errantechoes | (no subject)

Just one more minute. That was all he needed — that was what Tim told himself. That was all he was going to allow himself, anyway. He listened to the end of the Lynyrd Skynyrd song playing on the radio, listened to the last notes and the last chords and the last words. Then he shut off the car and got out, heading toward the room Raylan had went into. He was definitely feeling a hell of a lot less vulnerable than he had been in the parking lot. He reckoned it was a good thing he didn't end up having to seek out somebody else to do this, not in the state he'd been in. It would've made an already bad decision worse. He let himself into the room, taking a brief look around, clocking whatever doors and windows there were and what furniture was and wasn't bolted down. "You couldn't have picked less of a shit-kicker motel?" he asked dryly.

"Harlan's best," he said sarcastically, with a vague gesture of surrender. He plucked the hat off his head, to settle it on the table under the window. Next came his jacket, that he hung on the hook by the door. All of it a delay tactic. Things to keep his hands busy, to not think about the fact that they weren't doing this in some disgusting back alley that reeked of last week's trash. No noise but what leaked through the walls from the nearby highway, and the TV in the next room over. To Tim, they'd be muffled, barely even there, but Raylan could hear them clear as a bell. They were what he focused on, trying to not hear every breath, every heart beat of the man in the room with him.

Tim snorted softly, rolled his eyes a little, though he didn't doubt that this really was the best Harlan had to offer. He took his time shrugging off his jacket, folding it over the back of a chair. It felt different, doing it in a hotel room as opposed to some back alley downtown. Back alleys were made for dirty deeds like fang banging and illicit vampire feedings. Skeevy motel rooms were made for... something else. It was more intimate, somehow, as if the entire process weren't already intimate enough. But it was easy enough for him to shut all that away, like he'd shut everything else away, and sit on the edge of the bed. He didn't say anything right away, deciding it was better to let Raylan do it at his own pace.

Once his coat was hung and he made sure the door was locked and he took in all of the exits and the layout of the room, which was the third time he'd done it since setting foot inside, there was nothing else to use as a delay. If he started prying off his boots and removing anything else, that would just make it weird. Starting was always the hard part. He knew the motions well, it was no different from any other intimate activity, only the other party wasn't a pretty blonde woman. And he was thinking way too much with the wrong head to make this easy. He slowly made his over to the bed, for a moment looking every bit like an awkward teenager, which wasn't too far off from how he felt.

Like with all things, he pushed it down. It happened, visibly, between one step and the next. It was subtle, but the tension eased out of his shoulders, his posture improved, his expression eased. Because the truth of the matter was that he needed this, there was no point in denying that. And Tim wanted it. They were both committed to this happening. He moved with ease as he moved onto the bed. One knee pressed into the old mattress as his hand came up to Tim's neck, pulling him closer. He kept his eyes downcast, but it could still be seen they'd changed. He wasn't holding back anymore.

Raylan had always been reluctant whenever they were starting (because starting was the hard part, and ending was the worst, and the middle was one of the best god damn things Tim had ever experienced), but it was a little different this time. He wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been watching Raylan stall. There were a lot of things different about this time compared to all the others, and it wasn't just because they were in a motel room. He watched Raylan shake off the tension and awkwardness like he was shaking off rain, not unlike the way Tim had locked everything away earlier.

Tim swallowed hard as he was guided closer. Anticipation and want and need burned beneath his skin, making his heart thump a little harder, and he told himself that it was a purely physical reaction from needing to be bitten and had nothing to do with Raylan's hand on the back of his neck and how close they were. He wanted to reach up and touch the veins around Raylan's eyes, but like usual, he kept his hands by his sides, refusing to lift them until he needed something to hold onto. He tilted his chin up, waiting, trying to keep his breathing steady.

Just as before, Raylan forced down any thought about what was happening. He let the hunger guide him. It had been screaming at him since he'd been dragged out of that trailer, and now he could stop ignoring it. Fingers slid up into Tim's hair, urging his head further to the side. His lips dragged over the delicate skin, inhaling a slow breath. His thumb hooked under the collar of Tim's shirt, tugging it aside, as his lips found a spot that could be easily hidden. Sharp teeth grazed over his slip, but he didn't bite just yet.

