Archive of Our Own ^beta

“That cannot be true,” Charles said, chuckling dismissively as he ushered Taima up a ridge. They were getting close; the mountain river Arthur’d heard about was supposed to be a great spot for salmon.

This endeavor all started that afternoon, when Charles had quietly cornered Arthur by his lean-to. Dutch’s favorite enforcer had been out on a job for the last ten days when he’d finally ridden into camp looking grimy and grisly and gorgeous.

To say Charles was…pent up at this point would have been an understatement. He was practically vibrating with anticipation to see his man in the flesh again. It’d been nothing but cold nights and his own hand for far too long. Not wanting to appear overeager, however, Charles waited at least a couple of hours before he approached Arthur.

“Successful trip?” he asked, watching as Arthur dunked his head and scrubbed his face at his wash station. Arthur looked up to him from his stooped position and grinned, his strikingly clear eyes framed perfectly by dewy wet lashes. Charles had to press his fingernails into the meat of his palm to avoid reacting.

“Was wonderin’ when you’d come see me,” he replied, straightening to dry himself off, cocky grin still intact, “I missed you.”

“Arthur-” Charles warned, looking around to ensure nobody was within earshot.

“I know, I know, no need for your serious voice,” Arthur grumbled, waving Charles off with one hand while he started working on the buttons of his shirt, “It was successful, thank you for askin’.”

“Good, I’m glad.” Charles forced himself to look at something other than Arthur as the man peeled his shirt from his shoulders, retrieving a clean one from his trunk and seeming to take forever to get it on. One tiny peak from Charles was enough to get a rumbling chuckle out of Arthur.

“See somethin’ you like, angel?” he drawled, new shirt left hanging open on his broad shoulders.

“Arthur-”

“Mister Smith, I mean to say,” Arthur corrected himself, palms up and out in surrender as he continued chuckling like the evil, bad, evil man he was. Charles let himself get close enough for a quick slap to Arthur’s arm with the back of his hand.

“I’ve told you-”

“Not in camp, I know, I know,” Arthur defended, his smile falling to something more serious as he took a moment to look at Charles properly, eye-to-eye. “I’m sorry, just hard sometimes when I’ve been gone and you look so…” 

“So?” Charles asked, arms crossed on his chest and doing his best to look fed up with Arthur, regardless of how far it felt from the truth.

“Sorry, I can’t tell you in camp. Against the rules,” he said mockingly, his cocky grin returning. Arthur even turned to face away from Charles to button his shirt, depriving the other man of one last glimpse at that hairy chest and belly he missed so much.

“I see you’re busy,” Charles dared to bluff, half-turning away, “I’ll leave you to it.”

Arthur was turned around quick as a shot, on the cusp of reaching out to stop Charles from walking away. 

“Don’t be like that,” he pleaded, gone all apologetic and soft like he did at the slightest provocation from the younger man. He stepped closer, shirt tragically buttoned to the top but smelling a fair sight nicer than he had on arrival to camp. “Whaddya need?”

Charles took a measured step closer, careful to keep enough space that it wouldn’t look untoward from a distance. He let the air between them hang heavy, focusing his eyes on Arthur’s belt buckle before flicking up to the man’s eyes for his killshot.

“You,” he said, deep and smooth and practically sultry, more than enough to get Arthur riled up on the spot. Arthur swallowed loudly, stepping back to assess the goings on in camp in a pantomime of giving a shit.

“Well, in that case, Mister Smith, I wonder if you might accompany me on a walk just now?” he asked, taking a breath deep enough to bring his shoulders up, nervously adjusting his gun belt and overall leaving Charles feeling painfully fond at his theatrics.

“Sure, Arthur,” he said, nodding and biting the inside of his cheek to keep his smile from growing.

They were deep in the woodland surrounding camp a few moments later, Charles’ back pressed against a tree trunk as Arthur crowded into him, hands cradling the younger man’s face.

“Missed you so bad, angel,” he murmured, laying kiss after kiss on Charles’ plush lips. “Thought about you-” another kiss “every night-” and another “every day-” another “all the damn time.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Charles grinned, using his hands pressed flat against Arthur’s shoulders to pull him in for more kisses, slipping his tongue into Arthur’s mouth and moaning at that taste he’d missed so much. Equal parts tobacco, mint, and those damn oatcakes the man was always trying to sneak to their horses.

Arthur pushed his thigh between Charles’ legs, pressing their bodies against each other from chest to knee. He pushed his hips forward, urging the hard line of his cock against Charles’ own growing interest. A noise slipped out of Charles’ mouth, small and sweet and enough to make Arthur friskier than a rooster in a hen house. The younger man pulled back with a small jump as Arthur dragged one eager hand against the front of his pants.

“Arthur,” he gasped, simultaneously pushing his crotch into the friction and letting his head fall back against the tree. Arthur busied himself with kissing and licking at Charles’ neck, occasionally nibbling, but doing his best to hold back to avoid offending his man’s finer feelings.

