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When Raylan had first met Tim (Art had pointed at the guy and said, "That's Tim. He's a vampire," to which Tim had replied, "Wow, way to give away all my secrets, boss."), he remembers thinking that Tim didn't look like any vampire he'd met.
Most vampires are thin and flashy, inhumanly beautiful. Not that Tim wasn't attractive, of course; it was just a more practical, everyday sort of beauty. And muscles are a rare look on vampires, much like law enforcement is a rare career.
Then, additionally, since he was a vampire, he must be well fed, with a human-like flush to his skin and ordinary, fully blue eyes. (Well, "ordinary" is stretching it as a descriptor, but they were at least a color found in humans.)
A lot of vampires like to dance on the edge of their hunger. Staying away from satiation gives them access to the powers that make a starving vampire so dangerous. Of course, this, in turn, makes them more vulnerable. Raylan once chased a woman who'd gone so long without feeding that she stopped in an alley to count shards of glass.
So, during the time he's known Tim, it took a minute to really process his vampiric nature.
But now, since that day in the woods, Raylan is having a hard time not thinking about it.
Whenever Tim smiles, sarcastic or genuine, all Raylan can see is the sharp, glittering fangs sinking into his flesh. With Tim's long, pale fingers, he sees them dripping in his blood, and even in his clear, blue eyes he can see the brilliant red of hunger.
Raylan has been doing a lot of jerking off.
What's really driving him crazy, though, is how Tim is acting like absolutely nothing is different. Didn't their wild fuck in the forest mean anything to him?
Maybe it didn't. Tim didn't seem surprised when feeding turned to fucking, and he feeds far more often than Raylan's been fed on. At least once a week for twenty years, versus one very memorable time. Sure, most of those were from animals and blood bags, but there've probably been countless humans over the years.
Raylan can't help but feel jealous.
Regardless, Tim is acting normal while Raylan feels hyperaware of him wherever they go. He can tell the second he enters a room, he's having an easier time telling between his jokes and his matter-of-fact statements of terrible events, and he can predict to the hour when Tim's about to pull out a bag of blood to feed on.
Speaking of which, Tim's public-view feedings used to be just a mild point of interest, but now they're intolerable.
Not that they're unpleasant, of course.
Like, now, in hour six of this late-night stakeout. Raylan should be watching the house, but Tim just took out his snack, and Raylan can't tear his eyes away.
Tim lets his fangs drop down and idly punctures the bag so blood starts to ooze out. Without any light in the car's interior, the red color of the blood is muted into a dark brown, but Raylan can easily picture the crimson of fresh blood in daylight. His fresh blood.
Raylan tries to focus back on the job, but his attention keeps getting drawn back by the licking and sucking sounds Tim doesn't bother muting. More importantly, it gets his dick's attention, but Tim doesn't seem to notice, his own focus split between the fugitive's house and his bag of blood.
Tim gets down to tearing the bag open and chewing on the bloody plastic casing before he sighs and turns to Raylan. "Seriously? You're gonna get a boner every time? For real?"
After weeks of normal behavior from Tim (i.e., primarily talking about his own boner exclusively), this surprises Raylan right out of embarrassment.
"What?" he complains. "It's hot."
Tim is not impressed. "Eating is hot," he says flatly.
Raylan looks to the car's ceiling and thinks how honest he ought to be. Telling Tim that he's hot feels too flattering, so he compromises with, "Blood's hot."
"Jesus Christ." Tim rolls his eyes. "I've awakened something stupid in you."
Raylan just shrugs.
Tim sighs. "Look, if I suck you off will you be able to pay attention to the job, or what?"
Hardly hearing the end of the sentence, Raylan gets right to undoing his belt and fly.
"I've created a monster," Tim bemoans, but it doesn't stop him from dropping down into the footwell and getting his mouth on Raylan.
He's put his fangs away, but he scrapes his human-blunt teeth over the head. Probably to be an asshole, but Raylan doesn't hold back the full-body shiver it inspires.
Tim pulls off and squints up at him judgmentally. Shaking his head, he returns to his task, licking at the dorsal vein. He follows his tongue with his thumb, stroking gently up and down the shaft.
"Fuck," Raylan swears. "I thought you wanted to get back to work."
With a sheepish look, like maybe he has forgotten his original plan, Tim swallows Raylan down without further ado.
What follows is the toothiest blowjob Raylan's ever had, with Tim periodically threatening to break the skin. Raylan hisses every time, but they both know he's enjoying it.
Tim holds Raylan's hips down so he can't fuck his throat. Since Tim's just eaten, it isn't vampiric strength that allows him to do this, just his regular musculature.
That's the thought that pushes Raylan over the edge without warning.
Tim looks up at him while swallowing, slurping obscenely with a glare.
