#mulanism

aftercare - noun – the act of comforting after sex.

The gesture was simple, and yet it makes your heart stutter dangerously within your chest. You exhale quietly, allowing yourself to enjoy the sensation of his lips pressed against the warm skin of your stomach. He places a second kiss there, and in the back of your mind you wonder if that’s a part of your body he’s particularly fond of. You don’t let yourself to dwell on the thought for too long, and instead choose to focus your attention on the way his muscles move as he pulls himself up to be closer to you. He was strong, and yet he somehow managed to handle your body with a certain kind of tenderness that you knew you could only get from him. He doesn’t bother to reach for the thin sheets that had gotten tangled during your cherished moments of lovemaking; he knows you well enough to understand that you felt more content with his arms around you instead. And so, there’s no hesitation in his movements when he pulls you into his arms, absentmindedly brushing away the mess of stray hairs that had fallen into your line of sight. He murmurs something about how good you did, but you don’t catch it in your drowsy state as your breathing finally begins to even out and your eyelids begin to close on their own accord. The last thing you remember before falling into your peaceful slumber was the feeling of his hands weaving through your hair, his lips pressed against your forehead, and a few words along the lines of, I love you.

dirty secret – noun – something kept from the world by two people.

Your fingers move with ease, working the buttons of your blouse slowly but purposefully. You knew he liked it that way, and you knew he was watching; you always knew. This little game of yours grew more risky every time you both played—what started with Arthur simply having a small glimpse of your half-dressed form through a small slit in your tent turned into you putting yourself on full display in the dead of night, free for any of the gang members to see if they happened to wake up and make a small journey past your tent. You drop the long-sleeved shirt onto the dirty ground without much thought, and when Arthur realizes that you’d been wearing absolutely nothing underneath, a muffled moan filters through the quiet air. The sound is almost inaudible, mixing in with the other noises of the nature surrounding you; but it reaches your ears and for a moment, all you can think about is the way he might be stroking himself. The image of him hopelessly pumping his cock and making an absolute mess of himself while cumming was enough make you want to reach a climax of your own. And so, you lay back on your makeshift bed, one hand resting on your breast and the other snaking its way down as you spread your legs, preparing to give him a real show.

forever - noun - until the end of time.

“Will you let me see this one, then?” Arthur looks up when your tired voice disrupts the quiet space between you two, and for a moment all he can do is grin. Seeing your bare form sprawled in a manner that was somehow both careless and graceful had struck a yearning within him. And yet, he knew that capturing the moment was far more important; he had the next two days to make love to you, after all. It could wait. “Nah,” His head shakes fondly as he absentmindedly scratches at the growing stubble on his face, his posture straightening as he takes a moment to glance down at the worn journal within his lap. “Go back to sleep, that’s how you were when I started drawin’ ya.” It’s really more of a plea than a demand, and you seem to realize this as you flop down lazily onto the fancy mattress inside of the Saint Denis hotel room, your hair falling in a mess around you in a similar fashion to the sheets. “Alright, Mr. Morgan.” You claim your defeat as you prop a pillow beneath your head, your eyes closing as you prepare to get a few more hours of sleep. “Thank you, Mrs. Morgan.” He chuckles quietly, and notices the small smile that tugs at the corner of your lips. It was a joke, of course—you and Arthur weren’t married. But as he listened to the tranquil sound of your soft breathing, and as he sketched your sleeping form in that journal that he planned to keep until his dying days, he couldn’t help but feel like now would be a better time than any to ask you to be his, forever.

unfair – adjective – something that is not just.

