Exciting little duo, arenât they?
â§â Relics of Our Bond
Dutch Van der Linde x Hosea Matthews
CW: â ď¸18+ | Minors DNIâ ď¸
In the early days of Van der Lindeâs gang, life was simple (easy as an anarchistâs life could be.) A little  family had built itself off the dirt streets of America, and suddenly a quadruple chased the wild breeze of a fresh world. Arthur, grown into a fine, young man, was learning fast the ways of outlaws (Hosea and Dutch made sure to teach him well) and soon after that when Marston came along, Arthur accepted the boy as his own, too. None of them were blood, or sworn bonded by legal testament, but they lived in harmony under the starry skies, and made do with the fate they were handed. Together.
However, presently, when one of the members asks just why Hosea and Dutch were so close, and how they managed thus far without a single argument or fist fight, it is simply too difficult a tale to tell. It was something more than being friends for years. They were too close for just that, and as suspicions rose, planting rumours in their wake, Arthur was there to silence them. He knew all too well, by then, just what it wasâŚ
âMr. Matthews,â Dutch hollered, walking by his tent in a rippling shadow. The hot draft of seasonal wind swept in under the tarp with a rustle against its skin; a polite knock, so not to wake Hosea if heâd fallen asleep. Fortunately, that was not the case.
âCome in.â The drapes unfolded and Dutch pushed inside, ducking beneath the wooden column in a swift motion. In his hand, a casket of glasses clinked around- steam rising to his smart shirt, which flapped loosely at his neck. The pale terrace of collar bone flashed behind, and noticeably the vest he often donned was nowhere in sight. For once, Mr. Van der Linde wasnât dressed to his teeth.
âLook at what I have gotten for us, dearest friend,â he flourished, presenting to Hosea an assortment of beers, chilled around a sea of ice cubes and cool air (just what they needed in the sweat of that Western summer.) Hosea peered in, smiling favourably.
âItâs a welcome surprise, Dutch.â The hazel in his eyes brimmed with a juvenile relish. It reminded him of a time long ago, whenever the pair were faced with a defrauding success and would drink until the stars blurred across the horizon. Their laughter used to echo around the plains, forgotten on the edge of those secluded nights. Such fun was missed, now that times were rough.
Placing his newest novel down by the lantern, Hosea made room for Dutch to sit, which he did, on the opposite side of the room before he pulled out two bottles to share.
âOf course. We deserve it.â Chuckling, he popped Hoseaâs open, âHere,â and handed it over with a slight tensity to his reach. The defined wrinkles in Dutchâs forehead fell at a sigh, relaxing into clear sun-kissed skin as he leaned back against the chest. His hefty legs unfurled to the earth, thudding a dent into the cracking soil, and draping one over the other. Much to his relief, the trickle of sweat down his back had settled, chilled on his skin where a breeze swept underneath. Thus, he could finally ease his bearing.
Staring at the label of his bottle and nicking wood splinters with a boot, Dutch cleared his throat. âLetâs toast, HoseaâŚâ A bead of moisture rolled over his finger as Mr. Van der Linde drew in a great breath, watching as the other approved. âWe shall toast to⌠a successful week, mhm, and for ensuring our boys survived another day- in fact, that all of us survived another day. And, to our great companionship.â The man let a thin-lipped smile purse across his face. His knack for speeches was uncanny, and he knew it.
Raising his glass to the night, and leaning forth to meet Dutchâs in the middle, Hosea saluted to their glory. He then downed the beer most eagerly- itâs riveting fizz of dark cherry and raisin crisp on the palette. Hosea reminisced upon that nostalgic feeling of alcohol numbing his throat with a sigh.
âAnd also-â Dutch had suddenly interjected, slapping his lips on the brisk after-taste. â-That we shall find prosperity, here. Riches for us all, Hosea; liberty for a world so grossly indoctrinated.â His chunky finger waved firm in the air.
Hosea could only harumph in agreement, taking another drink. âI must say, Dutch, this is some good beer.â His eyes flicked over its length, eyeing the brand curiously.
âHm, well, thank the, er, poor young man I stole it fromâŚâ The manâs throat bobbed solemnly as he remembered the boyâs stunned face. Then, an evil grin cracked in its place.
âOn Grantville Ranch.â
âYou- Aha!â They burst into laughter, reminiscent of that weekâs encounter. Said feller, working on said ranch, with his hair full of horse shit after heâd tripped on a loose plank (blamed on poor young John) had been the best and worst part of their job. He had become a flailing, infuriated, stinking parade in the cow pen, and their recurring joke ever since.
