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skylarsblue · 1 month

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★Sugar Cube★

★Red Dead Redemption★ ★Fem!Reader cause I was having a fem! day, use of Y/N(sorry), fluff, a tiny bit of hurt/comfort at the end, silly drunk Arthur at the start, I don't think there's sexual tension here but I could be wrong. The autism has overtaken me and he is all I think about, the depression wave is only kept at bay by this man.★ ★The border in the story is @fairytopea 's, if you'd like me to remove it I will :3★

The world rocked back and forth, a haze over the rolling fields of grass. Arthur slumped his head down a bit, looking at trees passing by. He had to be running, he was pretty sure walking didn’t make the world move so fast. This speed was extraordinary! Since when could he run so fast? He used to be quick in his youth, but nearing forty, his knees had really aged poorly. But here he was, zipping down a dirt road with agility, wind blowing past his face. With such grace too. Then, suddenly a bump, and he felt himself tilt dramatically to the side. Two long blinks and horse hooves hitting the ground came to his ears. He looked forward, seeing his trusty steed he’d been bonding with the past week dodging a tree to continue up the path. Arthur groaned a little and pulled himself right, then he leaned forward, weighed down by his own head. It was bumpy, but he rested his cheek on the horse’s neck, humming in a moment of peace when feeling the horse’s fur rubbed against his stubble. It was soft and warm. He always liked that about horses.

“Heheh, nice horsey.” He slurred, patting the horse’s side. It snorted, slowing down to a prance as the trees became thicker. Arthur continued petting the horse’s fur when it occurred to him that he was saying ‘it’. “Ah you’re not some random horse. Nah nah, I named you, right? Uh…what was it…” He mumbled, looking at the light brown color of the Clydesdale horse. A dusty color. Arthur gasped, a bit choked by his own saliva. “Dusty! That’s what I named ya! Ahh, Dusty you’re the best horse this side o’ the country.” He laid against her again, listening to her snort again, which made him let out a fit of giggles. Deep, short laughs that erupted from his chest. He looked around at the trees, and despite his fuzzy brain, he was able to pick out a landmark.

“Buh, camp. They're gonna make me go do some…stupid…tedious chore or somethin’.” The honey-brown haired man pouted. He huffed out a breath as Dusty went under a broken, spiky tree, approaching a lantern lit spot full of tents. The sun was setting. Dusty stomped past the horse ties and more toward the middle of the camp, catching the attention of some of the gang.

“Arthur Morgan, what the hell are you doin’?!”

Arthur winced at the shrill yell. He blinked slowly, looking in its direction, finding Miss O’Shea stood with her hands situated on her hips and a scowl ever present. He sat up slowly, hands grabbing the saddle so he wouldn’t fall, given how wobbly he was. “Heeyyy, Miss O’Sheaaa. Evenin’.” He nodded, though his head didn’t really come up afterward. The woman scoffed and tossed her hands up in exasperation, falling back to her sides with a smack sound. Lenny snickered from his place at the table. “You have fun at the saloon, Morgan?!” Javiar shouted to him. The man nodded again. The men laughed as O’Shea yelled for him to get down. He almost did until she called him a moron.

“‘Ey! I ain’t no moron! I’m quite smart, I’ll have you know.” He pointed, only for the loss of a stability point to send him leaning forward again. Dusty brayed as he landed against her neck once more. Arthur heard some more laughs from the picnic table but he didn’t open his eyes again. “Arthur Morgan, get your sorry ass off the horse.” She said again, and Arthur replied with a discontent grunt. “‘er name is Dusty, first o’ all. And two, no. Cause you called me a moron.” He replied defiantly, ending his sentence with a small hiccup. O’Shea blinked in awe at the utter sass as Arthur flipped his head over to keep from looking at her.

“Dutch, will you get your boy?” She motioned at the horse. Dutch chuckled around his cigar and held up his hands. “What makes you think he’ll listen to me? He’s a brat when he’s drunk.” He shrugged.

“Who’s drunk?” A sweetened voice asked. Walking around a tent with a bucket of water settled on her hip. “Arthur’s bein’ a brat.” Miss O’Shea huffed. Y/N set the bucket down and looked toward the horse, watching the rough and steely outlaw hum a tune while petting his companion, giggling quietly to himself when Dusty stamped a hoof into the ground and huffed. She laughed quietly behind her hand, watching him hug Dusty and mutter slurred praises. “Ah, I see, he’s drunk.” She nodded. “Drunk and ornery. We need him somewhat put together by tomorrow, so he needs to sleep this off, but the moron won’t get off the damn horse!” O’Shea shouted back at him. “Dusty!” He called back, more concerned about the respect to his horse than himself. Y/N giggled and shook her head. “You’re never gonna get him to listen with all that hollerin’. The way to get a stubborn boy to listen is to sweet talk’im. Lemme try.” She patted O’Shea on the shoulder before walking up to the Clydesdale.

“Arthur, hun, can ya look at me?” She asked. In an instant, he turned his head to look at her, and a goofy grin appeared across his face. “Heyyy, how’re you?” He asked. Y/N smiled up at him, feeling a sense of fondness bursting in her chest. She’d always been fond of Arthur, perhaps to the point of blatant favoritism. She didn’t really hide it either. While she might’ve been generally kind and helpful to the gang as a whole, it wasn’t hard to see when she gave him special treatment. When washing or fixing clothes, she’d take his without him asking, while she’d put up some resistance with the rest. When a petty argument broke out between him and someone else, she’d only really get onto the other party for saying something untoward, while Arthur’d get something half-heartedly scolding. “Let’s try to keep the peace, m’kay? Why don’t’cha go sit down and relax?” While someone like Micha got chewed up like a dog with a bone. Though, honestly, Micha probably had it coming most of the time.

She never outright denied her general adoration for the man, though she never explained it either. Maybe it was because he’d been the one to find her, help her out of the mess she’d been in. Or maybe it was because he was so helpful to her, to everyone. Or, perhaps, she just thought he was pretty. Could’ve been all of the above, really.

“I’m doin’ fine. You look like you could be doin’ better.” Y/N replied. He waved a hand with a light-hearted scoff. “Nah I’m fiiinne.” He went to get off the horse, dismounting with a wobble. He held his hands out in front of him to catch himself, and she readied to catch him if he went backwards instead, even if he was probably too heavy for her to carry. Thankfully, he stood upright, and pivoted with a smile. “See? Fine.” He said, as if he’d actually proven something. Y/N tilted her head and fought off some giggles, unlike the men at the table watching it all. “Sure, Arthur. How bout we get you lied down, hm?” She suggested, gently resting her hand on his arm to help keep him steady. Arthur shook his head and waved his hand dismissively again.

“Naaah nah, y’all got work to finish, I should help.” He said. Y/N sighed, her free hand coming to rest on her hip. O’Shea rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “I told you. Ain’t got no sense when he’s drunk.” The woman complained. Y/N held up a hand, silently telling her to settle down and give her a moment. If there was one thing Arthur was, it was a real bitter life. All iron and blood-soaked palms, tarnished leather and black coffee. It was how he’d been raised, and while it wasn’t something he’d grown to dislike, something being familiar didn’t necessarily make it pleasant. Y/N had seen peeks of something softer.

How tender his voice was when calming a horse, or how careful his lines were when he sketched a landscape, and how gentle his gaze got when left with a moment of peace. All these little moments of softness to help some part of him to stay alive, keep himself from turning into nothing but a selfish, shallow husk. But keeping it alive on his own had to be tough. Y/N had always been the caring type, even when it got her into dangerous situations. She’d grown less naive, but not less sensitive, and that need to let life flourish was something she held onto dearly. Be it a garden or a man who probably hadn’t had a hug in Lord knows how long.

