#boyd;

The last thing Boyd Crowder had expected when he’d come to Raylan Givens’ room that night was to be pulled into the room and kissed the way he was. Raylan had pulled him in almost immediately, but there was the pause, their breath mingling, before suddenly their lips are moving together, in a way they hadn’t kissed since they were nineteen, down some now-old mine shaft. Boyd can take the whiskey on Raylan’s tongue, and that gives him pause. 

"Are you sure that's what you want, Mr. Marshal?"

It hurt him to say those words, but what hurt more was the thought of betrayal. Raylan knew him, knew his weaknesses. What if this was Raylan trying to get past his walls?

It was late. Too late for what Boyd wanted, but somehow he doubted that Raylan would turn him away. Not when Boyd showed him what he-- what they-- could do.

He knocks on the motel door, stuffing his hands in his pockets. It's that time of year when the bite of winter starts to soften into the brisk spring. Either way, not a time to forget your jacket at 2 AM.

When the Marshal opens the door, no doubt gun in hand, Boyd pulls his hands back out of his pockets.

"Boyd?" Raylan checked his watch, frowning. "What are y' doing here?"

"I know it's late, Raylan, and I want to apologize for that, but I was in the middle of a dream that woke me up, and I had to come see it through. May I come in?"

Raylan blinked. "A dream? What kind of dream?" But still, he let Boyd in, keeping the gun in his hand, just in case. This whole thing was ringing a bell for him, and being the man that he was, it made him feel safer to be prepared.

Only that wasn't going to be the case for long. Because the next thing he knew, the door was shutting, and Boyd was sliding off his coat, his eyes dark in the shitty motel lighting. The next thing Raylan knew, Boyd was stepping closer-- with hands raised-- and standing in front of him.

"Boyd? What are you--?"

"If you'll put the gun down, Raylan, I'll show you. Do you trust me, old friend?"

And Raylan did, despite all the instincts that said otherwise. Because despite everything that Boyd had done, everything that indicated that he was dirty... Raylan could tell he meant no harm. Or at least, he was pretty sure. And if he died because he'd called it wrong, well then that was on him.

Boyd's dark eyes tracked Raylan's movements as he set the gun down. To be honest, he was surprised that worked. But the moment the gun was out of Raylan's hands, Boyd reached out, pushing Raylan back against the wall. Seeing the questioning look on Raylan's face, Boyd stepped closer, sliding a hand up the Marshal's chest, to cup his cheek. He let out a breath, hoping and praying he wouldn't be rejected. Not when he'd come to do what he wanted to do. So it's with a bit of hesitation, and a bit of Boyd's natural assuredness, that Boyd uses that hand to pull Raylan into a kiss. Their lips touch, and Boyd feels a shiver going through Raylan. The next thing they both know, they kiss again, desperately, hungrily. Boyd slides his hands back down to Raylan's chest, and then out to his wrists, pinning them above Raylan's head, kissing the Givens boy until they're both panting.