#rdr2 reader insert

The setting sun beats down you as you and Arthur ride, looking for a spot to hunker down for the night. A long day of hunting for the gang and helping the occasional helping with a stranger or dealing with someone trying to rob you has you both aching for rest… And you had some fun planned for the night. You glance briefly to your partner (for all intents and purposes), Arthur Morgan, taking in his handsome side profile. He’s been off since yesterday when you both stayed in camp and he hasn’t said why. You’re hoping a night away from the gang with just the two of you will let him relax, tell you what’s wrong, and you can kiss it all better.

You peer out on your left and thanks to a break in the foliage, you catch the glimmer of water down the slope. A pond, the perfect for you and Arthur to wash up in and relax by. You make a soft noise, using your legs and the reins to bring your horse to a stop with Arthur following suit.

“Found a spot?” He asks in his typical gruff voice, his response curt.

“Yeah, through the bushes. I spotted a little pond.” You smile and guide your horse through the brush and bushes. You hear Arthur click his tongue and you know he is following you. That man would follow you to the end of the Earth if it were possible. You smile to yourself as you both scout for a suitable spot around the pond and away from the travel path. You found a patch of relatively flat land near the water. You toss your leg over your horse and get down, before leading her to a spot she can graze from.

“Should do the trick.” Arthur grumbles, mirroring your actions. You both pull from your saddles your supplies needed to build up a make-shift camp for the night. He is silent again, his gaze focused on the task. You bite your bottom lip and try to mask the look of concern. While Arthur tends to put on a rough exterior around others, he stopped doing that to you a long while ago. You hold back on voicing your concerns for now.

Once the tent is set and a small fire is going, you both get to work cooking rations for yourselves. You both made enough to last a few days before needing to hunt again. After eating, you look over to Arthur once more and the troubled look on his face makes your heart shatter.

“Arthur?” You call his name softly over the crackling fire. He looked up from his fixed stare to meet your gaze and you can see that expression soften ever-so-slightly. You swallow thickly and reach over to place your hand on his knee. “What’s wrong, cowboy?”

“Nothing’s-”

“Arthur Morgan.” You cut him off and give him a stern look, a look that makes his eyes widen slightly. You watch as his neck bobs from swallowing and as he looks back to the fire.

“I don’t want you thinking I’m a fool.”

“I think a lot of things about you, Morgan.” You murmur, scooting closer to him. “I think you are intelligent, kind-hearted, lovable, and down right sexy too. Fool is not a word I would describe you with. Sometimes you act foolish, like being distant with me, but you are not a fool.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

“Don’t be. I just hope you know I am with you through thick and thin.”

“I know and I am with you too.” He says in a soft tone. He stares at the fire in silence, licking his lips for a moment, before speaking again. “Micah and I were talking…”

You had a comment to say about that but held back.

“And I know I shouldn't but he kept telling me things I think to wear me down… and he did.”

Your heart clenches at the defeated look on his face. “What was he telling you?”

“That you are too good for me. That you deserve a life that I can't provide you. That an old and scarred cowpoke like me is probably useless in the sack. And a lot more, he was talkin’ my ear off.”

“Well, he is wrong on all of those.” You saw with a little ‘hmph.’ You caress his knee and gently squeeze his thigh. “I don't view myself as better therefore I am not too good. My life and home is wherever you go, Arthur.”

You see the bashful smile on his face, always having a hard time taking a compliment.

“Not to mention you are amazing in bed.” You add with a chuckle, which makes him laugh and shake his head. “It’s true. The way you can make me scream, make my toes curl…”

“Sweetheart...” He gave you a warning with a grin but you saw the heat flash in his eyes. You smile.

“Come on. Let’s wash up in the pond and I will show you just how much you mean to me.”

You see him look at you and that hungry look you love appears in his gaze. You feel a shiver go down your spine and your face flush with heat. “You know I can’t say no to you, darling.”

You laugh and get up from your spot with Arthur following suit. You make sure to grab your bar of soap before you and your partner head to the water's edge. Slowly, you strip off your clothes and you don't hide your staring as Arthur undresses himself. You unabashedly eye the way his muscles move, gazing over the hair covering his chest and the scars that litter his skin. You let out a low whistle, making him give you a playful glare.

The cold water, colder than you anticipated, had you and Arthur quickly scrubbing yourselves clean and scrambling to get close to the fire again for some warmth. After drying off the both of you don't bother to redress just yet, you just sit on the two bedrolls you both laid out next to each other while you cuddle up against him. You hand your hand on his calf, gently tracing random patterns on his skin while his hand did the same on your back. While you intend to further the night with some sex, this small moment of comfort and intimacy makes your heart flutter.

You let out a soft sigh and turn your head to him, gently kissing his shoulder as you slowly trail your hand up his leg. You feel the thick and firm muscle, along with the softness that came from you making sure he ate through the day. You feel him briefly tense before relaxing as you squeeze his thigh, kissing his skin again.

“What are you doing?” You hear him murmur, his voice growing husky.

“What do you think I am doing, Arthur?” You all but purr as you keep caressing his inner thigh. “I’m just showing my man how much I adore him.”

You hear him mumble your name in that tone you love, making a bolt of arousal shoot through your core. You feel his hand trail down your back and to your hip and ass, giving each an earnest squeeze.

You shift closer and press yourself against him to whisper in his ear. “Lay back, darling. Let me prove all those things that mud rat said to you wrong.”

“I ain’t one to tell you no, sweetheart.” Arthur chuckles as he shifts, laying down on his back on the bedding. You smile and move to face him. You sit by his shoulder and place both hands on either side of his head, peering down at him with the best seductive smile you could muster. You were sure you looked a fool but the heated gaze in Arthur’s eyes as his eyes raked down your face and chest sent a surge of confidence through you.

You move one of your hands to caress his hairy chest, taking a few seconds to trace the scars before moving your hand down his stomach. You keep your eyes locked with his as you simply touch and admire him.

“My handsome cowboy.” You murmur and lean down to kiss him, draping yourself partially over him. You feel his hand massage and knead your hip and asscheek interchangeably as you swipe your tongue against the seam of his lips. He easily grants you access and immediately your tongue slides against his. Your hand still caresses his stomach but you teasingly dip it lower, fingers dancing around his pubic mound and the base of his cock without actually touching him. You smile against his mouth when you feel him try to shift his hips.You break the kiss as you start to stroke him, wanting to see how his face contorts with pleasure.

“Sweetheart.” You hear him groan and you feel arousal once again thump in your core. You start to trail kisses down his neck, nipping and sucking to leave marks, as you make your way down his chest. Your hand never stops the languid pace you set stroking his length.

“Love you, Arthur Morgan.” You mumble against his chest as you kiss over his beating heart. You glance up at him through your lashes when you feel and see him sitting up to watch you. You chuckle softly and move down his pec to one of his nipples, giving it a little lick and a teasing bite. You hear him let out a soft huff and feel his quickly hardening cock twitch in your hand.

“Love you too, darling, even if you’re killin’ me here.” He says in a low tone. You feel him move his hand to your head, gently petting you as you repeat the lick and bite to the other nipple. His hand gently tries to guide your head down without using any real force.

“Patience, Morgan.”

“Patience ain’t something I’m good at.” He grumbles almost hoarsely but lets up on trying to guide you. You let out a small hum and continue your kisses and nips down his stomach and to his aching cock. You finally reach his length and hum, watching the pearls of pre-come appear and then drip from his tip, past his foreskin, to his shaft and your moving hand. While he is average in length, Arthur sure makes up for it in girth. You can’t help but lick your lips and dip your head down to lap at his tip.

You hear Arthur suck in a sharp breath, his hand on your shoulder as you give him teasing licks. Wanting him to feel good, you slowly take him into your mouth, tongue caressing the underside of his dick while sucking gently.

“Jesus…” His voice trails off. “You’re too good for me, sweetheart.”

You pull off his cock which makes him nearly whine. “None of that.” You say in a playfully stern voice. “You aren’t perfect, no one is, but you are good. Now let me worship you. Tonight is about you.” You leave no room for any denials as you take him back into your warm mouth and begin to bob your head. You feel his hand caress the back of your neck while his thumb pets and presses against the side of your neck. What you don’t take in your mouth, your hand strokes in tandem.

His noises of pleasure create sparks of pleasure deep within you. You can feel your own arousal leak from your center, your clit aching and throbbing with need. Instead of touching yourself, you slide your other hand up his thigh. You gently cradle his balls with one hand, gently massaging and squeezing him in all the ways you know he likes. He is nearly squirming like he makes you when he sucks on your clit.

“S-Shit.” He needily moans out your name. You feel pride in how you are able to reduce the strong Arthur to this. “Sweetheart. I'm gonna cum if you keep doing that.”

You're half tempted to test that out and let his cum fill your mouth like he's done before. But tonight you want him to fill you up elsewhere and you're sure he wants that too. With a slow rise of your head, you release his length with a soft pop. He's panting when you crawl over him and straddle him over his stomach with a grin on your swollen lips.

“Darling, let me have a taste too.” You feel him paw at your hips before he tries to move you over him.

“This is about your pleasure-”

“And I want to eat that sweet pussy.” He all but growls and uses more of his strength to move you. The pleasant chill down your spine has you quickly moving with his help. Your thighs are on either side of his head with your cunt right above his face. “Shit, baby. Look at you, all wet from sucking me off.”

“What can I say, Morgan? You are delectable.” You grin. You spot his hat and your expression shifts into a smirk and you lean down and grab it, perching it on your head. You look down and see his pupils dilate at the sight. “The plan was to ride you with it on, but…”

“You can keep that plan, sweetheart. I just need you to ride my face first.” And with that, his rough hands pull you down and his mouth immediately gets to work. With his tongue flat, he does broad licks at first, his stubble scratching you in the best ways possible. You moan softly at each lick before your body jolts. His lips surround your clit and he gives soft little sucks that make your hips twitch each time.

“Oh, God.” You moan.

You feel Arthur’s hand move around and give your ass cheek a smack.

“Only say my name, darling.” You whine when he speaks, losing that delicious feeling of his mouth on your clit. He doesn't give you a chance to respond before he is back to devouring you like a man starved. You tilt your hand back, placing one hand on his hat to keep it on your head while the other tangles with his hair. You rock your hips gently against his mouth. His tongue teases and circles your entrance without ever entering which drives you crazy on top of him.

You feel so close. You start to grind more, angling your hips so more focus would be on that little bundle of nerves… but then his hands grip your hips, lifting you slightly off him. You nearly weep at the sudden loss of pleasure and that impending release subsiding slowly.

“C'mon, sweetheart.” He grunts softly and starts to guide your hips. You waste no time moving down his body until your wet folds are against the underside of his cock. You lean down and give him a messy kiss, tasting yourself on his lips all while his stubble scratches your mouth. You rock against him, the both of you moaning against each other's lips.

You pull back and sit up as you slowly grind against him for a few moments. You reach beneath you and lift your hips before dragging the tip of his cock through your soaked folds.

“I'm going to ride you nice and good, Arthur Morgan.” Your murmur, notching his tip to your entrance. You meet his gaze and he gives you a small nod, his hands kneading your hips. Slowly, you sink down on him in one go, shuddering and whimpering at how well he stretches you. “Fuck.”

You try to start moving but Arthur's hands keep you in place, making you whine softly.

“Let me feel you for just a moment.” He grunts softly as he looks up at you fully sheathed on his length. You can see the near neediest look on his face as if he is fighting himself on letting you move or having you stay still. His hands still grip your hips tight but his thumbs gently caress circles into your skin. “You… You said this night was about me right?”

You give him a nod, not trusting your voice to sound not whiney with need.

“Can I lose control?” He asks softly as he keeps his gaze on your face. Despite the passionate tension, his tender voice he uses just for you has your heart melting. “Can I be rougher than usual? Because, fuck, sweetheart, you have me so goddamn turned on I can barely think of anything other than fucking you senseless and loving you hard for all the comforting you gave me.”

“Let me ride you first, slow, and then I will say the word and you can take control.” You murmur back. You weren't sure if it was possible but you felt yourself getting wetter from his words alone.

“What word?”

“Hmm… Peaches. And I will say it again if you get too rough for me.”

“Peaches?” He asked with a slight chuckle. That small smile that appeared on his lips made your heart flutter with love for the man beneath you.

“Peaches.” You confirm with him and try to move your hips, a grin growing on your lips. “Now let me move, darling. I want to love you softly before you wreck me in the best ways possible.”

Arthur chuckles and lets go of your hips, sliding his hands down to your thighs to gently knead and squish them. You take a deep breath and slowly lift your hips and then sink back down on him. You both share soft moans as you set a slow yet pleasurable pace. As much as you wanted to have your release previously, you know this slow and steady pace will drive Arthur mad. This was a tug of war between you both, until you both give into your needs and chase that desired peak.

You watch Arthur’s face slowly contort into one of concentration and pleasure. You smile down at him. You see his eyes trail up your body and you could see his pupils expand at the sight of his hat on your head. You feel him start to thrust up and while a part of you wants to pull off him and tease him, the way he is meeting your movements has you moaning a little louder.

You feel his hands slide to your hips and you can feel him try to guide you faster, which makes you chuckle softly. You don't give in just yet, making him softly ‘tsk’ at you. You close your eyes and tilt your head back, feeling the slowly growing pleasure inside you. You hardly focus on the way Arthur's hand moves from your hip to your mound, until you shudder and twitch at his thumb’s slow and inconsistent circles around your aching clit.