“I think it’s real nice you wanna help, but ain’t you been doin’ a lot recently?” Y/N asked. Her voice was softer, sweeter, and it caught Arthur’s attention almost immediately. “Uh, well…” He trailed off and leaned into her hand, now giving a gentle squeeze to the tense muscle of his shoulder. “All that runnin’ ‘round, pickin’ up the slack. All kinds of stuff you barely got thanked for. Don’t’cha deserve a little rest? Even just a nap?” She asked. His shoulders loosened the more she spoke, like he was being lulled to sleep with a lullaby.

The blue eyed man hummed quietly, then began to nod slowly. “Yeah…Yeah I do a lot, don’t I? I guess a lil rest wouldn’t hurt.” He mumbled. Y/N smiled and slid her hand down to his, holding it carefully, despite the rough calluses and scars. With a cautious pull, she began to lead him, stumbling toward his tent. “I think you’re exactly right. So why don’t we get you situated for bed, hm? Maybe I’ll talk Dutch into gettin’ you some extra hours in the mornin’.” She said. With a look over her shoulder, she grinned proudly at the onlookers. That being the boys at the table, Dutch, and Miss O’Shea. All either with smiles of their own or agape mouths. She snickered before turning her attention back to Arthur, helping him duck into his tent and meander up to his cot.

He sat down with a grunt. “There ya go, ain’t that nicer than standin’?” She asked, reaching to remove his hat from his head. Arthur gave a noncommittal noise back, blinking slowly, trying to remove the haze in his vision. He was very sleepy all of a sudden, and his limbs felt oddly heavy. After dusting some dirt from his hat and setting it down, she pushed the strands of hair that’d fallen in his face out of the way. His hair had grown a bit, starting to reach the lower part of his neck. He let out a shaky exhale when her nails dragged over his scalp, and the sound brought a sorrowful feeling to her heart. It was something so small and quick, and yet it had such an effect. She hesitated to pull her hand back, playing it off as her fixing his hair a bit more as he fought to stay awake. “How bout we get you ready for bed, hm?” Y/N whispered. He peeked up at her, eyelids heavy and barely open to gaze at her features. Even in the dark her face made him feel warm, fuzzy, much like the alcohol he’d imbibed. He gave her a slow nod, yawning as she untied the handkerchief from around his neck. He helped the best he could, using the toe of his right boot to kick off the left one, then repeated the process for the other one. “Think you can manage your belt, hun?” She asked. He looked down at the golden buckle, as if actually considering if he could manage it, before he nodded and gave an affirmative grunt. She laughed under her breath as he struggled for a moment, picking up his boots in order to move them aside, lest he trip over them in the morning.

He managed, with a mild struggle, to get his belt undone and off. She took it from him and set it aside, being sure to remove his gun. He always kept it beside his bed or under his pillow, and she was going to honor that personal rule. “You need anything else, sweetheart?” Y/N asked, approaching him once again. She stood in front of him, close enough to touch, though his hands remained in his lap. She was dimly lit by a burning lantern in the far corner, running low on oil. His head felt heavy, but he forced his chin upward to look at her more. He opened his mouth, though words didn’t leave it. She smiled so sweetly, tucking his bangs back, watching him melt under it.

“Poor thing, all rusty steel and splitterin’ wood, ain’t no one takin’ care of you. You gotta be exhausted.” She said, letting his chin fall into her palm, supporting the weight for him, much to his endearment. He closed his eyes as she stroked his cheek with her thumb, undeterred by the roughness of his stubble. “Ain’t ever been rich enough for sugar.” He grumbled, words still a bit garbled, tongue tied from liquor. She clicked her tongue sympathetically. He unintentionally leaned forward, his forehead coming to rest on her sternum. She shifted her positioning for him to be more comfortable, hands coming up to the back of his head and neck. He just about groaned when she lightly scratched his scalp, and oh how delighted she felt at it. Though how much he’d been deprived of this hurt her heart, the fact he was letting her make up for it felt all the nicer. She’d take bittersweet as a middle ground.

“Arthur.” She cooed his name, getting a grunt in response. She moved her hands to help him tilt his head up to look at her, met with a sleepy gaze, black pupils overtaking the blue she’d come to favor. “Tell ya what,” She began. “Whenever you get sick of the bitter world, and you want a little break, you come tell me. You can get all the sugar ya want, ‘kay? Everyone deserves a little sweetness here and there.” She offered. He stared at her, limp in relaxation. He hummed. “Ya sure?” He asked, feeling her gently guide him off of her and down to the bed. She propped his head on the pillow, putting his hands over his torso. “Mhm, absolutely positive.” She affirmed, covering him with the quilt rolled up at the end of the bed. She gave him another scratch to his temple, seeing as he liked it so much. His eyes fluttered closed, sighing. “Mm, alrighty, I’ll keep that in mind.” He replied, words hushed. “Good, now get some rest, cowboy. You’re gonna need it.” She cooed again. He was out quickly, allowing her to admire him for a moment. He was plastered, she doubted he’d remember any of the conversation they’d just had. But she wouldn’t mind repeating it to him anyway, since she meant it wholeheartedly. Perhaps a little selfishly, she pecked his forehead before leaving his tent, not missing the unconscious smile it got from him.

He hadn’t forgotten. Not the core parts of the night, anyway. Even when he’d woken up with a blasting headache thumping behind his eyes, trying to piece together everything. He remembered the majority of her words, and he couldn’t forget the feeling of her warmth, and the delicate way she spoke. And it humiliated him for the entire morning, but even when he was visibly ashamed she was sweet.

He’d sat up on his cot and put his head in his hands, grumbling to himself about how stupid he was. Flushed across his cheeks and up to his ears. Maybe if he asked John to help him, he could dig a hole and bury himself in it, the man owed him anyway. He called himself a fool, only to hear a giggle that forced his heart to a stop. With a wince, he glanced to the side between his fingers. Of course, there she stood, illuminated by the morning sun, holding a steaming cup of coffee. “A foolish decision doesn’t necessarily make a fool, Mr.Morgan. It’s several foolish decisions that make a pattern, then, that makes a fool.” She said, stepping into the tent. He slid his hands off his face and hesitantly took the cup she held out to him. She was trying to make him feel better, he knew that, and damn it worked.

“How’s your head feelin’, cowboy?” Y/N asked. He grumbled, rubbing his eyes. He could feel his heartbeat in the sockets, and the sunlight certainly wasn’t helping. He heard her chuckle as he sipped at the drink. It’s warmth nothing compared to hers, and shamefully, he wished to feel the heat of her palm on his face again, sober this time. “Asked Charles to grab some tea when he and Hosea had into town today, always helped me with headaches when I had it. I’ll make you a lil if it doesn’t settle soon.” She promised. He thanked her quietly, feeling her pat his shoulder. His tongue felt like metal in his mouth, weighing down the words he needed to use. He swallowed as she pivoted to leave, and he felt his chest tighten as she did.

Y/N paused when he coughed a little too poignantly. She looked over her shoulder, finding him fidgety and shy as he looked at the ground. “Yes, Arthur?” She asked, turning to look at him again. How sweet it was when he could only manage a quick glance before his cheeks flushed again. “I uh, ahem, last night…” He started, bouncing his leg slightly. She nodded and motioned for him to continue. He took in a deep breath. “You uh, you offered uhm…” He was so bad at words, it was one of his many faults. Either he spoke before he thought, or he used the wrong word and messed up the entire sentence, or he’d choke on whatever he wanted to say and they’d get sick of waiting, making him lose an opportunity. She had patience though, and let out another breathy laugh. Fond and kind, not mocking.

