errantechoes | (no subject)

That tilt of Tim's chin drew Raylan's gaze to the very last place he wanted it to be. He no longer cared about the bite marks already there. It was the pulse beneath the skin that he wanted to avoid. And yet, he could see it, clear as ever. Each tiny surge making the tracing of blue lines expand and contract in time with the man's heart. That heartbeat slowly drowned out every other sound in the room, until Tim's voice could barely be heard behind it.

Raylan could see it clearly in his mind. Grabbing Tim. Holding him close. Sinking his teeth into his neck. That warm rush of blood. It took everything he had to not act on it, as everything he was tried to push him forward. His lips parted, the tips of his fangs visible.

All at once he ripped his gaze away, eyes and lips pressed shut. He shook it off, gaze snapping back to Tim's. "A threat. What the hell else would it be?!" He didn't want to think of what he could be promising. What Tim wanted. "Get outta the way or I'm gonna make you get outta the way!" He didn't have the strength to compel Tim again. And he feared if he touched the man, it wouldn't be to move him. Why couldn't Tim just understand it was better if they just parted ways now?

Because Tim couldn't ever seem to understand anything that was actually good for him. Like going to the VA, or not drinking, or not taunting or pushing Raylan into feeding from him. It was ridiculous, honestly. Especially considering that he was the one that finally decided that they couldn't do this shit anymore.

Though, not the one to originally suggest it. That said something, probably. It said a lot.

Because now, he was very tired of Raylan choosing to practice all the restraint he had. Now, all he wanted was Raylan's teeth in his throat. To feel that rush that would come with it, a better feeling than he'd ever gotten with alcohol. For once, he didn't need it. But he fucking wanted it. He was tired of waiting, his seemingly endless patience finally running dry. He wasn't dancing around it anymore.

"Don't threaten me," he said, and he reached up, curling his fingers around Raylan's tie, not yanking him closer, but definitely pretending him from stepping away as Tim leaned in. "Just bite me."

That grasp on his tie may as well have been Tim holding a live wire to his throat for all that it did to him. He froze, tense all over, as that intense need washed over him in demanding, shivering waves. Like the dam he'd built finally broke and there was no holding it back. So when Tim leaned in, Raylan's hand shot up. Instinctively. Grabbing a fistful of the man's hair and dragging his head to the side. Exposing the side of his throat.

"I told you to get," he said, though his tone wasn't nearly as aggressive as he'd wanted it to be. It sounded breathy, and dripping with desire. A voice meant for the bedroom, not an argument.

He found himself leaning closer. Inhaling deeply. But before his lips could touch skin, he turned his face away, lips and eyes forced shut. But he turned closer to Tim's face instead of away from the man entirely. So when he opened his eyes again, Tim would see what they'd become. Flushed dark and red, violent and monstrous. He forced the words through his teeth, fangs visible, trying to force as much anger as he could. "You stupid asshole." The hand in Tim's hair was trembling.

Doing this with Raylan always brought on a slew of confusing, contradicting feelings, which was at least half the reason they shouldn't have been doing this anyway. But Tim didn't regret it. Not yet. Not when the hand in his hair made his jeans feel a little too tight. Not when he could practically taste anticipation and adrenaline, and his heart was beating hard and unsteady in his chest.

He wanted this. And Raylan wanted it to. So why the fuck not?

His hand left Raylan's tie, sliding up carefully to touch the other's face, tracing the veins with light fingertips. There were a lot of things he was feeling right now, but fear wasn't one of them. He was never afraid with Raylan. Maybe he should've been, but he wasn't. He trusted Raylan.

"Yeah," he agreed quietly, his palm sliding from the line of Raylan's jaw to the back of his neck, pulling a little urgently. "It's okay. Do it."

The problem was that Raylan didn't trust himself. He'd seen what happened when someone went too hungry for too long. They found anything with a heartbeat and tore it to shreds. He'd seen others use that to his advantage far too many times. Something even he'd been too horrified to tell anyone about. More so now because he understood how it could happen. How hard it was to resist when the hunger finally dug it's claws in.

He closed his eyes at that touch on his face, wanting to pull away. Wanting to shake it off and just not do this. But the way those fingers touched him, pulled at him, there was no other direction to go. There was no "away." It didn't exist. It was nothing more than a figment of his imagination, and Raylan never was one for imagination.

