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Carol smiled wide when she answered the rough knock at the door, which meant another fucking headache for Raylan, probably.
He felt a surge of vindication when Boyd came through the front door of Carol’s hotel suite, still dressed in that suit.
Carol said, “As my security team, I'm going to need the two of you to coordinate and keep me covered at all times. That means working together. Think you can handle that?”
Boyd said, “Gladly,” a little smirk curving horribly on his lips.
Raylan, knowing he was talking to a brick wall, a brick wall in pursuit of a million dollar deal, still felt compelled to say,“Ma’am, my salary is on the state’s dime, not yours. Until a time comes when that is no longer the case, I’m following the chief deputy’s orders on this one.” He left the And not yours unspoken.
Carol ignored him, tossing her long hair and wafting a citrusy scent through the room. She turned to Boyd and said, “Go ahead, tell him what’s on the docket. I need to grab something from the kitchen.”
There was nowhere for Boyd to sit but the bed, since the motel chair was covered in a mountain of dresses and other flowy-looking things, and he sat down a few feet away from Raylan which may as well have been on his fucking lap for how overly familiar it felt. Raylan wouldn’t be the one to break and scoot away, though– that would truly be some high school shit. He imagined he could feel the heat radiating off Boyd, who always ran hot, through the cheap polyester.
“You really hate answering to a woman that much?” Boyd asked. His over-expressive mouth twisted scornfully.
Raylan rose to the bait, faithful as always, and shot him a glare and said, “You know that’s not it. I’d say I’m surprised you’re doing this shit, but I know not to have any expectations when it comes to you.”
Carol came back with two sweating glasses of lemonade for them, and Raylan took a deep, grateful sip. He winced and held himself back from spluttering when he realized it was spiked heavily with vodka, of all things.
Boyd had a better poker face, and he took two long gulps. “I’ll have to ask you for that recipe,” he said smoothly.
Carol laughed. “Country Time lemonade and a shitload of Smirnoff. Would you believe?”
“I would,” Raylan said darkly. He took another drink.
“Now, gentlemen, I hope you’re able to overcome your differences and unite in service of a greater cause: keeping me safe. I’m just here to do my job.”
“Raylan does love a damsel in distress,” Boyd hummed.
“Between the three of us, I think we might be able to strategize. Come up with some common ground between the company I represent and the good people of Harlan. I’m so lucky to have the two of you here.”
Raylan grunted, and sipped some more at the monstrosity in his glass. It was nearly empty, somehow. Carol, ever the gracious host, flitted back into the kitchen and came back with an entire pitcher. She topped him up without comment. That raised a red flag for Raylan, who found that women who made it impossible to keep track of your drinks were dangerous. But it was just one more in a sea of red flags there in the room with that woman and Boyd.
She was clearing the chair, now, putting her clothes back in the closet so she could sit there and lord over them, the two dumb hicks she’d enlisted to do her dirty work. Raylan ground his teeth, trying to remember he was on duty and had work obligations to be there.
“So what do the people of this town really think of me?” Carol asked, curling her feet under her like she was at a sleepover. Somehow looking like the cat that got the cream.
“They think you’re a leech,” Raylan said promptly.
“Raylan thinks he’s still in the union,” Boyd said, leaning across Raylan to speak in a confidential tone to Carol. Ridiculous. Raylan could smell his hair gel, feel the brush of his sinewy arm. Boyd was a cartoon character. He wasn’t fooling anyone by covering those tattoos or wearing a white collared shirt.
Carol laughed. “You know how I feel about union men.”
Boyd laughed too, and ice clinked in his glass. Raylan was trapped and bored, with hideous company, and flowing alcohol. This was almost like an office party.
Hopefully, not like the last one he attended in Miami before he left. Sometimes he thought it was the memory of that night that made Dan so ready to ship him off at the first infraction.
“Well, what would people think of me if I did this?” She leaned forward into Raylan’s face, studying him for a half-second before meeting her mark and kissing him.
Raylan was raised to believe it’s impolite to turn a woman away when she’s got her mouth on him, even if she’s basically the devil incarnate, even if his old mining buddy is sitting maybe half a foot away, so he was obligated to kiss her back. He tried to do it as passively as possible, but Carol still seemed to be getting something out of it. He wondered if his approach was maybe flawed.
Carol seemed content to press the curves of her mouth against his, introducing little flicks of tongue, and Raylan was willing to let it continue until she slid her hand down his shoulder and moved his hand to rest high on Boyd’s thigh. At that, he pulled back.
“What is this?” he said, out of breath, looking between Carol’s smug pink face and Boyd’s. He flexed his hand and felt the give of warm, lean muscle. Boyd’s jeans were always so tight they showed the curves of his thighs, slight but strong and leading to a tight, round ass. It was impossible not to look, with the cut of those jeans. He had you at gunpoint. Raylan didn’t want to know any of that, just like he didn’t want to know the man Boyd had become. But here they were.
Boyd’s eyes were dark and his lips were parted slightly, making Raylan very aware of the space between them. The shapes they could stretch into. “Was this part of the plan?” Raylan asked him.