At the sensation of teeth on his neck, Charles brought his hands around to Arthur’s chest, flattening them in a half-hearted push against the other man’s affections.

“Arthur,” he repeated, more moan than reprimand.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Arthur murmured against the skin of Charles’ neck, desperate. “Just gimme a taste, angel, I won’t think less of you.”

“Think less of me?” Charles laughed, finally able to get Arthur off his neck, “You think I’m some highborn lady with a reputation to uphold or somethin’?” Even making the joke had Charles feel something in his chest, some kind of new exciting rush.

“Well you could be, with your hoity-toity attitude, and all them rules you have for me.”

“Rules I have for us both,” Charles said firmly, pushing Arthur fully back. “Rules that keep us safe, keep us alive. I’ve told you this.”

“And I’ve told you, look at how Dutch and Hosea carry on.” Arthur stepped back and spread an arm out back toward camp, scoffing as he added, “a-and Trelawny?! Nobody bats an eye!”

“Well I’m not nobody. I’m not Trelawny or Hosea or Dutch. I don’t have the privilege of walking into any town and making a home for myself just with the words outta my mouth, Arthur. I have to be careful.” Charles let out a heavy breath, back slumped further against the tree, looking down at his hands and wishing he’d kept his mouth shut.

This…thing with Arthur, whatever it was, was supposed to be fun. Something freeing, something selfish for Charles, for once in his life. Something that was just his. Something he didn’t want to ruin with his fears and his rules and his total absence of charisma. Lost in his thoughts, Charles didn’t notice Arthur had crowded up on him again until the man’s hands were on his shoulders.

“I don’t - I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, blatantly apologetic, “I know you ain’t them. We ain’t them, I know that. I just like you a lot. Like what we have together.” 

Arthur let his hands travel down Charles’ arms, taking the younger man’s hands and bringing them to his mouth for soft kisses along his knuckles. Charles didn’t want to admit how disarming it was, but he knew the color coming up in his face was admitting plenty for him.

“Also happen to have a hard time keepin’ my hands to myself where you’re concerned, angel,” Arthur murmured against Charles’ hands, stepping closer so they were sharing breath. “Thing is I just ain’t used to bein’ around someone with this much beauty.”

“Hush up, Arthur,” Charles replied with an eye-roll, smiling despite himself. He twined his and Arthur’s fingers and gave him a firm tug to get them chest to chest again.

“I’m serious,” Arthur guffawed in mock offense, “have you seen yourself? You’re a distraction, pure and simple. Make it hard for a man to keep to the straight and narrow with eyes like that.”

“You had any intention of keeping to the straight and narrow?” Charles scoffed, one hand coming to the back of Arthur’s head and caressing through the longer strands of sandy hair there.

“Well, okay, you got me there,” Arthur conceded, smiling softly and leaning back in for another taste of Charles’ plump mouth. “You’re still my highborn lady though, with flowing hair like that, these lips, and how come you always taste so sweet?”

“Shut up, cowboy,” Charles chuckled, excited again, letting his grip on Arthur’s hair tighten to unite their mouths again. Arthur’s highborn lady. One of Arthur’s hands came to twine around the longest lengths of Charles’ hair, winding and twisting in tandem with their tongues, and Charles really did feel ladylike, somehow. 

In his excitement, Charles nipped at Arthur’s lower lip, something well-known at this point in their entanglement to guarantee a gutted moan from the older man. Once again, Arthur’s hips were pressed into Charles’, the hard line of his eager cock rutting up against Charles’ own bulge.

“Fuck,” Charles moaned, both hands on Arthur’s hips, encouraging the man’s near-animal humping.

“We can if you want, sugar,” Arthur crooned, groaning and groping at Charles’ thick waist, kissing his neck, “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Are you crazy?” Charles said weakly, thinking about how much he’d been craving exactly that for the last ten days. “I’m not giving it up to you this close to camp over a little sweet talk.” 

“Spoken like a real highborn lady,” Arthur murmured with a smile against Charles’ throat, still lost in the throes of his passion, barely aware of his words, “my girl.”

Charles bit his bottom lip and squeezed his eyes closed to keep from letting anything slip as arousal shot through him from top to toe. Arthur’s girl. Whether he made a sound or not, he clearly let something out of the bag based on the look he saw on Arthur’s face when he opened his eyes.

The cat that got the cream didn’t even begin to cover it. The man’s smile was less pussycat and more mountain lion, cunning and pleased and predatory. Charles’ instincts kicked in, mouth dry, heart beating faster, legs shaking in anticipation, but he felt no fear, only a sickly sweet thrill. Pure adrenaline.

“My sweet talk ain’t good enough for you?” Arthur’s voice was a low rumble, making Charles’ stomach clench as he got goosebumps from the sound. “You ain’t sufficiently wooed? Should I be tryin’ something else, angel?”

“Dunno,” Charles mumbled, looking Arthur up and down appreciatively, enjoying the cocky surety it brought out in him, “kinda like your sweet talk. Even if you are just buttering me up.”

