A/N: Can't let it go. Just can't do it. Smidgen of crossover into The Sentry.
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Stubborn man. She settled into his arms, face tilted into the curve or his neck. He let go of a half-sigh and shifted her closer.
"You've lost too much weight," he whispered, hand settled at the small of her back.
She let her breath whisper. "It's stress."
"Do tell."
"Why you think I called you, Dex?"
He slipped his right hand underneath her knee and hitched her leg higher onto his hip. A half decent afterglow, but both of them wanted the feel again. He shifted his hips up, sliding in slow.
"Shiii…oh God."
He chuckled. "You're welcome."
"Dammit, white boy," she whispered.
The back and forth, the talk, the banter. The casual, fitting movement. She ran her thumbs in circles in the hollow of his back and he shifted, flipping Rachel onto her back. She clenched down on his cock with a sudden fierceness.
He choked on her name, and she slammed her hips upward, literally smacking into him.
"You're welcome," she breathed. Slow, slow movement, incremental, enough to stop time, make her ache. He arched his back and pulled her upright with him, burying his face in her breasts, keeping her tight.
When they came to rest again it was almost daylight.
"Fucking hell," she said frankly.
"Fuckin' heaven, you mean," he drawled, watching her from under half-mast eyes.
"No, fucking hell. I have to work at seven."
He had this soundless kind of laugh that she hadn't heard anywhere north of the Mason-Dixon Line, and this half-pursed smirk that she wanted more than anything in the world to wipe off his face. He reached out and took her hand, laced her dark fingers with his brilliant white ones, and kissed the back of it.
"You glad you didn't make me wait all that long?"
"Yes ma'am." He laughed that soundless laugh again and they parted ways.
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He was halfway to Frankfort by the time Boyd called him, and she had been at work for three hours.
"You weren't home by curfew last night, Devil my friend."
"Sorry about that, Dad."
"You're going to Frankfort, I take it?"
"Yessir. You want me to pick up anything in particular or just keep doing what I'm doing?"
"Stay the course my friend. Stay the course."
"Will do."
"I'm out then. Mind yourself."
"Always."
Boyd hung up the phone. Devil wondered if he knew about Rachel.
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Tim knew she was getting laid. Rachel KNEW Tim knew she was getting laid because he was sitting across the bullpen smirking at her from behind the Swimsuit Issue of Sports Illustrated. Raylan knew she was happier. Art was suspicious. But Tim? Tim knew.
They went to lunch. "Well?" he asked.
"Well what?"
"Well is he a keeper?"
"No." She took a mouthful of rice and swallowed before she continued. "But he'll do." She leaned back in her chair and regarded the Ranger, a smile easing onto her face.
Tim left it at that, and she very pointedly said nothing about his upcoming trip to North Carolina.
They were all bending the rules to some degree or another.
She paused at that. Dear GOD Raylan was rubbing off on them ALL!