It was all he could do to not lunge forward and tear into the other man's throat. That was the only control he had left. But there was no more hesitation, no more fight. His grip tightened on Tim's hair as the other hand reached up to yank his shirt aside. Lips parted over skin, and that was all the warning Tim had before fangs sank in hard. Rough enough to bruise.

Time felt like it was ticking by too slow, every second passing without Raylan's teeth in his in Tim's neck a second wasted. But Tim was patient, oddly comfortable with Raylan's fingers curled into his hair and his hand pressingly lightly against the back of the other's neck. Raylan's lips parted over his throat and Tim had enough time to inhale sharply before he was bitten.

It was not gentle, but that suited Tim fine. He always liked things a little bit bruising. The euphoria hit him like a god damn wave, an intense sort of pleasure that made him moan low and brokenly in his throat. It was a good thing, probably, that the door was so close, because Tim found himself leaning back against it, keeping Raylan pulled close with a hand on his neck, the other on his waist, fingers curling tightly into the fabric.

He wasn't concerned with how bad of an idea this was, how it would inevitably cause more problems than they already had. Currently, he was only concerned with trying to keep the noises rising in his throat to a minimum. Which was much easier said than done, at this point.

Raylan didn't just go with Tim for that single step to the door. He practically slammed the other man against it. Aggression bleeding into ever movement, anything to press closer. To get more. Because the moment that blood touched his tongue, his hunger both roared louder and sighed in contentment. He bit harder, digging his fangs deeper. Knowing he shouldn't. But he need more.

But this was a problem. A major problem. Even if at the moment it didn't feel like one. Because with his self control utterly wrecked, it wasn't just his hunger that sought to rule him. Those sounds Tim made were just so encouraging. Hips pressed against hips, and a shiver ran through him. A low growl sounded from the back of his throat, thick and muffled with blood. A warning to himself. To Tim. It needed to stop, end here, but it felt so damn good.

Tim knew that Raylan couldn't take as much blood as he usually did. He was already unhealthily low on it as it was, thanks to the feedings he participated in during the last week. He was aware that it needed to stop, but it was hard to care through the euphoria, especially once Raylan's hips pressing close only added to the intense pleasure. His hand slid back to the other man's ass, just to ensure Raylan stayed close.

A shiver ran down his spine, a sick combination of pleasure and blood loss and Raylan's cool body against his. It didn't necessarily become uncomfortable or painful, but everything started to dull a little, and Tim's head swam fuzzily. The moans softened before they tapered off completely, but his breathing remained shaky and unsteady.

"Raylan," he murmured, and there were still faint traces of pleased breathlessness in the way he said it, though it was mostly an attempt to get his attention. His hand flattened against the curve of Raylan's collarbone, pushing instead of pulling now. "Stop."

Raylan knew he should stop. He could feel the pulse between his teeth growing thready and weak. He was taking too much. Under it all, he knew that. And he really did want to stop. He tried to stop. But as Tim started pushing at him, he just bit harder. Refusing to let go. He'd told himself no more. But it became one last time. It was as if part of him wanted to make sure it was the last time. Use the deputy up completely for his last time.

It wasn't so much a thought as an urge. A wordless desire to just keep going until there was nothing left. It was that feeling that made him at last pull himself away. Well after Tim started shoving at him. It took so much force to make himself let go that he actually stumbled a few steps back. He hadn't calmed at all, his eyes still violent and red, his chin now smeared to match.

"This!" He growled. "This is what you wanted!"

This was what he wanted. It was still what he wanted. Despite how weak he felt, how fuzzy his head was, how close he probably was to passing out from blood loss, the euphoria had yet to fade away. It would probably fade faster than normal, since the feeding was short and he was in pretty rough shape. But as long as it was still there, this was what he wanted.

Hell, even when it wasn't there, this would be what he wanted.

He murmured a soft agreement, leaning all his weight back against the door. He brought an arm up, pressing the sleeve of his shirt against his neck. What he really wanted to do was sit down right where he stood, but he remained mostly upright. Out of sheer stubbornness, and maybe to prove a point.

"This is exactly what I wanted," he said, and it was hard to tell if he was calm or if his voice was just remarkably quiet. "So stop bein' angry about it."

