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The wind blew in from the North across rows of pine trees and through wheat fields surrounding the nearby farmhouse. The sound of frogs creaking in the treeline and wolves howling in the distance broke through the quiet morning, slowly drawing his eyes open in the quiet stillness of Charles’ lean-to.
Despite the sun edging over the mountains to the east, casting back shadows and colouring in the fields, the wind still carried the last traces of a cold night. Arthur shivered, drawing the furs tighter around himself, listening to the water and the waking birds, while the morning settled around him easy and steady.
He laid in the cot for a while longer, basking in the sounds of the morning breaking outside their tent. The lean-to creaked and groaned faintly with the wind, the poles tied and fastened with a care Arthur had come to recognize. Smoke from a nearby fire drifted in, carrying the scent of damp wood and sage along with it.
The warmth at his back shifted and Arthur exhaled, finally at peace in the early hours of the morning, cradled in the arms of another man. Charles stirred, murmured a string of incoherencies into his hair, then settled into a deep sleep pasted against his back again. Arthur's fingers brushed over his hands, resting against his sternum and for the first time, he wasn't dreading the future. At least, when he pictured Charles in it anyways.
It was unlike Arthur to want to be away from his family, every job and score always led home, even if they lasted days or weeks there was always the comfort of knowing he would return. The last several weeks he spent holed up recovering in Rains Fall's camp amongst his people, would exist in the back of Arthur's mind as some of his most cherished memories.
Without realizing, the pair of men had spent the better part of a month on the reservation with Rains Fall's blessing. Arthur was all the way convinced if not for the chief, he would've succumbed to his injuries from the O'Driscoll's long ago.
Recovery was neither easy nor kind, it didn't move at the pace Arthur wanted, nor did it reward effort in any way he could count on or have to show. He was not as patient as he ought to have been, nor as willing as he pretended, especially when it came to keeping hope or repeating the exercises Eagle Flies recommended for his busted leg.
Some days were worse than others. On those mornings, a heavy weight settled deep in his chest, something dark and nameless that refused to lift. It pressed him down beneath the furs, kept him anchored to the cot for days at a time, watching the light shift across the canvas while time moved on without him.
On those days, Arthur hardly spoke and meals went untouched. The world narrowed to the small pocket of warmth beneath the furs, the dull ache that pulsed through his leg with every careless shift of his body. He stared at the canvas ceiling until it blurred, until the hours lost their shape, and he wondered quietly, shamefully—if this was as far as he would ever get to being halfway back to normal again.
Charles never forced him out of it, he came and went as needed, moving through the space with the same careful presence Arthur had grown used to. Sometimes he brought food, setting it within reach without comment. Sometimes he sat nearby, mending or sharpening or simply being there, his silence steady and unintrusive. At times, when the weight pressed too hard and Arthur could no longer pretend it wasn’t there, Charles climbed into the cot behind him and wrapped an arm around his middle, grounding him without so much as a single word.
There were moments; dark and fleeting where the thought crossed his mind that Charles would be better off without him. Without the slow mornings, without the weight of Arthur's broken leg being dragged behind him. There was likely someone better out there for him; someone with two working legs, someone without the sharp temper that came with pain. Each time, Charles proved him wrong without ever saying a word.
When Arthur finally did rise from the warm, safety of the cot, shaky and sore, it was not because the darkness had lifted entirely—but because someone was waiting for him on the other side of it. As always, the Bowman was there for him; patient and steady and ready to catch him should he stumble or fall. And he did, often, though Charles never made a big show or fanfare when he quietly offered his arm or hand to hold.
He matched Arthur’s pace no matter how slow it was that day, there was no hurry in him, no frustration when Arthur faltered or stopped short, breath caught tight in his chest. Charles simply adjusted, as if this new, careful, measured way of living was the most natural thing in the world. Arthur relied on that steadiness more than he liked to admit.
Charles treated every milestone, no matter how small or ridiculous in Arthur's mind–as a big deal and the outlaw found himself foolishly falling harder for him the longer time dragged on. Even if they had said it before, being in love was terrifying to Arthur, his best guess was what he had with Mary— and everyone was aware of how that turned out. At times, he still had trouble wrapping his head around having romantic feelings for another man.
Unlike Mary, Charles hadn't abandoned Arthur at any turn, no matter how difficult or extensive. He had endured every hardship and setback alongside him, refusing to leave his side for even one moment if he could spare it.
That, more than anything, was what frightened him. Not the pain, not the limp, or the slow, creeping certainty that he would never be quite the same again. It was the way Charles stayed without being asked, the way he chose Arthur every day as if it were the simplest thing in the world. Arthur had spent his whole life bracing for the moment people decided he was no longer worth the trouble, had learned how to expect it, how to survive it.
Charles’ quiet, unwavering devotion to him left him without any of his usual defenses.
Arthur didn't know how to love without waiting for the eventual leaving. Every kindness felt like something borrowed, every soft moment carried the edge of an ending he could already feel pressing in around them. A ticking clock. He caught himself measuring time again, counting down days he could not yet name, wondering how long it would be before the world came back to claim him and tear this fragile thing between him and Charles apart.
What would be left then?
Arthur worried, sometimes, that Charles deserved a man without so many sharp edges. Someone whose past didn't hang so heavy, whose future didn't look so uncertain. He wanted to tell him that once he was healed they would run off together, but the words always caught on the edge of his tongue.
He deserved someone who could promise more than now.
Arthur had never been good at promises—least of all the kind that asked him to believe in tomorrow. Yet when Charles looked at him, there was no doubt or calculation. Just a steady, unwavering presence that told him this was enough, even when Arthur couldn't bring himself to believe it.
Behind him Charles moved again, large, warm hands wandering against his torso and nose brushing against the back of his neck, drawing him from his thoughts. Arthur waited for him to fall back asleep, instead, the low, gravely husk of his early-morning tone vibrated against the back of his head pleasantly, “Mm, go back t’ sleep, too early.”
While Arthur wanted nothing more than to melt back into the sheets, he decidedly felt bold enough to turn in Charles’ arms, intent on drowning out his thoughts. A pained grunt rolled off his lips at the sharp action, even making Charles quietly hiss his disappointment, followed up by a lazy, playful smile. “Can't sleep.” He hummed his response, words dripping with suggestion and a certain playfulness they'd grown accustomed to. Charles gazed at him beneath heavy eyelids, half-conscious, but intrigued by the heat in his words nonetheless.
“You have something else on your mind, Cowboy?” Arthur wasn't usually a fool for deep, velvety voices or predator-like purrs, but goddamn did he like eliciting such noises from Charles when he could. This time, it was Arthur who leaned forwards, groggy with sleep and a fiery heat that couldn't be stamped out. A surprised noise that quickly melted into a low groan, reverberated off the walls of Arthur's mind— forever burned into memory.
Big, gruff hands grabbed and pawed at one another with a fervent urgency. Charles was warm and pliant around him, allowing Arthur to maneuver over him, kissing him down into the cot below until he was grumbling and nipping at him with impatience. The Outlaw's heart thundered against his chest like a rolling storm, and Arthur was more or less lost at sea.
Not that he minded. At all.
