Archive of Our Own

It certainly had crept up on him, insomuch as, while he knew that perhaps he was slightly different than many of the other men he had come across in his rather foolish and flawed life; he wasn’t aware from first glance that he had romantic feelings for Charles.

Those feelings however were mostly summed up in his head whenever he laid eyes on Charles as, big handsome strong kind caring, and then maybe a smattering of, dangerous killer ruthless criminal. But, none of those latter things were ever purported to be negative, just a simple fact of how they lived. He was just as much a criminal as anyone else, he knew that.

It wasn’t new at all to look at a man and feel like something was pulling him deep in the gut though. Usually it was pretty, almost dainty men he’d catch out the corner of his eye while he was drinking in a saloon. Once or twice those looks had led into alleys and Arthur had, for the most part, never encountered any sort of violence in those encounters. Luckily. But they often felt...Off.

The men were pretty. That was definite.

Arthur knew he attracted them because he was large and strong himself. Weathered and rough in a way that some men enjoyed. He could take charge and hold them against things. He understood what the appeal was and he was almost pitch perfect at spotting that certain look a man might get in his eye when he cast a glance over the outlaw over a shot of whiskey.

But in that, Arthur also knew why he liked Charles in that exact same way.

He really was big. Perhaps even bigger than Arthur himself. Mostly outwards rather than upwards, Charles filling out around the waist when he joined the gang. But he was attractive that way. Like he could snap an O'Driscolls neck with such ease if he so wanted; not that Arthur would ever expect Charles to do that. But he looked like maybe for once in his life, Arthur could take a load off and relax into someone’s arms. Engulfed in peace and quiet for just a moment, not having to be the workhorse, or the muscle. Like he could rest and be safe. Because if he had to choose between spindly, thin, pretty men and men who rivalled him in tallness and breadth, who could carry as many hay bales in one day as him, he'd always pick the latter.

Not that it mattered too much, he could never approach him in the way he wanted. Not without a little help at least.

Arthur struck a match off his boot, sidling over nonchalantly to where Javier was rocking on the balls of his feet, a repeater clutched in his hands. Jumping ever so slightly when Arthur said, in the friendliest voice he could muster,

“All good there, Javier?”

Javier snorted a gentle laugh, turning to look at his companion fully,

“For a big man, you certainly can creep up on people. And, of course. All good with you?” Gratefully accepting the cigarette Arthur had just lit and taking a heaping drag of it, “Need something?”

“If I ask you something, would you mind not telling the others?”

Javier’s eyes ghosted from Arthur’s eyes down to his belt-line. Which was vaguely worrying.

“I’m...I’m no doctor, Arthur.”

Arthur’s laugh was bright and sudden, “What on God’s green Ear—No! Not anything like that, you jackass!” Tips of his ears flame red, “For some unknown reason, I thought you of all people might be able to help me with...A girl.”

Javier’s face creased into confusion, “A..Girl? Which girl?”

“Just. A girl.”

Javier looked annoyed for maybe half a second, but then he softened, taking in the way Arthur simply just blinked at him expectantly, waiting for Javier’s answer.

Since joining the gang, Javier had become increasingly aware of how hard it was to deny Arthur anything. As had most of the others.

He sighed, touching his hand to his cheek and looking over Arthur once more. The highs of his own cheeks were a dusty pink, showing off the starkness of his smattering of sporadic freckles, making him look boyish and unassuming. Javier knew Arthur had that slightly odd power over many of them in the camp, he was strangely sweet in a way that only he could be.

“Okay, I will attempt to help you, but, could you wait until I’m down keeping watch? You’re sort of distracting me.”

Arthur went even redder.

In the end, Javier had been as lost as Arthur was.

A few beers down, sat around the fire just behind the main camp, so they were slightly away from the general bustle around evening time. The sun dipping low and catching Javier’s eyelashes as they splayed across the very tops of his cheeks, and Arthur wasn’t stupid enough to not notice the fact that Javier was also an incredibly beautiful man.

He wasn’t Charles though.

Javier poked at the fire with a stick, keeping it alight for a while longer, and then whumping back onto his ass on a crate. Slapping his hands together, “So...What’s she like? Beautiful enough to make you act like a young man again?” His mouth quirking up at the corners as he turned his gaze to Arthur’s now incredulous face, “What? You’re a grown man! You don’t know how to handle this by yourself?”

Arthur huffed hotly, pressing his hands together in his lap and giving himself a moment to think about an appropriate response, however, he was lost for words.

He dipped his head to avert his eyes from the questioning look Javier was shooting him,

“Well, y’see...Uh….The thing is…”

“That beautiful, huh?” Javier smiled properly this time, broad and stretching across his features. It soon retracted though as he confessed, in a smaller voice than his usual fervour when speaking about experiences, “I gotta admit Arthur, I’m flattered you wanted my help but, I don’t really have that much experience with that sort of thing.”

Arthur’s hands twisted around the beer he had just grasped for,

“Oh. I just thought that perhaps—”

“Arthur, partner, don’t finish that thought. I know what you thought.” He smirked, laughing a dry laugh before clinking his beer’s neck against Arthur’s, “We’re not all lovers, you know. But, listen, why don’t you just do some stuff you’re good at and give it to her? Women like being given things.” He leaned back slightly, humming to himself and stroking a palm across his stubbled chin in thought, “Your art is certainly better than most things you do.”

Arthur frowned, “What does that mean…”

Javier just laughed at that, leaning in close to Arthur, making him suck in a breath,

“You’re a good man, Arthur. You don’t gotta ask me what to do.”

Before Arthur could disagree, as was his usual shtick whenever anyone were to call him anything but a no good, dirty, stealin’, outlaw; Javier was standing. Brushing off the dark cord of his pants, straightening his waistcoat and once again making Arthur feel like he was underdressed even to simply sit around a crackling fire and drink some beers with a friend.

“A good man, Morgan.” And with the lighting of a cigarette, Javier was off to bed.

“Hm.” Was all Arthur could muster at that, he did however make a note to try and find some new drawing graphite soon.

It could have perhaps been that the sun was in that very particular spot in the sky that it cast a flaxen glow across the whole camp, or perhaps it was that Arthur had not long left from Strawberry; always having found their inn to be one of his favourites to sit and take a soak. Whatever it was, he was clean, he’d bought a newly pressed shirt and his hair, which the sun was making glisten, had curled attractively around the nape of his neck.

For the first time in a while he felt...Handsome.

As he rode into Horseshoe Overlook, swinging a leg off of Clementine and giving her a gentle pat; his eyes flitted through the groups of people clustered around tables and the stew pot to find Charles. Who, of course, was sat slightly just off to the side, stripping a stick with the blade of his knife to a tapered point.

Suddenly, the breath left Arthur’s chest, aware of the fact that despite what he had told Javier, this wasn’t a woman he was attempting to...Court. This was Charles. What if he got his block knocked half to Sunday and ended up with the most capable man in camp leaving them, all because he couldn’t keep himself together and stave off his urges, unnatural in their kind.

He swallowed sharply.

No.

He wouldn’t get back into that mindset. Not again.

He clutched the page in his palm, giving his horse a final pat, using her large form to steady and ground himself. Then sauntered as casually as he could over to where Charles was sat, the other man immediately noticing Arthur and the soft smile that often graced his face finding its way out,

“Arthur.”

Arthur gave him a nod of the head, Javier’s adulation of him being a good man surging through his, albeit small, mind.

“Charles.”

“Don’t want to sit with the others? I’m not always much company.” He stopped his carving, laying his hands on his knees softly and giving Arthur a look as if to apologise, “Something the matter?”

Arthur’s brows shot up, scrambling for something to say through the trunk he generally kept firmly closed when it came to trying to woo people, not having opened that old casket since Mary. Wanting desperately to at least sound vaguely charming, but all that came out was,

“Got you somethin’.”

That...Well, it was words at least. That was a fair start.

The look that Charles gave him seemed slightly confused, if anything,

“That’s...Kind of you. You really didn’t have to though Arthur, I appreciated the oleander you found me a lot. I don’t need much more.”

If his face was flushed, it must have been all too noticeable, because Arthur felt as though he were burning up. The skin of his cheeks probably practically glowing as he, bashfully, toyed with the paper in his hands. Wringing the parchment to and fro between his palms.

“I was just thinking that...Well, I’m not rightly too sure what I was thinking but, you’re the only other feller who chops any damn kindling around here and I hope it’s not intruding...I drew a little picture of you. While you were chopping. Is that okay?”

Over the time they’d spent together, maybe a bit more than six months, Arthur had become used to the subdued way that Charles would react to things. It began with his noticing the way his mouth would simply twitch when he smiled, or how the rush of air through his nose was considered as a laugh by the other man. But this time, and it was so incredibly joyous to hear, Charles laughed strong.

Strong and warm.

The honeyed sound of it whistling through the base of Arthur’s spine and sending him upright and aware.

He went redder.

“Oh, Arthur. Of course. That’s kind of you. May I?”

His large, slightly dusty with work hand reaching out as to take the paper and Arthur handed it to him with his head tilted down, eyes shielded because what if he thought it was...Silly? Frivolous or perhaps just downright odd. Not too usual for a man to be sitting and gazing long enough at another man to draw his likeness without maybe some sort of feeling involved.

However, all Charles did was unfold the picture and let his eyes settle on it for a few, brief moments. Quiet in thought as he nodded his head ever so slightly and then looked back to Arthur, eyes mellow and when he smiled it took Arthur off guard for a pause because the expression was expansive and he could see his teeth. Charles never smiled with his teeth. Arthur didn’t know why.

“You’ve made me look very capable.” Charles noted.

Arthur’s insides curled and leaped around each other, “Of course, you are very capable. Is it—Do you—Y’like it?”

“Yes. I do.”

And then, something strange happened. Very quickly. So much so that Arthur barely had time to process it properly.

First, Charles’ feet did an odd shuffle, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to hold himself. Then, he took a small step forward, inching himself closer to Arthur’s still form and as he did, his hand came out. Grasping Arthur’s arm in his warmfirmstrong grip and steadying himself. His face looming closer to Arthur as he gazed at him. Not imposing though. Charles was never imposing in any sort of space he took up.

His fingers curled around Arthur’s bicep and the heat that bled off of them Arthur could feel through the light fabric of the new plaid shirt he was wearing.

Charles’ face was unreadable, and close. Not that it was unusual for their strangely tied family to be close to one another, Hell, Arthur slept on bedrolls with John up until he was in his late twenties. But Charles’ breath was practically fanning onto his face in that kind of proximity.

Arthur’s eye twitched, nerves jangled and bundled up. Body ready to tense and run if needs be.

Charles seemed to notice this.

All of a sudden, the closeness was gone.

Charles letting go of Arthur’s arm and giving it a single, solid whap, “Thank you, Arthur. It’s a gift I don’t deserve. But, thank you anyway.” He sounded sincere, but perhaps like he wanted to say something more. Though what that could be, Arthur wasn’t too sure. Maybe he intended to headbutt him and tell him to not stare too long next time?

No.

That’d be stupid.

Maybe Arthur just hadn’t the faintest clue how the natives of the land dealt with friendship and intimacy. For all he knew, they could be close and affectionate to all their family and friends and Charles just hadn’t expressed anything he’d learnt from his mother because he hadn’t felt comfortable with the slightly unwashed gaggle of folk that traipsed about after Dutch.

Who could say.

Arthur beamed back at Charles though,

“Don’t have to thank me. S’my pleasure.”

He watched as Charles folded the piece of paper ever so neatly with deft fingers and tucked it close to his breast inside his shirt,

“I’ll keep it safe.” His eyes passed once over Arthur’s face, evaluatively, and then shot back towards the muffled din of the camp as Pearson lugged a brimming new pot of some kind of stew onto the fire, “Ah. Dinner. I’ll leave you to it then.”

Arthur nodded, suddenly breathless and flexing the arm that Charles had his hand wrapped around just a moment ago, “Sure thing.”

He wasn’t too sure what he was supposed to be left to, but Charles was gone in an instant.

He had promised himself as well that he wouldn’t spend the day getting up to what Hosea would describe as hijinks and mischief; and he would spend the day doing the chores he quite desperately needed to do around camp. Seeing as no one but him and Charles ever seemed to do them.

The morning had consisted of hefting around things, chopping things and then finally washing things.

The afternoon, however, consisted of playing cards with the girls and letting them hoot and holler at him as they always seemed to find it endlessly funny to pick on him, cruel as they were.

Cruel and Arthur’s favourite.

Often Arthur would sit with the girls of the camp like this as he found them, well, fun.

Mary-Beth had given up with the cards relatively quickly into the game, setting down her hand and wandering off to get herself a cup of coffee. Returning when Tilly and Karen were growing closer to an argument over what was being bet and if it were in any way fair to bet chores that the other didn’t want to be doing.

“Well don’t cheat then, Karen.” Till sniffed.

