Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Steadily, lazily even, Boaz trotted along; seemingly unbothered by the forest trail and its steady incline. His hoof beats, heavy as they were, were quieted by the winding, loosely packed dirt path. His rider, meanwhile, swayed with every step, his dark eyes glazed and somber and yet still scanning. Always scanning.

Javier absently watched the passing spruce trees, their dark branches reaching high toward the untouchable blue sky. Birds were calling one another in their tree-top homes, their conversations a cacophony of chirps and tweets; it was lulling in a way, their song. Slowly his gaze slid down the trees’ roughly textured bark to the bushes that surrounded their trunks. A variety of critters scurried through the brush, a few daring rabbits even dashed across the narrow path. The latter of which irritated Boaz thoroughly, he huffed indignantly, tossing his head. Javier gave him a few light, soothing pats on the neck before returning to his habitual task of observation.

Through the foliage poured streams of warm sunlight that acted as golden spotlights to the ferns and flora that graced the mountainous terrain. Javier’s eyes darted skyward again, the sudden sound of loud flapping drawing his attention. Overhead a raven flew by, one black feather falling from its body in a languid back and forth cascade until it laid itself gently upon the earth. The raven cawed as it landed on a neighboring tree, the harsh sound disturbing the relatively serene atmosphere of the forest. Javier huffed to himself before allowing his gaze to drift back to the scenery.

All things considered it was pretty country. Quickly, Javier’s mind stole to a man who would’ve adored it; perhaps would have even sketched it, he was talented like that. The notion made his chest ache with a dull pulse, not unlike a half healed bruise. The lone rider’s fingers twitched with the desire to reach up and palm his chest, to cradle his throbbing heart. But a cruel voice in his head reminded him that the pain was a just reprimand; he made his bed and now he had to lie in it. No matter how uncomfortable it was, no matter how unevenly packed the straw.

Javier inhaled sharply, eyes falling to the weaving path once more. He was unfamiliar with this area, and more importantly his destination. Exhaling slowly, fingers still twitching, he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a slip of paper. Reins hanging loosely from his thumb, Javier unfolded the paper to reveal a hand drawn map. For a moment he scrutinized the poorly rendered directions, doing his best to decipher them. He looked to his surroundings then back to the map. As far as he could tell he was still headed the right way, thus he refolded the map, tucked it back into his pocket, and squeezed Boaz’s broad sides, silently urging him onward.

Gradually the trees thinned until a small clearing of sorts came into view. On one side there was the rocky face of a mountain slope, on the other sporadically planted spruce, and nestled between the two was what appeared at first glance to be a weird hill of sorts. Weirder still was the chimney and door poking out of the earthen walls.

Javier pulled Boaz to a halt and retrieved his map again. Sure enough, doodled at the end of the official path was an odd hut-like shape. Assumingly the house and drawing were one in the same. He shrugged to himself, tucking the paper back into his pocket.

Slowly the small man dismounted, eyeing the odd structure. There was no light emanating from the cracks around the door, nor was there any smoke puffing out of what Javier assumed was a chimney, weren't even horses hitched outside. Taking that as a sign that no one was home, Javier flicked the reins over Boaz’s head and led him to a nearby tree. Silently Javier busied himself with knotting the reins around a low-hanging branch.

“I'll be back,” he quietly promised, giving Boaz a firm pat on the shoulder.

Boaz, for his part, snorted in acknowledgement while flicking his tail.

Stepping away from his mount, Javier noticed a strange heaviness to his legs, like weights had been tied to his ankles while he wasn't looking, and now they dragged against the ground, slowing him down. Javier scoffed to himself, the sound rather self deprecating.

Pathetic.

He could feel it, deep in his muscles, that pull to leave. That near animalistic urge to run, to flee. He’d felt it clawing at his skin every time he had so much as considered coming here before. He’d even felt it climbing up his spine on the ride over, but it was easier to ignore when it wasn't his own legs carrying him.

Javier rolled his jaw. Fucking pathetic.

Unwilling to cave, Javier carried on. He passed the odd little mound-of-a-hut and turned toward the steep slope just beyond it. It was covered in loose rocks that, unfortunately, looked all too willing to slip under his weight.

His heart picked up in his chest, thumping against his breast uncomfortably. He swallowed, all too aware of what this was. His anxiety was spiking, his body pleading in the only language it knew. And by god did he want to listen- how tempting it was to just swivel on his heels, mount Boaz, and never turn back. But he'd already set his gold tipped boot down, he'd promised himself even before saddling up Boaz that there'd be no tail tucked between his legs when he left here.

Stilling the raging thoughts that plagued his mind, Javier began the daunting task of climbing the rocky slope.

It barely took three steps before Javier realized he needed to crouch low just to ensure he didn't tumble backwards. And a few places were so troubling that he nearly had to get on all fours. If he were a more respectable man perhaps the notion would have bothered him, but Javier wasn't, he was a well bathed mutt who was more acquainted with the dirt than he cared to admit.

He cursed as a rock shifted under his boot, nearly causing him to fall face first into the jagged edge of another stone. Growling, he looked under his arm, past his lean body to where the rock continued to slide down the mountain face. “Puta,” he murmured before resuming his heavy-limbed ascent.

A few minutes later he found himself standing safely at the top of the slope; he straightened, dusting off his naked hands and blue coat. Then he turned to his right, toward a naturally formed spur. A vast blue expanse unfolded right before Javier’s eyes. Fluffy, white clouds floated across the endless sky, snow touched mountains rose past the horizon, and sheets of deep green trees blanketed the valleys. But Javier's gaze fell to something much closer. At the end of the spur was a boulder, and sitting just before it an oddly shaped marker.

Javier took a few slow steps forward; his heart raced in his chest as if he'd just ran miles with the law on his heels. Dryly his throat swelled and squeezed, the realization that this was it, his destination, hit him like a bullet to the abdomen.

Weakly, Javier continued forward, his spurs jiggled quietly, the delicate sound caught by the whirling winds. The marker came into sharper detail with each foot fall: the shape of it, like a cross with the rim of a wagon wheel nailed to the back. The material, already worn looking wood. The flowers planted at its base; they appeared wild. Just like he would have liked. Javier took a few more steps, and with forlorn eyes watched as scratchy black lines morph into something legible.

Arthur Morgan

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness 

Just like that everything fell still; his thoughts no longer raced, the imaginary weight that had been dragging at his feet evaporated, the wind no longer swept through his bangs, and the sun no longer warmed his bones. It was as if time itself had slowed to a stop. And where conflict once raged, a deafening silence now sang; like a battlefield suddenly devoid of life.

The painted words burned Javier’s eyes like a brand to a calf’s rump, scared his mind like a nightmare, and carved themselves into his heart like a dull knife to steel. Tears welled against his waterline, blurring his vision. Chest quivering like a frightened rabbit, he shakily exhaled.

“Shit,” he breathed, the word a trembling mutter against his lips.

He swallowed, his throat too dry for the act to be comfortable. “Shit,” he repeated, the sound even more pained than before.

Numbness spread through his body like a cancer, starting in his fingers and crawling upwards until his arms were rendered useless. Then it overtook his legs. His stomach. His spine. His throat. It nearly left his mind hollow, save for a maddening, torturous buzzing sound.

Tears threatened to carve rivers down his cheeks but they failed to escape his waterline. He wanted to curse. To collapse. But he was frozen, unable to do anything more than quiver where he stood.

A gust of cold wind struck his face, tussling his loose hair, stinging his damp eyes. Javier squeezed his eyes shut, sparing them the pain. But suddenly, as sudden as a snow storm, a new sort of chill overtook his body and mind.

_______

Snowflakes fell lazily from the clouds, moseying their way down to ground only to be snatched mid decent by the vengeful wind. Even the powder found itself raked from the earth and forced airborne. The wind swept through the abandoned mining town in droves of white. Barriers of snow formed against anything that functioned as a windbreak; house, horse, and tree alike.

“¡Joder, hace frio!” Javier muttered miserably to himself.