It didn't matter how slow or fast Arthur moved, Charles didn't hurry or assert any expectations. Instead, he hummed pleasantly while Arthur kissed and straddled him from above. Large, calloused hands on his hips, fawn skin heated and smelling faintly of soap.
It made him dizzy in the best of ways. He couldn't stop himself from carding his fingers through long, slicked back, raven hair— purposefully getting tangled, tugging. “Ain't very good at this,” Arthur admitted between presses of lips and clashing of teeth, before slowly moving down a stubbled, scarred cheek. “But I wanna be, for you.”
His efforts are rewarded with hands squeezing his waist, moving to rest between the space between his shoulder blades— steady and present. “Being with you like this is more than enough, I don't need anything more.”
Arthur inhaled Charles’ scent, burned it into his mind and soul so he could never forget. His hands dipped and wandered below Charles’ waistband, and for a brief moment, his lover tensed. “I want to,” Arthur exhaled against the expanse of his large neck, practically humming, low in his throat like a pleased animal. “I've… thought about it before.”
“Yeah…?” The hulking, ox of a man exhaled, all breathy and frayed like— making Arthur's heart ping-pong off the walls of his chest and skip a beat all in the same instance.
Thick fingers threaded through his hair while Arthur's path traveled southern, leaving sloppy, wet kisses against rich, brown skin in his wake. He put on his best front and acted like he knew what he was doing, right up until his slick mouth reached Charles' large, weeping cock.
Charles’ hands stayed petting his hair instead of sinking and wrapping around his curls like Arthur wished he would. “Oh Arthur…” The sound of his name, whisked from the larger, powerful man made his gut twist with desire and his face burn. “Maybe we should— slow down…”
One of Arthur's eyebrows shot upwards, mouth curving upwards, just barely. “You want me to stop?” He practically purred, nuzzling the prickle of his beard against the inside of Charles' thigh.
His lover's breath caught and his hips stuttered, hitching up towards him like a man under a spell. “No,” Charles admitted, gruff and scratching an itch in Arthur's mind he didn't know he had until now, “Don't stop.” He exhaled, ragged and hardly kept together. His eyelids were still half-open and his body heavy with sleep, but it was evident he wanted Arthur as much as Arthur wanted him.
“Never done this before, so–so I may not be as good as you deserve…” Arthur confessed, raw and vulnerable while his heart caught in the back of his throat. Pressure gathered in between his eyes, bearing similar resemblance to relief. He distracted himself by breathing Charles’ musky scent in, dragging his teeth along rich, soft skin.
Charles' hand reached between his own legs to cup Arthur's cheek, gently pushing against his jaw, guiding him upwards— he wanted to meet his gaze. “It's perfect,” He mumbled, making the wash of colour painted across Arthur's skin deepen. “You're perfect, just like this.”
Arthur couldn't handle the way Charles’ eyes were burning into him; the heat pooling in rich, chocolate gear and the love in his actions was too much for him to take. Instead, he focused his efforts on pressing sloppy, wet kisses along the ‘v' of his abdomen and dragging the slick, fat of his tongue against the underside of his cockhead.
“So good…” Charles exhaled in a drawn out, pleased sigh that made his heart jump from the thrill. Large hands petted the sides of hisbfacd and carded with soft tugs through his overgrown curls. “There you go, yeah… like that.”
With Charles’ encouragement, Arthur took the head of his length into his mouth. Without much experience to reference, he suckled and carved his tongue over the slit of his cock. Fitting his mouth around the entirety of Charles' cock was challenging, but not impossible. With resolve, deep breaths, and his lover cooing mushy nonsense above him, he was motivated to fit as much of his girthy manhood into his mouth as he was able.
“So good,” Charles moaned, sounding more undone and frayed than Arthur ever remembered hearing him. Something dark and ugly stabbed at him with pride, knowing he was the one pulling these noises from him. “You're doing such a good job, Arthur.” His own cock pulsed against his leg and he gagged softly when Charles began to move his hips in slow, languid strokes. “Just breathe for me, sweetheart.”
The Bowman rolled and rocked his hips against Arthur's face while he encouraged him to relax his throat to take the entirety of his cock. Fortunately, the outlaw was a quick study and learned quickly how to breathe around him just as Charles came undone down his throat. One of his hands cradled his cheek and the other twisted around his curls while he spurted ropes of thick, sticky cum in his mouth.
When his climax subsided Charles hiked him upwards until Arthur was against his chest, cheeks ruddy and flushed and cock hard against his stomach. “Mornin” He hummed, clearly pleased with himself. Charles' expression stretched wide with sleepy joy, making Arthur's heart flicker in his chest. He hummed while he played with the Cowboy's curls, running the pads of his thumbs along the curve and bends of his strands.
Charles pressed a kiss into his hair, unhurried and absentminded, the way a man did when he wasn’t thinking about what came next. “If every morning starts like that…Well, I might be the luckiest man alive.” His voice was deep and husky, yet to be rid of the morning frog— it made Arthur want to kiss him until he couldn't breathe again. “Yeah, yeah… I'm sure you've had much better than that. I ain't exactly well practised.”
Charles squeezed his sides hard, unapologetic about it when Arthur squirmed. “I don't care about all the things you aren't— I love you, Arthur. Do you understand?” This time there was no urgency behind them, no desperation. No fear of loss driving them out into the open, just truth; spoken plainly, like it didn’t need defending or justifying.
Arthur swallowed, his throat tight. “I… yeah,” he said after a moment, voice rough. “I hear you—I'm tryin’.”
Charles nodded, slow and understanding, like that answer was enough for now. His hand stayed warm at Arthur’s side, thumb moving in small, absent circles that felt more grounding than any words could’ve been.
“That’s all I’m askin’,” he said quietly. “You don't gotta do nothin' but try your best, Cowboy.”
Arthur let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He shifted closer without thinking, resting his forehead against Charles’ shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath his cheek and letting it steady him. When he looked up again to find Charles already watching him, waiting for him with nothing but patience and understanding, Arthur couldn't help but lean forwards to kiss him until he was dizzy.
When they parted again he leaned upwards until their noses were brushing, foreheads knocking ever so gently against one another’s. “We should probably get out of bed soon.” He huffed, eyelids fluttering and muscles melting against Charles.
“Probably,” Arthur's lover agreed, making no moves to do such a thing. “We can take our time, I doubt Rains Fall misses us yet.”
The Outlaw chuckled softly, he already wanted to kiss Charles again— if it was up to him, they wouldn't stop. He arched a brow, the corner of his mouth twitched slightly. “Oh yeah, ‘cause Eagle Flies was tellin' me about a big hunt goin' down today.”
This time it was Charles who leaned in to nip at his bottom lip. “You should probably just stop talking to him, you know.”
Bemused, Arthur couldn't help himself, “Oh I should huh? Why? You jealous?” Charles said nothing, though he didn't miss the way he narrowed his eyes and ducked his head into the dip of Arthur's neck. The pair devolved into a mess of wrestling and smothering one another in wet, messy kisses. He didn't know how long they spent, tangled up together with nowhere to be other than with each other.
In the back of his mind he was aware it wouldn't last much longer. Another week, maybe two and they would be forced back on the road. At some point Arthur would be forced to return back home, he just didn't want to think about it or have to discuss it until absolutely necessary.