Karen’s ears went red. Meaning she had been cheating, Arthur assumed.

“I weren’t!”

“How come you’re pinker than Mary-Beth when they pulled that O’Driscoll boys breeches down then?”

Mary-Beth didn’t bother to sit back down again, “What’s that got to do with anything.”

Arthur laughed crookedly, “You girls are wickeder than any a’us.”

Three pairs of eyes landed on him, calculatively in their gazes and Tilly was the first to say anything,

“What do you think, Arthur? Karen was cheating, right?”

Karen’s fist smacked on the wobbly wood of the makeshift table and sent a few chips flying,

“Oh no you don’t, Tilly! Don’t get the big lug to agree with you just because you’re pretty and sweet.”

Tilly’s mouth went tight, straight as lined paper,

“...You’re pretty and sweet too.”

Karen blinked,

“Oh. Thank you Tilly. Shall we re-shuffle the cards and start again?”

Mary-Beth gave Arthur a roll of her eyes and a pointed look towards the campfire behind Pearson’s wagon. A place they’d often sit together and talk whenever Arthur needed it.

He didn’t necessarily need it this time but it seemed the girl was done playing whatever game it was that Tilly and Karen were playing.

Arthur cleared his throat,

“Enjoy your game, ladies. I’m off.”

Tilly and Karen waved their hands at him, barely paying attention as they had seemingly ceased their argument and had moved onto a newer game of Snap as well as discussing who amongst the men of the group they found most attractive. Most attractive and most likely to cut someone’s tongue out. Arthur wasn’t quite sure what the correlation was but young women often had strange interests.

Mary-Beth gathered the hem of her skirts as they made their way over to the outskirts of the camp, Arthur hefting himself down onto a tree stump and letting out a little “oof” as he went. Dusting off the shins of his jeans which had gathered a bit of muck from his morning of manual labour,

“Those two always like that and I’ve just never noticed or are they just feeling particularly wild today?”

Mary-Beth sniggered,

“It comes and goes. Them two are still bestest friends though, maybe that comes with the territory. I’m never too sure.”

Joining the girl in her cup of coffee, Arthur poured himself one. Strong enough to make him suck on his teeth for a second before he asked, as casually as he could,

“So. What about you?”

“About what?”

Arthur wet his lips, “Karen and Tilly were talkin’ about the men of the group. You have a feller you think is mighty handsome-r than the rest?”

“Arthur, I don’t think that’s a word.”

He snorted a gentle laugh, “Okay, Little Miss Booksmarts.”

She seemed to consider the question, rolling it around her mind as she took another sip of coffee, skirt still slightly hiked up and Arthur was glad Miss Grimshaw was patrolling for her girls because Mary-Beth would no doubt get an earful if she saw the state of her stockings. She tapped a single finger against the metal of the mug, pondering on it for a while longer. Enough that Arthur goaded her with,

“And before you say it, we all seen you giving that Kieran boy cups of water when you shouldn’t.”

Mary-Beth’s cheeks were pink,

“I can’t stand to see him look so darn pitiful! Maybe it’s the romantic in me but he don’t seem so bad. Just weak and scared. We’re not evil, Arthur, it’s inhumane to not let a feller have a drink of water.”

Arthur groused, “I s’pose you’re right. Anyway, stop deflecting, Miss! Maybe I like gossip as much as Karen and Tilly do.”

Mary-Beth flapped a hand, “Oh Lord, fine. I know it’s irregular, but...Well. I think Mr Smith is a fine man. He’s ever so polite and he always cleans up after himself and keeps his hair neat. Not to mention he’s a real handsome man. Real handsome.” Her eyes alight and touching on what Arthur could only make out as hunger.

Now, Arthur was not knowing to be a man with the ability to engage his brain before speaking. It had tossed him into many arguments and bar fights before.

Therefore, on this particular occasion, he continued his behaviour, and before he could stop himself he was murmuring in agreement.

“He is.” Voice floaty and far away.

Mary-Beth gave him a look. A look that, for the life of him, Arthur could not parse. It was neither here nor there in it’s content and as he gazed into her eyes and she gazed back it dawned upon him what he’d just said. His mouth went dry and his hands went clammy.

The girl’s chuckle was slightly stunted and maybe with an air of shock,

“My, you certainly came out with that rather quickly, Arthur.”

He must have been beet red. Stammering around a few vowels but not managing to get anything out before Mary-Beth was continuing,

“The other girls think so too though! He’d be a real catch. I’d love to base a character on a book on him, a man who can hunt and fish and braid hair! Hoo-ee. Any mama would love him to have her little girl on his arm.”

Arthur didn’t know what was going on, but he nodded. Dumbfounded.

Mary-Beth’s eyes glinted in the way that Arthur noticed the young ladies in the group’s often did when they were plotting,

“I think perhaps if I wanted him I’d march my ass up to him and tell him! Or, hm, maybe that’s a bit forward for a lady. Maybe a gift, to show my appreciation to him and get his thoughts all bundled up in me.”

Arthur had regained his composure enough to croak,

“Like how you get Kieran cups of water?”

Mary-Beth tutted sharply, “Arthur…”

They chatted quietly for a while longer, Arthur warming his feet by the campfire and even passing Mary-Beth a couple of candies as they spoke. Swirling them around their mouths, the hard sweet clacking against their teeth as they talked on, enough that they were both chuckling to each other.

“So, presents as well, huh?” Arthur asked after a while.

Mary-Beth nodded,

“Not just women that like gifts you know. I seen many gentlemen looking bashful but glad to receive something pretty. Anyway, what do you mean, “as well”?”

“Oh.” Arthur paused, “I was speaking with Javier the other day about”—Once again he paused, unsure of how to continue and he was very well aware of the way Mary-Beth was looking at him inquisitively. He cleared his throat, “Speaking about the best way to court.”

The girl looked at him, a tad confused,

“But you and Mary went steady for a while! Miss Grimshaw told us so. Surely you know how to court and date!”

“Uh. Yes. I s’pose you’re right. Sometimes things are jus’ a little different though, I guess.”

“Oh. Anyone...In particular?”

Arthur’s answer was quick, maybe a bit too sharp for how casually (and carefully) Mary-Beth was pressing the issue, “No. No one.”

“Not trying to pry, Arthur.”

The sigh that left Arthur was deep,

“I know, I know. But, you know, sometimes the boys talk about the same guff that the girls do.” He gave her a slow, sweet grin just to show that he meant no harm. He hardly ever meant any harm...Except when it was deserved, of course.

“Oh, Arthur. I somehow believe that, truly. But...Listen, would you do me a favour if I promise not to blab to the other girls that you and Javier sit and moon over romancing?”

Arthur nodded and Mary-Beth continued,

“Would you...Be nicer to Mr Duffy? Please. Just a little. He ain’t no harm.”

Although begrudgingly, Arthur agreed,

“Okay, Miss. Jus’ for you.”

“You’re very kind. When you want to be.” Mary-Beth’s hand reached out to slap Arthur on the knee, squeezing it after she had, “I think maybe, as well, you should talk a walk past where Mr Smith has been sleeping. Sometimes I forget how good of an artist you can be.” With that she stood, smiling once again in a way that Arthur very much assumed a little sister would goad their brother with.

Arthur felt as thought he’d spent the last few days just in a constant haze of flushing and laughing embarrassedly,

“Maybe I’ll take a stroll then.”

Mary-Beth appeared to be placated by that.

She was right.

Arthur tried his best to saunter as casually and confidently as he could across camp, the positioning of the tents a little hard to see the space around where Charles’ bedroll was placed, but what was clear was that a frame had been purchased for the drawing. Which now took pride of place on a wooden box, nestled next to a photograph of Charles’ mother and father holding him as a small baby.

Arthur’s heart practically leapt.

He had to take his mind off of it. Off the whole matter. Otherwise he might just completely go wild and up and start doing something ridiculous like thinking that maybe there was hope for whatever this feeling was deep in his guts.

Unfortunately, once more, he wasn’t known for his brains. So the activity he’d picked was hunting.

Charles noticed immediately when he hooked the bow onto his horse’s pack, giving the mare a firm pat on the flank and then a couple of sugar cubes from his pocket. The girl snickering happily and Arthur cooed at her,

“There’s my girl.”

Whirling around when he heard the semi parts gruff and semi parts soft voice of Charles behind him,

“Hunting?”

Arthur made an affirmative noise, tightening the leather strappings of the saddle and jiggling it around to make sure it was secure,

“Just out on the plains. Pearson’s been talking my ear off for some meat and I seen plenty of deer running around out there when I was riding through. Thought I could pick some off and be back in time for the food to actually be made.”

Charles gave him a hopeful smile which made Arthur feel uneasy, he knew what was coming next.

“Want me to tag along?”

“No!”

Charles drew back,

“Oh. Okay.”

“No, I just mean...Wanna go alone. S’all. Don’t mean it like that.”

Charles’ face softened, understanding,

“It’s alright, Arthur. I know what you mean.” He clasped a hand on Arthur’s shoulder again, all friendly like, “Be safe.”

Arthur could tell the flush on the highs of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose was back.

“‘Course.”

Clementine huffed hotly as they rode out, Arthur nudging at her to get her to speed up across the train tracks, breaking back into a slow trot as soon as her hooves hit the dry grasslands and dusty path. Arthur surveyed the landscape, noting a few doe hopping around in the distance, rabbits skittering around in the brush. He was hoping to maybe see a buck or two, the antlers would be good to sell and toss a few dollars into the pot, but anything was useful right now.

They set off towards where the Heartland oil fields were, passing a few travellers on the way and Arthur tipped his hat politely.

Hosea and Dutch had raised him right, of course.

Following the track along to where it cut off on the right towards Larned Sod, Arthur made a left there instead. Tucking Clementine away next to a jut of rock, attempting to keep her shaded from the midday sun that was ripping across the open country. He hefted himself off the saddle, giving the horse a crisp apple as a sorry for making her stand in the heat while he jollied around trying to catch some dinner.

“Sorry, girl.” Giving her a pat on the shoulder before taking off the bow from the packing on her.

Tugging free his binoculars from his bag he scanned the landscape, it was going to be hard to sneak up on anything, that was for sure. But maybe he’d get lucky and something would stray too close to him and he could shoot it before it even knew what was happening.

Luckily, that seemed to be the case, as after about five minutes of gazing out across the Heartlands, Arthur spotted a whitetail doe munching on a spare patch of greenery. Having just wandered over herself from the Overflow.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, taking her in.

She looked pretty perfect if he did say so himself, beautiful coat and she looked well fed enough that she’d definitely keep the camp well fed as well.

A crack of gunshot disrupted her feeding all of a sudden.

The doe’s head lifted as she looked back towards the Overflow’s lightly wooded area, and with that she was careening off. Arthur cursed under his breath, binoculars searching out where the gunshot had come from. Not quite able to focus at that great a distance, but what he did notice was the herd of bison that was tumbling down the hill. Running away from whoever had fired that shot.

He clucked his tongue, angry that he felt the pangs of need to go and sort out whoever was bothering the animals.

“Ah, shit. Come on, girl.”

He hitched his leg over her and set off at a pelt towards the men that were becoming clearer and clearer.

As were their accents.

“Fuckin’ O’Driscolls.”

The bison herd neared and so did the men, their laughs and jeers going right down Arthur’s spine and into the angry, furling pit of his belly. These animals weren’t something to be toyed with and have their hooves shot at, just to scare them.

Arthur shouted at the men as he neared,

“What in God’s name are you doing?”

A young man, surprisingly blonde and blue eyed and pretty as the day was long (though Arthur guessed that the prettiness was only skin deep), sneered at Arthur,

“Have you got a problem, Van Der Linde?”

An older man flanked him, Arthur recognising him from a few shootouts with the O’Driscolls a couple years ago. He also vaguely remembered nicking the man’s legs with a bullet, whenever that was, which brought him a small sense of joy.

The man spoke up, shooting Arthur a sharp look and keeping a hand over his holstered pistol,

“We gonna have some sorta accident here, boy? Or are you gonna fuck off back to where daddy has you rats holed up?”

The men behind him sniggered.

Arthur’s jaw set,

“I ain’t gonna have a problem with you if I don’t need to, but why’re you tormenting these animals? Ain’t Colm told you to respect what the land gives ‘ya? Jackasses.”

“Colm taught us a great many things, Van Der Linde. You’re lucky we didn’t shoot you where you stood the moment we saw you after what you did back in the mountains.”

The man spat on the ground near Arthur, continuing,

“Get out of here, cocksucker.”

And with that, he raised the rifle he had that had been across his back, and shot a hole in one of the bison that were still timidly grazing just to the side of them.

Arthur saw red.

By the time he’d finished off the gaggle of O’Driscolls (bar one, the pretty boy who had fled before his gun even started firing) his hand was shaking slightly, anger subsiding into something that was much akin to worry. He should probably dump the bodies somewhere less in the open near the train tracks but for now, he was more worried about the animal behind him.