The scout fire did little to warm the small man, its blaze felt meager in comparison to the bone rattling gale. But he preferred getting frostbite to listening to Micah’s bigoted remarks and constant complaining.

He was shifting from foot to foot, in hopes of encouraging blood flow, when he heard the unmistakable sound of crunching snow. Javier casted a hasty, paranoid glance in the direction of the disturbance. To his relief, all he saw was the pink cheeked face of his friend. He took a deep, calming breath in, then exhaled.

Arthur, meanwhile, shuffled up to the fire, gloved hands held out to it.

With his heart beginning to settle, Javier returned his hawk-like gaze to the tree line, ever distrustful of what the woods concealed. It was unlikely that anyone had followed them up the mountain and into this frozen hell, but that was no excuse to let his guard down.

For several long minutes the pair stood there in a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the sounds of the whipping wind, crackling wood, and the soft rustling of their clothing.

The cold, which had sunken through Javier’s layers and settled in his bones long ago, made him shiver. He kicked out his leg and shook it in an attempt to expel the stiffness building in his joints.

“Alright there, Javier?”

He tore his gaze from the woods to glance over at Arthur. He was eyeing him from beneath the brim of his gambler hat, a vaguely concerned expression warping his rugged features.

Javier didn’t answer immediately, rather took his time turning different responses over in his head. “Fine, just cold,” he shrugged after a moment. It was an under exaggeration, but a reasonable one. Morality had suffered enough already. Nobody needed him making it worse by whining; that job was already being dutifully done by the likes of Micah, Pearson, and Uncle. Besides, Dutch asked him to stay strong, so he would.

“How long you been out here?”

Javier slipped a hand under his poncho to retrieve the golden pocket watch tucked into his vest pocket. He scrutinized it for a second, calculating. “Just under two hours.” 

Arthur’s eyebrows raised as he leaned slightly backward, clearly surprised by the statement. His face scrunched up as if he were thinking hard, then he reached into his satchel and retrieved a clear bottle. He stared at it for a moment before holding it out to Javier, gesturing for him to take it.

Gladly, he obliged. As Javier took the bottle from Arthur their gloved fingers brushed. Oddly enough, the lack-luster excuse for contact brought a spark of warmth back into his frozen extremities.

With the bottle in hand, he realized it was bourbon, O.F.C to be specific. He uncorked the cheap alcohol and pressed the glass to his lips. Greedily he tilted it back and drank, relishing in the feeling of it burning its way down to his stomach. Warmth bloomed in his gut, a welcomed sensation. Javier lowered the bottle while sighing in satisfaction.

“Muchas gracias, compadre,” he thanked in a syrupy roll of Spanish.

“That er- means what exactly?” Arthur asked, his voice thick and slow, as if the words didn't want to leave the warmth of his throat.

Javier sighed, tired of being forced to speak such an ugly language. “It means ‘thank you’,” he explained as his gaze drifted back to the perimeter.

“Oh.. well, o’ course,” Arthur easily replied, as if his generosity was a guarantee.

_______

Javier sucked in a sharp breath. The air filled his empty lungs. He’d barely dared to breathe for several minutes, his mind too adrift to bother with something so trivial. His chest heaved from a series of short and shallow gasps that left him just as breathless as before.

His chin trembled and lips pulled tight, his frown barely suppressed. A large lump formed in Javier's throat. He swallowed hard only for it to settle heavily in his stomach.

_______

Paddles dipped into the water, pushed it away, slipped out in an arc, then dipped back in. Javier swayed with every lurch of the boat, but he hardly noticed. His attention was instead captured by the rhythmic motion of Arthur’s strong arms. With every cycle developed muscles bulged and stretched beneath freckled skin. Worn linen repetitively bunched around broad shoulders before squeezing hairy pecs and biceps.

“Would you quit starin’ at me? Making’ me feel like I’m doin’ sumthin’ wrong,” Arthur remarked.

Through hooded eyes Javier peered up at the other man, grinning. “Hard to row a boat wrong,” he pointed out. 

Arthur snorted in dry amazement, “oh I don’t know ‘bout that, ’m sure Bill or John could find a way.”

“True,” Javier laughed. “I'd be surprised if Bill could make it off the sandbar.”

Arthur smiled at the joke, his lips parting just enough to show the edges of his uneven teeth. “Hah! And John'd fight like a cat just tryin’ to get him in the damn boat.”

“You don't give him enough credit, cariño,” Javier contended, though his tone was still light, “John was on the boat in Blackwater, no?”

Arthur’s smile waned as he considered it, his head bobbing thoughtfully.

“I'd say he handled himself well,” Javier continued.

Questions brewed and bubbled in Arthur’s mind, Javier could sense it. Hell, he could practically smell it, like bread fresh out of the oven. But before he could tell Arthur to speak his peace the older man's gruff voice sounded again, “wouldn't know would I? Bein’ as no one’s willing to talk about it.” 

There was a challenge there, hidden in the soft cottons of Arthur's calm tone. A challenge for Javier to be forward and honest with him, to regale him with what exactly happened on that botched mission.

But Javier didn't take the bait. “What happened in Blackwater- on that ferry? It’s in the past. We can't change it, so what’s the point of dwelling on it?”

Rich blue eyes flicked back and forth across Javier’s face, a discontented quality to them.  Arthur sighed in what sounded like resignation. “I s’pose,” he muttered unenthusiastically before pouring his attention back into rowing.

Silence dragged out between the pair as the little craft continued to glide across the water's surface, steadily bringing them closer to their destination.

Javier took a deep breath as he leaned back, his elbows propped against the bow, relaxing. Absently he took in the world around him. The small waves that lapped against the exterior of the wooden vessel. The cheerful bird song, carried by the wind from distant shores to create a peaceful ambiance around them. The early-afternoon sun that beat down on them; the warmth welcomed after Colter and the Heartlands, even if the air was too humid for Javier’s more arid taste. He closed his eyes basking in it all.

Several content minutes passed before Javier noticed the slosh of the water had quieted and the boat’s rocking had eased. He could feel the weight of Arthur's gaze boring into him, tracing the seams of his clothing, following the curve of his lean frame. He smirked, eyelids peaking open again.

Sure enough Arthur was starring, just as Javier had been earlier. Those bright blue eyes taking him in like a muse.

“Enjoying the view?” Javier cockily asked.

“Er-” Arthur's eyes widened as he leaned back slightly, his shoulder straightening as the realization he'd been caught dawned on him. “It's alright, I guess,” he mumbled, a light blush blooming in his cheek.

A scoff-like laugh erupted from Javier. “Only alright?” he teased, dark eyes raking over his face, taking in every micro expression.

Arthur stared down at the belly of the boat, he shook his head in amusement, “oh shut up.”

Javier cackled, the sound similar to that of a yipping coyote. He looked away from Arthur, sparing him the sight of his smug grin. He glanced to the water that surrounded them, “You can stop here,” he directed.

Arthur looked back to Javier, as if he wasn’t sure he heard right. Then he nodded and put both oars low in the water, the flat of the paddle facing the current. The boat eased to a drifting stop.

Slowly Javier rose from his leisurely position to gather his supplies. Unhurriedly, he prepared his fishing rod, using a crayfish as bait. He held the bag of crustaceans out to Arthur, “they’re better for largemouth bass,” he explained.

Arthur grunted a ‘thank you’ as he took the bag and applied a crayfish to his own hook.

Soon the pair had both casted out and were slowly reeling in their lines, occasionally flicking their wrist to further entice the fish.

It wasn’t long before Javier felt the tell-tale tug on his fishing rod. “Think I got something,” he commented as he deftly yanked at the rod, hooking whatever was on the end of his line, before skillfully reeling it in.

“Good job,” Arthur praised as the fish emerged from the lake, its green scales glistening in the sunlight.

Javier reeled it in completely then unhooked what he identified as, blessedly, a largemouth bass. “Like I said, crayfish,” he hummed happily, as he tucked the catch into a basket for safe keeping. Then he reached for the baggie full of bait, prepared his rod again, and cast out.