Deep down, Arthur didn't want to leave. That, or he wasn't ready in the slightest. Amongst Rains Fall and his people, he was a free man; a man without the weight of an entire camp resting on his shoulders. A better man. He was wanted because he was useful in more than just combat or killing, but because he could draw maps and stitch skin back together well enough to learn how to quilt and weave beads.
The thought sat heavy in his chest, unwelcome and insistent, even as Charles laughed softly against his throat. Arthur pushed it aside for now, burying his face against the warm curve of his shoulder, breathing him in like he might carry the scent with him when the time came to leave.
Charles’s hand slid up his back, slow and familiar. “You’re thinkin’ too hard again,” he murmured.
Arthur huffed a quiet breath. “You always say that.”
“And I’m usually right.” That earned a reluctant smile. Arthur shifted just enough to look at him, taking in the calm set of his features, the way his eyes softened whenever they lingered on Arthur too long. It still startled him—being looked at like that, like he was something worth keeping.
"Reckon I just don’t wanna waste it,” Arthur said finally. “Time, I mean.”
Charles studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Then don’t.”
Simple as that; no lectures, no promises he couldn’t keep— just permission to stay in the moment a while longer. Arthur leaned in again, slower this time, pressing a gentler kiss to Charles’s mouth before settling back against him. Outside, the camp had fully woken now; voices drifting closer, the crackle of a fire being fed, the distant call of someone laughing—but none of it felt like a summons yet.
For now, there was still warmth beneath the blankets, still steady hands holding him close, still a quiet corner of the world that he hadn't been forced to leave just yet. It took another few hours of rolling around in bed together before they finally dressed and readied for the day. They all but chased one another out of their shared accommodations, hands unable to keep from touching and grabbing at one another even in the plain light of day.
By late morning they were pulled in different directions, the day finally making demands neither of them could ignore. Arthur lingered at the edge of the reservation longer than necessary, watching Charles tighten the cinch on his horse, the easy competence of it all, like riding out was as natural as breathing.
Charles caught him staring and huffed a quiet laugh. “I’ll be back before dark.”
Arthur nodded, doing his best not to sound curt. “I know.”
Apparently unsatisfied with his response, Charles roped his arms around Arthur's waist and dragged him close, nudging their noses together. He kissed him deep and hard, barely giving Arthur enough time to register what was happening before they were parting again. “I'll miss you, Cowboy.” He murmured affectionately and Arthur watched him go with a dull ache in his chest, despite knowing Charles would return with the rest of the men in due time.
Arthur met up with Rains Fall before long. He thought it polite to splash water over his face and comb his hair back, at least until he could ask Charles to cut it. Eagle Flies had offered before, but Arthur had a feeling that a certain somebody might not be a fan of the idea at all.
He didn't know what The Chief needed him for, or what, exactly. Arthur wasn't as useful as he once was, he couldn't chase down days worth of bounties or take on as many bullets— so what good was he? Hell, his camp jobs were reduced to chopping wood when his shoulder wasn't tight and helping the men clean their weapons so they didn't hurt themselves. Other than that, Arthur was handy at patching up small fixes and caring for the horses, but not much else.
Still, not wanting to disrespect him or his hospitality by any means, Arthur agreed to help him with whatever he could. It just so happened that he actually needed Arthur for something other than typical, run-of-the-mill chores.
Without much of a clue, Arthur found himself at the edge of camp where the horses were tied again— where he had watched Charles ride away only a few hours prior. He was speaking to the horses in hushed, comforting chants that would be soothing to even the most stubborn of beasts. His grey Mustang was roaming around without needing to be fastened to the other end of a lead, occasionally raising its head to assess the area before returning to calmly grazing again.
While Arthur thought it quite impressive, Rains Fall was completely enraptured by a much larger, rougher looking horse. The Chief calmly inspected the hardy, iron grey Ardennes’ hooves and tackle before he noticed the outlaw observing him. “Mr.Morgan! You're looking better these days.” He beamed at him, making Arthur flush with discomfort.
“Yeah,” He rubbed at his shoulder, never truly the same after everything. “Startin' to feel like myself again, I guess.” He watched Rains Fall circle the big brute of a horse, looking the stock up and down in distracted appreciation. “Somethin' tells me you didn't ask me here for a chit chat though.”
Rains Fall flashed him a grin, “So you do have the capacity for something other than senseless violence.” Arthur would've taken offense, if not for how distracted he seemed while he spoke— with clear ulterior motives he couldn't quite discern. “Come over here for a second, would you?” He beckoned him over with a wave of his hand and Arthur obeyed. “Tell me what you see when you look at this horse.”
She looked older; fur roughed up in some areas and scarce in others. He found old, white scars littered across her legs and flank, leftover from handlers before. A prime example of the human's potential for cruelty, Arthur understood more than he wanted to. “Looks like she ain't been treated too kindly, how old is she?”
“Old enough,” Rains Fall patted her neck and offered part of a carrot in his open palm as a reward. “We picked her up a few weeks ago, poor thing was starving. We think she was gentled before, maybe lost her person…She likes to nip, so watch yourself.” He heeded his warning little mind and approached the mare, running his hand along her strong back and powerful legs with permission.
“She got a name?” He asked, wondering how a creature so intelligent and capable of deep bonding could be reduced to such terrible treatment.
“Not yet, nobody's been able to get close to this feral thing.” A pause while Arthur patted and fret over the apparently ‘beastly’ horse. “Until now, what do you think?” She was broken and in need of someone to love her, not completely irredeemable. She just needed someone to believe in her, Arthur could sympathize with that more than anyone.
“Athena,” He decided, distracted while he continued looking the horse over with silent appreciation. “Godess of wisdom and war strategy…You can tell she's smart, that she's been through something that made her strong.”
Arthur glanced away from the horse and to The Chief, who quietly observed their interaction. “So what?” He prompted suspiciously, “Figure I'm better use with the horses than out huntin’ with the men?” The outlaw arched a brow.
Instead of offense like he expected, Rains Fall looked amused— delighted. “I was thinking that you might need a horse of your own so you can ride out and join them next time.” His hands stilled against Athena's fur, and his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.
“Oh…” He mumbled, despair and and old ugly pain started to bubble in his chest. The thought of Red surfaced, but he stamped it down just as quickly. “I can't accept that, really. I ain't exactly all the way better, can't ride like I used to.”
“Neither can she.” He retorted quickly, shooting the idea of Arthur not accepting down. “You'd be doing me a great service. I hardly have time for my own horse anymore, it would be unfair to leave her with me.” The outlaw considered him carefully, with deep hesitation and uncertainty. Arthur hadn't thought much about riding at all in the last month, much less taking on a new horse after the sudden loss of his last one.
“You're sure?” He asked, half-hoping Rains Fall would change his mind and take it back, the other half didn't know what to think. He did fine on Taima, but he still wasn't as steady as he would've liked to be. Rains Fall either had great confidence in him, or he had never seen him ride since recovering.
“I'm sure, she won’t be easy,” Rains Fall warned, “She has learned the world can be cruel—you have learned the same lesson.”
Arthur huffed a dry laugh. “Ain’t that the damn truth.”
“Then perhaps,” The Chief said gently, “you can learn together that it is not always so.”