To anyone else, the scene looked natural; a woman cozying up to her lover, his lap her seat for the time being—and it looked particularly normal considering the lack of chairs around the saloon. But Arthur knew you better than that, and from the moment you plopped yourself down onto his lap, he knew you were up to something. It wasn’t until you balanced yourself on his thigh that he felt the heat between your legs. He settled a hand on your hip, gripping tightly while his right hand stayed settled on the whiskey bottle placed on the table. He could feel the subtle movement of your hips, and as he tried to focus his attention on the poker game he’d been waiting to join in, he couldn’t help but wonder if anyone else had any idea what you were doing to him. If they did, they were certainly too drunk to care. A quiet hum leaves your throat, the sound causing Arthur’s pants to tighten a bit more as he feels himself growing hard beneath you. “You’re a real dirty girl, ya know that?” He speaks quietly in your ear, his foot tapping impatiently as you continue to grind against his thigh. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Morgan.” You bite down on your lip gently, Arthur recognizing it as a sign that you’re close. With one last stroke of your clit against his leg, you tremble lightly, Arthur holding you securely as you have your orgasm right there in the center of the saloon. You sigh when a few moments pass, reaching for the whiskey bottle he’d been drinking from before pushing yourself up and standing. His eyes follow you, lust hidden beneath his gaze as he tilts his head. “What about me?” A small frown tugs down at the corner of his lips, and he pushes his chair forward in an attempt to hide the large bulge growing in his pants. You turn around to face him, the sweetest smile on your face as you shrug. “You can wait. There’s a party going on, after all.” With that, you leave the miserable man behind, taking the whiskey with you as you leave to join Lenny over at the bar.

wet – adjective – covered or saturated with liquid.

When he finds you standing over the grave, he ignored every initial instinct in his body. He wanted to tell you that he was worried, that he’d been searching for you since before sunrise, and that you shouldn’t just take off without telling anyone back at camp. While it was all true, Arthur was smart enough to know now was not the time for scolding; not while you were mourning the loss of your fellow gang member. He dismounts his horse, his footsteps discernible as his boots sink into the thick mud with every step he takes. His eyes fall onto the named etched into the wooden plank, and for a moment all he can think about is how he tried to shelter you from this. When he’s close enough, you crane your head enough to see him. Distress is written all over your face, you’re shivering from the heavy rain that pours down on the two of you, and your eyes look swollen as you stare at him hopelessly. He wishes he could take your pain away; someone else should be standing in your place and grieving, he tells himself, someone who could have prevented this—Dutch, maybe. Hearing your sniffle, Arthur shushes you as you sputter out nonsense. “I know, darlin’.” He removes his hat from his head, placing it on yours instead as he ignores the droplets of rain that land on his scalp. “I know, come on. Let’s go.” He promises you that he understands your grief as he removes his coat next, slinging it over your shoulders before sliding a hand around your lower back and guiding you back to his horse. You go without fuss thankfully, and all Arthur can think about as he rides back with you tucked underneath him is who you would be mourning next. Probably himself. Nobody said the outlaw life was easy.

x – verb – to cross something out.

The way he looks up at you has your heart thudding harshly within your chest. It’s frightening and exciting altogether, and every time you think you can’t take anymore, he finds a way to push you to yet another orgasm. You’ve lost count tonight, and just when you wonder if you’re about to pass out, the sensation of his tongue against your opening has you on high alert, your sensitive buds sending waves of pleasure over your body. “Arthur.” Tears build up in the corner of your eyes, his name rolling off your tongue was a praise and a plea wrapped in one. You want to reach down and grab onto something in order to give yourself the illusion that you had even a little control of your body—the sheets, his hair, any of them would do, but he doesn’t allow it. “Keep them there.” The words come out strained, the animalistic sound drawing out a moan from you. You obey, your hands balling into a fists as your wrists remain crossed above your head. The moment his tongue pressed against your clit, Arthur can feel you coming undone around him. He doesn’t stop, and has no intention of doing so until he has you seeing stars.

yearning – noun - a feeling of intense longing.

You didn’t have a chance to ask him how everything went, or if everyone was safe. You nearly had the air knocked out of your lungs before you had the chance to part your lips and say anything at all. He had dragged you away from prying eyes and ears, and while your current location was not entirely private it was good enough to satisfy Arthur and his growing impatience. You don’t remember exactly how you had ended up under him—everything had moved so fast, he had moved too fast. Your mind was stuck trying to catch up, and the feeling of his lips against your neck did nothing to clear your conscience. His breathing is heavy as he moves down to your chest, tearing any fabric in the way of his intentions. He places a kiss upon your left breast and then the right, only pausing to murmur three little words. I missed you. Your own breath hitches in your throat, and that familiar heat grows between your legs as you bring a hand up to rest at the back of his neck. The action makes him lock eyes with you, and within that beautiful blue color, all you see is longing. “Do you want me?” His hands wait patiently at your hips, gripping gently as he awaited your permission to proceed. You swallow silently, your head nodding with no hesitation as you pull him a little closer. “Yes. Inside of me.”

zzz – noun – the sound associated with sleeping.

