HERE TO DO COWBOY SHIT.

and he’ll gladly give it. hands settle on her waist, coax her in closer to bring her in against his chest. then a fond kiss is pressed to her forehead as hair is pushed away from her face with rough hands turn gentle in her wake.

maybe he’s sank a few drinks down by this point, meandering down a path of slurred words and a head held aloft in a smear of color and motion and sound. some idle words are exchanged with the others around him, boisterous laughter erupts from him at something that wasn’t even half funny, but he’s been caught in such a JOVIAL haze of DRUNK that the urge strikes him anyway.

so when a certain redhead settles herself upon a knee, it hardly throws him – THIS MAY AS WELL HAPPEN, he figures as a hand finds a POLITE spot on the small of her back to offer some semblance of support. he takes the offered beer and knocks back a healthy mouthful, the drink left on the counter forgotten in this stumbling show of gratitude.

he absolutely hates the idea of society and its inherent imbalances, the hypocrisy, the idle bystander when an outstretched hand could haul someone worthy up. civilization as he’s seen it frustrates him, in part due to his upbringing under the boot of his father and the philosophy he came into adulthood with thanks to dutch and hosea.

but when it comes to his family, to individuals, he is filled with such steadfast loyalty. he’s right by them through and through, for better or for worse, and though he sees the ills of society staining their ways of thinking, he has seen the good and the honor in them.

✯ HE CERTAINLY HAS LEARNT A THING OR TWO ABOUT           KEEPING THOSE LIPS BUSY WITH THINGS OTHER THAN           SPITE THAT USED TO DRIP FROM THEM. ALL AMERICAN BAD BOY,           WILL TAKE A JEST LIKE THAT WITH A SHY REPLY AND A SMILE.           Who would’ve thought? Good boy.

❝I COULD PASS A DAY BY WITHON MENACIN’ YOU…❞ he says, drying off that one little drop of water off his glistening chest, if by coincidence to tell you it’s rude to stare. Eyes up, he’s talking to you. Or down. Trust your training to know which way to look. Maybe forward? Arthur seemed to like that one. But I wouldn’t tell. ❝Thing is, hon… between the two o’ us? I think yer gonna be missin’ the way I talk at you more than I would. C’mon, say I’m wrong…❞ bastard grin with a trailing laughter, straining eyes in the sun, a good chuckle bouncing his shoulders, he lets the towel hang around his shoulders. He’s daring you to contradict, but you’re right the flusterin’ red up that chest and neck says more than he needs to know. It’s sensible, he understands.

a FACET of his attention is wiped away, so his eyes cut to the side, no longer so blatantly staring at the other. heat still crawls over his skin from more than just the insistence of the sun and the hot day that urged them to the pool in the first place. ＂you don’t know any other way to TALK, is what i think. so it probably ain’t even an option, huh.＂ it’s not enough of a SURRENDER to properly call it one, but it’s enough of an admission to confirm what Alex already knows. after all, if he didn’t LIKE Alex’s mannerisms and attitude, he wouldn’t be here -- so no, he doesn’t want him to change, despite all his griping and grumbling when the itch of embarrassment finds him.

i really see arthur being such... a bashful partner after everything he’s been through. there’s been so much hurt and self-loathing that if he finds someone who wants to be with him and he lets his walls down enough to let himself want to be with them too, that there is this measurement of shyness and reservation. he’s still loving in his way, through acts of service and private moments full of unbridled expressions of affection, but there’s a quiet anxiety, a pause as if waiting for... rejection really.