“I offered you sugar, yes. I said you could ask, whenever ya wanted, and I wouldn’t mind.” Y/N reiterated. He nodded and rubbed the back of his neck, staring down at the coffee in the little mug in his other hand. “So, uh, does that offer-” “It still applies when you’re sober, mister. Don’t worry.” She confirmed. Arthur swallowed. It felt like syrup, thick and encompassing, making him sluggish. He was still aware of the spiking pain in his skull, and while he knew it was his own fault, he would’ve loved relief. Even if he didn’t deserve it, to feel her nails gently pet at his head again sounded like heaven. He was a man of pride, and as mean as he could be, all rough and guarded, he still had a boyish sense of timidness when asking for something so nice. But she offered, and he wasn’t sure when he’d get another chance. He’d been told before he needed to get better at knowing when he waited too long, and when he went too quick. Now, he hoped he was picking right.

“I uh…this coffee’s kinda harsh.” He held up the cup a little awkwardly. Y/N blinked before her expression softened, and he felt like ice under the heat of a fire as she walked back to him slowly. “That right?” She asked. Arthur cleared his throat and nodded. “Little harsh on the headache ‘s all.” He replied quietly. She tilted her head before her hand rose up, finding its place on his temple. With a little pressure from her thumb, she rubbed small circles, and it helped ease the ache. “So you’d prefer somethin’ a little sweeter, huh?” She asked. His shoulders loosened, and like the night before, his eyelids grew heavy. He nodded slowly, sighing when she lightly scratched at his scalp. “I got’cha.” She whispered, using both her hands to help combat the headache, even rubbing around his eyes, where it hurt the most. At this rate, he might not even need the tea she’d offered. However long she stood there, he relished all of it, the coffee growing colder by the second. When her hands finally stopped, coming to rest on his shoulders, his headache hadn’t vanished but was far more tolerable.

“How’re you feelin’?” She asked. Arthur stared up at her sleepily, face lax, and if you’d asked her, she’d say he seemed drunk again. “Better.” He confirmed. Y/N grinned, giving the muscle of his shoulder a light squeeze. Then her name was called. She winced and looked back at him. “I gotta help fix that wagon Micha’s idiotic ass broke.” She huffed, and he snickered. “I’ll be alright. Thank ya.” He replied. Y/N couldn’t stop grinning, and she was certain her expression showed her adoration, not like she was trying to hide it. “Alrighty then. Just lemme know if ya need anythin’.” She rose her hand to his hair, mussing it up this time. He groaned and went to fix it, listening to her giggle as she left the tent. He caught a glimpse of her right before she disappeared from line of sight, sighing when she was gone. He was a little too familiar with the ache he had to follow her.

“Shit.” He sighed, raising the coffee to his lips again. This time, he winced at the taste. Maybe he wasn’t as into bitterness as he thought he was.

From that day on, he progressively got more and more needy for a shot of something full of sucrose. It was subtle most of the time, mostly to avoid all the teasing the rest of the gang would undoubtedly give. But he’d started to ask even when others were around, and oh how it helped, even on the worst day.

On the third day since he’d arrived drunk off his ass, he’d muttered something about he and his horse missing sugarcubes on hard days. He’d been battered around by mother nature trying to get fish for that night’s dinner, laughed at by Javiar because a trout jumped out the damn river and smacked him in the face. Then Dusty caught sight of a snake in the grass on the way back, turned too quick, and had him slide off the side into the dirt, scraped up his elbow and dent the bill of his hat.

She’d heard him and paused what she was doing, turning to him with that gaze full of sympathy. She used her foot to pull over a stool beside her, motioning with her head for him to sit. When he did, she carried on with her task, but did her best to keep her hand somewhere on his back, caressing light circles in his shoulders as she recounted how grateful she’d been for what he’d done the past week. Unashamedly inflating his ego, and oh how it helped, having him leaning on the table as he listened to her praises.

Then a week passed and he’d gotten caught in the rain, without his horse. It’d been his fault for thinking a walk was a good idea when he knew the clouds in the distance spelled out a storm, but he’d been so sure he could’ve made it back in time. Of course, he didn’t, and he arrived back into camp soaking wet and muddied. The rain had turned to a light sprinkle but he was dripping water and scowling. He’d nearly punched Micha’s jaw off when the man took joy in his misery, until he caught sight of Y/N sewing a hole in Karen’s tights under cover. She saw his sorry state, and just like before, gave him a smile. An aura of ‘you poor thing’ that made him want to curl up in her lap. As if he wasn’t a grown man with more than a few bounties to his name.

He’d trudged over with an expression more akin to a pout than a scowl. She looked up at him as he stood, dripping water. “You know, before the storm hit, I cleaned some of your clothes. Should be dry by now. I even had some of that scented soap left, lavender.” She said. Arthur sighed and nodded, he hadn’t said it, but she knew the ‘thank you’ was in his mind. He went off to his tent, finding the clothes she was talking about laid out and ready for him. The anger that’d built up began to dwindle as he changed into them, hanging them up along with his hat before he made his way back to her.

She looked up from sewing and smiled. She grabbed the stack of clothes she was tasked with sewing and moved them aside, offering up the space beside her. He sat down close enough, their knees touched, sighing when she patted his leg. “Good job today.” She said. Three words, and it made him sink down, eased and peaceful. He muttered his gratitude and listened to her hum a tune, sound mixing with the sound of water hitting the earth.

By the second week, he’d grown accustomed to asking a little more blatantly. Asking if she had anything sweet after dinner, if she knew how much sugar cost at the shop, if she knew of anything candied to chase down the burn of some whiskey. Each time, she’d reply casually, but sneak in her tender touches and merciful gaze. She’d give him a once over and always knew just how much sugar to pour into his cup. On days where he only needed a little, she’d give him encouraging praise and a pat on the back, enough to keep his chin held high. On worse days, she’d overload it, allowing him to lean his head against her as she distracted him from his day with recountings of her own. Oh, and petting his hair, he always seemed to like that.

It’d really gotten more obvious to the gang. Leading to some teasing and hushed conversations, mostly the girls asking if they were sweet on one another. Arthur had flushed bright red, though it’d been hidden by a light sunburn, and waved his hand. Talking over them to make it clear he didn’t wanna hear it. While Y/N, mysterious as always, had shrugged with a cheeky grin and sauntered off. Really, it wasn’t hard to realize why they’d ask. Tilly said she’d seen Y/N look at him like he’d helped raise the sun every morning, Mary-Beth replied with Arthur’s pension for drawing her when he thought no one was looking. A whole page spread dedicated to her, she claimed. Though, none of them were quite foolish enough to try and nab his journal to look and confirm. But, Karen did like the sight of it. As brazen as she could be, she’d always loved romance in books, and she wouldn’t lie and say that the interactions weren’t entertaining.

She slipped her theories to Dutch when she overheard he’d be sending Arthur into a town just past Valentine to check around, see if he could find anything useful. He wasn’t sure who to send with the boy, even if Arthur was pretty capable on his own. Dutch wasn’t one for match-making, and he didn’t like meddling in romantic affairs, not when there were important things to look after. But, Arthur had been good to him, and it wasn’t like Y/N hadn’t done well with all the tasks he’d given her. He couldn’t see the harm in getting them a little alone time. Maybe it’d do Arthur some good.