He slid off of Clementine, carefully walking over to the still breathing creature.

It thrashed around, trying to hold onto its life for a moment longer and Arthur’s heart physically hurt, something very unlike what it usually did when he was hunting. This shouldn’t have happened. The bison was only small, a baby. Maybe a runt, considering it was a good ways away from the rest of the herd when the shot ran through it.

“Sorry, feller.”

He carefully knelt down, trying to calm it with a few quiet shushes and pats.

The animal's head reared around, it’s small, still growing horn slicing through the soft of Arthur’s palm as he raised it towards it, and he cursed sharply at the sensation. Still trying not to move too quickly as not to spook it any more though, which would be no small feat. The wet of his blood seeping down the cuff of his shirt now.

He persevered though.

He almost wished it had died instantly, then he wouldn’t have to listen to that shallow, wheezing breath as he apologetically slid his knife into its flesh. The breathing soon growing quiet, then coming to a stilted stop. He tipped his head, giving the animal a feeble, little pat on the rump as if he could give some sort of passing sorry to what had happened.

He had always kept what Charles had told him during that hunting trip with him, using all of the bison to honour it. So he did. Stripping away the skin, the horns still fresh with his blood and then the meat; which at least would fill the pot for tonight.

He sighed, a single, sad sigh. Dusting off his knees and pushing himself to stand.

The bodies of the men, he decided, were going to stay here with the animal they had slaughtered. For all Arthur cared they could be picked over by the birds and scavengers together. Fitting end for men who wanted to act like no good animals themselves.

Arthur lit a cigarette, swearing at the pain that lanced through his hand. The cut a lot shallower than he first thought.

“Hm. Shit.”

At least the ride back to camp would be short.

Hosea just tutted at him when he descended from his horse, leaking sticky blood onto his pants and the ground,

“Go sort yourself out, Arthur.”

The eyeroll Arthur sent back was, luckily, not seen by Hosea who was already stomping off towards Dutch’s tent to inveigle him into a game of backgammon or perhaps some light reading.

He settled into his own lodgings, ass falling hard onto the cot and he grunted in pain as it lightning bolted up his arm. Who knew that the natural defence mechanisms of animals actually hurt. He chuckled slightly at that, shaking his head and peeling off the shirt he had on, leaving his union suit underneath, which was luckily less stained with blood than the plaid shirt; which had seemed to have soaked up most of it.

Arthur rolled the sleeve of the union suit away, wincing as he flexed his fingers of his right hand where the gash was.

“Arthur! Are you okay?”

Oh, great. Just what he needed.

Charles came half-jogging over to him, concern awash across his face and when he saw how big the cut was on his palm he balked,

“What have you been doing now?”

“Oh come on, I’m not always hurting myself.”

Charles snorted a laugh,

“You’ve certainly done something this time though.”

Arthur agreed, grumpily,

“S’pose you’re right.”

“Want help?”

As much as he wanted to decline, not wanting the flush to come creeping back across his face at the feeling of Charles tending to his wounds and potentially gazing at him, he knew how much of a pain it could be to dress your own wounds with a single hand.

“Please.”

Charles settled on a stool in front of him, thankfully finding some clean linen which he ripped into bandages,

“Got any moonshine?”

“Got Bourbon.” Arthur answered, eyebrows knitted together as he tried to remember where he was keeping it. Digging around the sides of the cot until he could grasp the bottle in his free, left hand, “Ah! There we go.” He grimaced as he handed it over, “Go quick.”

Charles just nodded, one hand under Arthur’s as he popped the bottle and in one swift motion, poured a good slosh of the stuff over the cut. Arthur grit his teeth hard enough that it began to make his skull hurt, willing himself to relax until the stinging subsided. Breathing in deeply through his nose and then out his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as Charles tended to him. Wrapping the hand in his diligent and careful hands, his gaze never leaving what he was doing.

Arthur’s eyes flickered back open when Charles, voice almost quiet enough that Arthur had to strain to hear, said,

“Hm. Seems we both got it bad when it comes to hands, huh.”

Arthur glanced at Charles’ left hand. The space on his own palm where the bullet had hit back in Blackwater when it all went wrong. The skin was still raised, mottled and scarred, even though the wound had healed internally and he’d been able to do everything he’d once been able to. Arthur hoped to God his own recovery was the same.

He realised after a moment that Charles was speaking to him, lost in staring at Charles’ large, warm hands and the damage that had been caused by Charles running with them.

“...Uh. Huh?”

Charles breathed a laugh again,

“I said, how did you do it?”

The look that crossed Arthur’s face was sullen enough that Charles placed that same left hand onto the other man’s knee. Arthur’s voice hitching with the seething hot anger that shot right down the back of his spine at the thought of those men,

“O’Driscolls. They was shooting and scaring the bison, just being the assholes that they’ve always been. I confronted them.”

There was something in Charles’ face that Arthur couldn’t quite place as he lifted his head, searching across the other man’s eyes to work out what he was feeling. Something he always found hard with him. It was as if Charles was...grateful? Or perhaps, relieved. Or perhaps it was a mixture of many things, but what reared to the front was incredibly gentle and happy.

“You protected the animals?”

Arthur shrugged,

“Most of ‘em.”

The hand on Arthur’s knee went tighter.

“And they did that to you?” Charles’ head nodded towards Arthur’s right hand.

Arthur’s laugh was bashful,

“Oh. No. The bastards managed to get one of ‘em. Little runty lookin’ thing...Felt real bad for letting it happen. Real bad. I tried to be kind, keep it calm because I had to kill it as they were too lousy to even get that right. Sliced me with it’s horn, but I can’t blame it. It was scared.” His voice lowered, suddenly feeling a wave of sadness for the creature again, “Think maybe if I hadn’t gone in and shot my mouth they probably would’a got bored and left ‘em alone…”

“What you did was good, Arthur. I hope you followed my advice about using all its parts.”

“I did.”

“You did all you could then. If you give me the pelt and the horns, I can use that for so many things. Perhaps even a gift for you.” His voice wavered in a way that Arthur had never heard before, “You were very kind to that animal, Arthur. Thank you.”

“I just did what I thought maybe someone like you would do.”

Arthur was aware that the hand that had been on his knee had moved, Charles’ gaze was still as strong and tight to his own though. Unmoving as he slid his left, scarred, hand up against the fresh bandage of Arthur’s. Clasping their hands together and leaning in close again, just like the time when Arthur had given him the drawing, seemingly uncaring that they were out in the openness of the camp.

It didn’t mean anything though, Arthur knew that now he’d decided this was just something that maybe the men of Charles’ mother’s tribe did.

He indulged in leaning forward too though, listening to the way the breath in the back of Charles’ throat hitched up as he spoke,

“Arthur I—”

“Mr Morgan!”

They broke apart as quickly as they came together, fear washing over both their faces, though as to why it did on Charles’, Arthur didn’t know.

Not like he was of the same kind of persuasion of man he was.

Arthur cleared his throat, calling back to Dutch who had shouted over to him,

“Coming, Dutch.”

Charles didn’t look at him as he stalked off towards the leader’s tent.

As they ate that night, Arthur sat on his cot again, a bottle of cool beer resting on the table; he looked out across the camp. His eyes settling on where Mary-Beth was speaking to Charles, huddled together a little away from the others, caught in a heated conversation.

Arthur’s stomach churned.

I think Mr Smith is a fine man.

Mary-Beth, despite blatantly being sweet on the Kieran boy, still had said that she found Charles to be a handsome man as well. The thought slicing through any sort of enjoyment Arthur was finding in his quiet evening to himself and he watched as they laughed together, not sure how to react.

Should he walk over there? Insinuate himself between them and try to act like he wasn’t some sort of lunatic?

That’d be ridiculous and he knew it.

He settled for finishing his food and taking his beer bottle with him as he trekked to just outside of camp, lighting a match off his boot and having what he considered a well deserved cigarette. The cherry of it blooming and smouldering, Arthur taking a long, rattling drag of it. He scuffed the toe of his boot into the dirt, feeling awkward and ridiculous for getting like this.

It was nothing new at all to feel like he was never going to get what he wanted when it came to men. It was a sad life, he knew it. He knew that you could look, and look, and look some more; but that didn’t mean that the world was going to up and change and deposit someone into your lap who didn’t mind that you weren’t quite right. As least, not to them.

Arthur was well acquainted with the ache of it.

It would come from somewhere deep and reaching within him. No real starting point and no real end.

No amount of pretty boys who would let him manhandle them in the quiet, torrid, darkness of some place discreet would stave off the fact that sometimes the world just didn’t want any kind of deal with people like Arthur. All he could do was to make himself a comfortable lot in life. And maybe in many ways, he was gifted with the fact that most of his family, the gang, were living the same.

He steeled himself against the way his chest went tight, the ache back in full force.

The want to feel something you can’t have. To experience.

He sucked his cigarette down to the filter, squeezing it out and flicking it away. The action drawing his eyes to the patch of purple blooms by the heel of his boot, some type of aster though what exactly, he wasn’t too sure. He would probably have to ask Hosea for that sort of information. Or perhaps Charles.

Arthur’s mouth went dry.

What a wonderful gift something like that would make. It’d look mighty handsome next to the drawing he’d done of Charles and the photo at the other man’s bedroll.

The ache that permeating his chest was dissipating with the idea of handing Charles a bundle of the flowers in his, probably sweating, hand. A flower was something simple. Nothing too fancy. He’d often seen Dutch swiftly procuring a bouquet of something from behind his back and handing them to a delighted Hosea. There had never been any sort of commotion from either of them at the gesture, or from anyone else. Hell, Arthur would probably accept flowers from anyone himself. It wasn’t like it looked odd in any way.

He desperately hoped so at least.

He nicked his knife through the stems, as not to damage them or the soil too much. Wrapping them as delicately as he could in the handkerchief he had about his person. The smile that wrapped around his face was so sincere and sickly sweet seemingly that as soon as Hosea spied Arthur returning to camp with the handful of flowers he called out to him. Sat by himself, book in hand and a smoking pipe,

“Arthur, my boy, what’s got you looking so darn happy, hm?”

His eyes settled slowly on the flowers, a grin to match Arthur’s sneaking it’s way onto his face, the soft lines of a good life lived curling around it,

“Ah. Now I see. Who’s the lucky lady?”

Arthur frowned, waiting for the moment someone might ask that question,

“No, not for a lady.”

Hosea’s greying brows shot up his forehead, the pipe leaving his lips and he said, warily,

“Oh?”

Arthur butted in before any more could be said,

“They’re just...A gift. A gift for someone.”

The pipe went back into Hosea’s mouth and he took a lingering puff of it, thoughtfully eyeing Arthur like he knew exactly what was going. Perhaps he did. The book being closed and placed on the trunk of the log he was sat upon,

“Didn’t mean any harm, son.”

“I know.”

“You know, it’s a good life. It’s a good and fine life, Arthur. As good as any.”

Arthur wasn’t sure how to answer.

He wasn’t even particularly sure what Hosea was getting at.

The older man tipped his pipe at him,

“I won’t keep you.”

The flowers didn’t quite make their way to Charles’ grasp that night, but Arthur kept them safe and pressed within his journal. Waiting for the right moment.

He slid the journal onto the table to the side of his cot, the leather binding of it warm against his fingertips where he’d been clutching it. Cradling it almost. Thinking over and over what his would-be-father was meaning. Arthur’s head touched the pillow after a long while and before sleep took him he couldn’t for the life of him stop thinking about what he’d said.

A good and fine life.

As good as any.

There was a commotion about the camp, the sound of Grimshaw’s voice, raised and sharp against the not even midday breeze filtering in through where Arthur was sat, sketching away in his journal. The flowers from last night, pressed and yet still as bright violet as ever, spread out on the bedside table.

He snapped the journal shut with a muted noise, trying to search out what Grimshaw was practically bellowing over.

Ah.

Charles had returned drenched in blood.

Arthur’s heart sunk deep into the opening pit of his belly.

“Please God, let that not be his own blood.” He thought pleadingly.

He was on his feet before he even knew what he was doing, taking long, broad steps towards where Grimshaw was yanking Charles by the scruff of the neck towards a barrel of cold, clean water,

“My camp. My rules. Get that off you.”

Charles just grunted and set about splashing his face with the water, wincing at the chill of it. Grimshaw tutting and sighing but seemingly pleased with the start he was making, leaving as soon as Arthur made his way over, stalking off to whip the girls into shape now she was finished with the still incredibly bloodied man.

Charles’ eyes met Arthur’s and for the first time in the many, many months they’d known each other, Charles actually looked embarrassed. The expression sitting strangely on his face, like it wasn’t used to be there which, granted, it wasn’t. One of his hands went up to attempt to smear off some more of the blood. It was already turning a wet, rusty colour against the deepness of Charles’ skin. It made Arthur’s heart pound something awful but also his gut to twist.

