“Gentlemen.”
“Dutch!” Micah enthusiastically greeted the leader of the outlaw pack with open arms. “You tell ‘em, fat man!”
“It’s peace, Dutch” Mr. Pearson waddled over to where a small group had gathered. “The O’Driscolls.” Arthur cross his arms, rolled his eyes. Hell would sooner freeze over.
“What on earth are you talkin’ about?” Dutch shook his head in disbelieve and confusion.
“Get the words out properly, fat man.” Micah slapped the old man who let out an uncomfortable grunt. He cleared his throat, and started over.
“I met a couple of the O’Driscoll boys on the road into town. You know me, ain’t much for a fight.” Arthur grunted,stifling a laugh. “We got to talking and they suggested a parley. To end this, as gentlemen.”
“Gentlemen?!” Dutch snapped back. “Colm O’Driscoll? Mr. Pearson, have you lost your goddamn mind?
“It’s a trap.” Hosea sounded off from inside Dutch’s tent. “He’s tryin’ to lure you out into the open, where you’re vulnerable.”
“Well of course, it’s probably a trap, but what have we got to lose finding out?” Micah urged, practically making Arthur gag.
“Whole lot, Micah.” Arthur motioned towards Dutch.
“He won’t get shot, Arhtur,” The man who was greasier than his soiled hair slapped his shoulder, too hard to be civil. “Because you’ll be protecting us. If it’s a trap, you shoot the lot of ‘em. If it ain’t a trap, that slim chance. Come on, Dutch. It’s a chance we gotta take!” He insisted.
“No. It ain’t” Arthur insisted back.
“I killed Colm’s brother, and in return, he killed Annabel. She was innocent.” Dutch interrupted.
“That was an awfully long time ago,” Hosea spoke calmly as he lifted the tent flip.
“A chance for peace?” Dutch scowled.
“We can’t keep fightin’ on every side.” Hosea wrapped an arm subtly around the small of Dutch’s back - a small sign of his presence and support. Dutch could get so caught up in the moment, he’d lose sight of the big picture.
Dutch took in a deep breath and sighed. “Let’s go. Micah with me. Arthur - saddle up. A chance for peace, huh? Let’s see where the trail takes us.”
“Okay,” Arthur sighed, lulled into a sleepy affect by the steady trot of his stallion. “Just keep calm. Unless I give you a reason not to.”
“Oh, we’ll be fine. We’ve got you.” Dutch practically sang. His confidence in me truly knows no bounds. Arthur thought. For better or for worse.
“I will do my best.” Arthur shrugged, gathering the reins in his fists.
“Oh, my dead and trusted friend, with you watching over me, I would go into hell itself.”
“As would I” Micah chimed in with as much honesty as a snake oil peddler.
“Go f*ck y’r self, Micah.” Arthur jeered as he dug his heels into the stallion's side. The horse was already galloping away before he could hear a reply.
Arthur Morgan rides separate from the group, looking for a good vantage point to watch the meeting conspire
Arthur savored the fresh spring air against his clean shaven face. Purple flowers of sage were in full bloom around him. Bushes were just starting to grow forth from the thin remains of last season. Birds sung as they flew across the prairie lands. New life joyfully returning after a long and gruesome winter.
Ahead, a large rock outcropping. A perfect place to observe the meetin’. Not too close, and just high enough to keep out of sight. Arthur pulled on the reins, slowing the horse to a stop. “Good Boah,” He patted the muscular neck of the horse, fur course but well groomed. “You stay here, probably won’t need ya.” He sighed, sliding his rifle out of the saddle bag.
“Peace, huh.” Arthur tensed, rubbing gun oil over the rifle. “Hope for the best, prepare for the worst I suppose.” He loaded the gun, checking the settings were perfectly calibrated before dropping flat against the rock of the cliff top.