Thing was, getting there was fairly easy, if you ignored the run in with some men that Dutch had pissed off half-way through. Or the mini dust storm that hit them suddenly. All of which culminated in them getting into town as the sun was setting, something that pissed Arthur off immensely, since he had stuff that needed buying. Chances were the shops would be closed by now.

“Could rob’em.” Y/N whispered as she tethered her horse outside a hotel. Arthur paused the process of rolling his sore neck to look at her, eyebrow raised. “I thought you preferred payin’ shopkeeps.” He replied. “I was kiddin’, Arthur. There are better places to rob and people more deservin’ of losin’ money.” She gently smacked his arm with a snicker. Arthur grumbled, adjusting his hat. “I’ll get the room situation handled, just see if anyone’s open.” She said. “Yes ma’am.” Arthur held up his hands, beginning to walk across the street. “And I mean it! Pay fairly!” She shouted to him whilst she made her way to the hotel door, getting a hand wave in response.

“Good evening, ma’am.” The man behind the counter greeted her. An older man with a thick handlebar mustache. “Evenin’. What’s the price of a room, sir?” She asked. “Two beds is five dollars a night, a single is two dollars.” He replied. Y/N winced and considered her options for a moment. She imagined Arthur wasn’t too picky, but she worried maybe it’d be a little uncomfortable. But, if he really did feel that way, she could simply sleep in a chair. She shook off her worries and nodded. “A single then, please.” She replied, getting a nod. She grabbed her money as he grabbed the key. “Ah, do you have baths? How much do they cost?”

“About 25 cents, a dollar for a wash girl.” The man replied. She shook her head and slipped him forty cents. “I have a friend I’m stayin’ with. His name’s Arthur. Blue eyes, stubble, black hat, covered in dirt. Can’t miss’im.” She smiled. “If you could tell him I paid for a bath and the room, I’d appreciate it. Lord knows he’s earned it.”

The man nodded and pointed back to the bath rooms. Y/N thanked him again. She didn’t plan on staying in there long, just a quick rinse. She preferred not dragging outside into bed with her, gritty sand and dirt didn’t make for a good bed mate. She was out and set up in the room before Arthur arrived, she figured he’d found an open shop, maybe bargaining. He always said haggling was easiest when someone was tired or drunk, and it was best to strike a deal whenever possible. Just so long as you could be away fast enough before they realized how short the straw they drew was.

Her assumption was correct. Arthur managed to buy what Dutch told him too, had his bag heavier than before, weighing on his shoulder. The man bit back a wince when he raised his arm, rolling his shoulder, hoping it’d loosen the muscle. It only caused a sharp stabbing pain to pulsate from under his shoulder blade. He held his shoulder with his opposite hand and pushed into the hotel, finding the keeper about ready to leave. The man looked him over once and then gave a smile. “Arthur?” He asked, making the cowboy’s brows furrow. “Yes?” He replied suspiciously. “Young lady came in and paid for the room, and a bath. You made it just in time too, was about to close up.” The keeper explained, placing a key on the desk. Arthur picked it up and blinked. “A bath?” He asked. “She said you’d earned it. No wash girl though.” Arthur shook his head at that, mumbling a quick ‘thanks’ before making his way back.

The steam that rose from the water wafted in the air and beckoned him. He would’ve been fine washing up in a river, he’d done that plenty, since warm baths were a luxury. But it never stopped being nice when he could get one. He told himself to thank Y/N when he could, feeling the warm water help ease the tension in his back. That knot in his shoulder hadn’t left though, and relaxing almost made it worse. He hissed through his teeth but tried to set it aside, enjoy what he could. But when it came time to wash his hair, he found it hard to lift his hands that high.

He had a high pain tolerance, he’d been shot and stabbed plenty of times, but that didn’t mean he liked pain. If he forced himself, he could’ve done it, but it felt like another stone thrown at him when he’d already been in a rock slide. One last little thing to mess with him, make his day a little worse. He grumbled to himself, rubbing at his shoulder again, cursing the air. He glanced up from the bubbles in the tub when he heard light steps down the hall, then a light knock at the door. He frowned and furrowed his brows. He didn’t pay for a wash girl, and given the time, they’d probably all gone anyway.

“Arthur? You in there?” Y/N’s voice spoke from the other side. His scowl turned into a mix of shock and shame. “Uh, yeah.” He said, coughing away a voice crack. He sank down a little more in the shield of bubbles when the door cracked a little, just enough for her head to poke in. “You took awhile, I was worried somethin’ happened. How long you been in here?” She asked. He shrugged. “Couple minutes.” He replied. He watched her gaze narrow, as if she was struggling to see, trying to make something out. “You ain’t washed your hair yet?” Her question made him sigh and flush pink. “Got a damn crick in my back, hurts to lift my arm. I’ll be fine, just gotta bare it.” He brushed off casually.

“Wh- Gosh, no. You don’t need to go hurtin’ yourself worse than you already are.” Without a moment of hesitation, she stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her. She’d gotten ready for bed, white night gown flowing around her ankles, hair undone. “I’ll wash your hair, sit up a bit.” She motioned. Arthur’s chest felt tight, like his ribs were bars and a rowdy prisoner banged against them, his heart the criminal. “I can’t ask ya to-” “You ain’t askin’, I’m offerin’, sweetheart. You’ve had a hard day, least I can do is help get all that dust out of your hair.” She cut him off, rolling back her sleeves, settling down on the stool. He swallowed. That heavy syrup sensation had returned to the back of his throat, catching words that threatened to break past the barrier of his teeth. Once she was settled behind him, she caught him staring over his shoulder, and sent him a grin.

With a motion of her hands, he sighed, lamenting. It’d been a long time since he’d felt so…boyish, immature maybe. So embarrassed by something like this. He’d had baths in rivers in plain sight of the gang, had a few wash girls do this exact job before, all that never bothered him. Why was it because of her that he felt so shy all of a sudden? He wasn’t the shy type, he didn’t think so anyway. Arthur picked at his nails under the water as she wetted his hair. She used two fingers under his chin, tilting his head back a bit so she didn’t get soap in his eyes. “Relax, Arthur. I ain’t waitin’ to tear your throat out.” She whispered, hushed words sent the hair on his arm standing up. He forced his muscles to loosen as best he could, though forcing didn’t do much good.

He stayed awkwardly stiff until he felt her fingers drag through his hair. Like she’d touched his brain directly, flipped a switch, he eased more into the bath with a sigh, leaning his head back into her palms. She bit back a quiet giggle, scrubbing lightly. “Hair’s gettin’ pretty long, you should let me trim it when we get back.” She said absentmindedly, being sure to drag her nails over his temples and behind his ears. She bit her bottom lip to fight off a laugh again when he let out a little groan from the back of his throat.

“Ya hear me?” She asked. “Huh? Oh uh, yeah, sure sure.” He replied, voice thick and low with tranquility. She kept her loving teases to herself, let him enjoy the moment, she certainly was. Maybe it was because she knew he appreciated it that it felt so fulfilling. Could’ve been that she just liked feeling useful, needed. Whatever the reason, she relished in it, taking her time. Just to make sure she got out all the muck.

Of course, she couldn’t milk it for that long. Eventually, she had to rinse out all the suds, ring out the excess water. He kept quiet but missed the treatment when she stood up. “Need anythin’ else, hun?” She asked, leaning into his line of sight. Like before, he looked up at her lazily, like he’d been floating in the clouds moments before. “Hm…no, I’m alright. Thank ya.” He nodded. She nodded back. Arthur looked back down at the bath, knowing he’d have to get out soon. He heard her step away to leave, glancing up again when she was at the door. “I’ll see you in a bit.” She said before leaving him alone once again. He stared at the door for a while, swearing the room got dimmer when she left, less warm too. He huffed and rubbed his face with his hands, slowly exhaling between his fingers. Cursing to himself.