He looked borderline feral and so exceptionally handsome. He wanted to lean in and press their mouths together, uncaring whose blood it was and if it were to get in their mouths if they sucked on each other's tongues. The sight of him was dragging up all the needs that Arthur attempted so hard to quell when he’d watch Charles drive a knife, tomahawk, whatever he had in his hands, into someone’s skull. The deep need that came with the desensitisation of being someone who killed, and killed well and often without any kind of feeling to it. Just any other job that needed to be done.

Charles’ eyes were still dancing and wild, despite the way the blood was drying, he must have killed recently. Perhaps even that morning, only a few hours prior to them being stood there together.

Arthur was aware he was stood saying nothing, so he cleared his throat and said quietly,

“Dare I ask what you were up to?”

The embarrassment was still awash over Charles’ face as he scrubbed at the blood tacked across his knuckles and fingers, the red seeping off his skin and turning the water a murky off-colour,

“O’Driscolls.”

Arthur blinked at him,

“You were...Killing ‘em?”

Charles shrugged as if Arthur didn’t really need to ask that, and he didn’t. It was quite clear what he was insinuating.

“Found a couple more of them boys you were talking about, the others were camped out just a ways from where you met the first lot I think. One of them, blonde, asked if I had a, "Bleeding heart for the beasts."” He spat on the ground next to him as if to prove his next point, “Vile men. Cruel for cruelty's sake. Needless to say I got...Mad.” He turned back to the vat of water, sighing hard and Arthur watched the way Charles’ hands clenched around the rim, “They got what they deserved.”

“Mm. I don’t think anyone’s denyin’ that.”

Charles peered up at him, his hair tumbled about his temples from where it had slipped free from the bands securing it behind his head. It wasn’t helping Arthur’s fascination with him when he did things like that. He looked as pretty as any woman about the camp. It was almost enough to make the breath leave him.

“After what you said I—I know we always say we don’t deal in revenge but, I couldn’t stop myself. Forgive me, Arthur. I think I might’ve acted a bit rashly.”

Arthur’s hand found Charles’ shoulder, patting the sodden fabric of his bloodstained pullover,

“I doubt very much Dutch or any of the others would be angry at you for killing O’Driscolls.”

Charles’ stare was hot,

“I’m sorry they bothered you to begin with.”

“Charles, it ain’t no bother. Let’s just all forget it.” Arthur stumbled out, chuckling nervously.

He didn’t want to think about the implication that Charles had gone off and done this just for him. Just because those men had tried to intimidate him. It made his head feel light.

Charles nodded once, “I should probably go and get myself washed up properly.” He glanced down at the hand of Arthur’s that was still affixed to his shoulder, “Uh...May I?”

That startled Arthur out of whatever reverie he was in and he stuttered out, “Oh. Of course.” Retracting his hand and noticing it was now streaked with blood. The palm of it a syrupy, ruddy colour. He swallowed, “Hey, Charles. Would you mind coming over to my tent a moment? I got something.”

Charles, apparently trying to give Arthur a conniption, was peeling off his overshirt,

“Sure thing.”

It felt as though everyone was fixing the two of them with fiery gazes as they ambled over to Arthur’s little area of the camp, though he knew that couldn’t be true. Nobody was paying them any mind at all. His heartbeat still quick and tripping through a series of beats as he plucked the delicate, violet coloured flowers off his bedside. Flat and yet holding just a touch of a fragrance as he held them up close to his face, turning them gently in his hand and then holding them out to Charles in something he would later realise was incredibly heavy handed and not that different to how a teenage boy might thrust something towards his sweetheart.

“Another gift, Arthur?” Charles’ eyebrows were raised but his tone was teasing. Soft around the edges and his voice dipped into that register that made Arthur understand what the women meant when they talked about being, “weak at the knee”.

He nodded dumbly, “You’re always so smart when it comes to plants and such. I thought perhaps you’d think they were...Uh...Pretty’n’all.” He had started to regret this, his hand trembling ever so slightly, “Unless of course you weren’t wanting them. Which is fine too.”

Charles’ fingers curled around his wrist, holding his shaking hand in place,

“Thank you, Arthur.” He wet his lips, Arthur’s eyes following the movement of his tongue, “You are aware that I’m not a woman though, right?”

That was a response he wasn’t ready for, nor wanting. His throat went tight and it was a battle to croak out weakly,

“I ain’t mean any sort of offence by it I...I know you ain’t a woman. I don’t want to insinuate anything, of course. I jus’ thought you might like them. I’m sure I’d like flowers if someone were to give me ‘em...”

Charles just laughed, bright and cheerful, “I’m not trying to be cruel. I just was making sure.”

“Oh.” Arthur didn’t know how to take that comment, frowning in thought as he rubbed the palm of his hand across the stubble on his cheek, “So...It’s alright then?”

“It’s alright. And perhaps if I see some I’ll pick some for you, how about that?”

He tried not to sound too giddy with his answer of,

“I think I’d really like that, Mr Smith.”

It was unsurprising that the asters found their way into the glass of the frame where Charles had slotted the drawing of himself.

Arthur noticed them almost immediately.

Life continued, unbridled with thoughts of a romance that Arthur was sure was never to happen. Things around the camp much more important than whether the looks that Charles was giving him were heated and set in something that could result in a tumble, or simply a friend looking in admiration at another friend.

Arthur generally presumed the latter.

They were to rescue Sean, now that Trelawny had lifted their hopes of him being alive and rescue-able. The thought of him being able to rejoin the group not entirely dashed against the rocks just yet. The possibility that the irritating little redhead, that they all dearly loved, might be back was strong and hot in their veins as Arthur made his way over to Blackwater. Careful eyes sweeping across the horizon for any lawmen or Pinkertons.

Surprisingly, it went better than expected.

It wasn’t long before Sean was back to his usual of chewing their ears off and cackling like a demon over his own, rather lewd, jokes.

But, much like many of the other boys in the gang, he was family; Arthur couldn’t fault him too much in that way. Even though he flapped his gums a mite too much for his taste a good portion of the time.

The Irishman was already a few whiskeys down when he cornered Arthur in the camp, everyone else making merry and Javier’s singing voice floating around them gracefully.

“I love you, you know that, Arthur?”

Sean palmed at him, tears brimming in his eyes and Arthur chuckled low,

“You do! And you’re drunk!”

“A’course I’m drunk. I’m alive. I’m alive and I’m home. There’s nay a better reason to get shitfaced.” He planted a wet, slightly slurping kiss on Arthur’s mouth. Or rather, on his bottom lip and chin. Sending them both into a fit of careening laughter. Arthur scrubbing at his face and tossing Sean over his shoulder.

“Come on you asshole, if you’re gonna be doin’ that you can go and sit with someone who might appreciate it. Hey, Javier, Lenny, look after this fool would ya’?” Slotting Sean in between them on the log they were sat on, Lenny nursing a beer himself and Javier still plucking away gently at his guitar, giving up on singing as it appeared to limit his ability to imbibe a ridiculous amount of alcohol. Both of them giving Arthur a look of, “Oh so now we have to babysit?” But it wasn’t malicious in any way.

Arthur left them to it, picking up a bottle of whiskey for himself and heading over to where Dutch and Hosea were sat. Although, he quickly turned on his heel when he noticed that Dutch’s hand was atop Hosea’s. An affectionate gesture that wasn’t unusual for the two of them, but one that Arthur didn’t want to interrupt. He knew from experience, vis-a-vis the saloon when he had fumbled his way in between Javier and Charles and the women they were doting over, that he was a bit of a mood killer. So he left them. Hosea giving him a waning smile as he went.

He ended up after a while of ambling around, making sure everyone was alright, back with the boys around the campfire, having hoarded a few more whiskey bottles along the way. Uncle telling a tale of something barely believable that had happened to him a lifetime ago, while Sean showed off the brand new hole in his gums to the young men beside him, “Tore it clean out me head. Didn’t say a word though. Kept well schtum about you fellas. Tough as nails, me.”

Lenny sniggered, “Ain’t that the tooth you lost in that bar fight?”

Sean sniffed, “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

Javier stopped playing, taking a swig of his beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You ever wonder how one human can be so full of shit?” Teeth glinting in the flicker of the campfire as him and Lenny set off into a series of cackles, making Sean’s face go red and him to cross his arms in front of him.

“I’d clout you round the head, Escuella. But fortunately for you, since were on the rescue team, I’ll let that comment slide.”

Arthur had at that point started to tune all of them out, especially after the squabbling started about something he could barely keep up with. He took a long drink of his whiskey, smacking his lips and sucking at his teeth before tipping his whiskey’s neck towards the three of them, “You fellers enjoying flirtin’ with each other?”

He wouldn’t have said it if say, Micah, were there.

All three of them seemed to take it on the chin relatively well, Sean going ruddy and Javier and Lenny laughing goodheartedly at each other.

Arthur left them after a while longer of simply sitting and listening to the other’s conversations and singing. Drinking his way through another two beers, the warmth in his gut seeping out into his extremities and he was reluctant to drink any more than he already had at that point. Content with the drunkenness he was feeling already.

The need to lie down and sleep tugged at him as he made his way back to his open tent, dropping his collection of empty bottles into a crate just to the side, aware that Miss Grimshaw despised when he’d just drop discarded bottles to the floor for her to tidy up later. It always made him feel a bit like a little boy being told off when she’d chastise him, so he tried his best not to get into trouble with her.

He rubbed a hand over his eyes, the sounds of Sean adding his slightly less than tuneful voice to Javier’s own singing muffled as he sat down on his cot.

Oh.

There were two flowers propped up in a chipped, milky white vase sat atop his bedside counter.

Even in his drunken state he had the idea that it was definitely from Charles. The thought making him smile dopily and let out a rumbling chuckle.

Where was Charles though? Arthur hadn’t seen him with the others about the camp drinking, and he’d definitely done at least one round of the camp at one point just to make sure everyone was having a good time and was safe.

Guard duty.

Charles had guard duty.

His feet were moving before he could even think too hard about what he was about to do. Tossing his hat onto his cot as he went, “It’d probably just become cumbersome and in the way at some point”, he thought blankly to himself. Whatever that meant, he wasn’t sure. He continued marching away though, ignoring the fact that Sean and Karen had seemingly migrated to John’s tent and weren’t playing dominos.

Charles’ shape was stark against the tangle of trees around the camp, gun held aloft and shoulders strong and Arthur wanted so desperately to wrap his arms around them and feel so solid they were. With that thought he knew that he was drunker than he first thought, and as he stepped closer the words left his mouth before he could stop himself,

“You left me flowers.”

Charles whipped around, hair swishing around his shoulders and his eyes noticeably softened when they landed on Arthur. His mouth quirked up, voice sounding low as always, but maybe apprehensive too, “I did. Did you...Not want me to?” He shuffled the gun around in his hands, the air of shyness that was so odd to see come upon him was back and Arthur stuttered out quickly,

“No! A’course I want you to.”

Charles’ eyes narrowed, “What exactly is happening here, Arthur.”

In a fit of drunken boldness, and maybe stupidity, Arthur said very matter of factly,

“Well, I’m attempting to court ya’.”

Neither of them said anything.

Arthur’s gut twisted sharply, breath going fast, “Is it...Workin’?”

The way Charles could just stand, doing nothing at all, and make Arthur feel so scrutinised and as if someone were holding a spotlight above his head was agonising at times. Gazing into him deeply and making him want to shrink into himself. He was a fool. He said foolish things and couldn’t take them back. He hoped to God that Charles would forgive him when the silence finally broke.

“I think about you.” Charles said, hesitantly.

“Oh. Okay.”

“Do you think about me?”

“Mm. A lot.”

Charles stared on.

The hairs on the back of Arthur’s neck stood on end.

Then, carefully, Charles lent the gun in his hands against the trees nearest to him.

“That day when you gave me the drawing, you’d had a bath and bought a new shirt, hadn’t you?”

Arthur's cheeks went hot.

“Yes.”

“All for me?” The lilt of Charles’ voice had Arthur’s stomach twisting again, but this time, it was good.

“I wanted to make a good impression.”

Charles’ rolled his eyes fondly, leaning a hand on his hip and murmured,

“You don’t have to do that, I already think you’re a good man.”

“Charles, that’s—”

Charles interrupted him before his could start up on his usual spiel,

“Would you believe me if I thought for a while that you were just being friendly. The first time you gave me the drawing, I wished to kiss you right then and there. But I stopped myself just in case I was wrong.”

Arthur’s shaking breath got caught in the lurching cavern of his chest as Charles spoke. So much so that he had to hold a hand out and lean himself against the same tree the gun was lent against. Head swimming for a moment.

“I thought I was the only one.” His voice was dry and raspy as he spoke.

Charles seemed confused, brows slanting down and he peered at Arthur curiously,

“Only what?”

“I don’t know what to...I don’t know what you’d call it. You know a...An invert feller.”

