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Boyd had big plans for this afternoon. Bo was out hunting with Bowman - an invitation Boyd imagined would have been extended to him as well, if his daddy remembered he existed today. Arlo was at the VFW, undoubtedly drinking his way through the housekeeping money and into another rage. There was no baseball practice for Raylan, or delivery Boyd needed to do for his daddy.
They had nowhere to be and no one to care where they were. A rare luxury, even for the sons of two petty bullshit criminals (to use his darlin's colourful if not inaccurate term).
Boyd had stocked his truck and driven them both out to yet another of Harlan's seemingly endless forgotten trails in forgotten woods in forgotten hollers. A sad indictment on Harlan, but perfect for two boys whose lives would be worth shit if they were caught.
And now here they were, hidden among overgrown trees. Stretched out on a blanket on the bed of his truck, passing a half of Jim Beam back and forth. Boyd settled back, enjoying the warmth of Raylan pressed into his side, the burn of bourbon in his chest, and the sight of Raylan's hand waving around as he explained what his Mama and Aunt Helen had been getting up to lately.
Boyd was content just to listen. For all he was the one with the reputation for ten dollar words and talking too much, when they were alone Raylan could be as chatty as Boyd himself.
A gift Boyd treasured more than enough to temporarily put a pin in his seduction plans. Or maybe he'd just let Raylan do it. God knew it never took him long.
A flash of purple peeked out under Raylan's flannel, Boyd's eyes zeroing in on it like his mama when she knew he'd been brawling. He caught Raylan's gesticulating hand, cutting off Raylan's explanation about some cousin of his Mama's up in the hills she and Aunt Helen were talking about.
His thumb hovered over the hint of purple skin escaping his sleeve, stroking the air over it.
“Did your daddy do that?”
Raylan's gaze skittered away from his. Guilty. “Don't worry about it.”
“Don't-” Boyd drew a deep breath in through his nose. “Of course I worry about it, Raylan.”
Raylan scowled. “Well, I worry too, when it's you walking 'round with bruises and limps and god knows what else. Don't stop you from telling me not to worry about it.”
Raylan calling him out on their mutual hypocrisy of lying and saying don't worry about it when they really meant yes their daddies did like to beat them black and blue for the sport of it wasn't going to get in his way.
A little thing like the truth rarely did.
Boyd lifted Raylan's sleeve, wincing in sympathy at the purpling skin stretching clear up Raylan's forearm. That Raylan didn't pull away with a quip about Boyd's fussing said it probably hurt at least as bad as it looked.
“God, boy, look at that bruise.”
Raylan shrugged the shoulder that wasn't pressed into Boyd. “It's fine.”
“Raylan.”
Stubbornly, he continued. “Walked into a door.”
Boyd favoured Raylan with the look Raylan had charmingly described as so goddamn bitchy it's like you're judging the whole world.
“How did you walk into a door to get that bruise?”
“Clumsy?”
Raylan smiled an entirely too handsome smile.
It wasn't going to work.
“Raylan Givens, you are a trial sent by the Almighty to test me daily.”
“Probably.” Raylan sounded far too easy on that. “Question is: what are you going to do about it?”
Boyd smirked. “Don't worry about it.”
Raylan pouted, much as a seventeen year old let himself. Knocked his shoulder harder into Boyd's. “That ain't fair, using a man's words against him.”
And you want to be a lawman.
Boyd grinned unapologetically. “Life ain't fair, darlin.”
Raylan arched an eyebrow. “Thought you said life is as fair as we make it?”
“That was when you were sore about me getting that kid suspended for selling dope under the bleachers so I could do it myself.” Boyd laughed at Raylan's exaggerated groan. “This is different.”
“Different?” Raylan repeated dubiously.
Boyd nodded definitely. “Different.”
“Right.”
Raylan had such an adorable expression of disgruntlement on his face, Boyd wanted to bottle it and keep it forever. Or kiss it off his face.
Boyd trailed his fingertips over Raylan's arm, feeling the heat of the bruise. “You want me to kiss it better?”
Raylan's eyes lit up. Impish, charming, hopeful. “You could kiss somethin' else better?”
Good Lord.
Boyd didn't choke. Only because this was good bourbon and he didn't waste it. All the same…
“Raylan Givens, that is the worst come on you have ever given me. And that includes the time you just looked at me and said 'you wanna?’.”
Raylan grinned wider, utterly shameless. “Well, you wanna?”
Of course, Boyd did. But he wasn't easy enough to reward those terrible lines.
“Maybe later.”
Raylan looked adorably put out once more. God help him, he'd always been a heartbreaker, but give him another twenty years of aging like fine bourbon and Boyd wasn't going to stand a chance.
Boyd leaned in and kissed him, tasting the bourbon and finally a smile on his lips.
Perfect.
Boyd pulled back, capping the bourbon and indulging the need to smile at the way Raylan's hands were still clenched in his flannel.
“Now, you were telling me about your Mama's cousin.”
Raylan blinked, eyes fuzzy. “I was?”
“You were.”
“Huh. Don't worry about it,” Raylan said, leaning in hopefully. “Kiss me again?”
Well, who was Boyd to deny such a request?