When he left the bathroom, now in clothes from his bag, hair still damp, he meandered up the steps. His body felt heavy, and if it weren’t for the stabbing throb in his back, he’d be looking forward to dropping on the mattress. He opened the door to the room, met with a lamp on and the quiet humming of a familiar tone. He stepped in and shut the door, finding Y/N with a book in hand whilst sat upon a singular chair. He looked around the room and caught her eye once he was done surveying it. “One bed?” He asked. “It was cheaper. Figured you wouldn’t mind, but if you do, I’ll sleep right here.” She replied. Arthur scoffed. “I ain’t havin’ you sleep in a chair. I’ll sleep there-” “No ya won’t. You’ll take the bed, mister. I’m not negotiating.”

Her tone was firm and she pointed a finger to get her point across all the more strongly. Arthur let his bag slip to the floor, staring at her in disbelief, before he let out a breathy laugh. “Fine. But I’m still not havin’ you sleep in the chair.” He replied, walking to the bed in order to sit down. She tossed her hands up after marking her place in the story. “Alright, ‘suppose I can agree to that.” She laughed, only for her smile to fall when he grunted in pain. “You okay?”

He looked over at her and nodded. “Fine, just my shoulder ‘s all.” He answered. She stared at him for a moment longer, watching him tug at the collar of his shirt, trying to cool himself down. It was the height of Summer, even the nights were getting humid and uncomfortable. “Hot?” She asked. “It’s this damn shirt. Only one I had clean, but it’s made for Winter. I’d take it off but,” He motioned in her direction, much to her amusement. Crinkling her nose, she snickered and shook her head. “You act like it’s some kinda curse. You can sleep shirtless, I won’t mind. It’s not like skin’s gonna kill me, Arthur.”

“Didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable ‘s all.” He retorted. “Well I ain’t, but you certainly are. Go ‘head. It’s not problem to me, but you dyin’ of heat stroke might be.” Y/N motioned with her hand and he tapped his fingers on his knee for a moment. He muttered something before taking her advice. She did her best to remain respectful, though she caught a couple glances, nothing too distasteful. Her face fell again when he hissed about his back again, and when he tossed the shirt away, a series of pops emanated from the muscles, making her wince in his place. “You sure you’re alright?” She asked, standing up, leaving her book in the seat.

“I’ve had worse. It ain’t pleasant but I’ll live.” The man said with a light cough, rolling his neck, that too popped rather loudly. He felt her hand come up to replace his, exhaling when she applied pressure to a specific point of soreness. It hurt, but in the way a stretch in the morning did. She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she looked at his sorry state. It always made her ache, especially if it was something she couldn’t help fix.

Arthur wasn’t a good man, she knew that. But it wasn’t like she could judge. He’d never been anything but good to her, did right by the gang as best he could too. Every day she swore he did something else that went either unnoticed or un-thanked, and that killed her. Sure, there were probably men more deserving of kindness, people who didn’t rob and shoot to survive. But she hadn’t fallen for them, hadn’t ever met a man like that of which could compare to Arthur. When God came to judge the man’s soul, she’d gladly plead his case through the bars of the pearly gates. He’d been through enough, and when her mind ran away from her into a place darker than the night, she could sense it wouldn’t be ending any time soon. That hurt to think about. To worry about an unforeseen future likely full of strife of all sorts, things she’d probably have no say in, no ability to save him from.

But she had him safe for a night. In a place with walls and locks on doors, in her sights and close enough to touch. She couldn’t fix every problem he had, but she could make this night a little easier, surely. It was the least she could do.

“You trust me?” She asked. Arthur glanced up at her, a bit confused, but he nodded. She patted his shoulder. “Gonna seem a lil awkward, but just trust me.” She motioned with her head to the mattress. “Lie on your front.” He blinked a few times rapidly, clearly more confused than he was a second prior, perhaps a bit bashful. Y/N snorted and shook her head. “Easy, cowboy. Nothin’ like that.” She reassured. Arthur tilted his head back, tucking his tongue into his cheek as he glanced her up and down. After a short staring contest, he sighed and tossed his hands up a bit, doing as he was told.

“If this is how you plan on killin’ me, I commend your patience.” He commented, cheek set on a pillow. He heard her laugh, and it helped ease the tension in the room. He knew full well she wasn’t going to hurt him, he was just talking to fill the room with something else to focus on, given how uncomfortable it felt. Mostly because he wasn’t sure what was happening. He jumped when her weight ended up around his waist. “Easy, I told you it’d be awkward, but I need you to trust me here, sweetheart.” Her voice said, patting his arm. Arthur scoffed a little. “Pardon me for bein’ caught off guard, ma’am.” He sassed, getting a light thump to the back of his head, which he complained about.

“Hush. And keep your arms down, won’t work if you’re puttin’ stress on’em.” Y/N answered. He let his arms fall, grumbling about her being bossy, before he felt the heel of her palm press against his shoulder blade. His mouth curled into a hurt scowl, inhaling between his teeth. She rubbed a slow circle and hushed him quietly, instructing him to breath. It hurt, but the muscle began to loosen. She could feel the knot of tension under the skin, clicking her tongue sympathetically, it had to hurt like hell. “Okay. I need you to follow my instruction, ‘kay? I want you to take a deep breath, all the way until you can’t fill your lungs no more.” She whispered. Arthur did as told, not really sure where it was going, but he wasn’t up for questioning.

“Good, now, exhale it all. Until your chest is completely empty. Go slow.” Her words helped make him sleepier, more relaxed, which she knew good and well. It was why she was whispering. As he pushed out the oxygen until he was straining to keep doing so, with all her weight, she pushed into his back with her palm. A loud pop sound echoed off the walls with the quick following of a loud groan into the pillow he laid on.

She lessened the pressure and rubbed his shoulder again. “Did I get it?” She asked. Arthur didn’t give words, but let out an affirmative noise, face buried in the pillow. She smiled as he seemed to sink into the mattress the more she worked out the tension. She wasn’t content at just the shoulder though, so she moved over to the other side. Using her knuckles to trace around the bones. Every now and then, she’d stumble across another little knot, working them out with dutiful care.

“You fallin’ asleep on me, Morgan?” Y/N asked after some silence, pulling at the muscle in his lower back. Once again, he simply gave a noise. She snickered when she caught a yawn he let out. When he let out an appreciative noise when she worked at his waist, she chuckled again. “See, no one realizes how much strain we put on our lower backs until you’re in a position like this.” She commented lazily. “Mhm.” He replied. Y/N couldn’t stop smiling again, her cheeks were starting to hurt. She glanced down when she felt a warm touch on her leg, finding his hand turned toward her, lightly holding her ankle. She melted as his thumb carefully caressed the bone, a silent bit of appreciation. She knew full well she couldn’t left it there, but the moment was so sweet, and not easy to come by.

He blinked slowly when she leaned over him, tapping his temple. Her weight was off of him, something that kept him from dozing off. Arthur lifted his chin, looking at her in his peripheral. “Mind flippin’ over, hun?” She asked. He yawned again, nodding slightly. He moved from his stomach to his back, too relaxed to make a cheeky comment about her sitting back down. He rubbed his eye tiredly as she picked up his opposite hand. “Ya know, if someone asked me if you were drunk right now, I’d say yes. You look like you’re gone, mister.” She teased, pressing her thumbs into his palm before dragging the pressure down his wrist. Arthur let his other hand drop down, his vision a bit hazed over. “Might be.” He mumbled, barely opening his mouth to speak.