“It ain’t—!” Hosea holds up a hand to both calm you and silence you, and your weak attempt at defending yourself is suddenly forgotten as you scoot back in your seat while subconsciously trying to control the increasing rate of your heart.

“Although I’m sure it’s been much of a help to Miss Grimshaw, it’s very unlike you to stay cooped up around camp doing chores. That never fit you, and it doesn’t now. You do your best work out there,” He states, extending an arm and pointing nowhere in particular to emphasize his words, and all you can do is watch and listen as a small frown tugs at your lips. “You work better with Arthur.” The mention of your lover’s name has your hands balling into small fists, and you don’t notice it until you feel your nails gently poking against your slightly chilled palms.

Hosea takes notice as well, and gives you a moment to relax before persisting. “I suspected that within a week the two of you would have fixed any issues by now, but it seems I was wrong. I see you’re still avoiding each other. Arthur’s been gone for a few days, when he came back this morning I expected to see you two making up for the time spent apart, yet that wasn’t the case. And I’m not one to pry, my dear, but..” Whatever he intended to say next died on his lips as his concerned eyes searched your face for any answer or reaction.

The fresh tears glossing over your eyes was all he needed to see before he sprung into action.

Grunting as he did so, Hosea pushed himself out of his chair, only to scoot it a bit closer to you in an attempt to give your conversation as much privacy as it could have considering you both currently sat right in the center of the camp.

His movements seem to pull you out of your own head, and you blink rapidly with the intention to hold back the tears that threaten to decorate your face; it works, this time at least. Gracefully, Hosea takes his seat for the second time within those few minutes, his hand instantly coming to your shoulder to provide you with comfort you didn’t know you needed until now.

“It’s alright,” he assures once, a small smile stretching across his face as he rubs your shoulder in a way that seems to be encouraging you to speak up, and so finally, you do.

“I don’t know, Hosea. It might be me,” Truthfully, you don’t think it is, but you say this anyway to downplay some of your anger as you softly bite down on the inside of your cheek. “I don’t know if he went and mouthed off to Dutch about what I said last week..” Hesitance is detectable in your voice when it falters as you say your leader’s name. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Hosea, nothing ever does, but he remains quiet; a silent indicator that forces you to keep going.

With a shake of your head, your fists unclench and you flatten your palms to rest against your thighs, a gesture that soothes your nerves a tiny bit. “Usually they tell me what’s goin’ on, sometimes they let me come along, but lately I just been left out and playing catch up, trying to figure out what’s happening and what I can do. Why should I reward him for that? Last week he came back from some robbery that I had no clue about,’cause he didn’t tell me. He just took off with Dutch, Micah, and Bill for days. He did the same thing the week before with Javier and Charles.”

This time it is your eyes that trail towards the dark sky, seeking some sort of solace in the beautiful glow the moon provided as you vaguely recalled the events of the week before. “I sort of snapped at him, told him he shouldn’t be takin’ off like that without letting me know, ‘cause I worry about him so much, Hosea. He apologized, and it should’ve stopped there..” You’re immediately overcome with guilt, the feeling making you shrink into yourself as you absentmindedly pluck a small piece of lint from your pants.

“But then I made a comment about him being too irresponsible to realize Dutch was workin’ him like a damn dog, and since then everything has just been..” Your eyebrows knit together and you frown, head shaking as you fumble to find some sort of word to describe your predicament. You never do truly finish your train of thought.

“That’s the day I’m sure you heard us fightin’ with each other.” Sheepishly you cast a glance over at Hosea, and the amusement floating around in his dark orbs confirms your suspicion. For a moment you wonder if anyone else had overheard your bitter argument with Arthur but the thought doesn’t linger for long. “He told me he’s just goin’ out to make money for the camp so that we can keep movin’, the same old nonsense that I already know.” You huff out, cheeks growing red with frustration as you direct your focus towards the small fire, your eyes boring into the dying embers.

“Arthur says the two of you spoke about this before, sometime when we were stuck up in the mountains.” Hosea mentions, and when you realize that Arthur has been venting to Hosea without your knowledge, a tinge of unease and guilt settles within your stomach though you don’t pay the feeling too much attention. “He said he spoke to you about his role in the gang, and you two had a mutual understanding that he would be needed a lot more.”

