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With the rain around him coming down like a waterfall, the large trees on the outskirts of Clements point offered little protection from the storm that had overtaken the land. The sky overhead almost seemed to bubble and roll threateningly with the weight of it. Charles could see the outline of the storm clouds blocking the moon, even though it was the wee hours of the morning.
It was safe to say that the outlaw’s mood was just as depressing as the weather. He’d been on guard duty, out in the rain whilst others took shelter in their tents, since just after dinner. That in itself wasn’t unusual. Charles liked guard duty. He liked the chance to think, to be alone for once and observe the camp and the woodland from afar. No, guard duty wasn’t the reason for his bad mood, nor the storm – though that certainly didn’t help things. Charles had to bite his own tongue to stave off his irritation at the fact that he’d been left standing out there for so long.
Sean should have come to relieve him hours ago.
Charles wasn’t expecting miracles – he knew that the Irishman was unreliable at the best of times when it came to chores. But this mattered . What if the camp was attacked?
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Charles had the thought that anyone willing to attack them in such a storm probably had a few screws loose, but that didn’t matter. It was the principle.
Shit, was he the only one that took camp safety seriously around here?
Arthur did too, Charles was quick to remind himself – though it had been a long, long while since Charles thought of the other as just another member of the camp and not something… more.
Their relationship was a closely guarded secret, kept from all but a select few members of the group. Hosea had figured it out, of course, even before the two of them had even had their first kiss, ever looking out for his adopted son. John, for all his obtuseness, had worked it out soon after and asked Arthur about it directly. Charles had the feeling that Dutch knew, too. He couldn’t be sure if their leader approved or disapproved; however, since the raven-haired man preferred to simply not mention it at all.
Charles would have much rather been visiting Arthur in his tent, sharing a rare few private moments together before they said goodnight. But no. There he was, being battered by the wind and rain as he waited for Sean to come and relieve him. Arthur was probably asleep by now. Charles and his poor heart would have to wait for another day.
Uncharacteristically for Charles, he was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the wet slap of footsteps wading through the mud until they were almost upon him.
Sean.
Charles resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Though he hadn’t even been on guard duty, Sean looked positively bedraggled. Where had the man been, wading through a river? Charles was irritated with his own sodden clothing but it didn’t hold a candle to Sean’s.
“Sorry Charles…”At least he had the good sense to look sheepish. “I was coming – I was !” He insisted, even though Charles hadn’t said a word. “But then as I was leaving, Karen wanted to… talk.”
Charles rolled his eyes at that. Of course Sean was too busy getting his cock wet. And in doing so, he’d deprived Charles of the opportunity to do exactly the same. He decided not to share that piece of information and instead held his tongue. Instead, Charles shoved the shotgun he’d been holding roughly into Sean’s chest, almost knocking him over in the process, and stepped past him into the full brunt of the rain.
“Don’t fall asleep.” He grunted before stalking off, not bothering to see if Sean had any reply.
Charles could barely hear a thing over the rain, but discounting the storm, the camp seemed quiet (save Bill’s snores), everyone else somehow having fallen asleep despite the howling wind. Sodden, Charles made his way through the small maze of tents and wagons, taking care not to slip in the mud as he went.
It was as he lost his footing and stumbled a little, having to reach out and grab the ammunitions wagon for support, that Charles saw it –
A faint light glowing through the faded canvas of Arthur’s tent.
He too had pulled the flaps down to shield himself from the storm, something quite uncharacteristic for the outlaw who always complained that having four walls around him (even canvas ones) made him feel penned in.
Why wasn’t he sleeping? Was the wind too loud? Or had he been waiting up? Hoping Charles might visit?
Whatever the reason, Charles knew that so much as a glance at his love would lift his spirits immeasurably, even if he found Arthur sleeping soundly in the flickering candlelight.
It was that possibility that had Charles turning towards Arthur’s tent and pulling open the knots that secured one of the flaps quietly, without announcing himself. The last thing he wanted to do was wake a sleeping Arthur up – that man barely got enough rest as it was.
He needn’t have bothered. When Charles ducked under the tent flap, the first thing he set his gaze on was Arthur’s eyes, peering back at his own. With a small, acknowledging bob of his head, Charles turned to quickly re-tie the tent flap, blocking off the rest of the world as best be could. Even with all the hatches battened, the wind was still louder than Charles would have liked.
