Work Text:
When he’d encountered the Frenchman by chance in that alleyway, Arthur hadn’t recognized him at first. He owed that to the dress and all the god-awful make-up.
After the admittedly funny debacle at the art gallery, Arthur was surprised that Mr. Chatenay was even still here, so it came as no surprise that the get-up was all in an effort to escape town undetected. It seemed Mr. Chatenay held hope that he could find passage by boat to some tropical paradise full of naked women, where he would be free to draw his dirty little pictures without the stifling pressure of society.
It struck him as oddly similar to Dutch’s dreams of Tahiti, and as he stood there in the mouth of that alleyway, he had the feeling that both desires were a bit too hopeful to be realistic.
“I dunno if runnin’ away’s gonna solve yer problems.” Arthur scoffed, letting his eyes roam over Mr. Chatenay’s ridiculous garb. It really clashed something awful, and he hadn’t even done anything about his beard! Who exactly was he hoping to fool?
“Bah, what would you know?” Mr. Chatenay turned his nose up. “You cowboys are all the same, you’d rather get your guns blazing, non? Well, I am a lover, not a fighter, Monsieur Saddle-Rash.”
“I think bein’ a lover’s what got you into this mess.” Arthur shook his head, leaning against the brick wall and crossing his arms. “You gonna stop messin’ around with other men’s wives jus’ cus yer in some... fancy island paradise?”
Charles Chatenay drew up to his full height - bolstered further by the heels he wore. “Never.”
Arthur couldn’t help but crack a grin and chuckle. “Well, then I really don’t think me sneakin’ you off to some boat’s gonna do much good for you. I’d be better off takin’ you to Thieves Landin’ or some such place.”
“Ah, bon, then let us go.” And just like that, Charles was marching from the alley, stopping only a step or two away before turning back towards the stunned outlaw. “Where is your horse? We haven’t time to waste.”
“W-wait, what?” Arthur spluttered, standing up straight and readjusting his hat. “I weren’t serious! A feller like you’d get gutted in a place like that!”
Charles scoffed at him. “I will be drawn and quartered here, Monsieur, so I do not see the difference in where my entrails lie, do you?”
Arthur supposed that was about as reasonable as anything the Frenchman had said to him in the short time they’d known one another. Not that being gutted was all fine and dandy, but if both places were going to be dangerous, well, it was perhaps better to be in a dangerous place where nobody knew him, rather than a city full of angry husbands who could recognize the painter’s face in an instant - even under all that rouge.
“I... fine, I guess. Sure.” Arthur rubbed the back of his neck and sighed in surrender, still amused enough to pass the man a smirk as he headed towards where he’d left his horse. The Ardennes stood patiently outside of Doyle’s Tavern, and Arthur passed a hand over Felicity’s strawberry coat before hefting himself into her saddle.
“Hey girl.” He whispered, pulling the reins from the fancy iron post.
“Ahem.”
Arthur looked down and saw Mr. Chatenay observing him expectantly, hand held out in a delicate flop. Arthur just stared at him.
Chatenay gave an exaggeratedly feminine huff. “Do you expect a lady to mount a horse on her own? Bonté divine, non! Be a gentleman.”
Arthur blinked. “You ain’t a real woman.”
Charles didn’t seem amused. “You are a brute, Monsieur. Think of it as practice for your special lady, non?”
Arthur rolled his eyes, but bent down to offer his hand to the painter anyway, helping him up onto Felicity’s back and somehow not surprised that the Frenchman chose to sit side-saddle.
“I ain’t got no special lady.” Arthur shook his head, directing his large warhorse into the flow of nighttime traffic, heading towards the northern route out of the city.
“This does not surprise me.” Charles stated sadly from behind Arthur’s ear. “Though I pity you, my friend. You may be a well-built ox with the natural gift of looks, but it is clear you are woefully lacking where it really counts, hm?”
A few seconds passed by before Arthur turned over his shoulder, eyebrows high in disbelief. “Did’ju jus’ say I got a small pecker?”
