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I forgot to post here! I wrote a small soft Charthur ficlet for @galateasfire for the @rdrevents Winter Exchange! 🎄❤️
Arthur miraculously survives his encounter on the mountain, and Charles is the one to find him. After everything, they finally get the ending they deserve.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
A/N: So excited to once again participate in this fun event put together by @rdrevents and to post this gift for @krystal-callahan.
I haven't had much of a chance to write for Dutch before, so I this was a great opportunity to do so - so thank you for that chance!
I hope you enjoy it! 🤗
This should have been a simple robbery. A small heist with a small reward, but a reward nonetheless.
Dutch knew deep down in his bones that it should have been a quick in and out, no alarms raised, nobody hurt and none the wiser. Which is exactly why he couldn't understand why he was now sprawled on the ground with a pistol aimed at his face and Hosea shooting daggers from his own spot in the dirt. He didn't need to look at his face to know it was shrouded in a deep scowl.
He didn't understand what had gone wrong - where he had miscalculated.
The previous night at the bar he had spent a few hours (and consumed a few drinks) watching and waiting for the right target, and eventually he had appeared. Drunk, mouthy, and all too willing to share information, the poor sap had apun him a tale - and what a tale it had been. His wife had left, he worked a unfulfilling job and his children had all grown and moved on better prospects; leaving him behind to wither away in Valentine. All in all, the perfect target.
Dutch had downed the last of his whiskey (the beef in the local saloon never sat quite right with him) leaving the empty glass on the table and took the stool next to him, patting him on the back before subtly drilling him. Where abouts in Valentine did he live? Where did he work? What sort of things occupied his day? Anything that could help him determine the best time to sneak into his supposed empty home and make off with a few valuables.
When he returned to camp later that evening, leaving the man in semi-better spirits, and shared his plan with Hosea, he had seemed intrigued. A simple homestead robbery? Why not? After some discussion and a night's sleep underneath their belt, they hitched up their horses and returned to the small livestock town, lying in wait until the perfect moment to strike.
Hosea, the patron of the arts that he was, concocted a scheme. He would distract with his own colorful tale of sorrow - a missing horse and desperate need of assistance, while Dutch would slip in the back and collect what he could.
None of that seemed to matter now. Not when he was mere seconds away from a swift and immediate death. Hosea;s outcome not much brighter.
Dutch felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple and he fought the urge to swipe it away. Swallowing hard, he found himself at a loss for words - something highly foreign to him. He stole a glance at Hosea and nearly withered at his gaze. Somehow he understood that his problem had become his to fix. And why not? It was his fault they were in this mess, so it only made sense that he should get them out of it.
Mustering up a boost of courage, he intended to do just that.
"Listen, good sir," He stammered, holding up one hand cautiously as he propped himself up with the other. Anything to keep the man's temper at manageable levels. "We were only trying to -" "I know what you were 'trying' to do." The man spat, furrowing his brows even more. "You were trying to rob me blind."
"Now that is a grievous overstatement. We merely -"
"I don't care what kind of statement you think it is. I ain't about to let some uppity traveler steal from me. I should just shoot you right now and be done with it."
"You wouldn't want to do that, my friend." He said quickly so as not to be interrupted a third time.
"And why not?"
A few more beads of sweat began to gather just above his eyebrows. "Well, you wouldn't want the law involved."
He hesitated for just a fraction of a second, and that was all that Dutch needed. The man's hand lowered ever so slightly; the gun no longer pointed right between his eyes. "Why the hell not?"
"It would be a hassle," Dutch started, slowly moving to crouch. Balancing his weight on his feet instead of remaining in the dirt. He kept his hands raised out in front of him. "And an unwelcome presence in your otherwise quiet, peaceful home. No one wants that."
"I-I suppose not." The man stammered, his anger slowly, but surely, evaporating and replaced with something akin to uncertainty.
"Exactly." Dutch cooed, putting his silver tongue to work. "We can resolve this...little misunderstanding ourselves, right?" He didn't even wait for the man to respond. "Now, my partner and I will just take our leave and you won't ever have to worry about us trespassing again. Does that seem fair?"