“No,” Boyd said. And the simplicity of that statement, with no sly jabs or hidden meanings, convinced Raylan he was being honest.
“I just want you boys to get along,” Carol murmured. “Kiss and make up. It’s so sad you can’t get along. Don’t throw away all that history.” She had Raylan’s jaw in her hand, her shiny nails tapping his chin. She was turning his head to face Boyd, who was even closer than before. He slid those few precious inches across the slippery bedspread and his side was pressed up against Raylan’s. The physical contact was nothing, less than nothing, but Raylan closed the gap himself, without further prompting from Carol, suddenly needing more than anything to taste the awful lemonade on his lips.
He was making terrible noises, rumbling deep in his chest, as he licked over Boyd’s cupid’s bow and bit at his mouth until he opened wide enough to let Raylan’s tongue in. Carol wordlessly took the cup of vodka lemonade from him, and he used that hand to explore the buttons running down Boyd’s front.
Boyd slowly tipped over onto his back under the force of Raylan’s attentions. He broke from his passivity to remove his jacket, and Raylan threw it into a corner of the room. He was crouched over Boyd, leaning over his chest like a night terror demon. Afraid to move and break the spell.
“There’s a lot more space on that bed, you know,” Carol said. “Move back, baby,” and she nudged Boyd’s ribs.
“Put your leg over him,” she said to Raylan, who apparently hadn’t earned any endearments. “You can get so much closer that way.” He did so immediately, somewhere in the back of his mind irritated that she had tapped into the one arena where he was happy and willing to take orders.
‘Fuck, Raylan,” Boyd gasped as Raylan straddled him. “Kiss me again?” Like something out of his teenage fantasies. Boyd’s wet eyes, the perfect, nearly feminine beauty of his mouth and nose. It shot straight to his cock, which was becoming unignorable.
Raylan braced his weight on his elbows and leaned down to kiss him wetly, and he angled himself so he could rub his hard-on against Boyd’s leg.
“Did you ever used to think about this,” Boyd said when Raylan gasped and left his mouth free. “It seemed like you did. Like you wanted to fuck me.” Raylan’s cock throbbed at the words coming out of his mouth. “And look at you now. All you needed was a shred of permission. Lookin’ like you’re about to go off.”
“I thought most about your mouth,” Raylan said through gritted teeth. He hadn’t meant to say it, but the drinks and the strangeness of the situation shocked him into honesty.
Boyd smiled, his sharp and plentiful teeth on display. Raylan rubbed against him and moaned, shutting his eyes for a moment of reprieve. “I’ve heard that one before.”
Raylan reached a hand up to trace the outline of his lips. The movement rolled him off to the side somewhat, leaving enough space for Carol to lean in and reach for Boyd’s belt.
“I want you both to be comfortable,” she said, a new huskiness in her voice.
Raylan pulled back to stare at her. Who the hell was this woman, goading him into pressing his hard dick to Boyd’s? He knew he was easy with women, maybe too easy, but he’d never been played quite like this before. Boyd, meanwhile, looked utterly comfortable with the situation. He leaned back, one arm curved over his hip like a pinup. He was still tucked in and fully buttoned up to the top, as was his way.
Raylan shook his head. “Go ‘head.” He rolled onto his back, too, out of her way, and watched as she undressed Boyd’s lower half.
“I’m eliminating the obstacles for you two. Facilitating a happy reunion,” she said, tugging the thick leather through Boyd’s belt loops. “At Black Pike we work with coal, sure, but ultimately, people are our passion.”
Boyd panted, “She’s right, Raylan,” and squeezed himself through his briefs.
Raylan got to work on his own pants, leaving his boxers, unwilling to move his eyes away from the damp, see-through spot Boyd’s cock was leaving on his drawers.
Carol was watching them from her seat on the throne, again. Raylan figured he may as well give her a show, if he was doing this. If she was really going to force him into this situation, open up old wounds she had no idea about just for some kind of cheap thrill power play, he should go ahead and enjoy the shitshow.
So he crawled over Boyd, raking his fingers down his front, catching both nipples, and unbuttoned the front of his shirt and slid it off as neatly as he could. Underneath, Boyd was still prison-built: abdomen a perfect grid of muscle, two well-formed tits, and a feline elegance to it all. He watched Raylan’s face closely, with glinting eyes.
Raylan was fucking ravenous, starved of the man’s flesh and affection and companionship. It was so completely typical of him: wanting the thing that he couldn’t, shouldn’t, and would never have. This would surely come back to bite him in the ass.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Boyd,” he said quietly. Boyd had always been obsessed with control, yet here he was, laid out half-naked in front of a federal employee and a corporate ghoul, tricked into going to bed with them.
“I look that good, huh?” Boyd said.
“Good enough to eat,” Raylan said, getting his teeth on his scarred, tattooed chest. Boyd hissed and clawed at Raylan’s head, yanked at his hair. Raylan scraped over the curve of his tits, down to the planes of his stomach, down between his legs where he could rest his head and inhale.