He shuffled himself over the unforgiving and uneven surface, trying to find the best position - for aiming purposes, certainly not for comfort. Well, maybe for some. Arthur sighed, pushing a lock of golden hair behind his ear. His eye focused through the scope, watching as Dutch and Micah approached. Well…I’ll be damned, really is him. No tricks or nothin…
Charles Smith POV
He combed his fingers through Arthur’s straight, blond hair. Pulled a cigarette from his pocket, he struck it against the heel of his boot. The butt of the cigarette immediately took to flame.
“Here, Arthur,” He reached down, bringing the lit cig to his lovers’ pink lips. The exhausted man nodded his head in thanks, opening his mouth to welcome the treat. He reaches down for the sheers he had sharpened early that day. Arthur had been in Rhodes for awhile, accompanying Hosea on some nonsense. Arthur was tired, a little tipsy, and in desperate need of a haircut. He rested on a crate, leaning against Charles. Charles takes the thin hair in his large hands - placing delicate strand over delicate strand. When the braid was formed, he -
“No. It ain’t”
The frustration in Arthur’s voice distracted pulled him back into present reality. Arthur stood just inches from Micah’s face, desperate for the opportunity to knock ‘em flat on his ass. Charles clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, watching the scene unfold. He paid close attention to Mr. Morgan’s posture. His well defined, healthy, upright posture. Amongst a gang boss and bottomfeeder filth.
“It’s a trap.”
Charles stood, craning to see who spoke. Hosea emerged from Dutch’s tent. His silver hair is an unmistakable silver. One of the most experienced and intelligent members of the gang. If Hosea thinks it’s a trap…Don’t go. Don’t go, Arthur. Charles pleaded, willing his thoughts to enter Arthur’s mind.
“Let’s go. Micah with me. Arthur - saddle up.”
Charles felt panic growing in his belly. The air in his lungs held captive. The world nearly slowed as he watched the blonde cowpoke swing onto his rose-grey arabian horse. Arthur pulled on the reins, driving the horse in the direction or Micah and Dutch, already saddled and ready to go. They left the camp in a sputter of dust.
Charles had only been with the crew for a few months, but had heard more than enough about Micah - not just from Arthur, but a few other chatty group members as well. Not the trustworthy type. And if Hosea thinks it's a trap…then who is watching Arthur?
Charles cursed under his breath. The gang always did this. Took Arthur’s life for granted. Blin fools.
“You always loved the ladies, Dutch van der Linde.” Colm sneered, vile confidence dripping from his lips. “I like that about you.” He hissed.
“Bull. sh*t.” Dutch growled, taking a step forward. “What are we doin’ here, Colm? Is this thing over?” He co*cked his head to the side, furious eyes visible under the brim of his hat.
Colm licked his lips sinisterly, moving away from Dutch. Shiiit…This ain’t good. Arthur dropped the scope from his eye. I knew it ain’t good since Micah brought it up.
“Heeeeeeeea-acccccccccccckkkkkkkkkkkkkkk”
“What the damn hell?” Arthur flipped on to his back, hands protecting his face as warm, red blood splattered over him. With a heavy thud, an O’Driscoll body fell next to him. Eyes blue and empty, blood pouring from the arrow impaling its victims neck.
“Charles?!”
“Had a bad feeling. Needed to check for myself that you were alright,” The broad outline of a man blocked the hot afternoon sun. “Glad I did.” The figure dropped from his white and brown spotted horse. “Relax, it’s me Arhur. Who else would follow you all this way on a gut feeling?
“Huh, no one I guess…ugh,” Arthur sat up, shaking the blood off his skin and fair hair. “I f*ckin’ knew it.”
“They are so focused on having you protect everyone, they forget to protect you.”
“Thanks Charles,” Arthur grinned, placing a firm hand on his close-close friend’s shoulder (they were very, very, very close friends as you say im 1899). “I really appreciate it. Hate to see what an O’Driscoll would do to me.”
“And you won’t have to.” Charles whistled loudly, calling the horses in. “Folks at camp know I went after you. Dutch is a clever man. He’ll figure you’re safe.”
“Whatchu gettin’ at, Charles?”
“We haven’t had much time to talk much, you and me.” His thin blue shirt flapping in the wind, exposing the scared melanin skin beneath. “The plains are a wonderful place to watch the stars. I know a nice campsite not far from here.”