The silence stretched between them, filled only by the low sounds of horses and the distant life of camp. Arthur rested his forehead briefly against Athena’s neck, eyes closing as he felt the solid warmth of her there; real, grounding, alive.
“All right,” He said at last, voice quiet but firm. “I'll try.”
The words felt heavier than they should’ve, like a promise made without quite knowing who it was really for. Rains Fall inclined his head, satisfied, as if that answer had been expected all along. “That is all I ask,” he replied. “Trying is where change begins.”
Athena shifted beneath Arthur’s touch, blowing softly through her nose. He smiled despite himself and slid his hand along her neck again, slower this time, letting her get used to the weight of it, to him. She didn’t flinch or nip. Just stood there, solid and patient, like she’d decided he was worth the trouble.
“Guess you and me got somethin’ in common then,” Arthur murmured to her. “Both of us a little worse for wear.”
Rains Fall left him to it after that, trusting him without ceremony. Arthur spent the better part of the afternoon with Athena—brushing out the worst of the tangles, checking old scars, walking her slow and easy around the edge of camp. He didn’t saddle her, didn’t push. Just let her learn his voice, his hands, the rhythm of his steps. By the time the sun had started its slow descent, she followed him without the lead, close enough that he could feel her warmth at his back. It was the kind of work that left him tired in a good way; Useful and present.
By the time the hunters returned, the camp was alive with noise again—low laughter, the thud of dismounting men, the sharp scent of blood and fresh game carried on the wind. Arthur was brushing his hands off when he heard Charles before he saw him, that familiar cadence of his voice threading through the crowd.
He turned just in time to catch sight of him riding in with the others, posture easy despite the long day. Charles swung down from his horse and was already scanning the camp when his eyes landed on Arthur. Whatever he saw there—dusty, tired, standing beside a massive iron-grey mare made something soften in his expression.
He made his excuses quick, passing the reins off before crossing the space between them in long strides. “Hey,” Charles said, low and warm, like the word was just for him. Arthur felt that dull ache in his chest ease a fraction the closer he approached, warmth flooding his veins. “Hey yourself.”
Charles’ gaze flicked to Athena, taking her in with a practiced eye. “She yours?”
“Sorta,” Arthur said, scratching the back of his neck. “Rains Fall thought I could use one. Says she’s trouble.”
Charles huffed a quiet laugh. “Figures he’d pick the biggest one.” He stepped closer, careful, letting Athena sniff his hand before he touched her. She tolerated it, which felt like high praise and acceptance. “You okay with it?”
Arthur met his eyes— really met them. “Yeah,” he said after a long moment. “I think I am.”
Charles nodded, accepting that without question. He reached out, fingers brushing Arthur’s wrist—brief, grounding, familiar. “I’m glad.” The camp carried on around them, voices rising and falling, fires crackling to life as evening settled in. Arthur stood there with Charles at his side, Athena solid behind him, and felt something quiet take root in his chest.
On the reservation it didn't matter that they were both men, even if people noticed, they didn't harass them. If anything, most of them were annoyed with how gooey and in-love they acted more than anything else. It made Arthur feel less alienated, more secure each time his heart skipped when Charles looked at him or kissed him. Arthur reached down and laced their fingers together, squeezing his hand. “I missed you.”
“I missed you,” Charles grinned and leaned down to brush their noses together. “But, I also want to keep you fed. You look exhausted, have you eaten anything at all today?” Suddenly large thumbs were swiping beneath his eyes, fussing over him and making Arthur feel like something to be cherished.
“Lost track'a time,” He admitted, sheepishly. Charles’ narrowed expression wasn't lost on him, though Arthur would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the extra attention. “That won't do.” He raised their joined hands and kissed each of Arthur's knuckles, before he dragged him back into camp to eat.
Arthur let himself be pulled along, half-resisting, half-relieved to be reminded that someone cared enough to fuss over him like that. The way Charles walked beside him, hands occasionally brushing, fingers squeezing theirs together—felt grounding, a tether in a world that often felt too sharp or too much like everything was spiralling out of control.
They found a quiet spot near one of the smaller fires, away from the center of camp, where a few of the elders were already eating. A bowl of thick stew was set before Arthur, steam curling lazily into the cool air, and he realized he’d barely noticed how hungry he was.
Charles slid in beside him, careful to let Arthur have his space, yet still close enough that the warmth of his shoulder brushed Arthur’s side. “Eat,” Charles prompted softly, voice low enough that no one else could hear, “you can’t help anyone if you’re empty.”
Arthur laughed quietly, though it sounded strained even to him. “Ain’t used to bein’ fussed over,” he admitted, spoon hesitating midair.
“Lucky for you,” Charles said with a grin, nudging his hand against Arthur’s, “I’m persistent.”
Arthur finally took a bite, then another, letting the flavors fill him as Charles watched with quiet amusement. Every so often, the cowboy’s thumb brushed along the back of his hand, a subtle reminder that he wasn’t alone—not now, not while they were here.
After they’d finished eating, Charles helped Arthur up, slinging a reassuring arm around his shoulders as they walked back toward their lean-to. The pressure against his busted shoulder was relieving, prompting him to melt further into his arms. The evening air was cooler now, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and damp earth, but it felt comfortable in the quiet between them.
Athena trailed behind, patient and calm, like she understood the rhythm of their days better than anyone else. Once inside, Charles set down the bowls and turned to Arthur, a small smile tugging at his lips, eyes roaming over him appreciatively. “Your hair has gotten longer.” He said, brushing a hand over Arthur’s hair, which had grown wild and tangled during his recovery.
“Yeah,” Arthur rumbled his agreement, leaning into the attention without needing any prompting. “I've been meanin’ to clean it up around the ends, don't think I've had it this long before.”
Charles hummed his reply, “I like it, looks good on you.” Charles’ fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary, combing through the uneven lengths like he was burning it into memory. “Still,” he said after a beat, “if you want it trimmed, I can do it. Just the ends. Keep it outta your pretty eyes.” Out of all things, Arthur was still getting comfortable with how casually his lover complimented him. Each gooey word made his heart pound like some pathetic tween— he was hooked.
Arthur snorted softly. “You sure you trust yourself with a blade that close to my head?”
The corner of Charles’ mouth curved upwards, amused. “I’ve skinned elk without nickin’ the hide. You’ll survive.”
That earned a quiet laugh. Arthur eased himself down onto the edge of the cot, shoulders relaxing as Charles fetched a small knife and a strip of cloth to catch the loose hair. The firelight flickered low and warm, throwing soft shadows across the lean-to as Charles worked carefully, slow and deliberate. He stayed just off Arthur’s bad side, mindful without making a show of it.
“Tell me if I pull.” Charles murmured and Arthur had half a mind to tell him that he wouldn't mind. Instead he closed his eyes, leaning into his lover's ministrations.
The knife sliced through his hair in short, purposeful strokes. Every so often Charles’ knuckles brushed Arthur’s cheek or the back of his neck, grounding him in a way that made his chest ache. Strands of dirty blonde fell to the cloth at his feet, and with them went something heavy Arthur hadn’t realized he’d been carrying all this time. “There,” Charles said eventually, stepping back to look at his work properly. “Just above the ears, you look handsome this way as well— sweet.”
