at the use of his title. He didn’t feel like a Marshal in that room at that moment. He felt like a kid from the county, like he didn’t want to tell them anything anymore. “Go on,” he said with what might have been a surly tinge to his voice.
“To your knowledge, has Boyd Crowder, who you’ve been living with for some time, and known for many years, ever given you indication of his participation in criminal activity?” Vasquez looked him straight in the eye as he asked.
Raylan glared at the slippery bastard and worked his jaw for a moment. He knew what Vasquez was up to with this. If he established here that he knew nothing about Boyd being involved in anything, he’d be at least somewhat protected if Boyd was ever arrested on any kind of charge. There was no way Raylan could refuse to answer and not look bad.
He pulled his hands into helpless little fists and reminded himself this was why he always tried to be as unhelpful as possible around lawyers, even government ones. “No, Boyd Crowder has never informed me either directly or indirectly of any criminal behavior in which he may or may not have engaged. I have no knowledge of it, at all.”
Raylan paused and let how pissed he was show on his face and in the definite note of sarcasm in his tone, “You want to know if I hold him when he cries?”
“And, I think we’re done here,” Vasquez said, turning to Winona. “Thanks very much for your time with this.”
Winona turned her big eyes on Raylan as she replied, “It’s no problem.”
“Great,” Vasquez said to his paperwork and turned to leave. “I’ll talk to you soon about this, Raylan.”
Raylan watched Winona put the stenotype back in it’s box and straighten up her own papers. He waited a few beats before he said, “I seem to remember you sayin’ you’d never go back to Kentucky. That was one of the things I liked about you.”
She looked up and smiled again. Raylan really did like that smile. She looked older, obviously, than she had six years ago, but it sat well with her. She was still one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. “My mother was ill,” she replied. “I came home to help her.”
“I’m sure sorry to hear that,” he murmured and she thanked him.
Winona tilted her head then and said, “I seem to remember you saying just the same, Raylan.”
“My father died,” Raylan replied, shrugging. “I had to come back for the funeral, just a week after we met.” He was fiddling with the broken lip of his drained coffee cup.
She walked towards him, a curious look on her face. “And that was when you... reconnected with Boyd?”
Raylan just smiled and she nodded, licking her lips. “I always thought, ‘I’m not looking for anything serious’ was sort of a cop out on your part. I wasn’t either. I just wanted to have sex with you,” she said and met his eyes. “Lots and lots of sex.”
It was on the tip of Raylan’s tongue to admit to her that even he hadn’t had any idea how bad he was gone for Boyd at that time, but luckily or not, his phone rang at that moment, vibrating loudly where he’d left it on the table.
He looked at the number, recognizing it as a Harlan one, but unknown to him and answered, “Givens.” He put a hand up to Winona, silently asking her to wait a minute. She raised her brows but didn’t walk away.
“Raylan?” A hesitant voice came over the line.
“Ava?” Raylan asked. “Where are you calling from?”
He heard her sniff, like she’d been crying and he saw red in the direction of Bowman for a split second before she answered, “From the station, Raylan. I, ah, shot Bowman this morning. He’s dead. They-they said I could call someone and I... couldn’t think of anyone but you who’d care.”
Raylan felt a weird sinking sensation as he digested her words, and he would have grabbed at the table, had he not been holding the phone with his only free hand. He saw out of the corner of his eye, Winona looking at him like she was real concerned about something, so he turned around and leaned up against the table, almost sitting on it, to make sure he kept his balance. He decided in that moment he was off the painkillers today.
“Okay,” he said calmly, but with his head bent low, wishing he could rub a tired palm across his eyes. “Ava, I can’t get there. I’m in Lexington. I’m gonna call Boyd for you--”
“No, don’t,” she cried immediately. “He’s gonna--”
“Ava, don’t be an idiot. Whatever you’re thinkin’, he’s not gonna do or say it. He’s gonna help you, all right? He loves you, honey. And you think he gives a shit about his brother after last time?”
Raylan looked up to see Winona, wide-eyed and backing away from him. She pointed towards the door and said quietly, “I’m just gonna go. I’m so, so sorry.”
