#vandermorgan

Day 3

The inspections happen on the regular now.

Hands on his ass, fingers in his mouth, Dutch's scent swarming him and corroding him down until Arthur stands still and takes the degradation, the humiliation, the overwhelm. The inspections happen the morning and evening in the bedroom, and in the kitchen and living room all through the day. It's a wonder Arthur is allowed to piss by himself, but even then Dutch lingers at the door like some sort of guard. He has to ask him for each and every cigarette, each and every glass of water. Once, when he drinks water, Dutch wonders out loud whether it's more refreshing than what Arthur usually soaks himself in, not only referring to alcohol.

"I'm not a whore," Arthur says and slams the glass down on the table.

"I never said you were, son," Dutch replies, frowning at the rude gesture.

"Then what the hell are you implying?"

"That you're lost. That I want you to find your way back to me - and to us, your family, your friends - again. Don't you want that too?"

Arthur doesn't respond. He doesn’t get his guns, his jacket and shoes back either. He walks around the house barefooted, wishing he didn't sweat as much, his feet kissing the floor loudly. Kissing the floor around Dutch, who never strays far, watching over him like a vulture that regularly pounces upon his prey, which in this case is a scraggly black coyote; the animal that Arthur always dreams of. Sometimes in the dreams, antlers threaten to burst from his skull, but a vulture flies down and attacks him until the antlers sink beneath the skin.

The worst thing is the one Arthur dissociates from the most. His own arousal, that is. Dark and deep like a swamp at night, mosquitoes buzzing all around, fattened with sweet blood and yet wanting more skin to guzzle at. His ass is always red hot with the imprint of Dutch's fingers, marks upon marks. He hates it, the thickness of it, clogging his breath. Can hear the echo of wet and obscene noises. Dutch doesn't talk as much, doesn't bother with claims of checking him for bottles and other bullshit, but he's started using prickly pear oil while fingering him, citing its medical properties as taught by Hosea. It's so wrong how he gets to be all familial and medical about this shit while wrecking Arthur's hole so regularly with his thick fingers. Not his cock, not yet, but Arthur can tell that Dutch is hard from when he gets all close, which he often is. Arthur just wants it over with.

Dutch knows better. Knows it ain't right, that it's playing with fire; if things go bad, it could destroy everything he and Hosea have built.

Any and all thoughts of sanity leave him when Arthur's lips nudge his groin, wrapped around the base of his cock, blue eyes blinking up at him eagerly.

"That's good, son... goddamn, look at you."

He watches Arthur preen from the praise as he slowly begins bobbing his head. Soon, he's sucking Dutch off eagerly, wet grunts filling the air with each movement. Arthur has always been eager for Dutch's praise, and Dutch finds that he loves offering it.

He can't help but look at the young man on his knees for him, thinking about how beautiful he is like this. How Dutch wouldn't have thought that taking him in all those years ago would have led to this, but he's not complaining.

Ethics, morals—does it matter when two adults want each other?

"Dutch..." Arthur murmurs, panting as he nuzzles Dutch's cock, hands groping the older man's ass. "Want ya inside me."

Again, Dutch should say no. Shouldn't have said yes in the first place to the man he's called his son for almost a decade.

He doesn't say no.

Instead, he fingers Arthur open, sucking his nipples and marking up his hairy chest, drowning in those pretty whines and moans he receives in response.

Instead, he sinks into Arthur, bottoming out with one hand around his throat and the other on his stomach, murmuring praise about what a good boy Arthur is, taking every inch of his cock, reveling in how eager Arthur is to please him.

He watches Arthur's full ass bounce off of his stomach, watches his cock drool as he begs for more, hears Arthur moan out a broken daddy and fucks him harder as a reward.

Dutch Van Der Linde is a man far beyond redemption, something he realizes as he empties himself inside of his adopted son, not feeling a shred of guilt when Arthur cries out his name as he coats his stomach and chest in his own release.

"Dutch..."

Arthur murmurs his name, loopy and smiling, and Dutch kisses him until he can't breathe. When he finds himself growing hard again, he fucks Arthur slow and deep, sucking his tongue, kissing his neck, marking his territory.

He finds that Arthur revels in it; he clings to him, begs him for more, asks to be his. Clenches around his cock and moans, making Dutch feel feral at the thought of anyone else seeing his boy like this.

He finds himself obsessed with it. With him.