“Now don’t go painting me with that brush, darlin’, everything I’ve said is true.” Arthur held his hands up in surrender, taking a step back from Charles and allowing them both a chance to breathe and calm down. They were still too close to camp for comfort, after all. “You like salmon?”

“Salmon?” Charles asked, mind severely lagging from the cocktail of emotions coursing through him. Arthur laughed, a rasping sound that made Charles’ chest warm. Even the way he tucked his thumbs into his gun belt had Charles painfully hard, and his head was struggling to keep up with the sudden change in tone.

“Heard about a great spot for salmon fishing, thought you might wanna check it out.”

“I ain’t much of an angler,” Charles replied, shaking his head.

“Charles,” Arthur said, deadpan, his face clearly holding in more laughter.

“What?”

“It’s a great spot.”

“So? Told you, I can’t fish too well.”

“Oh, sweetness, bless yer soul,” Arthur chuckled, stepping closer again to take Charles’ face in his hands for a slow, soft kiss. “It’s a great spot. Real quiet, remote, way up in the mountains and far away from anybody else. I thought you might wanna check it out with me. Tonight. Right now.”

“Oh,” Charles replied quietly, half hoping the ground would swallow him whole so he couldn’t be so stupid anymore. He couldn’t linger on it for long, though, too busy relishing in the feeling of Arthur’s lips and tongue teasing grumbling sounds out of his throat. 

“C’mon,” Arthur said, leading Charles by the hand back toward camp so they could pack up their horses and head out.

That’s what led them to this spot, riding in the lower Grizzlies. And Arthur was right, it was remote; they hadn’t seen another soul for the last two hours. 

Charles initially thought the salmon spot was just a lure to get him far enough from camp that Arthur could sway him with his voice and his hands (it wouldn’t be the first time he’d done it). But it seemed like the man really did want to go fishing.

Arthur continued his theorizing on the same hypothesis he’d been monologuing about for the last two miles, much to Charles’ entertainment.

“I’m tellin’ you,” Arthur pressed now, smiling as he followed behind Taima on his own mount, “a man’s horse is a reflection of hisself.”

“So, what does it say that The Count is a crazy bastard?” Charles looked over his shoulder at the sound of Arthur’s barking laughter. The man slapped a hand against his saddle horn, his head tilting forward and his face disappearing under the brim of his hat. Charles smiled, but felt a little disheartened when Arthur’s face reappeared more stoic than before; the man always struggled with poking fun at Dutch.

“I think the less said about The Count, the better. It’s just up here, c’mon, easier on foot now.” Arthur dismounted with a grunt, leading his horse over to the river’s edge. Charles followed, hitching Taima within reach of the water. Arthur continued his spiel, mood more playful again, as they walked further upstream, keeping a lookout for signs of salmon.

“Think about it,” he said, “Brown Jack, for example, is a big, burly, stinky moron of an animal, just like Bill.”

“Apt,” Charles replied, chuckling again. Arthur glanced around them a few times before taking Charles’ hand in his own, squeezing his fingers and pulling him slightly closer so they walked shoulder to shoulder.

“Silver Dollar is wily as hell and gray all over, just like old Hosea. And Maggie’s got to be about the smartest horse I’ve ever seen. It wouldn’t surprise me to see her actually reading one of Lenny’s books one of these days.”

The pair laughed again at the mental image, Arthur stopping along the river bank when he spotted some salmon leaping upstream. He crouched down, unshouldering and opening his satchel in search of his fishing rod. Charles took a seat on the grassy verge, watching as Arthur rifled through his gear to look for bait.

“And then there’s Taima,” Arthur added, casting a glance down the river to where the horses were nosing at each other’s necks. They’d grown close in the months since their riders had started whatever this whole thing was; Taima was one of the only horses Arthur’s mount was happy to be hitched beside.

“What about Taima?” Charles asked, leaning back on his hands and following Arthur’s gaze to the horses.

“Isn’t it obvious? She’s regal, graceful…pretty as a princess.” 

“A princess?” Charles turned back to Arthur, brows raised and cheeks a glorious reddened umber. There was that predatory grin again, and Charles felt his stomach clench in anticipation. But then it was gone in a flash, and Arthur’s face was schooled into something more respectable as he got more comfortable upright on his knees.

“Just callin’ it how i see it,” Arthur shrugged. Charles turned his attention back to Taima as Arthur continued. “That long black hair, big beautiful brown eyes and those lashes? Could give a man palpitations.“

“Are you still talking about Taima?” Charles looked back and saw Arthur hadn’t taken his eyes off him. The slow, confident mountain lion smirk was back, and Charles stayed motionless as Arthur placed a firm hand around the ankle of his outstretched boot.

“You tell me, princess,” he drawled, eyes catching the way a vein jumped in the side of Charles’ neck, lips licking at his chops. Pure predator.

They were silent for a few moments and Charles wondered if he’d gone deaf since all he could hear was his heartbeat thumping in his ears. But then the crashing of salmon leaping upstream brought them both back to the real world. Arthur used his free hand to idly paw through his satchel, the other one rubbing a small circle at the weathered leather of Charles’ boot.