He frowned at her, but couldn’t do anything else other than nod. He was still reeling, just realizing he had to be the one to tell Boyd his brother was dead.
Ava sniffed again and cried, “I don’t know, Raylan. It’s his goddamn brother.”
Raylan shook his head, like she was going to see it over the line. “Ava, Bo’s getting out next week. We should have told you before, but... shit. You have to let Boyd help you, okay?”
“I thought he wasn’t supposed to get out for years,” her voice came over hushed, terrified.
“Something happened. Let Boyd tell you, I’m gonna call him. You’re at the station down in town?”
“Yeah, they’re holding me here.” He heard her take a settling breath. “No one seems too upset about it.”
Raylan almost snorted. Of course, no one was upset. Not a soul in Harlan thought Ava deserved to be with that asshole, and no one was going to judge her for taking matters into her own hands. He only wished she had asked for help before deciding to do it in such a fashion. “Boyd will be there,” he said. “Just sit tight.”
She agreed and he clicked off the phone, opening it a moment later to dial Boyd’s number.
As it was ringing, Art swung open the glass door, stuck his head and shoulder in, and told him, “Rachel needs the room.” He pumped his thumb out the door in a get-out-of-here motion.
Raylan drew his lips into a thin line. “You hear about Bowman?” he asked, noticing the hard look in Art’s eyes.
“Tim caught it over the scanner,” Art responded.
“I gotta tell Boyd,” Raylan said, hearing the strain in his own voice.
Art swore and said, “You can tell him in my office,” on his way out of the room, just as Boyd answered finally.
Boyd’s voice came over the line clear and easy as Raylan followed Art in, “Tell me what? You’re lucky I heard this thing ring. I had it on the table in the kitchen.” Boyd sounded fine, preoccupied even, and Raylan closed his eyes, leaning against the wall next to the door, sorry to have to destroy whatever relief he’d found in home improvement in the hours since Raylan had left.
“So, you’re sitting down?” Raylan asked. He met Art’s eyes. The man was standing over his desk, looking hard at Raylan. He motioned to the couch as if saying, “You might want to do that, too.”
“No, I was getting a big ol’ glass of water,” Boyd answered and Raylan could hear the smile in his voice, indulgent for a change toward Raylan’s increasingly protective side. “Now, I’m sitting down. What is it? Did my daddy get his release?”
Of course, Boyd would think it was that. Raylan sighed again, leaning back against the cushions of the couch. His arm felt heavy in the sling and his shoulder was starting to itch like crazy instead of just ache. “Yeah, he did. Next Monday. But Boyd, that’s not...”
Art was sitting down at his desk now, his hand on the mouse of his computer, like he was actually doing work or something. Raylan didn’t buy it and he gave the man a death glare, wondering why the hell he thought he needed to hear this conversation. Art caught Raylan’s stare and matched it evenly for a few seconds then went back to pretending not to listen.
“Raylan, baby,” Boyd said after that moment of silence, clearly confused. “You think I’m gonna lose it over this? We already knew. At least we got the date now. At least we got some time to--”
Raylan made himself say it all in a rush, staring at the floor and not at Art as he did. “Boyd, your brother’s dead. Ava shot him. I don’t know the details, but she’s at the station in town. You need to get there, and for her sake, you need to not look like you’re upset. I’m gonna take care of some stuff here and then I’ll come home as soon as I can.”
The silence at the other end of the line stretched out for fucking centuries, so long, in fact that Raylan couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Boyd?” just to make sure he hadn’t dropped the phone.
“What do you mean I can’t be upset, Raylan? Jesus, she shot him?” Boyd’s voice was hushed, and certainly unsettled, but Raylan was sure he didn’t hear grief there.
“I know,” Raylan replied.
“Why didn’t she ask us for help?” The anger was evident in Boyd’s tone, strangled and helpless. “We could have--”
“I know, darlin’,” Raylan interrupted. He felt the guilt over that rise up in him fast and chokingly. “But Boyd, you can’t show her you’re mad--”
“The hell I can’t, Raylan. No way she needed to do that by herself.”