Hearing the words come from Hosea had pushed a button, as they had been the same words Arthur tried to throw at you during your fight. “I know that I agreed at first, I was trying to be an understandin’ girlfriend,” Your posture straightens, your tone defensive as your frown deepens. “But experiencin’ it is something else entirely, I didn’t know it would this hard.. and I know that we depend on him a lot, I know. But the other boys in this camp are just as capable! They can’t even get a chance, cause Dutch is always hollerin’ for Arthur! Can’t he ever get a break?” You’re scowling, and although Hosea believes it doesn’t fit your kind features, he lets you continue. “There has to be some middle ground between him being ran around as Dutch’s personal servant boy and being here—” “With you.”

Hosea finishes your increasingly heated rant, and once the words leave his mouth you’re stuck, feeling conflicted about how selfish they sounded coming from someone else. Arthur pointed it out when you had said them to him, and it wasn’t until now that you could imagine why he thought so. You mentally scramble to prepare yourself for Hosea’s scolding, waiting for him to tell you how it was inconsiderate of you to think of such a thing.

“For you.”

He corrects himself, and you feel your breath catching in your throat as you turn to look at him. A warm smile is stretched across his face, and you have to blink twice to make you’re seeing him correctly in your state of physical and mental exhaustion.

Did he understand?

The thought of someone understanding you made your heart stutter, and the sense of hope building in your chest was strong enough to force tears to the corner of your eyes once again.

Hosea sighs, however it is not one of frustration or annoyance, but rather one of fondness and pure apprehension of your dilemma. “Can I be honest with you, my dear?” He perks up, not speaking further until you signal him to press on with a slight nod of the head as you bring your arm up to wipe your eyes against the soft fabric of your sleeve. “I know what it feels like to be in love with someone and have this type of life get in the way of that.”

His words catch you off guard, and you don’t miss sadness that swims around in his eyes despite the fact it only stayed there for a few seconds. “You and Arthur have more of a chance than I ever did. I have seen my fair share of things worth quarreling over in a relationship, but I don’t think this is one of ‘em. This is childish. You and Arthur are entitled to feel however you feel, but your silences are doing you more harm than help. If you both say the things that you have been saying to me, to each other, well..” Hosea gently pats you on the back once more, before suddenly using his hands to help push himself up to stand. “I think you’ll find that middle ground that you’re fighting so hard for. Perhaps something even better.”

Silence dominates the atmosphere around you two, yet it isn’t uncomfortable. It happens to be the opposite, Hosea’s words oddly providing both clearance and consolation that you haven’t felt for the past week and a half. Mimicking the silver haired man, you take a stand yourself, a humble smile pulling at the corner of your lips as you suddenly move forward and capture Hosea in a hug. An airy chuckle escapes him, and he offers you a few gentle pats on the back while returning your hug.

“Thank you, Hosea.” You murmur quietly to him, only letting him go when you hear his response. “ Go , child. Talk to him.” He presses with a sense of urgency, returning your smile as he bids you a good night.

You don’t look back when you turn away from Hosea, hesitation overcoming your being with every step you take towards your shared tent with Arthur. You’re well aware that he’d be asleep at this hour, however the thought of waking up in the morning and bringing up the topic of your past fight had unnerved you. The sound of leaves crunching under your wary footsteps is deafening in your ears, though it doesn’t seem to stir the others within the tents surrounding you. Exhaling quietly upon arriving at your tent, you relax your shoulders, deciding you would leave all your worrying for the morning hours which were soon to come.

However, the rustling of your tent flap has you freezing in your spot, your footsteps coming to a halt. You stare as the thin cloth is lifted, a fully dressed Arthur emerging and stopping once his eyes settle on your smaller figure. Your eyes lock with his blue ones, and the silence engulfing the two of you is disrupted by the small breeze blowing through air. You knew he could read the confusion on your face, and that he could tell there were questions building up on your tongue, yet you hadn’t had a chance to throw them in his direction as he had been the first to speak up.

“That idiot Sean gave me some information about a cabin he spotted yesterday. Said a couple of fellers got their hands on a lot of valuables they stole. It’s only about three of them.” He murmurs, peeking from beneath the brown hat that sat atop of his head. “They’re on the run too, so. It’s better to catch ‘em at sunrise before they go takin’ off.”