He smiled slightly when she laughed. He felt the pull of his tendons as she pushed his hand back, cautious to not over do it. “Sorry.” He commented unconsciously, the word slipping out without much thought. Y/N looked at his face with her brows furrowed. “What for?” She questioned, moving her hand up to his bicep. He flinched when the soreness became apparent under her touch. “My hands. Ain’t too nice for holdin’ I know.” He said. “Now why would you think that, Arthur?” She asked, squeezing the muscle that connected his neck to his shoulder. He tilted his chin out of the way as he thought of how to word his answer.

“You got dainty hands, all soft and nice. Mine…mine are all scratched up and tough. ‘s gotta feel like gravel at this point.” He explained. Y/N scoffed, taking his other hand in her own to repeat the process. “Oh shush, that ain’t true. They’re a workin’ mans hands, that’s all. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with’em.” She replied. “They ain’t kind like yours either.” Arthur retorted, making her pause for a second. She shook her head with a sigh, working out the tension in his scapulae muscle. She stopped and moved her hand to his jaw instead, prompting him to look at her.

She looked inviting in the warm lamp light, accentuating the curve of her cheekbones and the color of her eyes. How warm she was, and he could smell the hint of soap. “Robbin’ or not, you’re a good man, Arthur. Maybe not all the time, but you ain’t a monster either.” She said. His face showed he wasn’t buying it. He eased further when her hand dragged up, pushing his hair back. “No I ain’t.” He whispered back. Y/N clicked her tongue and grabbed his cheeks with both her hands, leaned close and eyes intense with the need to convey her point. “Arthur Morgan, look at me.” She demanded. He listened, even if it felt difficult to do.

“I don’t care bout the law’s definition, and I’m well beyond the words of the Holy Ghost. I don’t care how many men out there hope for you to hang, and I don’t care how much blood stains those hands of yours.” She stroked his cheekbone and up beside his eye, running over the lines that had formed in his skin, brought on by years of expressions. Mainly laughter and grins, things she savored every time she saw them. “The Arthur I know is a loyal man, a workin’ man, a brother and a mentor, a leader and a guard. He fights for what needs to be done and earns his keep, and then some. Your hands might be gun wielding but they’re also caring. When you draw in that journal, or when you pet your horse, pat Jack on the back like he was your own blood.”

His eyes had widened by now and his throat felt like it was being gripped, a pressure building up and threatening to break like a damn. It was so much to take in, too much, but looking away felt like blasphemy. He might not have been a man of worship, not to God, not anymore. But to sin against her might be what damned him, and he wasn’t ready for that. He never would be.

“You might be a bad man, but you ain’t been nothin’ but good to me. Whether you like it or not, you will always be a good man to me. And I’ll be damned if I let you go a day not knowin’ it.” Y/N finished, her voice a bit choked by now. She managed to keep her tears down, but her eyes got misty nevertheless. Arthur rolled his jaw and clenched his teeth, at loss for what words to say. She fixed his hair again and sighed. “Am I clear?” She asked. He stared, fidgety, before he sat up suddenly. She felt his arms wrap around her waist tightly, his forehead resting on her shoulder.

Y/N took a moment to process before she relaxed, bringing her hands to him once again. Her cheek rested on his head, scratching his scalp, the other hand resting on his shoulder. “You haven’t answered me.” She commented. Arthur squeezed her for a moment. “Loud ‘nd clear, ma’am.” He replied, voice a bit hoarse but not any less genuine. She smiled and turned to peck him on the temple. “I’ll keep tellin’ you til it sticks. Mark my words, Arthur Morgan. I’ll keep that bitter man you think you are at bay.” She promised. He managed a choked up chuckle against the fabric of her nightgown.

“I’ll hold you to that, sugar.”

#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 arthur #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead redemption x reader #fem reader #female reader #fluff

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greytabbydreams · 1 year

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Honest Confessions: (16+) warnings include curse words and slight sexual content. It’s mainly fluff and Arthur being shy and awkward lol.

Summary: Set in chapter four of the story, right after Jack is saved from Angelo Bronte. Arthur gets drunk and reveals a secret. 🤭

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Honest Confessions ~

The evening was as optimistic as it was humid since we had just saved young Jack from Angelo Bronte, earlier that day. Although, from the sounds of it Jack didn’t seem to be in too much trouble. Talk of sleeping in some lavish room and eating Italian food. What did he call it again? Spaghetti? In any sense, the gang was in rather high spirits. Javiar is playing his guitar and singing, while a part of the group did their best to sing along overlooking the fact nobody could understand a word of Spanish. I laughed to myself watching my friends smiling faces flicker in the campfire light. I turned around to face the table I was resting on, there was an opened box of liquor. I reached in and grabbed a bottle and took a drink. A warm tingling feeling instantly sent a calming sensation into my face and chest. The drink was definitely some good whiskey. On a normal occasion, I wouldn’t want to over-drink, but since tonight was so great… What the hell, when isn’t there a better time to get drunk than being surrounded by friends? I finished my first bottle and grabbed another for walking around while chatting with everyone around the camp…

…

A couple of hours had passed, and the party was starting to slow down. But I think I might be on my… third?... probably fifth bottle of whatever alcohol I was sipping on, it honestly doesn’t matter I was feeling incredible and surprisingly chatty.

“J-John,” my words were tumbled out, “I, just wanna tell ya’ you doin’ okay.”

“Aw thanks, Arthur.” The stringy man replied with a goofy smile.

“You’re a good dad, you’re gonna do right by the kid.” I slurred while giving a little smack to the back of John’s shoulder.

“I hope you’re right.” He said while pushing me away from him.

“You should probably stop drinking now, and eat something though Arthur.”

“Alright, Marston.” I reply giving a dismissive wave as I turn around to face the entrance of the Shady Belle manor. I squinted into the darkness, did I just see something move? Could that be… Charles? He’s still on guard duty during the party? How absurd is that! I quickly began to stomp my way up the hill to confront the man.

“Wh-wat da’ hell are ya’ doin’ up here all by yourself?” I clumsily question the large man who didn’t seem too startled by my company.

“I’m on guard duty this evening. And you’re pretty drunk my friend.” He replied in his normal stoic yet warm tone.

“Come on Charles,” I wine, “ we’re c-clearly havin’ a party.” I gesture back to the campfire that was now being put out by Abigail, while other members of the gang were cleaning up the rest of the mess.

“Looks like I missed out.” Charles replied letting out a little chuckle.

“Aw shit…I think you’re right.” I said with a sigh.

“Well, I haven’t talked to you ALLLL night! So come on, take a little break and sit with me.” With that, I plop right down in the dirt beside Charles. Charles lets out a little sigh in protest but then sits down next to me.

“Okay, what’s on your mind, Morgan?” Charles asks.

“Well, I’m just really happy you’know?” I hummed while looking up at the stars that barely shined through the branches above.

“Things are just going our way at the moment. We got Jack back, I have faith in Dutch’s new plan, and I’m… I’m just in a great mood tonight.” I close my eyes for a moment allowing my head to hit the back of the stone wall that sat by the entrance of the manor. Maybe I was oversharing, normally it was hard to talk about any type of feelings I had. Could it be the whiskey? Or Charles’ calming presence? I shake away the thought, what was I talking about again?

“Well, I’m glad you’re happy, even if it ends up being just a fleeting moment.” Charles breathed as he moved to stand up. Reaching his hand down to me.

“Let’s get you to bed now.” Charles said looking down at me with his twinkling hazel eyes.