_____

Javier had just tucked away his third catch of the day when he heard the low rumble of Arthur humming. The tune was upbeat and almost certainly off key.

“Water carries sound, you’ll scare the fish,” Javier remarked as he rotated his wrist, slowly reeling in the near invisible line.

“Not like I was catching anything, anyway” Arthur replied, his voice deceptively light. But Javier didn’t miss how it was coated in that nonchalant self depreciation he so often spoke with.

“But I was,” Javier half joked.

“Yah well, I reckon a whole orchestra could be playin’ out here ‘n you’d still manage to catch sumthin’."

Javier grinned at the praise, “that’s very kind of you, Arthur,” he sucked in a hissing breath through his teeth, his tone shifting to something more frank, ”seriously though, you’re going to scare the fish.”

Arthur barked out a laugh, “right, sorry.” 

Javier momentarily grimaced at the loud sound knowing the fish had likely darted off. He side-eyed Arthur, one thick brow raised. But the sight of that subtle smile was enough to disarm him. Javier sighed, “what song were you humming?”

“Hm?” Arthur turned to face the smaller man. “Oh, er- ‘back in the saddle again’.”

Javier nodded shortly in acknowledgment, “that’s a good one.”

“Ain’t bad,” Arthur agreed, his voice sounding a little strange.

Javier glanced over, still lazily reeling. Arthur was chewing on his lip, a thoughtful furrow to his brow. But Javier’s attention did not linger, it snapped away from the other man as he felt another tug on his fishing rod. With practiced ease he hooked his fourth fish of the day. There were eyes on him again, but he paid them no mind as he fought the creature on the end of his line. Whatever type of fish it was, it didn't fancy being hooked. “¡Vamos, pendejo pesca!” Javier muttered irritably to himself as his line switched back and forth in the water.

“A tough one ain’t he?” Arthur commented after a minute, his imposing form shifting around just outside of Javier’s line of sight.

“He’ll tire,” Javier hummed, far more focused on his prey than the conversation.

Eventually the bastard of a trout did tire. And eventually he found himself tucked away with the rest of the trip’s catch. Javier stood after putting the fish into the basket only to notice Arthur was sitting, journal in hand. “Are you done fishing?” 

“Yah, but you don’t gotta stop,” Arthur said without looking up from his page, his pencil scrawling mysteries into the paper.

“You sure? We can pack up if you want.”

Arthur shook his head, “nah, it’s alright. You keep goin’.” 

“If you say so, Arthur,” Javier murmured, reaching for his pole. And just as he had so many times before, Javier prepared his rod, casted out, and slowly reeled it back in.  

Occasionally as he fished he would steal glances at Arthur. The rugged man scribbled into his journal with focused eyes and furrowed brows. It was cute in a way. And Javier longed to know what was being written, but he knew better than to ask. So he didn’t.

_____

The boat swayed as the bull of a man sitting in the back shifted. Rings of water rippled around the little craft until they faded back into the mass of the lake. Coal black eyes flicked from the miniature waves to their creator. Arthur had changed positions, the contents of his journal now visible to Javier. He peered at the page, undeniably curious.

To his mild surprise there weren’t that many words, and the ones that had been written were illegible from his current angle. The mass of the page had been filled with what looked to be a sketch. As subtle as he could, Javier craned his neck to the side in an attempt to see the drawing better. Regrettably, tilting his head did little to help him decipher the design. He squinted, thick brows coming together in a tight pinch. It appeared to be a person, their profile to be precise.

That’s about when everything started to click; the waistcoat, the ponytail, the fishing rod. The more Javier scrutinized Arthur’s handiwork the more intricacies he noticed; such as his own focused stare and casual stance.

Arthur’s wrist flicked in short bursts, little led lines of shading appeared on the underside of Javier's bowler hat. His hand paused, eyes flicking up.

Blue on black.

Arthur’s brows pinched and his jaw hung loosely, his thin lips parted in surprise. Quickly he splayed a large hand over the page, his pencil stuck between his pointer and middle finger. Javier grinned at the cornered expression. “There’s no need to hide your art, it’s beautiful."

Arthur’s eyes flitted across Javier’s face for a moment, as if he were searching for any insincerity. He exhaled, the tension in his hand and face loosened with the short breath. “It's just a sketch,” he dismissed, his hand lifting off the paper just enough for the journal to slap shut.

Javier frowned at the nonchalant answer. He turned so that he was fully facing Arthur; only one hand remained on his still out-casted fishing pole. “Don’t downplay your talents, querido,” he chided. “The simplicity of something doesn't take away from it’s-,” he paused for a second, searching for the right word, “it’s magnificence.” 

Arthur looked up at Javier, his eyes shaded by the wide brim of his hat. Thoughts danced across the blue expanse of his irises, like raindrops on a pond.

“Always got sumthin’ fancy to say, don’t cha’?” 

Javier snickered. “A benefit of my mother tongue?” He proposed with a subtle smirk. 

“Mm, Maybe,” Arthur hummed.

_______

Throbbing, deep and unplaceable, infested Javier’s chest. It overtook the dull buzz of numbness like a ravaging beast, tarring it to shreds, its blood and sinew painting the ground. He gasped for air, tears rolling freely down his cheeks, clinging uselessly to his jaw, before inevitably dripping from his quivering chin. 

_______

Javier crept up the staircase. He remained perpetually mindful of the creakiest floorboards, thus he kept his steps light and as close to the wall as possible. 

He was on the fourth to last step when he first heard the muffled arguing of Dutch and Molly. Their hushed yells permeating the thin, cracked walls of the Shady Belle. He watched their door as he scaled the last few steps, fearing one would barge out, but he turned his attention to the Marston’s room once he’d made the top landing.

There was no light emanating from the hole in their wall, but that didn’t mean that no one was awake. He sidled past their room with tentative steps. As he slinked past the gaping hole he heard the gravelly snores of John. Another three steps and he was clear of the guard railing and free to slip into Arthur’s room.

Ancient hinges squeaked as Javier pushed the door open just enough to squeeze through. Once inside he turned on his toes and closed the door with another squeak and a soft click. He turned again, slower this time, back now facing the door.

Arthur was sitting on the edge of his cot. His pink button up and worn jeans were still on but his boots and characteristic gambler hat were missing. A second glance informed Javier that the hat was resting on the nightstand, and the boots were placed in front of the clothing chest that was located at the foot of the cot.

Arthur’s elbows rested on his knees. Clutched loosely in his large hands was his colt revolver and a dirty rag, the items dangled slightly between his thick- gloriously thick- thighs.

Javier’s tongue dragged slowly over his teeth, his hunger spiking instantly. His gaze flicked up to meet  Arthur’s, his blue eyes coated in the honey colors of lamp light. Javier could feel his heart beating against his ribs in an almost sickening thrum. He swallowed only for the nausea to sink into his stomach, the fluttering feeling filled his guts until his skin crawled with excitement. Fuck- they hadn’t even spoken and Javier already felt alight.

“Evening Arthur,” he greeted; voice low, nearly failing him.

Arthur regarded him with a stoic expression. “You can’t keep comin’ here. Folks are gonna start noticin’ if you keep slitherin’ in.” Despite the critical words Arthur didn’t speak with cruelty, rather mild annoyance and well placed concern.

“Perhaps they will, perhaps they already do,” Javier shrugged casually.

Arthur looked Javier over a few times, his expression taking on a more resigned, discomforted appearance. Then he exhaled, his chest deflating and shoulders sagging from the force of it. He scoffed to himself, head hung low and shaking. “God damn it,” he muttered under his breath before placing his gun and rag atop the nightstand. “C'm’ere,” Arthur beckoned as he replaced his elbows on his knees.

A satisfied grin spread across Javier's face and he quickly crossed the small room, his steps light but confident. He stopped when the sides of his legs brushed against the inside Arthur’s jeans, those big thighs rubbing against Javier just enough to excite him.

