#clemenspoint

II. Arthur Morgan .{SMUT}.

3.9 k words

Contents: Taking a midnight stroll after a restless night, Arthur passes your tent and hears you yell his name. He rushes in to find you helping yourself to the thought of him. SMUT, p in v, masterbation, etc.

The moon was high in the night sky as Arthur rose from his bed holding his head in his hands, he couldn’t catch any sleep no matter how hard he tried. He signs, deciding that he’s going to take a walk to clear his head, he dresses quietly, and steps out the tent breathing in the cool air. WIth every step he can’t help but think back to the woman camped across the clearing next to the shimmering lake. It had been one of your bathing days. Careful as always, you refused to wash too close to camp and asked the only man you truly trusted to stand guard for you. He agreed, the thought of any other man seeing you so exposed churned his inside something fierce, especially Micah. At first, Arthur had flushed at the mere idea of glimpsing you in your underthings, feeling like you were the most innocent and delicate flower that he'd be ruined by even thinking dirty thoughts. As the weeks passed and the two of you grew closer, his guarded politeness turned into something more. He admired your kindness and generosity, the easy way you shared what little you had, and the quiet glow that seemed to follow you wherever you went. He noticed the way your eyes narrowed against the bright sun, the curve of your genuine smile, and the softness of your voice when you spoke. 

He found himself appreciating your physical beauty as well. When you believed his attention was fixed on the treeline, he would quietly glance your way as you eased into the water, sunlight dancing along the surface around you. There was something captivating in the curve of your figure, in the natural sway of your hips as you moved. To him, they carried a quiet strength, the kind shaped for endurance, for nurturing, for bringing life into the world. He liked the soft mounds on your chest, perfect globes that he would worship all day if you let him. He noticed how your nipples always hardened when you entered the water, he always wondered how your breast would feel in his hands and your nipples pinched between his teeth. He wondered how’d you sound when he entered you and the lewd sounds that’d follow. Would you have a silent gasp or would you be praising him, saying his name over and over, begging him not to stop while your fingernails raked across his back. These were the thoughts that were plaguing him tonight.

The camp lay hushed beneath the night sky as he wandered through it. The fires had burned down to glowing embers hours ago, casting a low, amber light across the clearing. Above, the sky stretched wide and clear, and moonlight shimmered over the distant water, silver ripples catching his eye as he passed. Almost without thinking, his steps carried him toward your tent. He told himself it was harmless, just to make sure all was well. He had fallen into the habit of it, these quiet walks at night that led to you. More often than not, he’d find you inside, seated near the soft glow of a candle. Sometimes you sang to yourself, your voice low and soothing in the stillness. Other nights you bent over your journal, pen moving steadily across the page, your brow furrowed in thought. He never lingered too long. Just enough to glimpse the warm light through the canvas, or to catch the faintest thread of your voice drifting into the dark. And then he would turn back toward his own tent, carrying that small comfort with him into the night.

When he reached your tent and stopped some thirty paces away, he noticed at once that no light flickered within. The canvas of your tent was dark and still. Around him, the only sound was the steady chorus of crickets filling the night air. He paused, hesitating, then began to turn back toward his own tent. That was when he heard it, a faint, broken sound drifting from your direction. It sounded like you were crying. His chest tightened. You’d had nightmares before and he knew how fiercely they could grip you, he had woken up to your screams a couple times. Without another thought, he moved closer. Five steps from the entrance, the sound of heavy, uneven breathing penetrates his ears. He stood just outside the flap listening, when suddenly you cried out his name. The sound jolted straight through him, panic flared in his chest. He seized the canvas flap and threw it open, stepping inside in a rush. But what he found stopped him short. 

You were lying on top of your blankets, wide awake, not tangled in sleep, but staring straight at him. Your eyes were wide, startled, and your hair clung damply to your flushed face, beads of sweat tracing along your temples. The candle was out, the tent dim in the spill of moonlight from the open flap, and for a moment neither of you spoke  the silence thick with confusion and concern.