“A small something.” Charles corrected, “Non, I am sure your cock is as large as the rest of you, that is not what I meant.”
Arthur didn’t know what to say to that, mouth agape as he stared at Mr. Chatenay in shock, his cheeks beginning to warm in scandalized embarrassment. “Wh-what?”
“Confidence, mon ami, confidence!” Charles tore the delicate gloves from his hands, clenching them between impassioned fists. “I can see it on your face! You have no idea! A painter’s dream you are, but you do not see it! Ah, if only the galleries could have gotten hold of you! But, non, I am glad they have not, for they would have spoiled that naïveté which makes you so unique, as they spoil everything!”
“S’cuse me?” Arthur had no idea what this European lunatic was raving about.
“A big, stupid American cowboy with a heart of gold and asscheeks like sculpted marble!” Charles reached both arms around and grabbed handfuls of Arthur’s chest. “And your tits are magnifique!”
“Woah!” Arthur jumped, cheeks flaming hot as he yanked Felicity to the side of the road, having only just passed the bridge out of Saint Denis. The Ardennes tossed her head in displeasure, and Arthur practically spun around in the saddle, eyes wide and ears red. “Y-you... What th-the hell’re you doin’?!”
Charles only grinned, the red paint on his lips making his teeth seem almost shockingly white in comparison. He held his hands up and laughed. “It is true, my friend! I have seen painters battle like starving rats over the chance to capture models such as yourself!”
“Yeah, well knock it off!” Arthur wondered if his face was hot enough to glow in the faint evening light, and he adjusted his shirt from where Charles’ hands had ridden it up. “You want me to kick you off an’ make you walk to West Elizabeth? Or how ‘bout I turn right back around an’ find the nastiest lookin’ husband in Saint Denis?”
“Hmph, your humor is as brutish as the rest of you, it is a shame it is nowhere near as nice to look at.” Charles pursed his lips and crossed his arms, pouting like a scolded child.
“Yer unbelievable.” The outlaw narrowed his eyes. “Jus’ keep yer hands to yerself, alright?”
“Where is the fun in that?” Chatenay whined, and Arthur shook his head and turned back around in his saddle, gently kicking Felicity into an easy trot as he continued on his way.
“The fun’s in me not breakin’ yer jaw, partner.” He wouldn’t really, but that didn’t mean he appreciated being groped while trying to ride a horse in the dark.
“Bah, I do not believe it.” Mr. Chatenay waved off his threat as if it was an irritating fly. “I have received many threats like this, but have I ever had my jaw broken? Non, monsieur, I have not. Besides, I have not even fucked your wife. I think you would be more likely to do it then, as would any man, but no man ever has.”
Arthur was getting a headache, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Listen mister, would you shut up? I ain’t even gonna take you all the way to Thieves Landin’, but it’s still a day to West Elizabeth from here, and I will strangle you an’ leave you in a ditch if I gotta.”
“Oh, choking? Coquin, mon chéri." Chatenay laughed, and Arthur didn’t know what the hell that meant, but he was pretty sure he didn’t want to. But not responding did not give Arthur silence as he had hoped, and they were only halfway through the Heartlands before the Frenchman began to complain and whine like a spoiled child.
“I do not know how you do it! Day in and day out, oh, your poor ass! It must be without feeling, asleep! No wonder you country types are always so constipated!”
Arthur stopped in the middle of the road, dawn beginning to peak up over the mountain range in the distance. “A’right, get off.”
That got Charles to shut up. “Pardon?”
“You don’t like horse ridin’, I get it. So, walk.” He turned around and nudged the smaller man. “Off.”
“What?” He blanched. “You cannot be serious! We are in the middle of nowhere, how can you expect me to walk in these heels!? My face will drip down to my tits before I am eaten alive by buzzards and perverts!”
“Why’s that my problem? I got’chu outta Saint Denis, but I warned you I’d make you walk if you didn’t behave.” Arthur’s jaw was set firm, and he watched as the Frenchman’s eyes widened even further.
