"Then surely you ain't gonna let a rifle beat you, huh?"
Micah sighs, clicking his tongue as he shakes his head. "I know what you're doing," he comments, no doubt because he uses the same technique on others. "Fine, I'll show you exactly why I ain't the rifle type, just so you can stop pesterin' me about it, alright?"
"Alright," you grin, no bothering to hide how excited you are. He's made himself out to be poorer than poor, a clown with an unfamiliar weapon in his hands, and no doubt, you'll take pleasure in watching him fail.
Micah takes your rifle, snatching it away with another huff. There's still bottles standing on the rocks, seeing as you were testing your own skills not too long ago, with Micah relaxing nearby, lounging about in the spring heat. He jumps straight into it, holding the rifle into position and taking his first shot.
You have to bite back a laugh when the rifle almost slips from his hands, narrowly missing his face. He grumbles, but doesn't seem surprise that he missed by a mile. Another shot is taken, then another, and Micah continues going until the rounds are empty. "See, told you," he comments, shoving the rifle back in your arms, only you don't take it from him.
"C'mon, let me teach you-"
"-No," Micah cuts your offer short, shaking his head as he speaks. He manhandles you, taking one of your hands in his, forcing your palm open, and places the rifle in your open palm, pushing you to take your gun back. "I don't need to be taught. Like I said, rifles ain't my style. But hey, I gave it a try, so are you happy now?"
"Nope," you pout. "Just let me see-"
"-No."
"Micah. I wanna try-"
"-No."
"You're being a baby," you state, and Micah nods in agreement. "How are you meant to be a 'survivor' if you won't learn these new skills, hm? that I am kindly offering to teach you?"
"It's a mindset, sweetheart."
Are you wasting your time on this man? oh, definitely. But you're pushy, eager, for whatever reason. Micah is guaranteed to be a tough pupil, but you're a tougher teacher, and you want to teach him something, anything, just so you can enjoy some unknown pleasure that you're lusting after.
"How's about if you let me teach you a few things, and you manage to hit a bottle, then I'll buy you a drink in the saloon later?" you offer, knowing that Micah will only take up your offer in exchange for treats, like the dog he is, despite his disliking for them.
"I didn't know we were goin' the saloon after this," Micah smugly replies with a chuckle, his laughter picking up when you playfully swat his arm. "Alright then, pushy. I'll allow you to bless me with those talents of yours," Micah replies, and takes the rifle from your grip once more.
He lines himself up after reloading, propping the rifle against his shoulder, his finger hovering over the trigger, and turns to face you, awaiting his first lesson. "Well, first of all, rest your cheek on the stock," you instruct.
Micah softly laughs at your bossy tone before doing as instructed, pressing his cheek to the stock, and peering down the sight. "And hold it more-" you begin, your words trailing off as you take a step closer to physically move Micah into place.
Yet again, he chuckles, but allows you to reposition his grip, moulding him like putty around your rifle. "Anythin' else you ain't happy about?" Micah questions.
"Mhmmm... no," you decide. "Take the shot," you instruct, taking a wide step back. Your eyes remain on Micah's form as he fires, and to neither of your surprise, he misses again.
"Looks like you ain't much of a teacher-" Micah begins to bicker, but shuts his mouth when you begin moulding him into shape once more. He's grinning, his focus on you rather than the gun; he attempts to cover up his smile when you gesture for him to shut his mouth, scowling at the larger man, and he has to physically bite back a laugh at your pouty face.
"You ain't followin' through for long enough," you instruct. "Wait a little longer once you fire, hold her steady, and take your time linin' the sight up," you explain, taking another step back and watching Micah again.
He somewhat attempts to follow your advice, half-arsed, which is no surprise to you. Micah misses the shot, and you begin to wonder if he's doing it intentionally. "You ain't followin' through!" you grumble, playfully slapping his arm. "You want me to baby you? cause I'll hold you steady until you hit a bottle."
Micah laughs once more, but sound stops escaping his lips when you position yourself around him; you wrap your arm around his, your hand pressed over his much larger ones, your trigger finger directly on top of his. You're on your tip-toes, body pressed to his to give yourself leverage as you attempt to help Micah shoot one single goddamn bottle.
Your other hand pushes Micahs head down against the gun, rougher than last time, before settling on his shoulder. "Take the fucking shot, Micah," you angrily order, grumbling almost directly into his ear.
"You seem to be gettin' a bit worked up there-"
"Just take the shot already, hit a bottle, else I'll cry," you threaten, with a frustrated yet playful tone to your voice.
This time, Micah doesn't laugh, and finally puts his focus into firing. Your finger moves with his as he pulls the trigger; his arms don't move as the gun fires, his stance remains firm and strong, and finally, after god knows how long, Micah hits a bottle.
The blonde man almost jumps out of his skin when you begin cheering, screaming "finally!" and "I knew I'd be able to teach you something!"
"You happy now?" Micah asks with a laugh, letting the rifle loosen in his grip as he hangs it down by his side.
"Yes!!" you cheer, and playfully hug him. Micah giggles, rubbing his hand over your back, his cheek pressing atop of your head as you continue babbling out words of praise, your face pressed to his chest.
You eventually move away, peering up at Micah, ready to begin teasing and berating him, but words fail you completely once your eyes meet his cold, blue ones. He's peering down at you, a soft grin across his lips, a genuine one that only you have the pleasure of seeing, considering that Micah isn't one for genuine smiles. He goes to open his mouth, to let out a witty and flirtatious comment, but words fail him too, and both of you are left gawking at each other, still wrapped in his arms, his chest pressed to yours.
You both see it coming, you both know that the bubble was eventually going to burst, only you thought it might have happened in a cliché setting; maybe Micah would have ridden you home in the rain, helping you off his horse and finally pressing his lips to yours, or maybe he'd storm over after a shared gunfight, pumped with adrenaline and desperate to share his rush with you.
However, you find yourself on tip-toes again, your arms darting up to wrap around his neck, his lips finally on yours. No doubt, he's going to begin mocking and teasing you the second his lips leave yours, so you drag out the kiss, and he happily follows.
A soft thud can be heard as Micah let the rifle in his grip fall to the floor, allowing him to wrap both his arms around your waist. He pulls you in even closer, his tongue sliding against yours at the same time, facial hair prickling your upper lip. He's kisses exactly how you've imagined, and you're not ashamed to admit that those thoughts have crossed your mind far too many times.
The kiss breaks, but his grip on you doesn't loosen. Instead, Micah continues peering down at you, a smug smile across his lips, but his eyes are warm, welcoming, and perfectly meeting yours.
"I'll ask again, are you happy now?" Micah questions, his tone soft, for once.
"I am," you confess. "You were missin' those shots on purpose, weren't you?"
Micah looks away, biting back a laugh. He grins and shakes his head, before meeting your gaze again, not bothering to hide his smile.
"...maybe."