Raylan, always ready to be attacked or lashed out at when he did wrong, had expected it even now. He always knew when he fucked up. Well, most of the time, when it was really bad. He could feel it when he'd gone too far on any one thing. Like an itch in his back, waiting to be struck. But Tim hasn't even angry. Not even irritated. That tone in his voice wasn't dangerous calm, it wasn't the terrifying quiet of an oncoming storm.

For a terrifying moment, everything felt just wrong.

It wasn't just that Tim wasn't angry. It was that look on Tim's face. Deep down, Raylan knew Tim had a problem. Just like before, he'd known the man had a problem with alcohol. But he was a good marshal and got the job done. But he'd never seen it like this. And it was worse now, because just as deep down he knew that if he hadn't stopped himself when he did, something worse would have happened. Was that what Tim wanted?

Rather than think about it, Raylan just cursed under his breath. "I'll be as damn angry as I wanna be," he growled. He moved closer, his irritation serving as a suitable guard against any surges of hunger. "This sorta shit's how you wind up dead." As if he weren't the one who'd done it. "Lemme see that." He was tugging Tim's hand away from the wound, already reaching up to slice his thumb on a fang. Even with the warning he'd given about this very thing, he wasn't about to let Tim bleed out all over the motel floor.

Tim wondered how exhausting it must have been to be as high strung as Raylan was, and the thought almost made him laugh, the high still fogging his brain. He ended only smiling instead, a faint twitch of his lips.

He was having trouble caring about Raylan's lecture, even though the other man was completely right. This was stupid, what he was doing. It was dangerous and reckless and he was overestimating his own strength and his ability to fend off vampires. But it was hard to think about that when too many days went by and he could practically feel his veins burning for the bite. He had a problem. Logically, he knew that. But he'd never found anything that worked quite this well at keeping the nightmares and paranoia at bay.

At least he wasn't drinking so much anymore. A silver lining.

"I'm fine," he said, and though he tried to press his sleeve harder to his neck, he didn't really have the energy it took to keep Raylan's hands away from him. His hand ended up dropping, but it was only to grab Raylan's wrist, eyes open suddenly. His gaze was rather unfocused, but he looked from Raylan to the drop of blood on his thumb.

He could still hear Raylan's voice telling him what it meant when vampires gave humans their blood, that it made the humans belong to them, and Tim didn't know how he felt about that. About belonging to Raylan. "I'm okay," he assured quietly.

It wasn't the same, Raylan convinced himself easily of that. He wasn't feeding the blood to Tim. Besides, the whole thing wore off in a day or so. It wasn't that big of a deal because unlike the other psychos out there, he had no intention of abusing any side effects that could ever come of it. That made it okay for him to do it, just like it had been okay for him to wield a firearm in any given situation. He knew how to do it responsibly.

Granted, Raylan had never been given vampire blood, apart from the night he'd been turned. He'd never actually experienced it as a human. He'd just been told. Not only did it create a connection, but it made the person stronger, more aware of things, all around heartier. No one had informed Raylan about the dreams it might cause. Or anything it might do for him.

"I ain't gonna let you sit here and bleed out, just sit still." He smeared his thumb over the wound before Tim could stop him. It didn't mean anything. At most, maybe others would think twice before sinking their fangs into Tim. That's it. Nothing more.

Tim pushed Raylan's hands away as soon as the other man would let him, frowning deeply. He could already feel the rough marks Raylan had left behind starting to heal, as well as the ones from the vampires earlier in the week, leaving nothing by tiny white scars. Incidentally, whatever strength and energy he got from Raylan's blood was quickly cutting through the high that the bite had left him with.

That was probably what he was most annoyed about, honestly.

"Fuck you," he muttered, and pushed off the door, past Raylan, to drop himself onto the bed. He didn't care that there was blood drying on his throat, Raylan's and his own. His jeans still felt too tight, but he opted to ignore that for now. "I wasn't gonna bleed out. I am capable of takin' care of myself."

Mostly, he wished Raylan would stop pretending he cared.

"Bullshit," Raylan says, simply. He was starting to see that anything outside of actual marshal work, Tim wasn't capable of much beyond self destruction. Something Raylan should have seen long ago. Maybe he did. Maybe that's why he took such a shine to Tim in the first place. Like minded.

