the_cupbearer | psl for Raylan: post-shootout

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psl,
raylan givens

psl for Raylan: post-shootout

Ganymede sat in the back of a parked ambulance, shirt off and his arm held up, braced on the open door as one of the EMTs dabbed at his skin. There was a bloody graze along his ribs from a gunshot he'd mostly avoided, and though it stung quite badly Ganymede was hardly in tears over it. He'd been hurt worse and survived it, but no one knew that here.

He fully anticipated getting an earful from Raylan later--he'd ended the hostage situation with a gunshot of his own, though he'd been the one on the safe end of said gun, although one had been pointed at him. Ganymede had met his friend and sometime-lover's eyes just a second before the shot, wide and alarmed, but in the ensuing chaos and cleanup they'd lost track of each other.

"Hey," he murmured, seeing the lanky marshal ambling his way.

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"It could always be worse," he murmurs back. His brain was far too willing to list out the reasons why, but he wasn't going to let that spill out of his mouth and ruin the mood. Ben's touch was both calming and soothing and left Raylan more inclined to lay here in the ease of their afterglow.

He liked the way 'love' sounded coming off those lips though. It warmed some deep part of him.

"If only we could talk other people into feelin' that way." The people that controlled the investigations into him, that controlled the babysitters that he was sometimes saddled with, the suspicious, however correct it was to come from suspicious men.

Ben's question was an innocent one, but that didn't stop the sting of being forced to look back on it any less.

"I could spend a year and a half detailin' out what Arlo Givens have done and it still wouldn't touch the true list of his sins. One day I'll tell you, but not tonight. All you need to know is that Arlo Givens isn't anythin' better than an abusive con man, lookin' for an angle to make a buck, no matter who he fucks over in the process. But I'm angry like him. Rash, like him. Capable of terrible things. Of bein' a terrible person, if I chose to be."

"If you chose to be," Ganymede repeated gently. "But you don't. Everyone on this earth is capable of terrible things, Raylan, you now that as much as I do. But it takes intent to do it." He fully believed that, as much as he fully believed the man he was laying on naked and already injured was not, in any stretch of the imagination, one of those people inclined to actually be terrible.

"I know you think I'm a terrible idealist saying all this. But I don't think you'd make the choice." He'd bet an awful lot of money, and other things, on that decision, and Ganymede stood by it. "Look at me, love."

He waited until Raylan looked at him, and stretched out to kiss him, lips soft and disguising the nip from his teeth on Raylan's bottom lip. "I like you holding me like this."

"Except when I do," he replies quietly, darkly. He wasn't as good as everyone seemed to think he was, though that didn't diminish how hard he tried to stay on the better path. It wasn't something he talked about, wasn't something he lingered on too long, but it was there none the less.

He comforted both of them by keeping his thumb moving along Ben's back, gaze lost out on the smooth curve of the man's shoulder, trying to not be haunted by his myriad of choices. When he's asked to look, he does without hesitation and without hiding any of the Everything that might be shining in them.

He hums softly as he kisses him back, huffing a little groan of amusement as his hands spread across Ben.

"That works out pretty well, considerin' I like holdin' you like this. It's.. peaceful here with you. A break from.. Everythin' out there." He made Raylan forget, for a few moments, the ugliness that lay outside the doors.

"Mmm, there you and I differ. Not all violence, not even all retribution, is the mark of evil," Ganymede murmurs softly in response. But he'll let the point lie, conceding to keep Raylan from digging into himself too deeply.

He dipped his head to press his lips to his lover's skin, gentle and slow as he enjoyed the feel of those hands. "I try to keep things peaceful. Not only because it helps you," he teased. "Talk to me, honey. Seems like something's bothering you."

Raylan shakes his head a little bit. "It's not evil. Sometimes its necessary. That don't make everythin' right."