Trying to control his breathing was a lost cause. With every move Raylan made, Tim's breathing hitched or picked up, some of it subtle, some of it not so much. He was tense, every muscle in his body coiled and waiting, fingers curling impatiently into his palms. A shiver fell down his spine at the feeling of Raylan's lips on his neck and teeth grazing his skin. It took all of his willpower not to press up into it, determined not to push Raylan or make him rush.

Raylan was keenly aware of every shift and every breath. He'd tried so hard to block it out, now it was all he could hear. It's all he wanted to hear. He let it wash over him and drive out all else. And in doing so, it was incredibly clear to him what he needed to do. The only thing he wanted to do. Slowly, he let those fangs sink into that all too familiar skin. He'd found a spot that wouldn't bleed as much as what he usually went for, nor did he bite as deeply as he usually did. They didn't need to make it quick. He could drink slowly, savor it and make it last.

They'd never really had the time to go about it slow before. It was always quick and dirty, because lingering was just a bad idea, and it was technically supposed to be official business. It never felt like official business, but it was supposed to be. This, though, was so beyond the realm of official business. It wasn't fast, but Tim didn't hate it; it was a nice, slow burn. He made a soft noise of pain when Raylan's fangs finally pierced his skin and only clamped down on it once it started to shift into a groan. He always swallowed down whatever pleasure that tried to rise in his throat when they did this. One arm circled around Raylan, fingers curling into the back of his shirt.

The hand in Tim's hair shifted, moving more to cup his cheek than actually hold onto him. His other hand moved around to Tim's back, pulling him closer. He sucked slowly at the small wounds he'd made, with no more pressure than a lover might use to create a hickey. He worked his teeth against it anytime it slowed, being so incredibly careful not to let any escape. Enough time had passed that normally he'd start worrying about going to far or taking too much, but they weren't anywhere near that. And the only urge he was resisting was that to lay Tim down on the bed. It was bad enough he was clinging to the man, half straddling his lap with one knee on the bed and the other foot planted on the floor.

Tim refrained from arching up or pulling Raylan down, staying very still instead. His hand smoothed out in Raylan's shirt, resting flat against his back. His free hand came up, fingers curling around Raylan's wrist as if to hold him there. Tim tilted his head back further, eyes closed and lips parted, trying and only marginally succeeding not to pant. The only thing he could find to compare this too, the slow build and curling pleasure, was a torturous, articulate blowjob. Only this felt so much better, with the intense natural euphoria that came with it. It was so close to being as good as the first time it happened.

In not rushing, in not having to worry about going too far too fast, something in Raylan relaxed. Something deep inside him that had been coiled tight for so long he'd stopped noticing it. And as it unclenched, he found it harder to resist that urge of his. Not because he wanted it any more or less than before, but because as he started to relax, conscious thought because far less of a priority. So it wasn't long at all before he was shifting his position, his hands gently trying to push Tim back onto the bed.

Tim was too far gone now to even try and care about the incredibly level of intimacy they were apparently heading straight for. All he could concentrate on was having Raylan's mouth on him. He only clung to Raylan's shirt tighter as he allowed himself to be guided back, intent on not letting Raylan be too far away. He laid back, head tilting back automatically to bare his neck further, legs shifting to accommodate Raylan's position.

Raylan paid no attention to their positions beyond the proximity of his mouth to Tim's throat. The very brief window that he had to pull away so they could shift was far too long. In his haste to reclaim it, his knee ended up pressed to the bed between Tim's thighs, intimately close. But he didn't seem to notice or care. One hand planted against the bed beside the deputy's head, the other rested on the other side of his neck, just as it had been before.

It would've been so easy for Tim to hike his leg up against Raylan's hip, to arch and press into him and make this even more intimate than it already was. The line they'd never quite crossed was already blurred beyond belief, and it wouldn't take much to obliterate it completely. But he didn't; he left the line where it was and focused on the hand on his neck, bringing his hands around to grip at the front of Raylan's shirt.