Right now he was trying to ignore something else entirely. He rolled his shoulders and ran a hand over his neck, hiding it by rolling his neck. The sort of way a man might when irritated and trying to rid himself of the tension it caused. But he couldn't shake that strange ghost of a feeling at his throat. Like any time he'd been bitten himself, that way it felt when he was forced to remember it as vividly as possible. And never mind whatever else he was feeling. That was par for the course when dealing with Tim.

"Maybe now that you're head's clear, you can start talkin' about what the hell all that was about." Because Tim pushing him was more important than his giving in.

At least Tim had a decent excuse for his self-destruction. Two tours in Afghanistan, eight years of combat and back-to-back assassinations, were not easy things to deal with once he got back stateside. It left him only feeling comfortable when he felt like he was at war, which the marshals service provided for him quite nicely, most days.

But sometimes there was too big of a stretch of downtime at work, too many days in a row where all they did was desk work, and that made Tim restless. And restlessness led to self destructive behavior. It was a vicious cycle, but so long as he remained functioning and able to do his job, it wasn't really a problem.

He was fine. He was handling it. Which meant he also didn't need to talk about it.

Tim laid back on the bed, shifting uncomfortably. He'd probably call in sick tomorrow. Not something he did often but something he needed to do this time. Let himself sleep for the day.

"We gonna start havin' heart-to-hearts now, Raylan?" Tim asked, and he shifted his gaze to look at the other man, brows arched. "Because I think that requires you to not be a dick."

Tim was far less fine than he thought at handling things. Even Raylan could see that. He was barely keeping it together, just barely. Did that mean Raylan was going to talk about the root of the problem? Of course not. That would mean owning up to his own issues and having, as Tim put it, a heart-to-heart. Which didn't happen unless he saw fit to share something that might save a scared 14 year old kid. But Tim was far from that.

"And it requires you not bein' a smart ass. So it ain't gonna happen in this or any lifetime." He didn't want to sit down. That would put them on the same level, with Tim lying down. It didn't feel right. He needed to be on his feet for this.

"What we're gonna talk about is why you couldn't just let me leave and be done with this whole mess. Which, by the way, now that we've come this far, I ain't leavin'. I'm stayin' here until you start talkin'." That was probably the most direct he'd ever been with Tim, the closest he'd ever sounded to actually caring. Because he was starting to see Tim differently. Not as a former partner, not as a lawman. But as the sorts of people he ran across in Harlan. Not criminals exactly, and not addicts. But people who were well on their way to heading down a very bad road. People that maybe, just maybe, he could get on the right track before they got too far.

Of course Raylan only wanted to talk when it wasn't about him. Tim was the same way. It was easier to deflect or evade or simply not talk. Tim only ever tolerated so many questions before he shut it down or changed the subject, generally unsubtle and unapologetic. And to literally nobody's surprise, this was definitely not something Tim cared to talk about.

He had trouble admitting his vices to himself, let alone other people. Let alone Raylan.

Tim sighed, draping an arm across his eyes. Eventually, he'd work up the effort needed to get up and take a shower, clean himself up a little and feel a little less strung out and wrecked. Crashing after a high was never much different from a particularly bad hangover, and Tim had dealt with a lot of terrible hangovers.

"I hope you plan on stayin' awhile, then," he said, unmoving. "Because I'm not talkin'."

Raylan settled his hands on his hips, head bowed and lips pressed firmly together. He wanted to threaten that he could MAKE Tim talk. It would be easy. But the moment he even considered it, he could feel it. It wasn't like other types of control. Where it took obvious effort and blatant eye contact. In wa way he didn't quite understand, the connection was just there. Inviting him to take it up.

In becoming aware of it, he became aware of a few other things. The connection hadn't just been established. It was open and roaring. The source of the strange feeling at his throat. The discomfort elsewhere. Did Tim know it was there? Did he know what this could mean?

Rather than say anything, or even think about it directly, Raylan just moved to the chair. He plucked up his hat as he sat down, and settled it on his head. Leaning back, he made it very clear he was willing to wait as long as it took. "You talk," he said finally, "You get what you want."

It was also easier when Raylan just responded to everything with anger. The anger and hostility was something Tim was accustomed to, something he was used to dealing with. It was sure as hell easier to respond to than the reasoning and bargaining Raylan had chosen to do instead. Tim wished he kept being angry instead.

Normally, this was where Tim did whatever he needed to do to make Raylan leave, which wasn't ever difficult. This was messy and complicated and not something either of them wanted to consider the finer parts of, so it was always just simpler for them to part ways. But there was something in him that wanted Raylan to stay here, and stay close.