“Sh-Shit, Arthur.” You moan as you shudder at the pressure he applies for just a moment before he barely touches and circles it. You know this was his way of getting you to cave. Every few seconds he gets your hips to twitch along with your legs as you continue to slowly move. You'll give in. You know you will just as he will. But you still wanted to tease him some more. You raise your hips up and hold them in place, just barely keeping the tip of his cock inside yourself. You hear Arthur grunt as his hand on your hip tightens a little more. You may be trying to focus the pleasure and attention on him, but you know teasing him and riling him up is his favorite part.

Another swipe of his thumb has you trembling and any willpower to continue teasing him fizzled out.

“O-Okay. Peaches.” You whimper out softly. You barely meet his hips before his hands guide you and he starts to increase the tempo. You place your hands firmly on his chest as you two give in to the desperate need you both feel. The tent fills with the sound of skin slapping against skin and the grunts and moans you both are letting out.

You feel one of Arthur’s hands leave your hips and the next thing you felt was his hand gently gripping the back of your head, knocking his hat off. He pulls your face down to meet his mouth in a sloppy kiss, his hand moving to caress and softly squeeze the nape of your neck.

“Gonna roll us over, sweetheart.” He warns you with a slight huff. You nod and next thing you know he slips out of you and you are on your back, your left side slightly pressing against the canvas material of the tent. Arthur chuckles and mumbles an apology before adjusting you more center to the bedrolls. You immediately hike your legs up and wrap them around his waist as he guides his cock back inside you with ease this time.

You barely get a chance to even breathe when Arthur starts in at a fast and rough pace. You let out choked moans mixed with gasps as he presses against you completely. You can hear him grunting and moaning near your ear, his arms caging you against him. All you feel is Arthur and you love it.

“You feel so good.” He mumbles against your ear, his voice low and rough enough to make you whimper in response. You feel him kiss and nip your ear before he buries his face against your neck, his lips and teeth moving. “Gonna mark ya’... gonna let everyone know you're mine.”

You don't vocally respond between your noises but the little nod you give him tells him what he needs to know.

You feel his fingers curl against your head, gripping your hair. He tugs your head to the side firmly, though with controlled movements so it doesn't hurt you too much, and places open mouthed kisses almost frantically against your skin. Next thing you feel is his teeth biting you hard before he sucks. You moan at the dull pain mixing in with the immense pleasure.

You're surprised you didn't come yet.

“I felt you clench. You like that, darlin'?”

“Yes-” You're words are cut off by a sharp gasp as he bites you again where your neck slopes to your shoulder. You feel your walls clench again right as he licks his newest bite mark and kisses the first one.

Arthur pulls away from you just enough to look at his handiwork while he continues thrusting. He brings his free hand down to firmly grip your hip while his hooded eyes look over your neck and face, licking his lips. His thrusts start to slow to once again bring you both down from the edge but they stayed firm and purposeful. You could see that look of confidence in his gaze and it was a look you adored. You didn't get to see it much, but you were happy you brought it out of him.

Arthur releases your hair and slowly drags his fingertips down your body, grazing over your breasts and caressing your stomach. His hand cups over your pubic mound, gently squeezing the flesh as he slows down even more. You start to whine as you feel that growing sensation in your belly fizzle out slowly, but that whine was cut short when the pad of his thumb and finger caressed and gently squeezed your clit.

“Thank you for this.” He murmurs, pulling almost all the way out before nearly slamming back in. He repeats pulling out, leaving just his tip inside, but this time his hand gently slaps your mound and clit, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through you. “For takin’ care of me… for makin’ me feel good… for worshipping me… for letting me do what I want with ya.”

“Arthur…” You moan out his name as he slowly presses back into your cunt until he is fully sheathed inside you. His hand caresses your pussy lips, feeling you stretched around his length before he slaps your clit and mound again. You feel yourself clench around him and he smirks.

“I wish I could draw you like this, darlin’.” He speaks softly yet slaps you again right where you need it, making you jolt and choke out a moan. He starts to move again, slowly this time, while he circles your aching clit with his thumb. “I want you coming first. I want to feel you squeeze me tight and then I'll fill ya up nice and good.”

Your breath catches in your throat and you can tell he sees your surprised reaction in the midst of your pleasure. Usually, he'd pull out at the last moment. With the life you both live it would be hard bringing in a child. You see the way his smirk softens.

“Or not.” He whispers, lowering himself to kiss you sweetly despite the heated passion that's occurring between you both. “It's your choice, sweetheart.”

Fuck. He is making your heart flutter fast in your chest. You know this isn't the conversation to have in the heat of the moment but the thought of him flooding you, breeding you was a tantalizing one. The thought of having your own child with the man you love is also heartwarming. You've seen him with Jack and you would know he would be a good father. You both have squirreled away enough money in case things go bad with the way Dutch has been listening to Michah. You both have talked about having a child, about whether or not the gang is going to last, the violence that comes from this life on the run... But all those thoughts are nearly impossible to convey in such a moment. It's just been saying when to actually try.

All you can do is moan a soft, whimpered “Yes, please.”

Arthur lets out a pleased sounding growl at your response. You feel his hands grab your legs, shifting your legs higher up his body. Your calves now rest on his shoulders as he presses deep inside you. He starts grinding his hips and you feel his cock rub you in all the right places inside. His pelvis rubs deliciously against your swollen clit.

“Shit.” Arthur groans as he starts to move fast. All that edging and teasing you did as you feel on fire once more. One of his arms cages around your head while one of his hands pets over your hair. Your eyes nearly roll back as he manages to get his other hand between you to rub the sensitive bundle of nerves. “I’ve wanted this for so long, darling. To flood you with me, mark you with me from the inside, to create something with you. You and I gon’ make a baby and we will keep trying from now on, darlin’.”

You don't last any longer. What any semblance of control you had is gone. The moments his rough fingers circle your clit just one time as he fucks you so deeply has you completely tensing beneath him.

“A-Arthur…” You manage to choke out his name as you feel your inner muscles spasm around his cock. You practically see stars as your eyes almost roll back. There is a rush of heat that comes from you, slicking Arthur up

Arthur's pace is wild as he bucks into you. His speed and rhythm are inconsistent and faltering and the noises he makes, the moans and groans of desperation for his own release, are right by your ear. He gently licks and nips at your ear before burying his face against your neck, licking and biting where he marked you earlier. He keeps his thumb petting and circling your throbbing clit to keep your orgasm going, your walls still fluttering and squeezing his cock.

Arthur lets out a low moan and his hips stutter before he presses completely inside you. You feel heat flood your insides as he comes, his cock twitching with each spurt of his seed that fills you with. His hips still twitch, his body is pressed against yours. He pants and shifts himself upwards so he can stay deep inside you while caressing your body.

“I love you.” He rumbles, the smirk that was on his face is nowhere to be seen. Instead, it's a soft look that makes your heart clench and melt at the same time. He looked so good like this. He looks happy, sated, and his confidence is back in him. You could tell he needed your reassurance, and the sex with it was a plus too.

“I love you too, Arthur.” You murmur back with a smile. You feel his length twitch again inside you again from your smile, which makes you chuckle a little. He's looking at you like you hung the stars and moon in the sky. You feel his hands gently grip you and soon enough he is maneuvering you both on to your sides with him still inside you.

You try to grab one of the blankets but it's too rumpled beneath you both to get out, making you groan. Arthur laughs softly, giving you a kiss on the forehead, before he slowly pulls out of your cunt. You whimper at the loss and can feel his thick come want to leak from you. You lazily shift your legs as he gets the blankets out from under you both. You watch him look over to the fire, making sure it was embers now, before going back to focusing on you both.

“I got it, darling.” Arthur murmurs before draping it over both your bodies. You go to snuggle up against him, but you feel his hand move to your thigh, gripping the soft flesh as he pulls your thigh up your body. His rough fingers left your thigh and you gasp when you feel him touching your folds. You can hear how slick your cunt is from your own release and his mixed together.

Arthur's touch doesn't last but you do feel him guide his mostly soft cock through the sickness before he presses it back inside you with a groan while you moan softly. He moves you flush against him as he buries his face into your hair.

“Gonna sleep like this.” He mumbles with a little sigh, his arm draping over your body and holding your close against his warm body. You weren't opposed to this one bit as you nuzzled against his collarbones, kissing a small little scar there before relaxing in his embrace. “Whatever may come from this, or what will come if we keep trying, know that I got you. Gang or not… I am with ya.”

“That applies to you too, Morgan.” You hum softly. You slide your hand to his back before you start caressing along his spine.

No more was said nor did anything more need to be right now. While your futures within the gang are turbulent and unpredictable, you know you both can overcome anything together. And you and Arthur knew you had support in the gang, even if there is a possibility you both will have to leave to settle.

You can hear them in her venerable voice, streaming through tales of history, their peculiar sounds flitting through lessons of vocabulary and tapping out instructions for life. Even as you sit beside Arthur on the wagon seat, both of you with hair still dripping as you jostle along in the noonday sun, you can hear them.

They are all words that represent a part of you that the world has conspired so efficiently to bury. So efficiently, that even you have gone days at a time forgetting part of your own being.

You try your best, once again, not to feel nauseated at that realization. But in this world, your mother’s warning still holds true: some things may be best left buried—deep. And it astonishes you that that part of yourself had risen to the surface with just two words.

It had happened so easily. The words had spilled from your mouth before you’d even realized it—words that wanted to be alive, wanted to be heard. Not more than a couple hours earlier. This, the morning after Arthur had used the dark of night to gently, coaxingly teach you another way to make love.

If you close your eyes, you are there again, waking nude beneath a blanket on the forest floor with Arthur.

…

The distant, resonant trill of the birds’ matins gently wakes you before it does Arthur. Lying on your side facing him, you watch as his eyes gradually blink open to show you deep lazuli wells of truth and warmth, leading straight down into his soul.

A smile flings onto your mouth at the sight, and he begins to smirk as he stretches awake.

Hardly ever have you known him to wake even a moment after yourself, or anyone. But this morning, a wry grin pulls on his mouth as he closes his eyes again. He groans as he dips beneath the woolen blanket and pulls it up over his head, half covering your face along with his.

Your smile brightens, and you follow below, enjoying the secreted dimness of a fort made for two.

“You kept me up all night,” he mumbles blearily as he slinks an arm over your bare waist.

He draws close and presses sleepy kisses to your cheek, chin, and neck as you mumble a giggled response.

“Want some coffee?” he asks as he pulls back just enough to see your face in the tanned dim of dawn through the mottled wool. He swipes a finger back over your temple, brushing some of the night air-dried clumps of flattened hair from your eyes.

When you simply nod, he mumbles assent and offers another kiss before exiting the blanket with an airy grunt. He quickly tucks the blanket’s edge in close to you to reduce the rush of morning chill to your skin.

You take a breath and arch against the forest floor as you curl your toes and stretch your naked limbs. It takes presence of mind to absorb the brief calm in the course of a morning like this—a felicitous mix of restoration and comfort—and you remind yourself to listen to the mourning dove’s precious, serene hoot.

When you finally lift your head from the blanket and sit up to greet the verdant ribbons of light shining through the forest leaves, Arthur’s already dressed in his red union suit and beginning to stoke a newly lit campfire.

The thick woolen blanket becomes your cave as you wrap it around your body and sit cross legged on the mat.

Arthur spares a hidden glance your way and glimpses your face, finding you focused on wrapping the edges of the blanket around yourself. He smiles privately as he faces forward. Your nude neck and shoulders—streamed with wisps of your untidy hair—are evidential reminders of the thorough loving you’d enjoyed together the night before. He allows himself to consider it another territorial victory—another few steps deeper into the gorgeously lush and alive walled garden of your heart.

After he’s poured a mug of steaming black brew from the coffee pot, he walks it over to you. Clinging to the blanket around your arms, you stand to take it. And when the dented tin mug gingerly changes cupped hands, you notice a small, dark crimson blood blister beneath Arthur’s wide thumbnail, that you hadn’t before.

As he walks back to the fire, your mind wanders to produce what possible moiling task could’ve put it there. Had he sworn? Torn his hand away? Shaken it? Or quickly stuffed his thumb into the innate relief of his mouth?

Perhaps he hadn’t. Perhaps such a reaction is reserved for young ones; and perhaps a grown, dauntless, hardy man such as Arthur had managed to cage even his sudden, unforeseen pains inward.

Once Arthur’s returned the percolator to the fire’s coals, you watch the odd shapes of his bare feet shift and settle upon the lakeside’s soil and roughage as he stands a few feet away, enjoying his own newly poured mug of coffee.

After he tilts the mug for his last sip of dregs, he turns and reaches for the percolator. When his fingers hardly graze it, he hisses, swiftly jerks his hand back, shakes it once, and licks his fingertips.

A wiggly smile springs onto your mouth, and you tuck your lips inward as it grows brighter, finally deciding to hide it behind your mug.

Just as he turns in your direction, you force a focused squint and look out to the forest’s pool to try to hide your grin.

As you gaze at the cool, tranquil water, the image in your mind returns to the little blood blister on your lover’s thumb. Such an exceedingly small thing, but for you it represents his continuous hard work, his severe way of life. He almost certainly never even noticed its formation.

Arthur has known enough pain, you think. Enough in expanse and burrowed in depth to last a lifetime. Hardly any fun. Just a bit. And even that, always tainted by shadows of mind games and tangled by a tapestry of looming realities.

He’s now been able to weep once, as he’d needed; his easiness with you has seen to that. You wish him to know the pureness of fun for its own sake—shed of the demand or need for any other conscious thought. Be it worry or fear, shame or heartbreak, distrust or disappointment, necessity…or even time.