A moment passed before he finally responded. "Alright," He lowered his weapon to his side. "Just make yourself scarce. I don't wanna see you again."
"Wouldn't dream of it." And Dutch meant it.
---
It was moments later that the two outlaws found themselves (and their horses) ambling along at a slow pace back to camp, their proverbial tails tucked between their legs and their spirits well, and truly dampened. Dutch shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, feeling Hosea's frustration looming like a dark rain cloud. He searched for something to say. Anything to break through the barrier that had risen between them. But nothing came to mind.
"Well," the silver-haired outlaw said after what felt like decades. "That certainly wasn't our finest moment. I can't even consider it a good moment. What on earth went wrong, Dutch?"
Dutch flinched inwardly at the sharp bite as Hosea said his name. The scathing rebuke was well-earned, he knew, but it still made him feel like a little kid again. A feeling he truly despised.
"Hosea, I do not quite know what to say." He started, fighting the shame that began to bubble up inside him. Something almost foreign to him in this stage of his life.
"A first for you." He shot back, his gaze focused on the trail before them and his posture rigid.
"I made a mistake, Hosea." Dutch said, bristling. "It happens."
"Yes, mistakes happen. But not for something as simple as this. Not to you." Hosea, sighed and finally turned to look at him. There were still traces of anger in his old eyes, but it was partnered with concern. A concern for someone that had been with him from what seemed like the beginning of time itself. Dutch recognized that look well. He carried that same feeling within him too.
"What happened back there Dutch?" Hosea asked quietly. "I'm just trying to understand."
"I don't know," Dutch said after a moment, and it felt like the truth. One moment he had been rifling through a chest of belongings, elated at the prospects, and then in the next he was flung out the front door with a force he hadn't been expecting; landing sprawled on the ground and heavily surprised.
He looked down at the reins squeezed tightly in his hands and let out a sigh of his own. "I suppose I just got caught up in the excitement of it all. It's been some time since we pulled a heist together and I guess I let it get the better of me."
They rode on in silence for a bit, the dull trod of their horse hooves and their occasion snorts the only sound. Hosea looked ahead once more while Dutch ruminated on his admission. Somehow Hosea managed to drag out even his deepest kept secrets. A talent he cursed on many occasions.
"Still trying to impress me after all these years, huh?" Hosea said finally, when the silence seemed to stretch on. There was a hint of humor in his tone, and Dutch knew they had crossed the path to forgiveness.
"I suppose so," He chuckled, shooting Hosea a wry smile. "I am nothing if not a showman. Though I can't say where I picked up the habit."
A knowing look passed between them and even Hosea couldn't help but smile.
"Oh, I'm sure you've learned a few things here and there."
"And I'm sure I will learn a great deal more in time."
"Perhaps," Hosea said simply. "But, for now, maybe leave the petty dealing to our younger, less boisterous proteges? At least for the time being?"
At this, Dutch couldn't help but laugh out loud, tossing his head back. "I think I can manage that."
"I'm impressed, Dutch. I was afraid I would have to resort to shallow tricks to keep you in camp."
"Not this time, old timer. Not this time."
"Good." Hosea said, nodding his head approvingly. "Now, I don't know about you, but I'm parched. Care for a drink back at camp?"
"Certainly, old friend."
Hosea tapped his heels against his horse, urging Silver Dollar into a lazy trot. Dutch did the same with The Count, keeping in stride with him as they made their way back to camp. He breathed in a breath of fresh air and exhaled the temporary bad blood between them, glad that things had returned to normal.
Sharing my Winter Exchange gift on tumblr too, because I love writing about Arthur x Charlotte and I have realised I have not done enough to give them cosy, wintry, fluffy feels. So here's the appropriately named 'A Winter Gift'
Warnings: None, tis all fluff, touch of angst just to balance things out!