“You said no groping, not no talking!” But when Arthur’s humor didn’t improve, the Frenchman had the audacity to scowl right back. “Bah, you are only so caustic because you need a good fucking!”
“Let me guess, yer offerin’?” Arthur scoffed. “Get the hell off’a my horse afore I knock you off.”
“Fine! Fucking cowboys, whole asses, all of you! Why did I ever come to America?” Chatenay slid from Felicity’s back, landing a bit awkwardly with his impractical heels, but Arthur’s temper had reached its limit.
He barely spared a glance as he rode off, head pounding and teeth clenched. Lord, what a talkative bastard. He’d never help another Frenchman as long as he lived, damn the lot of them.
---
It was only an hour until Arthur cooled down, and then he’d begun to feel rather bad. While Charles Chatenay was an abrasive, debaucherous, filthy little man, he didn’t deserve to be stranded with nothing in the middle of nowhere, especially dressed like that.
Arthur sighed, adjusting his hat and getting up from the shade tree he’d been resting against, mounting Felicity’s saddle and going back the way he’d come. There wasn’t much in the way of shelter, and it didn’t take long to find Mr. Chatenay, right about where Arthur had left him.
He was sitting on the side of the road, that ridiculous wig tossed into the dirt beside him, and it seemed the man had wiped off the majority of his make-up with the shawl he’d worn around his shoulders. He’d even taken off the dress, and at least he’d had the good sense to wear pants underneath it, but his pale skin was starting to turn pink in the strong morning sunlight.
As Arthur gently pulled Felicity to a halt beside him, the man looked up in overly dramatic despondency.
“Come to rub my nose into more cow shit, Mr. American?” He frowned hard and turned his face away. “My silks are ruined because of you.”
“Naw.” Arthur rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, uh... I, uh... well, you got a helluva knack for gettin’ on my last nerve, but I guess I shouldn’t’ve dumped you out in the wilderness like I did. So... sorry. I’ll take you to West Elizabeth.”
Charles turned his nose up and scoffed. “Maybe I do not wish to go with you any more, hm? Maybe I would indeed rather be devoured by perverts or coyotes or whatever monstrosities you live with out here in ass-fuck nowhere.”
Arthur rolled his eyes, leaning his elbows on his saddle horn. “It’s near about eight hours to Riggs Station, an’ that’s ridin’. You wanna walk, yer lookin’ at two days. Think yer fancy shoes can handle that, Mr. Big City Artist? Or you gonna swallow yer pride an’ get back up here?”
Charles looked up at him with a nearly flabbergasted expression crossing his face, but only a split second later he beamed wide and brilliant, standing up and straightening his back. “Aha! There she is, votre confiance en vous! I see my plan has worked!”
Arthur blinked. “... What?”
“You merely needed to become a knight upon horseback to a helpless damsel, non? Now you shine with amour propre - self esteem!” Charles didn’t wait for another invitation before climbing onto Felicity’s back once more. “Come, the shitty train station awaits!”
The outlaw was a bit too stunned to tell Charles to take his hands off Arthur’s hips, and he only directed Felicity back to the road as he tried to wrap his head around whatever the hell the Frenchman was on about now.
“Right... well, jus’ try an’ keep yer lips shut, an’ we won’t have no more problems.”
“Talking is not all I can use my lips for, mon cheri, I promise you.” It was whispered directly in his ear, and Arthur nearly choked as he whipped his head around, eyes wide.
“What-”
But Charles was just smirking at him, as if he’d gotten the exact reaction he’d wanted. “A fine example of masculinity like yourself surely has a cigarette to spare, oui? I’d like to smoke.”
“Wh-... Jesus...” Arthur didn’t know what to say, and merely rummaged through his satchel for a pack, passing the entire thing to Charles and hoping that would get him to shut up. “Got a damn filthy mouth, mister. Is all Frenchman like you?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Charles took the offered matches as well, striking a light and puffing almost elegantly on the cigarette for a good few minutes, before he reached around and waved it in Arthur’s face. “Would you like some?”
