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Summary
Spite is a fine motivator for intimacy. At least for Raylan, who has an allergic reaction to expressing his thoughts, feelings, emotions, and for Boyd, who never has learned how to love without a siren ringing in his ears.
Raylan and Boyd get married, because they love one another and genuinely want to spend the rest of their time together, until one or both of them inevitably die from pissing off the wrong person- who may still yet be the other. But they're bad at saying such things, so they find excuses, some spiteful pretense to put on paper.
It's the same with the pie. Spite is a beautiful reason to bake a pie. As long as you can couch it correctly, you never have to say "I love you."
After almost two decades of cohabitation and ritual and overt affection they forgot to hide behind something else, they aren't fooling anyone. Not even themselves.
Series
- Part 1 of Corollaries
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Bookmark Notes:
He finds one with a horseshoe, which he decides to keep for himself, and one with a wishbone for Boyd. He likes that they’re both lucky, like a set. They’re the sort of people who could use luck.
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ooooooo
Raylan wouldn’t mind. He would get to touch Boyd, if Boyd throws the first punch. Not the way he wants, but he would still get to do it, and Boyd would get to let off some steam.
Raylan’s first response is anger. His first reflex is always anger.
He opens up the door, walks out, slams it. He shouldn’t have.
It burns Raylan, and he’s not going to deny it. It’s true, and it sears right through him.
Raylan takes a moment. And then, “Yeah.”
Boyd stops laughing. His face falls, a little taken aback. He hates when Raylan does this, gets all serious and soapy, his face all scrunched like he he’s about to go to war with you about what he has to say.
“Darling, you are my sun, you are the moon, you are every pretty thing in the night sky,” Boyd says.
Raylan rolls his eyes. “It’s just breakfast, Boyd,” he says.
Boyd bites his ear, a quick nip to punish. “You are a gift, Raylan Givens, don’t you sass me,” he scolds.
Raylan buries his face into Boyd’s neck. “I do that?” he asks, somewhat baffled. He frowns, no longer upset, just another reflex.
He lets himself think for just a moment, before far, far too many examples pop up in his memory. He groans. He stops thinking. “Oh, Jesus, I do that.”
Boyd laughs. “Do you hear me complaining? Do you see me upset, darling?”
“This is mortifying,” Raylan grumbles.
Tilly slams the table, victorious. “Wonderful! Bring your faggot boyfriend for dinner then.”
These sortsa old ladies are my fucking favorite
Raylan waves her off, and she spares a quick, “Say hi to Boyd for me,” and Raylan nods. Boyd had made her cannolis last week. Boyd is now her favorite. Boyd also has never told her husband he’s been cuckholded to his face.
Love this for everyone
“Boyd thinks I’m funny,” he retorts, because Boyd is his best defense now, because Boyd is the man with sweets.
“Two,” Raylan says, holding up his second finger, “If you tell me, I might say no. And I want to eat this,” he pauses, waving his hand over ingredients, mid creation, “Without a thought on my mind.”
“Raylan,” she repeats again, her voice pitched low and mockingly sensual. “You gotta say it like you’ll die if you don’t. Like if you just say “Ray”? You’ll be shot on sight. You gotta get the desperation,” she instructs Winona, who cries fat tears in her laughter.
Boyd drops himself on Raylan’s lap, and surely such a thing is only to incur another round of teasing, but in such a position Raylan can tuck his face into Boyd’s neck, so it is worth it.
“They are tearing us apart, darling,” Boyd whispers into Raylan’s ear.
Boyd pushes Raylan down to the mattress, kissing him like he might somehow eat Raylan alive if he just tries hard enough.
Bryer’s face is a deep shade of red, and light must glow in Boyd’s eyes. He hadn’t known before now he could get this rush without an explosive in his hands.
Raylan sees the panic in his eyes, in the speed of his speech, and he catches Ava’s eyes in the crowd. She winks at him.
Raylan looks between them. Boyd can see judgment weighing scales in his brain. He witnesses the exact moment when the love of his life betrays him.
“Yes, but it’s essential to be likable,” Boyd tells him. He dashes chocolate frosting on Raylan’s nose, “Which you absolutely know, because that is how you get away with as much as you do.”
“It’s my favorite bowtie,” Raylan tells him. Boyd has to know.
“Raylan,” Boyd grins. “You are so damn cute.”
“Tim probably went through our drawers,” Raylan comments.
“Wonder if he saw your collar,” Boyd laughs.
Raylan smiles back, “I hope he did.”
Boyd laughs at him. His suit jacket is hanging off the back of his chair, and he’s back in sweats with Raylan’s permission. The bowtie stays. Boyd says he’s afraid Raylan will burst into tears if he takes it off, and Raylan calls him an asshole, but he’s not entirely convinced Boyd is wrong. The pain meds have been doing a number on him.
“Oh, I’m the asshole,” Boyd mocks, “I’m the one who let his ass get shot by some senseless child. Art let me in the office, baby, MacKinnon looks like one of the twinks we see panting over you in bars.”
“In the end, there are some things I only have because of how things have turned out by becoming a teacher.“Raylan,” Boyd says, scolding, “Every door I ever had— you opened them up for me yourself. I’ve told you this before.”
“I guess sometimes I still have a hard time believing it,” Raylan says.
He thinks of something. “Boyd, what do you think is the opposite of walking out the door?” -
Bookmark Notes:
assholes in love my fave