At first, he told himself he was just moving east to be nearer towns with warm beds and a hot dinner, rather than facing cold winter nights in the desert. Armadillo was quieter than it usually was in the summer months, most people staying inside and avoiding the sharp, biting wind that rushed over the thorny, desert shrubs. The only noise of laughter, jeers, conversation and half snatched songs coming from the saloon. The warm, golden glow from the windows was inviting, but Arthur stayed resolutely outside. He didn’t need the attention of being a stranger, interested eyes figuring out who he was and what business he had there.
Then he told himself he was visiting John and Abigail. He had stopped briefly at Beecher’s Hope with small gifts for them, asking for nothing more than a bed for the night. Abigail, as per usual, insisted he was always welcome to stay for good. But Arthur would do his utmost to keep them safe and keep the law from sniffing around their door. Even though the Pinkertons had done him a favour by insisting he was dead and the Van Der Linde gang was no more.
He remembered vaguely telling himself he was interested in fishing in Owanjila and hunting in the Heartlands. But when his horse dawdled up towards O’Creagh’s Run Arthur did not turn Thorn around. He knew the real reason for heading east, perhaps he was nothing but a fool keeping up the pretence. But if he started to truly acknowledge it, he probably would be too cowardly to risk seeing her again.
He stopped by to see Hamish too. At first the old man had barely recognised him, his hazel eyes narrowed and he looked at Arthur with suspicion. Then a broad smile had broken out on his face and slapped Arthur heartily on the back.
‘Well didn’t think I’d ever see you again!’
‘Been a rough year,’ Arthur admitted.
‘Think I got some whiskey that’ll fix that!’
Arthur removed the deer that was slung over the back of his horse and brought it into Hamish’s house. ‘Where you want this?’
‘Got a shack out back, built it myself. I’ll smoke that and you’ll have to visit me in a week or so to taste it.’
‘Well, don’t doubt I won’t be returning soon.’
Hamish insisted he sat himself down with a plate of smoked ham, boiled potatoes, hard cheese, a bread roll and with a dollop of a spiced apple and onion jam. Hamish informed him that a widow who lived in the town of Annesburgh made it and that he had grown fond of them.
‘Who the widow or the jam?’ Arthur asked jovially.
He received a hearty chuckle and a thwack around the head for his efforts. Hamish sat with him and the both drank a bottle of whiskey, toasting each other, Buell for good measure and that beast of a wolf they had taken down over a year ago.
After Arthur had finished his plate, the bottle of whiskey was almost empty, and he had lost quite a bit of money in a game of poker, Hamish asked, ‘So, I don’t think you’re just here to see me, seeing as you said you were heading west all that time ago. Why are you here?’
Arthur hesitated, unsure whether to tell the truth or come up with some half-baked lie. ‘Jus’ seein’ folk that were kind to me.’ Arthur looked down at his hands, hoping that Hamish wouldn’t pry any further than that. He was fortunate that Hamish didn’t and the old man let him set up his bedroll and sleep in front of the fire.
***
The forest where they had hunted was cold, the ferns and the wintergreen berry bushes sharply outlined in white frost. It was quiet too, most of the animals either hibernating or heading south. The only beast he saw on his ride over was a moose, drinking from the Brandywine Drop. It had lifted his head and gazed at him for a moment, then slowly shuffled off into the shadowy woods.
He had ridden onward until he was finally at the pathway that led up to Charlotte’s home. This was where he finally came to a halt, his mind had caught up. He wasn’t just riding through Roanoke Valley admiring the view or trying to hunt a rabbit, but he was going to see her.
‘And do what?’ his mind demanded cruelly. ‘Do what? Say what? What will you tell Charlotte? Tell her you haven’t stopped thinking about her for a year! You’re too much of a coward to do so.’
He lowered his head and thought about turning around, heading back, finding some small, pokey saloon to hide in during the cold depths of winter. Thorn nickered softly and shifted his weight, eager to keep moving or have Arthur off his back. Arthur watched the curl of icy breath leave his nose and mouth. He could leave her to her life, leave her to a peaceful, quiet existence away from him.
