Time Away

You had never seen Arthur drunk. Not in camp, at least- usually, he only got deep in his cups when he went out, and then, he got so drunk, he became such a rowdy fool, you could not recognize him.

This was...a new kind of drunk Arthur.

You'd noticed before, that when Arthur would get drunk drunk, he always passed by this phase where he got a little quiet and just fumbled around with his drinks for a little. But he often got past that stage and into the giggling and hiccuping and stumbling all over himself stage within a few minutes.

It seemed, tonight, he hit a sweet spot.

In this limbo, Arthur was...strange. He was staring at you. Guiltily. You tried to act like you didn't notice, sharing a cigarette with Charles and exchanging a quiet conversation with him. But you kept getting distracted by the sheer intensity in the way Arthur stared at you over the campfire.

At one moment, you had the cigarette hanging loosely between your lips while listening to something Charles was telling you- and you saw, out of the corner of your eye, Arthur lean forward slightly. Like he was invested. He rested his elbows on his knees, and pensively thumbed at his own lower lip- all while staring at yours.

You cleared your throat slightly, taking the cigarette between your fingers and passing it to Charles before standing up. You saw Arthur make a face like a disappointed pup, eyes following you closely.

"Gonna head to bed now, I think." You said, stretching slightly.

"Sure." Was all Charles said, before politely adding, "Goodnight."

"Night, Charles. Arthur."

Arthur let out a dumb little mumble that sounded like acknowledgment.

You headed off to your tent and, after a few moments, you heard heavy footsteps following you. You knew it was him- he sounded uncoordinated. And when he caught up, the first thing he did was grab onto your sleeve.

"Hi." He muttered, and you stared at him, baffled by how different he was when drunk.

"...Hey Arthur. What's...What's goin' on?"

"Nothin'."

"... ...Can I go into my tent?"

"Yeah...okay."

And he followed you in. You'd never seen him more useless.

You weren't too sure what to do about him. He'd wobbled his way around to your back, and wrapped his arms around you tight, face tentatively nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

"Did y' take a bath?" He whispered, beard scraping against your shoulder. "Smell so good..."

"Arthur-"

"Yer...warm n'...n' soft...makes a man wanna...make a fool o' himself..."

"Arthur."

He was not listening. With a few more little fumbles, he managed to stick his hands under your shirt, pressing his palms to your stomach.

"Take off yer clothes." He finally said, drowsily.

You stared ahead. Baffled. Was this really Arthur Morgan? Was he really saying these things? You should pinch yourself.

He seemed to sober up for a fraction of second, letting out a groan of embarrassment. But he did not let go of you, instead squeezing you tighter to his chest.

"Ah...am sorry...'s just...'m real drunk..." He said slowly, rocking you both from side to side.

"It's fine, Arthur. You just gotta let go o' me, partner." You coaxed him, like you were talking to a dog.

Wrong choice of words.

"Nah...nah I...can't do that." Arthur just seemed to hold you tighter. "Just want ya...to be...to be comfortable. Wanna love ya..."

"Okay-"

"And I'm gon' love ya...so right..."

You did not have very many choices here. He was stronger than you, and somehow, even stronger when he was drunk. He smothered his face into the crook of your neck, pressing kisses all over every inch of your shoulder he could reach. And his hands were up your shirt, rubbing your abdomen first before lazily, and with a lack of coordination, slithering up to your chest.

You were surprised with Arthur- you'd seen this man with Mary, back in the day. Not a romantic bone in his body, mostly just a nervous little heap covered in muscle and masculinity. But, apparently, he knew how to put his hands to work- so much so that you almost fell for it.

You leaned your head back, lips parting slightly as he shifted his stance, standing a bit more steadily- kissing under your jaw, sucking slightly while making these breathy little grunting noises near your ear.

"C'mon..." He breathed against your ear, one hand sliding back down your stomach. "C'mon boy, please..."

Where did he learn this? You were thinking of a hundred things but, at the same time, of nothing at all. He thumbed at your navel. His hand went further down. Your pants pushed down slightly, his fingers rubbing against your pubic bone-

You finally gathered your senses enough to catch his hand. Were you about to let Arthur- what, jerk you off? You did not like that you considered it for a second.

