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Tim isn't looking so hot.
He wasn't looking great on Monday morning, when he complained about the blood bank running out before he got there. He was looking worse on Tuesday, when he overslept and came in fully representing the walking dead. He actually looked all right on Wednesday, when they were all riding high on a late night/early morning recovery. He looked like dried-up shit on Thursday, when he was slouching onto the plane with the brim of his cap pulled low over his eyes.
And now, lost in the woods in Colorado, searching for a fugitive Raylan is getting more and more sure has already been eaten by a bear, Tim looks moments away from a breakdown.
"We're not lost," he hisses, fangs dropping down without warrant. His irises have long since turned brilliant red, and Raylan's pretty sure it's only the thick foliage of the canopy keeping his skin from charring.
"Right," Raylan agrees amiably. "A Ranger's never lost."
Tim ignores him and continues squinting down at his compass.
Raylan dutifully follows behind him as Tim strides off in a seemingly random direction. "Why don't you ask the forest animals where to go?"
The glare Tim shoots him tells him all he needs to know, but Tim answers anyway, "The mountain lion stalking you isn't interested in chatting, and she scared off anyone else who'd know."
Raylan isn't going to ask if he's kidding.
"Will you at least eat something?" he asks, exasperated. "You haven't fed all week."
Tim stills.
"You offering?" he asks, his darting gaze narrowing in on Raylan.
He looks like a predator.
Raylan gulps, but steels himself. He knows live feeding is. . . fraught. Sexually charged, for one thing, and emotionally intimate for another. One of those scares him much more than the other.
He rolls up his sleeve and holds his arm out.
Tim doesn't waste any time.
The pain registers first, quick and sharp. Then comes the awful, gnawing hunger, throbbing painfully like a neglected wound. Then, finally, thankfully, a floating sense of pleasure fills Raylan's body, pulsing in waves with the beat of his heart.
Raylan moans and sinks slowly to his knees, leaf litter crunching under his weight.
Tim maintains a vise grip on Raylan's forearm, but his gaze never leaves Raylan's face. His pupils have swallowed up all the color in his eyes, dark black pools of want and need.
Raylan shuffles closer to rest his head against Tim's thigh, closing his eyes to bask in the warmth of the feeding. He feels a large upwelling of fondness, but he can tell somehow that it isn't his own. It must be coming from Tim, and Raylan hums in satisfaction.
He blinks his eyes open a little to see Tim swelling in his cargo pants. It would be a stronger man than he who could resist the temptation to nuzzle forward into Tim's crotch to encourage its growth.
Raylan doesn't even try to resist.
Tim pushes his hips forward, but then jerks away with a small noise. He pulls his teeth from Raylan's wrist, and the connection between them cuts off abruptly.
Raylan whines, and then grumbles, "Hey," blearily. He looks up at Tim and sees his pupils still blown, dripping fangs still out, and a small wisp of smoke where the shifting of the canopy let in a ray of sunlight. "You're not done," Raylan protests.
"I don't wanna fuck you out here," Tim answers, lisping a little around his canines.
Scoffing, Raylan retorts, "C'mon, man. You haven't lived 'til you've screwed in the woods."
"It's been a while since I've done any living," Tim replies, dropping Raylan's arm in order to cross his own.
Raylan scoffs again and rolls his eyes. "What's the point in living forever if you're gonna act like you're already dead?"
Tim narrows his eyes. "I am dead."
With a click of his tongue, Raylan raises a finger in protest. "I think there's a very critical 'un-' that you're forgetting, there," he says, meeting Tim's eye steadily.
Tim looks back seriously for a long moment, but then huffs a laugh. "Fine. Take off your clothes."
In no time at all, Raylan has stripped down to his birthday suit and laid back on that normally-irritating Marshals-issued windbreaker. Tim leers down at him, belt unbuckled, and then drops down to his knees between Raylan's spread legs.
Raylan offers his arm, wound still sluggishly oozing, and Tim takes it more delicately than he did earlier. He mouths gently at Raylan's radial pulse, where the blood inside sings in sympathy with Tim's hunger.
Raylan uses his other hand to try to shove Tim closer to his previous bite, but he doesn't budge. Instead, Tim slowly licks up the smeared trails on Raylan's forearm, taking his time despite the desperation Raylan can feel fuzzing against the edge of his consciousness.
"C'mon," Raylan moans, "please."