He made his decision, though the sharp sting that burrowed its way through his heart made him realise how much he hated it. He turned Thorn about and kicked him into a quick walk. He would cross the Brandywine Drop and make his way back to Emerald Ranch, see if he could beg for shelter in the evening or camp in the forest if not.
The crack of a twig made him look up sharply, trying to see if there was a cougar crouching low in the bushes, but instead he caught sight of a hunter. They were wrapped up in a long coat, a hat slung low obscuring their features, a rifle in their hands. Arthur gave a friendly wave and began to turn Thorn around. But as he did, the hunter started to walk and then run towards him. Did the man know him? Was he that recognisable? Perhaps some would in this place, though it has been over a year.
The quick rush of adrenaline had already seized him and he was about to push Thorn into a speedy gallop, but the hunter called out, ‘Arthur? Arthur is that you?’
Like the call of a siren, damning him to the rocks, he remained where he was and watched her approach. She let out a giddy, breathy laugh and tried to quicken her pace, but ended up slipping on the mud and ice. He was off his horse immediately, quickly catching her arm and seeing Charlotte’s bright, warm eyes peeking out from under her grey hat. A thick blue scarf was wrapped around her neck and mouth and she tugged it down. He gazed into grey-green eyes, the old feelings he had for her rushing up to the surface and making him feel like he was only here a week ago or so.
‘Arthur!’ she breathed.
‘Yer alrigh’, Charlotte?’ he asked, not knowing what else to say.
She let out a half gasp of annoyance, half of laughter. Charlotte brutally slapped his arm and then pulled him into a fierce embrace. ‘I can’t believe it’s you! I can’t believe you’re here! At first I thought I was dreaming or you were a ghost.’
‘Nope, ‘fraid I’m real.’
She pulled away to look up into his face, a wide smile on her lips and he can’t help but feel that age old pull, the desire to cup her cheek and draw her in for a kiss. The one that lingered behind every touch, every look he gave to her and the one he pushed down, determined not to be her end, not to be a destructive force in her life.
She scowled and hit him on the arm again. ‘Why didn’t you write to me? I wrote to John for a time who told me you were alright, but wouldn’t tell me where you were and it seemed rude to keep pestering him!’
‘I… I don’ know…’ he muttered. ‘Guess I wanted to keep you safe.’
She let out a loud huffing sigh. ‘I can keep myself safe.’ Charlotte stepped back a little and he had to remind himself not to keep his hold on her waist. She gazed up at him sadly. ‘I missed you.’
‘I missed you too.’ It was impossible not to be honest with her, to reveal what he really thought and felt. Her hand traced up his arm, his shoulder, till it cupped his cheek and stroked the rough stubble there. Arthur felt himself tremble under her touch, like a rabbit caught in a snare.
‘You look better,’ she said.
He bit his cheek to stop himself from pressing a kiss to her palm. But she did not linger long, pulling her hand back, turning aside and whistled. Arthur frowned in confusion until he saw a pretty grey dapple mare trot through the trees.
‘Fine horse,’ he said.
Charlotte grinned. ‘Selene helps me when I’m hunting and when I need to go into town. I taught myself to ride.’
He loved to hear that note of pride in her voice. He could see a deer slung over the back of Selene and a pheasant tied to the saddle. ‘You got enough food then?’
‘Well seeing as I have an unexpected guest, certainly.’
‘Yer don’ have to-’ he began to say, but Charlotte rolled her eyes and shook her head.
‘You honestly think I wouldn’t invite you in for supper?’
He gave a shrug. ‘Ain’t much of a guest, not even brought you a gift.’ He hadn’t banked on getting this far and felt a hot, prickly wave of shame run over him at how thoughtless he was.
She mounted the horse and waited for him to do the same with Thorn. ‘Well, your company will have to suffice, won’t it?’ He found himself smiling in response to her own teasing grin.
***
The small shack that had been big enough to keep tools and odds and ends, now had a stable attached to it. A decent amount of hay and straw kept it warm and dry. Charlotte efficiently removed the saddle and reins from Selene, then hung them up on a peg and covered the dapple-grey mare’s back with a thick blanket. She insisted Arthur stable Thorn too, though he was sure the stallion has become used to all sorts of wind and weather by now.