He turned back to Arthur and took note of his appearance – bare foot, sitting on the edge of his bed, face illuminated by candlelight, sweat glistening there despite the nip in the air. Arthur’s journal lay on the ground beneath his feet, a single page torn from it and screwed up in one large hand.
Charles knew he was right to have changed his course when Arthur looked to his feet, unwilling to meet his eyes for long.
“Saw the light.” He states, taking a tentative step forward. Charles couldn’t help but feel as if he were intruding, even if he suspected that Arthur needed him in that moment. “Storm keepin’ you up?”
“Something like that...” Arthur shrugged before sighing heavily and running one tired hand down the side of his face.
He eyed the chair that was opposite Arthur’s bed, keen to rest his feet after several hours of standing in the rain. But the rain – Charles was all but soaked to the bone. He was much too considerate to go dripping rainwater over Arthur’s nice dry tent. “Christ darlin’,” Arthur’s exasperated huff, tinged with mirth, drew him from his thoughts. “Take your jacket off, I have a spare if you’re cold – you’ll catch your death standin’ there like that…”
Though Charles hated inconveniencing anybody, the promise of a dry jacket, perhaps the chance to yank his water-logged boots off, was too alluring to turn down.
“Thanks…” He shot Arthur a small smile before shrugging off his jacket and slinging it over the back of the chair. It dripped onto the floor almost immediately, but Charles reasoned it was better than spreading it out on Arthur’s bed. A much dryer hunting jacket was thrown in Charles’s direction and he donned it without a word before finally taking a seat on the chair.
There was silence then, the two men sitting opposite each other. Silence was perhaps the wrong word for it, Charles noted – the wind was still howling outside, rattling the tent in which they sat with the rain beating down overhead. But the sounds seemed to fall by the wayside for the outlaw, his attention focused on the man before him.
He seemed defeated, though Charles couldn’t place why. “What were you doing with your journal?” He asked eventually.
Charles stooped to pick it up, smoothing out the slightly rumpled pages that had been face down on the floor and setting it atop the dresser. He didn’t so much as peek at what was written there. Charles wouldn’t betray Arthur’s trust like that.
“Was tryin’… was tryin’ to draw my ma’…” Why did Arthur seem so sheepish? “Can barely remember what she looked like now – only really the sound of ‘er voice and how comforting she was… what she smelled like…” As Arthur trailed off, Charles kept silent, willing him to continue. He ached to reach out and maybe lay a hand on Arthur’s but the distance between the chair and the bed was too great. “… Thought it might distract me from the storm…” That seemed to be all that Arthur was willing to share. Charles knew he’d have to prod to get at whatever was really bothering his love.
Despite the way his jeans pulled and twisted awkwardly as Charles moved, the denim just as sodden as his jacket, the outlaw rose from the chair only to fall to his knees beside the bed, at Arthur’s feet. It wasn’t the first time he’d been in this position, but sex couldn’t have been further from either of their minds at that moment. He set two big, warm (and hopefully comforting) hands on Arthur’s knees, pushing them gently so he could shuffle even closer. Arthur watched him carefully without comment.
“I don’t remember much of my mother, either.” Charles began. He’d told this to Arthur before on one of their hunting trips, but it felt necessary to repeat it then. “I have that photo of her and my father, you’ve seen it, and I think that helps to jog my memory… but I never know what’s real and what stuff I’ve just made up in my mind to fill the gaps…” With a grunt, Arthur nodded in silent agreement and dropped his gaze to the floor, deep in thought.
The seconds that ticked by were pensive yet not uncomfortable, and at length, Arthur spoke again,
“Remember her comforting me during a storm once… I think… or maybe that was just wishful thinking after my Daddy…” Arthur trailed off and Charles heart clenched. He squeezed Arthur’s thighs where they were still clasped in his hands and lent forwards to place a feather-light kiss over Arthur’s union suit where his heart lay. There was a quiet intake of breath from above, but Charles spared the other the embarrassment of meeting his gaze, simply resting his head against Arthur’s chest for a moment. Thick, strong fingers came up to play with his dripping hair.
“You don’t have to tell me; I get how it is.” He stated. Though Charles yearned to know every facet of Arthur’s being, to help him forget all that trauma and protect him from the world, he knew the possibilities of ever achieving such a thing were slim.
