They’re halfway back from rescuing Trelawney when Arthur waved Charles off the side of the road, dipping down into one of the hundred forest trails scattered around Rhodes.
Arthur’d been quiet since they parted from Trelawney, opting to take the long way around to camp. It was probably stupid, staying together instead of splitting up. Foolish.
Foolishness had become a habit of Charles’ for a while now. Since he’d joined up with the gang. Since he’d first laid eyes on the thief currently leading him to a hidden clearing, deep in the woods.
“What’s up?” Charles asked, dismounting Taima and cocking his head as he watched Arthur pull his bedroll from Bodicea’s back. "We’ve got plenty of time to get back to camp before nightfall.”
“Need to talk at ya for a bit,” Arthur said, spreading the rolled horse blanket he used for a ground pad over a patch of grass. “Lay down.”
Charles blinked, then crossed his arms. “Excuse me?”
Arthur looked up from where he crouched in the grass, blue eyes burning under the rim of his worn leather hat. “You deaf?”
“Why do you want me to lay down, Arthur?”
“Wanna thank you for saving my life,” Arthur said, hand going to his throat. It was decorated with a vivid red mark, the physical accompaniment to the rasp in his voice that was the only remainder of the man who almost put an end to Dutch van der Linde’s eldest son. “You gonna let me?”
Charles hadn’t done much fumbling with other people over his life. Opportunities had been few and far between.
“What makes you think this is the kind of thanks I want?” Charles asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Tried to figure out if maybe the bounty hunters had got him, instead. If he was laid out under the hot Lemoyne sun in that cornfield, bleeding out while his dying brain played out a fever dream.
Arthur smirked at him, shockingly superior for a man on his knees. “Come on, angel,” he said, raspy. Arthur reached for Charles’s hand, tugging it, coaxing him down to the makeshift bedding.
Charles shocked himself by following, mind a blank white buzz of anticipation, rimmed red with desire.
Arthur arranged Charles to his liking with sure hands, every touch confident. Damn near proprietary, like Charles giving in to him was a forgone conclusion.
“Some men would kill you for this,” Charles managed over the thrum of his own pulse in his ears. His mouth was dry and tacky as he let Arthur scoot between his legs, knees pressing against Charles’ calves.
“Not you, angel,” Arthur said, smoothing one gloved hand up the inseam of Charles’ trousers. “Been watchin’ ya. Knew you’d roll over for me. Known that for a while now.”
Charles gasped, leg twitching in Arthur’s grip as those fingers inched towards the join of Charles’ thigh, warm pressure inches away from where Charles’ cock had begun twitching in his jeans.
Arthur held Charles still with perfect self assurance, easy as scuffing a cat.
“That so?” Charles asked, dazed, as he shakily got to his elbows, looking down to watch what he was allowing Arthur to do to him.
“Sure, sweet thing,” Arthur drawled, casually unlacing Charles’ boot. His thick fingers were clever on the laces, practiced in a way that spoke to years of experience taking other folks apart at the seams. There’s always been something slinking and predatory to Arthur, a wild beast licking its chops.
Charles found, with the warmth of Arthur’s torso settled between his knees, the fresh smell of crushed grass wafting up around him where Arthur’s borne them down atop the spread saddle blanket, that he liked the look of those teeth. That the nervous, twitchy thrill that started in his belly and zinged all the way down to his toes liked the look of that coyote smile.
“Cute lil’ thing like you,” Arthur drawled, massaging up the muscle of Charles’ calf to the dip of his knee. No one had called Charles little in over a decade, let alone cute. Still, Arthur seemed to be earnest enough with the compliment. Well, as earnest as the man was about anything.
“Clear as day what you really need,” Arthur continued, shuffling closer so Charles had no choice but to spread his legs further, letting the man work up between Charles’ parted thighs.
“What you’re really after when you roll through camp like our personal storm cloud.” Arthur tugged his gloves off with his teeth, bright white against the dusty leather. The other man let the gloves drop to the side, grin a wicked snarl of hungry avarice beneath his mustache.
Charles swallowed, breath hitching as Arthur hefted his left leg over his shoulder, fingers curled tight to secure the weight. Arthur’s other hand danced up the side of his right thigh, thumb flicking the little brass clasp that kept his thigh holster in place open.
“What is it you think I need?” Charles asked, biting his lip as Arthur’s hand snuck up under his thigh holster, thick fingers burning hot.
Arthur leaned in close, grin filthy as he took the thin leather strap between his teeth. The other man leaned forward, pressing Charles’s thigh into his chest as he tugged the strap slowly down Charles’s leg , breath damp and burning through the thin denim. He followed the movement with his fingers, caressing the jumping muscle of Charles’ thigh as he slid the holster off, satisfied as a groom slipping the garter off his bride.
“Need a little rough handling,” Arthur said, tucking the leather strap into his back pocket. His free hand wandered back up the length of Charles’ quad, fingers smoothing against the thin, dark denim of Charles’ jeans, pressing against the heavy muscle. “How long has it been since someone’s seen to you, proper like?”
Charles blinked, heart clenching in his chest, suddenly remembering to breathe. His cheeks felt like they were burning, even in the cool of the shade. “I’ve never—”
“Oh, angel,” Arthur said, pupils blown wide. He looked at Charles, covetous, like he eyed a gold brick or a new gun, shiny with gun oil and engraved with silver. “You shouldnta said that.”
“I was gonna go easy on you,” Arthur said, fingers digging greedily into the soft flesh of Charles’ thighs. Arthur’s eyes seared into him, hungry, devouring flames that promised to burn Charles down to his foundations and fuck him senseless in the ashes.
“Was just gonna blow off a little steam. But if I’m first?” Arthur laughed, a short jackal’s yelp. He surged forward, pushing Charles’ knees up until pressed practically to his shoulders, cutting his air.
Charles still hadn’t made a move to throw him off. He felt like prey, somehow. And he wanted nothing more than to stay caught.
“Gonna wreck that sweet ass of yours, gorgeous,” Arthur promised, humping forward so Charles could feel the long line of Arthur’s cock through two layers of denim. It felt enormous, hot and thick around as two shotgun barrels. “Ruin you for anyone that comes beggin’ after, so you can’t help but think of me anytime you spread these pretty thighs.”
“Big words,” Charles bit out, swallowing. Adrenaline surged through him, like the ramp up to a fight. He’d never been less interested in getting another man off of him. “Sure you can back ‘em up, Morgan?”
Arthur grinned, leaning in to take Charles’ mouth in a messy, wet kiss. He was all tongue and teeth, not giving Charles any quarter to catch his breath. When they parted, he seized on a patch of exposed skin at the base of Charles’ throat, bared by the neck of his open collar.
Arthur sucked the salt from Charles’s skin, teeth tugging at his flesh, sharp and perfect. The man worried at the spot like a mongrel, working up a bruise Charles couldn’t hope to hide when they eventually returned to camp.
Charles buried his hand in Arthur’s shaggy hair, pulling at the root until Arthur relented, releasing his mouthful with a wet smack.
“Imma fuck you till you cry, Mr. Smith,” Arthur promised, running his tongue over his teeth, chasing the last remnants of salt. He looked ravenous. “By the time I’m done? You won’t remember what state we’re in, let alone your own name.”
(to be continued but I needed to exorcise the horny demons)