Javier reached up, one hand landed on Arthur's shoulder, the other cupped his cheek. He raked his fingers over the coarse hair of Arthur’s beard.

Arthur groaned quietly, his eyes fluttering momentarily shut. His broad hands wrapped around the back of Javier’s thighs, squeezing lightly. “We gotta stop doin’ this,” he whispered, though he didn’t sound committed to it.

“I know,” Javier nodded, his hand trailing from Arthur’s jaw to the nape of his neck. He brushed his fingers through the short hair there, “I know. But I haven't touched you in days.” He sank into Arthur, wanting nothing more than to feel him everywhere. The hand that had tangled itself in Arthur’s dirty blonde locks wrapped around the back of his head, the other slipped over the curve of his shoulder to clutch at the back of his shirt, his face buried into the crook of Arthur’s neck. He inhaled deeply letting the scent of horse, sweat, and dirt wash over him. “I’m starved for you, amor.”

Arthur groaned deep in his throat, the sound loud in Javier’s ear. He moved those broad hands of his up Javier’s thighs and over his ass until he held narrow hips, “We gotta keep the volume down, understand?” he warned.

“You don’t have to remind me every time, Arthur,”  Javier pointedly replied.

Arthur chuckled, his chest rattling. “I know, I know…” He sighed, his warm breath tickling the back of Javier's neck. “I’d be lyin’ though, if I said I wasn’t missin’ you too,” he drawled, pulling Javier closer.

Javier stumbled the half step forward, his shins pressed uncomfortably against the bed frame, but that didn't stop him from grinning wolfishly against Arthur’s neck. 

His skin tingled under Arthur’s touch, he ached for more, so much more. He wanted Arthur to touch every inch of him, reclaim every part of his body. He pressed his lips to Arthur’s throat, his skin hot and heart rate heightened. Javier’s eyes rolled at the feeling. He planted a kiss to Arthur’s pulse point. Then he repeated the act again and again until he was mindlessly mouthing and sucking at Arthur’s skin, marking him with hickies and saliva.

Arthur tilted his head back, his breath heavy. His hands grasped Javier’s hips tightly, almost painfully, like he couldn't bear the idea of letting go. The idea made heat shoot through Javier’s gut.

One of the hands that clutched Javier’s hips vanished only to reappear at the back of his neck. Blunt fingers squeeze the sides of his throat, a quiet whine escaped him. The hand pulled him off of the skin he’d been lavishing only to guide him to a new target. Javier’s and Arthur’s lips pressed together in an off-centered purse before they fitted together in a heated overlap.

Javier's hands moved again this time to cup both sides of Arthur’s jaw, his scruffy cheeks moving under his finger tips. He caught Arthur’s lip between his teeth and tugged it slightly. Receptively the older man opened his mouth, allowing Javier the access he so desperately craved.

It was crazy really, how malnourished, how starved he could feel after just a few days without the other’s caress. It made him ravenous, but then again he always was. Even now, devouring Arthur as he was, he still felt empty of sustenance, deprived of what he needed.

Arthur moaned as Javier sucked on his tongue, pulling it into his own mouth. The vibrations echoed down Javier’s throat all the way to his groin. He suddenly pushed Arthur back by the shoulders.

“What the hell's that for?” Arthur complained but he quickly shut up when he saw Javier’s nimble fingers reach for the buttons of his own shirt. He pulled it roughly over his head when it was only half undone and tossed it to the dirty floor.

Then he was sinking into the older man again. His swollen lips found Arthur’s, his hands tugging at the collar of the other man’s shirt. Indulgently, Arthur started undoing his top, his fingers fumbling with the buttons. 

When Arthur didn’t undress fast enough for Javier’s taste he swatted his hands away and unbuttoned the shirt for him. Together they worked it off of Arthur's muscular arms before tossing it carelessly to the side.

 Javier pulled away again only to rub his face into Arthur’s chest, nuzzling into the hair there. Arthur’s chest shook as he laughed, “what the hell are you doin’?”

“Touching my man,” Javier purred.

_____

Arthur’s steady breaths were like a lullaby, encouraging Javier to fall asleep. He couldn't. In fact, he really needed to flee before someone realized where he was. But he couldn’t bring himself to care, not with Arthur’s back pressed to his chest, their legs tangled. It was sweltering in the dilapidated room; an uncomfortable mixture of summer heat, humidity, and a series of heady breaths. And yet, Javier didn’t budge from his spot, too entranced by the feeling of Arthur’s skin to care about how clammy his palms felt. 

Arthur’s breathy moans still reverberated in Javier’s head like a stuck song. He licked his lips before swallowing, the faint taste of spunk still on his tongue. He grinned at the thought and shimmied closer, his soft prick pressed into Arthur’s lower back. It still pulsed faintly with the aftershock of his own orgasm. Javier chuckled tiredly to himself, nuzzling his face even further between Arthur’s shoulder blades.

He knew the sun would be rising soon and he would have no choice but to scamper off. But until then, it was just him, Arthur, and the bliss that still fogged his mind. If he could’ve lived in that moment forever he would have, touched and sedated as he was. It was heaven on earth.

Arthur twitched in his sleep, his strong hands flexing. Javier could feel the muscles in his forearms clench and unclench from the motion. He traced his calloused fingertips lazily over Arthur’s arm, enjoying the rippling sensation. It must have tickled Arthur because he jostled and rolled over. Javier’s eyes flicked slowly over Arthur’s face, taking in his peaceful expression. He was breathing slowly through his mouth; the warm air rushed over Javier’s face, tickling his cheeks.

For a while he stayed like that; his arm draped over Arthur’s ribs, their faces inches apart. Only when the euphoria had completely subsided and the first rays of dawn cascaded through the broken windows did Javier rise from his comfortable position. Carefully, he climbed out of the cot, trying his damnedest to not bother the sleeping man. Then he gathered his clothing and hastily dressed.

He slipped from the Shady Belle in the same fashion he’d entered it, with well placed, feather light steps. And despite the houses’ desperate attempts to get him caught, he successfully escaped out the back door.

Javier strode back to his lean-to as casually as he could manage. His eyes darted around, searching for any early risers. But to his relief he was greeted only by the rays of sunlight that shone over the horizon. Its golden beams highlighted the morning dew in a truly gorgeous way.

As he walked damp blades of grass stuck to his boots, like the leather was some sort of lifeline. The dew smeared across the metal tips that covered the front of his shoes, the light catching against those too. 

He dropped down on his bedroll and kicked off his dirty shoes. Tiredly, he stared at the rising sun. He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering agitatedly to himself. Consequences be damned, he should’ve stayed in the cozy cave of Arthur’s embrace, in the comfort of his cot, in the tranquility of his room.

He laid back, ankles crossed, and arm coming up to drape over his eyes. If he was lucky he could still claim a few merger hours a sleep before camp was bustling with life. Even if he didn’t, it’d be worth it. Arthur had made it worth it.

_______

A sharp pain shot through Javier's knees as they hit ground, the impact sent a wave of dull heat up his thighs and down his shins.

A cry, sharp and loud, lodged itself securely into Javier's throat, stubbornly refusing to sound itself. He gagged, feeling like he was choking on it. He sank forward, palms sprawled in the tall grass, his chest heaving as he tried to breath around the lump clogging his throat.

Javier hung his head low between his shoulders. His bowler hat tipped off his head, landing in the grass, brim side up. Tears rolled fast and hot down his cheeks, soaking the dirt.

With a clenched fist he struck the earth. Pain burst through the side of his palm, echoing through his wrist into his forearm as the unrelenting ground met his strike. Again, he slammed the side of his hand into the ground, undeterred by the sting pulsing through the outside of his hand and arm.

Teeth grinding, an agonized growl finally escaped his trembling lips. His entire body quaked as he brought his hand down again and again until he finally slumped forward, too weak to continue. He clenched both of his fists as tight as he could manage, his blunt fingernails dug into the tender flesh of his palm. He only relented when his wrist became too fatigued to hold the tight shape.