Charlotte’s home looked welcoming, the golden glow of the fire spilled through the windows and a trail of smoke drifted upwards in the air from the chimney. While the flowers around the porch had withered, Arthur could see she had planted herbs and medicinal plants that were still stubbornly growing in the cold winter months. He climbed the steps, kicking his boots on them to dislodge any mud and then followed Charlotte into her home.
The cabin was warm, a heavy log in the grate burning brightly. A thick rug on the floor muffled his tread and it was less draughty than when he had last visited. He went to remove his coat, but wound up knocking into a bundle of herbs that was hanging from the ceiling. Charlotte laughed and helped him with his coat.
‘Sorry, I forgot you were so tall, otherwise I would have warned you.’
He pushed aside the bundle of rosemary and sage, chuckling slightly. ‘Yer made a real home in this place.’
‘A lot’s changed over a year,’ she said, removing her own coat, hat and scarf. He admired the black pants and rough spun shirt she wore. She looked good in them.
Before he could really register it, she had grabbed hold of his hand and pulled him towards the fire, pushing him down into a chair. ‘You get warm, I’ll make us some supper, and you better tell me where you’ve been and why you haven’t written throughout all that time.’
She dug around in a cabinet, before pulling out a large iron pot and then dragged out a sack of potatoes. Arthur watched her move about the kitchen, finding onions, carrots, thyme, the rabbit she had caught earlier.
‘I’m sorry, Charlotte. Was just trying to keep you safe.’
‘So you say, but-’ She turned around, her forehead furrowed, her eyes filled with pain and he saw her bite her lip fiercely, then lowered her head. Her voice shook as she spoke, trying with all her might to keep tears at bay.
‘Just one letter, one letter would’ve been enough Arthur. I tried to tell myself that you were fine, that you were living your best possible life. That maybe you had found gold in the mountains out west, or were exploring ancient ruins, or that you had settled down with a family of your own and were happy on a ranch. I kept coming up with different ideas, but I was so… so worried I was lying to myself and that you were… that you were…’ Her voice trailed off and she quickly turned her back on him. She picked up a small knife and began to skin the rabbit.
‘Charlotte,’ he whispered, and she quickly raised her head, eyes filled with tears. He swallowed, the painful knot in his chest growing. ‘I was just…’
‘I know why you did what you did, and you can say it was to keep me safe, but it wasn’t. It was to keep you safe, to keep your heart and head safe, to perhaps even make me resent you and forget you.’
She took a slow, steady breath and blinked back the tears. Charlotte offered him a tight smile. ‘Well, it didn’t work, Arthur Morgan. I… I thought about you most days. Even when I got scared that what the Pinkertons were saying was the truth, I trusted you and I trusted that you would keep yourself alive… and that some day you would come back.’
He wanted to get up, comfort her, hold her in his arms and tell her he had done the same. Thought about her most days, wrote half a dozen letters and then burnt them in the evening.
He watched her putter about the kitchen, before carrying the pot over to the stove and leaving it there. She opened a bottle of brandy and poured two small glasses, before handing one to him and sitting across from him on the couch. She rested against the cushions, letting out a small sigh and sipping the amber liquid.
‘I’m sorry, Charlotte,’ he tried again. ‘I wrote to you many times.’
‘I never got those letters-’
‘I never sent them.’
‘Why?’
He shrugged uneasily and swallowed the thimble’s worth of brandy. He frowned slightly at the sweetness of the liquor, certainly preferring the smoky, bitter taste of whiskey. He heard Charlotte’s laugh and looked up at her amused smile.
‘Brandy is traditional for this time of year, no?’ she asked.
‘I wouldn’ know,’ he said.
She chuckled and got up, bending down to one of the cupboards and finding a bottle of whiskey.
‘Charlotte, yer don’ have-’
‘I don’t have to do a great many things, Arthur Morgan, but that’s not for you to say.’