Arthur didn’t know how many times he’d rolled his eyes in the past twelve hours, but he wondered if it would soon make him go blind. “Thanks.” Still, he took it and held it between his teeth, smoking without the use of his hands as he was apt to do while riding.
“Oh, you’ve got a talented mouth as well, I see.” Charles teased - was he teasing? - and Arthur let out a harsh puff of smoke, brows furrowed. The sooner he could get this done, the better. Damn artists and their obnoxious natures...
They made it to Rigg’s Station with little trouble after that, but the train would not arrive until the next morning. Mr. Chatenay was sore from riding and full of complaints, though he did at least attempt to hold them back for Arthur’s sake.
Arthur was fairly tired as well, and he didn’t particularly feel like riding all the way back to Lemoyne. His little favor had taken the entire day, and riding through the night didn’t hold much appeal to him at that moment.
“You ever been campin’, Charles?” Arthur asked, pulling Felicity into the trees and dismounting. He stretched his back and grunted at the pops in his shoulder - it still got sore when he kept it still for too long, and he didn’t think it would ever be free of discomfort. Damn O’Driscolls.
“Camping? You mean sleeping in the dirt like a houseless vagrant? Oui, but of course.” Charles stood beside him, rubbing his backside and looking around the little clearing that Arthur had chosen. They would be able to hear the train from there, but it was out of sight from the road.
“Good, set up the tent while I get a fire goin’.” Arthur didn’t wait for agreement, and instead began to gather a few rocks to build a bank for the fire, snapping some of the drier branches off of the pine trees and gathering what kindling he could easily find along the forest floor.
It didn’t take long for the spark to catch and a warm, if not smoky, fire was soon crackling away. Charles surprised him by being able to set up the tent with little trouble, and Arthur took the opportunity to brush Felicity’s coat and remove her saddle, letting her wander the area to her discretion. He wasn’t so concerned about predators this close to the train station, and Felicity was big enough to handle herself if she needed.
He gathered some rations from his discarded saddlebags, heating them up over the fire and wordlessly sharing them with a strangely quiet Chatenay. He didn’t want to say anything and break the blessed silence, not right away, and it was only when he’d pulled out some whiskey and shared about half the bottle that he felt himself finally begin to relax.
And with his relaxation came curiosity.
“How d’you even get so many married women in bed with you? I don’t get it.” Arthur tipped his hat back and leaned back on his hands, legs loosely crossed as he observed Charles over the fire.
Charles laughed, a glint entering his eye as he shuffled closer to the outlaw. “Are you curious about my methods? I have quite a lot of practice in the art of romance and wooing, no doubt you’d like some, ah, how do you say... tips?”
Arthur scoffed. “I doubt yer advice is any good. I reckon you jus’ find some lonely old woman whose husband ain’t looked her way in years.”
“It is never so simple as that, mon ami. I’ll give you an example, hm?” He leaned in further, and Arthur blinked, but didn’t push him away.
“Example?” He parroted, and the Frenchman’s smirk only widened.
“Oui.” His words were a ghost over Arthur’s face. He sure was close. “Let me show you.”
And just like that, Charles leaned down and took Arthur’s hand in his own, bringing it to his lips as he pressed gentle kisses to each of Arthur’s fingers, brushing over his knuckles. He linked their fingers together and turned his palm upwards, trailing his mouth up the inside of Arthur’s wrist and his exposed forearm.
Arthur was too stunned to move, his face beginning to prickle with heat as Charles’ eyes rose up to meet his, that smile still curling the Frenchman’s face. Without breaking eye contact, Charles moved further up, kissing over Arthur’s covered bicep and reaching his shoulder. Arthur jolted as he felt warm breath on his neck, but when the outlaw didn’t do anything else, Charles brought his lips to the sensitive skin and began to layer damp kisses against the side of his throat, just beneath his ear and down towards his collarbone.