Shaking from horn to hoof, Javier shifted and pressed his forehead to the ground. His mind swirled with unwanted memories, such as the ones of him teasing Arthur for that awful cough of his. He had wanted to comfort him, truly he had. He had wanted to reach out to pat him on the back, to offer an herbal remedy, to hold him while he rested and recovered. God why hadn't he? Was he too proud? Too angry? To blind? Too stupid? Could he not push aside his own hurt long enough to care for his man?

His stomach turned at the onslaught of darkening thoughts, it twisted into a tight knot that left him heaving. He sucked in a sharp breath, forcing back the bile that burned his throat, and when he exhaled a pitiful, moaning sob went with it. His entire body shuddered from the force of his cry.

There, crumpled in the grass, he remained wracked with grief until he ran out of tears to shed, and his throat was too raw to manage anything above a weak whimper. A cold sweat had set in and it left him an uncomfortable mixture of warm, chilled, and damp. He curled into a ball, shivering pitifully. In a way he almost looked like a child, small and frail.

After a while he slowly straightened up, sitting back on his calves. Sticky half dried tear trails glistened down the curve of his cheeks and jawline in a way that made his skin itch. Neck barely supporting his head, Javier stared up at the grave. A woeful expression distorting his usually rugged features.

“Arthur-” he choked out, his voice ragged from wailing. “Oh mi pequeno… I'm so sorry- so, so sorry. I should’ve left with you when we had the chance, I was wrong- I was wrong.” The apologies felt foreign on his tongue, but he had to get this weight off his chest before it crushed him.

Javier’s weary eyes flicked across the painted words again. His heart swelled just from the sight of it. He let his gaze fall to the flowers that shrouded the grave marker before tears could cloud his eyes once more. The pretty orange and yellow flowers swayed in the breeze, their delicate little pedals fluttering as they danced. Javier clenched his jaw, almost disgusted by how carefree they appeared.

His gaze shifted again when he noticed a black mass rocking back and forth just in front of the flowers. His bowler hat rolled slightly; the breeze teasing it, threatening to blow it right off the cliff. With a trembling hand Javier reached out to retrieve his hat before the wind stopped toying with it and actually swept it away. He dropped it atop his head, uncaring of how it sat.

Unsteadily, Javier exhaled, his shoulders slumping forward. He hadn't fully calmed down yet, that much was clearly evident. He could still feel his heart in his chest, the tingling in his skin, and that knot in his stomach. He swallowed for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon, this time though it was in a futile attempt to suppress the acidic feeling curling in his gut.

Javier stayed sitting before the grave for a time; just taking it in, too drained to do anything else.

He inhaled sharply, pulling himself out of a dissociative daze. He squeezed his eyes shut, the backs of his lids burned from how long he'd gone without blinking. Two dirty fingers reached up to pinch the scarred bridge of his nose. Slowly he exhaled, nodding to himself, tired resignation sinking in.

His long, dark eyelashes fluttered as he blinked away the pain in his eyes. Javier reached out and took a hold of the grave marker’s main post and used it as leverage as he hoisted himself up.

Now standing just before the marker he let his hand wander up the post and over the arc of the wagon wheel, the roughly textured wooden planks dragged against his sore palm. His movements slowed as his hand reached the top, there he let it rest. He was still only a moment before he started rubbing the pad of his thumb over the coarse ridges of the grain just like he used to rub the back of Arthur's hand, the feeling of his protruding veins a ghost under Javier's fingertips. 

He shuddered, pulling his hand away like he'd just been pricked by a splinter. He rubbed his hand against itself hard, replacing the echoes of his past with something real. “I know…” he trailed off before recollecting himself, “I know that apologies are worth nothing more than sentiment. And- I know apologizing won't change anything. What's done is done…But… I am sorry, Arthur.” The name fell from his lips in another wave of trembles that he stifled as best he could.

Javier bit his lip, he wanted to say more but he didn't know what to say or if he did he didn't know how to phrase it. He felt it though… and maybe if there really was an afterlife Arthur could feel it too. Or maybe, talking to a grave was even more useless than apologizing to a dead man.

Either way, Javier turned around. “Adios,” he whispered more for his own benefit than anything else. After all, he'd never gotten the chance to say it before.

And with that the small man walked away.

Chapter Text

Quiet as the dead, and as somber as the night, Javier retraced the steps he'd lain a year prior. Atop his trusty steed, he followed the same meandering path that led to the odd little hut that lay swaddled between a rock face and towering spruce trees.

With his forearm resting limply on his thigh, Javier rolled a rose stem between his gloved fingers, his eyes slowly surveying the landscape. As expected, the forest was alive with all forms of life; plants, animals, and fungi alike. 

A pair of does took to bounding away as Javier and Boaz emerged from around a bend, their white tails bobbing in and out of sight. Javier watched them with lazy eyes until they disappeared into the distant brush. Slowly he let his attention drift away from the spot they'd vanished though, luring it back to the trail and trees. 

True to Javier’s memory, the trees slowly waned, giving way to a relatively clear area. In which, a small, rather ugly, dirt hut resided. 

Boaz nickered quietly as Javier tugged on the reins with one hand, the leather of his glove creaking softly. Receptively, the horse slowed to a moseying stop. 

Sitting straight-backed atop his halted mount, the small man cast scrutinizing eyes on the hut. As before, there were no lights illuminating the cracks in the door, no smoke billowing out of the chimney, nor were there horses lingering outside. But staring at it now he noticed what looked to be a symbol painted on the front. With his eyes, he traced the shape of the white lines, followed the curl of the circles. It was odd, whatever it was.

Javier’s gaze slid downward, his attention drawn by the long, swaying blades of grass that covered the hut’s roof. There were patches of white and red dotting the otherwise green mound. The delicate little wild flowers, their names unknown to Javier, danced carelessly in the gentle breeze, flaunting their beauty like a city woman surrounded by filthy farmers.

Javier snorted quietly to himself, eyes rolling, as he swung his leg over Boaz’s broad back. Dropping to the ground with the chime of spurs, Javier absently wondered if the hut was actually abandoned or if the inhabitants were simply out ‘n about anytime he passed through. Which, considering he'd only been here once before, he supposed both were completely plausible.

With one hand, Javier flicked Boaz’s reins over his head. Glancing about, he searched for a good spot to hitch his boy. Ultimately he settled on what may very well be the same place he hitched him last year. Silently, Javier led the ornery, yet loveable, horse over to one of the many Sitka trees that littered the area. He looped the reins over one of the low hanging, needle covered branches. But with his off hand preoccupied with the rose he was unable to properly tie the reins down. So, Javier brought the rose up and cautiously tucked it behind the curve of his ear, the thorns scratched at the thin skin there. Its elegant, red petals showed boldly against the oily black spill of his unwashed hair. 

With that, Javier returned to his task. He knotted the reins around the tree branch; conscious as always that it was tied tight enough that Boaz couldn't break free with a lazy jerk of the head, but loose enough that he could escape should he actually need to.

Javier stepped away, bussing himself with removing an old, scratched up guitar from his saddle. Carefully, mindful of his floral accessory, he lowered the makeshift strap, which was attached to the wooden body via nails, over his head. He took a moment then, adjusting the instrument until it hung comfortably across his back. Afterwards he turned to the saddle bags. From one he retrieved a tall, clear glass bottle that quietly slouched with translucent liquid. 

Boaz watched his rider from the corners of his dark eyes, his ears flicked back. Javier gave him a reassuring pat on the side, to which Boaz snorted indignantly. Giving an intentionally wide berth, Javier crossed behind his horse. And with leisurely, unhurried steps he strode to the rocky slope that lay just beyond the hut. 

He stopped just before the formidable incline, and stared up at it. It looked just as daunting as before. Javier sucked in a deep breath through his nose, his back straightening as his lungs inflated. Only when his resolve had set again did he exhale, the air fleeing him in a great huff. 

Javier clutched the bottle close to his body, keeping it securely tucked against his chest. He crouched down, his knee popped loudly in protest. Despite that, Javier began his clambering ascent. 