Charles hand was on his bicep, he didn’t know when that had happened, fingers curling around him,

“You’re not. Like I said, I think you’re a fine man.”

Charles didn’t want to bring up the fact that Arthur had been practically raised by Hosea and Dutch. Two men who were seemingly very well acquainted with each other and although Charles would never pry, the way the two men would gaze at each other when no one was looking was far more telling than anything else. Surely Arthur had some sort of inkling that they knew each other.

Surely.

“May I?” Charles said all of a sudden, taking a step towards where Arthur was stood, frozen in place.

Arthur answered before his brain could even process what was being asked, thought he knew deep down what Charles was saying, “Ah. A’course.”

Charles’ hand was warm from the barrel of the gun, fingertips sliding around the column of Arthur’s neck and the grip tightened as he brought the other man closer to him. The sensation of him breathing against his mouth sending Arthur’s drunkenness tumbling away and he felt very sober as Charls’ mouth tucked itself against his own.

Sharing their first kiss.

Just dry lips pressing together, but Arthur's entire body shook.

They pulled away from each other, Charles’ hand not leaving the comfort of Arthur’s neck and he was glad of it. Mouth not feeling any different than before they had kissed but if he concentrated hard enough, perhaps he could conjure up the ghost of a feeling from it.

Arthur cracked a smile. The biggest smile he’d pulled in a while, mouth practically sore at how wide it stretched his lips.

They found each other again. Kissing harder now. More desperate. And as Charles backed Arthur against the tree closest and pressed so hard against him that even if he wanted to move, he probably couldn’t, Arthur sucked in a heaving breath.

It was maddening and Arthur wanted so much.

It was like a sudden surge of feeling, curling all around him as he realised, this was what he wanted. Finally. He had wanted to be manhandled and held against things, but in the way Charles was doing it. With an edge of softness and his mouth open and damp against his own. Sucking on his tongue, his bottom lip. Not afraid to get spit on their chins and the bark of the tree scrape against his back as for once he wasn’t the one doing the holding.

He’d never been harder than he had been at that moment.

Charles, ever observant, noticed almost instantly. Not grinning or smirking, just smiling against Arthur’s mouth and kissing his bottom lip wetly. A hand slipped between the two of them and pressed it’s heel against the swell of it, sending Arthur’s eyes to slip shut and he inhaled sharply.

“Charles.”

“My watch ends in a moment, will you stay with me until then?”

He answered with another kiss, then sat against the tree his back had just been rubbing against. Sobering himself and watching Charles shift from foot to foot with the gun poised in his hands once again. His eyes sweeping over the mirrored bulge beneath the fabric of his tan coloured pants, the sight making him feel so damn smug.

He sat there for a while, or maybe not? He couldn’t tell. He was so worked up that it could have been two minutes and it would have felt like forever because all he wanted to do was to drag Charles off to a quiet spot and touch him everywhere.

Arthur swallowed, trying to breathe through his nose. It wouldn’t be at all useful to lose himself in those sorts of thoughts until they were safely tucked away though. And as soon as he’d thought it, Bill came lumbering out of the darkness.

He’d never been more happy to see Bill in his life.

“Fellers.”

Thank God it was Bill. Foolish ol’ Bill who wouldn’t know anything was off if it came and bit him on the ass.

The man tipped his hat to them, and he had probably had a few drinks himself but Arthur was glad to see he was able and willing to take guard duty.

Arthur practically wrenched Charles away.

The drop of the cliff to the back of the camp was where they found themselves. Nestled amongst the sparse but shading trees in a place where Arthur knew that even if someone were to cast a glance across the scenery towards the river; they wouldn’t be seen. It was a spot he often sat by himself when he wanted to sketch in peace for a brief time. The grass soft, almost mossy, and the animals scarce.

They both sat, Arthur lowering himself slowly and taking out a half full container of cigarillos from his bag. Something that Javier had gotten him interested in and smoking after he had explained what the difference was. They were kept as a treat in his bag, for special occasions.

He couldn’t think of an occasion more special than this.

“Let me.” Charles’ thumb was on his jaw, tilting his head towards him and he struck a match off the sole of his boot. Grasping Arthur’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and squeezing just tight enough that Arthur could have whimpered, “Let me light it for you.”

Arthur wasn’t stupid. He’d been in enough saloons with gentlemen who had asked for a light, then smiled when Arthur had touched the flaming end of a match to the cigarette.

He knew what it meant to people like them.

And Lord, he was excited.

He took a drag, watching out the corner of his eye as Charles lit his own cigarette, stuffing the dampened match into the earth to the side of him and they sat in a comfortable, heady silence as they smoked together for a few minutes. Eyes not touching each other, just looking out across the valley and Arthur’s hand shook as he continued to bring the cigarillo to his mouth and back again.

Lightning stretches of that same excitement running through him.

Charles’ hand was suddenly on his, taking away the cigarillo and stubbing it out on the soil.

Arthur blinked, “Uh?”

Charles grinned sheepishly, “Sorry. I’d finished mine and I was done waiting.”

That made Arthur laugh, but only as a way to stave off the hunger.

Charles kissed him again as soon as the laugh had left his mouth. Sealing their lips back together as his hand snuck around to grasp at the soft, curled tufts of hair at the back of Arthur’s neck. Slinking his fingers into them and dragging him closer so he could ground himself enough to lick hotly into Arthur’s mouth.

It made him feel like he was going to pass out, the heat and intensivity to Charles’ kisses against him. Prying his mouth open and digging the sharp of his teeth into his lower lip, clamping down on it and pulling away until Arthur was panting and tensing up next to him. Soothing it back to softer kisses, tasting like tobacco and making Arthur’s heart tremor inside the tightness of his chest.

Charles was on top of him in a moment, pushing Arthur down against the scratching softness of the grass and he kissed him once more and pressed their hips together. Arthur suddenly recalled that he was hard and aching inside his pants, grunting at the sensation of Charles pressing them together.

Every thought that wasn’t along the lines of, “oh Lord, oh Lord, he’s big, he’s so handsome”, leaving his mind completely and leaving a blank canvas for him to express the fact that he could feel the curve of Charles’ cock against his own. He could feel the twist and bunch of his tendons as he held Arthur down, back damp with the dew settled on the grass, and fucked his hips against Arthur’s hard enough that if he closed his eyes he could imagine there was no fabric between them.

He wanted to feel him against him so badly.

He reached down, cupping a curious hand around the tent in the front of Charles’ pants, just to be able to feel it heavy against him.

Charles’ eyes fell to it, an eyebrow shot up, “Is this...Okay?”

Arthur’s eyes swam, and if he imagined hard enough he could picture hearts floating just above the crown of Charles’ head, “It’s more than okay, wanted it like this.”

A look passed between them and Charles reared back, just enough to gauge Arthur properly, hands still tucked deftly around the swells of Arthur’s hips. The older man’s thigh perched around his own hips and his voice was tight as he spoke, “On the...grass?”

Arthur laughed, a bit shocked at how naive Charles could be, “No, no. I mean…” He trailed off, going red in the face once more, “It’s jus’...You’re an attractive feller. Real attractive. You’re also big, you know...Uh...Hefty. And I’d say a fair bit stronger than me. Think maybe you’re the only one who could hold me down.”

“That’s what you want? To be held down, huh?”

His hands shifted and fixed themselves around the taut skin of Arthur’s wrists and pulled.

Pinning them to the grass above Arthur’s head and pushing their hips so roughly together that all Arthur could do was toss his head back and groan like a wild creature. Cock so hard that he could barely begin to think about any other part of him. Pressed so tight inside his pants as he pushed his hips up to meet Charles’, unable to do much more than that with the way the top half of him was caught in the other man’s grip.

Only able to grind against him and watch the way his inky black hair tumbled over his shoulders, eyes fixed so intensely on Arthur that it verged on frightening, but his face was so calm and soft.

Lord have mercy, Charles was everything.

A hand moved, and then fingers fumbled with the front of his shirt until it was spilling open and his bare chest was open to the air. Charles planted his mouth on his right pec in an instant, rolling his tongue across his nipple and Arthur had never had that done to him; it shocked him for a second. Women weren’t often known (in his life at least) to do the same, and the men he’d taken tumbles with were quick and private.

It was an odd mixture. The way Charles’ tongue would roll over him and then would suck so hard it had Arthur seeing stars. Something that he kept doing, listening to the noises Arthur huffed out intently. That was until the man beneath him was gasping wetly enough that Charles had to look up from the red peak of his (now left) nipple, just to make sure Arthur wasn’t in tears.

He wasn’t. But he looked close.

Charles reached up with a tender hand, cupping Arthur’s face, “Okay?”

Arthur just smiled and nodded, then let his head flop back against the grass as Charles peeled open his work pants and pulled him out. Smoothing his thumb up his cock and he stroked it twice, watching with keen eyes the way Arthur sucked in a heaping breath. Ribcage inflating and deflating below him.

He squeezed the hand around him, cock so damp and pink at the tip. Charles dropped a kiss to the head of it, mouthing at it before mumbling, “You’re wet”, in a voice that had Arthur groaning and his cock spilling even more precum down its length. Then, it was merely instinct for Charles to dip down and suck him hard into his mouth. Hands having left Arthur’s wrists entirely and as they were free, the older man’s hands shot faster than he could imagine they could to tangle into Charles’ hair.

The hands stayed there the entire time, not really guiding Charles, just holding onto him as he took Arthur into his mouth further. Sucking him well enough that Arthur began to feel a pang of jealousy. Who else was he sucking off? Had he done this for any of the other men in the gang? Surely not. None of them seemed the type.

He hoped so at least.

The grip on Charles’ hair went tighter, tugging on the needlessly soft strands and Arthur moaned openly as he was taken into the back of Charles’ throat, though it was only for a moment. The sensation alone drove Arthur to whine, low and reedy, “You’re beautiful like that.”

Charles chuckled, Arthur’s hips stuttering up with it and Charles had to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth. Chin still slick and shining with spit and precum.

“I think it should be me tellin’ you that, Arthur.”

“Well that’s bullshit and you know it.”

Charles’ eyes went dark and Arthur had never seen a tempest, but the way his face fell and his brows creased, he had a good idea what one looked like just from that.

He crowded Arthur, mouth still glistening distractingly and his hand now caught tight around Arthur’s erection, “You’re a handsome man. You’re handsome and not only that, Arthur, but you’re kind. And loyal. And an honest friend to the women. You do so much. You are so much.”

Arthur wilted away from the words, “Charles, I—”

“Can’t you just agree? For once?” It was odd to see Charles so pleading, especially considering he was still touching him intimately, “Please, Arthur.”

“Are you mad?”

“No. I’m not mad. I’m upset that you are adamant you will not see the man I see every day.”

“You’re soundin’ like a feller in love.”

It was meant in jest.

Charles’ eyes darted away.

Lord have mercy.

“M’sorry. I’ll agree with you, this time.” Arthur smoothed a hand over Charles’ cheek, guiding him back down to kiss him. Murmuring into his mouth when they pulled away from each other, “If it’s comin’ from the best man I know, perhaps I’m prone to agree. This time.”

Charles nodded, hair falling in front of his face and obscuring the way the highs of his cheeks were darkened with a faint flush, “You’re the best I know too.”

“Well now you’re jus’ being foolish.”

Charles snorted a laugh, brushing his fingers through Arthur’s hair. Feeling the unbrushed curls tangling around them and grasping a handful. Enough to yank Arthur’s head back roughly and feel the way his cock pulsed in his hand, leaking over his fist, “Foolish, hm?”

“Charles, you gotta take some clothes off.” Arthur all but panted.

As soon as Charles had undone the buttoning on his own pants and had pulled out his erection, Arthur had grabbed onto his ass and yanked so that their cocks could rut up against each other. Both of them gasping at the sensation, Arthur closing his eyes and allowing Charles to rub their skin together. The slick noises amplified to Arthur’s ears with his eyes shut, hips jerking by their own accord and Arthur snuffled a laugh as Charles butted his head into his shoulder suddenly.

He pet a hand down the gap between Charles’ shoulder blades and cooed, “Gettin’ too much for you, cowboy?”

The sound of Charles’ answering laugh was muffled into Arthur’s collar, “Maybe.”

Arthur drawled in his ear at that, feeling the way Charles shuddered in his arms and drove their hips together harder, “You wanna stop for a second?”

The younger man’s head tossed back and forth in a shake, “No. I want to put my fingers in you.”

Arthur’s scramble to find something to wet Charles’ fingers was erratic and set Charles off into a spill of laughter, sitting back on his heels and watching as Arthur rummaged through the satchel he always kept about his person. Rifling through it and cursing to himself. Arthur pried into his bag, tossing out a bottle or two and peering into it like it was going to procure something if he looked hard enough.

Charles’ hand settled on his arm, “Would you stop. Here.” He reached for his own pouch which he often took on hunting trips, opening the tanned flap and retrieving a small pot.

Arthur looked skeptically at it, “You, uh, expectin’ something tonight then?”