A deft hand slipped the top few buttons of Arthur’s shirt open, and slim fingers slid beneath the cloth to stroke and knead at Arthur’s breast, fingertips brushing over a nipple and causing him to suck in a breath.
“Tu as de beaux seins, mon chéri...” The artist whispered against his ear, before he pulled his hands and mouth away, backing up to lean down between Arthur’s legs. Those wicked eyes looked right into Arthur’s widened blue as the Frenchman untucked his shirt from his pants, massaging his thigh with one hand and undoing the rest of his buttons with the other, gently pulling his shirt open, baring his torso to the open air.
And then he stopped, removing his hands and sitting up straight, that cat’s grin never having left his face at all.
“There is my example, just like that.”
Arthur had no idea what to do. He was flushed and flustered, heart beating quickly in his chest and his cock achingly hard in his pants. His nipples were peaked and he felt strangely out of breath.
He licked his lips, mouth suddenly very dry, and took his hat off to place in his lap. “O-oh...”
Charles, that French bastard, lilted a playfully innocent question he already knew the answer to. “Did it work, my lovely?”
“Uh... n-no... course not..” Arthur cleared his throat, voice too breathy and rough to be convincing, never mind the blush on his cheeks and his poor attempt to cover his erection.
Charles’ smirk only widened. “I could give you more lessons in the art of romance, mon cheri, if you’d like to slip inside that tent with me.”
“Okay.” He shouldn’t have answered so quickly, but... God damn.
They retreated inside the tent, cramped with two people, but it wasn’t a concern at the moment. Arthur felt rushed to pull his shirt off and get undressed, but Chatenay shook his head and brushed Arthur’s hands away, taking over for him and somehow flustering Arthur even more as he disrobed the outlaw, practiced hands making quick work of buttons and boots.
“Something as lovely as this must be unwrapped like a gift, non? Peeling back the layers and exposing each supple inch as a new delight. It builds anticipation much better.” Charles wouldn’t shut up as he undressed him, but Arthur was a bit too busy trying to keep his breathing steady to tell him off.
He didn’t think he needed any more damned anticipation.
He was fully bared before long, leaning back on his elbows as he watched Charles remove his own clothing, finding that he appreciated the view more than he’d thought he would. He’d been shirtless since Arthur had gone back to get him, and the dark hair on his chest traveled down into his pants, leaving little room for doubt as to where it ended.
Arthur bit his lip as his eyes slid down the painter’s chest and stomach, and his own cock twitched at the sight of Charles’ nicely sized prick. He was half-hard, longer than Arthur was, though Arthur was a bit thicker.
Charles gave a short breathy laugh as he saw where Arthur was looking. “You have been with a man before, Monsieur Cowboy?”
“Um, k-kinda.” Arthur swallowed and looked back up, and the fire in Chatenay’s gaze had Arthur feeling a sudden bout of shyness. People didn’t look at him like that very often, and he’d never known how to react when they did. Charles was looking at him like he was attractive, and while he’d said a lot of things about the way Arthur looked, the outlaw hadn’t taken him seriously. This, though, was a bit harder to brush off.
“No need to be coy, mon cheri.” The Frenchman whispered, gently placing his hands on Arthur’s knees to spread them apart, and Arthur was very glad he’d decided to treat himself to a bath while he’d been in the city. “What a sight you make. If only I could paint this.”
“Aw, sh-shut up, will you?” Arthur looked away again, blushing from the roots of his hair down to the swell of his chest, feeling heated and antsy, impatient and shy all at once. “You said yer mouth was so good, so why don’t you use it?”
Another laugh was the answer he got. The artist shifted his hands, holding Arthur’s legs beneath the knee as he ducked his face down to kiss softly along the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, creeping closer to Arthur’s groin and making his hips jerk. It tickled, but in a way that made his cock pulse, and Arthur bit his lip as he tried to keep control over himself.