It was a slower process than last time. He kept having to stop to adjust the instrument on his back to insure that it didn't slip and cut a string. And the drink clutched to Javier's side wasn't helping none either. But, regardless, Javier did emerge at the top, unharmed and victorious. 

He stood to his full height only to wince sharply, a pained groan escaping him. His knees and the backs of his thighs screamed, the muscles sore and cramped from how long he'd been squatting. Javier reached his free hand down and rubbed the back of his knee in a lackluster attempt to alleviate the pain.

Quickly giving up on the endeavor, Javier turned to his right. Immediately his gaze fell to the grave marker that stood boldly at the end of the grass covered spur. His heart clenched, a physical reminder of the pain that still infested him, of the rot that still ruined him. Javier sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, soothing the ache already building in his chest. Slowly he exhaled, disregarding the hesitation that still incessantly tugged at the hem of his jacket, trying to pull him backwards. 

The tall, lush grass swayed in the breeze only to be flattened under Javier's boots as he walked forward, inching toward the lonely grave. He stopped a few, meager feet before it, then he sank to the ground, legs crossing. 

“Hola cariño,” he whispered only for his voice to be stolen away by the whistling wind.

Javier set the bottle down to his left, then pulled the guitar over his head to lay it on the other side of him. 

The scared man’s obsidian gaze flicked up to the grave, a sad smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The wooden marker glowed in the evening light, streaks of gold slipped through the ridged edges of the grain, the painted words shrouded in a hazy shadow; as if God himself were shining his holy light upon it. Scoffing, Javier looked down, his head wagging back and forth in pained disbelief. Even now, that unjust bastard infiltrated his thoughts, affecting his perception of the world. 

Javier pulled on a lever in his mind, shifted the rail tracks, forced his train of thought in a new direction. He wasn't here to address his relationship with religion, no, he was here to reconcile with the deceased. So that's exactly what he'd do. 

Gently pinching the stem, Javier retrieved the rose from his ear; strands of silken black hair clung to the rose's brown thorns until they could no longer reach. His bangs cascaded back to their usual place, shrouding his face. 

“A gift,” he held the rose as if presenting it to Arthur, the golden light of the setting sun caught beautifully on the edges of its thin petals. “For you…” he continued as he rolled the steam between his fingers, captivated by the way the light struck it. “I figured it would go well with your little arrangement here.” Reverently, Javier lowered the red bloom to his nose. Eyes closed, he inhaled deeply, letting the sweet, floral scent wash over his senses. 

“Did you know that red roses are a symbol of love?” he asked after a moment, his eyes fluttering open again. “Perhaps that's why I always had an affinity for them.”

Javier gently laid the flower atop the body of his guitar, then he reached for the knife on his belt. It slipped from its sheath with the dragging sound of metal against leather. He turned the finely etched blade over in his hand a few times, the blade glinting in the waning light, a blinding sunspot against the silver edge.

With the help of the knife, Javier carved a narrow hole into the begrudging earth, in which he planted the elegant bloom. As expected it blended well with the other flowers, its bright red complementing the oranges and yellows wonderfully. Content with his work, Javier rubbed his hands together, dusting them off. Then he reached for his knife and cleared away flecks of dirt that had accumulated in its intricately detailed engravings by whipping the blade against his jeans. Once satisfied with the cleanliness of his weapon, he tucked it back into its sheath. 

“Do you know what today is?” Javier asked out of nowhere, his eyes flicking from the dirt smear on his jeans back up to the grave. He remained silent for a while, as if allowing Arthur the opportunity to respond despite knowing that he couldn’t. 

When, as predicted, no response came, Javier continued. “It’s the uh-“ he waved his hand slightly, “anniversary- of our first kiss. Figured we could celebrate,” he wryly mused. “Look I even brought your favorite,” Javier teased with a clever little grin as he reached for the clear bottle. He held the tequila up, presenting to the grave like he had the rose. 

He held it aloft for a moment before drawing it near his chest. He popped the cork and tossed it carelessly to the side, unbothered with where it landed, he knew he wouldn’t be needing it again. Then Javier took a hearty swig; the clear liquor burned the back of his tongue and throat, but in a familiar, even comforting sort of way. 

Chin tucked against his chest, Javier sighed. He held the bottle out, his arm fully extended, and tilted the bottle. A sips-worth spilled from the glass’ lip to splash against the ground. “For you,” Javier repeated, drawing the container close again.

He took one more small sip before placing the tequila aside. For a moment Javier stared at the bottle; tall blades of grass cupped the bottom of the bottle, obscuring part of the label. 

His gaze drifted away again, winding up on the panoramic view surrounding him. The Grizzlies’ distant, snow covered peaks were painted light pink by the dwindling sun. Meandering clouds a pleasant mix of oranges and purples. And where the sun no longer basked there lay a deepening, darkening blue. Some particularly bright stars had even begun appearing in the heavens. Idly, Javier rubbed at his knee as he took in the picturesque scene.

Eventually his neck became sore from tilting it too far back. Javier looked down and rubbed at the base of his skull, elevating the pain there. He twisted his neck both ways, his vertebrae cracking loudly behind his ears. Javier sighed to himself, somewhat unsure of what to do. He glanced at the instrument laying beside him. Decisively, he picked it up. 

Javier laid the curved body against his inner thigh, the wood cradled his leg comfortably. “Any requests?” He half jokingly asked.

As expected, Arthur didn’t respond.

“Yah- right,” Javier murmured to himself, his fingers hovering over the strings. Aimlessly, Javier began plucking at the cords, trying to generate some inspiration. But none came. Rather, what did, was the realization that his guitar was out of tune.

Intent shifting, he teased each individual string, testing them. With his right hand he adjusted the turning keys, his left thumb repeatedly striking the offending strings until they sounded just right. After tuning all six strings he played them again, verifying each one individually. Pleased with the results, he stroked a scared finger over the strings again, playing a flat cord. Brilliante.

Finally content with the sound of his guitar, Javier took to strumming at it again, his muscle taking over where his mind refused to. It was a pretty little tune that he spontaneously crafted, it flitted up and down like a babbling brook in the sunny meadow. 

Javier stopped playing when he decided it was too cheery sounding for his current mood. 

He reached over to take another slow sip of his tequila, pondering what he ought to play instead, when inspiration struck. He clicked his tongue, flexing his fingers over the cords. Then he started playing a more somber song, an original. He’d written it a few years back, before he and Arthur knew each so intimately. The lyrics, which he’d only ever uttered in Spanish, depicted his yearnings, his desires, his bone deep need for Arthur. They laid him upon the ground, flayed, and bleeding. Even when Arthur held Javier close, snug against his chest, he couldn’t bear to tell him of the song's true nature. To do so would leave him bare and trembling. He adored Arthur, loved him, but to be so candid wasn’t in Javier’s nature. 

Playing it now stung; like a thick needle being pushed slowly, methodically, through the muscle of his chest, past his ribs, to prod at his aching heart. The musician glanced up to the name scrawled across the grave, the letters barely visible now. In retrospect, Javier wished he would’ve played the song for Arthur, told him the meaning of each flowing line, professed his truth with abandon. But alas…

Javier looked down at his gloved hands, his fingers deftly striking the strings with practiced mastery. But soon his song tapered off. His brows furrowed deeply, he couldn’t quite remember how the next part went.

Dragging his tongue over his teeth, he reached for the bottle again. He took a quick sip, barely moving his head as he searched his memories for the second bridge. 

But the remaining notes evaded him, hidden among the rocky chasms of his mind. 

Javier sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. Not long after he returned to playing unrehearsed melodies that reflected his mournful mood, giving his feelings the voice he never could. Periodically he would stop to take a drink, or to whisper something to the bones that lay silently beneath him, cradled by mother earth’s tight embrace.

Eventually, the sorrowful tune that betrayed Javier’s lasting pain, the booze that coursed warmly through his veins, and the starry night over took him, stealing the poor little man away to an old, dust covered memory. 