“Alright Mr. Smith, let’s go.” I respond grabbing his calloused hand and pulling me up with ease. We wandered over to the entrance of Shady Belle, Charles holding onto my ribcage to keep me from stumbling. However, his touch put my nerves on edge. Not because he was making me uncomfortable, but more because I was uneasy with human contact that lasted for this long. Once we had made it to my room, I pushed off him and face-planted into the pillow on my bed. Charles turned away walking towards the door.

“Good night Arthur.” He said quietly, trying not to disturb the others who were trying to sleep on that floor.

“W-wait Charles, c'mere I wanna talk to ya’,” I say slightly muffled by my face still practically covered by my pillow. He turns back around to me, crouching at my bedside.

“What?” he sounds in a hushed tone.

“Oh Charles, you’re so talented, a-and strong!” I mumbled “So handsome too, but you work soooooo hard. You need to let loose every once in a while.” Charles suddenly looked a little flustered as a small ting of pink filled his cheeks.

“Uhm, yes I’ll keep that in mind, Arthur.” Charles tries to move away again but I reach out to grab his arm. What has gotten into me?

“Where are you going?” I stammer as confidently as I could. Charles snorts looking at my hand that was on his arm.

“Back to my post cowboy.” He answered in a playful tone.

“Didn’t I just say somethin’ about workin’ too hard? Why don’t you stay here with me, and we can talk.”

“I don’t know about that Arthur, by the way you’re talking, you might say something you’ll regret later.”

“What do you mean by that?” I say gripping his arm a little tighter and trying to draw him closer to me.

“All I’m saying is that you’re clearly very drunk. Maybe we should talk in the morning.” Charles finishes breaking away from me and walks out the door. Dread and embarrassment immediately washes over me as soon as Charles exited. What did I just do? Did I make a move on Charles? Am I imagining things? No that definitely happened. I pulled my blanket over my face like a child cursing myself for acting so oddly. I’d always known I had a fondness for some men, but I hadn’t acted on any of those urges. Too afraid of being found out; especially by any of the gang members. Oh God, I’m sure I freaked out Charles, he probably despises me. FUCK.

…

The sun begins to peak through the window and onto the table in my room. My vision was blurry, as my eyes fluttered open. My head ached, and nausea flowed over me instantly.

“Oh God… what the hell did I do last night?” Memories of the party last night, and walking around camp came back to me. Memories of me and Charles. Shit, Charles. The feelings I had of embarrassment came to me again. Why did I act like such an idiot last night? I swear to God I hope Charles doesn’t say anything, or– just forgets about it and just assumes I was just drunk and didn’t mean anything by it. Fuck, I need to get out of here for a couple of days. I jolted out of my bed and moved to retrieve my satchel and pistol, head still pounding from the previous night’s liquor. I moved into the hallway going down the stair almost bumping into Hosea as I passed him.

“What’s got you moving this fast my boy?” Hosea questions in a slightly annoyed fatherly tone as he would speak from time to time.

“I just need to get some fresh air, Hosea.” I say a little more irritated than I intended

“Okay, don’t let this old man get in your way,” he replies sarcastically

“Maybe while you’re out try and get some deer, we’re running a little low on supplies.”

“Fine,” I nodded at the older man. I continued to rush down the rest of the steps and walked outside stepping onto the porch. I trek over to the edge of camp where Tobacco, my horse, was standing grazing on a patch of grass.

“Come on boy,” I say swinging myself on the back of the Arabian. I ride out of the camp, but as I passed the gate, I noticed Charels’ horse was also missing from the herd. Maybe that was a good thing, he wasn’t going to say anything to the gang about me.

…

I made my way into a clearing a few miles away from Rhodes where I knew I could find some deer for camp. It felt good to be far from camp. I can think a lot clearer when I wasn’t surrounded by people. I could see a large stag grazing atop a hill a couple of paces away from my current position. I took aim with my rifle, breathing in, and out slowly. The sound of my rifle shooting reverberated across the field the stag fell over dying instantly.

“Nice shot,” a filmier voice said behind me. I practically jumped out of my skin.

“OH, MY FUCKING–don’t-don’t sneak up on me like that!” I erupted turning to see Charles who had a slight smile on his face looking down at me from his horse Taima.

“Oh, I’m sorry Arthur, didn’t realize you would react so intensely.” He replied, obviously finding the whole situation to be very funny.

“What are you doing here?” I ask calmly, trying to stay relaxed while in his presence.

“Went hunting early this morning, Hosea mentioned we were running low on food.” Charles gestured to Taima, who already had a large deer strapped on. How amusing Hosea, I thought, what did he think he was playing at?

“Well, guess we had the same idea.” I say shortly moving away to retrieve my fallen stag. Charles seemed a little taken about by my tone. I didn’t particularly care, I just needed to get away before I embarrassed myself again.

“Hey, do we need to talk about something?” Charles asks sharply trying to catch my attention. My hair stood up on the back of my neck, and the same feeling of dread I felt last night washed over me. I cleared my throat before I spoke again.

“Alright,” was all I could muster before turning back to face Charles.

“So, about last night… I–uhh– it didn’t mean anything I was really drunk.”

“You’re sure?” Charles asked,

“Yes, I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

“Okay, as long as you’re sure,” Charles reacted emphasizing the “sure” in his sentence, a twinkle behind his eyes. Why the hell is he acting so weird?

“ I’m confused Charles,” I blinked in confusion.

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

“That depends, are we on the same page?” Quickly, Charles moved towards me and pushed me up against a nearby tree. My face immediately flushed, eyes darting unsure of where to rest.

“Hm, seems like you were lying Mr. Morgan,” Charles said in his calm and patient tone. I was frozen, I didn’t know what to say.

“It’s alright Arthur, I’m not angry with you,” Charles spoke in the same tone, changing his position on me slightly by relaxing his hand on my shoulder.

“You’re not?” I asked, begging to let that feeling of embarrassment drift away.

“No, of course not,” Charles smiled warmly

“To be honest, I wanted to tell you I was interested but I wasn’t sure when would be the right time.”

“What?” I say stunned, could Charles really be interested in me— like in that way?

“I felt like I would have been taking advantage of you last night. That’s why I thought it would be better to talk when you were sober.” I couldn’t believe what Charles was saying! This handsome statue of a man was really saying he was interested in dirty, ugly me?

“So…” I start, straightening myself up against the tree.

“What now?” I ask trying to regain some sort of confidence. Charles hummed a moment before leaning in and giving me the lightest peck on the lips. My body felt like it was lit on fire, and this small action from Charles unexpectedly made me ache for his touch. I reached for the back of his head and drew him into a deeper kiss. I felt the hand that was on my shoulder shift to the base of my neck, while his other wandered down to my waist. I let out a sharp sigh as I felt Charles thrusting my body closer to his. Things seemed to be escalating pretty quickly, and I was still unsure of what was really happening. The last couple of minutes felt like a long-awaited fantasy of Arthurs. I turned my body slightly in hopes of finding a more comfortable spot against the tree. Instead, I lost my balance and started falling back down the hill.

“Shit!” I spat out before me and Charles started tumbling down the golden mound. We fell for quite a ways until we hit the dip between two hills. Charles and I lay still staring up at the sky.

“God Arthur, you really know how to make a man fall for you?” I could hear Charles’ smile spread over his face.

“Oh, shut up Charles!” I erupted laughing. I pushed myself up off the ground and reached my hand down to Charles. He grabbed my hand and I lifted him up to his feet.

“Maybe we’ll pick up where we left off later,” I say, trying to regain composure.