“Boyd, she won’t take it well. You think she’s in her right mind right now? She asked me not to call you.” Art shifted in his seat and Raylan looked up at him as he spoke. There was real worry in his boss’ eyes and Raylan just didn’t know what to do with that at all, despite the fact that he’d been met with this particular expression from Art at least three quarters of the time they spent together over the last week.
“She did what?” There was hurt now in Boyd’s tone and Raylan didn’t know what to do with that either. He knew Boyd spent more time with Ava than Raylan had lately. Because he’d been off work a lot more, he’d had a little bit of time to come by Ava’s when Bowman was gone. He’d been helping her with some house stuff under the guise of a cheap handyman she’d told Bowman she’d hired.
“She’s not thinking, darlin’. She just shot a man. You,” he slowed, looking at Art, but went on, “know what that’s like. I told her you’d be there soon. She shouldn’t have to do the rest of this on her own.”
Boyd sighed. “You’re right. Okay, I’m out the door. Baby, when you gonna be back here?”
“Tonight, I hope,” Raylan said, raising his brows at Art. “I’ll take the time off, if I have to.”
Boyd laughed, but it was a humorless sound, brittle and sad. “And here I thought maybe we could take a vacation this year.”
Raylan snorted. “Whatever gave you that idea?” Boyd didn’t say anything else for a second and Raylan closed his eyes, taking a plunge that never should have been so long coming. “I love you, darlin’. I’ll be there soon.”
Boyd really did laugh now. “Oh, Raylan,” he said softly. “You know me.”
“I do.”
When Raylan hung up the phone, carelessly snapping it shut one-handed, he kept his eyes closed for a moment, steeling himself before he opened them to meet Art’s suitably concerned look.
“You sure you boys are okay?” He asked the question, still facing his computer, with his little reading glasses down on his nose and Raylan thought the man had never looked older in his life.
“Yeah,” he agreed automatically. He felt a stab of guilt for putting Art through everything he had in the past few days, and for continuing to bring his personal shit into the office.
He thought of what Art had said to him in the car, when they were driving towards the hospital and Boyd was staring frighteningly off into space as Raylan finally started to feel light-headed from blood-loss. He’d said, “Shouldn’t be surprised, putting you back in where you sprouted, Raylan. I always knew you were all kinds of trouble, even back in Glynco. I saw that boy and I knew he was trouble too, and that was before I found out who he is, or was anyway. You two are peas in a pod. I really shouldn’t be surprised.”
Raylan had said then, “You actually surprised, Art? Or you jus’ tryin’ to make me feel bad?”
Art had his eyes on the road, but his voice was stern when he answered, “You only get to feel bad about shit that’s your fault. That goes for him too. Jesus Christ, Raylan. Nobody picks where they come from.” Then he started muttering almost inaudibly about boys being so goddamned frightened of their daddies and men still living in the damn nineteenth century.
And that was really all Raylan needed to hear.
When they got to the hospital and Boyd clamped his hand in a grip like a vice on Raylan’s unbloodied forearm, refusing silently to let go, Raylan had looked to Art, who stood frowning on the other side of a row of white-clad doctors and pink-scrubbed nurses, and said, “You wanna tell them that absolutely no one wants to see him really lose it over this?”
Not even Raylan at that point had any idea what Boyd would do. Art seemed to get that, so he pulled what looked like the head doctor aside, talking quickly, pointing between them and flashing his star. They took them to the same exam room.
Boyd had sat next to him and watched, riveted, as a surgeon pulled all the buckshot from Raylan’s shoulder. They examined Boyd, asked him questions that he barely answered, and said that he needed to just calm down on his own, that there wasn’t anything they could do but pump drugs into him that he probably didn’t really need.
They got frowns from a few people coming in and out, probably because after Boyd’s grip on him loosened, Raylan’s free hand crept up somehow to hold on to the back of Boyd’s neck and eventually pull him close, his forehead falling down to rest on Raylan’s good shoulder. When the resident came in to measure him for the sling, she glanced between them and said, “Your boss alleges you two are brothers?”
Boyd had lifted his head at that and glared darkly at the girl, who looked both startled and chastised. “Yes,” Raylan said tiredly, having trouble thinking through the painkillers they’d pumped into him. “Brothers. That’s us.” And Boyd put his head back down.
