He smelled like gunpowder and bourbon and sweat and glorious sex, and Ganymede breathed in the scent of his lover as he held on tightly to Raylan's shoulders. They'd done this before, tangled up in bedsheets and half-pulled-off clothing as their bodies met over and over again with catches of breath and quick kisses. "Fucking--yes," he cried in answer to Raylan's soft-panted question, head thrown back to expose his neck, spread open like a pinned butterfly on the bed, skin already dusky and turning red where Raylan's teeth have sunk in.

This made him feel alive, feel his heart throbbing in his chest as his nerves all lit up like neon tubes from the way his lover fucked into him, buried deep enough that he could feel every twitch of Raylan's thighs. "God, Raylan, yes..." he groaned, eyelashes fanning his cheeks as he dragged in a full breath again.