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“So ya think you’re funny, hm, Marshal Givens?”
We could start telling the story from that point.
Or maybe the beginning of this particular tale was a text message in his phone, received at 11:30 p.m., that read:
“You gonna get what you deserve soon enough, asshole.”
Or, yet: let us start with US Marshal Raylan Givens waking up by falling, head first, right into his own bathroom floor, half his body inside the shower install. He was suddenly conscious of a piercing headache; the kind brought by a hangover that you only get from drinking way too much rum, lights exploding behind his eyelids. He’s not wearing any pants or underwear (even though he’s still wearing a wife beater), there’s melted chocolate in his fingers and something dry on his lips and half of his face that Raylan is 89% sure it’s someone else’s come.
“Gonna eat my come, boy?” Boyd holds his hair between his fingers, furiously jerking off in front of Raylan’s raised face. Raylan thinks about answering with words, but the only possible response his body manages is to offer his tongue out to the man standing in front of him, licking the cock’s head with sloppy movements, dying to know what Boyd tastes like.
Shit.
So he sucked Boyd off last night. Or, at least, kneeled at the man’s feet long enough to get his first facial. He has the feeling he’s getting a bit too old for that, but that kind of thought hasn’t crossed his mind as he stared up the angry red cock: he quite remembers it was the hottest he felt in a long time without anyone touching his own dick.
He has to wonder how good it was for Boyd, though, if the man couldn’t bother to lift him out from the bathroom floor.
Raylan tries to raise himself again, enough that he can at least wash his own face on the sink. He’s gonna do it slowly, very slowly, one muscle at a time. As he lifts his arm from under his own body, a fading pain echoes through his chest, enough that he wonders if he’s going to find a bruise there.
His body is giving mixed signals, as if he’s been both in an orgy and in a fist fight.
The second he was inside the apartment, he was immediately turned face first against the door, chest slamming over the wood, a strong arm pushing him hard on the surface.
“So ya think you’re funny, hm, Marshal Givens?”
It was a good thing Raylan was half tipsy of Rachel’s second birthday party, otherwise he wouldn’t know what could have happen – this thing between him and Boyd was still very young, a novelty of sorts, and he was still getting used to have his body pressed against another man, a man’s hand over his skin in a desirable way, not in a fight or in a combat. Raylan was still getting used to wanting those hands over his body, still getting used to wanting this.
As it was, Raylan’s slow reflex couldn’t really do much against Boyd’s determination: the other’s man hard body was pressing against him in no time; fingers digging and teeth biting right against his lobe.
“You had a good laugh with your friends? Did ya?” Boyd licks his earlobe, and Raylan can tell by his breath that he probably had a few drinks himself. Raylan feels himself melting against the warmth behind him.
Oh yeah, Boyd was pissed at him because of the prank last night. Or, better yet, Boyd wasn’t pissed at him but thought about using the prank as a good enough of an excuse to rough him up a bit. Yeah, that sounds about right.
Raylan finally manages to lift his body from the floor. As he does, the pain and the dry come between his naked legs makes it clear it wasn’t much of a mystery who was last night’s bottom. He takes a second to decide that yes, he can indeed live with that without much of a crisis, and that the headache from the hangover is still much, much worse than the pain in his unvirgined ass. He just wishes he had more memories of the happening than just the last night’s traces his body was providing.
“You wanna fuck me, Boyd?” Raylan says, with as much challenge in his voice as he can manage. “Wanna punish my ass?”
Boyd throws him without ceremony on the bed, and Raylan can’t remember how he lost his pants. But he is not backing away from the challenge, he’s pulling his legs up towards his own chest, watching as Boyd opens the bottle of lube with the hottest smile ever, promises of hell’s fire on his eyes. Raylan makes a sound low in his throat and spreads his own ass cheeks, hoping he looks half as inviting as he feels.
Well, that answer who’s idea was it, Raylan reflects as he looks over his swollen lips in the bathroom mirror ( Boyd bites his lips with intent as he breaches his hole, slowly slowly slowy going inside, the girth of the cock splitting Raylan in a way he could never imagine could be good. Raylan relaxes under the invasion, letting his body open to the insistent pressure, swallowing Boyd as the man’s teeth close on his lower lip ). There ain’t much good the bathroom sink can do for his case, filthy with come and still smelling like booze. Raylan tosses the wife beater on the floor and steps carefully into the shower, wincing as he raises one leg (Boyd’s gaining speed on his thrusts, pushing inside his hole with strength, the sound of the bodies slapping together so loud Raylan has to scream for him to go harder, to go faster, to fuck like he means it). Thank God it’s the weekend, there’s no way he would be able to sit on his ass in the office the whole day like that.
As soon as the water hits his body, Raylan groans in pain again: his right shoulder feels as if it’s on fire. He turns under the stream to try and look at it, and there it is: an ugly bite mark, dry blood around it, bruised around the edges. What. The. Fuck.
At first he feels like punching Boyd. He could take the abuse in his ass, but there was really any need to mark him? As the cold water washes away the blood, though, Raylan figures it took him more than twenty years to finally know the bite those shining teeth were hiding. With a weird feeling, Raylan realized that the more he stared at the bite, the less he thought it was ugly: once clean, the bite distinguished itself proudly on his skin, the half-moons of Boyd’s teeth clear. It was almost a signature of sorts, a drawing only Boyd could do on his skin, the purples and blues on its trace the unique hunger of Boyd’s mouth. He wonders if he asked for it too, as he touches the bite with careful fingers, pressing the skin to look for the pain.
