This pairing feels illegal (but my morals disintegrated long, long ago.)
Arthur Morgan x Dutch Van der Linde
His hips worked like pistons, giving Arthur not a moment to breathe. The harsh jerk of his skull sent brain waves firing in alarm and the corners of his vision began to prickle with colourful spots; the kind that gradually fade in and out and crackle as you try to fall asleep. Like stars. But this time, Arthur was trying to stay awake- trying not to faint- as Dutch stuffed his jaw full of heavy, throbbing cock.
He grunted roughly, choking every few breaths whenever those roughly shaven balls scraped along his chin. Froth bubbled at the creases of Arthur’s lips and slipped down into his own patchy stubble; a mix of cum and saliva and God knows. A gleam of sweat swept above his brows, collecting in the wrinkle of furrowed skin, and catching the glow of candlelight each time Dutch forced his head back.
And during those moments of relief, Arthur stared deep into the man’s eyes, trying to differentiate the lines on his face into emotions. Maybe Dutch felt nothing. Nothing other than burning lust, and perhaps a lingering frustration from Arthur’s earlier antics. The drunken, hollering nuisance he sometimes became never went unpunished. Restricted from coming- fully clothed and kneeling in between the man’s legs like a whore off the street. It was suddenly routine, though rare.
Arthur used to worry that his gargles and groans would wake the camp, but now that Dutch had made it clear he couldn’t give half a shit and would use his mouth all he wanted, well, there wasn’t much disputing that. So, with each passionate bob of his head, and swirl of his tongue, and breathless moan, Arthur breathed in the scent of muskiness and watched with a glossy stare as Dutch’s lips pursed. The signature thrust and holding of Arthur’s head in place let him prepare just before the hot, familiar liquid poured down his throat. It opened up, and his tongue fell lax, well trained to do so (even though Van der Linde’s length reached impossible depths.)
Then as if on instinct, Arthur pulled off, and replaced the heat of his mouth with a palm, stroking in twists the last couple of droplets. They fell to the dirt in silent splashes, soaking away as if a faded memory; something only those two would remember.
Arthur looked back up into Dutch’s eyes one more time, hoping for approval. His fuzzy brain took a while to catch up. After all, his own arousal was still preoccupying his mind. But once the shadows rippled away and Dutch’s face came into the light- his thick eyebrows, and heavy moustache framing a blissed-out stare- the man’s focus was honed right back in.