And it would take just the smallest shift of position to inadvertently cross over that line that was so blurred it was incredibly difficult to see. Consciously, he knew things that were most certainly on the other side of that line. But what he refused to even consider was that things that tied into that feeling he craved were also on that side of the line. And since he was very much not working at coherent, conscious level, he stepped right over where he knew the line should be. He lowered himself to his elbow, his entire lean form pressing against Tim's body, his thigh pressing right against something that no two professional men should even have considered.

What Tim hadn't expected was Raylan crossing the line for them. He thought he would have to be the one to do it, if it were going to happen at all. He was pleasantly surprised to find out he'd been wrong. Raylan pressed himself down and Tim let out a startled moan that he'd intended on holding back. His hands slid back around to grip at Raylan's shoulders, needing something more solid to hold onto than just his shirt. Then he did bring his leg up against Raylan's hip, pressing upwards in return. The feeling of having Raylan properly on top of him mixed with the feeling of Raylan's fangs in his neck was almost enough to make him dizzy.

Feeling Tim move under him brought about a quiver of doubt under all of those warm, good feelings. He knew he shouldn't be doing this, that he should stop all together. But it was inspiring other feelings, stirring up other things, that made thinking even more difficult, and his jeans incredibly uncomfortable. He pulled back from the bite, ever so slightly. Just enough to press his lips together. He let out an unsteady breath, wanting to press down and get a little friction for himself. But instead he just shifted, his thigh rubbing against the deputy's jeans. "Tim..." he breathed out, knowing he should say they should stop, but wanting so bad to ask for something more.

Tim didn't even care that Raylan wasn't actively biting him anymore, because he was still high on the feeling of it, and would be for a little while yet, with or without Raylan's teeth in him. Tim only shook his head at his name, not really capable of forming any coherent words. He rocked his hips up hard, groaning into Raylan's shoulder at the incredible friction. He didn't want to stop, because as soon as they stopped and the feelings had the chance to subside, he'd have to actually think about it, and thinking was the last thing he wanted to do. That was why he was here to begin with.

That small encouragement was all that was needed to completely obliterate the last shred of resolve he had to hold himself back. The same thing that got him into bed with Ava, with Winona, and had the two of them in that hotel room. All at once, he shifted gears. Lips still tinged with blood, fangs still out, he moved up to crush his lips against Tim's. He pushed himself up slightly, to get both hands between them, fingers blindly tugging at the man's belt to get it unfastened.

He could taste his own blood on Raylan's lips, something sharp and coppery on his tongue, and something about it turned him on. Raylan's fangs were sharp on his mouth, threatening to break the delicate skin. So he kissed back harder, inviting it, wanting it as much as he wanted Raylan's hands in his jeans. His hands shifted back to the front of Raylan's shirt, fingers working shakily at the buttons.

Raylan was conscious enough to not let his fangs tear into Tim's lower lip, but the dragged over the delicate skin enough to draw out the smallest amount of blood. Tasting it there pulled the neediest moan from him, as he kissed harder. Wrenching the buckle open finally, he started tugging and pulling at the button and zipper, fingers sliding under the denim the moment he got it open.

Tim swallowed the moan, letting his tongue slide over Raylan's lips and fangs and the cut in his own lip. He'd given up on getting Raylan's shirt off for the time being; his hands were steady enough and his concentration was shot. Instead, he slid a hand up to Raylan's neck, curling around the back of it like he wanted to hold him there. He arched his hips up needily, pulse stuttering unevenly in his throat.

Raylan didn't care about his shirt. He sucked hard at that bleeding lip for a moment, his hand stalled. But when he kissed Tim properly again, blood tinging it still, he tugged those jeans down to Tim's thighs. His palm slid over the other's boxers before his fingers gave that cock a firm squeeze. He didn't seem to care that his own jeans were painfully snug. He just cared that he could taste and smell the arousal growing with each touch. He could hear it in every breath, every beat of Tim's heart, and he wanted more of it.

All Tim could do was moan like a whore against Raylan's mouth, hands gripping at him desperately, tasting the metallic tang of the blood in the kiss. His mind was a fog of high and arousal, absolutely useless for anything that wasn't Raylan's lips on his or the hand rubbing his cock. He groaned louder, somewhat brokenly, at that, hips pressing upwards needily for more.