“Arthur!” you gasp, snatching a shawl from the chair beside your bed and pulling it tightly to your chest. “What are you doing?” He freezes where he stands, the flap still clenched in his hand. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammers, turning his head sharply toward the tent wall as though it might offer him some refuge. “I heard you cry out. Thought you were hurt. I didn’t mean to barge in.” His voice is rough with worry and with something else he can’t quite steady. He tries to look away, truly he does, his gaze fixated on the lantern hook, the small table, anywhere but you. Yet despite himself, his eyes flicker back. You’re flushed from whatever had gripped you moments before, breath still uneven, strands of damp hair clinging to your face. The moonlight spilling through the open flap traces the curve of your cheek, the rise and fall of your chest beneath the shawl. There’s something disarming about the sight of you like this, vulnerable, startled, real. He swallows hard and forces his gaze down to the ground. “You called my name,” he says more quietly now. “I thought you were in trouble.” The panic that had sent him rushing inside lingers in his posture, in the tight set of his shoulders. Whatever embarrassment he feels is tangled up with genuine concern and the undeniable pull he can’t seem to shake whenever he’s near you. But, he also feels something else at the same time. 

For a moment, he can hardly focus on what’s going on around him. All he can think about is what he witnessed the moment the flap came open and he saw what you were doing. Your delicate legs were spread open, resting against the canvas of the tent and the other lazily flopped to the side, holding your bodyweight with your left arm as your right arm was placed on top of your right thigh and your hand was resting on your cunt. It wasn’t resting, It was moving, making your naked breasts shake with it. That’s when a slow change comes over Arthur. The tension in his shoulders eases, and when he finally lifts his gaze back to you, there’s something different in his expression. The worry fades, replaced by a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He’s just realized something. You called his name. You called his name while your fingers were deep inside your cunt, trying to reach the spongy spot that sent electricity through your whole body while your palm was rubbing the little exposed button that sat between your folds. 

That realization straightens his posture. There’s a quiet confidence in the way he stands now, hat tipped slightly back, eyes soft but undeniably pleased. Not arrogant exactly but aware. “Well,” he says, voice low and edged with a faint smirk, “seems I was the one you were lookin’ for.” The cockiness isn’t cruel. It’s lighter than that, a man recognizing, perhaps for the first time, that the feelings he’s been wrestling with might not be his alone. Not if you were here laying under the cover of night pleasuring yourself to the thought of him. 

You sit there, speechless, the shawl clutched tightly at your collarbone. Whatever sharp retort you meant to give him dissolves before it ever reaches your tongue. He watches you for a beat longer, that faint, confident smile still lingering. Then, without breaking eye contact, he reaches back and lets the tent flap fall closed. The soft thud of it shutting muffles the outside world, sealing the two of you inside the quiet, dim space. His boots cross the ground quickly, two, three long strides and in seconds he’s kneeling on your mat. Your breath catches in your throat as he lowers himself, one knee to the ground, then the other, moving with slow, deliberate intent. The bed mat shifts softly beneath his weight as he comes closer, closing the small space that had remained between you. You can smell the faint woodsy scent that always clings to him, pine smoke, worn leather, the clean sharpness of night air. It wraps around you as solidly as the shawl in your hands. His eyes never leave yours, steady and intent, searching your face for something unspoken. He stops just in front of you, bracing one hand beside your hip on the mattress, careful not to crowd you yet close enough that you feel the heat of him.

He keeps moving until only a breath separates you, close enough that the warmth of him seeps through the thin air between your bodies. His gaze drops briefly to your lips, then returns to your eyes, searching, asking without words. Slowly, giving you every chance to stop him, he lifts his hand. His fingertip brushes lightly against your shoulder, barely there at first, testing the space between you. Then, with a gentle, steady pressure, he nudges you back against the pillows. It isn’t forceful. It’s a question disguised as a touch. “Lie back,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, though his expression remains careful. Attentive. He hovers there, only centimeters away, waiting for your reaction, watching to see if you’ll push him away or let him stay.

You ease back into the pillows, heart pounding, eyes never leaving his face. The mattress dips as he shifts forward, and then his hands come to rest on either side of your head, braced carefully against the plush surface not trapping you, but surrounding you with his presence. He hovers there, looking down at you.

For a long moment, he simply studies your face, the rise and fall of your breath, the way your lashes tremble, the flush that hasn’t yet faded from your skin. The moonlight spills across his features, carving shadows along his jaw, catching in his eyes. There’s confidence there again. Not careless but sure. His thumb brushes lightly against a stray strand of hair near your temple before his hand settles back beside you. His gaze drops briefly to your lips, then lifts again to meet your eyes. “You want this, darlin’?” he asks, voice low and edged with that familiar smug warmth. But beneath the tone there’s something steady. A pause. He waits for your answer, holding himself still, giving you the space to choose. You slowly nod your head trying to catch your breath. 