_______

Javier mindlessly strummed his guitar, crafting a melody calm and quiet like a lullaby, soothing those already tucked into their beds off to sweet slumber. But, of course, not everyone was in bed just yet; from Javier’s position at the main campfire he could see Charles, Uncle, and Pearson were still up. And he knew Bill and Lenny were out on watch. 

The musician stared absently at the fire, its red tendrils lapping at the dark, warding off the cool air. He sighed, the vision lulling him into a state of ease. Soon his mind was adrift, lost and wandering through the endless deserts of his mind. Distant mirages of memory hovered in his head, reminding him of things one would rather forget. 

Adrift though he was, he could still distantly hear his own spontaneously created melody and could still feel when someone’s gaze landed upon him. But he didn’t stir; the weight of eyes was a common occurrence, he’d assumed they’d eventually drift away. 

They didn’t.

Interest now piqued, he glanced up. Across the fire sat Arthur; his imposing form hunched, elbows resting on his knees. The fire light danced across his face, the orange glow highlighting his roughened features.

Javier allowed himself a moment of adoration. His hooded eyes traced the width of Arthur’s nose, the wrinkles and groves of his worn face, the strong lines of his jaw. Firelight did wonders for most people's appearance, but something about the way it caressed the curve of Arthur's cheek bone was awe inspiring. In that moment Javier wanted nothing more than to close the space between them and kiss Arthur until he couldn’t breathe. Right there in plain sight, where everyone could watch. But he knew Arthur wasn’t his to claim, besides such an act could get him shot or worse; hung. 

Javier grinned casually at the burly man and looked away, a guise to hide his desires. Charles sat on the ground, about three seats away from Javier. Sticks, feathers, and arrow heads lay in organized piles around him, a half completed arrow clutched in his massive hand. His face was serious, eyes honed on his craft in an almost intimidating manner. But as if to oppose the intense expression, his thick black hair cascaded over his shoulders and down his back like a river of ink, silky and fluid. And beyond him, sitting at one of the tables were the old bastards, who were drinking and laughing privately.

Javier turned back to find Arthur taking a drink out of a nearly empty bottle of whiskey, when he lowered the bottle his lips were glistening. Then his shining eyes fell to Javier's hands, they watched as deft fingers plucked at thick cords. He almost seemed entranced by it, the thought invigorated the musician. 

Soon the mindless tune eased into a more purposeful one. And before Javier knew it, he was playing a song he’d learned back in Mexico. He’d since forgotten most of the lyrics but their message remained; longing and lust.

The entire song Arthur’s gaze remained fixed on Javier and his guitar. An ember of…something in those beautiful blue eyes. If Javier could dive into the oceanic depths of them to dredge out whatever that glint was he would, like a diver searching for Spanish gold. 

When the song came to its lilting close Arthur shook his head slightly, as if he’d been knocked atop it and was trying to dispel the blur in his vision. When he’d stopped his gaze did not return to the man across the fire, rather his own feet. “Tha’s one hell of a song,” he said in a friendly tone. 

“Thanks amigo,” Javier grinned, his wrist draped limply on the body of his instrument. 

Without the music to disguise their conversation, Pearson and Uncle’s drunken stories began to filter over to the campfire. It sounds like they were trying to one up each other with tales blown so far out of proportion that they weren’t physically possible. But before Javier could really decipher what was being said, there was a shift in his peripheral; Charles was standing, his supplies and completed ammunition held in his strong arms. He looked between the two still-seated men, "It's getting late,” he offered in explanation, “I’m going to bed.” He nodded to Javier then Arthur, a silent farewell to them both, then promptly walked off in the direction of his tent.

Arthur watched him leave, his attention lingering until Charles was completely engulfed by the night. He turned back and pressed the bottle to his lips again. He swallowed the last of its contents, Adam's apple bobbing as he did so. The hungry animal inside of Javier growled, how it wished to bite that neck. He gulped, forcing his yearning back down. “Do you have any song requests?” he casually asked. 

Arthur looked thoughtful for a moment then shrugged. “I dunno, su’prise me.”

Javier repositioned and flexed his fingers over the cords for a moment, mentally searching for a fitting song. He pressed his calloused fingertips to the neck of the guitar and began playing again. 

Staring into the flames, Arthur scowled thoughtfully. It seemed as though he recognized the upbeat tune but couldn't quite place from where. After a few seconds he scoffed to himself, a humored grin pulling at his thin lips, eyes sparkling as recognition finally hit him. He looked back up to Javier who replicated the smile. The mountain of a man, in all his harsh beauty, began bobbing his head along to the song, his bassy hum adding to the tiny ensemble. 

“I've got five goats an’ a wagon load, I got my six shot with mee, mighty fine mare, rockin’ chair, sack’a armmm coffee, sack’a hmMmm coffeee,”  Arthur quietly sang, his words periodically tapering off when he didn't remember the lyrics. 

The attempt made Javier’s chest swell in affection. He wasn't on key, wasn't even on time; but that didn't matter, not to Javier. 

“Off west on the Oregon trail, headin’ to Californiaaa,” Arthur’s voice picked back up, “Off to find our fortune there, I'll be waitin’ for ya, I'll be waitin’ for yaaa.” The final verse rolled off his tongue in a raspy drawl that made Javier's stomach clench.

As the song came to its inevitable end the two men grinned widely at each other. Arthur chuckled, shaking his head in amusement, his crow’s feet showing. Javier, meanwhile, placed his instrument to the side and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “How was that for a surprise?” He joked.

“Was a damn good one! Haven't heard it in a while, where’d chu’ learn it anyway?” Arthur’s curiosity sounded so genuine that the adobe walls Javier had built around himself crumbled slightly.

“I’m not sure. Reno, maybe,” he shrugged. 

Arthur brought the bottle to his lips again then grumbled when he remembered it was empty. The act pulled a cackling little laugh out of Javier. “Here amigo, I've got something for you.” He stood then dug through his personal belongings; he withdrew a tall, thin bottle. Then strode around the fire and held it out to Arthur, “It's tequila.” 

Arthur grabbed the bottle by the neck, uncorked it, took a swig, and immediately grimaced. “Fucking hell, Javier!” 

“Too strong for you, gringo?” he teased lightheartedly.

Arthur shook his head, “just surprised me, is all.” 

Regardless of whether or not that was true, he passed it back up to Javier who took a sip in turn. The familiar heat slid down his throat, warmth bloomed in his stomach. When he lowered the bottle he realized Uncle was fast asleep at the table and Pearson was missing, presumably taking a piss or sleeping. 

He sat down on the log beside Arthur, a reasonable- friendly distance away, and offered the tequila again with a subtle tilt of the bottle and a raised eyebrow. Arthur took it. And when he drank this time his reaction was more controlled. Licking his lips clean, he passed the bottle back to Javier, that glint returning to his eyes.

Head lolled slightly to the side, he mused, “You know yur really sumthin’. chu’ can play guitar, sing, are the best dressed man in camp, can kill like no one else…”  God, he's such a sappy drunk.

“Sure, Arthur.” 

“Im serious,” he persisted, “yur the…” he trailed off waving his big hand vaguely in the air, searching for the right word. After a moment of contemplation he settled on “,yur the man.”

Javier hummed in amusement before swallowing more tequila. He caught Arthur’s eyes, they followed his movements closely from beneath the brim of his gambler hat. Even after Javier lowered the bottle Arthur's gaze remained hazy and glued to his liquor coated lips. He looked up only to be met with Javier's piercing stare. He didn't hold the eye contact, rather ducked under the safety of his hat. He cleared his throat with a weak cough, a faint blush painting his cheeks. Under other circumstances one could attribute that to the alcohol, but Javier knew that wasn't the case, not this time. He finally figured it out, what that glint in Arthur's eye was, Longing. Sinful longing.

Devious thoughts floated about his mind. He shifted closer; their knees knocked together. “Do you want more?” He offered again. Arthur looked up somewhat confused, perhaps the flirtatious tone wasn't completely lost on him.