“Sweet?” Arthur nearly scoffed but swallowed the sound when he was met with Charles' gooey, syrupy eyes, gazing at him from where he was crouched. “I mean to say…you look like yourself again, smart ass.” For whatever reason, Arthur was overwhelmed by the desire of wanting nothing more than to lean in and kiss Charles until he was short of breath at that moment.
Before he could act on his impulses, there was a gentle presence at the entrance. Rains Fall paused, respectful, eyes taking in the quiet scene before he spoke, cutting through the moment. “I hope I am not interrupting.”
Charles shook his head. “No, sir.”
The Chief smiled, something warm and knowing woven in it. “I wanted to speak with you both. Before the cookout and before you prepare to take your leave, if you'll allow me.” His gaze settled on Arthur, kind and steady.
Arthur straightened a little on the cot, hand dropping from where it had been resting against Charles’s knee, hoping it was subtle enough a move that the Chief wouldn't notice. “Course,” he said, palming at the back of his neck, suddenly feeling vulnerable without the long strands. “We got time.”
Rains Fall stepped fully inside then, careful of the low canvas, the firelight catching the lines of his face. He didn't rush; Arthur found that he never did, but there was purpose in the way he folded himself down onto a nearby crate, hands resting loosely in his lap. “You have both given much to my people,” he began, voice calm and even. “More than was asked and much more than what was owed.”
His eyes moved between them, lingering just a moment longer on Arthur. “And you, Arthur, have given even when you were not whole.”
Arthur huffed softly, uncomfortable with any kind of praise. “Just did what I could.”
“That is often the heaviest kind of giving,” Rains Fall replied gently. Silence settled—not awkward, but thoughtful. Outside, someone laughed near the fire and the smell of roasting meat drifted into their lean-to on the breeze.
“I wished to tell you,” the Chief continued, “that you are welcome here, not as guests passing through, but as people with a place amongst us.” He inclined his head toward Charles. “Both of you, for as long as you choose to stay. And if your path takes you elsewhere—” his gaze returned to Arthur, steady and sincere, “—you will still have a home here among us.”
The words hit Arthur slowly, then all at once. He swallowed, throat tight, eyes dropping to the packed dirt between his boots. Deep, burning guilt gathered in the middle of his face in the form of pressure, begging to explode out of him. He thought of the women back at camp, of little Jack and Hosea whose condition had definitely worsened with each trip or move of their settlement. Arthur thought of Lenny and Sean, of John and Javier, all mourning or wondering where he had gone off to. Maybe they thought him dead by now.
Charles shifted closer without thinking, his knee pressing into Arthur’s side, solid and warm. Arthur let himself lean into it this time.
“That means a great deal,” Charles said quietly. “To both of us.”
Rains Fall nodded, conclusively. “Good.” A faint smile touched his mouth. “Then I will leave you to prepare, come and eat with us tonight. You should not travel on empty spirits or empty stomachs.” He rose and stepped back out into the evening again and the quiet returned, thicker now. Arthur exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding his breath since the Chief arrived.
They didn't touch the subject anymore. If Arthur knew Charles as well as he thought he did— he was reeling from the invitation just as much as he was. Instead of reigniting the conversation, they joined the others at the campfire as dusk settled in behind them. The sky bruising purple and gold above the trees was a welcome distraction until someone pressed a tin cup into Arthur’s hand, another ladled stew so thick it barely sloshed.
There was laughter, low singing, the steady comfort of people who knew one another well and did not need to fill every silence. As much as he tried not to, Arthur felt like an intrude being included in it anyway.
He smiled when spoken to, nodded when greeted, and drank when the cup was refilled. The liquor burned going down, loosening something in his chest while tightening everything else. He caught Charles watching him from time to time; quiet, unreadable, eyes reflecting firelight—and looked away each time, shame prickling hot under his skin.
Better than anyone Arthur knew that Charles wanted to talk about it— he always wanted to talk. More than anything Arthur wanted to make his lover happy, but to abandon Dutch and the others without a moment's hesitation? He wasn't able to do it so easily. He did know how to drink, and he was good at it. Fortunately for him, there was a younger native man, lithe and without so many scars as the rest of them running around keeping tin cups full.
He was almost certain that his name was something along the lines of Mako? Arthur had heard it spoken plainly before, but couldn't make the connection now.
Arthur was on his second— maybe third, refill when the young man appeared again, all easy smiles and unburdened energy. He moved like someone who had never learned to be afraid of his own shadow, long limbs loose, eyes bright in the firelight. He offered Arthur another pour without asking.
“Careful,” Arthur drawled, tipping his cup just enough to accept it. “You’re gonna have me forget my own name at this rate.”
The young man laughed, wide and unguarded and bubbly sounding. “That would be the idea,” He hesitated, then added, a little sheepish while holding out his hand towards him. “Mato.”
Arthur blinked, then huffed. “Knew it started with an M.” He lifted the cup in a lazy salute. “Arthur.”
“I know,” Mako said, glancing toward the elders, then back again with the skin of his cheeks darkened. “My father talks about you.”
Arthur felt something twist low in his gut at that, part pride and the other part riddled with discomfort. “Yeah? Hope he don't make me sound too nice, I got a reputation of bein’ a bad outlaw to maintain.” Mato grinned and moved closer, settling on the log beside him without ceremony. Across the fire, Arthur felt it before he saw it; Charles’ attention snapping sharp as a rifle crack towards them. Arthur didn’t look up right away, he took a drink instead while Mato rattled off.
Mato laughed, easy and bright, clearly encouraged. “Bad outlaw?” he echoed, eyes dancing in the firelight. “You don’t look very frightening to me.”
Arthur barked a quiet laugh into his cup. “That’s ‘cause you ain’t seen me on a bad day.”
“Or maybe,” Mato said, leaning back on his hands, shoulder brushing Arthur’s arm like it was the most natural thing in the world, “you just don’t try very hard to be scary.”
That earned him a sideways look at last. Arthur’s brow lifted, amused despite himself. “Careful,” he warned lightly. “You’ll hurt my feelings.”
Mato grinned wider, unbothered. “I think you’ll survive.”
Across the fire, Charles shifted. Arthur didn’t need to look to know—he could feel it, the sudden stillness, the way Charles’ presence sharpened and drew tight. Arthur swallowed and tipped his cup back again, liquor warming his chest, loosening his tongue just enough to keep him from overthinking it.
“So,” Arthur said, aiming for casual, “you been keepin’ yourself busy runnin’ around tonight, huh?”
Mato nodded and shrugged. “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t forget how to relax.” His gaze lingered, open and earnest in a way that made Arthur’s stomach twist all over again. “Besides… it’s good to see you laughing, looks good on you.”
Arthur faltered and landed closer to the bone than he’d expected. “You pay a lotta attention,” he muttered, uncomfortable. “I like to,” Mato said simply.
Arthur felt heat creep up his neck, not unwelcome, exactly, but uncomfortable all the same. He cleared his throat and shifted, just enough to put a sliver of space between them. “You’re a good kid,” he said, gentler now. “But don’t go readin’ too much into things.”
Mato didn’t pull away. If anything, he smiled softer. “I’m not a kid,” he replied. “And I know what I see.”