Arthur obediently nodded. He greatly preferred to see her bright smile and hear her joyful laughter, than witness the tears in her eyes and the pain she was holding back. She poured him a glass of whiskey instead and he gratefully raised his glass to her. She raised her own.
‘To old friends returning and answering questions I have,’ she said.
‘Ah, yeah.’ He fiddled with the thin stem of the glass, not knowing what to say. Much like this journey to her, he had plenty of excuses and reasons why he hadn’t sent those letters. ‘I suppose I came up with a lot of reasons why I couldn’ send the letters, not sure if any of ‘em are good ones though.’
‘Well tell me them and I’ll decide on that,’ she said. She placed her glass down on a table and began to remove her boots.
‘Firstly, wanted to keep yer safe.’
‘So, you’ve said.’
‘Wanted to keep myself safe, not draw any attention to me or use names I had used before.’
‘You could’ve come up with a new name or told me not to write back.’
Boots off, she tucked her feet under her and flung her arm along the back of the couch. Her hand was still pale, though he could see the rough callouses that had formed between her fingers and on her palm. Her nails were short, less well kept. He noticed a small scar running down the side of her thumb and, before his mind had half a thought to tell him not to, he snatched up her hand to examine it.
‘How’d you get this?’
She pulled her hand back, sighed and tutted at him. ‘Don’t change the subject, Arthur. I was sharpening a knife and slipped.’
He swallowed nervously and reached out for her hand again. Her eyes widened, but she stayed silent. ‘Then I guess it’s what you said, wanted to keep my head and heart safe, not that it worked much.’
He ran a thumb over the knuckles of her hand, tracing the white scar on her thumb and then risked a quick look into her grey eyes. A look of slow dawning understanding grew in them and he felt her own fingers trace over his.
‘’m sorry, Charlotte. I’m an idiot.’
She nodded slowly. ‘Yes, you are.’
For a moment she gazed into the fire, her face hard to read and Arthur wondered if he should get up, apologise again for being a damn fool and promise he won’t come calling on her again. He shifted away slightly, but she gripped his hand more resolutely and looked up at him. He opened his mouth to say he would go, that he wouldn’t trouble her anymore, but before he can, Charlotte had swung her legs over him and had straddled him. His mouth dropped open with surprise, though instinctively his hands go to her back.
Her kiss burned him, like whiskey running down his throat, like snow blowing down from the mountains and into his eyes, like the fire crackling in the grate. She kissed him as though he would disappear from under her, as though he would melt away like ice in the spring. The only thing he could do was to wrap his arm firmly around her waist, dig his fingers into her hair, and breathe her in. He smelt smoke, pine, thyme, dead leaves, fresh rain, ice and snow buried deep in her skin. He nuzzled his nose against her jaw, her throat, nipping at the sensitive spot behind her ear.
She drew back, taking a moment to look at him and he drank her in. His perfect wood witch, eyes bright like moonlight, hair trailing loose, mouth plump and flushed with colour. He was almost tempted to drop his head back, close his eyes and groan aloud at the sight of her. She gently cupped his face, thumbs running down his cheeks and over his lips.
gifted to @sunspott as part of the Charles/Arthur Exchange event.
Tags:
Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Strangers to Lovers, Pre-Canon, slowly falling in love, Pining, Sort of? - Freeform, Charles' hands yaknow, Background Relationships.
Summary:
At thirteen years old, while his father is out in town, Arthur meets a kid in need of help. At thirty-six years old, a new member is introduced to the gang, and Arthur can’t help but stare.
_______
Arthur was bored.
Lyle had left him all alone to go somewhere, doing something or other. His father didn’t want him in the way, and had told Arthur to stay put in their hotel room.
He was pretty sure Lyle had gone to the saloon. And if he was, he would only be back late at night.
And as the sun was still high in the sky, Arthur was infinitely bored.