Charles shifted on the bank, stretching a little further back and tossing his hair over one shoulder. Trying and only partially-successful in composing himself.

“And what about Stranger?” Charles jerked his head toward the black shire stallion Hosea had tried to convince Arthur to sell. He’d planned to initially, but something about that surly menace grew on him.

“Easy: mean, bull-headed bastard,” Arthur said with a bark of a laugh. Charles looked up at him, head tilted to one side and eyes squinting from the sun. His smile grew, teeth digging into his plush bottom lip for a moment before he laughed.

“You’re wrong,” he said decisively, smile turning mischievous. Arthur’s stomach started turning, low embers that always burned in Charles’ presence beginning to glow. He leaned more heavily on Charles’ ankle, bringing himself closer to the other man.

“Am not.”

“That’s not what I see when I look at him.” Charles shook his head, still smiling, using one hand to push his hair back. Arthur wanted to fall to some kind of prayer or worship at how fucking beautiful he was.

“Well alright then, what do you see?” he asked, playfully indignant. Charles looked over at the horses again, seeming to consider his answer. Arthur gave himself a moment to admire that noble nose and pouting mouth before following his line of sight to Stranger.

“He’s big, strong, fearless, astute, fiercely loyal.” Charles turned back to Arthur, getting his attention before continuing. “Handsome.”

“Handsome?” Arthur’s eyebrows jumped, his grin so wide it hurt his cheeks, but he wasn’t about to stop anytime soon. Charles made a show of looking him up and down real slow, nibbling on that damn lip again.

“Don’t forget big and strong.” His voice was smooth and silky and Arthur wanted to rub his face against the sound like a cat marking his territory.

“Are you still talking about Stranger?” Arthur slipped his hand further up Charles’ leg, resting on his partly-bent knee.

“No,” Charles answered decisively, surging forward to grab Arthur by the shirt collar and pull their lips together. Arthur made a surprised noise but caught on quick, moving closer until he was holding himself up over Charles, who was more than happy to lay back on the grass.

Charles’ hands crept up his back, fingers digging in around the muscles of his shoulders. Arthur pushed his tongue into Charles’ mouth and grunted happily when Charles whimpered, clawing a little harder at his back, pulling closer.

One of Charles’ hands looped around the front of Arthur’s belt, tugging insistently as he broke the kiss for breath.

“Put your weight on me,” he mumbled against Arthur’s lips.

“You sure?” Arthur asked, nuzzling his nose along Charles’ jaw, taking the other man’s earlobe into his mouth and grinning like a coyote at Charles’ gasp, “don’t wanna hurt you, princess.”

“C’mon, cowboy,” Charles moaned, “lemme feel how big and strong you are.”

Arthur didn’t need any more convincing, pressing his weight into Charles and watching with glee as the man’s eyes rolled back at the sensation. His long, curling eyelashes flickered and Arthur could’ve sworn he saw a tear start to build-up in those beautiful eyes. Goddamn. They kissed again, tongues delving and hands wandering. 

Grinding against Charles on the grass, Arthur started to get creative. Charles wanted big and strong? Arthur could give him that. He took Charles’ hands off his arms, grabbing his wrists and pressing them hard as he could into the dirt over his head.

“Arthur?” Charles asked, his eyes adorably dazed and his lips swollen and purpling. Fuck.

“How’s that for big and strong, darlin’?” he asked, squeezing Charles’ wrists until he was moaning and bucking up against Arthur’s denim-clad cock.

“So good,” Charles whimpered, “you’re so good for me, cowboy.”

“Fuck, fuck.” Arthur pressed harder into Charles like he was trying to fuck him through his jeans. He sat up, spreading Charles’ legs with his own as he came to his knees. Still pressing down on the younger man’s wrists, he took in the sight before him.

Charles’ arms spread above his head, thick with muscle and stretching out the fabric of his shirt. His hair splayed out in inky wisps on the grass around him as his head tossed and turned, mouth agape. His phenomenal tits heaving under his shirt, drawing Arthur’s eyes endlessly downward.

“Arthur,” Charles moaned demandingly, stamping a foot behind Arthur, trying to use his knee to push him forward again.

“Not so fast, sweetheart,” Arthur cooed, patronizing, “I’m enjoying the view. Look real good like this, princess.”

Arthur grasped both of Charles’ wrists with one big hand, squeezing and crushing til Charles cried out at the pressure. He let his free hand wander down one arm, caressing the side of Charles’ face and dipping under the collar of his shirt.

“Look real good,” he murmured, half to himself. The tips of his fingers pulled Charles’ shirt down, brushing along a plump pec and circling a perfect brown nipple. Back arching, Charles thrilled up into the touch, gasping and throwing his head back at the sensation. 

“Arthur, c’mon, stop messing with me,” Charles panted, hard beyond belief. He tried to get his feet under him to push Arthur forward, flailing when Arthur pinched his nipple between his finger and thumb and tugged gently.