It's probably not due to his begging, but Tim finally reaches the previous bite. He waits for Raylan to meet his gaze before slowly sliding his fangs back into flesh.
The connection between them slams back into place, and Raylan's hips buck futilely into the air. He feels Tim's pleased sigh more than he hears it, but it's followed quickly by an awful tearing sensation as Tim drags his fangs downward.
Blood begins to drip past Tim's mouth, and he catches most of it on his fingers. After a moment, Tim resumes sucking at the wound, and Raylan can almost taste the iron on his tongue from how much he's enjoying it.
He gets lost in the pleasure until he feels Tim's wet fingers prodding questingly at his hole. Raylan groans at the thought of his own blood smoothing the way and manages to relax enough that Tim can slide in two fingers at once. It's a decent stretch, but the sense of Tim's satisfaction overwhelms the burn.
It feels like no time before Tim is pulling both his fingers and his fangs out of Raylan. The loss has him squirming and reaching out instinctively to try to grab Tim back.
"Hold on, sweetheart," Tim murmurs, pressing an iron-tinged kiss to Raylan's mouth. He sits back on his heels long enough to unzip his pants and pull down his boxers to expose his cock.
Raylan's own cock twitches at the sight of it.
Tim grins, mouth and chin stained bright, oxidized red. He looks less like a hungry wolf and more like an excited puppy.
It's still hot.
He looks his fill for a moment longer, and then uses a hand to collect the blood leaking from the bite wound. Slicking himself up takes all of a second, then the head of his cock is pressing against Raylan's entrance.
Tim doesn't push in right away, though, and instead he grabs Raylan's arm and raises it to his mouth.
Raylan whines.
With one hand holding Raylan's arm and the other his hip, Tim bites down and pushes inside in near the same moment.
Raylan gasps and has to breathe carefully through his mouth to get through the simultaneous feelings of pain and pleasure. Once he's settled, and Tim is fully seated, he looks up at Tim, whose eyes are half-lidded and slightly unfocused.
He grabs Tim's ass with his free hand and urges him to move.
Tim snaps out of his moment of blissful contemplation and refocuses. He pulls his hips back minutely and rocks forward, making Raylan squeeze a handful of his ass through his cargo pants.
"More, c'mon," Raylan pleads, feeling full and needing something to be done about it.
Tim makes a sound of appeasement that he punctuates with an obscene slurp. But he complies nonetheless, drawing back farther and slamming back in harder. He sets a quick pace that has Raylan moaning and groaning something awful.
The physical sensations combined with the phantom emotions coming from Tim are driving Raylan insane. He arches his back as Tim drives in, lighting up his prostate in a way that has him whimpering.
Tim growls in satisfaction and reaches up to run a hand through Raylan's hair. The motion leaves blood behind, but Raylan barely considers what a pain it'll be to get out later. Rather, he's getting lightheaded and slightly delirious.
"Tim, Tim," he mumbles, struggling to get the words out.
Humming encouragement, Tim readjusts and then bites down deeper.
The pain pushes Raylan over the edge, despite how neglected his cock has been through the whole scene. He shouts and comes all over himself, tightening down on Tim's cock reflexively.
Tim follows him like it's a matter of course, and Raylan's vision whites out from the strength of his orgasm through their bloody connection.
When Raylan comes back to himself, blinking away stars, Tim has extricated both his cock and his fangs and is rifling through his pockets. Raylan tries to ask what he's doing, but all that comes out is a confused sound.
Tim finds what he's looking for and holds it up.
"Pressure dressing," he identifies, and soon he has it secured to Raylan's bite wound. "Didn't bring any orange juice, so we're gonna sit here while you drink some water."
Raylan finds his voice. "You got any moist towelettes in there?" he asks, gesturing down the mess of blood and semen marking up his body.
Tim nods shortly and goes back to his pockets. "Oh, hey. Granola bar," he says, and tosses a chocolate chip Chewy bar at Raylan.
He catches it, barely, and tears it open. Before taking a bite, Raylan says, "I expected you to be better organized than this."
Scowling, Tim finally digs out a little packet of Wet Wipes. "I am. I just get a little. . . blood drunk."
"Ah, but we're taking a few minutes for my benefit."
Tim doesn't bother responding to that, and instead starts to clean up the come on Raylan's belly.
Raylan chews thoughtfully at his granola bar and, against his better instincts, lets himself get taken care of.