the dirkjohn discord was talking about cowboy/western aus and i had to write their amazing idea into fruition 🙏
some missing context bcuz I suck: john is crossdressing, dirk and roxy are bandits/outlaws
so um. dirkjohn ficlet? unbetad and raw like everything 👏 I 👏 do 👏
--
Their eyes met from across the room; a sharp golden glaring into an elated zaffre gaze. Like stray magnets they drift towards one another, faster with every step they draw nearer. Soon enough John is sidling up to his friend’s side, draping his lax form along the sturdy figure. The other had only just noticed the silky fabric of this evening’s getup, to which John gave a deceptive little giggle and an innocent batting of the feather fan held in his hand. Those gilded eyes travel along down the decadent stitching of the outfit, and then back up to John’s face. His head is half shrouded with more bustling feathers, draped over his nose to expose - and emphasize - long dark lashes that flutter playfully up at their more rugged partner. No dark glasses nor bandana shrouding his jaw can hide the attempt at subtlety as he turns his face away from John’s knowing gaze.
With a surprised little cackle from John, Dirk’s arm is slipping around his waist and sweeping him up into the motion of the cluster of dancers in the middle of the bar floor. From the piano is playing a sweeter song, something keeping the sway of the dancers to a slow, enchanting rhythm. Dirk finds it easily enough and clasps his fingers between John’s outstretched hand. They meet close in the middle for a brief moment, John’s bright pearly whites gleaming up into Dirk’s aloof expression. With an unspoken agreement, Dirk’s hand at the small of John’s corseted waist, and a dolcissimo melody plucking out of the piano, the two turn off into a simple enough dance. It’s something Dirk can lead John into, but no need to push and shove or expect too much flare. None except the usual flare John carries himself with when he’s gussied up like this. Be it the way he holds his hands, the lightness of his step, the delicate tip of his chin - whatever works to make him easy to mistake for the other girls.
They step in sync with each other until the song trails to an end, crescendoing into a vivace tune. As the couples on the dance floor spread out with hoots and hollers, Dirk finds his hand being met with a stronger grip. Rather unbecoming of a lady, if Dirk has to say so himself - but he’s drug off to the side of the room, where others either wait for a partner or take a rest before joining back into the dancing. John’s tossing him off along the wall as he titters with another of the elegantly dressed women. Though disgruntled, Dirk takes his dismissal in stride - by scowling as he leans against the wall near enough to the other, like a predator watching his prey. His partner-in-crime finds him soon enough after losing him to John’s magnetism, and teases him endlessly until he’s considering just ditching her at the county jail himself.
Dirk’s attention being drawn away by another is no good to John - as soon as he notices, he’s abrupt in continuing his game, waving a mischievous little wave to Rose as he parts from her side to steal Dirk away again. He flits to his side, leans in just enough to catch his attention. Once he’s got control of those sunflower eyes, with a quiver of that ridiculous feathered fan, he’s leading Dirk off around the dancefloor. He’s nearly dancing as he’s walking, twirling to show off the flounce of his skirts, the way they catch the sienna lighting of the bar. Dirk follows like a cat after a mouse, persistent in his prowl as John just manages to elude him.
John leads him out of the bar, entirely, and as if he *knew*, a pivot turning directly to where Dirk’s horse is hitched, snoozing away in the pitch of the night. Dirk has half a mind to be disgruntled that John seems to predict him so well, but he instead finds himself appalled as John treats his horse much like he would his own. Before Dirk can get close enough, John is rousing his steed with a sweet smile and a gentle stroke up the midnight column of his snout, scritching between his ears like Dirk does every time he greets him. By the time Dirk is at his horse’s shoulder, John has already gone round and hopped up on the animal himself, perched near his flank - sideways, so he doesn’t rip his skirts with the straddle.
“Come on.” John gently pats at the horse’s back, inviting Dirk to mount his own horse. At Dirk’s gawking, though, he becomes impatient. “Get on! Take off with me for the night. I’ve had enough dancing, and we got our dance in, so…” His gaze sloughs off to peer along the darkening horizon, where the light of the day is nearly gone. “Show me how you two live, all rough and tumble out on the run.” His eager beam is back on Dirk now, as he gives another little pat to the horse’s back.
Finally, Dirk relents and mounts *his* horse, nearly kicking John in the face to a guffaw as he narrowly misses. “Yer the one who mounted before the rider.” Dirk grumbles, scooping up the reins in his hands and glancing back behind him with a bastard smirk. John doesn’t grace him with an answer, only reaching forward to yank the bandana around the man’s neck, cackling at the ensuing fumble to get it back up. “Are you fuckin’ stupid?” Dirk hissed, yanking the bandana back up to shroud his lower face in shadow again.
“It’s dark out. No one can see your face.” Is the bratty response, to which Dirk scowls and shifts the reins to steer his horse on.
“If you ever get me caught, it’s y’er ass I’m comin’ for as soon as I’m out of that puny jail cell.” John wraps his arms around the other’s waist and leans forward to hook his chin over shoulder with an ever-present grin and no response. They’re both quiet for the rest of the ride, letting the calm of the night settle over them with the wind through their hair and the chill in their bones. Dirk never takes him a direct route to their camp, twisting and doubling back to make entirely sure that John would never be able to lead someone to the spot. John, on the other hand, has no care to doing such - so he never pays attention.
“Do you think you two will ever settle down somewhere, get a real homestead?” John asks, as Dirk offers him a hand to help him down from the horse. He takes it, if only to steady himself as he hops down with a caution to avoid ruining his dress.
“Well that is the goal. Eventually.” Dirk doesn’t let go of John’s hand once he has it, tugging him forward along to the unlit campfire. He lets John go settle in one of the seats as works on lighting the fire, and John watches with rapt attention. It’s only once there’s the light of the flame reflecting in his eyes that Dirk returns to his side and plucks a stray feather from his hair. John’s hand clasps around Dirk’s forearm, tugging him down until he’s sitting next to him, keeping close to steal some of his warmth. Much to his chagrin, John has to reach over to steal Dirk’s coat himself, instead of being offered it, and drapes it over his own shoulders to warm himself up. The two lean into each other, close enough to press their sides along each other and help keep another warm through the night.
“Where do you think you’ll settle?” Gets asked at some point in the night, John looking up from resting his head in Dirk’s lap. The fingers carding through John’s curls pause as the other considers his answer, but he doesn’t end up giving one. “Well. Once you leave, if you ever decide to settle, would you write me? I want to *at least* come visit whatever garish house you deem acceptable enough to live in.”