When Art came by later to check on them, Raylan tried to put together a reasonable thank you and he was waved off with little fanfare. They’d put him in a bed to wait for something, he couldn’t really remember, and Boyd was in a chair pulled as close as possible to it, his head buried in his arms and Raylan’s lap. The look Art gave him was somewhat reminiscent of a few he’d received from Helen recently, when he said, “Shit, Raylan, I didn’t know the boy loved you like that.”
Raylan was pretty sure he just choked in response, but he remembered Boyd turned his head to look at Art and Raylan just knew he was smiling like a fool.
Soon after that, he was tired enough he curled himself up around Boyd a little more, despite Art’s lingering presence in the room, and dozed off. He slept until Helen arrived to get them, as neither he nor Boyd were in any condition to drive.
Now, Raylan wasn’t over the moon that Art had seen Boyd like that, but he did like that there wasn’t any more question about Boyd’s suitability or presence in Raylan’s life.
In the aftermath of Boyd’s intense reaction to the danger he’d been in, Raylan had realized, perhaps belatedly, and was still coming to terms with the fact, that if he had died, or if he were to at any time in the future, Boyd would have absolutely nothing.
The house wouldn’t be his. He wouldn’t have that support, would have to go back to the mine, full-time, if he even chose to continue with legitimate employment. Sure, Helen would be there for him, and certainly Ava as well, but the question remained, would he take their help? Would he be capable of that or would he be somehow beyond it?
Raylan thought about how he hadn’t denied what Mosley had said, that Boyd had as good as promised a man death if something were to happen to him. Raylan didn’t know what he could do to stop it. He remembered Boyd that morning, getting ready to begin whatever he was doing to the damn house, and he decided at least he could try and let that be something Boyd could hold onto, if he had to. He’d have to will it to him.
Raylan blinked and saw Art was still staring at him. “You know any good lawyers?” he asked, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees.
Art shook his head and grumbled, “You know, that’s really not very reassuring, son.”
Raylan pulled himself to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nevermind,” he said. “It’s nothin’, Art.”
As he turned to go, Art called after him, “Hang on a minute, Raylan. One other thing.”
Raylan turned back and raised his eyebrows at his boss, fitting his uninjured hand into his back pocket.
Art was looking at him real sternly and Raylan suddenly knew what was coming. “Under no circumstances,” Art said, jabbing a finger in Raylan’s direction, “are you to go up to Little Sandy on Monday, Raylan. There is absolutely no need for you to be there. I know you can swing it and I know that you want to, because you’re an idiot. But I am telling you, no. Do not do that.”
Raylan put on an innocent face, or his very best attempt, and waved Art off, promising he wouldn’t. He spent the next couple hours slogging through the damn paperwork as fast as his brain would let him and was out the door and on his way to Harlan by four.
It was dark by the time Raylan arrived at home, the days were growing shorter as fall passed them by. He saw Boyd’s truck in the drive and came into the house quietly, not sure exactly what to expect.
He was surprised, in an unexpectedly pleasant way, to see Boyd and Ava sitting together on the couch they’d pulled out of storage, now that Boyd had most of the drywall back up in the living room. The room was dark, only illuminated by the light over the oven coming in from down the hall. The radio from the kitchen was on the floor, plugged into the far wall and playing bluegrass in from Lexington.
Boyd had a bourbon in his hand and Ava’s head pillowed in his lap. He watched Raylan come in quietly and lean against the doorframe to the room. His eyes were watchful, but tired, and his free hand was in Ava’s hair. She was sleeping, or passed out by the look of the nearly empty bottle at Boyd’s feet, and she had one hand twisted up in Boyd’s shirt and the other dangling to the floor.
Raylan looked at the bottle and then met Boyd’s eyes. He moved silently from the doorway, coming up slow to bend over Boyd and kiss him softly on the lips. Boyd breathed a long sigh into him, like he’d been holding it until Raylan came home, and Raylan put his hand to his cheek.
Boyd’s face was raised up to him when their lips parted and Raylan gave him a look as he toed the bottle on the floor, making it clink hollowly. “I didn’t have the heart to take it away from her,” Boyd murmured. “Not today.”