Your lovemaking last night is still strikingly vivid in your mind: the deeply comforting sensation of being held by him, the feel of his skin, the heat of his body, the memories of his eyes, his roaming hands and arms, his chest against yours, his clever mouth. All still effervescing in your mind and across your skin.

You remember well how he’d tried so gently to coax you to trust him more deeply. How he’d tried with such understanding, to spur you to be playful and uninhibited in your lovemaking. To make each other laugh. To nudge you towards spontaneity. Fun.

Arthur has known enough pain. And you want so desperately to be his playful, uninhibited lover. To deserve his interest, garner his amusement, and above all, bring him relief. Pleasure. Fill him with all the love you feel for him.

So in a moment of utter folly, and with a heart trying its best to give itself over to spontaneity, you shut your eyes and squeal as you dart towards the water, letting go of the the woolen blanket at the last moment before splashing unceremoniously into the water. Turning to look at him with a buoyant smile, you lurch backwards into the woodland pool and dare him to follow.

“Needin’ another bath so soon?” His grin is almost boyish—lit by anticipation and pleasant surprise. He’s already awkwardly bent at the hip with his calf cocked in the air as he tries to roll his union suit down his hairy ankle, never letting his eyes leave your face and nude form.

“It’s my turn to entice you,” you call with a silken voice. Smirking, you sink to dip the lower half of your face below the water’s surface. You gaze at him on the shore with eyes that silently say he should already be in the water with you. Eyes laced with as much boldness and coyness as you’ve ever had occasion to find within yourself in all your life. He’s hurrying towards the pool’s edge when you add, “Mr. Morgan.”

“Don’t need to entice me twice,” he chuckles choppily as he stumbles into the water after you. “Mrs. Morgan.”

You giggle at his quip. As he steps into the forest pool completely nude, you notice that he reaches both hands down to cup himself and hisses a bit as his hips enter the cool water.

You can’t help but laugh outright. “Oh, the water’s a little colder for you this morning than it was last night?”

“Cheeky.”

A tickled chortle sputters from your lips.

As he steps deeper into the water, you’re once again caught off guard by the form of him. Firmly built and angular, the bulks of his shoulders and chest hewn from stone, and his abdomen so perfectly, faintly scored. His thighs are resilient and strong, and his exquisitely carved hip bones could have you groveling in a moment. And those whorls of coarse hair that start at his chest and amble down his belly, running lower and ever lower, growing darker and more delicious as they reach his sex. That alone has you dizzy and almost drooling.

It is not merely a living masterpiece who wades toward you, but the one person you love most in all the world. And you are so deeply, physically affected by the sight of him that a swoop fills your belly, and your chest audibly croons with delight.

But you hadn’t noticed his face. The way he looks at you… Like you might be just as special and mesmerizing to him.

When he reaches you, the grins you flash are a matching pair. He draws close for a few open, smiling, lazy kisses. You return them easily, languidly, your grin remaining open to the cool air that slips between your tongues.

Forcing yourself to tear away, you turn and swim in the opposite direction.

“Where you goin’?” he calls.

You chuckle at the bemused exasperation in his voice and toss over your shoulder, “Fish breath!”

He guffaws. “And you’re much better!”

Laughter immediately erupts from you. He stretches out his arms and glides forward to follow you. The two of you swim out deeper towards the center, becoming lithe and weightless.

A faint mist softly hovers and lingers above the water’s surface. Its diaphanous veil of minuscule beads ensnare the forest’s glow like the fine filaments of a web and briefly cast it in an array of vibrant colors. Sheets of warm, yellow sunlight filter into the crystal-like water like broad, dancing curtains, illuminating all that lies beneath.

The two of you find teems of tiny minnows, darting and dispersing at your presence. Scores of tadpoles, dark and bulbous, waggling their funny string tails. And the king of them all—the stunning trout—a fluid slip of evergreen and slate, his side and belly as vivid pastel as dusk clouds, his demeanor calm and suspended in his cool kingdom. The water is so pristine and clear that each fish seems so immediately tangible and corporeal—so close that you could reach out and brush your fingertips to their slippery forms. But each time you do, your arm proves just too short.

To all of them, your nakedness means nothing, and the two of you are no more than a pair of lissome silhouettes against the sunlight—arms and legs folding and flexing to vault you through the water above them.

It’s easy for you to see the beauty in it: two lovers swimming naked in a woodland pool, playing, laughing, kissing in the mist of day.

With the light of morning, you’re provided with a better look at the edges of the pool than you’d had the night before. You notice that on one end, the pool siphons into a small brook that leads deeper into the forest. On the other end stands a cliff of aggregate rock layers, with greenery and woodland growth sprawling over it. The body of the pool seems to extend around the jutting cliff and further back than you can see. When you swim closer to the little inlet, the quiet sound of crashing water emerges and grows a little clearer. And when you finally round the wall of rock, you see it—a small, trickling waterfall down the rock face into the pool.

With a bright smile, you turn to him. “It’s a spring.”

He returns your grin at the uncanniness of it. “You always seem to find ‘em. Don’t even have to try.” As the two of you look back at the waterfall, he wags his head. “Seems we’ve circled back to our beginning, baby.”

The thought makes you beam. It hadn’t crossed your mind until he’d said it. And of course, it isn’t the same waterfall. But it was bathing in a little spring similar to this that had somehow given you the chance at a love and a life with Arthur that you’d always longed for. Even at its start, you couldn’t have imagined being comfortable enough in your marriage as to find yourself swimming nude with him.

A surge of undiluted joy swivels through you like the sparkling fountain itself. You lift your arms straight into the air and release a hoot as you let yourself drift backwards and down into the water.

Before you know it, the two of you are scaling the dark rocks at the base of the spring and letting out long yowls of happiness before jumping off one at a time into the water with a great splash. Each time the two of you step beneath the fall, the water that sleuces down the outline of Arthur’s muscular body wholly mesmerizes you.

Over again, you both climb up the rocks and jump off, dodging the patches of slippery moss with each step, tucking your legs beneath you when you leap, trying to spray the other who waits in the water with the biggest splash you can create.

After several ebullient leaps into the water, the two of you begin to float tranquilly on your backs with eyes closed. Your faces gradually dry a bit in the sun. But you don’t let Arthur float in peace too long. You sneak beside him and flick your wrist to send a huge splash of water over him—payback for last night. He immediately makes you pay with a forceful wave over you, far bigger than you could’ve created. The tinkling spray falls amidst your own wild laughter and Arthur’s snickers.

Is there some peculiar childishness to it? You can only hope so, for Arthur’s sake. And what business have you playing this way, with so little care harbored in the woven fibers of your bodies, at your ages? With the weight of life you both have behind you? It doesn’t matter. Here, in the secluded wilderness, it does not matter. It’s one benefit of your precious love, made sweeter and emboldened and strengthened by the internal, unbreakable cord of true, tender friendship. Your friendship and love are not two separate things, but rather intertwined. It’s a love that cares for the other and wants nothing, only finds sheer delight in each other. For the two of you, togetherness is freedom.

For yourself, this has never felt purer or more concentrated. Because somehow, you have found the one man who doesn’t seem to see all that’s wrong with you. Doesn’t see the curdled dimples of fat in your thighs. If he does, he doesn’t treat them as grotesque; he treats them like dimples in the finest, rarest turquoise mined from the bowels of earth. He doesn’t seem to see your unsightly scars or all the parts of you that, to the rest of society and even to you, are all misshapen, broken, marred. Somehow, he treats you like you are wanted. So deeply wanted. Like you are the most beautiful woman in the world.

And as you play and let your limbs skim the cool water, let your hands lazily sweep its surface, as you feel it lap at your skin and buoy you in an envelope of silken quartz, you allow your mind to revel in the miracle of it. Here you are, filled again with the selfsame senses of insouciance, safety, serenity, and freedom, that you were that day you bathed in the waterfall, thinking you were totally alone—alone in both the river, and in life. But now, you feel those things with another person in the water. You feel them with Arthur near.

When Arthur swims toward the pool’s edge, you follow. He pulls himself up onto the earthen bank and flops onto his back, closing his eyes again and letting his hands rest limply on his chest as he catches his breath.

When he feels you, Arthur opens his eyes just in time to see the damn near mythic sight of you crawling forth from the water. Alerted and riveted by you, he props himself up on his elbows so he doesn’t miss a moment. Your long, darkened tresses are stuck to you in many loosed, unruly tendrils. Rivulets of lagoon water by the dozens stream swiftly down your voluptuous form, shimmering like liquid crystal. But as you crawl towards him, you seem to hardly notice the water’s gentle tug on you.

He can’t help but lower himself to his back as you close the gap between you and crawl over him.

Desire. It courses through you, pulsating and raw, until you’re flooded with it.

Where Arthur is, there you are. His skin is fresh and sweet as you lick the water droplets away in a string of kisses, moving up the hard line of his body. You tenderly kiss across his belly, faintly covered with hair. You let your tongue sweep along that dulcet, round rim of his navel and dip inside its crater, swishing the river water away and relishing its perfect hollow shape set in the faintly ridged plane of his abdomen. You continue kissing upward, through the denser hair of his broad chest. Approaching a nipple, you lathe your tongue across it and playfully bite it with the barest press of the tip of your teeth against its edge.

When you reach his mouth, you abandon yourself in the kiss you give him. Deep and full, the slip of his tongue rich and warm against yours. You pull your fingers through his wet hair, dragging your nails across his scalp, and feel him moan in satisfaction as he returns the depth of your kisses. When you tilt your head to fit your mouths perfectly together, your nose bunches against his for a moment, and you lose yourself further in the heady kiss. You feel him cradle the back of your head, and you slit your eyes open to see with elation that his eyes are closed, lost in the kiss as much as you are.

Arthur brings both large hands to your supple back. Reaching one hand up to where your chests meet, he traces the round swell of your full breast where it’s pressed and spilling from between the two of you. He can feel you wriggle with pleasure at the way his coarse chest hair nuzzles the sensitive beads of your nipples. He luxuriates in the sensation of the tender, sumptuous length of your body fitted against his own. And he is nearly dizzy at the thought of what a lucky son of a bitch he has somehow become, to have such a luscious she-fox as you swathed over him.

Making advantageous use of the sun’s drying, warming effect on your back, Arthur lets his hands quickly rub up and down your plump, shapely skin, taking the flare of your hips and the perfect curve of your ass in handfuls. When you settle to rest with one leg between his own, his breath hitches in his throat at the sensation of your waterlogged bundle of curls slaking over the top of his thigh.

All in his mind is you—giving you pleasure, making you happy, seeing ecstasy on your face and feeling rapture rip through your body, experiencing the way your soul dances and resonates with his own.

Before another moment passes, he stretches a hand down between you, reaching to dip a finger into the sweet well of your sex. His fingertips have hardly curled past the soft cusp of your flesh before you abruptly break with his mouth, gasping a word.

“Wait—”

Arthur is half stunned, trying not to reel, his own chest huffing for air as his eyes find yours.

“I—” After a quick glance downward, you meet his eyes again as you hesitatingly scoot yourself downward along his body. “I want to…try.”

When you pause with his taught sex beneath you, you can see that Arthur takes your meaning. He surprises you with the briefest stammer.

“O-oh— Uh,” he begins, reticent. “You don’t have to do that, dar—"

“I just want to try.” You offer a slight smile.

Arthur blinks to locate your expression, with the rising sun behind you as it is. But when he finds it, he is spellbound. The sky of brilliant azure around you, your stunning wet hair dangling about you and framing your face so sensually… How could he ever refuse such a vision of a woman?

You look down to his erect manhood. Arthur is so aroused, his thick sex so tightly stiff, that you must carefully pull the length of his shaft away from his belly toward your mouth.

Though you bear an absence rather than a surplus of experience, you try to proceed with an air of demonstrable confidence. What you’re spared from knowing is that for Arthur, your attempt at a confident air conveys itself much more as innocent ardor. Unknown to you, the faintest smile flickers onto his mouth as he watches you, his sweet love.

Slowly, you press little kisses up the length of Arthur’s erection, and down the other side. You devote attention to every moment he moans, so you can linger in that spot and ply your lips and tongue against him with new fervor. His gritty voice is so deeply, wonderfully masculine to you, and never had you thought you’d hear it forming such beautifully breathy, intimate sounds.

And God, the way his moans affect you. Lighting your nerves with dancing sparks until the merciless flames lick alongside your own body. Sending shivers through your heated flesh until your womb flips, and your sex aches with the sweetest mingling of pain and pleasureful longing, and you feel your slick arousal slowly course from the curved crease at the jointure of your leg and down the inside of your thigh.

When your mouth passes along the underside of his cock and you notice the way his moans grow, you lick him there in a long, warm line, until you reach the sensitive, swollen head of his sex. He’s feverishly hot and almost pulsing there, and you realize he must be aching with need, the way you so often do for his touch. After plunging his sex into the warmth of your mouth, you massage him with your tongue and suckle him.

You watch Arthur clench his fists. He groans, his eyes shutting tight and his face contorting. For a fleeting moment, you feel concern that he may be in pain; but when you hear the new tone in his moans—a faint, hardly discernible leak of whimpered air—when you notice the crimson wash of warmth across his face, your every concern is allayed. If Arthur feels anything remotely resembling pain, it is the agony of racing pleasure.