“Better open that mouth of yours, son,” Boyd rasped. He arched up to press his hard dick harder against Raylan’s face.
Raylan shuddered, overwhelmed by the sensation. It’d been many years since he was last in this position. But he dropped his jaw, mouthing wetly over Boyd’s cock, licking where the wetness at the tip seeped through the cloth.
Boyd must’ve gotten tired of the teasing, because he tugged his briefs down and guided Raylan’s head into place, sliding the head of his cock over Raylan’s lips and across his tongue. He closed his eyes and fell into the rhythm, trying to remember how to relax his jaw and slurp at the head and keep up the suction. He’d never done this with Boyd before, possibly never would again, so he hollowed his cheeks and ran his hands all over Boyd’s lower half: his soft thighs and ass, the masculine firmness of his stomach.
Raylan was too hard to really feel self-conscious about being revealed as a literal cocksucker to this interloper from out of town. Still, it was jarring to let his eyes flutter open and be faced with her piercing eyes on him.
Boyd tugged his hair again, and said, “Raylan, how do you want it? You gonna swallow my come, boy?” and it was the single hottest thing Raylan had heard, ever, had him reaching between his own legs as he tried to keep his head moving in time. He worked his tongue harder and ran his hands over Boyd’s muscled thighs like he was trying to calm a horse.
Boyd gushed hot and thick in his mouth, and he mostly had him too deep to taste it, but he was rewarded with a hot, bitter taste as he pulled back. Raylan dropped his head, savored one last stroke of Boyd’s hand in his hair, and rolled away to stare at the ceiling.
Boyd took his recovery for a few silent moments. Carol prompted him, “You’re not going to leave the Marshal hanging, are you?” She had a proprietary hand in Boyd’s hair, quietly asserting her unavoidable dominance, as if Boyd was wasting billable hours, lazing around on her watch. He looked up at her, face inscrutable.
“Yeah, Boyd,” Raylan said. “Got a hard-on here and no one is doing anything about it.” Boyd looked at him with that heavy-lidded gaze, the one he had on when he was being difficult, but he did exactly what Raylan wanted, for once, and kissed Raylan deep, chasing the taste of himself.
Raylan slipped his hand under the waistband of his own boxers, a sensation that instantly reminded him of being sixteen and trying to jerk off during group camping trips. Boyd clocked the movement and grabbed his forearm, pushing Raylan down and pinning his arm down over his head.
Raylan looked up at him, baring his teeth in a smile.
“You finally did it, Boyd,” he said. “What are you gonna do with me now that you have me?”
Boyd stared back, his eyes shining with that hard, determined look he sometimes got, one that Raylan had never really liked. He moved his hand to Raylan’s throat in a firm but loose grip, which had Raylan squirming under him, lifting his hips, looking for friction.
Boyd didn't make him wait long. He got his hand on him, squeezing a little as he worked him over. Raylan clawed at the sheets as Boyd built up a rhythm, stroking from the base to the tip, rubbing against the sensitive head to see Raylan squirm. It was all far too intense for a straightforward hand job. Raylan's eyes got swimmy and he couldn't stop from moaning Boyd's name, begging him. “Can you put your mouth on me, Boyd, please,” he panted.
Boyd twisted his hand and Raylan groaned, the sound ripped from him unexpectedly. He took his hand off Raylan's throat, something Raylan instantly missed, and shifted positions to lap tentatively at the drooling head of Raylan's dick.
Raylan thrust his hips up meanly, and his cock slipped out of Boyd's mouth, slapping wetly against his face. Raylan grinned down at him, and Boyd’s pissed off little face, looking every inch the villain, went right to his cock and his laugh turned half into a moan.
“Fuckin’ stay down, if you want me on you like this,” Boyd said, and he applied his considerable strength to holding Raylan's hips down. He had a bruising grip on each side and traced his fingers over the hip bones. Boyd kept him there for a second, maybe as punishment, before he started up again, licking but not really taking Raylan into his mouth. It had the effect of making Raylan absolutely desperate, twitching up futilely and seeking the heat of Boyd's mouth.
“Come on, fuck,” he complained, “can you just suck me?” Too late, he realized that whining like that might be the worst way to get Boyd to actually put his dick in his mouth.
Luckily, Boyd seemed to take it as a challenge. He glared at Raylan but swallowed him down with a surprising intensity, forcing a thin, high moan out of him. Raylan ran his hands through Boyd’s hair, touching the hollows of his cheeks, his delicate jaw. That’s what did it for him: the bones of his face under Raylan’s hands, sweet and breakable. He held Boyd’s head in place as he came, wanting to shoot it all down his throat.
Boyd pulled off but stayed down there, head on Raylan’s thigh.
Carol wrinkled her nose at them and asked, “So what are the chances either of you can get it up again tonight?”
“Might’ve been a chance if you hadn't poisoned us with all that liquor,” Raylan muttered. But he was too fucked out to really care if she inserted herself into their afterglow, crawling between them and touching their bare chests in an oddly detached manner. Like she liked the idea of it more than the experience itself. Just another way for Carol Johnson to avoid getting her hands dirty, he guessed.