Raylan kissed him again in response, not really prepared or inclined to say anything about it, as Ava stirred, groaning a little and looking up at them.
“Don’t mind me,” she grumbled. “Uh huh, jus’ go on, makin’ out much as y’please.”
Raylan smiled at her and said, “You’re lucky I trust him so much, honey. Somebody else might not be so welcoming, come home to a man with a woman’s head in his lap.”
She giggled drunkenly and rolled over onto her back to look into his eyes. “Lucky,” she said and laughed breathlessly. “Yessir, that’s me.”
Boyd set his glass down, shifting too, as Raylan grimaced and said, “Okay, come on.”
He slipped off the sling, handing it to Boyd, who said, “Raylan, I don’t know...”
Raylan had her up in his arms, hers curling around his neck, eyes closing and lungs breathing heavy sighs, as he replied, “I can have it off for a little while. You gonna get her upstairs?”
Boyd shook his head, shifting again stiffly, like he needed to get the feeling back into his legs.
Raylan turned and started toward the stairs, actually a bit worried about his aching shoulder. He did have most of her weight on his right side, but he wasn’t about to take too many chances with healing up fast.
Ava had her face pressed to his neck, breathing hot against his collar. She twisted a little and spoke softly, still slurring into his ear. “You ‘member when y’came home, Raylan?”
“Mhmm,” he responded, thinking more about not missing any of the steps on his way up.
She laughed and he cringed, it was a little loud and distressingly bitter. “I thought,” she got out between hiccups that were rapidly turning into something close to sobs. “I thought you was gonna save me, Raylan.”
He heard a thump behind him, and when he got to the top of the steps he saw Boyd sitting down on one of the lower ones, his head buried in his hands. “Shit,” he muttered, because Ava was crying about white horses and men in cowboy hats.
He laid her down on the bed in his old room and she clung to his shirt, forcing him to slide her over and sit down at the edge of the dusty old mattress. He pried her hands off him, watching the hot tears stream down her face, and tried not to think of his mother, of how many times he’d seen her try to hide her tears from him, of how she’d never, ever thought anyone was gonna get her out.
At least Ava wasn’t shy with him about the tears, though Frances Givens had never touched a drop of alcohol again after the first time Arlo beat her under the influence. Helen had told him that when he was a teenager.
Raylan put a hand up to Ava’s brow, brushing strands of hair away from her eyes. “It don’t work like that, Ava,” he said. “You were the only one, could make that choice. There wasn’t anything I could do. Woulda told you that sooner, but I thought you knew.”
She smiled and shook her head, though he wasn’t sure to what exactly. “Figured it out sooner or later, I guess.”
Raylan bent low to brush a kiss across her damp cheek. “It don’t mean we can’t help now. You know that, right?”
She smiled. “That’s what Boyd said.”
Raylan heard a creak of the floorboards and turned to see that Boyd was standing in the doorway, looking a little worse for wear, and staring at them with haunted eyes. Raylan made himself smile at his boy. “Well, you know how smart he is, right?” Boyd’s mouth quirked at him.
He turned back to Ava, and saw that she was out cold already. He wasn’t sure if she looked peaceful or not, but at least her mind wasn’t running it over and over again. He didn’t blame her for drinking so much.
“Put your sling back on, Raylan,” Boyd said, still lurking at the door. Raylan stood, treading softly and taking the sling from Boyd’s hand. He didn’t put it on right away.
He stood very close to Boyd, but they didn’t touch. Everything felt slightly off, strained in a way that it usually wasn’t. Raylan wasn’t sure if it was because of what Ava said, or how either of them felt about what happened that day. He thought it was strange that he couldn’t read it right. The look in Boyd’s eyes said he felt the same.
Raylan brushed past him, looking away and walking to the bathroom to get a glass of water and some aspirin for Ava when she woke, knowing she’d need it. When he came back into the room, Boyd hadn’t moved from the door and he felt eyes on him as he set the glass and pills down on the side table, the one where he’d kept that ten year old lube from the first time they were together.
Very little about the room had changed since that time, since Raylan was in high school, really. It had been the one thing Boyd never touched in the house. Raylan remembered then, he’d caught Boyd sleeping in this room the second time he came back to Harlan, the time when this thing, their relationship, had truly become real.
