One of the things I love best about oxoniensis's Porn Battles is that they always get me to try a new fandom, even if just for a little while. So here's a tiny Justified ficlet (prompt word "weakness") - Raylan/Winona, hopefully just the first of many ficlets for this round.
It's not vanity, Raylan knows, that the jeans he wears still show the same size as they did back all those years ago, but when Winona peels them off and huffs a private little laugh, one fingernail thoughtfully tapping at the label, he doubts himself. She always was clearer-eyed than him.
There are lines on her face now that weren't there before, like footprints along a beach, nothing to want to erase or scuff away. So she's smiled since they called it quits. It's easing to know he's not going to be the one who breaks her, that she'll go on regardless of what shit he gets her into or out of. Whether she'll survive whatever Gary throws at her, well, now, that's not for him to say.
Her legs are as long and smooth and elegant as ever, curled around his hips, and her round heel finds its accustomed spot at the small of his back. He used to carry bruises there, back when they were first married, a constant sore spot from the insistent pressure of her foot as they both held her open, working in tandem, shivering with their delight in each other.
What's different is that she doesn't talk now. Back then, they'd been on each other so much that she'd be in the middle of telling him what she'd gotten out of a vending machine when he'd pull her onto his lap, open her blouse, and suck on her skin; she'd keep telling her story while her fingers scrabbled to open his belt and his pants or her nails raked his scalp. But now, now there are just sighs and moans, little hitches of breath, and she doesn't let her eyes stay closed for very long. She's doing this deliberate, and she's not going to share the time with anything else.
He knows the feeling. Because he's not sure how long this is going to last either, not when it's up to her, who was once his and has somehow survived that time of possession. So he swallows her sighs, counts up her moans, and closes his eyes as he runs a hand along the soft skin of her flank, careful not to clutch the way he knows he could.
As always, I'd love to hear what you think.