There was a pregnant pause. The wind whipped, forcing the rain to lash a little harder against the tent for a heartbeat. Charles didn’t miss the way Arthur flinched at the noise.
“No… I-I want to.” Arthur seemed sure of himself, even if it took him a moment to get the words out. Charles lent back so he could see Arthur’s face, searching for any sign of discomfort. He found none so simply settled back on his heels and waited for Arthur to tell him at his own pace. “B-back when I was a kid…” His voice trembled. “I think it was maybe a year after my mother died? Something like that… I didn’t like storms much, used to cry and wail whenever I heard thunder…
“So one night there’s a storm brewing – a big, terrible one – the kind people go out in and never come back… my Daddy left me outside all night in the rain… I donno’ if he wanted to cure my fear, have me drown or just found it fun to watch me cry, but he left me out there and wouldn’t let me in no matter how much I begged and pleaded…”
It seemed to Charles that Arthur became lost in his memories after that, eyes going a little unfocused and his expression vacant. Charles stopped breathing. Sure, he’d spent his fair share of nights in the rain, too, but that had mostly been down to personal choice. And whilst Charles was elated and touched that Arthur wanted to confide in him like this, he had no idea what to say to stop the moment from shattering, to take care of this precious knowledge Arthur had given him.
For some reason, the moment reminded Charles of that time he’d found an injured bird as a child. He’d held it in his hands so carefully, so afraid of hurting it that he could barely move, wanting to go about healing it but not willing to risk causing it more damage in the first place.
“Thank you for telling me.” He decided on eventually. And he meant it. “I take it that didn’t help?” Arthur laughed bitterly at that.
“Reckon it made things worse…” Charles thumbed smoothed small circles into the worn material of Arthur’s union suit. “Used to bunk with Hosea when things got this bad but… he’s been real tired lately and I don’t wanna disturb him… don’t think we’d both fit on his cot anymore, either…” Another dark chuckle. Charles hummed in sympathy. The image of a small Arthur climbing into bed with Hosea for comfort was a nice one, in Charles’s view at least, so he promised himself he’d revisit that later when Arthur was a little less vulnerable.
“Well…” Charles began. “I may not be Hosea, but I can stay here with you, if you’d like? At least until everyone starts to stir…” Arthur looked up at him then, eyes large but not alarmed.
“I don’t wanna keep you-“ He cut himself off when a strong hand squeezed his arm.
“I want to.” Charles said firmly. “As long as you’re alright with it. I’d like the company, and the warmth if I’m honest – no pressure to fuck, I just wanna be close to you…”
Arthur seemed to consider the offer for a moment whilst Charles still knelt patiently at his feet. At length, though, Arthur nodded.
“Alright… if you’re sure… just- you can leave your stuff to dry over there.” He motioned in the direction of the chair that Charles’s still dripping jacket was draped over. It wasn’t in front of a roaring fire, but it would have to do for now.
Charles hauled himself to his feet and began to disrobe. With careful yet efficient movements, he was down to just his union suit in no time at all. Thankfully, it seemed a lot dryer than the rest of him. Though Charles longed for skin-on-skin contact and had the feeling that Arthur felt the same, he kept his underwear on. If someone found them sleeping together, it would be compromising enough as it was, nakedness on top of that would only serve to make it all the more embarrassing for the both of them. Charles didn’t mind if people found out but Arthur still had rather strong reservations.
It almost seemed that the storm calmed once the two of them finally got into bed together, Charles closest to the tent’s entrance with his chest pressed up snugly against Arthur’s back and a protective arm slung around his waist. Arthur’s body heat warmed him immediately, finally stopping the minute shivers that had been coursing through Arthur’s body since he’d first taken watch in the rain all those hours ago.
He interlinked his fingers with the outlaw’s and gave him a full-body squeeze. Charles has meant to loosen his grip soon after but found himself unable to, instead holding onto Arthur rather tightly. He hoped he wasn’t crushing the other man but by the way Arthur seemed to relax, he thought not.
There was another clap of thunder from outside and Arthur flinched hard in his arms. Charles didn’t have the words to comfort him so he simply nuzzled even closer, nose pressed to the back of his neck and hands interlinked over Arthur’s heart. He stroked his thumb over Arthur’s knuckles and made a silent promise to himself that he’d protect Arthur with his life and get him somewhere safe and happy, away from all of Dutch’s scheming, even if it killed him.