It was more nuanced than good or evil. Good men murdered just like bad men, whatever their reasoning was. It was the difference between murderer and.. not. An argument that forever was inside his head, quieted most of the time only to be clamorous and insistent when that box was opened.

"Nah," he says softly, after a long second. "I'll be fine. All I want is somethin' to eat, another drink, and to curl up next to you. Everythin' looks better in the mornin', in my opinion."

"You want me to pick up dinner?" Ganymede asked instead, a soft and crooked smile playing around his mouth. He'd let the conversation lie there for a while, though he wanted so badly to reassure Raylan--he didn't know Arlo, and from the hints he'd gotten didn't particularly want to go searching for him, either--but it was clear whatever gulf divided him and his father, it would never be enough.

"Food and you sounds like a good combination right now." He'd never turn down just curling up with Raylan, warm in a bed or on a couch somewhere with those long, lanky limbs wrapped around him.

"It does. Yeah, I would. Whatever you wanna eat though, I don't much care as long as its good and we don't have to get dressed for it. Let's just hope that my phone doesn't ring, huh?"

Raylan was going to do his damnedest to make sure that Ben never met the Elder Givens, not that he thought that Ben wouldn't like Arlo - Everyone who didn't know him seemed to. Until they gave Arlo opportunity to show them that they shouldn't. It wasn't just Arlo's abuse that he hid, it was how much of himself it explained once someone had the whole picture.

"I'd hate it to interrupt the shower that we're gonna need before bed." Or the sex in that shower that would absolutely come.

Ganymede chuckled as he leaned down to drop a kiss on Raylan's mouth, levering himself up to find his jeans where they'd been discarded on the floor. "If it does, can I answer it?" he teased, a lighthearted smile on his face.

"Want to ride with me? Maybe we can get up to something more fun than just blasting the radio in the drive-thru," Ganymede suggested, relaxed enough to be playful with his friend and lover.

Raylan just gives him a playful but doubting look at all that. He didn't like asking for trouble and Ben answering his phone would be opening a door he didn't really want to deal with opening.

"Hell, I thought you were gonna order in." He doesn't hesitate in getting up to head towards his own jeans, just like he didn't hesitate in meeting that kiss when it had come.

"We could go eat down by the river. Stop somewhere, get a 6 pack to enjoy with the view with our food. What kinda food are you feelin', darlin'."

"Only teasing, love," he answers, shaking his head gently. "I don't want to get you in trouble."

He smiles at the suggestion of getting beers to enjoy the murmur of the river while they eat, and rubs his thumb over Raylan's jaw with a soft look. "Anything I don't have to use utensils for is good. How about the chicken place you showed me a while back? Since I still haven't mastered frying it myself." Ganymede could and would admit to not having the easiest time in learning to fry chicken correctly--it was surprisingly difficult for someoen who'd never had the time or the equipment necessary for oil frying.

"I want to spend time with you, that's all."

He hums a note of acknowledge as he does up his jeans and belt, pulling his t-shirt on and leaving it rumpled and uneven as he hunts down his boots.

"I could teach you, you know. How to fry good chicken. Pass you down my favorite recipe," he drawls as he ambles over fully booted to slide his hands around Ben's waist and pull him in. "I know you do, darlin'. And as long as my cellphone doesn't light up for somethin', I'm all yours till mornin'." He bends and kisses Ben's neck.

"Now. How 'bout that chicken."

"You'll have to, I haven't yet learned from a recipe," Ganymede chuckles, leaning back against Raylan with his head cocked to give his lover access to his neck, winding his hands around Raylan's on his waist. "Something about the whole process just...escapes me." He had no problem admitting to the shortcomings; he'd learned to cook for himself relatively late in life, comparative to most everyone else he'd met. But most people hadn't had a palace full of servants to do that for them, too.

"If your cellphone lights up, you go," he murmurs. "It's your job, it's what you do. What you need to do." He held no grudges about what Raylan did.