“You want me to stop?” Arthur teased, eyebrow perked and cunning grin in place. He released Charles’ nipple, mouth watering, half tempted to swirl his tongue around it instead.

“That’s not what I said and you know it.” Charles’ jaw tightened with a grimace as he pulled against Arthur’s grip as hard as he could. He was easily strong enough that Arthur had to get both hands involved in trying to wrangle him.

Charles pushed himself up, using his weight and momentum to force Arthur down onto the grass and climb on top of him. Arthur fought back, grunting with the effort of trying to move the other man’s weight, but he was going nowhere.

With a huff, Arthur collapsed back, arms flat out at his sides, defeated. He couldn’t deny that the feeling of Charles, sturdy and heavy and solid, on top of him was mighty fine. Both parties were gasping for breath, exhausted and thrilled at such a well-matched scrap, not to mention one that didn’t end with bloodied noses and bullet holes. 

“C’mon, sweetheart, don’t be like that,” Arthur purred at Charles’ angry expression, bringing his hands to caress the other’s hips under his shirt, “I was only admirin’ how beautiful you are, princess.”

“Quit the sweet talk,” Charles grumbled, trying to ignore the firm confidence in Arthur’s hands as they explored his hips, his lower back, his stomach. Planted on Arthur’s lap, he could feel the long, girthy jut of Arthur’s cock pressing up against him. He grinded down into it, relishing in the near-pained moan it pushed out of Arthur. “Thought you were gonna be good for me.”

“I am,” Arthur insisted, willing to do anything to get Charles to call him ‘good’ again, as many times as possible, “I’ll be good for you, angel, just gimme a chance.”

“Gave you a chance, Arthur,” Charles said, closing his eyes as he continued his slow grinding, his own cock straining desperately against his jeans. He wondered if he could get off like this. Sure as shit felt like it. “Not my fault you wasted it.”

“Wasted it?” Arthur’s mind was becoming mush, taking in the sight and feel of Charles’ sinuous motions. He felt lost, unclear how he’d ended up trapped on his back, unclear whether Charles was mad at him or not, unclear about what he was supposed to do to get that sweet praise again.

“That’s right, cowboy,” Charles murmured, leaning in to land a possessive kiss on Arthur’s mouth. He delved his tongue in while speeding up his grinding, reducing Arthur to a whining wreck beneath him. When he pulled away, Arthur sat up to chase his lips, only stopped by Charles clutching his jaw like he was sizing him up at market, fingers and thumb digging into his cheeks. “Not so big and strong now, huh?”

That was enough to get the fire in Arthur’s stomach roaring up into an inferno, and he found a new strength within him. Grabbing Charles’ wrists, he twisted until Charles was forced belly-down onto the grass with a grunt, arms up behind his back and Arthur crushing perfectly down onto him.

“What was that you was sayin’, sweetheart?” Arthur mocked, leaning closer, pressing himself harder against the other man’s back. “Can’t hear you over all that huffin’ and puffin’ yer doin’.”

Charles was fighting for his breath, fruitless efforts to get to his knees immediately quashed by Arthur’s dense weight. He could feel Arthur’s cock humping against his ass and moaned shamelessly at how hard it felt. How thick. How amazing it would surely feel splitting him open.

“Now, Charles,” Arthur cooed, mouth kissing a path up Charles’ neck, nosing his hair out of the way of his ear to whisper to him, “I thought you were a princess, was I wrong?”

Charles didn’t answer, turning his face toward the ground as he gasped, embarrassed.

“Don’t be shy, sweetheart.” Arthur’s voice, deep and gravelly and crooning in Charles’ ear, was sending him insane. “I saw the way you reacted to me callin’ you my girl. Felt yer cock twitch ‘gainst my thigh, saw that pretty flush you get. You wanna be my girl, dontcha?”

Charles stayed quiet, trying to focus on his breathing. He felt like his nerves were all lighting up, burning him from the inside out, every hair in his head electrified and tingling at his scalp. Shame, arousal, something too close to love for comfort, all bubbling up in his throat and clogging it. 

His silence wasn’t enough for Arthur, evidently, as the older man squeezed his wrists and pressed him into the grass until he cried out from the beautiful pain of it.

“So yer voice does work,” he chuckled, before softening up considerably, loosening his grip and nosing at the back of Charles’ ear, “Was beginnin’ to think I’d lost you there, angel. You alright?”

“I’m alright,” Charles nodded, turning his face to catch Arthur’s eye over his shoulder. That turned out to be a mistake. The beautiful green-blue color looking back at him was filled to the brim with affection and concern. Something too close to love for comfort. Charles’ heart stuttered and swelled and the truth was pouring out before he could stop it. “I wanna be your girl. I wanna be anything so long as it’s yours.”

“Charles?” Arthur asked, leaning back to give Charles room to turn over and sit up, but not straying too far. They sat, face to face, a breath away from touching, chests heaving and eyes wandering.