"Yer drunk, Arthur." You told him, even if you were slightly out of breath, even if you were getting real hard in yer pants. "That's...that's enough. Lay down."

He held on to you for a moment longer, acting like a god damn kicked puppy, mumbling into your shoulder like he was a grumbling old dog. You were glad he was behind you- because one look of those bright turquoise eyes would probably make you succumb to him. Then, he stepped away, and shuffled around, til he dropped his weight onto the bedroll.

You put a bit of distance between you two so you could gather your wits, while Arthur plucked at the fastenings of his clothes and half-heartedly started wiggling out of his shirt.

"Have I been a fool?" He finally asked softly.

Oh, dear. He sounded almost sad. You couldn't bare it- Perhaps Arthur should try this as a new technique to get money out of people. The intimidation worked, but you're sure the puppy eyes and pathetic murmur would work wonders, too.

"No, Arthur. No. Ain't yer fault."

He let out a little mumble, and you turned around to look at him. His shirt was half undone, his hair sticking to his forehead due to a fine sheen of sweat. He was looking at you through his lashes- This grown, adult man was giving you puppy eyes. This grown, adult outlaw, actually.

You sighed, and resigned to walking over to him, kneeling down to help him get the rest of his shirt off. He did not touch. He just quietly watched. You slid it off his shoulders, then wiggled about removing your own shirt. The moment your shirt was off, he pulled you to him again. You realized he wanted nothing more than to feel all of you- so you lay next to him, and allowed him to run his hand over your chest, nuzzling his face back up against your neck.

"'M sorry..." He said again. "Jus' wanna love ya..."

"It's fine." You reassured. "Yer just drunk. It'll pass."

He let out a little huff. After a few minutes of letting Arthur explore quietly, he shuffled closer- threw a leg over your lap. You never thought you'd ever lie down like this with Arthur. He was back to kissing your shoulder, but now, with tiny, barely there kisses that he just peppered where ever he could reach.

"Wanna touch ya." He said quietly, once he'd settled in to your side.

"When yer sober, Arthur."

"Tha...tha's gon' take ferever..." Arthur complained. "I ain't even...drunk...in the first place..."

"If you're sober, I'm Jesus Christ. Come on, partner, get some sleep."

You pulled him in closer, just to get him quiet. He put his whole hand on your left pec- presumably for comfort's sake- and allowed himself to be bundled up for the night, thin blanket haphazardly thrown over you both.

"Bit more time." He breathed softly. "Gotta tell y' a secret..."

"Tell me." You figured that pushing back would just drag this on for longer.

"I thought of ya...like this...for a long time..." Arthur admited softly, thumbing at the curve of your chest. "So long...I couldn't even tell ya..."

He trailed out.

"...Don't tell anyone."

"I won't, cowboy."

He murmured in relief, then gave you one last lazy kiss on the jaw.

When you woke up, Arthur was up, too. Sitting with his face in his hands like he was absolutely mortified, perhaps trying to figure out how he could possibly salvage this.

"Good morning, mister Morgan."

You'd never seen him flinch, but flinch he did, looking back at you with a slightly reddened face.

"Oh...mornin' to ya." He said awkwardly, itching at his beard.

"How's the hangover?"

"Had worse."

You both sat in complete silence, trying to piece together what to say next. Even you weren't sure what to say- should you comfort him? Reciprocate? ...Did you reciprocate?

"Listen I- I don't know what that was, I hardly remember...-"

"It's alright, Arthur. Y' told me a lot o' things. But...I can wait til say em all again sober. Figure if you really mean it."

"Just remind me to keep away from the bottle, around you." He said, sounding utterly defeated.

You couldn't help but smile a little.

"I dunno. You had yer moments where you was real cute, Morgan."

"Aah...shut yer mouth."

You'd never seen him bashful. But there he was, rubbing the back of his neck as it burnt up. He snatched his shirt up, and began to stand.

"I'll...go."

"Say g'mornin' to everyone for me."

"Sure."

You watched him slip out of your tent, and sighed, laying back to stare up at the canvas. That night gave you things to think about.

Many things...