Experimentally, you caress his testicles in your hands, stroking and fondling them. Then you run your open hands over the tops of his thighs and over the smooth skin of hipbones, letting yourself sigh through your nose with a relaxed moan of satisfaction.

With huffed breaths, Arthur watches your long, water-darkened hair tumble and spill in glorious waves about his middle as you lathe his most private organ with your tongue.

How wonderful you’d looked while playing and enjoying the water's coolness—so free and safe, like you’d truly had not a care on your shoulders. That sight in itself had been a revelation to him; you were without doubt the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, just like that day he’d stumbled upon you bathing alone in the forest. Now you’re draped over him, pleasuring him like a clever draiad sprung from under the pool’s surface, and the sight is far more than he can bear.

It’s been a long time since he’d enjoyed such a raw intimacy, and never this particular act with a woman he loves as he loves you. Somehow, he’d forgotten just how intimate an act it is. That he must expose all of himself to you, his dear lover, and trust you.

He’d known in his head just how trusting you’d had to be with him last night. But now his heart’s understanding is renewed afresh. Here he is, a longtime coarse, raffish, self-governed outlaw, having to keep his own disconcertments in check. And you, who were already somewhat timid, had never done such a thing. You’d had to have been downright daring to bare yourself so fully to him, and to trust him so deeply.

When you hit a particularly sensitive spot, Arthur’s head flings backward, his eyes clenching shut at the abrupt, sheer spike in pleasure. He listens to your sweet breaths and moans of enjoyment, listens to the lewd clicks of your wet mouth against him. You are nothing short of magnificent—amazing to him. Here you are, the very next morning, prodding yourself to try another new thing. Here you are, proving your loving can be frolicsome, no less. With no experience of this and little notion of the minute mappings of his body.

And already, you are conquering him. You can have no idea what you do to him. How you unspool and unravel him. Every thought of every other thing in this world is banished utterly from his head. There is nothing and no one but you.

As you suckle at the head of Arthur’s length, you feel him shudder and tense. The longer you work him with your mouth, the more he writhes on the water’s bank, until he’s grasping fistfuls of the sod on either side of him. The breathy groan he releases then is a searing force you feel all the way down to your womb.

Suddenly, Arthur’s body becomes stretched tight, his facile play of rigid muscles constricting and contracting beneath his skin, his back slightly arching away from the earth beneath him as he tosses and writhes through gasps and broken groans.

With wide eyes and with your mouth still closed around him, your head abruptly bobs up in shock at the sight. It’s a shock so thorough that you don’t recognize you’ve pulled away from the very task that’s caused the sight. In the next moment, Arthur’s stiff sex has slipped from your mouth and has sprung back into its lonesome place against his belly; and still, you watch him gasp and wriggle with the residual effects of the extreme arousal you’ve heaved upon him.

You’re gasping yourself, though you hardly register that either. Because you are covered in spiny pinpricks at the realization that you—you, of all people—have achieved such intensely heightened levels of pleasure in Arthur. You are the one who has just commanded his arousal, who has sent him reeling into the sweet chambers of heaven. You have just exhibited such wondrous, sensual power over him—power to achieve throes of blissful agony in his body. You.

It’s unlike any feeling you’ve known before. Like an undulating glow of ochre and vermilion—lit coals, incipient with seething flame, but radiating internally with a heat that will scorch.

As Arthur gradually relaxes from his state of heightening euphoria, he slits his eyes open, and your gaze locks with his. You notice his lids gently flutter open wider at the sight of you.

Arthur watches you crawl slowly up his body with a smile glinting on your mouth—small, but with a faint hint of deviltry in it. He watches the gorgeously round, delectably full curves of your ass sway behind you, so perfect to him. He watches the beautifully delicate creases of flesh where your thighs meet your hips, and they call out his name as you prowl over him like a lissome lioness.

Dipping your head and pressing your lips to the hard plane of his chest, you let yourself enjoy the feeling of the exquisitely male body beneath you, with all his hard warmth and the distinct scent he currently bears of bay and pine, soil and sunshine. With a muffled murmur of appreciation behind your lips, you string a burning path of sweet kisses upward and further, along his throat.

“I did that to you.”

He hears you softly purr it into the crook of his neck, the warm mist of your breath fanning along his skin as you roam for places to kiss.

“You’re surprised?” His incredulous laugh is stuttered by a hiss when he feels you dare to take a nibble at his earlobe. It’s only the first time you’ve done that, and already it’s one of his favorite things.

It takes everything in him not to lose his last vestiges of sanity and topple you to your back right then. His voice is gruff and husky with exertion and ungovernable want as you lick a line that traces the tendons of his throat. “You leave me in ruins, woman.”

Smiling buoyantly, you fit your mouth neatly behind his firm jaw and suckle him there voraciously, unable to get enough of his dreamily dulcet skin, and fully intent on leaving a vivid purple bruise.

While you let your kisses meander, you catch sight of his expression. His eyelids drape low, but what’s still revealed of his eyes watch you. They are blearily overcome with cupidity, taking in your every move, an utter slave to your nearness.

He’s right. He is wrecked and undone, a fine mess for you, right here on the secluded forest floor.

Your ambling mouth finally reaches his, and you hide your smile against his lips. “Maybe I’ll be the one to mend you too.”

With your back slightly arched and your chest pressed against him, you cup his face near the back of his devastatingly sharp jaw and give him a number of sumptuously slow kisses, each ending with a heady, sensual click of tongues and lips.

You feel Arthur’s large hand cradle that little arch in the small of your bare back. Opening your eyes a moment, you watch him kiss you with his eyes shut, watch him chase your mouth through each parting breath.

Pulling away, you lift yourself up just enough to shift and straddle him. The soft curve of a smile rests on your lips as you gaze down at him. His cock is solid as a diamond and swollen tight against his belly. But that’s perfect for what you have in mind to try.

Arthur lifts his head and watches you intently. You can almost read his thoughts. Never have you taken the lead this way, let alone to this extent, and he’s not about to miss a moment of it.

With your knees in the dirt, you shimmy your rear down into the cradle of his groin and lean forward until the glistening folds of your feminine flesh caress his hard sex. A broken gasp snags in his throat, and still, you press your hips forward. You shift and press your hips just so, until he is perfectly snug between the hot, wet, caressing folds of your body.

“Right there…” you breath out in one extended exhale. And the sound of it is like an awakening.

After resting your hands on the plane of his chest, you immediately begin to rock and jut your hips against him, letting the scrumptiously fitted clasp of your sex glide and rub up and down against his shaft. Each time you grind against him, his hardened length hits that swollen spot at the apex of your sex, so deliciously, so perfectly.

“Oh God,” Arthur moans, something you’ve never heard from him before. It sends electric jolts through all your nerve endings and flips your womb with excited pleasure, until you’re aching with desire and soaking him with your arousal.

Arthur’s head falls back to the sodden earth, his eyes drowsy with intense pleasure. Both of you moan in loud, tandem bursts—sometimes growled and unified, sometimes hoarse and breathy.

“Goddamn…” he utters weakly. And then the rest of his deep, heady moans promptly lose all intelligibility.

“Oh, God!” you whine. A twisted crease between your brows betrays the sweetest agony of tortuous, sensual bliss.

His hands have come to rest on the creased bundle of your soft, fleshy hips. With each of your rolling thrusts against him, that hold is like a grounding tether for the two of you. He sees you, whole and real and sweating woman that you are above him. He sees the whirling effort of your tense body in all your passion. And he has you.

Letting your head fall back, you shut your eyes and focus on the pulling, inexorable need you feel deep in your body to rock your hips against him. Your inexperience may show, but you try your best to find and sustain a useful rhythm with a gradually quickening pace. You lean down towards him until the tips of your breast graze through the hair on his chest once again. The abrasive sensation adds to the accumulating pleasure radiating in your body. You can’t help but strain and squirm against the delectably hard, warm, virile male body beneath you.

That’s when his stubbled face, his bright lazuli-jade eyes, the plump shape of his lips, come so close to yours.

Every part of you burns with desire. Molten embers have taken hold of you at the fullness of the realization: the same flame that singes you at Arthur’s sensual touch, singes Arthur when you touch him.

You can possess him, you’re learning. Maybe it will take you years to know with unshakeable certainty whether you possess each other in soul. Whether you can hope for a depth of connection that transcends this world, transcends what can be seen and handled. Whether he truly feels about you the way you feel about him. But you can possess him this way. In body and in fiery heat.

And you’re alive anew with this lesson.

As the pace and force of your writhing rhythm quickens and deepens in intensity, you inhale his every hard-rushing, fitful breath and offer him your own. Finally, you cover his mouth with yours and kiss him wildly, lips bunching against his as the hot, searching slip of your tongue invades his mouth.

In the next moment, Arthur swiftly reaches up and takes the whole of your jaw in the secure grip of his thumb and first finger, urging your mouth against his. With one motion, he flips you onto your back and turns to climb over your body. You’re now perpendicular to where you’d been lying and are more parallel with the edge of the forest pool. You’re pinned and can scarcely draw breath, and it is heavenly.

A natural lilt of breathy, giggling laughter arises from you, and you speak between abating breaths and all his pressed kisses. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Not with you.” Raised on one forearm, he looks down at you, hair dripping with sweat and river water around his face. His dry mouth clicks, and his quiet voice is hoarse and bleary, almost drunk with wolfish longing. “I’m so hard, hun.”

A bolt of winced pain flashes across his brows as he looks into your eyes. The combination of his hissed, threadbare voice and desperate expression puts a mild but insistent pang in your heart.

“I need you.”

Your own expression slightly hazes to a tender thoughtfulness at the words. You let your thighs fall open to welcome him with their characteristic doughiness and warmth.

Arthur calmly seals his mouth over yours and gives you several long, lusciously probing kisses. With each teasing, silken stroke of his tongue, shocks of sensation streak through your body—to the tips of your breasts and gathering low within your intimacy—somehow even more vibrant and strong than what you’d been experiencing moments ago.

He transitions from deep, hungry kisses to breathy, persistent presses to your lips, and back again. You lose yourself in the sensual feeling of your tongues rolling and rubbing together, in the heated, lurching reaction gathering between your legs to his every demanding kiss.

Before long and without even realizing it, you’re luxuriating in his total possession of your mouth, in the feeling of being so desperately wanted, in his masterful knowledge of your body’s reactions to so little. And the understanding strikes you: this man loves to kiss you. Maybe most men cut right to the main event with little to no preamble, but not this one. Without a doubt, Arthur deeply, thoroughly enjoys kissing you. He sups from your mouth with languid, savoring passion, tasting of his pleasure. And you are delirious with need.

Leave it to Arthur to shift the atmosphere of your lovemaking from desperate and wild to slow and sweet and tender. You smile against his mouth at the thought. Sure, there have been instances when he’s led your lovemaking to be hasty and exciting. But often, his lead seems to bring the two of you to something slow and full, as if he wants to feel every bit of everything, as if he wants you to feel it all too. Almost as though he wants his mind to be right here, with you. As though he’s looking to make the joining of your bodies tender and meaningful.

Perhaps that’s so much of what love with another person is, you think. Carrying faith with you—faith, or at least hope, that the other person loves you just as much as you love him.

So here the two of you are beside the crystal edge of a creek’s confluence, bare bodies about to conjoin in an intimate clasp that’s as lazily tender and affectionate as a thick stack of letters read one by one on a porch in the midst of warm summer’s day. To you, the depth of feeling poured out is the very same.

It’s somewhere in all of this blissful thought that you hear the vital, trickling rush of water, and a memory brushes against your mind like the feathery fern fronds that surround you. It’s a somewhat distant memory—the edges are blurred and fuzzed. It has something to do with the water nearby.

And the memory is not an image, but a sound. A word or two. Imbued with meaning. A key to something. Words spoken so many moons ago by your grandmother, in all her ancient wisdoms of life and its needs. The words’ meaning is what you need. Something important. Something you know you must remember, right now. Right this moment.

“Oka…” you whisper as Arthur kisses your neck, and you feel the slick tip of his length prod the aperture of your sex.

“Hm?”

“Oka—” Your brows collide as you try to remember, try to tug the memory towards you.

“What is it?” he whispers.

Your eyes flash open. Not a moment too soon, you feel it, you have it. But you bite back and swallow the original words, choosing to speak others aloud. Others that won’t give you away.

“Quick water.”

Somehow, in this moment, you and Arthur find yourselves about to make love at the confluence of a creek. The confluence. And you can’t waste it.

Hurriedly, you scramble to reach your left arm past the loamy bank, looking for the water.

“What was that?”

“I…” You gulp and gather your thoughts. “Quickened—enlivened. It’s just a metaphor, the water where a new river begins.” Your eyes glance to his and just as quickly dart away at the knowledge of how silly it must sound. “If I touch it while we make love, it can help us conceive. Help us have a baby.”

“Oh yeah?” His voice is groggy, almost slurred with lusty longing as he watches you stretch your arm and reach for the edge of the pool. “Sounds a bit like an old wives’ tale.”

“I just need to touch it.”

“Hey, hey…” he murmurs, becoming more clear-headed when he realizes how serious and desperate you are.

He scoots the two of you just a couple inches, and your fingertips finally grace the water’s surface with ease.

You smile and sigh with the feeling of relieved success as you turn to look back at him. “Maybe it is. An old wives’ tale, I mean. But…we’re already here. I just thought, why not give ourselves every help.” You look into his eyes as the tree limbs sway so slightly above him, their green leaves a moving mural of fractured, glittering sunshine. “Everything that grows needs sunlight and water to do it.”