"Sorry," Raylan sighs, and then reaches down to use his thumb to wipe a little come off Tim's lip. He sticks the dirty thumb into his own mouth and licks it idly.
"Goddammit," Tim says and clambers into Raylan's seat on top of him. He grabs Raylan's hand and pulls it away from his mouth, replaces it with his own lips.
Tim bites down, draws blood, and then swears again.
Raylan goes lightheaded with the sudden burst of connection between them. Unlike in the woods, he isn't overwhelmed by hunger, but rather by pure arousal tinged with irritation. He's never gotten hard again so soon after coming in his life.
Tim sucks at Raylan's lip and directs his hand into his pants. Raylan doesn't know when Tim got his own belt open, but he's not complaining as he closes his fingers loosely around Tim's dick.
Fucking Raylan's hand, Tim doesn't take long to come, spend spurting out to cover Raylan's lap. After taking a moment to breathe, Tim takes pity on Raylan's boner and tugs him off with a brutal pace.
Raylan's not thinking clearly as he comes for the second time, but he has the presence of mind to feel both his own and Tim's satisfaction while Tim pulls out some Wet Wipes to clean them off. It's a little confusing how the connection is still lingering, when in the woods it cut off the second Tim's fangs left him.
Like a light switch, and as though prompted by the thought, Raylan's sense of Tim's emotions clicks away.
Hmm. What exactly was Tim getting from him, in the exchange?
"You can't, like, read my mind, can you?" Raylan asks, finally turning back to watching the house. The fugitive better not have arrived while they were busy, or Art is gonna eat them for breakfast.
"Not unless I'm really hungry," Tim answers, returning to the driver's seat and following Raylan's lead.
"Good to know."
**
After this, Tim does not act like nothing is different.
Now he avoids making eye contact with Raylan, has stopped trading little jokes at their desks, and always leaves the room when it's time to feed.
This is not what Raylan wanted.
Tim's also very obvious about the new disdain, such that one day, when he ducks out of the office for lunch, Art makes his way to Raylan's desk and asks, "Okay, what'd you do this time?"
"I didn't do anything," Raylan protests, feeling this is the truthful answer.
Art doesn't look impressed.
"Really?" Rachel asks from her desk. "Because whenever you aren't looking, he stares at you like he's contemplating slitting your throat."
"Oh, don't tell me that," Raylan complains, feeling a very annoying stirring of arousal.
Art crosses his arms and comes to stand in front of Raylan's desk. "So. What's the deal, then?"
"You really don't wanna know," Raylan tries, futilely.
Art waits him out.
Raylan sighs. "I let him feed on me and now he's angry I was into it." It definitely cuts out a few key events, but it's a decently accurate summary.
Rachel gasps, and then immediately covers her mouth.
Art looks like he wants to clarify what "into it" means, but he gives his attention to Rachel instead. "What was that?"
She frowns. "Nothing," she lies.
"Rachel, if you have some information that could shed light on why my best pair of deputies are more dysfunctional than usual, be my guest."
"Best pair? Excuse me?" Rachel protests.
Art rolls his eyes. "I mean, they only do good work as a pair. You're perfect all on your own, don't worry."
Rachel takes a big, deep breath and sighs it out. "Fine. Tim once told me he's never fed from a living person before."
Raylan opens his mouth, but then she continues, "He said he didn't want to risk getting bloodbound to anyone."
Still reeling from the realization that he was the first and only person Tim has fed on, he hardly hears Art say, "I thought that was a myth."
"It's not," Rachel says. "It happened to a cousin of mine, back in Tennessee."
Raylan shakes himself out of it. "Sorry, what are we talking about here?"
"Bloodbonds," Rachel says, raising an eyebrow at him. "Haven't you heard of them? They're in all the romance novels."
"I don't read vampire porn," Raylan protests, nearly whining.
"Oh, so your fetish is just for Tim, then," she shoots back.
"Children," Art interrupts, "please. Let's stay on track."
Rachel rolls her eyes. "Well, on rare occasions, the psychic bond that forms when a vampire feeds becomes permanent, for some reason, instead of dropping away after the feeding ends."
Raylan thinks about the way he could feel Tim even after he'd stopped sucking on his bleeding lip. "And Tim didn't want this to happen," he checks.
"You know he hates to be tied down," Rachel offers.
"Well, shit," Raylan says, not caring if he confirms whatever Art and Rachel must be thinking.
"It's not like we're soulmates, or married, or anything," Tim says, appearing behind Raylan like a specter.
Raylan glares at Rachel and Art for failing to warn him, but they actually look a bit surprised, too. They're off the hook, it seems. For now.
"How much of that did you hear?" Raylan asks, mortified but trying to hide it.
"Not enough," Tim thankfully confirms, and then he ruins it by asking, "What was it that had you so turned on earlier?"