Charles didn’t seem to have any such reservations. He trailed his tongue across Arthur’s flesh, before he placed a kiss at the point where his leg joined his body, and then did something that nearly caused Arthur to jump right off the bedroll.
He bit him.
“H-hey!” Arthur’s voice cracked with shock.
Charles peeked up at him. “Shh, darling, simply lay back and enjoy it, hm? If you truly do not like it, I will never do it again, fair?”
Arthur’s face burned as he gave a short nod. He supposed it hadn’t really hurt, mostly surprised him, and if Charles would stop when Arthur told him to, well... It would be alright to try.
Grinning with victory, Charles returned to his task. Pinching his teeth once more on Arthur’s inner thigh, he quickly sucked a mark into the pale skin, gently soothing it with his tongue and more soft kisses. He found another place to lavish attention, and another, and another, and by the time he looked at Arthur to check how he was doing, the outlaw’s lips were parted with heavy breaths and his eyes were half-shut, his cock rock hard against his belly.
He had jerked and squirmed the entire time, but never told the Frenchman to stop, because... good Lord, it felt so... it made him feel... He didn’t have words for it, only knowing that he liked it.
“Shall I continue?” Charles accented words vibrated against his skin, and Arthur nodded before he’d even thought about it.
“Y-yeah...” He was breathless and more eager than he’d like to admit, but there was no hiding anything from Charles Chatenay.
He ran his fingers across Arthur’s belly, skirting around his cock, teasing touches that sparked so many things inside the outlaw. “Something a little different this time?”
Again, he could only nod. “Sure... wh-whatever you want.”
The artist chuckled softly. “Oh, what a delicious thing to say. You will not regret those words.” And then he was leaning back down.
Arthur thought he was going to suck his cock, but he went further than that. When the outlaw felt a tongue trace around his asshole, he couldn’t stop the full-body twitch, nor the undignified noise that squeaked from his throat. Charles kept his legs in place, and didn’t give him a chance for shame before that hot, wet muscle was running circles around his puckered skin. Arthur’s legs were pushed higher, Charles’ face pressed lower, and soon enough that tongue was starting to lick its way inside him.
He brought his fist to his mouth, biting onto his knuckle and trying to muffle his gasps and moans, his other arm thrown over his eyes to try and shield his burning face. He’d never felt a damn thing like this before, and he hadn’t ever thought something so filthy could make him feel so good.
Charles took his mouth away and purred into the bruise-mottled skin of his thigh. “Oh, you are très exquis, the way you try to hold your pleasure, it is so demure. Tu es comme une vierge, n'est-ce pas?”
The outlaw didn’t think he could respond, far too breathless, feeling his insides squirm with something molten hot and needy. He also still didn’t fucking speak French, and he really wished Chatenay would stop talking and go back to doing something else with his mouth.
He didn’t need to ask, though, as Charles seemed to get the idea, whispering more dirty French words as he put his face between Arthur’s legs and got him absolutely sloppy with his mouth. He pressed his tongue in and out, kissed and bit Arthur’s thighs and firm backside, even sucking on the place between his ass and balls, making Arthur’s vision spark and wrenching a high-pitched gasp from his throat.
When he pulled away for the second time, Arthur was arching his back and holding his own legs open, blunt nails digging into the skin, jaw hanging open as he whimpered and whined.
Jesus Christ, that felt good enough to be a sin. He was pretty sure it was.
“Liked that, mon cheri?”
“Yes,” Arthur gasped, so hard he thought he might die, feeling heat roll through him like a Texas summer.
“Want me to fuck that pretty asshole of yours?” It was said so sweetly that Arthur was almost sure he’d heard him wrong. But of course he hadn’t, and he also couldn’t deny that he very much did.
“Christ, yes.” He needed something more, craved the feeling of something thick and hard inside him, and he let go of his legs to search his gun belt for the small brass tube of oil he naturally kept with him. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do the job, and he didn’t much care for the idea of stopping now.