âDonât tell me you went back there,â Hosea gawped, taking another sip of his drink, watching as the creases in Dutchâs eyes formed again. âWhen you said you were off for a âquick errandâ⌠was that when?â
âOh, âSea you know me⌠couldnât let him talk to my son like that,â he hummed, fiddling with something in his left pocket. âBesides, thatâs not all I got.â From within, hooked around his thickened finger, a silver chain swayed on the weight of an exceptionally jewelled purse: rich in colour and glinting iridescently under the lampâs shine, in the heart of Hoseaâs eyes. Then within it, he yawped upon the bundle of cash lined against its velvet cushion.
âOh, you dark horse, youâŚâ
âAnd that, my friend, is why weâre here. This is our ticket out of here, Mr. Matthews.â The man sighed; a soft smile rested upon his face once the pouch was returned to his trousers. Safe, and ready to trade. The idea of a better future always got Dutch going.
Soon thereafter, the buzz had settled in- a drowsy-like fever of weighted limbs and giddy brains- and they were quick for seconds. The men sat in easy company with one another, spread out lax across the deerskin rug and wrapped up in a gentle mix of conversation.
âYou know, I wouldâve thought by dark itâd be cooler, but Iâm getting really hot,â Hosea huffed, looking to the ceiling as sweat trickled down his neck.
âItâs probably the alcohol, dear boy. Age is catching up to you.â Smirking, Dutch patted Hosea on his arm, as firm as his theatrical self could (catching a look of disagreement along the way.) But then, with a pensive frown, Van der Linde harrumphed and stretched over to the ice box. He chirped up again with an unreadable quiver to his eye. âLuckily, I know just the trick-â
Without an ounce of hesitation, Dutch dipped a hand swiftly into the casket, scooping out a fistful of cubes and shoving them down Hoseaâs shirt.
âShit, Dutch!â Hoseaâs spine snapped straight, wriggling away from the ice as it burned along his freckles. And Dutch found it incredibly amusing (kicking at the ground like a puerile child.) In tears, he watched the blurred sight of Hosea untucking his shirt and fishing out the water, cackling outrageously.
âOh, you should see your face-â
âDutch, the look on my face isnât impressed.â
âExactly!â A fresh bottle in his hand popped open, sloshing around, and spilling to the floor in a fizzle. âOh, donât be such a grump, Hosea.â
âJust- help me get this out, will you?â
âYes, yesâŚâ Taking a swig once more, Dutch finally decided to move. By then, only a few shards remained where the tepid pond sloshed in Hoseaâs belt, and he hunched grumpily whilst Dutch slinked an arm around his torso. The beer clutched in his palm became wedged between them, infiltrating the heat that thrummed behind Hoseaâs shirt.
Gradually, the water was cupped out, leaving a chilly patch of skin where Dutchâs dusty knuckles had grazed him, and a wave of relief washed over Mr. Matthewsâ person once he could relax again. But as he did so, Dutch gave pause, glancing over his shoulder and peering at the manâs face. To his surprise, it hadnât much changed since then⌠only the odd patch of red where sun had stained him. Yet, Dutch found he had forgotten the intricacies he once could recite. His brain observed the curves of Hoseaâs cheek and pointed nose; the pretty rose tint around his lips and eyes and glazing of perspiration that made him glow. A familiar dilation of his blackened pupils had swallowed up the blue; like when their eyes used to meet. It was only then that Mr. Van der Linde realised their closeness (Hoseaâs face radiating a heat against his own.) The small area of spine lingered cool still at Dutchâs palm and suddenly heâd become aware of the calming breath by his ear.
Once Hoseaâs eyes flicked to his own, Dutchâs palm pressed down, flat. It warmed up quickly in the groove, with a dampness soaking into Mr. Matthewsâ wispy hairs, and his tempered breath faltered.
âWhat arâyou doinâ, Dutch?â Came the whisper, smelling of bitter fruits and an arcane longing. Unsure, their bodies moulded nearer by Van der Lindeâs embrace, chins caressing and the ghost of ticklish air dancing along Hoseaâs whiskers. Among this, a heavy pulse thrummed in their ears, which swelled on the heat of intoxication as Dutch drew in a breath.
His lips placed a wistful kiss below Seaâs cheek. Testing.
How he missed that feeling.
Hosea sighed along Dutchâs shoulder, awakening a line of goosebumps and reddened flesh. And he held on tightly, gripping the thatch of Dutchâs arms with numb fingers as he removed the beer from between them. Dutchâs palm slid higher up Hoseaâs back, tailed by breathless hums and a prickle of hairs. Grazing lines were dragged between his shoulder blades: hot. Marking him. A wanton desire to own him. Hoseaâs lashes fell shut. He was ready to be touched again. Nothing for nearly a year, and all of a sudden that pair of tantalising lips was dancing along his neck once more.