Before Arthur could think of a reply, a shadow fell across them and when Arthur glanced upwards, Charles stood there, expression carefully blank, eyes dark and steady. “Arthur,” he said, voice even, too measured even for him. “Rains Fall’s askin’ after you.” Arthur looked up at him, relief and guilt tangling sharp in his chest. “Yeah—yeah, ‘course.” He pushed himself to his feet a little too fast, nearly sloshing the rest of his drink when he staggered. “Was just—talkin’.”
Mato rose as well, respectful enough, though his eyes flicked between them with obvious curiosity. “I’ll see you later,” he said to Arthur, not quite a question, perhaps a promise was hidden beneath his words somewhere. The outlaw was too far into his spirits to read too much into it. Instead, he nodded in Mato's direction. “Take it easy, kid.”
As Mato melted back into the firelight, Arthur turned toward Charles, only to find him already walking away. “Charles,” Arthur called, frowning after him. “Hey, would you wait up a damn minute?”
Much to his own dismay, Charles didn’t stop or wait up like he asked. Arthur swore under his breath and followed, boots crunching softly over dirt and pine needles as they moved away from the fire. The sounds of laughter and clinking cups dulled behind them, replaced by the low hush of the night. Charles finally slowed near the edge of camp, shoulders tight, hands flexing rapidly at his sides like he was steadying himself.
“Charles,” Arthur said again, quieter now like he was approaching a wild animal. “C’mon. Don’t do this.”
“Do what?” Charles replied without turning. His voice was calm, but it was the kind of calm Arthur knew to be dangerous; pressed flat over something with jagged edges. He stopped and faced him at last, snapping towards him with his expression blazing. “Leave you to have your fun?
Arthur frowned. “That ain’t fair, and you know it.”
Charles let out a short breath through his nose, a sardonic laugh that sounded benign coming from him. “Looked fair enough from where I was standin’.”
Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face, the alcohol was making everything feel heavier, slower. “I was just talkin’ with him. Kid was bein’ friendly, that’s all.”
“Friendly,” Charles echoed mockingly. His eyes flickered briefly back toward the fire, then returned to Arthur, dark and searching. “He was leanin’ on you. Callin’ you handsome. Lookin’ at you like—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening. “Like he wanted somethin’.”
Arthur bristled despite himself. “That ain’t my fault.”
“I didn’t say it was,” Charles snapped, short and visceral while he glared down at Arthur. “–but you didn’t shut it down either.”
That stung. Arthur straightened, shoulders squaring out of habit. “I told him not to read into it.”
“After you let him.” Charles said quietly.
Silence dropped between them, thick and uncomfortable. Arthur stared at him, chest tight, words piling up faster than he could sort them.
“You jealous?” he asked finally, not meaning it as a jab—but it landed like one anyway. Charles' expression snapped fire and he moved without much forethought, closing the distance between them in a few short, sharp strides. Charles gathered the front of his coat in his hands and yanked him forwards, slotting their lips together in a heavy kiss that was anything but gentle.
The kiss was all heat and teeth and frustration poured straight into Arthur’s mouth, licking against tongues that tasted like smoke and liquor and everything they hadn’t said. Arthur made a startled sound that died instantly when Charles’ other hand slid up to cradle the back of his neck, fingers threading into his freshly cut hair like he needed to feel it—needed proof Arthur was still there; still belonged to him.
Arthur kissed him back hard, stumbling a step as Charles crowded him back against a tree, bark rough against his back through his coat. Arthur’s hands fisted in Charles’ shirt, knuckles white, pulling him closer like if he didn’t he might vanish.
The kiss broke only when Arthur sucked in a shaky breath, forehead dropping forward to rest against Charles’, their breaths mingling in the dark. “Don’t,” Arthur muttered, voice sounding wrecked. “Don’t do that and then pretend like you want nothin’ to do with me.”
Charles exhaled through his nose, anger bleeding out into something raw and exposed. His grip loosened but he didn’t let go. “I never said that.”
“Coulda fooled me,” Arthur shot back quietly. “You walked off like you were done with me.”
Charles’ jaw tightened. “You scared me.”
He swallowed, thumb brushing once along Arthur’s jaw, like he was grounding himself. “I saw you laughin’ with him,” he said, lower now, dangerous. “Saw how easy it looked and all I could think was how close I am to losin’ you—and how you don’t even seem to notice.”
Arthur’s chest ached, sharp and sudden. “That ain’t fair, I ain't goin’ nowhere.”
“Then tell me what is,” Charles challenged softly, glossing over his earlier comforts. The anger slowly crept out of his expression, replaced with a desire for reconciliation. “Tell me what we're doing– why you won’t even consider staying.”
Arthur looked away, eyes burning. The answer sat heavy and ugly in his gut, warring with his love for Charles and his loyalty to his family. He swallowed against the dry mass, balled up in the back of his throat, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You know why.”
Charles didn’t accept that. “I know what you tell yourself,” he said quietly. “That you owe them, that they’ll fall apart without you. That you don’t get to choose peace ‘cause you didn’t earn it.” His voice roughened just a touch. “But that ain’t the same thing as why.”
Arthur’s jaw worked. His hands curled at his sides, nails biting into his palms like a deserved punishment. “They’re my people,” he said finally, words scraping their way out, sounding wrong when directed at his lover. “They been my people since I was barely old enough to shave. Dutch took me in when I didn’t have a damn thing— Hosea taught me how to read. John taught me how to talk to women, dammit! You don’t just… abandon that without a second thought.”
Charles watched him, eyes steady, aching with understanding and something harder, unreadable beneath it. “And what am I?” he challenged, quietly.
Arthur snapped his head back toward him, eyes wet and furious all at once. “Don’t you put yourself against them like it’s some kind of scale. You know damn well what you are to me.”
“Then act like it,” Charles said, not raising his voice, which somehow made it worse. Arthur wished he would yell, wished he would have a reason to be cross instead of guilty. “You talk about loyalty like it’s a chain you gotta drag forever. You talk about ‘em like they’re still the same people who’d come lookin’ for you if you disappeared.”
Arthur flinched. Charles saw it and his expression softened, pain flashing through before he could hide it but it was too late. “They didn’t come for you,” he said gently, prompting. “Did they?”
Arthur’s jaw clenched, his heart twisted painfully in his chest. “They didn’t know where I was.”
Charles scoffed, sounding incredulous now. “You told me that plan over and over– they were supposed to meet you at the fork in the road, no matter what and still, we haven't seen hide or hair of Dutch himself out here, looking for you.”
Arthur flinched, anger flashing hot to cover the hurt. “That don’t mean nothin’,” he snapped just as quickly. “Plans change. You know that better’n anyone.”
Charles shook his head, a sharp, frustrated motion. “People don’t just stop lookin’ when one of their own goes missin’, not if they care.”
“They do care,” Arthur insisted, voice rising despite himself. “Dutch ain’t the type to come ridin’ out blind into unfamiliar territory. He’s got others to think about.”
“And you weren’t one of ‘em?” Charles shot back, immediately. He sounded cruel and unlike himself, but he must've believed Arthur needed to hear his words, otherwise he wouldn't bother. He had hoped this conversation could wait, or that maybe it would get forgotten about underneath everything else. Somehow, Dutch always had a way of working his way between people, even if he wasn't present.