Charles scoffed, fondly, “I keep it for my hands, they get dry when I’m out.”

“Uhuh.” Was all Arthur answered with.

He was less snarky when they’d repositioned themselves and his pants were down and hanging off an ankle. Two of Charles’ fingers pressed into him and Arthur’s arm tossed across his face like a blushing bride on her wedding night. He was simply trying his hardest to subdue the noises he was making, aware that while they were shrouded away from the gang and most outside life, they weren’t entirely covered. No walls to give them any privacy, and privacy was definitely something that men like them needed.

Arthur leant up onto his elbows and reached a trembling hand to tuck a piece of hair behind Charles’ ear, and then let Charles turn his head into the soft curve of his palm and kiss the rough, warm skin that his mouth found there. Twisting his fingers as he sunk his teeth into the meat of the palm beneath his thumb which made Arthur groan and spread his legs just a little wider.

The invitation of welcome not being lost on Charles, but he paused and stilled the two fingers he had pushed into Arthur and Arthur watched as the inside corner of Charles’ bottom lip was taken between his teeth. He chewed it nervously and then whispered, “You’re sure this is a good idea?” His eyes swept upwards to the party still ongoing, “Out in the open?”

Arthur didn’t have to think about the answer, “It’s the best idea I had all month. I need it. C’mon.”

The dip and swell of Charles’ Adam's apple and the way his still exposed cock twitched against the roll of his stomach, smearing a translucent line of precum across the tuft of hair that led down to his groin, seemed to be an affirmation that Charles was still on board too. The sight of it whetting Arthur’s appetite even further and he slotted his hand between them, stroking Charles’ prick and wondering what it’d be like to finally have that in him.

Once again the tumultuous ordeal of knowing Charles was soft even when he was doing sharp things overcame him, and he sighed hotly when a third finger was pushed in next to the others, crowding them and Arthur’s spine bowed against the grass. He wasn’t particularly acquainted with anything more than a single one of his own fingers, and even then it had been a rarity for even that. Something to do during a curious bath in the confines of a hotel with the door firmly locked. Even then, he had always been acutely aware that it was his cock that wanted to be touched. It wasn’t until he had heard Javier playfully joke about it one night that he had even given it any thought.

Which at the time, at the age of thirty four, had been a tad embarrassing. Even if only internally to himself.

He hadn’t wanted to bring up the fact he was not entirely used to the feeling of having another man press their fingers into him, but he was surprised (or perhaps not) that Charles wasn’t being at all rough with him. Going at a pace that was just enough to keep him hard but not fast enough that it was tearing Arthur apart and making him cower away in pain. Just a steady rhythm of seeing his wrist rock back and forth and feeling the way his fingers curled and spread apart inside him.

He laughed, a little on edge and the sound made Charles frown but smirk along all the same, “What’s so funny?” He pushed the fingers in a little harder, catching Arthur off guard and he moaned openly, wrapping a fist around the base of his cock.

“Nothin’.” He all but panted, “Jus’ thinking about something Javier once said.”

Charles tutted, “Thinking about other men while I’m right here? Cruel.”

“You got no need to be jealous of Javier. He sure is a handsome feller but...Well. He’s not here right now, is he.”

He received a smile in response, and then a kiss to the corner of his mouth as Charles withdrew his fingers and wiped his hand unceremoniously on the grass to the side of him. But not before stroking some of the vaseline which they had been using onto his cock, noticing the way Arthur’s eyes followed the motion. Squeezing and letting precum dribble out on his fist on the up pull. He smiled ferociously and smeared some of that wet mess onto Arthur’s slightly haired chest, a clear indication of, “you’re mine.”

Which Arthur had absolutely no problem with at all.

When Charles reared back, securing Arthur’s thighs around his hips and brushing a thumb across a still sore nipple, Arthur couldn’t stop the needy pull inside of him that came from just looking at him. The way his shoulders were broad, arms strong and stocky, and he could barely think about his stomach and thighs. Thick and warm against him. He was heavy and well built and really, he wasn’t particularly dissimilar from Arthur when he’d actually remembered to eat well enough to hold a little weight and muscle but even so, he was the most attractive man he’d ever laid eyes on.

And he wanted him in him enough that it pained him.

His hands scrambled up to Charles’ waist and he grabbed hold of whatever he could, “You gonna get a move on partner, or are we going to be out here all night?”

The look he got in return was smug and was entirely wiped from Charles’ face as soon as the head of his cock popped into Arthur, making them both gasp and Charles sealed their mouths together. Which stifled the noises before either of them could become too embarrassed or too worried that they might be caught. Arthur desperately licked into his mouth as he did, attempting perhaps to ground himself as Charles pushed his cock into him further.

It certainly didn’t hurt anywhere near as bad as most things that had happened to him, it mostly just felt odd. He huffed a breath out through his nostrils and waited till he could feel the swell of Charles’ belly against him. Charles’ hands clenched and unclenched on Arthur’s hips, which gave him a good idea that it was just as hard for the man on top of him to adjust to the feeling as it was for him to calm his insides so they’d stop bearing down on his cock.

He sucked in a breath, exhaling it once more through his nose and pulled Charles closer to him. Not stopping till his cock was trapped between their bodies. Charles was still unmoving inside him, allowing him whatever time he needed for him to start moving again.

Arthur swallowed, muttering low, “Okay. Okay.”

Charles groaned, steadying himself with a hand pressed into the earth beside Arthur’s temple and he gave a gentle rock of his hips. Just to test the waters.

All it did was serve to make Arthur grunt, deep and clawing in the back of his throat.

Charles’ mouth moved to suck on the side of Arthur’s jaw. Stubble rough beneath his teeth, “Is it good?”

If Arthur’s answering moan was anything to go by, it was.

“Be better when you start moving for real.”

“Don’t get surly with me.”

“I ain’t, I just…” He paused to breathe deeply and clench his thighs around Charles, “Get goin’.”

Charles fucked harder than Arthur expected him to. After an adjustment phase, of course, in which he took his time pushing and pulling his hips back and forth into Arthur until he could feel him slowly start to accommodate. He didn’t mention that he was actually quite impressed by how well Arthur took his cock; he didn’t want to get too smug while his partner was quite obviously having an experience that was bordering on transcendental.

But when they got to it, Charles fucked Arthur hard enough that there was a flat line of grass leading up to them from where Arthur’s body had slid along it as Charles pushed him up the bank of grass little by little; it was unlike anything Arthur had ever had done to him.

It wasn’t like being touched or sucked off, awkwardly stood in an alley or in a barn or somewhere else equally ridiculous.

He felt surrounded on every side by Charles. Held down by him but also just held in general, and it was a heady and encompassing feeling. He wanted this so badly.

Charles’ hips drove into him in a way that Arthur could presume, unlike when he’d put his mouth on him, this maybe wasn’t as well practised though. Not that it mattered too much to him, the feeling of Charles’ cock pressing into him was so new and made his thighs shake where they were still about Charles’ waist. It wasn’t dirty or immoral or left him feeling the way other encounters with gentlemen sometimes ended up. Although, that mostly came from the hollow, circling thought that he would never get to know or love those men. They were there and then they were gone again.

But, if luck held, Charles wouldn’t be lost after this.

Arthur arched his back at the thought, wanting to pry his face away from Charles otherwise he might just start mirroring Charles’ previous look, like he was a “feller in love” too.

Charles’ cock pressed into him deep, it hadn’t left him how big he was at any point, the swell of Charles' stomach brushed against him as he rocked his hips into him slowly. Arthur had no great grasp on why that seemed to be alluring, perhaps it was the fact that if he could feel the soft shift of Charles' body against him it meant that he was well. Eating. Strong and healthy. But he liked it either way. He liked that Charles' cheeks were round when he smiled and he liked that when he grabbed at his thighs as he fucked him his fingers could press into the softness. As though even when he was fucking him hard there on the grass, he was still all encompassing and soft too.

The idea of that did something to him, and Arthur moaned in a way that he would no doubt be embarrassed of when he thought of it later, but he couldn’t stop himself.

He’d never in his life believed in a feller who oversaw and devised all, but if a good, fine man like Charles would even have anything to do with Arthur at all, let alone this, then maybe God was something that could be perceived.

He didn’t know how else he could have gotten that lucky in the draw.

Charles’ brushed a hand down to tug Arthur’s face back towards him, eyes lingering on the way Arthur had drawn his bottom lip into his mouth and was chewing it pensively. As if to hold something back.

Charles wasn’t stupid, “What is it?” He asked gingerly as he let his thrusts fall to a rhythmic slide into Arthur.

The older man’s eyes darted to the side, “I was just thinkin’ about you.”

Charles chuffed a laugh, “I’d hope. What else?”

“Would ya’ go...Harder? For me?”

“I’d do anything.”

It was enough to make Arthur’s stomach turn over on itself in something that was so, so similar to the feeling he’d had when he’d thought about proposing to Mary. Excitement. An anxious but shudderingly happy feeling that left him a bit nauseous. There was something about Charles that just made him swell about the ribcage, his barely containable heart all but throbbing to be able to simple talk to him.

Because there was a time when Charles had been quieter than he already was. The first few weeks he’d only really spoken to Dutch and Hosea, keeping to himself and away from the rest of the gang. Of course, over time that had changed, but still it often felt like he was privy to something that wasn’t on offer to a good portion of the people he lived with.

Charles would laugh at his jokes the most, and give him more time of day than he’d give anyone else.

Arthur tossed his arms around Charles’ neck, trying to pull him closer as Charles made good on his promise. The weight of him bearing down on him and his hot breath against his temple as Charles panted and let out hitched, but slow breaths. Incongruous with the sharp snap of his hips into Arthur which had the other man echoing those pants. Groaning and thrusting himself back against his cock as much as he could. His own sandwiched between them, and he tugged a hand off of Charles’ neck to squeeze it down and grasp himself.

Tugging awkwardly, stilted strokes and allowing Charles’ mouth to capture his again. He grunted when that kiss turned into something rougher and Charles bit down on the soft of his bottom lip, just enough to draw a token of blood; the taste of it tart to his palate.

The world didn’t matter a bit at that moment in time. Nothing mattered except the way Charles blinked at him and looked so absurdly handsome, eyes blown out and looking down at him like he was getting something so special from Arthur. It was like when Dutch would break out the fanciest cigars he owned with Hosea and Arthur, something to share between them as men who were bonded in such a way. It was almost tangible the way that Charles stared down at Arthur, a bead of perspiration trickling down his chest, and Arthur wanted nothing more than to fix his mouth to him just like he had and suck.

He wasn’t usually that decadent with his want.

It was hard to keep it all in, he felt like he needed to have everything all at once on the chance that this wouldn’t happen again. If not for the fact that perhaps Charles might realise he didn’t want this but also because their line of work (work being a questionable term) was high risk. Either of them could die any day.

At least if he did die, he would die having kissed Charles.

Maybe that was enough.

Arthur moaned loud and throaty at Charles suddenly angling a little different, his arms obviously getting a little tired from holding himself over Arthur. The change was instant though. His cock hitting something that Arthur could not bring himself to care to know about other than it felt like someone was trying to drag his orgasm right from him.

“Shit.” He grit out.

“What?” Charles looked worried.

“I don’t know what in the hell you did different but, keep...Keep doing it like that. At that angle. Fuck.”

Arthur didn’t know what he did to earn it but Charles groaned at that, the noise bordering on a growl in the way it clawed its way out of his throat. Maybe it was the way Arthur was cussing and making noise himself, not that he could help it. He felt like he was teetering on the edge of coming all over himself.

Charles made that idea even easier when he drew himself almost all the way out and then fucked back into that spot so hard that Arthur’s mouth closed in a snap and his teeth clacked together. “Jesus, Charles.”

“I—Uh—I’m close.”

Arthur just nodded, fist bunching in Charles’ hair, “Keep going.”

The need was back again though.

The need to feel the weight, and breadth, and size of Charles up against him.

To feel how strong he could be if he put his mind to it.

Arthur licked his lips, struggling to string a sentence together as Charles fucked him in sloppy, rough movements now he was chasing his own orgasm too, “Will you do something for me?”

Charles’ forehead was back shoved into the crook of Arthur’s neck, voice muffled as he replied, “Yes. Yes, of course.”

Arthur thought about how to broach it, until he stopped thinking and said, “I need y’to push me down, hold me down. Something like that. I don’t know.”

Again, Charles’ voice was muffled, “I’m already holding you down.”

The laugh Arthur let out was borderline manic, “No. I mean...You’re strong. You’re also clever. Think of something. Anything. Charles, please.”

Charles’ eyes were practically black as he pushed himself up slightly, regarding Arthur with something akin to reverence and tenderness. Which was quickly replaced by a fiery desire and his fingers were squeezed at the sides of his neck, the cradle his thumb and forefinger threatening to clamp down on the front of his neck but it never did. He wasn’t holding him down exactly but he was basically trapping him against the earth with that motion. Putting just enough pressure on the fingers and thumb clamping down on the sides that Arthur’s last breath rattled around in his throat and then died.