His smile slowly brightens at your logic. He leans forward and takes your mouth again with wet, succulent kisses.

Sighing with pleasure and satisfaction at his generous touch, you slowly bring one arm over his back, letting your open palm and fingers brush over his skin until your forearm his hooked around his neck. And with the other arm, you lazily dangle your hand at the wrist, letting your fingertips dip and comb into the cool, wild water, where the spring sends a new creek on its meandering way.

Together, you experience that miraculous slotting of hardness sheathed within softness when he fills you with himself. The two of you cry out as your bodies merge, there beside the water. Earthy and pure, entwined and unencumbered.

With him deep inside, your body clutches his, and you finish what you’d started minutes ago. Arthur gives up to you that which you wrest from him—the labored breath, the fitful climax you share, the released flood of heavenly pleasure. And when you watch it all wash over him—those forceful, gripping waves of glorious, pearlescent ecstasy—you have to believe he knows that’s how you love him. That’s it’s a physical way you can show him what he does inside your heart.

Arthur intently watches you shudder and gasp as your sumptuous flesh ripples around him. He is always astonished at the way your pleasure spreads to him in rolling waves of fire, at the way your joy crashes and rushes over him like some powerful windstorm. And he is always enthralled by your lovemaking—that almost otherworldly ability it has to knit and bind the two of you closer together.

When you’ve both spent yourselves, gulping and heaving for air, he lies ragged atop you. His arm rests casually limp across your chest, its slight, rested curl caressing your bare breast, the hair on his forearm brushing the ruddy, intimate bloom of your nipple. A place on a woman no one ever sees—reserved for doctors, babies, and husbands. And you are not ashamed.

His intelligent eyes are now laden with rest, peace, comfort, pleasure. You start to smile as you brush the length of your finger down along the side of his cheek, now covered in steadily growing stubble. His crows’ feet gather, and his eyes dance with silent laughter as he kisses the inside of your wrist and your palm before you can speak.

“Your beard is growing.” The subtle breeze of laughter wafts through your voice.

“Yeah?” he mumbles amidst a kiss to the heel of your palm. “I need someone to give me another shave.”

“I like it.” The smile in your voice is jocund and playful. “But I like you every way.”

His smirk brightens. “I won’t want to give up my shaves. Not with the way you give ‘em.” He relishes in the knowingly, shyly mumbled chuckle that jostles your chest beneath him. “I get to sit and watch your pretty eyes and face… Feel you touch mine, so nice and gentle.”

He tips his head with a little truncated grunt. “No— What man in his right mind would give that up?” Resting his chin on your chest, he watches your smile warm as your chuckle flourishes, and your chest returns to its familiar rise and fall. “Went long enough without it.”

Your eyes still and center on him at the sentiment. How true it is for both of you. Having found each other and come together later than most, you’d both spent many years learning to trudge through the desolate aloneness of independence. Each touch, each word, each generous act of affection and kindness you freely give each other means tenfold now.

“Dear heart,” you address him quietly amid the stillness.

Arthur’s eyes flicker to yours at the lover’s endearment you’ve never used for him before. The haggard insides of one huge, lumbering outlaw melt utterly and in an instant.

“You can have a shave from me whenever you want.”

His lips warm to a nearly imperceptible smile. “But it doesn’t mean you’ll never see my beard again.”

“Burly beards one winter and sweet shaves in spring,” you grin with a contented breath. “There’s a time for everything, I guess.”

He nods, and his arms snug tighter around you.

A time for everything. The remark’s unique fusion of persistent apprehension and fragile, wistful hope still rings softly in your head as the two of you pack up your little camp and return to the wagon to resume your travels.

─── ↟ ᨒ 𖠰 ───

After another few days of being on the road, the constant, jostling bounce begins to take its toll. You can feel nearly every pebble and stone in the obscure, rugged trails Arthur takes as they pass beneath the rickety wagon wheels. No amount of stretching or shifting eases the achey soreness beginning to grow in your back and middle. You’re learning the best ways to stay hydrated while simultaneously not requiring too many breaks, but you haven’t fully mastered the skill. When your bladder makes an especially noticeable protest, you rest a hand on Arthur’s forearm and quietly ask him to stop.

Arthur tugs on the reins and brings the horses to a halt. At his right, you turn and promptly hop down from the wagon seat with an old, tattered book in one hand. The words have long faded from the pages, and you’ve both been using it for lavatory needs. He keeps his eyes forward on the road as you approach a tree a short way off and disappear behind it.

A tufted titmouse and a wren war for loudest song in the branches overhead, and a squirrel bounds away from the base of the tree you stop beside.

Lifting your layers of skirts and lowering your drawers, you squat near the base of the tree. After relieving yourself, you rip a couple pages from the book’s spine and begin to tidy. When you look down at the used page, your countenance falls, and your brows draw up. You tisk your tongue at the sight of blood.

A pang of dismay and despondency slices at your chest.

At the wagon, Arthur lets himself squint from the corner of his eye in the direction you’d gone.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out, you dig into the linen pocket you’ve got tied beneath your skirts and retrieve a few of the absorbent flannel swatches you have stored there for such a time. And though you do your best to gather yourself, you still feel plaintive with disappointment as you begin to head back to the wagon.

When you appear from behind the tree, just the sight of you gladdens Arthur’s heart. He inwardly chaffs himself for being so inordinately easy to affect. Then he notices your downcast expression as you walk toward the wagon, and the way you won’t quite look up at him. And a small flash of concern piques in him.

You give him no word. Only finally glance into his eyes and quickly away again, shaking your head dolefully as you climb up into the wagon seat, praying that he understands it to mean, ‘No baby. Not this month.’

It takes him a moment, as he carefully watches you settle into the seat beside him. But he does seem to. And mercifully, in that moment he does not offer a single audible word of response. Nothing about how needlessly or unreasonably anxious you may be, not a word about how many years you may have left to conceive.

He only takes your hand in his and rubs the back of your palm softly back and forth with his thumb, as he so often does. And with the other hand, he urges the horses onward.

As the sun slips beneath the horizon and leaves a shuddered cool in its wake, Arthur enters a pleasant rhythm of evening chatter with you. Thoughts of what types of climes he’d most like to settle in, the herbs he’s still in search of, memories of his mother. He’s just broached casual wonderings of how John and his family are getting on when he notices the way you start beside him, nodding and humming with groggy eyes.

Glancing at you, he offers a simple smile. He faces the road, though he keeps his clandestine attention on you. And after several minutes, he sees you nod off, your head bobbing to the side in an unknowing search of something to rest against.

From the corner of his eyes, he watches you as he conducts his experiment.

“Yeah, I wonder if John’s taken Jack fishin’ yet.”

You pop up in your seat, eagerly offering little hums of vague agreement. “Mm, yeah, maybe.”

A grin slowly splits his face as he looks at you and takes in the way you lift your brows and try to peel your eyes open, the way you try to enunciate clearly and appear as if you’d never been asleep.

He faces forward again and manages to smooth his expression to a warm smirk before you can notice his grin and before he has to burst into smothered snickers.

He realizes you must be exhausted to be falling asleep in a rocking, bouncing wagon. Despite it, you’ve been taking care to keep yourself just awake and aware enough to hear him speak up. And every single time he’s said something, you’ve been trying your hardest to make him feel listened to and regarded.

When you fall asleep this time, he speaks under his breath only to himself. “Yeah, it’s time to stop and get you to bed.”

He picks a spot by a babbling creek and tugs the horses to a stop. Quietly turning to you, he leans in, pressing his mouth to your cheek and waking you with several loud, continuous smacks of his lips.

“You were— You were straightenin’ up every time I said somethin’,” he wheezes dryly into the kisses against your cheek, explaining it all to you.

He’s never had someone in his life who’d love him enough to show it to him in such a small, yet selfless way. It’s like your love is a way of life. Like breath. You don’t have to think about it.

…

With the next morning’s dawn, you stir from sleep bundled beside Arthur under one quilt in the wagon bed. Noticing Arthur still slumbering, you decide to rise and brew coffee for him.

Raw and sore, you press yourself to sit up from lying on your side. The moment you feel a puddle of stickiness between your legs, a stiffening chill seeps into your veins. Your eyes linger an extra moment on Arthur’s sleeping form before you look down to carefully lift the quilt, shuffle the folds of your muslin nightgown, shift your thighs, and remove the several scraps of flannel you’d tucked there the night before. Immediately, your shoulders sag, and you let out a broken sigh at the bright, sprawling scarlet bloom that fouls the lower blanket you and Arthur share.

First, no baby. Now this. Your cheeks heat, and your eyes threaten to sting. Your mortified mind scurries to produce a way you can fix this and hide it—hide it well enough your new husband will never know it ever happened. Is there even a way to achieve such a thing now?

Gulping, you release a breath through pursed lips and will your vision to clear. One portion at a time. You’ll take the situation one portion at a time, and try your best.

Deciding to make coffee, you slowly crawl from within the wagon’s bonnet and put on your simple dress. After starting a campfire and setting the percolator to brew, you take your nightgown to the nearby brook and stoop to try to salvage it. But no matter how many times you submerge it and let the crisply bubbling water run over it, no matter how often you run your lye soap over the stain and very gently scrub the spot with your fingernails, the crimson smirch doesn’t seem to give.

After dunking the stain for the seventh time, you lift it to try another tentative crisscross with your fingernails. It’s then that you realize the sheer material’s delicate weft is beginning to fray.

At once, you let your left hand plop into the water with the scraggly nightgown bundled inside it, and you bring the web of your other shaking hand to your forehead. As you turn to gaze back at the wagon, you feel the cool water dribble down your temple.

Leaving the soiled nightgown crumpled at the brookside, you stand and walk back to the wagon. Peering past the bonnet’s open tie, you watch Arthur intently and wait for him to wake. When he finally stirs, you call to him, trying to keep from your tone the direness you feel.

“Come outside, Arthur.”

He takes his time to shift and rub his eyes. Your heart begins to thump, and you nibble at your lip and wring your hands a bit.

“Come to the fire. I’ve got coffee on.”

“Thinkin’ I need some,” he groans hoarsely as he crawls forward and dons his hat.

The moment he emerges from the wagon and heads for the campfire, you hunch to squeeze your shoulders past the bonnet’s opening and pull the large, stained blanket from the wagon bed. You promptly fold it multiple times and drape the bulky mass over your forearm, tossing an easy smile Arthur’s way as you stride to the brook.

With his tin mug to his lips, Arthur watches you in the distance from over the rim. His brows momentarily come together when you stoop without fanfare and begin washing the old blanket in the brook. Not yourself. Not your clothes. The blanket. He turns to look back at the wagon and looks at you again.

At the brook, you’re hurriedly swiping the soap bar over the smirch in the blanket and furiously scraping your fingernails into the fabric. You’re hoping to God your nightgown is no indication of how this laundering is going to go. Time and again, you submerge the fabric into the rushing water and scrub ferociously. To little avail.

You’re on your fifth pass when a large, roughened hand enters your vision from the left, reaching for the sodden blanket and slowly taking it from your hands before you have a chance to protest or even think.

With burning eyes, you look up at him to find his eyes fastened to your face rather than the blanket. His expression is not curdled and crinkled with the revulsion you would expect to see; rather it’s slack and soft with something like understanding.

“You ain’t had your coffee yet.” The coarse grain of his voice is quiet, level—void of the inflection that would make it a query. “Have you.”

Fighting to keep your chin from trembling, you give your head a small, staccato shake.

“Go on. Before it cools.”

He knows now. And you have to admit that he’s probably right, after all. It’s a useless endeavor.

Struggling to your feet, you wince when your lower abdomen objects with a harsh, metallic jab. But you’re distracted from that when Arthur doesn’t follow. You look on with a mix of disbelief and horror when instead, he stoops to the brook and begins to wash the blanket’s stain himself.

“No. A-Arthur,” you push out, but the meek sound is fibrous and flimsy. “You don’t have to d—”

“Go on,” he looks over his hunched shoulder. “I want you to drink some while it’s still hot.”

He returns to his task and doesn’t address you again, expecting you to comply with his request. You watch him scrub at the blood stain with his big fingers and scour the blanket against itself above the water.

It seemed to happen so quickly. Already his hands have come in contact with the fabric marred by your menstruation. There’s nothing left for you to worry over, nothing left for you to hide. So it’s become all you can do to walk back to the campfire, sit beside it, and pour yourself a tin mug of the coffee you’d brewed for him.

Trying to avoid watching his hunched form in the distance, you gaze down instead at the coiling eddies of steam as they quickly furl and flow in seemingly random patterns from the mug in your hands. It does little to ease the shame pinching at the nape of your neck and cloaking you with heat.

From one troubling thought to the next, your harried mind darts and spirals like the eddies. Why you can’t seem to handle even one of the most natural, fundamental things about being who you are. Why you still seem to be twelve years old, rather than a capable adult. And how can Arthur think any differently? How can he be all right with discovering that his wife doesn’t seem to be put-together, able to handle herself? How can he not resent the fact that he’s had to take on the care of you, rather than the other way around?

And worst of all: how long can he last with you, if all these things are true?

Mixed in with all of it is the niggling sadness and disappointment you’re trying not to let yourself feel about not being pregnant this month. Of course, you don’t need that pressure, especially so soon after consummating. Marriage is enough of a new thing to experience for anyone, for both of you. Love itself is new enough for you in particular to navigate. And of course, there should be plenty of time for such a thing.

You can hear the cases for rational thinking, and you want to heed them. And part of you really, truly does. But somehow you’re no less disheartened, and your deep longing is no more quieted. Which makes you all the more frustrated with yourself, on top of everything else.