“Ah,” Arthur nodded, picking his hat off the ground - hiding a bashful smile. “I see. ‘Suppose it has been awhile.” He stowed his rifle in the saddle bag.
“Lead the way, Charles.” Arthur grunting as he mounted his horse.
Later that evenings, Arthur and Charles find a suitable place to set up camp. Arthur gets the fire going, preparing a hot drink for the tired duo.
“Oof, that coffee smells great,” Charles lowered himself stiffly to the ground, next to the fire Arthur heated a coffee pot on. “Hope it’s good ‘n’ strong.”
“As much as you, cowboah,” Arthur flashed a brief, flirty smile - Feeling the warmth emanating from Charle’s body as he reached for the mug in front of him. The thick brown hair curling from his arms tickled Arthur’s sensitive, fair skin. Arthur’s heart quickened as Charles scooted closer to the crackling fire.
“You look like I feel,” Charles whispered.
“Heh, like sh*t?” Arthur commented.
“No. That’s not how I would say it,” Charles brushed Arthur’s cheek with the calloused side of his hand. “I’d say you look lonely.”
“That so?”
“Like you could use a little company”
Arthur’s shoulders leaned against Charles’ chest. “How’d you know?”
“I have ways, Mr. Morgan.” Charles brushed the messy mustache away from Arthur’s lips.
Arthur’s green eyes reflected the orange sparks bursting from the campfire causing the breath to catch in Charles’ chest. He adjusted slightly to obscure the excitement growing in the loose buckskin pants.
Those tired green eyes locked with the depth of his brown irises. “Did your ways help you find your way to me?”
“I would track you to the ends of the earth,” Charles amorously stroked the velvet sides of Arthur’s face, letting the weight of his body melt into his.
Charles savored the smell of Arhtur’s last cigarette. They didn’t need to hide their affections in camp, but - the privacy of their own campsite was a much appreciated break from any possible prying eyes.
“Charles?”
“Yes, Arthur?”
“Thanks for looking out for me.”
“There is none better for me to watch over.” Charles kissed worried wrinkles of Arthur’s forehead, stroking his tense arms.
Arthur turned around in Charles' large, encompassing arms - using his body weight to push him to the ground. Arthur ran his fingers’ through Charles’ course, thick black hair. He felt a pair of hands stroke their way up his side and lower back.
A nearly silent moan escaped Arthur’s lips as Charles bucked against him, the surprise sending his imagination spiraling. The familiar smell of sage and smoke filled his senses. Charles’ arms pulled Arthur in closer, kissing the stubble under his adam's apple.
Arthur gripped in the tall grass near his side, savoring the security of their embrace; Charle’s lips encompassing his. His features lightly illuminated by the moonlight spilling through the forest leaves.
Charles jerked his hips up and rotated himself over Arthur’s frame; a hand sliding down his narrow waist where a button strained to keep his excitement contained.
“You still okay with this, Arthur?”
A faint groan was his response; Arthur’s toned arms trailing up his.
“Arthur?” Charles leaned more of his body weight, reaching for his ear. “You can tell me if you don’t want it…” Bisexuality was still a relatively new experience for Arthur. Don’t want to take things too fast…Charles thought to himself, pausing at belt loops of Arthur’s pants.
Arthur pulled Charles’ lips down onto his; splitting them with his tongue; mapping the fleshy cavern. Arthur’s feverish hands left faint marks on the back of Charles’ neck. He could feel Arthur’s need - desperation even. A swirled in his core; his wind whirling in the ecstasy of Arthur’s desire. “I want to have you, Charles,” The outlaw whined in his ear.
He pulled his blue, pancho style shirt over his head, exposing his bulky-strong physique hidden under the billowing fabric. Arthur’s fingers clumsily fumbled with the last, lower buttons of his everyday shirt, pinned under Charles’ firm and extended excitement.
“You mind?” Arthur murmured, tugging on the snagged shirt.