"We'll sort that out," Raylan promises softly, smile spreading at how cute that was. It's just frying chicken. Cook it until it's done. But he understood - everyone learned differently and not everyone grew up in the south where, inarguably, the art of it had been perfected.

He squeezes Ben gently, nodding into the crook of his neck. "I hope that's an opinion that doesn't change."

The few times they'd talked about Winona, Raylan had been as frank as he could be. Best he figured it, she left because she couldn't handle staying up at night, worrying about if she was going to get a call that he'd been shot. Again. He didn't blame her. He wouldn't blame Ganymede either. It was a lot to shoulder.

"And thank you," he follows in a half whisper, kissing his neck again before slipping around him to get the rest of his things, ready to go.

He could handle the cooking part; it was everything that came before it that he hadn't yet mastered. Not quite, not enough for him to want to make it for Raylan and have it turn out tasting bad. He could figure it out with enough time and trial, yes, Ganymede wasn't unintelligent: it just wasn't something he'd tried to gain ease in doing for himself alone. But having a lover who liked it...that was much better motivation. Raylan usually was.

"It won't," he murmured back to the soft hope his friend voiced, holding tight until Raylan let go first. Ganymede knew he would worry about Raylan when he was working, that was simply part of life. But the marshal was smart, skilled, determined...and lucky. And he could do nothing more than trust Raylan wouldn't gamble with his own life too recklessly for something that he didn't believe in. He trusted that Raylan could do his job, and do it well.

He had evidence now too, and that certainly made the trusting easier. Ganymede could recall with a truly startling clarity the look on Raylan's face as he'd aimed and fired at the man who'd been holding him at gunpoint hours ago.

"Always," he murmured back, returning the kiss to the soft skin just below Raylan's earlobe, following him out once he'd slipped a shirt back on, carefully hiding the bandage on his ribs. The nearest place to get food wasn't far, and Ganymede decided to just watch Raylan for a moment, studying the way the man held things and marveling for a flash of a moment how those fingers could be so dexterous in so many other ways.

It would be fun, them doing it together. Ben learning how to weigh down a table with southern goods so rich as to make any man that sat at it satisfied to his core. If there was one thing Raylan was good at that wasn't shooting, it was eating. Once he was out on his own, making his own food was the only way he got that satisfaction.

He was reassured by the promise in return that Ben's feeling wouldn't change, though only time would prove the reality of that promise. He would do his best on his side to hold it up right, to hold it in a way that honored Ben properly.

His keys spin in his hand and once and once Ben was ready, he leads them out the door and to the car.

"I know this place just down the road, sells some chicken that'll blow your socks right off. My treat. We can go eat it down by the river if you'd like, get some beer, make a real meal out of it."

"Oh, then it must be good," Ganymede teases back with an impish little grin; he rarely ever wore shoes that required socks, unless they were boots for work, which he was still in now. He climbed in gamely--he hadn't taken off the bandage on his side, and after the exertions earlier he knew it wouldn't be healed over yet--but fluidly enough to fool most observers, and with every indication that although it hurt, he wasn't going to ease up in most anything he did.

"I only learned to cook relatively late, considering everyone else. My mother certainly didn't teach me--it was unlikely she knew how herself, being the Queen. And at the time I truly didn't think I needed to learn how from the kitchens," he murmured, once the car had rumbled to life. "I'm decent at a great many dishes, and better than average on a few others, but...southern cuisine has always baffled me. It did even when I first had it." Which had been long, long ago and far, far away indeed; the swampy inlets of the Carolina coast held several close memories for him.

He sighed gently, looking out the window at the twinkling lights that filtered through the night: he loved seeing cities at night, when everything that man had built gave way to the dark, and mortals hurried inside and shut themselves in where it was safe. He and Raylan, on the other hand...safety was often bypassed, either by their own decision or someone else's. It was a very large part of why he could be so circumspect on the prospect of his lover facing harm.

"It's been a long time since I've done this, you know."

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psl for Raylan: post-shootout

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