Raylan turned at that thought, and looked at Boyd. At the time, he hadn’t thought anything of it. He’d stood there, letting Boyd tell him that he didn’t want to know--should never know--what he was doing. Raylan had been so willing, so ready to keep his ignorance of just what Boyd had done, to his life, to himself, to be there for Raylan, to be what he needed. He’d never understood just how vulnerable that made Boyd, then and now. Especially now.
He wondered, just for a moment, if Boyd was no longer the person he needed to be to get through this shit with his daddy. Raylan didn’t know if he could stand that, one way or the other.
He could tell by Boyd’s expression that he was off balance, uncertain of what Raylan was thinking. It was rare these days that they weren’t on the same page. Raylan tilted his head, only slightly, and moved, walking soft still but fairly fast and pushing Boyd back from the room, pressing him up against the wall in the hallway, just at the head of the stairs.
Raylan hated all this uncertainty. He hadn’t felt this way since the beginning, or at least since the night Boyd kicked out the foot he’d been keeping in the door.
“I didn’t come back here to save anybody,” he said, pushing at Boyd’s hips, pressing himself close there, but keeping some distance between their chests, their lips. His hands were at Boyd’s shoulders.
Boyd’s eyes were wide and Raylan could tell by the look in them that he was a little drunk. “I know that,” he replied.
Boyd’s hands were on him now, at his waist, sliding up his back. “I didn’t come back here for that,” Raylan insisted.
Raylan knew Boyd thought he was just talking about Ava when he said, “Baby, I know,” and kissed him. Raylan felt the pull of a groan, something not far off from a whine, at the back of his throat, not wanting to think about why Boyd didn’t understand, when he always did before, always. He closed his eyes, knowing he couldn’t say, not wanting to fight about it, not then, when Boyd tasted so sweet and warm and he pulled Raylan in and up somehow, responding to the sound like it was only of desire.
Boyd was the one who pushed Raylan to the bed, limbs loose and carelessly strong with drink. His smile was the same way, easy and big, and his eyes were sharp, clearer somehow than they’d been in days. Raylan had to remind him twice to be careful of his shoulder, until he stopped caring about it as well.
They undressed swiftly, mostly on their own, though Boyd helped with Raylan’s shirt. Raylan couldn’t stop himself from smiling at how into it Boyd was.
They’d messed around a little since the hospital, but Raylan had been so tired and Boyd still too worked up and weird about everything for them to really enjoy anything. It seemed strange to finally be so ready after the catastrophe or tragedy or whatever of the day and with Ava sleeping just in the next room over, but it was right too.
It seemed like something they’d do.
“Raylan,” Boyd said between kisses, like he was the only thing he’d ever wanted and Raylan couldn’t stop a shudder running down his spine. All the things that Boyd had done flashed through his mind, everything between them, it felt like too much.
Boyd pulled back immediately, staring openly at Raylan, who couldn’t meet his eyes. He pulled himself closer, climbing up into Boyd’s lap, pressing his lips again and again to his temple, down past his ear and the side of his neck. Boyd’s arms came around him steadily and his mouth was near Raylan’s ear as he whispered, “Baby, what’s wrong?”
Raylan laughed then, breathless and strained. “Nothing,” he murmured as Boyd’s hand came up around his neck, strong, pulling him up.
“Look at me,” Boyd said and Raylan did. “That’s bullshit.”
Raylan looked into Boyd’s eyes, they were dark and dilated wide. They were sure and honest like they’d always been. His cock was pressing hard into Raylan’s leg and suddenly all Raylan wanted was to get him off. He didn’t want to think about any of it anymore. He was done.
Boyd must have seen that, and he must have seen something else in Raylan’s expression as well, some tell, because he smiled then, wickedly, and with a burst of controlled force, pushed Raylan down onto his back. Boyd kissed him hard and long, hovering over him, bracing his hands up at Raylan’s shoulders, pinning him down.
Raylan drew one leg up, leaning it against Boyd’s hip, letting the other stretch out across the bed as Boyd straddled it. He let himself smile up at Boyd, who looked like he knew just what Raylan needed, and fuck if he didn’t. He always did.