"We were talking about romance novels?" Art suggests helpfully.
Tim shakes his head.
Rachel follows their boss's lead and says, "My cousin, maybe?"
Before they can bring up the real answer, Raylan cuts in and gives the half-truth, "I'm the only human you've drank from?" It's partially an answer and mostly a question.
Scowling, Tim nods and says, "Yeah, and you got me pregnant the first go. I knew we should have used a condom."
This is something Raylan knows how to do. "But baby," he whines performatively, "these ones just don't fit."
"I'd get an abortion," Tim jokes back, "but you know I'm a good Catholic girl."
**
Things go back to normal after that. Well, "normal" may be stretching it, but Tim is back to his prickly, sarcastic self who regularly needles Raylan and eats at his desk. Although now sometimes while he feeds he'll give Raylan a dirty glance and open up the connection between them, flooding Raylan with the taste of iron and that inescapable pleasure.
Raylan's masturbation levels are higher than ever.
This week has been different, though, because Tim hasn't fed since Wednesday. He hasn't offered any explanation, and Raylan has refrained from commenting on it, but even when the connection between them isn't fully open, he can feel the hunger growing every moment.
He has a feeling Tim has something planned.
This proves true Saturday night, when Raylan is lying spread out in his bed, stripped down with a tumbler of whiskey on the nightstand.
He's fondling himself as he takes a sip from his glass when he looks up and sees Tim watching from the end of the bed.
Raylan starts and drops his balls but not his glass, and goes, "How did you get in here?"
Tim grins and holds up his badge. "Told the bartender it was a Marshals emergency."
"You're such a shit," Raylan complains, and as he sets his whiskey back down on the nightstand, he only gets it halfway onto the little table.
It totters once before crashing to the ground.
"I ever tell you—" Raylan starts, looking down at the large shards of glass on the floor.
Tim sighs and begins to gather up some of the bigger pieces. "Yes," he says impatiently, "you've told everyone that story."
"Well, it's funny," Raylan protests.
"What's funny is you let her finish," Tim answers. He drops a couple shards in the waste basket.
Raylan shrugs, then crosses his arms behind his head. "Who was it gonna hurt, anyway?"
Tim scoffs and reaches for another piece of glass. "You, if she decided to, I don't know, pick up a shard and stab you with it." As he says this, he jabs the piece in his hand toward Raylan in the bed.
Raylan's blood runs hot.
Tim frowns and glances between Raylan and the glass. "You need your head examined," he says, but Raylan can feel the interest that isn't coming from himself.
"Maybe you could beat some self-preservation into me?" Raylan suggests.
Tim grins back at him, fangs descended. "I might have more luck carving the masochism out."
Raylan grins back and spreads his arms. "Be my guest."
It isn't long before Tim has Raylan face down on the bed, boxers removed, and he's slicing through skin with a large shard of glass.
"What are you writing?" Raylan asks, but he has a good feeling he knows the answer already.
"My name," Tim confirms, and then he licks up one of the cuts. The dual sting of pain and shared pleasure makes Raylan shiver.
"I thought we weren't married," Raylan teases.
Tim hums and cuts another line into skin. "I don't see 'Winona' back here."
Raylan groans, and then complains, "I don't wanna talk about my ex while having sex."
"Are we having sex?" Tim asks idly, running a finger down the last cut. "Kind of a broad definition, there."
"If we're not," Raylan says, "then some masturbation is about to start, real soon." He bucks his hips down into the mattress to make his point.
Tim hums and sets aside the glass shard he's been using. "We can't have that," he says, and punctuates it by grinding his own erection down onto Raylan's thigh. It's a reminder that he's still fully clothed while Raylan is bared to the world.
Raylan starts to roll over so he can work on fixing the imbalance, but Tim makes a chiding noise and uses one hand to press down between Raylan's shoulders and the other to press meanly against the injury in the small of his back. Raylan's vision goes black for a second, brain trying too hard to process the pain and arousal that brings.
When he blinks back into reality, he hears Tim panting.
"Fuck," Tim says, swallowing loudly. "You feel so goddamn much."
"You should probably teach me to close it off, the way you do," Raylan suggests, though he doubts he would ever use the skill during sex.
"No," Tim answers, "don't want that." He leans down and licks at the blood collecting on Raylan's back, and they're both reminded of the hunger that Tim has barely managed to whet.
Raylan turns his head over his shoulder to look and meets Tim's gaze. His eyes are the same shade of red as the blood dripping from his mouth, and Raylan has to groan at the sight. He returns his face to where it was pressed into the pillows, and his hips give a couple desperate humps against the mattress.
Tim laughs and presses a series of wet kisses up Raylan's back up to the start of his cervical vertebrae. Raylan feels a wave of fondness coming from him.
"You going for the neck this time?" Raylan asks, knowing it's not true.