Prompt: It’s F reader’s birthday and Abigail decides to take her out and spend the day making sure she knows how loved she is
Word count: 1,518
Warnings/tags: smut, dirty talk, praise kink, fluff, established relationship
Notes: This is my gift for @vanillasakura for the @rdrevents gift exchange. I’ve never written Abigail before but I had fun with this, I hope it’s what you were looking for! Happy Birthday! :)
—————
With your birthday being so close to Christmas there were times in your past when it had been overshadowed by the holiday season. That wouldn’t be happening any longer now that you were with Abigail. You reassured her there was no need for a big fuss and you were fine either way, but she insisted.
“Darlin’ even if you’re fine with that, I’m not. I wanna make you feel special and treat ya to somethin’ nice,” she’d said softly while tucking a stray hair behind your ear.
You felt lucky to have her in your life, “well, I can’t say no to that.”
The day started with Abigail bringing you breakfast and coffee in bed next to the fireplace, enjoying a leisurely morning before leaving. It was a chilly ride into town, errant snowflakes dancing in the wind. Not cold enough to dampen the mood though and if anything, it gave you a chance to cuddle up in the wagon.
So what’ve you got in store for me today Abigail?”
“Well I was thinkin’ we could grab dinner and maybe some drinks at the saloon. I hear it’s a pretty decent place with nice rooms we could stay in. A bit more refined than the other ones we’re used to,” she laughed. “Otherwise do a little shopping, maybe just walk around and look at the Christmas displays?”
“Sounds nice sweetheart.” you rested your head on her shoulder and placed your hand on her thigh.
After arriving in town you did some shopping in the general store to stock up on things you needed back at the ranch. A mundane errand that felt anything but because of the woman next to you. She wasn’t necessarily the most publicly affectionate person but today was different, her hand grazed your lower back whenever she came up next to you, casually moving her fingertips to play with yours.
After that you moved on to the tailors. “What do we need here?”
“Let’s getcha somethin’ pretty,” Abigail smiled.
You paused knowing that money was tight and there were probably better things to spend it on. “Are…are you sure?”
“Yes you silly woman, now get in there!” She gave a playful push accompanied by the sweetest giggle you’d ever heard.
You picked out a light blue dress with floral print and lace accents, fancier than you were used to but casual enough to wear on a normal day.
Abigail beamed when you stepped out to meet her. “I ain’t never seen a prettier gal in my whole life,” she warmed your cold cheek with an amorous kiss.
You felt yourself melt under her attention. “Shall we?” Holding out your arm to Abigail, she accepted your offer while the two of you took a stroll to enjoy the holiday cheer around the town.
When you decided it was time for the night to wind down, you headed to the saloon for dinner and drinks together, a rare indulgence.
Abigail sipped her whiskey and gazed across the table at you, her cheeks flushed with a rose tint. “Ya know, as much as I love that dress on ya…” you felt her shoeless foot drift along your ankle and up your calf, “I’m very much lookin’ forward to takin’ it off.”
You bit your lip as your heart rate picked up, “what are we wasting time for then?”
Abigail leaned back as you felt her foot delicately travel up your dress and on your thigh, stopping on the outside of your undergarments. “What if I wanna tease ya first?” She placed a bit of pressure.
You felt the warmth growing between your legs, “but Abigail…it’s my birthday,” you said with a whine and playful smile.
“Hmm you’re right,” she leaned across the table and ran her thumb along your lips. “But think about how good it’ll feel when we finally get up there…” she whispered.
“Abigail please…”
“Since you asked so nice, let’s go,” she winked.
Behind the closed doors of your room Abigail slowly removed your new dress, taking time to kiss trails along each space of newly exposed skin until you were bare before her. “Goddamn am I a lucky woman,” she said while running her hands along your curves. You were also lucky, staring hungrily at Abigail in only her chemise.
With a coy smile Abigail grabbed your hand and sat on the edge of the bed, gently pulling you toward her, “c’mere sweetheart.”
You did as you were told and straddled her lap, exhaling shakily as your breasts pressed against hers. Abigail ran her hands up your thighs and squeezed your ass while you began grinding into her, pushing you down even harder into her lap. You felt her hand run through your hair as she kissed and sucked at your neck. “That’s it, keep goin’ love,” she whispered.
