#shtkickr

tim laughed at that, a sound that transformed his face, made him look his age, but he couldn't help it with the little bit of whiskey in his blood and the flush high on his cheeks. "you say that like it doesn't turn you on."

he likes teasing boyd, likes teasing guys trying to fuck him in general, but with boyd there's an extra degree of fun. first of all, he's beyond off limits, he's a criminal, he's an asshole, for ages he's been the bane of his working life. but secondly, and maybe most importantly, because boyd is so controlled, tightly buttoned up all the way to the throat of him, and tim liked to see him split open.

"come on, preacher, i don't know much about all this," he waves towards the wood building of boyd's church, leaving the all this unsaid because he's not sure how to put it into words, that would make it all too real.

This is everything, everything he was afraid of from the moment he first let Boyd’s hands land on his bare skin and knew that he would be coming back to him over and over again. Because it felt fucking good, and that was the most dangerous thing in the world to a man like Tim, someone who had almost nothing feel good, it was easy to get addicted, to let it take over the parts of his mind that knew better. 

“Need you to shut the hell up.” 

he laughed, throwing his head back at the same moment and he knows it looks strange on him, that level of joy because it's not natural and because it isn't joy. it's the beer in his hand and the pool cue that he's leaning on, the one he's been using to swindle people for the past few hours. he's noticed the looks going rom friendly and good natured to suspicious but tim can't really pretend to give a fuck.

His boots sound against the ground as gravel crunches under him. He puts a hand on his hat and plays with it before entering the bar. Boyd's Bar. He takes his hat off and walks up to the counter, sitting down on one of the empty stools.

He looks down as a shot glass is placed in front of him. Raylan places his hat on the counter next to him before picking up the glass. He keeps his eyes down as he lazily sips at his drink.

he presses his face into the skin at boyd's' neck, nipping at the skin he found there. not hard enough to leave a mark but it was a close thing. tim could not deny the appeal of boyd walking out of here, his collar buttoned to the top. maybe the pressure would be enough to constantly remind him of a mark. but still, he keeps his self control on a tight leash and steps away from boyd, his head tilted to the side, a dog at his command.

there's a moment when the head of boyd's dick is in his mouth, when he's feeling the weight of him on his tongue and the stretch in his lips, that tim thinks of what someone walking in would see. boyd, his legs stretched out on the couch so that tim can kneel between them. tim fully nude and his own fingers playing with his hole as he sucks on the other man's cock. it's an interesting painting, one that sends both a flare of shame and an equal flare of lust into his blood stream.

true enough, and tim just smirks down at boyd by way of his reply. he likes it when boyd pushes him around, like to be tossed and twisted, likes to be told what to do. and he likes it even more when boyd has to make him do as he's told. it's something fucked up he supposes, this urge to go to men and let himself be used like that. but it's fucking good and he's done enough in his life that he figures that's not something he should be ashamed of anymore.