After he gains your consent, something in his expression softens completely. He doesn’t rush. Slowly, giving you time to change your mind, he lowers his head. His hand shifts slightly beside you, steadying himself as he closes the final inch of distance. His lips brush yours, gentle at first, almost tentative, like he’s testing whether the moment is real. For a heartbeat, you hesitate. The world seems to narrow to that single point of contact,  the warmth of his mouth, the faint scent of pine and smoke, the steady rhythm of his breathing. Then your eyes fall closed. You lean into him, your hand lifting to curl into the fabric of his shirt, and the kiss deepens. What began soft and careful grows more certain, more searching. He exhales quietly against you, surprised and pleased, and no longer restrained by doubt. His left hand slides from the mattress to your shoulder then across your collarbone sending shivers from your scalp down your spine. As he presses his tongue pushes past your lips, dominating you in the kiss, his fingers brush over the fabric of your shawl silently asking to take hold of it. Your fingers loosen your grip, allowing Arthur to teasingly slide the cloth down brushing against your perk nipple as he does so. A growl reverberates from his chest to throat as he slides his hand to cup the side of your breast, his palm large and warm against your flesh. He takes your bottom lip in between his teeth and gently bites it as he pulls away from you to look down towards the exposed globes. 

His mouth fills with his saliva looking at your breasts, your nipples are so hard yet so soft at the same time. Arthur can’t tell you the amount of times he thought about playing with them, rolling and pinching one while he sucked on the other. No warning and he wraps his mouth around the bulb, your back arching at the wet sensation. He groans, flattens his tongue, pressing the muscle into the soft mound tasting your sweat and inhaling your sweet scent. You throw your head back further into the pillows when he swirls his tongue causing a low buzzing to arise in your lower belly. “Fuck Arthur.” you moan, bringing your hands to your hair, fingers tangling themselves in the strands. “Please don’t stop.” He releases your nipple with a whine from you, smirking with the knowing of what he was doing to you. “Oh I wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon, sweetheart.” Putting your other nipple in his mouth, he releases your breast and starts to slowly trail down your side. His fingers ghost over your ribcage causing you to twitch from the sensitive region, moving down your side with a controlled crawl, you flex uncontrollably when his fingers pass your belly button.

A yelp leaves you when he pinches the soft skin with his teeth, his thick warm finger rubs against your clit at the same moment making you jolt your chest pushing away from your blankets. The buzz in your belly becomes stronger, making you crave more of him, his touch, his smell, his cock. Two thick fingers border the sides of the sensitive nub, the rough callouses reminding you Arthur was a man, a strong man covered in tight muscles that flexed on top of you. A man that had known hardship, long rides, rough fights, cold mornings, and he was here holding you like you were going to break if he breathed wrong at you. You’ve waited for this moment for months, you had him near you as you bathed trying to get his attention, you could have only dreamed of being in this exact position and Arthur ruining you with his cock. Forbidding Arthur to  treat you as fraglike as a piece of china, you grab his wrist guiding him through your folds, teasing yourself, pinching your clit with the strong digits. Allowing yourself to feel the intense zap penetrate deep into your skin, you clench around nothing, the empty feeling frustrating you with each second that passes. You direct his hand lower, reaching your weeping cunt, wet juices coating Arthur’s middle and ring fingers as you slowly enter them inside you. He watches as you use his hand to fuck yourself, eyes lowered to your tight pussy as you clench down on him, swallowing him deep inside you striving to keep him there. 

He can’t take it anymore, it feels like his cock is going to burst from his pants spilling his seed all over you. A snarl leaves him as he removes his hand from your grasp, grabbing your waist, the movement hurried. He holds you down firmly leaving bruises the shape of his fingertips as he tries to compose himself, not wanting to lose control and hurt you. He watches as you snake your fingers from your stomach to your mound to find your clit yourself, erotic wet sounds fills the silence in the air as you massage your clit, taking Arthur’s place as you finger fuck yourself. Your small fingers don’t have the erotic sting of when he splits you open but you’re so desperate for relief you don’t care whose it is. Hearing you mewl his name and hearing his name whispered from your lips snaps the hold on his control, he uses his grip on your hips and his strength to flip you onto your stomach. Your face is pushed into the mat as he pulls your hips up, bringing you up on your knees, now on all fours as you feel his strong thighs flex against the back of yours. He unzips his pants, the sound exciting you and sending another flood through your pretty pussy. He shoves his pants down and pulls out his hard cock, the angry pink tip leaking precum leaving a damp patch on the front of his jeans. Arthur presses against your entrance, brushing himself up and down gathering all your slick, using it to lube himself so he doesn’t hurt you. Not too much anyway. 

