#cowboymd

[cowboyruckus]

‘LET ME GET this straight.            ‘You’re trying to propose to me with the ring that I bought for you before I died? How did you even find it!’                 @cowboymd​

[ofmockingjay]

@cowboymd​ liked for a starter!!  

                          ‘’         look, kyle   --    it’s kyle, right?  you may think we did.  but we didn’t start the fire.     . . .      we just tried to fight it.          ‘’   

[cowboyruckus]

@cowboymd​ asked: “  close your eyes. go back to sleep. nothing can hurt you while i’m here.  ”

WHEN THE TRUTH cuts like a knife, even the most egregious of lies can feel safe by comparison.       Every breath is shallow and ragged, a frantic heaving of his chest in the dark, the sheets sticking to the cold sweat on his skin. The fragile heart behind his ribs pounds like a jackhammer, deafening in his ears, rocking his body with every beat. With a hand he touches the scar under his t-shirt, damp to the touch and cool.       Kyle wakes not long after, reaching for him to soothe him, to comfort him, to lull him back to sleep.       It won’t work. Not after...       His husband sits beside him in bed as the pace of his breathing and the racing of his heart finally begins to slow. Curls of hair stick to his forehead, his temples, only dislodging when he runs a shaky hand through them, licking dry lips and swallowing past a parched throat.       The cave. The red sky. A shackle about one ankle, trembling with a child’s desperate fear. His only visitor, a strange man without a face and blood on his white clothes.       He isn’t safe. He isn’t safe. Safe for Kyle, safe for anyone.       At long last he slides back down in the bed, ignoring the discomfort of lying on sheets still heavy with sweat. He stares at the ceiling. He doesn’t try to go back to sleep.            ‘I wish that were true, baby. Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.’ 

[cowboyruckus]

@cowboymd​ asked: i love your bedhead.

A GRUMBLING SOUND, not unlike the bleary growl of a hibernating bear, emanates from the pile of blankets and pale flesh sprawled ungracefully on the wrong side of the bed. The pile shifts, arms and legs moving and shoving the occupant into a somewhat more upright position. True to form, dark hair sticks out from the side of his head in all directions, big, loose curls kinked up and wild.       He blinks, pawing on top of the covers for something he can’t quite see with his eyes still nearly glued shut by sleep. Kyle, on the other side of the bed, sounds much too energetic for whatever time of day it is. Max rolls over, giving up his search for his t shirt and settling for pulling the dark grey sheet up over his chest. Then he flops against Kyle’s shoulder, grumbling again.            ‘Thanks,’ he mutters, but muffled against Kyle’s skin it comes across as more of a mmmpfh. 

[cowboyruckus]

i think the reason my max and cowboymd’s kyle don’t annoy each other as much as they do in the series is becuz they’re not competing for anything.  they’re not. actual peacocks fighting over a hen. they are a pair of peacocks who decided a long time ago that they were better off fanning their tailfeathers for each other and channeling that energy into... other things.