His head fell back with an audible thump against the floor and he managed three more quick strokes of his cock in time with Charles’ hips before he came with a choked off whine, which sounded pathetic even to his ears. Splattering the already damp skin of his belly with cum and with the way he was beginning to be folded over, staining the still pink skin of his chest where Charles’ mouth had been earlier as well.

Arthur could feel the way he clenched around Charles when he came and he now felt overwhelmed by everything all of a sudden. Thankfully Charles pulled his hand away, to which Arthur sucking in a lungful of air, and stopped fucking into that place inside him that he probably would never quite know what it was.

He tried his hardest to help Charles along, drawing their mouths back together and he slid a hand down to Charles’ ass. Cupping a cheek in his palm before digging his fingers in and he swirled his middle finger around Charles’ hole. Not that he would dare to push it in without something to ease it but, the motion itself apparently did the trick because Charles cussed once and fucked Arthur’s now sore hole with a few more shuddering thrusts, then bit down on Arthur’s neck hard enough that it hurt and came.

Inside him.

Wet and rushing.

Arthur hadn’t expected it, although he hadn’t really thought about it either.

It felt odd when Charles pulled out and Arthur gasped quietly, which led to Charles rolling over back towards him. Crowding into his space and kissing Arthur messy and warm, like they had been lovers for decades and not less than a day. He reached a hand up to caress the tangles now at the back of Arthur’s head, knocking their noses together and if Arthur wasn’t completely worn out he might have attempted a goodhearted scrap with the man right there on the grass, just because he could.

“You...Um...You know. In me.” He rumbled into Charles’ space.

“Did you not want me to?”

“No! Jus’ forgot that it was a possibility I guess.”

“Did you like me doing it?”

Arthur, once more, went pink, “I think so.”

Charles grinned devilishly and by God he looked perfect, “You liked when I did this in you?”

He didn’t expect Charles to accompany the brag with his fingers, which dipped into Arthur and curled.

Arthur slipped his eyes shut and squirmed against it, moaning shamelessly and not even attempting to stop Charles. Hitching a leg around Charles’ thigh and lazily throwing an arm over his shoulder and he tried his best to pull Charles as close as he could and let him do whatever he wanted. That was until he was shaking and muttering against Charles’ mouth, “No more. No more, I’ll die.”

Charles laughed, a bit too loud for the fact they were still trying to hide, “Sorry.” And then wiped his hand on the grass next to him, “Would you be alright to take a walk down to the river? I think perhaps we both might need to wash up.”

Arthur had to forcibly tug his eyes open as Charles spoke, “Mm. Probably a good idea.”

A look came upon Charles’ face suddenly and as he fastened up his work pants and pulled back on his shirt which seemingly had been tugged off and lost to the side at some point, he said quietly, “Was it okay to…” He paused and then gestured to himself, pushing a hand around his own throat, as if he was too nervous to say out loud what he’d done.

Arthur nodded slowly, “I thought perhaps you might have realised when as soon as you did it I...Uh...made a mess of myself.”

Once more, the smug look crossed Charles’ face and Arthur felt as though this was going to be a reoccurring thing.

They had to walk quite a ways down to get to a spot secluded and deep enough that they wouldn’t startle an unsuspecting person just taking a gentle stroll out on their horse. Although, once into the water, it was dark enough that it would probably be a feat to see what they were doing, and Arthur was very thanful for that. He tried his best, crouched in that river, to wash himself up quick enough that even the keenest of eyes would be able to pry into what he was doing with his hand against his backside.

Charles of course found it all deeply funny, which was all well and good for him, he wasn’t the one who had to clean himself there.

When Arthur had gotten himself all fixed back up in his clothes again, wading over to where Charles was sat on the banks, he stood over him. Feet on either side of Charles’ shins as he slotted his hands onto his hips and remarked coyly, “Bet you’re pretty proud of yourself.”

Charles shrugged a shoulder, right back to being his usual humble self, “A little.” He answered in a hushed voice, “Hey. Would you be good enough to sit with me a moment.”

Arthur took a wary glance around, it was quiet out on the river bank, but anyone could come by at a moments notice. He knew what this area was like. Inevitably though, he acquiesced, sitting himself down carefully and holding back the grunt of pain.

A hand smoothed over his knee, tentatively but firm, and without preamble Charles lurched forward and kissed Arthur square on the mouth. Just once, but it drew the air from Arthur’s lungs all over again.

As did his following statement of, “Arthur, I’m...Not entirely took sure how I feel right now.”

Arthur’s stomach dipped.

Maybe this had been all wrong.

“Oh, okay. Well, I’m mightily sorry for it.” He said with a sticky throat.

But Charles shook his head next to him, “No, I mean...I have yet to feel strongly about someone. Or, I suppose, I had.”

“...What’re you sayin’?”

“Oh, Arthur.” Charles rolled his eyes fondly and pulled out a cigarette from his hunting pouch, lighting it and taking a drag before passing it to Arthur, and once again they sat in companiable silence for a few minutes. Passing the lit cigarette back and forth till it was burnt to the filter and Charles had to flick it away and off into the meandering river in front of them.

He stood after a moment of looking out at the water, he brushed off his ass and then offered a hand to Arthur to heft him up, which he took gratefully. “Here,” Charles mumured, “Let’s go home.” And with a look over his shoulder, began a slow ramble off back towards Horseshoe Overlook, Arthur in tow just behind.

It was another tight moment before Charles spoke again, “I have thought about this for...A little while.”

Arthur tried to hide his shock with bravado, “You mean you didn’t want to take a tumble with me the moment you saw me?”

Charles chuckled, “Maybe not the exact moment. But, I have given it thought for perhaps longer than is polite.”

“Ain’t nothing impolite about having feelings, Charles. If it’s any consolation, I was the fool who only realised after months of thoughts like, “Charles would make a fine husband for any woman and she’d be lucky to have him.” Realising that...Perhaps I were jealous of the idea of that imaginary woman.”

Charles didn’t respond to that for a good couple of seconds, which left a pregnant pause between them that set Arthur’s teeth on edge.

“If you are trying to...Court me, Arthur.” Charles once again stopped, thought this time it was to snigger as though he found that term very funny, “Then, I accept.”

He stopped walking very suddenly, “I accept your offer of courtship.”

Arthur’s front collided with Charles’ back, too caught up in what the other man had said to even take in what was directly in front of him and he took a faltering step backwards, failed to steady himself and fell down onto his ass. A grunt of, “Oof!” Tumbling from his lips as he went.

Despite the fact his behind was shot through with awkward pain, he couldn’t help but laughing along with the undignified snort that left Charles at the sight of him in the dirt on his rump.

To which he responded to with, “It’s not funny! You just pounded me into next week.” He grumbled, still with that lilt of a laugh, as he pulled himself up, rubbing a hand over his tailbone, “That hurt.”

“I’m sorry, Arthur.” He gave him a goodhearted smack on the back and laughed again at the sour look on Arthur’s face at it, “Would you perhaps like me to carry you home?”

The way he flexed his arms didn’t go over the top of Arthur’s head and he shoved Charles a little, just enough to make the younger man grin from ear to ear and shove him back a little, “Well now you’re just showing off, and stop doing that. Get me all hot and bothered again and we’ll never leave the river. Big headed fool.”

Charles took his hand and squeezed it, “So, what do you think?”

Arthur blinked, “About what?”

“What I said about accepting.”

“Hm. I suppose I feel...Grateful.”

“Anything else?”

“I’m no good at talk, Charles, I”—He shut his mouth, eyes drawn to the way Charles’ thumb was tracing the skin of his hand—“I’m pleased. More than pleased. I don’t know what to say, m’sorry.”

“It’s alright. You’ve showed me enough for me to know how you feel.”

Arthur’s cheeks went pink for the umpteenth time and he scratched nervously at the stubble on his jaw, “I think I have, huh.” They had started walking again, hands still tangled in each other and Arthur could feel how sweaty Charles’ palm was against his own which was just as damp. They were both nervous about being out in public like this he assumed, but he pushed the thought away to enjoy the feel of Charles’ hand against his own for just a while longer. “Maybe next time we should take a trip to a town. Get a hotel room with a bed, and a bath.”

Charles’ smile was back to being shy and unassuming, “One of us would have to sneak in.”

“Now I know you ain’t above a little breaking and entering.”

“Oh, for sure. And yes, I’d like that a lot, Arthur.” Charles responded breezily, a strange look about his eyes that Arthur would learn at a later date and many more times just like that spent with Charles, was adoration.

“I wish you could lie down with me.” Arthur whinged as they approached his open tent. It wouldn’t be a good idea even amongst their gang for Charles to crowd his way onto Arthur’s cot and sleep there with him, despite the fact that both of them wanted it.

Arthur gave a huff, then took a seat on the cot, Charles making his way over to lean against the barrel where Arthur kept his shaving equipment. Watching as Arthur was innocently undoing the top few buttons on his shirt, Charles’ eyes following the motion and as Arthur tugged the button line of the shirt to the side, the younger man could spot the tell tale spots of colour from where he’d sucked on Arthur’s pecs.

He cast his gaze away and agreed as casually as he could, “I do too.”

Arthur glanced up, realising what he was doing and he laughed under his breath, “Sorry. Probably not helpin’.”

“Not overly. No.” Charles’ smile was warm as he crossed his arms and moved to stand awkwardly in front of Arthur. At least by now the rest of the camp was asleep or drunkenly passed out in various spots about the area, both Charles and Arthur having seen Sean asleep hugging a collection of beer bottles and Javier was sprawled on his face on his bedroll. Boots and all still on.

They could have risked it.

Arthur was sure they could both wake up earlier than everyone else and nobody would be any the wiser of the fact they had slept in the same bed. Arthur was sure of it, and he so desperately wanted to know what it was like to have Charles hold him as he slept. The thought of his broad chest propped up against his own was heaving inside him and he shot out a hand to grasp Charles’ wrist, pulling him towards him and slotting their mouths together.

Charles’ knees faltered, buckling for a moment and he lurched forward to prop a knee up on Arthur’s cot. The sound of Arthur’s low pant loud in his ears as he came close to being in the older man’s lap and he liked that. He didn’t know why.

He kissed Arthur again, slower and carelessly, as he let Arthur lick into his mouth. Moaning in a voice that was far higher pitched than his regular one and it almost shocked him to hear himself make that noise. He shuffled closer at that, placing himself with his thighs on either side of Arthur’s and settling as daintily as he could in his lap, not wanting to crush the other man.

Something that had Arthur rolling his eyes and he fitted his hands around Charles waist and pulled.

He then smoothed his hands over Charles’ thighs, feeling how thick and soft they were. Pushing his fingertips into the softest parts with the most give, feeling the muscle underneath pulled tight, “I think I’m gonna have a problem not touchin’ you.”

Charles tucked a piece of his own hair behind his ear and shifted a little on top of Arthur, grimacing when the coat groaned beneath them, “I fear I might do too.” He shot a look at the cot and added, “I actually don’t know if they was meant for two men of our size, Arthur. I should...I should get to my own bed.”

The noise Arthur made was something that could only be described as a ‘harumph’, “Oh come on, you don’t gotta go just yet.” He curled a hand round to grasp at Charles’ ass, “Maybe I wanna kiss on you a little more.”

Charles sniggered, “You sound like a young man.”

“I’m not exactly old—”

“You know what I mean.”

Arthur snickered along with him and then brushed their mouths back together, kissing Charles tenderly. Attempting to drag him as close as he could, one hand still on Charles’ ass and as he clenched his fingers against it he watched as Charles’ Adam’s apple bobbed and he groaned quietly against his mouth. “Hey, earlier. Did you like it when I touched you here?” Arthur’s fingers slid under the seat of Charles’ pants and touched at his hole.

Charles just nodded, eyes still shut from the kiss, “Mhm.”

Arthur became bold, “Would you maybe want to let me take you?”

Charles cracked open a skeptical eye, “...Right now?”

“No, you dumbass. Not right now. Next time.”

Both Charles’ eyes snapped open then, a smile creeping onto his face which had his eyes crinkling, “So there really will be a next time?”

“Lord, I hope so. Otherwise I think I might lose my damn mind being around you all day.”

“Oh, quiet.” Charles beamed, “Yes. Yes, I’d like that.” He trailed his mouth across Arthur’s once more, “Want to know what had you moaning like that earlier. Want to have you in me.”

Arthur’s hand spasmed on Charles’ behind and he had to tug it away to press the heel of his hand against the front of his own pants, “Christ. Don’t say shit like that when I know you’re about to get up and go to sleep.”

Charles was noticeably flushed, “Sorry. I’m not exactly used to this.”

“Me either, I suppose. I wouldn’t take you for the dirty kind.”

“I don’t know if I am.”