Dutch latched onto Hoseaâs skin, sucking a corrosive kiss to the tendon. It burned; turning numb and swelling into a dark ring of purple before the tongue swirled freely back over it. Polka dots of rouge blotches were sucked higher into the groove of his scraggly sideburns, teeth catching upon Mr. Matthewâs jaw, where traces of minty cologne lingered. The fur of Dutchâs hair tickled along Hoseaâs clean shave, and he tilted. And at his Adamâs apple, his lips tongue dangerously hard.
Hosea released the lewdest noise.
Mr. Van der Linde was simply smitten with himself. He drew back up, touching their lips in a fragile kiss; grazing his blotchy teeth along the beer-stained skin. A hot mark was sucked into the gum of Hoseaâs flesh before he drifted back and forth for another kiss (and one more after that.) Soon, his damp fingers were sliding Hoseaâs shirt over his face, the slow unveiling of his body a delight to bear witness. The young and healthy plane of his skin rolled into Dutchâs chest as they pressed forth, guiding Mr. Matthews down onto his back.
âDutch, itâs hot,â Hosea whispered, struggling between their kisses; too overcome by the tongue-tie of his lust. Being sandwiched by the earth and such a torrid body had laboured his breathing, and between each kiss, his oxygen was little to none.
Pulling away, the shadow of Dutchâs face rippled into the light. A soft glow caressed his silhouette, outlining his unique and sharpened figure. The shape of torso left nothing to the imagination, even cascaded by darkness. His ribs sank up and down in controlled breathlessness and the cube of his waist arched so beautifully. All hips, he was. They were gorgeous; held in Hoseaâs gentle hands at their cinched sides, where the belt wrapped taught and kept Dutchâs pride buckled away. That trained figure was something to be proud of; to flaunt. To grind down into Hoseaâs crotch with its powerful legs and rough the man up until all his limbs fell limp---
This vision of Dutch was soon displaced, attention honed upon the real thing now as he twisted around, stretching over himself to receive something out of sight.
âWe can try this againâŚâ The man hummed, returning with a dripping fist. Splotches of water met Hoseaâs chest, irking a tensity into his abdomen at the shock. But most delightfully, the heat from Van der Lindeâs body nulled the freeze once his arm rested back upon him.
Meeting him with sultry eyes, ones that missed Dutch so dearly, Hosea smiled. âI suppose,â he quipped. âSo long as you donât get any ideas.â
âI promise.â Chuckling, Dutch let his palm unravel and a block of ice slipped onto Hoseaâs breast. It sparked a welcoming shiver as the cube was moved in circles over his fine hairs and allured a blush to the surface. Gracefully it swam, finessed by Dutchâs thick fingers, burning a cold trail of water into his neck. Hosea sighed, opening his eyes once more to the manâs hot gaze trained upon him. It was all so surreal.
Then, Dutch circled back around, planting his other chilled palm over Hoseaâs stomach before moving the ice across a nipple. It dragged out a contorted keen and beautiful half-moan, followed swiftly by Dutchâs smirk. Hoseaâs nails flexed against the manâs waist once heâd taken the other nipple in hand, rubbing at its tenderness, pulling the skin up and down in a languid and competent cadence. He eyed the way Hoseaâs cheeks flushed, predicting his every breath.
Suddenly, Dutch was brimming with pride. The trousers beneath his crotch poked up excitedly. Alive and alert. Wishing to be touched.
âYou like this, then, Hosea?â
âIsnât it obvious.â He hated being so childishly teased and rolled his eyes. But promptly, a thrill rippled through Hoseaâs limbs. Dutchâs image was branded white with the roll of those dense hips against his own.
His lips fell apart on a silent âohâ, and arms tensed against Dutchâs legs. Chipped nails etched into the denim, cramping up in a cry for mercy under every assaulting gyration of his crotch. Those firm and mighty muscles were the best thing grounding Hosea as each unbounded rock took him afloat.
âYouâre beautiful, âSea.â A grumble slid from Dutchâs lips and into the cave of his loverâs teeth; bending to meet him in a delicious kiss. The sweat in Matthewsâ chest hair fizzled cool against him, spotted with beads of dew as the cube melted to a flake under their weight. Each knock of his pelvis let fly a zealous moan, soaked up eagerly by Dutchâs mouth.
The manâs hands slid between their legs, arching to pluck out his belt and slide the leather off. It was hasty; the slap of tongue resounding when their lips parted; and Hoseaâs eyes wandered, trained upon Dutchâs body as his mass pulled off, and breathlessly he watched the way Dutch mixed up their limbs and drew his trousers to his knees. Then saw as he carelessly untucked his own dick. Stretched girthy to the tip, it twitched erect; fat and leaking in his wide fist. The sight made Hoseaâs vision blunder. Tugged to fullness in such a tameless manner, the veins beneath Dutchâs stocky rings bulged purple, and a bead of pre-cum squeezed from its head. A tease in his every way.