“I’m sorry.” It felt like a reflex, apologizing for overstepping, overfeeling, overcaring about this man he knew would never be his, not all the way. Charles was ready for Arthur to get up and ride away, or maybe at best for him to go back to joking. What he wasn’t ready for was for Arthur to reach a hand out and stroke his face with the delicacy and care one might reserve for a fragile newborn.

The roughness of Arthur’s palm, his well-worked fingertips, brushing against Charles’ stubble and scars, scratched an itch he didn’t know he had. Arthur’s thumb slowly stretched out to brush along Charles’ bottom lip, soft as silk, and he leaned closer to brush their lips together in a perfect ghost of a kiss.

“Don’t be sorry,” Arthur whispered under his breath, “my girl. All mine.”

Charles couldn’t stop his hands from clutching desperately at Arthur’s shirt, pulling them both as he fell back to the grass, couldn’t stop himself from desperately crying “Arthur” as he did it, couldn’t stop the thunderous hammering of his heart throughout.

“Charles,” Arthur breathed between kisses, “darlin’. I’m yours, baby, all yours.” From that point, there was no force in Heaven or Earth that could have stopped Charles from winding his legs around Arthur’s waist and squeezing them together like they might merge into a single entity.

“Arthur,” he gasped, “fuck me. Fuck your girl like it’s what you were made for, cowboy. Make me yours.”

“Fuck,” Arthur moaned, rushing to get their gun belts off and discarding them together on the riverbank. Tugging at the hem of his shirt, he pulled it up from the waistband of his jeans and held it between his teeth as he unbuckled his belt. Charles watched, awestruck at how good Arthur looked, how rugged he was, thighs straining against rough denim, teeth clenching at cotton and fingers grasping at leather.

“Arthur,” he said in a haze, “you look so good.”

“Oh yeah?” Arthur beamed, shirt falling from his mouth. He wasted no time in working at the buttons, whipping it off of his shoulders as soon as it was open. “Big and strong enough for ya, darlin’?”

Charles took a moment to enjoy himself, assessing the breadth of Arthur’s shoulders, the dense meat of his torso, the hair that spread from belly to neck. Biting his lip, he made a play of running one hand up Arthur’s chest, twisting his fingers in that hair and pulling him in for a slow kiss.

“So big and strong,” he murmured against Arthur’s mouth, feeling the older man’s grin grow bolder. They settled into making out in lazy, passionate strokes of tongue and teeth, sucking at lips and grabbing at flesh with every opportunity. 

Arthur pulled at Charles’ belt, unbuckling and then tugging the buttons open until his hand could slip in, delighted to discover bare flesh and the hot, hard length of his cock. Hissing through his teeth, Arthur pulled away from Charles’ mouth to look at his beautiful dazed eyes.

“No union suit? Mr Smith, I’m scandalized.” He watched Charles roll his eyes and shake his head, smiling the whole time.

“Took it off as soon as I saw you ride into camp,” Charles murmured, pulling Arthur in for another kiss, “didn’t want anything in your way.”

“Fuck, that’s right,” Arthur replied, spreading the generous amount of pre from the head of Charles’ cock down its length and stroking him with a firm, slow grip. Charles gasped, head falling back against the grass and hips pushing up, fucking into Arthur’s fist as much as the older man would allow.

After a few indulgent strokes, Arthur let his hand explore further, caressing gently at Charles’ balls and delighting in the purr of a hum that pulled from the man’s chest. He pressed two fingers against the back of his taint, pushing at him from the outside, making tight circles until Charles was whining for him.

“Arthur, c’mon.”

“What is it, sweetheart?” Arthur teased, “Tell me whatchu want.”

“I told you.”

“Lemme hear it again angel, right in my ear this time.” Arthur’s voice became a grumble of demand that Charles knew he could never refuse. He wrapped his arms around Arthur’s shoulders, using one hand to guide his head until Charles’ lips were brushing against the longer hairs around Arthur’s ear.

“I want you to fuck me til I can’t walk or think or breathe, Arthur. Need it.” Charles’ voice, warm and smooth like hot honey, sent Arthur’s brain haywire. He pulled back, dragging Charles with him until he was sat upright, and tugged insistently at Charles’ shirt until it was over his head and cast aside. Truthfully, Arthur wasn’t sure where he dispatched it to, he only hoped it wasn’t rapidly headed downstream.

“Get yer pants off, angel, I gotta have you. Right now,” he ordered, unbuttoning his own jeans and pulling them and his boots off in one awkward, poorly-coordinated movement. He scrambled through his satchel until he had the jar of slick they always brought out whenever they went ‘hunting’ or ‘camping’ or ‘fishing’ or any number of other fictional excursions.

When he turned back to Charles, his man was dressed in just his necklace, the beads sitting pretty against his plush tits, one hand casually stroking his cock while he ogled Arthur shamelessly. His hair was a flow of black, so rich it seemed to soak up the setting sunlight, running in rivulets along his shoulders, his softly bulging biceps, his peaked, dusky nipples. Arthur grabbed the base of his own cock tight enough to keep from shooting off there and then.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he said, leaning over Charles to kiss at those plush lips while he gently parted his man’s thighs wider, just enough to fit his own narrow hips in the space leftover. “Gonna play with yourself for me while I work you open, like a good girl?”