Scoffing bitterly through a stuffy sob, you let your forehead drop into your hand. You could giggle with laughter at yourself if you weren’t so bedraggled by it all. Oh… You’re menstruating pretty well all right.

A new squeak of faint exasperation rises from your throat at the thought of being threadbare and worn, just like the newly rotten blanket.

When you hear the crunch of Arthur’s shifting boot-falls, you lift your head with a snuffle to see the white bundle of your muslin nightgown entering the corner of your vision.

“Takes a light hand,” you hear him say, and you could swear you’d heard the smallest trace of a smirk in his voice. “Is all.”

There it is, when you look up into his face shadowed by the brim of his black hat: the faint glimmer of light in his eyes, the crows’ feet gathered so subtly at their corners. His expression knowing and loving, both.

I love you so, you want to say. But the words won’t seem to order themselves, and you don’t trust your voice at all in this moment.

You’d forgotten about the nightgown. He must have seen it crumpled at the brookside and laundered it too.

Keeping your eyes on his, you pull it from him. The slip of sheer, gauzy white slowly spools from the loose pocket of his curled fingers, transferring from his hand to yours. When the last of it finally falls free from his fingers, your eyes dart away.

You hold it up and open to see that the stain is much faded, though the delineation is visible if you look for it. And the fraying you’d done has been prodded back into place until it’s become less noticeable, though the gown won’t ever quite return to what it was before.

“We’ll get you a new one, babe.”

When you lower the gown, you’re greeted by his warm smile and the almost imperceptible slant to his brows—a look of feeling and compassion.

“Promise.”

Your mouth stutters open, but before you can say that this is far better than you’d thought it could ever look again, you notice that he’s fanning open the blanket and spreading it over the side of a nearby boulder, facing the campfire to dry. The bloody smirch in the dyed wool is greatly diminished—so faint you can hardly tell it had ever been there.

Arthur next bends to the fire and uses a pair of tongs to pull a few smooth stones from near the blaze. You don’t remember them being there when you built the fire this morning; he must’ve put them there. You watch as he leaves the stones atop a nearby rock to cool a bit. Digging into his satchel, he retrieves a thick flannel pouch with a drawstring closure. One by one, he takes the stones with the tongs and drops them into the pouch with a clinking clatter. He cinches the drawstring and offers the bag of warm stones to you.

Finally overcome, you slowly take the pouch from him as your expression falls like shaken sand, and you release a single sniveled whine.

Arthur crouches before you and holds you steady with his shimmering blue-green irises, like looking into an iridescent spring.

“I want to know…” He stops himself, glances down with a sigh, and starts again. “I’ll take it day by day, bein’ a good husband. With each one, I want you to tell me the ways I can be better to you. I want to know.”

Your brows rise and draw together. With your lips and chin trembling, you manage to answer shakily past tight lungs as a single tear rolls down your cheek. “You already give me yourself. What else could you do?”

“Do?” His handsome face relaxes to a bright grin, and he releases a little laughed breath through his nose. He dips his head loosely from between his shoulders, gives it a tip, and lifts it back up to look at you. “There’s a lot.”

Pulling your bottom lip inward, you close your watery eyes. Somehow, the two of you have stumbled upon some miraculous mystery. And maybe somehow, you’re both right. Exerting oneself to serve another means little if one does not give one’s heart to the other. And giving one’s heart to another bears little practical tangibility if it does not bud and fruit forth in loving-kindness and service.

If you have it right, it seems Arthur is saying he doesn’t want you to ever settle for one without the other.

Opening your eyes to look at him, you take a tremulous breath and lift an arm to him. “Hold me.”

A small smile warms on his mouth. He takes a seat beside you and wraps an arm around you as you lean in close and press the pouch of warm stones to your lower abdomen.

After a few minutes of quiet, you think to ask, “Who first told you about a woman’s monthly time?”

He takes a breath and releases it through his nose. “Hosea.”

“How old were you?”

“‘Bout…seventeen. Thereabouts. Sat me down and…gave me the basics. He’d already given me a different kinda talkin’ to the year before,” he chuckles lightly. “I think in his mind it was just…preparin’ me. So I’d have some minimum workin’ knowledge of what women go through, in case I met someone.” His voice grows mumbly. “You know Hosea—he had his faults, but he didn’t want to raise a total brute.”

“I understand.”

“Then, I…guess I came to learn a bit more with Eliza.”

You shift a bit so you can turn your head and look at his profile. “How much do you know?”

“That it… It makes it possible for you to bear children. Feeds the baby, as it were. By the same token, it’s a sign that…there i’n’t a babe to feed.”

You nod, a bit forlornly.

“That it…can be a hard time for ya. Painful. Body aches and such. Seems to me it might vary some, woman to woman. But I know Eliza’d tend to get a bit…frantic. Real sad, worried.” He scratches at his stubbled jaw as he ponders. “Figure that’s about it.”

When he looks at you expectantly, you gulp. How can you explain to him all the ways your mind can tumble and your body can feel as though it’s sabotaging you during this time? That you can feel isolated, alone, scared. That you can desperately long for a dearly loved one to wrap you up flush and tight in his arms, but that other times, the barest contact to your skin can feel like fiery thistles. That one minute you can be on the verge of bursting into tears for no reason you can decipher, and the next you might feel like screeching. That you almost always feel like an unwanted, repulsive hag. But that at the very same time, all you want is for someone to believe that what your body does is beautiful and miraculous and amazing. For someone to believe that you are strong.

How can you say all of that to him now, your precious new husband, without stunning and overwhelming him? Granted, very little seems to scare Arthur Morgan. But facing that frenzy of a woman’s worries all at once could be staggering for any man, let alone a man brand new to marriage.

When you feel the faintest presence of something ghost down the side of your face, you turn slightly to look at him beside you. He’s been gazing at you while you’ve been thinking, and he’d brushed the back of one finger down across your cheek to your jaw.

A message floats in his eyes, saying, Tell me.

The affection you feel for him brims high and whelms you. A small, tentative smile flickers in your eyes. “There’ll be…time. For gettin’ to know all the little things we can’t quiet explain to each other.”

A knowing smile softens his gaze as he nods agreement. “It’ll keep.”

Your smile dares to grow a bit, and you venture to quietly test your voice. “Mainly I just need to know that I have someone who’ll be there for me through it, never turn me away. That’s what I went so long without.”

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves his arms and hands. Not only are they a powerful tool that he uses on the daily to kill, rob, and steal, they also come in handy (hehe) in the bedroom. He’ll run his hands all over your body, pinching, touching, twisting. The feeling of your skin under his fingers is intoxicating, and so is the knowledge that it’s his touch that can make you moan and writhe in pleasure.

When it comes to you, it’s hard for him to pick just one favorite aspect. He loves every part of you, from your legs, to your hips and your waist, to your breasts and of course your face. If he absolutely has to choose, then he’ll pick your waist. He feels content when he has his hand on your waist, bringing you close to him and feeling your body next to his, be it when the two of you are out, or simply sitting by the campfire in camp.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Loves coming inside of you, be it in your mouth or your pussy. There’s just something so intimate and romantic in the feeling of being enveloped by your warm walls as he reaches his own release.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He likes to be dominated from time to time. It’s easy to understand; Arthur always has to take the lead, be the protector and the leader of the gang, making sure the people are safe and fed. It’s a lot of responsibility, and it weighs heavy on his shoulders. Sometimes he just wants to let go and have somebody else be in control. This want seeps into your intimate life, and at first, he’s embarrassed to voice it. He’s so used to being the strong, masculine outlaw that he’s not sure how to be anything else but that. You sense that something is wrong, so after a lot of prying and kissing he relents and tells you what he’s been thinking. He’s expecting you to laugh at him and dismiss his thoughts as silly, but you don’t. You ask if that’s what he really wants, and he nods. The night takes a completely different turn, with you having your way with Arthur, taking control of his pleasures. You’ll have him on the edge, teasing him relentlessly only to not give him what he needs.

“You think you deserve to cum?” you’ll say, nipping at his ear. “Think you’ve been good?”

He’ll moan your name, bucking his hips towards you and say, “Please.”

“That’s Madame for you,” you’ll correct him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

You wanna thank the woman (or women) who taught Arthur what he knows. From sucking on your clit, to hitting your G spot and nipping on your neck, the man knows every secret in the book that will have your toes curling and your eyes roll to the back of your head. Another great thing about him is that not only is he experienced, but he’s open to learning and trying something new. He’s not the type of man to get upset if you correct him on his technique. If you don’t like something and tell him to do it differently, he’s more than happy to correct himself. Your pleasure is more important than his ego.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

With you on your stomach and him on top, fucking you into the mattress. He loves the classic such as missionary and cowgirl during which he can see your face, but there’s something so intimate in being pressed so close against you, his chest touching your back.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Arthur is somewhere in the middle, leaning more towards serious. He can laugh during the process, but more often than not he’s concentrated, lost in pleasure and lust.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Arthur is hairy all over; from his head to his chest to his legs, and, well, there too. If it bothers you, he has no problem trimming down there, but he himself doesn’t care.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

During your love making (and it is love making, not fucking (thought that happens too sometimes)), he’s very romantic, making sure to tell you, “You’re so beautiful” and “I love you so much, darlin’.” He’ll shower your body in kisses, worshiping you like the goddess you are, kissing every inch of skin and murmuring praises and love confessions. The time you spend in each other's arms, bringing each other pleasure is not only about satisfying your carnal desires, it’s about being close, becoming one and showing just how much you love each other. It’s a process that neither of you want to rush, sometimes spending hours in each other’s arms, proving your love all. night. long.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

The two of you spend almost every waking hour together, but sometimes there are jobs that Arthur has to do alone (like bounty hunting or collecting debts). Some of those jobs are quick, and if he leaves in the morning he’s back in camp right before supper to spend the night with you. Others, however, can stretch for days, even longer if his destination is way out in the country. When he’s away from you for that long, taking himself in his hand is all he can do. He’ll wrap his fingers around his cock, starting with slow up and down movements, imagining it’s your hand and not his. He’ll bring to memory the image of your naked body under his, the sound of your voice moaning his name and the feeling of your walls spasming around him. If he’s alone, he’ll moan your name under his breath, his cock twitching in his hand as he’s nearing his release. With a cry of your name he’ll come, spilling himself on the ground, his hand working his cock to push every drop out.

It’s not the same as having you with him, that’s for sure, but it’ll have to do before he can have the real you in-front of him.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Light bondage. He enjoys tying you up, like your hands behind your back or your hands to the bedpost. If the two of you are in a particular mood, he might even tie up your legs. After telling you his “dirty secret”, he enjoys being the one tied up as well. Both of you know he can get out of the ties easily, break the rope with just a flex of his muscles, but it’s the knowledge that he’s tied down and at your mercy that turns him on.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Somewhere that has a full sized bed (preferably a king sized one). As much as he enjoys the cozy atmosphere of his tent and the familiarity of his cot, it can be a bit annoying with two full sized adults trying to go at it on a bed that was made only for one person.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He loves hearing you moan his name, the sound of it coming broken and shaky from your lips. Feeling your legs shake, your body writhe and your hands holding on to him for support is his biggest motivation to work harder to bring you to your release, wanting nothing more than to see you fall apart to his touch.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Degradation and physical abuse. A spank on your ass here and there is okay, and so is dirty talk, but nothing that crosses a line into actual degradation and physical abuse.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Homeboy loves getting his dick sucked. Having you on your knees with his cock in your mouth is one of the images that warms up his soul when he’s alone and away from you.

As far as giving, he enjoys it, and can spend hours between your thighs, lapping at your like you’re his last meal. He enjoys how you are when you’re nearing your release, your thighs shaking on his shoulders, your fingers holding on to his hair and holding him where you need him. Once your orgasm washes over you and you’re laying on the bed, panting, your eyes closed, he’ll emerge from between your legs, licking his lips, a satisfied smirk on them.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Arthur prefers slow, sensual lovemaking to rough and fast fucking any day of the week. He enjoys dragging his cock in and out of your pussy, the slow strokes driving you insane. His pace would be slow, but it would be deep and intense, making you see stars each time he hits a spot inside of you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

With how often Arthur has to go on jobs, quickies are a necessity in your relationship. Sometimes, he’ll only be in camp for an hour or two before heading back out, so as much as he’d love to pull down the flaps of his tent and ravish your body for hours on end, a quickie is all he can afford.

He’ll have you pinned to a tree on the outskirts of camp, his pants pulled down enough to pull out his dick, your skirt hiked up and your drawers pushed to the side. You’ll bite down on your fingers, trying to keep your moans at minimum as he pushes in you, his girth stretching you as it always does. It’ll be quick, dirty and sinfully delicious, and it will leave you craving more, waiting for Arthur to come back as soon as possible.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Arthur’s always game to try something new as long as it’s safe and both of you are on the same page.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Arthur can go all night long. The man has an implacable self control, and he can make you come countless times before cumming himself.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Arthur is a type of man that wants to do everything himself, be it cooking his own meals instead or ordering UberEats, or making you cum with his fingers instead of a vibrator. Personally, he doesn’t see a necessity for toys, but if it’s something you wanna try, he’s more than happy to use them.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

When he’s in a mood, Arthur can tease you ceaselessly. He’ll have you on the edge of orgasm for hours, making you think that he’s about to give you what you want, only to pull away at the last possible moment. You’ll be a shaking, moaning mess by the end of it, teetering on the edge of insanity and begging him to finally let you cum. He’ll smile that devilish smile, perhaps even cock his head to the side and take a moment to think before saying, “Nah,” and go back to teasing you for hours more.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

When the two of you are in camp, Arthur has no problem at keeping his volume to a minimum. He’ll grunt here and there, maybe let out a moan a few times, but nothing over the top, because he doesn’t want to bother other gang members. When the two of you are alone however, it’s a completely different story. The man moans. He lets out grunts, sighs and moans, but most of all, he lets out praises and comments.