“No, I don’t” Charles practically purred in response, raising his hips just enough to access the buttons about Arthur’s waist. His fingers undoing his buttons of Arthur’s shirt; his knuckles tickling Arthur’s relaxed abdomen.
Charles wrapped his lips around Arthur’s lower lip, the gentle tug of a slight sucking brought Arthur’s attention back to Charles’ face.
Charles’ fingers slid lower to the buckle of Arthur’s hostler; exhaling a warm, herby breath over him. A distraction from the thic fingers that freed the silver jean button from Arthur’s saddle pants.
Arthur yanked him closer to his chest; Charles’ full weight resting on him, as he buried kisses, growing more and more desperate across Charles’ sun-leathered skin.
“Turn around, Arthur.” Charles grunted, rising to his knees. “I want to remind you exactly how alive you are.”
He obeyed, albeit confused. “And how do you plan on doin’ that?” Arthur had tried drinking his sorrows. f*cking away his sorrows. Distracting himself with the lives of others. Searching for any relief from the weight of his regret, somewhere…anywhere. What makes this any different?
A steady hand pressed against the small of Arthur’s back, guiding his hips until the modest curves of his ass slid between Charles’ slickened girth. No surprise camp’s most resourceful member would find materials useful for all activities, even this. [¯\_(ツ)_/¯]
Arthur noticed the outline of a bare, sturdy leg move to his side; illuminated by the fire. To his other side, an arm braced against him. Oddly enough, he never felt so safe - or quite so exposed.
Arthur felt himself spread open as Charles’ abdomen pressed against his ass, only to slowly pull back and ram back in - slightly deeper than before. Arthur grunted with each thrust, the momentum traveling through him, to the very tips of his blonde hair that shook with each powerful jerk.
“Arthur, please.” Charles paused for a moment. “Don’t move so much. You’re making a difficult to f*ck you right.”
“What do you suggest?” Arthur’s tone frustrated, burying his slight embarrassment.
“That lasso still in your saddle bag?” Charles rose slowly to his feet, pushing off his knees.
“Never leave without it.” Arthur paused. “What‘re you planning?”
“If you can’t hold still,” Charles wrapped the long, braided rope around his large forearms. “I’ll help you.”
“‘Ight.” Arthur turned over, Savoring the gentle sway of Charles wrapping the rope comfortably around him. Tight enough to keep him in one place, to exclusively enjoy the experience but loose enough to avoid marks that would attract prying eyes of bored gang members - desperate for the next scandal to entertain them.
Becoming Dutch’s errand boy had left little time for him, leaving Arthur exhausted from keeping other members inline. Years of experience had made him wise, but also the first person anyone - sometimes even strangers - would go to for help.
But now, he didn’t have to do sh*t.
Arthur released a low, guttural groan as Charles returned his slickened, hard member.
But this time - he was more punishing with his movements. Rapid and hard, he gripped the rope around Arthur for leverage.
Arthur jerked forward with each thrust, moaning and muttering under his breath. He could feel his mind loosening, leaving his worn body in total physical ecstasy.
Charles began to whine softly, then louder as each thrust became deeper, scooping into him. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing around their campsite.
Arthur felt a growing pressure under his naval, the rougher Charles got. The more his hot, moist breath trailed down his neck. The more his lips hovered over the maze of his ears. He began panting, coming unbearably close to climax.
Arthur huffed short and shallow. Charles wide hand cupping his hips, fixing Arthur tightly against himself. “Arthur, I-” Charles released a primal moan - suddenly taut against him.
“Oh fucck” Arthur quivered, feeling the small twitches of Charles’ dick within him.
Charles gasped for air, slowly composing himself. When ready, he removed the lasso from Arthur. Lying next to the exhausted cowpoke
“How was that?”
“Wish I knew how to quit you, Charles.” Arthur took a deep breath, tracing the patterns of Charles’ back.
“Heh,” Charles smiled, breathing him in. “I ain’t ever quittin’ you, Morgan.”
“Not a chance, Charles.”
And Arthur’s green eyes falling behind his eyelids.