Arthur’s mouth opened, then shut again. His breath came shallow, a poor job of masking his upset. “You don’t get to say that to me, it ain't fair.”
“I don’t want to,” Charles said, stepping closer, hands open like he was trying not to spook him when Arthur moved away from his advances. “But I watched you wait— day after day. You kept sayin’ ‘tomorrow’ kept tellin’ yourself they’d show, I was the one who watched Dutch break your heart. He wasn't around to pick up the pieces.”
Arthur’s gaze dropped to the dirt. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, fingers catching on the newly trimmed ends. “They had reasons,” he muttered. “They always have their reasons, you don't know them like I do— don't know Dutch the same as me.”
Charles’ voice softened as he rested one of his hands on Arthur's shoulder, who allowed it. “Maybe not, but I know you.” He paused, choosing his words with care as he shifted closer. “And I know you’d’ve gone after any one of them without thinking twice about it.” Arthur's body sagged forwards and Charles caught him, a steady, powerful arm roped around his waist holding him upright.
Silence swallowed them again, thick and aching. The fire cracked somewhere behind them, laughter drifting faint and far away, like a world Arthur didn’t quite belong to anymore. Charles held his gaze, steady and aching, truly seeing him. “I ain’t askin’ you to choose tonight,” he said at last. “But don’t tell me this doesn't hurt, don't lie anymore—tell me you see what he's done to you.”
Arthur closed his eyes, breath shuddering out of him as he melted deeper into Charles’ embrace. “I see it— ‘course I see what he's done…but, he raised me n’ John. Back before any of this, there was us. Just us.” He squeezed his eyes shut, fingers flexing around the material of Charles' coat. He felt like he might disappear completely if he let go, his world was spinning out of control and he felt helpless to stop it.
“I know,” Charles soothed now, the edge accompanying his words seemed to have dissipated some time ago. His thumbs followed the lower ring of Arthur's eyes, brushing away stray emotion like it was never there to begin with. “You're being faced with an impossible choice, but it will be made one way or another— on your own or otherwise.” He ducked his head towards him, until their noses could brush and nudge together.
“I can't lose you, Arthur.” When he spoke his voice was devastatingly raw, quiet and gruff with vulnerable emotion. He squeezed Arthur once, twice, then kissed him quickly. “It may be selfish of me, but I won't let you kill yourself for Dutch.”
“Charles—” Arthur tried but his lover was adamant, holding him firmly so he couldn't squirm or look away.
He was trapped, unable to escape Charles' vulnerable truth. “I love you,” His eyes bore into Arthur's with such intensity, the outlaw swore he watched an entire forest go up in flames throughout his coppery gaze. Whatever words he had ready as protest were lost on him, Charles gripped his chin between his thumb and forefinger, encouraged by the spirits in their blood. “It may be selfish of me, but I can't let you die— I won't. I will die for you Arthur Morgan, if it comes to that.”
“Don't say that.” His words struck fear so deep into his heart it made his heart stutter. His breaths were shallow and ragged, each one more difficult to pull into his lungs than the last. Terror threaded through his frame, making him freeze and tense at the thought of a bullet ripping through Charles’ chest, for him. Charles dying, because of him.
Arthur crushed their bodies together in a tight, desperate embrace. Above him, Charles sounded wet and furious as they held onto one another. “It's the truth, I would lay my life on the line for you— just as I know you would for me. I love you and even if you don't ever say it again, I know you love me too.”
He didn't have time to respond before Charles was all over him, slotting their lips together in a mess of teeth and tongue that set Arthur's blood on fire. His lover licked beyond his teeth and into his mouth to swallow every grunt and whine from the ruddy outlaw. The Hunter didn't let up, pressing the shorter male against the trunk of the tree, barely several yards from the campfire their friends were celebrating at.
Charles’ large hand gripped the outlaw's hip possessively, he nipped at Arthur's bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth before soothing the sting with his tongue. He couldn't help himself, wincing and squirming at the rough treatment though his cock twitched and stirred despite his reservations. “You're mine,” He growled against the shell of Arthur's ear, making chills roll down his spine and goosebumps rise on his skin. “I won't let anyone take you from me, not even Dutch.”
Arthur's eyelids fluttered, skin burning with unspoken desire and yearning. “Charles…” His other hand came up to tangle in Arthur's hair, tugging his head back to expose the column of his throat. Charles leaned in, dragging his tongue along the sensitive skin before sinking his teeth in just hard enough to leave a mark. Even if Arthur decided to try and hide the evidence that Charles had been there at all, he would know the truth.
"Fuck…” He breathed out, hips jerking involuntarily against the solid wall of Charles' body. The outlaw's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts; the desperate need to please Charles, the ache of guilt over leaving his family, and the simmering resentment towards Dutch... But none of that mattered at this moment. All that existed was the heat of their bodies pressed together, the taste of Charles' mouth, the feel of those strong hands roaming over his skin.
Arthur's breath hitched as Charles' words washed over him, each one striking a chord deep within his battered soul. He leaned into the touch on his cheek, eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment as he savored the gentleness amidst the storm of emotions swirling inside him. One hand remained on him, while the other reached between them to unfasten their trousers.
Arthur's body trembled and shook with anticipation and fear. After all, he had never been with another man before— not like this; where they were headed. "Charles..." He sounded wrecked already, hips raising towards him involuntarily. The cool, balmy night air swept over his skin, cooling the heat rising in his core enough for him to focus. “We shouldn't… Not here.”
“Why?” Charles challenged lowly, the sound of belt metal clinking registered in the far recesses of his thoughts, completely enraptured by his lover's possessive mannerisms. “Everyone here already knows that you're mine— they won't wonder where we've gone off to.” Arthur stuttered and gasped at his blunt confession, fanning against the side of his neck while his head slithered beneath the waistband of his old, worn pants.
Arthur felt his cock twitch in his pants, curving towards Charles’ teasing, suddenly tentative hand. “T-They do?” He exhaled, words half-broken as his eyelids fluttered. He did his best not to imagine their expressions of disgust— their displeasure when they found out he was nothing more than a freak. Instead, Charles' hands stilled and he kissed Arthur until he felt steady again. “They know I love you.” He confessed quietly, chest heaving in tandem with Arthur's. “Everyone with basic eyesight knows how I feel for you, Arthur, it isn't… I don't do well at hiding things.”
“I'm sorry.” He felt despair and guilt wash over him in big, threatening waves that threatened to fill his lungs. Charles was quick, snatching his hand to kiss and nibble on the edges of his roughed up fingers. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” When he looked at Arthur, it made chills rise on his skin and his hips twitched without command. “You are the man I desire, let me show you.”
He nodded, feeling hazy and half-concious, similiar to feverish but ten times more fun. “I..I love you too, Charles. Even if you deserve better, I can't help myself—” The Hunter didn't allow him to finish his self-deprecation spiral. Instead, he connected their lips again and rutted his arousal against Arthur's until he was seeing stars.
They devolved into a mess of wandering hands, sticky abdomens and incoherencies as they moved against one another. Charles shucked his pants down unceremoniously down his hips and Arthur's followed a second after, exposing him to the cool breeze pulling a gasp from his lips.