“Shit, darlin’, you’re so tight,” he would grunt as he slips in your heat, “Gonna make me bust already.”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he’d say as he circles your clit with his fingers, bringing you to your release for the unpteenth time that day, “I know you got it in you.”

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

The idea of you getting pregnant turns him on, a lot. The two of you are not actively trying to get pregnant, but the knowledge that he could do that to you, could put a baby in you and have you swollen and with a big belly because of him turns him on. When the two of you do decide to try for a child, he’ll be the one tracking your cycle and seeing which days you’re ovulating. On those days, you’ll barely leave the bed, only taking time to eat and relieve yourself before going back to making love in hopes of expanding your family.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Arthur’s hung. That’s all.

Jk, that’s not all. He’s long and thick, something that made a shiver run down your spine the first time you saw him naked. Even after being together for however long you were, his girth still manages to stretch you to your limits and need a moment to get used to. Arthur would never say it, but hearing you say, “You’re so big” gives him a high for hours and feeds his ego like nothing else.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Before getting in a relationship with you, Arthur’s sex drive was mediocre. He might’ve sought the company of working girls a couple of times a month, but that was more like scratching an itch and not doing it out of pure lust. After getting in a relationship with you however, well, that’s a different story. Just the sight of you walking through camp can set his mind on fire. He has a hard time keeping his hands off of you, and can be a big distraction when you have to work. If you’re game, he’ll have you multiple times throughout the day; in the morning, after lunch during your guard duty, at night in the tent. The man wants you all the time and he’s not shy to tell you so.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

“Thank you” I smiled happily. I must’ve looked like I was empty in the head, completely devoid of thought. The dealer dealt the cards, and I looked at mine once everyone was in. Three other men were at the table, all older as well. A working girl was on one of the men's laps, whispering to him and giggling.

Lure them in.

I frowned at my cards. Only fools would think I would show how bad my cards were.

I could feel the other players' eyes on me, the men have grins on their smug faces. They think they’re gonna wipe the floor with me.

I was glad I was playing with fools.

The game continued, I made random and impulsive bets, draining my chips bit by bit. It wasn’t full incompetence, but it was without the strategy.

“Aw,” I frowned, I was out of chips, having been put out of the game. I put my cards down.

The dealer chuckled, “Looks like you’re out little lady unless you’ve got something worth more than the pot”

I felt my hand instinctively tense at ‘little lady’, a phrase I knew was rarely used as a term of endearment, rather a term of social positioning. I pulled out one of my hunting knives I kept strapped to my thigh, a white wood handle, and a black steel blade. The engraving showed a rabbit, stained red. It was if an albino rabbit was a knife, hypnotizing and beautiful, yet foreign and strange. My initials were engraved in gold on the bottom.

“Can I play with this?” I asked as if I didn’t know the unique value of such a knife, one that could almost bring honor to being cut or bled out.

I could see the sparkle in the players' eyes, even in the working girl. I caught her eyes for a moment, I wonder what she would do with this knife. Would she pour the blood of the man she only sat on in hopes of making money?

“Sure,” the dealer grinned, a glint that showed he already thought the knife was no longer mine, and that he was planning for me to beg for it back.

My eyes drifted as I entered the final game, seeing Arthur was leaning against the banister by the game. Close enough to observe but not too close that you’d think we knew each other.

Arthur had been there for a while, watching Y/N’s body language, watching her lips move as she convinced the dealer, her sad eyes as she lost her chips. Out of the gang members who could act, he never knew how she made people believe so genuinely, how she made him believe. Hosea had brought Y/N in three years ago, but even in that time Arthur rarely saw how she worked, how each finger gently brushed the tops of the cards, dancing and showing no rings. A subtle signal to the players at the table she was available. She leaned towards the dealer as she hung on this random man’s words like the Gospel. And yet, even though he knew this was an act, why…why was he filled with jealousy? Why did he want to be the one she hung on? Why did he want to be the one who made her laugh like she faked when the dealer made a poor joke? God, why did he want to sink her albino rabbit knife into one of the men at the table, the one who was already undressing her in his mind?

“I think I won” I smiled gleefully, showing my cards last. I hadn’t spent a lot of time with Arthur on jobs or leads, so it made me buzz to show my skills. Instead of an impressed look I had wished so dearly to see, I saw a darkness brewing in Arthur’s eyes, my smile feigning for half a second. I was glad the dealer was too gobsmacked to notice.

I had a royal flush.

“I-…uh, yeah, looks like you did miss,” one of the other men said.

I collected myself from Arthur’s brooding look, clapping my hands together, “Yay!” I was giddy, taking my knife back and taking the chips, “thank you gentlemen” I said light-heartedly, “I hope y’all have lovely days” I grinned with warmth, putting the knife back in my sheath under my dress.

I wore tights, but that didn’t stop the man beside me from making eyes that I could only describe as invasive. Before they could say anything else, I made my way to deal the chips in, getting my money.

Arthur had made his way to me as I thanked the attendant. His eyes were less brooding now, but it was far from gone. I returned to my normal demeanor, one much less seductive and naive.

“Got a good pot from that” I smiled, starting to walk with him.

“Mhm”

That was it. The response Arthur gave. My brows furrowed, what did I do? I didn’t say anything else. Suddenly I felt a hand wrap around my wrist, and it wasn’t Arthur.

I turned, seeing the dealer. “Now that I’m off my shift, I wonder if you’d like to go out for a drink sometime?” the man’s eyes scanned my body, and I felt nauseous.

Before I could answer, Arthur’s hand was tight around the man's arm.

“Now, you don’t want me to make a scene in front of my lady, do you?” Arthur spoke lowly, the type of seething anger I’ve only seen on occasions I could count on my fingers.

The dealer’s face was full-blown fear, and he didn’t need any other word before he let go of my hand. Arthur took no time, taking my hand in his and quickly leading me down the stairs and outside the saloon. Did Arthur call me his lady? My heart raced.

Instead of going out in the main streets of Saint Denis, Arthur led me to a quiet alleyway.

“Thank you...” I said, returning to my normal demeanor, letting go of his hand once we were a good distance away from the parlor.

“You need to stop doing that, you’re gonna get yourself in more trouble than it’s worth” he spoke with a pointed finger, looking very irritated.

“What? The poker games? I thought you were fine with them?” I asked, a bit confused. He was all for it before we went into the parlor.

“No- the-” Arthur broke up his words, exhaling, “the face!”

“The face?” I repeated back with an even more confused look. I squinted my eyes in thought, trying to put this together.

“The-the face! When your eyes get so goddamn big and pretty, and you look like you’re hanging on every man’s damn word!” He blurted out, his face turning pink.

I completely ignored his frustration, “you think my eyes are pretty?” I asked, looking up at Arthur with a light blush.

“I- ‘course they are…” Arthur’s frustration seemed to melt, looking deep into my eyes. I couldn’t look away either. He exhaled, rubbing his neck, “look- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be yelling at you actin’” he mumbled out, now looking more embarrassed than frustrated, “it’s feelings I shouldn’t have”

“What? Jealousy?” I asked half as a joke, chuckling to myself before his face portrayed that was exactly what it was.

My eyes widened in realization, “oh…OH!” I said rather loud, to which I slapped my hand over my mouth to shut myself up. My face blushed more. My loud exclamation made Arthur’s face turn even redder.

“Y/N, please” Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked like he was trying to not let his embarrassment get the worst of him

“I'm sorry…I’m just surprised I guess?” I said with utmost honesty.

Arthur’s facial expression changed, “what do you mean surprised?” He raised a brow. The heat on his face was subsiding.

“That you would see me like that, that you would get jealous of the men I acted with”

He put his hands on my shoulders, “of course I’d get jealous, do you know what it’s like looking into your eyes when you act like that? You make me want to be the sorry bastard who you rob blind, not a gun or knife in sight.”

My eyes widened, his touch and words causing my heart to race. This wasn’t Dutch’s right-hand man, this wasn’t the man who robbed trains and shot up banks, this was the real Arthur Morgan.

I don’t know what came over me but I wrapped my arms around his neck, my lips crashing into his. Must’ve been the high of winning a high-stakes poker game because I was not one to make the first moves.

I could feel Arthur surprise at first, but quickly placed a hand on my waist and the other on my back. He leaned a bit down so I didn’t have to reach up. Arthur tasted like whiskey and the cigarette he must've finished before watching my poker game.

Curse that Mary Linton.

Pacing, pacing, all you could do was pace. The others were getting tired of it. Mrs. Grimshaw had already given you several chores, all of which you completed at haphazard speed. The laundry was still dripping on the line, puddles forming underneath in the already soaked ground. It was gonna take a thousand years to dry. But you had other things on your mind.

“Is that from your secret lover?” you had teased Arthur earlier. A letter had arrived for him, brought from the post office by Pearson, and he had scarcely looked at it when you asked. He chuckled at your joke. But as he studied the writing and unfolded the paper, his smile fell, replaced with a strange mixing of emotions you couldn’t quite place.

“No, it’s…” His voice trailed off as his eyes scanned the words before him. 

“Arthur?” You tried peeking over his shoulder, but in a defensive move, he turned so you couldn’t see it. “Is everything okay?”

Your mind started racing as you wondered what it might be. As far as you were aware, the outlaw had no outside obligations. None of the gang did. Quickly, you started cycling through any recent or semi-recent events, wracking your brain for an answer, anything that might help solve this weird and uncomfortable puzzle. Maybe it was some kind of summons? You’d heard of the law issuing letters. But if that were the case, then the gang’s pseudonym at the post office was compromised. Was it related to unfinished business in Valentine? 

It suddenly clicked. Right as Arthur finished reading, you said, “Mary.”

“I, uh... “ At least he had the decency to look sheepish. He nodded.

Immediately, your mood had soured. And it had only gone downhill from there. The letter arrived this morning, Arthur had read it after breakfast, and offered it to you to read after he had finished. It was from Mary, alright. She was in Saint Denis, and, yet again, she was begging for Arthur’s help. You tried not to be angry, but you were. Mary was long before you and you knew that, and yet, you were still strangely jealous of her. Despite existing long before you in Arthur’s life, she was still receiving so much attention, so much of his time, so much of his… You couldn’t think of what it was exactly, but it was infuriating. 

And now, here you were. Mid-afternoon. Roaming aimlessly around Shady Belle, getting on everyone’s nerves. Pearson, who was usually one to nag those who were bored into helping prep the food, was avoiding you like the plague. You had taken to practicing your aim, your volcanic pistol in your hand, squinting at the glass bottles you had lined up on the end of the dock. It was cruel, but you imagined each one was Mary and Arthur. Bang! There goes the engagement ring. Bang! Their stupid faces kissing. Bang!

You jumped about a mile in the air as the last gunshot came from behind you. Whirling around, you found yourself face to face with Arthur, lowering his revolver. He was smiling, just a slight lift to the left side of his mouth, and he pretended to blow smoke from the barrel of his weapon, spinning it poorly around his finger before replacing it in his holster. He approached you with his thumbs hooked in his belt to admire his work. 

“Always were a strong shot,” he commented, nodding his head towards the bottles. 

“You’ve been doing this a long time,” you grumbled. Arthur chuckled.

“Not me, I was talkin’ about you.”

You could only half shrug. You didn’t want to look him in the eyes, though you knew he was searching for yours. He sighed deeply and shuffled his feet.

“Look, can we- Can we talk? I don’t want this to be turned into a, a big thing.”

Reluctantly, you lifted your eyes and met his. The look on his face was begging you to have pity on him, exposing a strange vulnerability you had been seeing more from him lately. It tugged at your heartstrings and you finally caved. You tossed your head back, staring at the sky for a second as you exhaled sharply, drawing strength from the clouds above you. 

“Fine.” 

With a flourish, you extended your arm in a sweeping, “Right this way” motion, indicating he lead the way to a quiet spot. He stared at you a moment before stepping past you, walking towards the house. You trailed behind him, your mind returning to its tumultuous state it had been in most of the day. He had been gone so long, the sun was starting to go down, painting the campsite in orange hues. What could he have been doing all day? Mary hadn’t said what was going on in her letter, just hinted at it. You had spent an hour looking over it and scouring it for information. Man, your stomach hurt from the anxiety.

The two of you ended up in your shared room on the upper floor of the former plantation home. Arthur had held the door open for you, and you found yourself unable to sit down. Behind you, Arthur tried to encourage you to sit, but you could only shake your head. He edged past you to take a seat instead.

For a long while, you just stared at each other. Arthur removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair. You couldn’t bring your mind to form any words for him. All the anger you had had that morning started to drain out of you at the sight of him. There was a sad air around him, something had happened, but you weren’t sure you wanted to hear what. He finally broke the gaze you had each other trapped in and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“How’s Mary?” Your voice finally broke the silence. You cut him off preemptively, scared of what he may have been about to say.

“She’s just fine,” he answered, apparently relieved to hear you speak. “So’s her father, the bastard.”

“It was about her father?”