Raylan lifted his head up, craning his neck to bring his mouth closer to Boyd’s, who was holding himself just far enough away it would be a strain. Raylan panted into Boyd’s open mouth, licking his tongue across Boyd’s lips and teeth, desperate to be closer. He groaned. He almost said please.
Boyd’s mouth bore down on Raylan’s then, and he drew his hand down, trailing it across Raylan’s chest and stomach, grasping strong and sure at Raylan’s erect cock. He drew himself up and near, to wrap his fingers around them both, panting with want and need. Raylan’s hands found their way to Boyd’s hips, and his skin was hot, as if from a fever.
“We’re gonna,” Boyd said, breathless but not broken, to Raylan. “We’re gonna do this together, baby.” And he started to move.
At first he went so, so slow that Raylan writhed with it under him, the friction between them burning low and only threatening to overwhelm, enticingly, maddeningly. Raylan’s fingers dug into Boyd’s skin as he forced himself to keep the pace Boyd set. Boyd knew, though, he reminded himself, Boyd knew what he needed.
When his hips bucked up, ready to go faster, he bit his lip and Boyd murmured, “You’re so good, baby. It’s so good right now.” And Raylan moaned at him until he picked up the pace. Boyd’s fingers were slick with sweat from their bodies and a smear of pre-come. Everything was tightening up, focused to a point and Boyd laughed, low and lovely, pressing their lips together again, messy and and warm and wet. “We’re gonna do this together, baby,” he said, a strange control in his tone. Raylan’s eyes rolled back at the sound. “Tell me, Raylan. Tell me that.”
Raylan’s hips jerked and he wrapped his hand around Boyd’s fingers as they worked. “Do it,” he grunted, a guttural sound, something desperate. “Together.” He felt it building fast, coming on strong. “Boyd,” he warned and Boyd’s hand stopped moving, just for a second, prompting him to cry out with the need for it.
Boyd’s lips came close again to his ear and their hands began to move again, faster still until he said, low and filthy, “I love you so damn much, son,” and they both came all over each other.
Boyd’s eyes were heavy-lidded and he smiled languidly at Raylan as he collapsed to his side, the left one so Raylan could roll over enough for them to keep looking at each other. Boyd pressed his lips to Raylan’s chest, lapping at him and sucking their come off his skin. Raylan felt his well-fucked smile spread into a grin and he tilted his head back, even as he grasped at Boyd’s thigh across his leg, to make himself easier to get at.
“We taste so good,” Boyd said, drawing the word out. “You an’ me, Raylan.”
Raylan was getting hard again and he was dizzy with it, coming down and right back up. “You an’ me,” he repeated, then said, “Want you again, Boyd.” It was fast for him, really fast, but nothing about tonight seemed normal anyway.
Boyd grinned at him like he’d just been given a gift and he pulled himself up on Raylan, dragging him in for a searing kiss. Raylan found himself laughing at the end of it, it was so damn good. “Come on,” Boyd said. “I’ll suck you off in the shower.”
When he started to move off, clasping Raylan’s hand in a loose grip, Raylan wrapped his arm around Boyd’s waist and held on. “No,” he protested, breathing deep into Boyd’s neck, pulling him closer. He didn’t want to wash this off yet.
He was holding Boyd up on his lap, so he had to look up when his boy’s hand came to his cheek, setting their eyes to meet. “Raylan, I really want your cock in my mouth.”
“Me too.” As soon as he said it, he realized how badly he wanted it, wanted to give Boyd everything he could.
Boyd’s grin turned downright filthy as he murmured, trailing a hand through Raylan’s hair. “You want to sixty-nine it?”
All the breath blew out of Raylan’s lungs as he replied, “Jesus, yes.”
It wasn’t something they did often, and Raylan wondered briefly if it was a good idea, on account of his shoulder, but he told himself he’d be careful and his thoughts fled quickly to other things. Boyd’s cock was hard as his own when they started and when they were finished, both getting off with the crazy intense power that comes with going twice in a row, they grinned stupidly at each other and stumbled into the shower.
On to Part 2.