This had to be some big fucking joke. Instead of talking, he considered standing up and punching Raylan in his teeth. Instead of doing either of those things, he ended up laughing and turning his face away, staring across the room.

There had been that one time, and Tim mostly tried not to think about it. It had just happened, like a by-product of the feeding, both of them too submerged in some crazy euphoric bliss to think better of it. And in the end, it had been a bad idea. It was the final straw that made Tim give in and agree that they needed to quit what they were doing.

Yet, here they were, drying blood sticky on Tim's throat, thinking he could still feel Raylan's teeth in his skin, and he had to suppress a shiver. He exhaled slowly, jaw clenching and unclenching. He should tell Raylan to fuck off, probably. This was a terrible idea.

"I dunno what you want me to tell you," he said, and he didn't look at Raylan still. His gaze remained glued on the peeling wallpaper across the room. "It's better than drinkin'." Which was to say, it worked better than drinking. "It's better when I can do it with someone I can relax with." Someone like Raylan.