You swallow the small lump forming in your throat, finding it hard to do so as you listened carefully to the details. You almost worry that you can’t speak, your throat burning as you try to contain the conflicting emotions building within you.

He was leaving. Again.

“Are you going alone?” The questions seems strained and forced as it leaves you, and the sound makes Arthur frown as he sighs out. “Yeah, but I won’t be gone for long. It’ll be an easy job.” His attempt to reassure you fails to loosen the tightening of your chest, and all you can do is give a subtle nod of your head.

“Okay. I’ll walk you to your horse.”

You offer him a tight smile, and as you turn to head towards the side of camp, Arthur’s footsteps fall in sync with yours. The walk is silent, your eyes locked onto the dirt beneath your feet as you two walk along. You don’t know whether or not he senses your disappointment—Arthur was a lot smarter than he let on—but if he did, there was nothing he could do to ease it at this point besides staying.

And as you neared the bunch of horses lingering around, including your own, you felt the pressure of Hosea’s words enveloping your being as they swiveled around in your thoughts, engulfing them completely.

Talk to him.

Your footsteps come to a stop as you stand in front of Arthur’s horse, the large mount giving both of you an acknowledging shake of the head upon spotting you. Arthur moves to it’s side to saddle up, his attention completely caught on making sure he had all of the items and weapons he needed.

Talk to him.

This time it’s your own voice in your head pleading you to speak up and say something, and you’re not sure if it’s the fear of another argument or the fear or his rejection that has you feeling paralyzed. In one fluid motion, he’s lifting himself onto the horse. Before any further actions are made by either of you, your voice cuts through the quiet space between you.

“Arthur.”

In your ears, your voice sounds horrid; the timidness laced in your tone, the cracking of it as you struggle to get the two syllables out is an unpleasant sound that catches Arthur’s attention almost immediately. His features soften as he turns toward you, and it takes you a moment to realize that your tears had gotten the better of you and were marking their trail as they fell down your cheeks.

“I know you think it’s selfish of me, and I don’t know what else to do, or how to go about this..” Your voice betrays you as it wavers, reflecting every emotion you felt over the past week. Despite the vulnerability, you stand your ground. “But I don’t think you should take that job, tonight. I think you should stay here. And I think we should just talk, even if means we’ll fight. And even if it takes all night, I think we should fight if it means that we’ll be okay at the end of everything.” Your hands fiddle with each other anxiously, and although the short moment of silence frightens you, you find that Arthur is slipping off of his horse and closing the distance between the two of you in the blink of an eye.

With no hesitation in his movements, his hands come to either side of your face, rough fingers wiping away at the tears that decorated your cheeks. Your body reacts on its own and you don’t give much thought while leaning into the warm touch that you had missed so dearly. With a quiet sniffle, you bury yourself into Arthur’s chest, curling up against him as you feel his strong arms come around you in order to hold you securely.

“We ain’t been talking, and that’s been killin’ me Arthur. I want us to just..” Your blabbering is shushed quietly by Arthur before he places a gentle kiss to your head, effectively silencing your attempt to make sense of your incoherent thoughts.

“Stop crying darlin’, it’s okay. We’re okay.” His chest rumbles as his deep voice soothes the feeling of anxiousness that had been forming in the pit of your stomach, and you exhale quietly as you allow yourself to relax against him. Attentively, his hand rubs small circles across your back, and the motion is enough to calm the two of you. After a short period of time of simply standing with his arms around you, you break the tranquil silence with a quiet exhale, lifting your head and allowing your gaze to meet his own. “I’m sorry,” your shoulders lift a bit only to drop down in a small, subtle motion; and you figure if there’s one thing you should get off your chest tonight, it’s that.

And for the first time in what felt like too long, Arthur smiles at you as he gives a small shake of his head. The simple gesture is enough to ignite a small smile of your own, your heart overfilled with relief as you finally feel that you and Arthur were one step closer to being alright. “I know we might not be seein’ eye to eye on some things, sweetheart, but it’s okay. This talk will do us some good.” His gloved hand finds yours, and you release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. It dawns on you that he’s accepting your offer to talk things out, yell them out—whatever you both needed to put this issue to rest once and for all; and you fail to find the words to tell him how grateful you are. And yet, your actions speak volumes for you, your fingers intertwining with his as you give his much larger hand a tight squeeze, a motion that says thank you a thousand times without the use of words.