"Not lookin' to kill you so soon," Tim huffs against the back of Raylan's neck. "Gotta get my money's worth first." He emphasizes his meaning by squeezing one of Raylan's asscheeks.
Raylan clicks his tongue. "You make me sound like some kinda blood whore."
"Well, you are desperate to get my teeth in you."
Shivering, Raylan protests, "That better not be all I get." He pauses for a moment, then adds, "You really oughta get undressed for this." It hasn't escaped his notice that he has yet to get Tim naked, for all that they've had sex twice already.
"Yeah, yeah," Tim agrees dismissively. He pushes Raylan's face further into his pillows and says, "No peeking," before releasing him.
Raylan distracts himself from the sound of Tim disrobing by fumbling blindly into the nightstand drawer to pull out the lube and toss it behind him on the bed. He doesn't hear it clatter to the floor, so he must make his mark.
Somehow he resists the urge to look at Tim for long enough that clothes stop dropping to the floor. There's the sound of the lube opening and getting squirted out, then a confident finger pressing against his asshole.
Raylan lets it in as best he can, even while Tim reignites the pain of his lower back by swiping across the injury with his other hand. Both actions are followed by twinned groans of pleasure, especially when the taste of the blood Tim collected explodes on their tongues.
Tim's finger bumps against Raylan's prostate, and Tim whines. "Fuck," he says, "I love the way you feel."
Whether he means physically or emotionally is anyone's guess.
"C'mon, more," Raylan pleads, pushing his hips back as he begs.
Tim obliges fondly, adding another finger and twisting for emphasis.
It isn't long before Tim's adding a third, and then, soon after that, withdrawing all three fingers. Through it all, he has been licking idly at his name carved into Raylan's back, and all it does is remind them both of how hungry he is.
"Tim," Raylan whines. He's tempted to look back and hit Tim with the puppy dog eyes, but Tim slides a wet hand into the hair at the back of his head, holding him in place.
"Just a second, sweetheart," Tim coos back at him, and then he trails his tongue up Raylan's spine. He mouths back down the side of his neck to settle on the trapezius, probably feeling around for the suprascapular artery.
Puncture. Pain, then pleasure.
The satisfaction Tim feels at the flood of blood makes Raylan moan. "Please, please," he says.
Tim makes a little sound, shifts around while keeping his fangs in place, and then finally enters Raylan with a deliberate shove. He groans and pulls his teeth out long enough to say, "Fuck, you're so good."
Raylan shivers. "Just goddamn move," he bites out.
Tim clicks his tongue but does as he's asked. Once he gets a rhythm going, he drops his mouth back onto Raylan's bleeding shoulder, slurping up the blood in a way that is inexplicably sexy.
Raylan pants heavily and shifts so he's on his hands and knees instead of lying prone. This way, it's easier to meet Tim's thrusts even if he can't rut against the mattress anymore.
Tim hums in approval and, further, wraps his free hand around Raylan's dick, giving it a quick, familiar squeeze before loosening his grip enough for Raylan to fuck his fist.
It hardly feels like it lasts long enough before Raylan is collapsing with the strength of his orgasm, face-planting back into his pillows as he cries out. Tim barely misses a beat, releasing Raylan's dick and catching himself with a hand to Raylan's shoulder opposite to where he's still feeding.
"Christ, you ever rode a bull?" Raylan asks inanely while Tim pumps his hips in and out.
Tim laughs and pulls away from the wound to say, "Yeah, they don't let you into kindergarten until you can last five seconds, down in Texas."
"I'm the best ride you've had, right?" Raylan can't help asking.
A wave of fondness crashes over him, and Tim answers, "Haven't rode you proper, yet, now have I? We'll wait 'til next time for scoring."
The idea of a next time settles lightly, somewhere in Raylan's lungs.
"Huh," Tim says, and his hips stutter, and then he's coming.
The phantom orgasm through their bond has Raylan gasping, and he whines when Tim returns to feeding, intensifying the feeling.
Finally, when Raylan's getting real dizzy even just lying there, Tim extricates himself and drops off the bed. Raylan instinctively rolls over to watch, forgetting how Tim has avoided being seen naked so far.
Tim, holding a bandage, scowls at him.
That's not what draws Raylan's attention, of course. That honor belongs to the large patch of scarring decorating Tim's torso. It's the kind of scarring people don't really survive to have heal in the first place.
Tim ignores Raylan's staring long enough to get his wounds dressed, and then sits back on the bed and sighs. "Death scars never heal right," he says, sounding a bit defensive.
Raylan reaches out to touch, but doesn't make contact. "I don't like thinking about you dying," he admits.
"Yeah, join the club." Tim rolls his eyes, but Raylan can feel the vulnerability under the surface of his sarcasm.
Not that he has any idea what to do with it.