Something other than the usual highschool-crush like infatuation that had continued to linger ever since Raylan marched his cowboy ass into their office for the first time.

He dropped his arm from his eyes and turned his head to look at Raylan. "You mean what I can get from any other asshole with fangs out there? Lexington's got a shockingly high vampire population. And most of 'em aren't gonna give me shit for it, either."

Never mind everything else he wanted from Raylan. Somehow, that managed to be even messier. Not to mention that suddenly, the idea of letting anybody else other than Raylan feed from him didn't actually sound appealing at all. That was definitely messier.

Raylan rolled his shoulders, settling a little more into the chair. "That ain't what I'm talkin' about."

That was all he said. But there was so much weight to all that he didn't say. In a way, he wanted it to. That is to say, the reason he'd sat down was that if he'd kept standing there by the bed, he would have ended up ON the bed. Well, not exactly the bed as on top of Tim. He blamed that weird connection for making him consider it so strongly. But what other reason could there be for wanting it so bad? He never really wanted it, it just sort of happened that one time and it felt good. That's it. Nevermind how uncomfortably snug his jeans tended to get with Tim around.

He was putting the ball in Tim's court. Talk, and they get to do that thing he could feel Tim wanted to do. Nothing to do with his own urges and feelings. Not a bit. And he certainly wasn't watching Tim from under the brim of his hat. He wasn't letting his gaze linger anywhere it shouldn't. That was for damn sure. Just making sure he was breathing and behaving normally. Nothing more.

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.

Raylan couldn't argue with that. It irritated him. And it showed. Because he knew all too well what Tim referred to, though it was more that Raylan couldn't drink anymore. He had to find other things to wind down and relax. Bourbon just didn't have the same effect it used to. But he wasn't sure he would agree that it was any better. It was a hell of a lot more dangerous, that's for sure.

There was more to it that he didn't want to think about. Especially that last bit about being able to relax. That held far more meaning than he wanted to even start to consider. But he understood it on a level he couldn't quite describe and doubted it had anything to do with that strange connection.

He just let out a slow breath, lips pressed together, trying very hard to not think about any of this. All the while part of him was reaching out across that connection and whispering "come closer." It wasn't conscious on his part, though he did consider getting up and going over to Tim himself. That just wouldn't do. It would ruin the stubborn vibe he had going on. So he just sat, silently and unintentionally beckoning.

Tim had been back stateside for two years, and the truth was, combat had affected him in ways that still weren't fixed yet. The episodes were bad and frequent for awhile, but those, at least, had gotten under control. There were still plenty of nightmares, and he couldn't stand or sit or sleep with his back to the room without his skin crawling, didn't ever feel safe without his gun within arms reach. He'd known plenty of other veterans who turned to drinking, and even more that turned to drugs. This was similar, and it happened to work very well.

He was coping, and he didn't really ever expect Raylan to understand that.

At first, he didn't move, even if he could feel an insistent tugging in the pit of his stomach, urging him to be closer to Raylan. For a moment, he resisted, if only because he wanted Raylan to be the one to make the first move. But then he grew unusually impatient, and he stood up with a short huff.

The high from the bite had worn off completely, and he was a little steadier on his feet than before, thanks to Raylan's blood. He moved around the bed to stand in front of Raylan, reaching up to touch the brim of the other man's hat with his fingers. "Satisfied?" he murmured.

Raylan lifted his head, as if surprised Tim were there. He'd heard the man move, of course. Watched him approach, but the why of it escaped him. Not realizing just how sensitive that connection was. A stray urge, a barely acknowledged thought had turned into something far more. Something it shouldn't have.

Thing was, Raylan knew about coping far too well. In ways he never discussed with anyone. Sure, he mentioned it from time to time, and everyone knew what a terrible man Arlo had been. But no one really knew how much that still effected Raylan's day-to-day life. He certainly wasn't about to lay that all bare right here to let Tim know how much he understood. It may not have been a battlefield, but it still gave them common ground.

For now he scrutinized Tim, eyes narrowed. "For what? You admittin'--" He cut off that particular thread of anger and just let let out a sigh. "Do I look like I'm satisfied?" He felt uneasy. Unsettled and not quite right. Like this was all wrong.