Work Text:
Boyd reflects on Raylan in orange, tries to place him in a garish prison jumpsuit. It doesn’t stick.
Placing him in handcuffs is far easier. The only orange is mixed amongst the pinks and tan of his skin. Kneeling shirtless, arms pulled back, dappled by the Kentucky sun.
Boyd’s shadow falls across him. He takes Raylan’s chin in hand and runs a thumb over the self-righteous lips of the lawman. His other goes to undo his belt and Raylan’s eyes follow.
Boyd feels that.
In another place he takes himself in hand with long, languid strokes. Like Raylan used to.