You shiver as he slides his length back down against your quivering hole, his head tilting back as he pushes himself forward. Having to put in a little more effort from the way you’re gripping him so tightly. You wail at the way you feel every inch of him, your fingers gripping the blanket beneath you as he pushes through the tight ring of muscle. Reaching the end, Arthur stays seated in you for a second, letting you adjust to his size. Rubbing your hips provides comfort as he waits. When you’ve finally adjusted, you look back at him and nod, giving him permission to have his way with you. You’ve wanted this for months, since the day you met him if you’re honest. A smirk plays on his lips as he pulls his hips back, dragging his cock out leaving just the tip inside, then without warning he slams back into you. You shriek at the sudden movement, biting down on the blanket attempting to silence yourself as the man behind you drills into you.

Your vision goes black as your eyes roll to the back of your head, Arthur’s cock is stretching you to your limit, his tip kissing your cervix. He’s molding every vein, every bump, even the slit into you. Turning you into the perfect pussy just for his pleasure. You feel the buzz inside your womb growing more with each second, sending ecstasy through all of your limbs. Arthur’s holding onto you, grounding and steadying himself on your hips as he pounds into your tight pussy. He feels a spark flicker at the base of his spine as his balls start to rise into him, his thighs shake and his breathing becomes shallow. He’s about to cum, but not until you clamp down on him, and he definitely wasn’t pulling out of you when you did. Why would he deny himself the one thing that was made for him, the one thing that was truly his, why would he deny himself you. Arthur moved his hand from your hip, snaking it around pressing his pointer and middle finger back on your clit, earning a high pitched squeal. Feeling the buzz inside you shrink into a ball, you knew you were about to cum around his cock. You pull your hips forward to rock yourself against him, keeping the brutal pace he set. You couldn’t think straight anymore, your mind so fogged from the way he was fucking you into your bed, your cheek pressed into the bed and your hair sticking to your face. Arthur rolls your clit harder between his fingers sending erotic pleasure throughout your entire body, from your pussy to your fingers as you finally cum. Your mind goes blank as he fucks you through your orgasm, the intense shock making your eyes roll and any strength leave your body.

Watching you cum all over him, Arthur knows he’s next and picks up the pace, slamming into you even harder. He leans down, pulling you up to his chest, your back now flush to his shirt. His right arm stays wrapped around you and his left is placed between your breasts allowing him to wrap his hand around your throat. “Fuck.” Arthur growls in your ear, “I’m going to fill you up.” Moaning you focus on the way your shared heavy breathing fills the tent the same way skin slapping against skin, making you dizzy against him. You’re brought back when Arthur quickly slaps your clit. “M’ gonna fill this perfect cunt up to the rim, get so round and full with my baby. M’ gonna to make sure every man who dares to look knows you're mine.”. His words send a shock to your womb and you nod, “Please Arthur, make me yours. Fill me with your seed.” The damn breaks as he cums, shooting ropes of himself into you just as you asked. He pumps into you, his head thrown back. When his high comes down, Arthur stalls his hips, keeping you both upright as you catch your breath. After a moment, he finally slips out of you kissing the back of your neck. He gently lays you down and slowly pulls the blanket from under you, placing it over your naked body. Abandoning his pants and shirt before slipping under the blanket with you, he brings you into his chest, his arms caging around you in a protective hold. 

The tent falls quiet again, the world outside reduced to the steady hum of crickets and the distant, soothing rhythm of water brushing the shore. The night feels softer now, wrapped around the two of you like a blanket. Your cheek rests against his chest, his heartbeat strong and even beneath your ear. The warmth of him seeps into you, steadying your breath. “I love you,” you whisper into his chest, the words small but certain. You mean every syllable. He flinches at first,  just slightly, the confession catching him off guard. You feel the shift in his breathing before he pulls back enough to look down at you. His expression unguarded now, something vulnerable breaking through the usual confidence. “I love you too,” he says, voice rougher than before. A faint tremor slips through it. “I always have.” You lift your head, smiling up at him, and place a gentle kiss on his lips. Softer this time, unhurried and full of quiet certainty. When you pull back, your eyes drift closed as you settle against him again.

“You have worn me out,” you murmur, a sleepy smile tugging at your mouth. A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, the sound warm and content. He tightens his arms around you, drawing you closer until there’s no space left between you. His chin rests lightly atop your head as his breathing begins to slow. Outside, the night carries on undisturbed. Inside the tent, wrapped in his arms, you both let the quiet take you and drift together into sleep.