âI didnât bring anything else,â Dutch then spoke, dipping his fist into the ice bucket and bringing back his soaked fingers to Hoseaâs hole. He stroked a cold finger over the crease of his cheeks; pale hairs prickling at the feeling. The man cringed, not so confident in himself now; water was so painful. Theyâd tried it before, one distant year ago.
âGo slow, Dutch.â Hosea warned him, bracing against his arms as he looked up the slope of his chest. â-Itâs been a minute- oh, shit.â With a seething hiss, Hoseaâs eyes rolled back, head lolling forth into the bridge of his shoulders when the hilt of Dutchâs finger prized its way in. The ring of muscle tensed, squirming away at the curl and glance of his nail on Hoseaâs flesh. âDo you even listen to me?â
âNot really, no.â Hosea neednât look at him to know a grin was plastered across his face. And nor did he wish to, for all of sudden the rings on Van der Lindeâs other hand had come to grasp at his leaking cock, squeezing it strictly once heâd added a second finger. The cold water- its stark, rubbery freeze- warmed fast against Hoseaâs hole, barely easing away his groans. It vapourised all the sensation in his toes to a tingle, limbs numb and paralysed.
Just arousal and Dutchâs abusive fingers playing on his mindâŚ
âDutch,â he croaked, reaching out to catch the manâs arms.
âYou ready, old girl?â He was more than ready, though unsure whether to retaliate against that nickname. Dutchâs eyes swelled hungrily, waiting as his thumb drew goading circles over the head of Hoseaâs cock. A feeling he couldnât bear any longer.
Nodding in an almost frenzied motion, and pleading with his darkened gaze, Mr. Matthews rolled down upon Dutchâs fingers one last time. Then they dragged out with a harsh burn. His hole had retracted, quivering, before Dutch brought a fresh pair of moistened fingers around the base of his own dick, pumping quick so not to tease himself with that chill. Yet a shiver managed its way up his spine at the sight of âSeaâs spread form: shining under the gas light. He hummed, seething through a moan once his hand reluctantly slowed its pumping and lined up with the manâs entrance. A damp hand splayed across Hoseaâs belly, steadying the fitful rise and fall of his lungs and breaching the limber walls of muscle.
âOh, Jesus.â As the heat dragged inside him Hosea mumbled and babbled, tripping over his swollen tongue. His neck slumped back, shoulders giving way under the strain of arousal; such rawness, the novel stretch, fracturing his mind. His spine collapsed across the mat, sinking into the earth as gravity swallowed him up. By then, sweat had gathered in droplets at the junction of their legs, clammy and tingling under Hoseaâs knees, sliding uncomfortably as Dutch leaned in, right to the hilt. Their hips collided, pressed skintight, until they merged into one.
Pupils blown wide; Dutch let a huff release from his nose. The seam of their torsos (now connected by sticky perspiration) felt delicious- looked gorgeous. Made his thoughts fumble and liquify, groping where hands were planted on the protruded bones of Hoseaâs pelvis and thumbing each freckle. His lengthy and supine figure had splayed along the ground- arms outstretched to the cot in docile languor, chest heaving. The hoarseness of it crackled in Dutchâs ears. Above, his lips were rosy and wetter than heâd left them- lips that Van der Linde longed to devour. But the lost plea on their agape and slackened shape told Dutch he should move before Hosea lost his mind. With a careful roll and change of grip to the manâs sides, Dutch began to retract, his balls unsticking from Hoseaâs cheeks.
All to which Hosea choked. Writhed. The dryness chafing like rubber.
His palms flew to take residence upon Dutchâs wrists, a most futile feat since his lover neither slowed nor reassured him. But their fingers did interlace. And in all Hoseaâs years with this man- a harsh, radical leader holding great previsions of the future- he knew well that Dutch was about to pound the living daylights out of him. Giving his partner a look of pure anticipation (dread and craving all at once), Hosea nodded and wrapped his ankles tight, howling when Dutch snapped his hips inward. The ache was intense; in those first moments, Hosea had wondered in the woes of his troubled pleasure whether the skin would break. Whether heâd awaken next morning bed-ridden from their stupidity. But under all that heat, sweat and glamour, as the noise of skin and huffing echoed across the desert, his fears were lapsed.
And of course, since Hosea had been so terribly neglected that past year by his dearest partner, the moans, and sobs released that night could not be drowned. Worrying whether the boys heard was trouble for another day.