Your hands glided along her breasts, the feeling of her hard nipples through the soft fabric sent warmth straight to your core. “You want more?”
“Yes Abigail, please,” you moaned. She obliged and flipped you on your back, removing the rest of her clothes before crawling on top of you.
Abigail ghosted her fingers along your slit, “my my look how wet you are for me.” You parted your legs as she inserted a finger and pressed circles against your clit with her thumb. Lying down beside you her mouth found your nipple and sucked gently.
“God that feels so good…” you rolled your hips in the air toward her.
Agonizingly slow, Abigail kissed a trail from your chest down to your mound, giving a featherlight kiss to your clit while reaching to rub your nipples between her fingers. You involuntarily bucked your hips at her face. “Someone’s eager,” she laughed. Oh that laugh. So sweet but so sinful between your legs. “We got all night.”
“Can’t control myself when you tease me like this,” you whimpered.
You felt her tongue firmly dance against your nub, the warmth immediately making you cry out. Before getting nearly enough satisfaction she pulled away, “your patience will be rewarded.”
She continued to move her tongue lightly against your heat, occasionally moving away to kiss your thighs and stomach. Giving just enough pleasure to drive you crazy, but not enough to bring your release. “You’re doing so good sweetheart,” she breathed heavy as her own hips thrust against the mattress. “How ’bout I let ya come now princess?” She returned two fingers inside and moved them precisely how you needed.
“Fuck…I’m so close,” you groaned as you felt your walls flutter around her.
Abigail pumped her fingers harder and brought her mouth where you needed it most, flicking and sucking until the pressure built as your climax overwhelmed. “Oh such a good girl, so beautiful…” she praised as your body fell limp.
You reached for Abigail and pulled her up on top of you for a slow but heated kiss, tongues dancing. “Your turn,” you whispered against her lips as you rutted your hips upward against her heat, feeling your combined slick.
“Goddamn darlin, you’re so good to me.” Abigail sat up as she rode between your legs, chasing her own pleasure. You gasped while she pinned your arms next to your head and thrusted against you desperately, burying her face in your neck. All of your senses were captured by the woman on top of you, the sweet scent of her hair as it tickled your cheek, the light taste of sweat on her neck, the sound of your wanton panting, the velvet softness of her folds rubbing impossibly close against yours.
You were still so sensitive but could already feel the waves building back up. “I’m close again…”
“Yes that’s a good girl,” she let go of your wrists to wrap your legs around her waist. “Come again for me, lemme hear ya.”
Her praise was all you needed to push you over the edge, her name falling from your lips with each pulse of bliss.
Abigail was not far behind, sitting up slightly to look down at you. She grabbed your chin to make you face her. “You see what you do to me love?” Her grasp on your thighs tightened as you watched her breasts heave with every thrust. The sound of the headboard hitting the wall picked up with the increasing intensity. You ran your hands up the soft skin of her arching back and felt her body twitch. Crying out and collapsing on top of you, Abigail wrung every last drop of of her ecstasy with quivering thrusts.
Quiet moments passed lying in each other’s arms, your bodies radiating heat despite the cool air of the room, Abigail gently caressing you. “You have a good day?” She asked expectantly.
“I had the best day Abigail, thank you.” You nuzzled closer to her.
“Well you deserve it love, you do so much for me and I just…wanna return the favor.”
“You did that and then some,” you laughed.
“Happy Birthday darlin’,” you heard Abigail whisper as you drifted off to sleep, more contented and peaceful than you could ever remember being before that.
Just a wee bit from the fanfic that I’m writing for the @rdrevents Secret Santa exchange!
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“It pains me to think that I might not be able to stay with you, like this.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged, elegant in his casual acceptance of such a sad thought. “Because eventually the sun will rise, the snow will leave, and we will go back to camp.”
“Is that so bad?”
“It is,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips. “Because I will not be able to see you, like this.” He gestured towards your nude form, lying on the blankets before him like a feast to a starving man. He spread your legs, his hands running up and down the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.