Charles cooed at his eagerness, taking the tube from him and quickly spreading a fair amount over his cock. He gripped himself, lining up with Arthur’s hole and staring him straight in the eyes. “Tu es un beau, mon petit diamant brut.”
He must be saying those things for his own benefit, because surely he knew Arthur couldn’t understand him. But the outlaw still got the sense that he was being complimented, the soft tone and tender eyes speaking clearly enough.
Slowly, gently, taking a care that Arthur wouldn’t have thought he would, the Frenchman pressed into Arthur’s body, gently rocking his hips back and forth with every inch that sunk inside. When his hips were flush with Arthur’s kiss-bruised backside, he paused and lifted the outlaw’s legs once more, holding his thighs in the air and looking down at the breathless man beneath him.
“Regardez ça, regardez-vous. Oh, tu es une œuvre d'art.” Charles pulled back and rolled his hips forward, brushing against that hidden spot with practiced precision.
“Oh, shit,” Arthur jolted, letting his head fall back as the artist found his rhythm. At first he tried to keep himself quiet, but he was no match for this, and his stifled gasps and groans soon became full-throated cries of pleasure.
“Uhn! Fuck, faster, yes, ahh!” He curled his fists into the woolen bedroll beneath him, each and every drag and slide making embers spark and burn in the pit of his belly, Charles hitting against that spot over and over, scrambling his head and making him writhe.
“Hah, F-for wishing me to shut up, you make quite enough noise yourself.” Charles moaned from above him, pushing Arthur’s thighs higher up and spreading him as wide as he could.
He should have told him to shut up, or kicked him, or something, but Arthur couldn’t think straight, not when the man pressed his chest flush with Arthur’s and sunk his teeth into his neck, making twins to all the bruises he’d left between Arthur’s legs. Reddish purple marks bloomed everywhere Charles focused his mouth, and it rendered the panting outlaw absolutely speechless.
When he wrapped his lips around Arthur’s nipple and pinched it between his teeth, Arthur felt a burning hot coil begin to wind tighter and tighter in his guts, a tingling rush of pleasure zapping through his body with an intensity that left him shaking.
“Ohh, fu-fuck me, oh God, I’m gonna- ahn! ’M so close, I-I’m-” He couldn’t catch enough air in his lungs to speak, cutting himself off with cries of rising desire.
“C'est vrai, mon chéri, laisse-moi éprouver ton orgasme. Laisse-moi regarder ta petite mort.” Those smooth nonsense words rumbled against the meat of Arthur’s chest, punctuated by another nip against his skin and a quickening of Charles’ pace.
The obscenity of it all must have been exactly what the Frenchman wanted, because he pulled back to watch right as Arthur came undone; tossing his head back and trembling as he made a mess over himself, practically mewling with the force of his climax, thighs twitching and eyes clenched shut. His insides quivered and pulsed, and he was left desperately keening into the nighttime air.
He barely heard the satisfied, hedonistic sounds coming from above him, but he felt it when Charles spilled himself inside, hips jerking as he pressed in as deeply as he could, cooing over him and running his hands down Arthur’s sides like a flighty horse.
“Mm, mon Dieu, cowboy, what a ride.” He didn’t sound as composed and cocky as normal, something tender in his voice that Arthur couldn’t figure. But it didn’t matter, because Arthur was pretty sure he’d left half his brains outside and that was why he couldn’t string together a coherent thought. But Chatenay was kind enough to help him out a little, wiping away the worst of the mess - with Arthur’s bandana, of course - and then gently pushing to readjust him on the bedroll so he could lay down beside him.
Were those fingers running through his hair, or was Arthur already dreaming?
---
Morning came like a headache, sunlight unfairly harsh as it cut through the flap in his tent, and Arthur grunted and rolled over onto his stomach, trying to hide his face in the bedroll.
A small laugh beside him had Arthur pausing, and he slowly raised his head from the tangle of blankets and clothes he’d unintentionally slept on. Charles Chatenay was sitting upright, smoking one of Arthur’s cigarettes and wearing his spare shirt.