Boyd turns him around in a fast movement, Raylan is not even aware long enough that he’s not being fucked before he’s being fucked again, hard thrusts that are even faster now that he’s on all fours and Boyd has more leverage. He’s going in deep like this, for a moment the marshal is panicking that this is way too deep, but time passes and he’s not dying from getting over-fucked, so he just relax and enjoy the fact that if he twists his hips just high enough, Boyd’s cock hits his prostate as it goes in.
It’s fucking magical, and Raylan can no longer hold the moans escaping his lips.
Boyd licks on his neck and nips lightly at the sensitive skin there, Raylan shivers and his legs tremble. Boyd kisses him lightly, but kisses he can manage, he’s getting used to the wonder of Boyd’s kisses. Boyd is licking sweat out of his skin with his tongue, and then his teeth are closing a bit harder just on the place where Raylan’s neck becomes his shoulder. Raylan manages to swallow down the moan, but can’t help but buck back on Boyd’s cock, ass squeezing the hard meat buried inside.
“You like that, hm?” Boyd asks, mouth still dangerously close to his skin.
“I- fuck, I’m not sure. I’m not in control of my ass.”
“That’s ‘cause your ass is mine now.” Boyd bites down hard on his shoulder, and Raylan’s off like a rocket.
Oh, well. So he gets off on Boyd biting him. The worst about it is that now Boyd knows this as well, and probably will use it against him. He’ll have to threat the man with federal charges just to keep his shoulders in one piece from now on.
It still sounds like fun, and that’s fucking miserable.
The water cascades around him and the headache finally gives a bit of a truce. He’s not going to throw up, so this is good. He’s fairly sure he drank more with Boyd, there’s no way he got that shit-faced in Rachel’s birthday, but his mind was failing to provide him with actual footage of those drinks – it seems like his brain thought it’s energy was better offer applied to storage memories of his first time bottoming. He can’t say he ain’t grateful for remembering those parts of last night.
He listens long enough to be sure he’s alone in the small apartment: by now, would be able to tell even if Boyd was sleeping in the bed, he’s that used to the presence of the other man in his house. So he focus on showering instead, agreeing with his own self that Boyd has some explanations to give as to why Raylan deserved to sleep on the bathroom floor after what was obviously a quite amazing session of fucking.
There’s a story his body is telling him as he drags the soap around: the scratches on his hips (Boyd holding him down by his hips, cock fast like a piston as he grunts his orgasms inside Raylan’s ass), the already fading bruise on his chest, a love-bite in his inner thigh (the fingers scissoring his already fucked-out and sore ass open are merciless, even as Raylan screams, come leaking into his thighs: Boyd sucks his sensitive cock clean and marks his thigh), and, strangely enough, his chocolate stained fingers.
He thinks he recalls Boyd giving him some candy as a way to prevent him too much hangover, but he can’t make the image clear in his head. He has no idea where Boyd got the chocolate, though, but he guesses the sugar on it is the only thing preventing him from throwing up, so he’s thankful.
He hears the front door opening and, a second later, the bathroom door. He’s still washing his hair, closed eyes, as the sounds of Boyd getting undressed gets to him, the man stepping behind him a few moments later.
“Hey.” Boyd’s lips are against his neck gently, but just the pressure is enough to transport Raylan back to last night and make him shiver.
“Hey, yourself. Where were you?”
“Getting your lazy ass some breakfast.” Finger tips tracing the curve of his ass, and Raylan will not moan. “You missed me already?”
Raylan’s answer wasn’t going to be as romantic as Boyd probably imagined, but as soon as he turns to face the man, Raylan is stuttering “What the hell?”
“What? Oh, this?” Boyd’s fingers are against his split lip, and he’s laughing. “What, you don’t remember?”
“I remember we got a bit rough last night, but mostly it was you torturing me.”
“Torturing? I don’t recall hearing you complain, boy.” Boyd holds him close, pulling him towards his own body by the waist. “But no, that wasn’t sex, Raylan. You said you were going to take a shower and when I get here you’re lyin’ on the bathroom floor, barely sitting. I tried to rise you up but the strength you didn’t possess to get yourself a shower you clearly had to swat at me. It was a lucky punch, though, you didn’t even open your eyes.”
So, in other news, Raylan is an asshole.
“Boyd, I…” he touches Boyd’s lips lightly, at a completely lost. “I’m, fuck, I’m sorry.”
Boyd laughs and hugs him tighter. “What for, you were drunk. Besides, ain’t like this the first time you hit me, Raylan.”
“Yeah, but…”
“It’s different now? Yeah, it kinda is. But, I’ll say it again, you were passed-out drunk, and I do believe you’re not all that used to have rough hands trying to manhandle you to bed. I get it. You weren’t trying to hit me, you were just trying to get away, ya didn’t even know it was me.”
Raylan still feels guilty, though. The whole “he was drunk” excuse sounds way too much like something an abused partner would say. He sighs and tries to untangle himself from Boyd, but the man just rolls his eyes and pushes him against the tiles.
Then they’re kissing.
Boyd tastes like coffee and is amazingly warm, all lips and tongue, his mouth pining Raylan on the bathroom wall. Everything about the man is fucking wonderful, from the way he breathes against Raylan’s skin to the way his hands travel Raylan’s body, and there’s nothing Raylan can do but hang on him.
“Raylan.” Boyd says, slowly, as they part, eyes staring at Raylan’s. “We had amazing sex last night. It was great, and I felt great while doing it. Today I woke up feeling great. I figured sleeping on the bathroom floor was enough punishment for your drunken clumsiness, but if you’re still feeling guilty, I’m certainly up to punish your ass a bit more. You done with the puppy eyes now?”
Raylan feels his own cock getting interested in the new possibility.
“Can I eat first, at least?”