He rocked and writhed against Arthur with purpose, making his cock drool pre liquid and his head spin until stars were dancing across his vision. “I love hearing you,” Charles hummed against his skin, alight with desire and a want so deep he could feel it in the marrow of his bones. “You sound so pretty like this. So perfect.” Arthur couldn't help himself, a few more slick thrusts of their cocks together and he was crying out, muffled against the meat of his brown shoulder while he spilled all over their joined bodies.
Charles rocked him through the peak of his climax, shushing and praising him in the same breath. Delirious and high, Arthur writhed and moaned beneath him, melting back against the weight of the tree supporting them. “Here,” He urged gently, offering nothing but the pads of his fingers out to the foggy outlaw, who stared at them in confusion. Charles traced the outline of his lips, sounding fond when he spoke again. “Suck on them.”
Arthur obeyed with little hesitance, speaking volumes to how much they trusted one another, without having to speak any words at all. He wrapped his lips around two of Charles’ thick, fat fingers, tongue slicking around the salty digits until they were sliding back and forth on his tongue. His lover observed him with a half-lidded, fervent gaze that prompted to take his fingers further down his throat.
“Yes,” Charles groaned his praise. “Yes, just like that.”
Arthur didn't know how he ended up here; with his pants around his ankles, swallowing The Hunter's fingers like his life depended on it, but he found that much to his surprise— that he enjoyed it more than he thought he might. Before long, Charles withdrew his digits and his hand disappeared from sight. It wasn't until he felt the pads of those same, calloused fingers prodding against his entrance that he realized their purpose.
He cried out, curving into his lover as those thick digits breached him. He huffed and panted through the burn of being stretched for the first time, forehead hitting Charles’ collarbone while his knees trembled and threatened to buckle. “Does it feel good?” Charles asked, making him shiver and buck against his fingers. Once the burn had passed, subsiding into a dull ache, Arthur could feel the desire to move against him for more stimulation. “Do you like my fingers Arthur?”
“Yes,” He moaned, the sound ripped from his chest like a deep, dark confession. “It feels good Charles.” Only once Arthur began moving on his own accord did Charles begin driving his digits into him, curling and curving his fingers, encouraged by each sound he managed to rattle from his lover's lungs.
For a long time Arthur stayed pressed against the bark of the tree behind him, cock slowly rising to full mass again, letting Charles work his fingers in and out of him until he was reduced to a babbling, incoherent excuse for a man. Arthur enjoyed that Charles was able to subdue him so easily, that his body was pliant to his advances and ministrations. It was only once he withdrew his fingers from him, leaving him empty that Arthur sobered up at all.
“Do you trust me?” Charles murmured against his earlobe, leaving open-mouthed kisses against his flaming, flushed skin. Arthur nodded despite the thundering of his heart against his chest, his cock twitched and wept against his stomach while his lover lined himself up. “Do you want me? I need to hear you say it, Arthur.”
His face burned hot and ugly, teeth gnashing down on his fleshy tongue until it hurt. Charles was so unapologetic and confident in himself that it intimated Arthur at times. Then again, he couldn’t think clearly with Charles girthy, large cock prodding at his entrance, making his heart flutter and skip. “I want you Charles.”
Just as Arthur trusted him to, Charles didn't rush or push anything too quickly. He took his time sinking into him, never giving him more than he could handle, always patient and checking in with him despite how hard his cock was and how badly he wanted to rut into him. One of his arms hooked around the back of Charles’ neck, holding onto him like a lifeline while The Hunter kissed him until he couldn't breathe.
“I love you.” Charles admonished once his cock was fully seated inside of him, soaking in the feeling of being connected so intimately. Arthur knocked their foreheads together, eyes practically rolling into the back of his head. “Love you.” The Outlaw slurred his words in his barely conscious state, hooking his other arm around him to give Charles better opportunity to lift him.
When he moved Arthur felt his world narrow and shatter with every thrust and expert rock of his hips. The more sounds that spilled from his mouth, the deeper Charles drove his cock into him like he was determined to draw them out. “So good,” The Hunter moaned, prompting Arthur to sink his fingers into the inky ocean of long, braided back hair. Each tug of his strands made Charles moan and his hips stutter, urging the Outlaw to continue. “Shit…”
Arthur cooed and whispered sweet nothings into his lover's ear, not entirely aware of the words rolling off his tongue— but loving the reaction it elicited from Charles anyways. Each thrust of his hips made his stomach twist and his chest flush with butterflies, reverbrating off the walls of his ribcage.
His encouragement spurred Charles on and he reached between them to wrap his hand around Arthur's erection, moving his hand along his shaft in time with his earth shattering thrusts. “Yeah, yeah! Just like that. You feel so good inside of me, Charles!” His hips spasmed and sputtered as he emptied into his lover's hand just as quickly as he had started touched him.
Charles let him fuck his hand for a short while, his own hips snapping in a hot, messy frenzy of slapping skin and lewd noises. Arthur's body felt limp and heavy, cheek pressed against his lover's shoulder while he chased his own orgasm after him.
His hips rolled with each spray of his climax inside of Arthur, who tightened shaky legs around him to keep himself upright while Charles rode out the high of his orgasm. By the time he finished, Arthur was dizzy and out of breath, and The Hunter was in a similiar state— slick and disheveled from being held up and supported by an old tree.
They panted and breathed together, rolling and rocking against each other while the last of their orgasms subsided and ebbed out of their bodies. Charles withdrew slowly, careful of his newfound sensitivity while trying to separate from him. Arthur leaned back against the bark, allowing his lover to assist him with redressing while he slumped back against the tree, shoulders bowed and body trembling.
“Easy,” Charles murmured, low and affectionate. “I got you.”
And he believed him, trusted him more than Arthur had ever trusted anyone in his whole life. Charles murmured sweet compliments against his skin, still buzzing and alight from their coupling while he continued peppering kisses over him. It was intoxicating giving himself over completely to his lover— knowing that he was safe so long as they had each other at their backs.
He went to work tugging Arthur's trousers back over his hips and adjusting his linens, straightening his coat and running his fingers through his curls until he looked less like a man recently fucked against a tree. Arthur allowed Charles to care for him in such a way, dressing and fixing him up while peppering kisses and soft encouragements against his skin along the way. He felt drunk, or as though he was asleep, lost in a very pleasant, vivid dream.
“Breathe with me, Cowboy.” Charles whispered, low and throaty, pressing his forehead to Arthur’s temple. In due time, the shaking of his frame came to stop, finding calm in the aftermath of their intense bliss. “There you go, just like that.”
When Arthur’s breathing finally steadied, Charles shifted so Arthur could lean fully into him, weight shared and supported all without complaint. He mumbled small, ordinary things about the stars, about the cold settling in, about how they’d sleep soon and ride out again in the next few days. Not promises, not ultimatums. Just now and just tonight.
Arthur nodded against his shoulder, eyes heavy and body exhausted. Once they were dressed and the worst of the tremors had passed, Charles delivered another peck to his mouth and separated from their embrace at last. He tucked Arthur's coat around his body tighter and his arm returned to its preferred position around the outlaw's waist.
Both men were under no impressions of being able to stay longer, but Arthur went to sleep, wrapped up in Charles’ arms that night knowing that he couldn't stay with Dutch either— not if he loved Charles like he claimed.
Being brave enough to do it was another beast he wasn't ready to tackle, at least not tonight.