“Bonjour, mon cher. Nothing like an orgasm to send you off to sleep, hm?”
Arthur scoffed, slowly sitting up and carefully tugging his clothes back on, ignoring the pulsing ache he felt between his legs. He fastened his pants and reached over to snatch the cigarette from Charles’ mouth, taking a deep drag and letting the smoke curl up from his lips.
“What time is it?” He asked, voice hoarse from all the racket he’d made the night before.
Charles hummed casually. “Ah, just about ten in the morning.”
It took a moment for that to register in Arthur’s head, and he blinked at the artist as soon as it did. “You missed yer train.”
“Oui, but I think I may have found something interesting enough to keep me here a while longer.” His eyes raked over Arthur’s form, and the outlaw shifted, averting his eyes and snorting.
“S’that so? Well, I gotta head back home soon, so if you ain’t catchin’ a train, you’d best catch the stage to Strawberry. Closest place with a hotel, s’far as I know.” He remarked, pausing for a moment before he looked back at the other man. “Unless you wanna go back to Saint Denis?”
“Bah, never again.” Charles waved it off like a bad smell. “That city has no soul! Plenty of ass, but nothing else.”
Arthur snorted. “Right, well...” He stubbed his cigarette out on the bottom of his boot and tossed the butt out the tent flap. “Strawberry ain’t too bad a place, I guess, though you’ll be the only painter for miles around, I reckon.”
Arthur slowly stood from his tent, legs feeling a bit rubbery and his ass still sore, but there was something nice about that feeling he didn’t want to dwell too deeply on.
Charles followed him. “A man like you has been to many places, non?”
“Sure.” Arthur agreed, kicking dirt over the smoldering embers of the previous night’s fire. He was absently thankful it hadn’t caught on anything while they’d been... busy.
It was a surprise when Charles began to pack the tent away without being asked, doing a clean and tidy job of it. “A traveling cowboy who returns to his empty homestead and lonely cows when he is finished with his delights, I see.”
Arthur couldn’t help but laugh. “I ain’t got no homestead.”
“No?” Charles looked over his shoulder. “Surely you must live somewhere.”
“Course.” Arthur stepped away to gather Felicity, who hadn’t wandered far in the night. Bringing her over to their little campsite, he began to tack her back up. “Jus’ ain’t ever in the same place for very long.”
“A nomad.” The Frenchman’s voice held a certain awe that Arthur had only ever heard from privileged city folk in regards to transience.
He laughed again. “If you wanna call it that.” He tightened the straps of the saddle and made sure it wouldn’t shift, and then didn’t have much else to do with himself as Charles replaced the bedroll and tent on his horse’s rump.
“So I will see you again.” It wasn’t a question, and was honestly rather presumptuous of the painter, but only Arthur scratched his jaw and shrugged.
“Uh, maybe. I’m all over, usually.” What was he saying? What was Charles asking? Because this wasn’t a thing, and he didn’t think that either of them really wanted it to be. Still, he hadn’t had a bad time, and even if he could be irritating and overly talkative, Charles was funny and alright company, and... well.
“Bon.” Charles stepped back, a look on his face that Arthur didn’t understand. But he also didn’t try very hard to.
He pulled himself into Felicity’s saddle, wincing at the rub of his bruised thighs and the tender ache in his backside.
“A’right, well... try not to get chased outta town or nothin’. I ain’t always gonna be around to save you from angry husbands or jilted lovers.” He looked down at the man. “Oh, an’ Strawberry’s a dry town, too.”
“What?!”
“Take care now.” Arthur wheeled Felicity around and fought the smile off his face at the ranting Frenchman he was leaving behind.
But as Arthur rode off, starting his lazy journey back towards Shady Belle, he realized he could very easily understand why a married woman might want to risk her reputation for a night with someone like Charles Chatenay.
He blew out a sigh and absently rubbed his love-marked neck. “Tarnation.”