“I’m sure we will,” Charles replied with a gentle demeanor while brushing dirt from his shoulder.

“I should grab that deer I shot before a wolf gets it.” The two of us walked up the hill and retrieved the animal carcass and then made it back to our horses.

“I’ll meet up with you back at camp,” Charles said while turning Taima in the direction of the camp.

“Alright, I’ll meet up with you soon,” I smiled at Charles tipping my hat as a sorta wave goodbye. Charles’ trotted off. I took this moment to take a deep breath. My heart must have been beating out of my throat with how hard the thumping felt.

“Come on boy,” I say to my horse who began to move in the direction of camp.

…

The sun was starting to set over the Shady Belle house. The usual faces of friends, and Micha, were gathering around the campfire. Javiar was playing his guitar, John was poking the fire with a stick and Hosea was sitting next to Jack teaching him to read with some fantasy tale. I sat down on a log next to Charles, who was carving what appeared to be a little horse out of wood.

“How was hunting today boys?” Hosea asked, pausing Jack’s story when he noticed I had sat down.

“Great, we shot two bucks a little past Rhoads,” Charles replied calmly, as usual, so as to not hint that any other activities had occurred. I could only nod awkwardly after flashes of being pinned against a tree came back to me. Hosea smiled in response.

“Anything else happen while you were out?”

“No, just the deers.” I reply as plainly, as I could.

“Okay.” Hosea said with a shrug of his shoulders a hint of suspicion behind his tone. Why was Hosea so suspicious of us? Did he see us together up on that hill? No he couldn’t have, he almost never leaves camp by himself. Maybe it was best just to forget about it for the moment.

…

A couple of hours had passed, and members of the camp were starting to retire for the night. I had finished a sketch of the deer Charles and I shot today in my journal, every drawing I did seemed to get a little better with practice. Something I was secretly sorta proud of. Charles placed a hand on my shoulder leaning to whisper in my ear.

“How about you get ready for bed and I’ll meet with you in a little bit?” His warm breath on my ear sent a shiver up my back.

“Uhm–okay,” I say with a swallow. I sat for an additional moment, waiting for Charles to leave. I proceeded to get up from the log walking to the manor and eventually the door into my room. I began taking off some of the extra weight I had been carrying all day. First my satchel, belt, and gun holster, then my jacket, and lastly I removed my hat placing it on my shelf. A soft knock came on my door. I quietly moved to the door, opening it as silently as I could making sure not to wake Hosea, John, and his family in the nearby rooms.

“That’s you Charels?” I whisper through the crack of the door.

“Let me in Arthur,” Charles replied in a similar hushed tone. I pulled the door open wide enough for Charles to slip in.

“C’mere,” Charles said grabbing the collar of my shirt and pushing me onto the bed. He pulled me into his kiss once again and I replicated the motion pressing my lips into his. Charles pulled away from the kiss to set my body into a more comfortable position, parallel to the bed. I could hardly believe what was happing to me right now. If this was some sort of dream, I hope I never wake up. Charles brought his hands to my chest, removing my blue button-up, and I began to do the same with his shirt pulling it off onto the floor. Charles then moved his hand down near my crouch.

“This alright?” He said in a thick soothing tone.

“Yea’ that’s alright,” I say, heart, beating out of my chest, bringing my hand to his. He began pulling down my pants while maintaining partial eye contact with me. Just then the audible sound of my pistol hitting the wooden floors thudded. I had forgotten to take it off the bed and move it to my table.

“Shit,” Charles whispered through gritted teeth. We both froze waiting for someone to come and ask what all the ruckus was about.

“I think we’re in the clea–” I began before the sound of a door creaking opening could be heard. Shit, I thought still frozen with Charles on top of me, his hand motionless on my inner thigh. Footsteps could be heard coming in our direction.

“Are you alright in there Arthur?” Hosea asked, his voice dense with sleep.

“Yes,” I grumbled out “go back to bed, I just dropped my gun.”

“Okay son, try and get some sleep.” Hosea replied, his footsteps were getting quieter as he retreated to his room. I let out a breath of relief as I heard his door shut behind him.

“Would you like to pickup where we left off?” Charles asked, leaning into me.

“Of course darlin’,” I reply bringing him down to kiss him again.

…

The morning sun once again came pouring into my room. I blinked my eyes open, turning to see Charles who was still sleeping underneath my arm. The both of us were squished together because of how small the bed was. I turning over onto my side, staring at the man who layed before me. How unbelievably handsome he was; his muscular body, soft black hair, his eyelashes, everything about him was absolutely beautiful. I wanted to badly to grab my journal and draw him asleep the way he is. Although moving would only disrupt this prefect image that sat so peacefully. Some movement could be heard outside my door. It was Johns voice moving closer. Not again! I nudged Charles on the shoulder waking him up.

“Good morning Arth–” Charles began before I placed my finger to his lips signaling him to be quiet.

“I’m comin’ in Arthur,” John stated turing the door knob

“NOWS NOT A GOOD TIME MARSTON!” I shouted, but it was already too late. John had stepped into the room.

“So I was just letting you know I borrowed your–” His demenor suddenly shifted to stunned and dumbfounded. His mouth stayed opened as he stared at me and Charles laying completely naked next to eachother.

“Wow, uhh, I-” John spoke in totally bewilderment.

“Please, leave.” I spoke in a tense but calm tone.

“Shit, Arthur,– I– i’m so sorry” John said turning bright red with embarrassment. Right before he was able to escape this awkward situation. Another voice rang though the hallway.

“What the hell is going on over there?” Hosea shouted from the room across from mine. Why was this situation getting worse and worse by the second?

“NOTHING!” John and I shouted at the same time.

I quickly leaned down and grabbed my underwear that was laying on the floor slipping it on. I then pushed John out the door and shut it with a slam. Charles and I as quickly as we could scrambled to put our clothes back on. I stubbeled outside my door into the hallway where a still stunned John and a confused Hosea stood.

“Who else is in that room Arthur?” Hosea questioned

“Well–” I started desperately trying to think of a away out of this situation.

“Charles.” Hosea answered his own question gestuing to my shirt. I looked down noticing that I was wearing Charles’ shirt. What an idiot.

“I had a feeling you two were up to something.” Hosea said, who then shifted closer to me placing his hand on my shoulder.

“It’s okay son, I don’t care who interests you.” Hosea said giving me a warm smile.

“What?” I say staring blankly at the older man.

“I had a feelin’ you and Charles had something going on. I noticed Charles leaving your room a night ago.”

“WHAT?” John exclaimed mouth still agape.

“How long–how long has this been going on brother!?” John questioned in disbelief

“I guess I might have made a move after the welcome home party for Jack. But nothing really happened until yesterday.” I answered shifting from one foot to the other.

“Oh my God,” John said with an exhale.

“I mean, it’s totally fine, but shit–entirely unexpected,” He said scratching the top of his head. Just then Charles slipped outside the door behind me.

“Excuse me.” Charles said moving me gently to the side.

“Everything okay?” Charles questioned the group of men.

“Yep,” John replied nodding and giving a little thumbs up as he twisted around to his room. Hosea let out a little chuckle.

“I know you’ll treat him right,” Hosea says also nodding and walking away. Once the men had disappeared I turned to look at Charles.

“Well, I guess we don’t need to worry about anyone finding out now.” I say shrugging.

“That sure made things a lot easier,” Charles said turning to look at me.

“How bout’ we ride outta here for a little bit?” I asked the taller man. Charles’ face warmed with a smile.

“That sounds like a good idea Mr. Morgan.” Charles replied giving me a little kiss on the cheek.

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