“Arthur,” Charles moaned, each limb stuttering in tandem as his toes curled inward and his body bloomed open under Arthur. Needing no further invitation, Arthur dipped his fingers in the slick until he had a generous coating. 

Bringing them to press playfully at the tight ring of Charles’ hole felt like seeing a lantern on at home after being away for far too long, not that he’d ever really known what that was like.

Arthur was torn between watching the tip of his index finger slipping into that hot, sweet pucker, and watching Charles’ face contort so beautifully for him as he did. He teased his finger around, pushing in and out and in again until he was knuckle-deep, held tightly in the clutches of his man’s perfectly hot hole. 

Once he added a second finger, the real work started. He petted at Charles’ insides softly, sweetly, wanting to convey how much he’d missed his man as he scissored his fingers apart. Charles’ eyes fluttered closed several times, uncomfortable little hitched breaths pushing his breasts up, closer to Arthur’s drooling mouth. He bent his arm back to brace one hand in the grass beside his head, the other working steadily up and down his leaking, purpled cock.

Arthur hunted for that sweet spot that would send his man reeling, licking his lips when he found it and pressing firmly upward.

“A-a-arthur!” Charles gasped, spasming around the intrusive fingers and tightening his grip on his cock to the point of pain.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Arthur purred, pleased as punch at the sight before him, “that’s my girl.”

“Please, Arthur,” Charles whined, desperate.

“You think you’re ready for me, angel?”

“God, yes, please,” Charles begged, feeling his chest heaving as his breath was getting away from him already. Ten days without Arthur’s touch, without his handsome rugged face, without that fucking voice he used when they were alone, was enough to have Charles half out of his mind.

Arthur reached for the slick again, coating his cock, and lined its angry red head up against the dark whorl of Charles’ hole. He knew Charles wasn’t quite ready, knew his insides were still a little gritty and tight. He also knew that if he stalled any longer, Charles was likely to push him down and ride him anyway (something he’d done before in his eager impatience).

“Breathe for me, darlin’,” he warned briefly before pushing in til the fat tip of his cock was choked by Charles’ exquisite heat. “Jesus, yer so tight,” Arthur groaned like he was dying.

“Tried not to be,” Charles said between deep breaths, resting his thighs on Arthur’s hips and slowly drawing him deeper, inch by precious inch.

“Whatchu mean?” Arthur asked, eyes screwed shut and brows furrowed as he focused all his efforts on not spilling too soon. He worked tiny back-and-forth motions into his man, making every effort to keep him comfortable.

“Tried to stay stretched,” Charles replied, pulling Arthur’s face closer to kiss his closed eyes, “fucked myself on my fingers near every night you were gone, thinking of you, wishin’ it was you.”

“Fuck, Charles, don’t tell me that.” It was too late, Arthur was picturing it in perfect detail. His Charles, dark hair thrown around his shoulders, grinding down on his own fingers, biting his lip to keep from calling Arthur’s name.

“S’true. Missed your cock stretching me out like this. Missed feelin’ full.” Charles locked his ankles around Arthur’s ass and reeled him in til he was so deep inside Charles could feel his guts making room.

“Missed you too, angel,” Arthur groaned, “missed feeling your sweet hole holdin’ me like this. So perfect for me, baby.”

“Arthur,” Charles moaned indulgently, digging his fingernails into the meat of Arthur’s shoulders, pulling him close enough that they were chest-to-chest. The coarseness of Arthur’s body hair was always a comfort, something grounding to keep Charles from drifting away at how perfect it felt to be reshaped by his cowboy’s thick cock.

“Remind me, darlin’,” Arthur said, goading, nibbling at Charles’ ear, “how did you want me to fuck you again?”

“Hard, Arthur. So hard I can’t breathe. Don’t wanna walk without feeling what you’ve done to me. Don’t wanna have to think about anything else, just you, your cock, your perfect fucking cock, please.” Arthur grinned; his girl was so desperate for him, so needy.

“Like this?” Arthur asked cheekily, drawing out half-way just to bully back into Charles in a merciless pounding motion, hard on his prostate. Charles called out, not afraid to be loud this far from the world, knowing how much it worked Arthur up to hear the noises he could work out of him.

“More,” he demanded, eyes shut, head thrown back, hair splayed out, looking like an outright goddamned goddess on the grass.

“You sure, princess?” Arthur teased. Charles’ eyes opened, shooting him with a serious glare that only made Arthur’s heart beat louder.

“Arthur,” he grumbled, “now.”

“Alright, alright, hold yer horses,” he said, smoothing his hands along the crease of Charles’ hips, relishing in his man’s frustration. He pulled himself into an upright position, gripping the backs of Charles’ knees and pressing him in on himself, a luxurious fold that pushed the air out of him. “My needy girl.”