“Sure seem like it.”

“You make me feel bold.”

Arthur ducked his head at Charles’ words, “Come on now, I’m nothin’ special.”

Charles’ hand found his chin again and gripped it tight enough that Arthur wouldn’t have been able to speak even if he tried, “Stop. I won’t hear it.” He loosened his grip and Arthur rubbed at his jaw, watching him carefully, “Do you need me to…” Charles gestured to the slight tent in Arthur’s pants but the older man shook his head.

“Nah, we both gotta catch at least a couple’a hours sleep. You should go.”

Charles reluctantly nodded in agreement, clambering off Arthur’s lap and tugging the hemline of his shirt down.

Arthur didn’t miss the answering bulge in his pants either.

“I’ll see you in the morning then.”

“Sure.”

They shared another kiss, which was then broken apart by the ragged snore from somewhere about the camp. However nothing else came and they both breathed a sigh of relief and then finished the kiss before Charles was pulling away from Arthur’s clutching hands.

“Goodnight, Arthur.”

“G’night.”

It was a little gruelling to have to do chores the next day, Arthur found. He’d gotten at most about three hours sleep and he was adamant he’d feel a lot better if Charles had been in bed with him but, he couldn’t have everything.

He finished off feeding the hens, wiped a hand across his brow and as he gazed out across the camp he caught the eye of Charles’ who was riding back into camp on Taima. The younger man looked a bit more bright eyed and bushy tailed than Arthur did and he raised a hand in a wave to him, too far away to give him a verbal hello.

Charles tipped his head back and Arthur felt like a teenage girl whose feller had just blown her a kiss.

He truly was a complete fool.

But if Charles liked him that way, perhaps it wasn’t so bad.

He started to make his way over to Charles, wondering if he wanted to eat a small lunch with him. He’d saved up some nice crusty bread and cheese from the shop over at his open wagon which would be nice to sit down and eat together with him. However, Dutch stopped him in his tracks about halfway, “Arthur! Just who the man I wanted to see.”

Arthur sighed ruefully, “Yes?”

“Need ya’ to head into town, Valentine. Go to the post office and collect some things for Hosea.”

“Can’t Hosea collect his own things?”

Dutch frowned and patted Arthur on the back, “Now, son. Don’t be like that, Hosea has other business to tend to.”

“Fine, fine.”

“Thank you.”

Arthur continued to grumble to himself as he set about retightening the straps on Clementine, giving her an oatcake and patting her hind gently. Turning sharply when Mary-Beth appeared behind him, book in hand.

“You goin’ into town?” She asked cheerfully.

He pulled his saddlebag closed and eyed her, “Yep.”

Mary-Beth stood with her hands on her hips, then raised her hands when Arthur didn't immediately answer, “Well? Can I come?”

Arthur sucked on his teeth, he wanted a quick trip, and no doubt she’d want to find something to do while they were there. “If you want.” He wasn’t very good at saying no to the girls.

She beamed and tossed her book down on the nearest camp to them, which was Hosea’s, and shuffled her petticoats around as if she were getting ready to hitch herself onto the horse, “Thank you. I promise I won’t hold you up, I just need to take a ride.” She leaned in a little closer, “Karen keeps asking me if I think Sean is a good man for her and I ain’t the heart to tell her I think she could...Probably do better.” She grimaced and it had Arthur laughing.

“Well, I think that’s fair enough.” He pulled himself onto Clem and held out his hand for her to take which she did, yanking her to sit behind him, “Nice and comfortable, Miss?”

“A’course. Got a heaping of man to hold onto ain’t I?”

It surely was something. To ride and take in the fresh air (before of course the smell of the sheep pens hit you) as they trotted along the paths towards Valentine. Mary-Beth filling the time with some idle chatter about how Karen was teaching herself and Tilly to fire a rifle, which apparently was the height of fun to them. They’d invited Molly to try but she’d seem uninterested, choosing instead to sit and watch and cackle when they managed to hit the tin cans they’d set up as a shooting range.

He listened vaguely, adding in little comments which had Mary-Beth snorting a few times.

She startled him a little thought when she mentioned, “Charles seemed chipper this mornin’.”

Arthur swallowed, “Did he? Didn’t notice.”

“Mhm.”

If he could have, he would have twisted around in the saddle and fixed her with a scrutinising look. But instead, he just said, “What does that mean?”

Mary-Beth’s hands slid a little tighter around Arthur’s middle and he could feel the way she leaned in closer to him, and with a small voice she said, “I won’t tell nobody.” Her hands reached even further around after that, effectively holding him from behind and Arthur didn’t need to be coddled.

He was a grown man.

However, he didn’t mind it.

In response he just grunted and tapped the horse into a faster gallop.

They didn’t speak again till Arthur had returned from the post office and Mary-Beth was stood smoking a cigarette, one hand petting the bridge of Clementine’s nose. She turned and gave a wavering smile, “Lot of letters Hosea’s gettin’ there.”

Arthur smiled in return, “He’s always got some kind of work goin’. Bit more, wha’s that word? Nuanced? Yeah. Bit more nuanced than what we do.” He slid the bundle of letters into the saddle bag and as he went to retract his hand, Mary-Beth’s tiny hand was wrapping around his wrist.

“Arthur, I ain’t playin’. I won’t tell nobody.”

Arthur grit his teeth, “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

Her face was pleading when he finally faced it, “I’m not tryin’ to be cruel to you!”

“Could we maybe not talk about this Here. Please?”

She sighed an agreement and they both ascended onto Clem again, Arthur leading them away to the grassy banks just outside of town. Far away enough that he felt safe enough to talk about...Whatever Mary-Beth was insinuating in a voice louder than a whisper. He pulled the horse to a stop, helping Mary-Beth down and then tugged the bedroll out from it’s holding on the saddle. Laying it out on the ground for them and gesturing to it with a nod of his head, “Here. Might be a bit more comfortable. Was thinkin’ that maybe we could sit and have some lunch. Since Dutch took away my original idea to have it back at camp.”

Mary-Beth nodded, “Sounds like a fine idea. Ah!” Arthur watched as she stepped off to the side of it and ambled towards a bush out on the plain, her delicate little fingers plucking off what Arthur could identify as some raspberries and tucking them into a handkerchief she’d whipped out from somewhere and placed in the palm of her hand. “Think these’ll be a nice little treat too.”

They ended up both sat with a mini spread of bread, cheese, some dried meat and the berries Mary-Beth had picked, and of course a bottle of beer that had somehow been procured from Arthur’s saddlebags. A nice little meal if Arthur ever saw one and they sat in companionable silence, save for the sounds of eating.

Mary-Beth took a small swig of the beer, wiped the back of her mouth and passed it to Arthur, “Wanna talk about it?”

Arthur took a drink himself, tapping the mouth of the beer against his bottom lip for a moment before he replied, “What do you...Know?”

His voice sounded tinny even to his own ears.

A pause sat between them, till Mary-Beth broke it by confessing, “I just guessed a little. You ain’t exactly good at hiding your cow eyes when you’re gazing across camp and, well, it definitely ain’t hard to follow those gazes to someone.”

Arthur groaned and hung his head, “I’m so damn stupid.”

Mary-Beth kicked a foot out at him, free from it’s boot and Arthur rocked with the motion and listened to the way she snorted in a way that suggested maybe he wasn’t in too much trouble with her being aware of whatever this was.

“You’re not stupid.”

“Do you think any less of me?” Arthur breathed.

Arthur’s question shocked Mary-Beth, he could tell by the way her eyes went wide and her freckled nose crinkled up like she was horrified he’d ever say such a thing, “No! Never!”

He didn’t say anything to that, just passed her back the beer bottle and quieted his mouth by taking a big bite of dried meat which at least would keep him chewing for a while.

She continued with, “If anything I’m—A little bit impressed.” She blushed starkly against pale of her skin, “Maybe I just had some silly ideas myself of what Charles Smith would be like as my man." She flapped her hand bashfully, "The girls and I, we got a lot of time, before Grimshaw catches us slackin', to sit and talk utter nonsense. If you could hear some’a the stuff we say about men like Charles, you’d blush.”

Arthur couldn’t hold back his grin, “Blushin’ just like you are now?”

“Oh, shut up. I mean it.” She tucked a hand over his free one and squeezed, “Maybe I’m not in the business to take offence to the way anyone does anything. I told you before, I’m a romantic at heart, and I thought about it long and hard a long time ago. Nothin’ evil could come from just liking someone. It’d be like if someone had a problem with if—I dunno, Tilly wanted to date a white boy!” She gave Arthur a pretend mean look, “Why I’d kick anyone in the rear end if they had a problem with that, and I’ll happily do it to anyone who spoke out of turn about you.”

“I s’pose.”

“Arthur, we’re outlaws. We don’t exactly live life by any sort of code but our own.”

Arthur’s eyes rolled and he squeezed her hand back, “I get what you’re sayin’.”

Mary-Beth sniffed, “Good. I’m glad.” Then narrowed her eyes at him, “I’m still mighty jealous though.” She nudged him jokingly, “What have you got that I ain’t anyway?”

Arthur’s look at her was long and calculating before his mouth curled up into a wicked grin, “I can think of one thing you ain’t got.”

Mary-Beth’s laugh was scandalised and she smushed the handful of raspberries she had clutched into it at Arthur’s face, borderling screeching with glee and Arthur had to pry her off and physically hold her down while she laughed.

When they returned, Arthur saw Mary-Beth back to her tent, where Tilly and Karen were doing cross-stitch and they waved as they approached. Karen piping up with, “Hey, Mary-Beth, who do you think is more likely to win in a fight; a bear or a mountain lion?”

“I’ll...Leave you to it.” Arthur informed Mary-Beth before giving her a parting pat on the shoulder, to which she squeeze his hand once more and settled down cross-legged in front of the other girls.

Arthur shook his head in amusement as he left them, forever impressed with how downright strange the ladies could be but, he supposed he and John talked about odder things when he was that age so he couldn’t blame them.

He settled on having a shave, listening to the far off sound of Javier allowing Lenny to pick at his guitar, the sound amateur and slow but calming nonetheless as he slid the razor across his face; attempting to get a look as good as any barbor gave him. Struggling a little bit with his clumsy, large hands. He wiped off some of the left over shaving foam with a clean rag and as he did the shine of a tin caught his eye.

He turned to the table next to his cot, wiping off his face properly and giving a good look at the thing that had caught his eye, which turned out to be a brand new pot of hair pomade. Right next to it though, was a fresh cut of flowers. A different colour then the ones that had been left there the night before, lemon coloured, bundled together and tied with a little piece of thin red ribbon which Arthur was clueless as to where you could ever find something like that around.

He sucked in a breath.

Perhaps Charles had gone to Mary-Beth for it.

A shadow loomed behind him and Charles’ voice drifted towards him, “Whoever laid those there for you must be besotted.”

Arthur could hear the grin in his voice without even having to turn around.

He did though, and stood with his thumbs tucked into his belt loops as he found Charles leant against the wagon, one foot kicked behind the other and a broad smile plastered to his face. He rocked on the balls of his feet and answered carefully, “Oh, y’think so, huh?”

Hardly anyone was around and if they were, they weren’t paying a single bit of notice towards the two of them, so Arthur took a step forward and watched as Charles mirrored him. Until the two of them were right in front of each other. He gave Charles a once over with his eyes and they lingered on the shirt he was wearing, “Ain’t that the one you had on last night?”

Charles laughed bashfully, tucking his hand into the nape of his neck and rubbing nervously,

“Yes. It—It is.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow and Charles stumbled out an addition of, “It smelled like you.”

Arthur had to press his palms into his eyes at the admition, it was too much to take in a single sitting and he was on the border of guffawing at how ridiculous this all was when he said, “You really are something, Mr Smith. You got me feeling all these...Feelings.”

Charles’ laugh was light and airy, leaving Arthur to feel perhaps a bit shy,

“Ever the articulate one, Arthur.”

They didn’t touch still, just to be on the safe side, but Arthur realised that truly no one was caring what they were doing as they stood there inside his open tent. So he slipped his hand into Charles’. Until their mirrored, scarred palms were parallel and their fingers were tangled together. “You know I ain’t a good talker. Slightly better than John, but not exactly Dutch.”

Charles’ heart thundered against his chest in a nervous staccato; afraid to be spotted but also just to be able to be near Arthur like this in the daytime.

“I know. I don’t mind at all.”

He licked his lips, eyes travelling over Arthur’s face but he didn’t shy away from the look but simply drank it in. If Charles wanted to take his fill of him he would give anything he could. Any way he could.

Once again his palm felt sticky and wet with an anxious sweat, but he didn’t draw it away.

Charles finally spoke up,

“Could you love me, one day?”

Arthur’s eyes crinkled at the edges and it was if there was no one else for miles about them.

“Yes. I could. I think maybe I will.” He answered, calmly.

They kissed once more, meeting in the middle.

Uncaring.