“Yeah, no good asshole spending money he don’t even have.” The venom in Arthur’s voice made your skin crawl. It was easy to forget, in more tender moments, that he was an outlaw. The fire in his eyes lasted less than a second, however, rapidly replaced by the strange sadness from before. “He, uh… He tried to sell her mother’s brooch. For his.. Hell, I don’ even know, whatever he keeps spending money on. Same shit it’s always been.”

You were frozen, watching him carefully. He didn’t look up. Thinking there was more, you allowed the silence to continue, but the air was still heavy and you needed the weight off your chest.

“Was that all?” you finally asked. Your voice came out soft and fragile. You had your answer when Arthur turned his head upwards, the slightest guilty smile tugging on the corner of his mouth, and the churning feeling returned to your stomach. “Well, did you-- Did you kiss her?”

Arthur let out a bark of laughter. Suddenly, you felt very silly for even asking. 

“Darlin’, no,” he said. With a whoosh of air, your shoulders relaxed, and you even felt a smile approaching your own face. “I didn’t kiss her. But I’d be lyin’ if I said it hadn’t crossed my mind.” The tightness returned as quickly as it had left. Anger bubbled upwards, rushing hot to your head, and you opened your mouth to accuse him, but the look in his eyes registered: it was pain. Pain?

“Arthur,” you whispered, “what happened? Please tell me.” 

Making eye contact once again, the cowboy shifted on the bed and gestured for you to sit beside him, this time closer to a command than suggestion. Hesitantly, you joined him. Your hands were placed gingerly in your lap. He returned to his previous position, elbows on his knees, and he barely looked to you as he recounted everything that happened. He started with Mary shouting to him from the balcony, to their almost argument about the what-ifs of their past, through pursuing her father and chasing down the brooch. They had gone to the theater together. A date? And, finally…

“Mary… Mary asked me to run away with her.” 

The range of emotions running through your head was making you dizzy. Too much to process, too much to consider, so much anger at her, anxiety towards Arthur’s thoughts. You stared hard at your fingers, picking absentmindedly at a loose thread on your clothes. You wondered at what the conversation was like, what Arthur had said, what his expression had betrayed. Did Mary mean it? Was she truly still thinking about him all these years later? Would she ever stop trying to take him away?

“Say somethin’.” His gaze turned to you, the worry clear in his voice. His piercing blue eyes were burning into the side of your head. Without enough time to compose a kinder phrasing, you spluttered out the first thought you had.

“So why didn’t you?”

“Why--?” Arthur chuckled, a low rumble deep in his chest. Relief, you realized, was the cause for his sudden change of tone. “Mary has played me for a fool more times than I can count. We was just kids, then. We’re… Well, we’re grown now, things have changed. Besides, I love you too much to disappear like that.”

Every other thought left your mind. I love you. I love you. I love you… He had never said those words to you. They were spoken every day through action, sure, but out loud… They were almost taboo. Tears filled your eyes as you looked up into his face. His eyes widened in alarm.

“You love me?” you managed to say, your voice strained by the tightening of your throat.

“I have, for a while,” he said. “I-I’m sorry, I jus’ didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that, but it’s the truth. I do love you, darlin’. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Relief in the purest form of ecstasy washed over you. You threw your arms around Arthur’s neck, pulling him in for a tight hug. He stiffened for a moment before returning the embrace. His warmth filled you up and washed out every bad feeling and thought you had that day. 

Unknown to you, though, your hope for a rescue should actually be much higher as the day after Sean’s welcome home party the Irishman was going to find Arthur. Though he was quite hungover and his head was pounding it had sparked a memory in him. Just tidbits of stuff he had heard during his own capture, but if it was correct then someone needed to look into it fast. He would make sure, though, that Charles was not around as it was about you and he did not want to get his hopes up if he were to end up being wrong. Luckily it seemed the man was out of camp so when Sean found Arthur he was speaking plainly, “Hey Arthur, need to talk to ya’ about something”

At first Arthur would let out a sigh as he was settled at one of the tables and nursing his own hangover, but looking up and seeing Sean’s face he knew when the man was actually serious. Motioning for him to sit he would nod, “What is it? Can’t wait till my head stops pounding?” he asks a bit gruffly, but was rubbing a hand over his face when Sean shook his head and started speaking. “Was my own pounding head that had me remembering, when Skeldings boys had me tied up now and again I heard ‘em talking about someone else. Was busy trying to keep my own hide alive so it never really sunk in, but I heard ‘em mention grabbing the person from Blackwater. It might be Y/n.”

This would have Arthurs attention real quick and he was glad they were talking low, looking around to see most of the camp still asleep or just coming around as he did not want them overhearing such a sensitive topic. “Any idea where they are? Even if it isn’t them it needs to be looked into” he say after a moment and Sean would be scratching the side of his face, “Hoping I heard right but someplace called Widow Rock. Sounds like a spot they like to keep supplies more than folk so might be easy to search, but that’s all I really know”

It was a bit vague, but Arthur had been by the spot once, but not close enough to really see what was there. Eventually nodding he would get up, “Let’s go talk to Dutch about this.” Not even letting the man respond before he was heading for the tent in the middle of camp to do just that. Once everything was explained Dutch would be looking between the two of them, eventually nodding. “Arthur, take Lenny and go check it out. Try to keep it quiet cause we do not need to fight these boys again if it’s nothing” he instruct and it was easily agreed upon, Lenny looked the least threatening so if they were spotted it would be easier to play it off.

Sean did want to protest it had been his tip, but just being rescued himself he was not in right enough shape to really be useful. He would go and see the two off once they were ready and Lenny was in the loop, giving them both a nod before they were off, “Hope I am actually right about this” being all he said, the pair just nodding in return before turning and heading off at a trot. It would be a bit of a trip to get there and it was fairly quiet one once Lenny had asked all the questions he could think of, evening falling by the time they got into the vicinity.

Hitching their horses to a couple trees they would go the rest of the way on foot, guards up of course and soon reaching a vantage point. Looking over at what seemed to be a cabin, a few tents around and a couple wagons it actually seemed very quiet, definitely more of a supply hub. “So what’s the plan,” Lenny ask quietly once they put down their binoculars and Arthur would think, “Seems everyone is asleep or gone, you keep watch from here while I check out the cabin. If Y/n is here that’s where I’d keep a hostage. Whistle if someone starts coming to it.” It was a simple plan, really, but sometimes those worked the best and putting up his mask he would move.

Slow and steady he would keep low and to any bushes, hand ready to go to his gun, but for once things seemed to be on their side as he got to the door. Pushing inside quietly he would almost gasp as he came to the sight of you tied up on the bed, though asleep at the moment. Steadying himself he would creep close and gave your shoulder a shake, finger over his masked lips as you jolted awake, but the gag kept you from making any sound as it was. Your eyes widening as your senses came back to you, you would recognize him easily as he pulled his mask down a moment, “Just keep quiet, getting you out of here” he assure and once you nodded he was removing the gag.

From there he would cut your bonds and was returning your hug when you wrapped your arms around him tightly before you were hearing a whistle, “I got ya’, but we gotta move” he speak quietly before helping you up. Your legs wanting to give out on you as you did he pull your arm over his shoulder to keep you up. Getting back out the cabin he would have you both in the bushes as a man round the corner, but luckily he would not go inside giving you time to get back to Lenny. Hugging the younger man just as tightly as you had Arthur it would not be until you were back to the horses that you finally found your voice again, “Thank you, both of you”

It was hoarse, your throat dry from the damn rag near constantly in your mouth and never getting much to drink, but it was steady. “Just sorry we didn’t know where you were sooner” Arthur say as he help you up behind Lenny once he had mounted, “You’re safe now, let’s get back” the younger would add. Both spurring their horses into a trot once you were ready as a shout got your attention. Seemed they noticed you were gone, but you had a good enough lead they wouldn’t find you and the ride settled easily enough.

The trip back they would get you caught up on everything that had happened, who had survived, the train robbery and rescuing Sean. Letting you know it was said Irishman who got them to you as well and you would hum, “Will have to make sure to thank him” you agree before asking the question most on your mind, “How is Charles?” They had assured he was alive, but had he given up on you? Did he still want you? You were worried and Arthur would just give you a look, “He misses you, a lot, been even quieter than usual and does anything to keep himself busy” he tell you in a firm tone, all of them having been starting to worry about the man and if he was heading towards a breaking point.

As morning began to dawn again would be when the three of you were finally getting back and you could feel your heart pounding. You were eager to see everyone again of course, yet oddly nervous, so much had happened, but as you heard Javier calling out to you the happiness was winning out. Nearly falling as you slip from the saddle you were nearly tackling the surprised man in a hug, just needing the contact to know all of this wasn’t some dream. Feeling him hug you back tightly you would hear him say something in Spanish before repeating himself so you understood, “Y/n, you feel like a stick, but it is so good to see you”

Giving you a squeeze he push you along gently, though your legs were wobbly still with how weak you were, but you were determined to walk back to camp on your own, “Have Grimshaw look you over and Charles should be back tonight, think he went hunting boars on Pearsons request” he explain to you and you thank him, at least you would be able to clean up a bit then. Taking a deep breath as you head up the path with the others you could feel tears forming as you saw the wagons and everything turning into a blur as Tilly spot you first.

Your name shouted you would be pulled into different hugs and embraces before Grimshaw was getting hold of you. Being ushered into a tent she would be checking you over, fussing over every bruise and bump. Your wrists would be wrapped where the rope had rubbed them raw and any other cut would be patched up before she was letting you go, reminding you to eat slowly till your body could handle food fully again before she was hugging you tight herself. From there you would make your way to you and Charles tent, Tilly showing you where it was, and you felt your heart nearly in your throat as you enter.

Your trunk and bedroll were in a corner of it, though clearly there and taken care of, and when you open the trunk you would feel fresh tears. Inside would be a new gunbelt, looking to be trapper made, a clean knife and revolver settled inside, but it would make it clear your love had faith you would return. Moving the items carefully you would find fresh pants and a shirt to change into and for the first time in weeks you felt as clean as you could without a bath. Coming back out you would take the dirty clothes to be used for rags, they were torn up anyways and you weren’t sure if you could wear them again.

Heading to talk to Dutch and Hosea next you would tell them everything you could, though it really was not much, about what had happened to you. Both of them encouraging you to get your strength back up you thank them, eventually just settling by the main campfire and talking with any who came by. Mary-Beth bringing you water now and again along with a can of fruit to start getting you healthy. You would be sitting in front of the log, leaning against it and drifting into a nap now and again, the noise and bustle soothing over all.

Eventually evening would begin to fall again and you would have a little bit of stew. Looking up as Javier came to you once more he would be smiling, nodding towards Pearsons area, “Just saw Charles bringing stuff over there” he tell you and it had your heart clenching a moment as you look over. Getting to your feet you would not care what happened to the bowl as you made your way over, but once you were close you could not even find your voice.

Charles, meanwhile, was a bit confused. Was the camp really still in such a good mood from Sean coming back? He supposed it could be true, but yet at the same time everyone had just been giving him almost knowing looks and like they had something to say. It had him a bit frustrated as he brought over the pork, boar tusks and hides he had gathered. Honestly he had not cared why the man wanted the stuff in particular, he would take any distraction to keep his mind off of you. He did not want to forget you, no not that at all, just it hurt to think about as by now if you had not been found you were most likely dead.

He just couldn’t accept that, though, and could feel his thoughts wandering again before he realized Pearson was talking to him, “Mr. Smith I said you may want to turn around.” The cook would have that same knowing look and it had Charles arching a brow, just what was going on, but he would do as told. When he did it would be as if the world stopped, eyes widening as they fell on you, and he realized he was frozen as when a deep first sees a cougar. Had he died suddenly? He couldn’t even breathe and could feel his vision starting to go dark.

You would see him freeze and at first would stop moving yourself, but as you saw him starting to almost shake you were closing the distance. Hands cupping his cheeks quickly, “Charles? Sweetheart you need to breathe” you tell him firmly, worry beginning to build until you saw him take a breath. For him the world would seem to move again at your touch and your voice, his body reacting before his mind even could. Arms wrapping around you tightly he would be pulling you into his chest as his face buried into your shoulder, “Y/n?” It would come out almost as a whisper, but you heard it clearly.

Wrapping him tight in your arms in return you would be pressing kisses to his head, one hand coming up to run your fingers through his hair gently, “I’m here, I’m alive” you assure as you could feel him shaking and hot tears soaking into the shoulder of your shirt. Around you the others would be giving you space, but you would gently coax him over to a log in the tree line for a little privacy. You were almost surprised as he pulled you onto his lap, but would relish the closeness. His embrace what you had missed most of all and as your eyes met you could see all the emotion in them.

It matched your own in the fear and loneliness you had been feeling while captured, changing to the immense relief and happiness you felt now in his arms. Cupping his cheeks again to brush his tears away you did not miss as he leaned into your touch, asking slowly what had happened. Of course you would tell him what you remembered and then being rescued by Arthur and Lenny. The silence following a serene one as his forehead came to rest against your own, though he soon spoke, “I was just about to give up, when we found Sean and not you it was another blow and it seemed hopeless” he admit and it just had you softening.

You could understand, though, you had heard about them losing a bounty when it had happened. They had been so mad and it was where some of your recent bruises were from, but you would just lean in and kiss him slowly. Assuring you both you were together again, “I’m here, I am home.” Being all you said before his lips were on yours again in a deeper kiss, his hands finding your waist to pull you closer. You would feel him pause, though, breaking the kiss as he looked at you closely. He could see the thinness of your face and it had his worry spiking.