Before Charles could respond, Arthur drove into him with enough force to knock any remaining air totally loose, and Charles was entirely breathless. From there, Arthur’s every thrust was firm and hard and dead-on target. 

Sure enough, Charles couldn’t breathe or think. The stretch of Arthur’s cock carving into him was enough to leave him lightheaded, positively drunk on his man’s supply. The only words that fell from his mouth were ‘Arthur’ and ‘more’, with an occasional ‘please’ sprinkled in for good measure. Couldn’t have his man going sour on him now.

A particularly well-placed thrust had Charles’ nails scraping so hard Arthur was sure they’d drawn blood.

“God yes, Arthur!” Charles cried out, near tears, his cock weeping on his stomach. “Kiss me.”

Arthur dived into Charles’ mouth immediately, pressing insistently at his lips, doing anything his man wanted. He would do anything, give him anything, anything to feel this feeling. Charles’ head fell back, dropping to the side, unable to hold himself up any longer and panting desperately in the grass.

Arthur didn’t stop his kisses, moving them instead to Charles’ cheek, across the webbed scarring there, along the stubble of his jaw, to the sensitive spot just below the curve of his jawbone. It was possibly Arthur's most favored spot on his body, precisely for the reaction it brought out when Arthur let his teeth loose and bit down hard.

"Arthur!” Charles practically shrieked, bringing a hand to the back of Arthur’s head and forcefully pressing him deeper into that rich brown skin, hole bearing down on him so tight Arthur’s head spun.

“Charles,” he said between desperate gasps for air, “my girl. Play with yourself for me, princess, lemme feel you cum around my cock.”

“Hnnn,” Charles whined, releasing Arthur’s back to awkwardly push his arm between their stomachs, grabbing his cock and pistoning his hand in-tempo with Arthur’s animalistic thrusts. “Arthur. Feel so good. My cowboy. You’re mine.”

Arthur nodded furiously, leaning back enough to give Charles room, watching him with glassy eyes as he fisted at himself, watching his own red-hot cock battering into Charles’ swollen asshole. 

“Say it,” Charles hissed, eyes angry, mouth set in a sulking line. Fuck, he looked so beautiful.

“I’m yours. All yours, princess.” Arthur felt his balls pulling up, his stomach muscles clenching tight, knew he was dangerously close to the finish line.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Then cum for me,” Charles demanded, all-powerful and perfect, “cum inside your girl, Arthur. Need to feel so full of you.”

“Fuck, angel,” Arthur groaned, hips stuttering, fingers clutching so tight he knew they’d leave bruises. He thrust, two, three more times, pushing himself in as deep as he could, certain that he needed to shoot off as far inside his girl as possible, needed to fill her up to the brim til she was fit to burst with everything he had to give.

Charles came across his chest and stomach, ass clenching down on Arthur’s cock, milking it perfectly. The overwhelming heat of Arthur’s cum in him, pulsing and pushing into him, made Charles feel complete, for the first time in ten days. It was like Arthur was filling him with joy, peace, something too close to love for comfort.

Before he could bite them back or stop them, Charles felt his eyes welling up and spilling over. Shameful hot tears rolling down his face. He couldn’t hide them before Arthur saw them, the older man releasing his knees to hold his face, sweet and soft, breaking Charles’ heart.

“Charles?” he asked, voice thick and gruff. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Charles replied, sniffing and shaking his head, hands over Arthur’s, rough skin on rough skin somehow becoming tender. “Just feels so good.”

“You sure, princess?” Despite his concerned tone, Charles was certain he felt Arthur’s cock twitch inside him. He chuckled, heart lightening.

“I’m sure, you sick man. You gettin’ off on my tears, cowboy? What is wrong with you?” He was fully laughing by now, relishing in how Arthur whined at the squeezing around his softening cock.

“Can’t help it if you look this pretty when yer cryin’, sweetheart.” Arthur pulled out of Charles gently, leaning close to him to kiss and lick at the wet lines on his face. “Reminds me of other times I’ve led you to tears. You remember that time we was in the Heartlands? That rainstorm snuck up on us and you thought of a real clever way to stay warm and dry, you remember that?”

“Course I do,” Charles replied, face hot from blushing, casting his mind back to that misadventure. Arthur pulled their lips together, kisses slow and caring, hearts full and safe together, away from the world.

“Missed you so bad, darlin’,” Arthur murmured, “don’t wanna be without you again.”

“Then don’t be,” Charles replied, a quiet demand, a betrayal of something so real that he kept it hidden in his chest as much as possible. “Stay with me.” Choose me, he wanted to say.

“Whatever you say, my highborn lady,” Arthur responded with a peaceful smile, eyes sad and hopeful. They both knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as that. Not with Dutch the way he was, with things the way they’d been since Blackwater. But they had hope, and they had each other. And, for now, they had a remote spot that was perfect for salmon fishing. And one less shirt than they’d arrived with, they would soon learn.

“Arthur! What do you mean you don’t know where you threw it?!"