“What?” his eyes landed on the bottle, “oh- shoah.”

Clumsily he took the bottle. His eyes closed as he tilted his head back, eyelashes brushed beautifully against colored cheeks. Javier’s fingers twitched, the urge to reach out and touch Arthur harder to ignore now. He turned away, gaze shifting to the surrounding camp, an easy distraction from his longingful thoughts. 

Uncle still lay folded over the table, fast asleep, his throaty snores breaking the night’s curated atmosphere. Javier rolled his eyes at the old drunk. Excluding him, the camp still laid in relative peace. A few folks tossed in their sleep, their clothing ruffling softly as they moved, and others murmured intangibly, but all things considered it was a serene sight. 

Arthur snickered behind Javier, he turned to address the other man with a puzzled expression. Arthur stared into the fire, grinning sloppily, the tequila perched on his knee, one wide hand clasped around the body of the bottle. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Aw just- heh,” Arthur looked down to his feet, shaking his head,” just thinkin’ ‘bout this wildlife photographer I met out in West Elizabeth. Got his bag stolen by a coyot’.”

Javier’s brow quirked in amusement. “That so?” he asked, reaching for the bottle.

Arthur hummed in response, handing the bottle back. And for a fleeting moment, Javier’s fingers trailed over the back of Arthur’s; the measly touch taunting the animal within, feeding it just enough scraps to survive by. It howled, begging for more. Javier pressed the bottle to his lips again, swallowing down a healthy swig. Vaguely he hoped it would drown the beast in him, maybe then he could exist without that insatiable ache in his chest. “What were you doin’ out in West Elizabeth anyway?”

“Breakin’ Micha outta jail,” Arthur grumpily replied, like the thought alone pissed him off.

Javier nodded, “they we’re gonna hang him, no?”

“Yah, shoulda let ‘em too. Bastard had us shoot up the whole goddamn town for his precious fuckin’ guns.” 

Javier scoffed. Then holding the bottle back out to Arthur, he joked, “drink to forget?” 

Arthur laughed boisterously, the sound cutting off the serenading nightlife. “Hah! Don’t mind if ah do,” he cheerfully exclaimed. 

_____

Arthur’s head tilted back and swallowed the last remnants of booze. He lowered the empty bottle and unceremoniously shoved it into Javier’s chest. His hand lingered on the bottle while he waited for Javier to take it, but his unfocused gaze remained on the flickering fire. 

Javier, loose from the alcohol, diligently placed his fingers on Arthur's wrist, a gentle teasing touch that made his heart beat faster than a roadrunner runs.The hulking man visibly shuttered at the touch as Javier slowly dragged his calloused fingertips up over freckled skin, scarred knuckles, wrinkled digits, dirty nails, to the smooth bottle beyond.

Arthur pulled his arm away the moment Javier’s touch had ceased, but through hooded eyes Javier could see the blush had spread across his face, it felt good knowing he'd caused it. Grinning, he set the opened container on the grass by his feet. Then, casting aside any inhibitions he had left, he planted his hand firmly on Arthur's knee, fingers digging into the meat of his inner thigh.

Arthur’s working pants felt rough under his palm, but he was certain the flesh it concealed was soft. Arthur addressed him with an alarmed expression, but he made no attempt to push Javier away. The sight reminded him vaguely of a frightened deer; frozen in place, resigned to its doom. 

For a long time they sat there in silence, staring at one another. Conflict raged behind Arthur’s darting eyes, his fears and desires locked in a fierce shootout, the battlefield so clouded with smoke that neither force could see the other. Lips barely parted, he breathily stuttered out Javier’s name.

“If you don’t want this,” he leaned closer, his voice wrought with severity, “tell me now.”

Arthur shakily exhaled, his eyes falling half lidded. “I-“ he immediately trailed off.

Javier waited in bated silence as the inebriated man struggled to find his words. All the while their warm, heavily scented breaths mingled in the gap between them. 

“I want it…” Arthur admitted through an exhale.

Javier’s heart leapt in his chest, a pleased grin returned to his previously serious face.

They lean closer, closing the space between them. Javier's eyes closed when he felt chapped lips pressed against his own. Instantly he felt enveloped by warmth; fire, alcohol, and Arthur's presence warded off the chilled night air like a fur coat.

They parted, eyes lingering on each other's lips. Their warm breaths danced together in the minute space that separated them, twirling against exposed skin.

They met again. 

Separated. 

Met again.

Each reunion was longer, hotter, more passionate than the one prior.

Without disengaging, Javier rose from his wooden seat to straddle Arthur. The hand previously on his thigh roamed up to his hip bone. The other found purchase on the side of Arthur's head. Fingers brushed through dirty blonde hair while his thumb pressed against the scruffy beard that covered Arthur’s cheek.

Arthur’s hands hovered awkwardly in the air, as if unsure what to do with them. But Javier didn't wait for him to figure it out. He couldn't, not anymore. He tilted his head to the side, his tongue slipping through Arthur’s lips. 

Arthur groaned, his large hands dropping to Javier's waist. He held him so tightly that his fingertips turned white, the pressure elated the smaller man. Instinctively, he leaned closer; their torsos pressing against one another.

Arthur, finally recovering from his previous uncertainty, began pushing back into Javier, trying to keep up with his needy pace. They fumbled at first, unfamiliar with one another and too caught in the moment to really care. It hurt when their noses collided or their teeth clacked against one another, but they didn't slow down.

“Damn Javier-,” Arthur all but gasped in between fervent kisses, “you're real good-”

The sentiment, thought childishly put, was appreciated. Javier pulled back slightly, chuckling dryly. “I’ve had my practice. Now stop talking,” there was no bite to his tone, just wanton urgency.

Arthur seemed to understand ‘cause he leaned back in, their sore lips meeting once again.

They had just begun to find a rhythm when they heard something shift loudly on the other side of camp. Arthur pulled back, a fearful expression painting his face. The pair stilled while they listened intently. Javier hoped to God that they were just imagining it and that they could resume. 

But there it was again. A shuffling sound, like a person walking through the tents. Likely Bill or Pearson. Arthur must have come to the same conclusion because he pushed Javier hurriedly off his lap.

Reluctantly, Javier abided. He stumbled drunkenly off of the larger man; kicking the forgotten tequila bottle as he went. The empty glass toppled to its side and rolled a quarter circle in the soft grass.

Arthur stood and took a couple of steps backward, his eyes blown wide, brows pinched. He raised his hand as if he were about to address Javier. 

He didn’t.

Rather he shook his head, presumably at himself. And, without another word, fled to the sanctity of his own tent.

Javier watched him the whole way; his gaze trailing from Arthur’s broad shoulders, to his ass, to the place he’d been sitting moments ago. A symphony of emotions played within him; elation, fear, but most identifiably annoyance at the cabron who had interrupted their make out session. 

Javier paused. A grin formed lazily on his sore lips, softening his scarred features. He’d finally gotten to kiss Arthur, what a remarkable thought. He tilted his head back, and tiredly gaze at the distant stars. For a moment he stood there, the music inside his heart easing. 

Sighing, he looked down again. He could still feel the notes deep in his bone marrow, but he couldn’t hear it anymore. He blinked hard, the fatigue starting to weigh on him now that the adrenaline had subsided. 

He passed the weakening fire by, slipped into his shared lean-to, and dropped onto his bedroll. Not caring enough to strip down to his union suit, he simply kicked off his boots, unbuckled his gun belt,  removed his pocket watch, the attached knife, and untied his hair. 

He checked Arthur’s tent one last time before laying belly side down. Unsurprisingly, there was no movement. 

It didn't take long for Javier to drift off; the day had been long and dull, and the night, excitable as it was, had stretched into the waning hours of darkness. Exhaustion dragged him into the depths of sleep like graveyard weeds pull the undead back into their rotting coffins.

That night blurred images floated through his head. He couldn’t make out much but he remembered Arthur’s pretty face kissed by sunlight, his hairy arms wrapped around his own narrow waist. Dandelions and…roses.