Tim slept most of the afternoon, and woke feeling less whoozy than he expected. The changes of medication seemed to be doing their job. Although his cheeks were still pink from the realization that Doctor Tom meant exactly what he said. Tim was to stay off his leg, and that included crutches, for two days. Knowing that Art's wife was an experienced medical nurse, and being presented with a bedpan to take care of business were two entirely separate things.
However sore his leg was, and however weak and wiped out the infection had left him, Tim didn't think he would ever get used to being helpless like that.
Leslie handled the situation with the practiced impartial efficiency of a trained professional, but Tim still blushed like a schoolboy, and burrowed into the pillows again.
Dammit.
Tim turned his thoughts away from embarrassing bodily functions, and towards more emotional business. Although that had the potential to be embarrassing all by itself.
The morning had been jumbled and painful, but through it all, Tim remembered the lips that met his, a kiss so gentle but full of sweet promise. And dammit, he wanted that.
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Tim was asleep again when Raylan got to Art and Leslie's place. Leslie took one look at her husband's tired deputy and insisted that he sat down and had something to eat before he went in to see Tim.
She could see he was off, his tired responses, the sad look in his eyes, he was very polite, and ate most of what was put in front of him even though she could see his heart wasn't in it.
She waited until she was clearing the table, and had sent Raylan in to be with Tim, "Art Mullen." Leslie fixed her husband with a steely glare, "that boy is exhausted."
Art nodded. "And he's tearing himself apart over what happened."
"I thought it wasn't his fault."
"It wasn't. But that's not stopping Raylan blaming himself for what happened to Tim."
"He needs a rest. Perhaps you could order him to stay here and help with Tim's recovery. Raylan needs it."
Art looked sad and tired himself, but nodded.
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Tim was dozing when Raylan eased into the room quietly.
"Hey."
Twin slits of blue regarded Raylan as he moved up to the bed.
"Y'look like shit." The drawl was slow and mumbled, and so reassuringly Tim that Raylan actually felt almost light-headed with relief.
He sat on the edge of the bed and they stared at each other for a moment. Even admitting to themselves that this had passed the point of no return was impossible, but they both knew there was more.
"Y'stayin'?"
"Yeah." Raylan eased his boots off, "Art thought you needed company."
As covers went, it was pretty lousy, but Tim wasn't going to question it. Instead he watched the slow and slightly fumbling striptease, before Raylan slipped beneath the covers and cuddled up to Tim dressed in only his wife beater and boxers.
The injured marshal watched his friend practically pass out as soon as his head touched the pillow. So much for talking this through.
It would keep. Tim had all the time in the world. He didn't know how far or how deep this would go, but he had all the time in the world. And Raylan was worth fighting for.
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It was very late, and somehow Tim wasn't sleeping. This wasn't working out the way he wanted it to. He was frustrated.
Tim eased himself onto his side very carefully. If Raylan was asleep, Tim didn't want to disturb him. His friend was exhausted, the dark circles beneath his eyes spoke of lack of sleep, the restlessness, and sadness in his expression and body language were saying things that Tim was hoping he wasn't misinterpreting. Although Raylan lying on his side facing Tim, right hand which had been resting on Tim's stomach had moved of its own accord to Tim's hip.
Even though Raylan's eyes were closed, Tim was certain that his lanky cowboy was actually awake.
They were so close, they were sharing the same pillow. Cautiously Tim put up a hand to touch Raylan's cheek, hoping like hell that he hadn't got it wrong. Raylan's eyes half-opened, then closed again as he turned his head and gently kissed Tim's palm.
It was sweet and tender and very loving, something that Tim hadn't really associated with Raylan. They were only centimeters apart.
"Ray."
The brown eyes were still closed. Tim slid closer.
"Y'know it wasn't your fault."
Raylan still wouldn't look at him. Tim moved his hand to the back of Raylan's neck, his fingers gently stroking through Raylan's hair. Their bodies almost touching, Tim leaned forward "I sincerely hope you will not take this amiss, but…" He pressed his lips to Raylan's.
It took a second or two before Tim recognized the moan from deep in Raylan's throat as one of need. He wasn't pulling away, and Tim pressed forward. Raylan's lips parted, it took a couple more seconds to work all the angles out, but then they were kissing passionately.
That was Raylan, all fire and passion, that was what Tim loved and what drove him crazy. Raylan's arms slid around him, and Tim realised that Raylan was as turned on as he was.
They were both barely dressed, but somehow figuring out how to remove clothes while not letting go of each other was defeating them. Raylan wriggled around trying to pull Tim's wife beater over his head, which was when Raylan's knee connected hard with Tim's sore knee.
Tim saw stars, as Raylan was apologizing frantically for hurting him. Keeping one arm firmly around Raylan's waist to make sure he didn't pull back, Tim's other hand found its way around the back of his neck to gently squeeze and hold Raylan close.
"Ssshhhh" Tim soothed, handling Raylan was like handling one of Kentucky's thoroughbreds and if Raylan would have him, Tim planned on spending a lifetime finding out how, but they both had a more pressing carnal need and denial was just a river in Egypt.
They pressed closer again, Raylan moving more carefully. Very gently easing his knee under Tim's heavily bandaged one to bring their bodies into intimate contact.
The answer to his question lay in Raylan's anguished moan, and the way his body pressed hard to Tim's. Which opened up a whole new succession of questions.
Questions that Tim wanted answers to.
Raylan was letting him set the pace, once he was certain Raylan was not pulling away, Tim's hand moved from Raylan's waist, slid in between their bodies and wrapped around Raylan's cock.
Even the featherlight touch of first contact, made Raylan groan. But he didn't stop kissing Tim. Every stroke, every squeeze, Raylan was writhing in Tim's hands, it was incredibly arousing feeling Raylan lose control. Tim knew he wasn't far behind.
One deft squeeze and Raylan was shuddering in his arms, the friction between them brought Tim to climax seconds later. They held on to each other. Tight. Neither wanting to let go.
Raylan eased away gently, despite Tim's grumble. "Darlin' we need to clean up." He came back from the small bathroom with a warm damp cloth and tenderly cleaned the younger marshal. "Sorry about the wet spot." He murmured.
Tim muttered something under his breath, and reached out with a grabby hand. Raylan smiled and dropped the washcloth on the floor, lifted the covers and slid back next to his lover.
Tim settled, head resting against Raylan's shoulder. He ached, but it was a pleasurable ache, his knee hurt less than he thought it might. And Raylan did care.