Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The champagne wasn’t nearly strong enough. He had been here for what, ten, fifteen minutes? And he had already hated it with every damn fiber of his being. Camping out in Shady Bell and spending the majority of his time engulfed by the thick, dirty air of Saint Denis made him somewhat accustomed to feeling out of place all the time, his desire to simply flee and get himself lost in the wilderness prevalent more often than not. However, nothing could’ve possibly prepared him for this – wherever he looked, Bronte’s laugh echoed in his mind, derisive and demeaning, pointing out what was painfully clear.

You don’t belong here.

Arthur was a simple man. He liked cheap whiskey over fancy champagne, and as for the music, he was content listening to Uncle’s naughty songs sung by the fire beneath the blanket of the starry night. Hell, even Dutch’s gramophone was just a little too much for him sometimes.

He felt too rough and big among all those higher-society folks, too broad to fit through the doorways of the mansion, designed for men with much softer hands, dressed in sumptuous suits and using big, fancy words. The delicate little loops of the polite yet dreadfully shallow small talk that was reaching his ears from all around were already forming knots around his throat – dammit, he had been choked by an actual man the other day and yet, it was nowhere near as suffocating as this goddamn place.

Go find the mayor if you can. Sipping on his champagne once more, Arthur’s eyes scanned the crowd carefully, ears perked up as he searched for any kind of information that would further indicate the mayor’s location. All he wished for was to get this over with as quickly as possible and finally go back to camp. He didn’t like the gator-filled swamps too much either but no matter how much of a hell hole Shady Belle was, it was at least peaceful and quiet.

Not like this damn place.

He managed to charm a triad of women by pouring them some champagne and to save a feller from choking himself to death on a nut before he finally spotted the mayor standing by the fountain, surrounded by a group of men. Normally, he’d probably opt for a slightly more inconspicuous approach but right now, all he wished was for this night to be over, and so he headed there directly, thinking maybe a way to sneak into Mr. Lemieux’s good graces would present itself if he actively sought it out – and it did. Within a single minute, Arthur was escorting some drunk from the mayor’s presence, thinking how funny it was that the so-called higher society wasn’t much higher than the regular countryside folks. Hell, he wouldn’t even count the times he himself was thrown out of a saloon just like this, and there sure as shit wasn’t anything fancy about it. It earned him the mayor’s gratefulness, though, no matter how fleeting it was – and then, another couple of minutes later, Arthur was finally excused from the sea of expensive suits and flamboyant dresses on behalf of something much more exciting – a single mention of Cornwall’s name soon had him following one of the servants inside the mansion, a task definitely more aligned with Arthur’s true nature. Staying back and undetected, he followed the man up to the second floor, way more confident within the ornately wallpapered walls now that he was after something slightly more material – that letter.

The servant disappeared in one of the rooms – it looked like some kind of a study from where Arthur was peeking from behind the corner, or an office, maybe?

A click of a drawer followed by receding steps. Arthur waited an additional three seconds before quietly approaching the door and glancing inside.

The door on the opposite side of the office was open, and there were no signs of the servant. Arthur’s eyes darted to the desk where he suspected the letter was currently hidden away.

He noticed a letter opener on the desk.

He listened, trying to determine where the servant went. He couldn’t hear anything.

Now’s the chance.

He made his way to the desk. The drawer was locked, as expected, and he swiftly reached for the letter opener, working it open as quietly and quickly as he possibly could. Luckily, Arthur was richly skilled at lock picking – a relic of the times he used to live on the streets as a kid, commonly robbing homesteads to survive.

A click. Putting the knife aside, Arthur opened the drawer and reached inside.

“Mr. Leviticus Cornwall,” he mumbled to himself as his eyes finally landed on the coveted piece of paper. His eyes were already scanning across the lines. “Top secret… Extremely confidential…”

“Mr. Morgan!” a familiar voice hissed from behind him, and Arthur almost jumped out of his skin. He reached for his gun on instinct, only to remember he had to leave his guns by the entry.

He turned on his heels, alarmed – and found himself staring into the widened, horrified eyes of Albert Mason.

“Jesus!” he breathed, placing a hand on his chest where his heart was bolting like a wild mustang under his sternum. I’m way too old for gettin’ startled like this…

Mason was staring at him before his eyes dropped to the desk behind him. “What are you doing here?” he asked in a whisper, although there was a pitch or urgency to the sharp hiss of air that was his voice.

For once, Arthur didn’t have a reply. Mason might’ve been naïve, but he wasn’t an idiot – he surely must have concluded what Arthur was doing here all by himself.

“Goddammit…” Heartbeat palpitating, Arthur glanced towards the second door where the servant previously disappeared. Could he hear them? Fuck, he needed to get out before anyone saw him…

“Mr. Morgan, what were you –”

“Could ask you the same damn thing!” Arthur growled quietly, reaching for the door that remained open behind Mason and closing it. “What the hell are you doin’ here?!”

The photographer observed his doings with a puzzled expression. “I – I followed you,” he stammered – at least he had enough mind to keep his voice low. “I caught a glimpse of you earlier, but you seemed too busy talking to Mr. Lemieux and I didn’t mean to interfere… Frankly, I had no idea you were this acquainted with the higher ranks of Saint Denis society,” he noted, frowning. His gaze kept roaming all over the office as he spoke. “But then you took off so I followed to see if I could find an appropriate moment to talk to you and perhaps tempt you to a glass of champagne, and…” He lost track of his words as his hazel eyes found the letter in Arthur’s hand. “Heavens, have you been stealing here?”

Maybe he was more naïve than Arthur originally assumed him to be.

“No,” he retorted, already tucking the letter into his breast pocket. “S’just a sheet of paper, and it ain’t no business of yours.” Taking a step in the direction that would allow him a glimpse into the next room where the servant previously disappeared, Arthur stretched out his neck, checking. Wherever the man went, it didn’t seem like he was coming back. Thank God. “C’mon,” he motioned to Mason, “we gotta get outta here…”

But just as he was about to push the door leading into the corridor open, he heard steps coming from the stairs. And voices. “Ah, shit…”

“What?” Mason croaked from behind him.

“They must’ve seen ya,” Arthur uttered, already looking around. They needed to think fast. “Dammit... Here, c’mon.” Taking a firm hold of Mason’s sleeve, he dragged him towards a big wooden closet, hoping it would have enough space for them to hide in.

It did, although just barely.

Mason sent him a reluctant look as Arthur pushed him in between the coats and suits hanging in there. “Mr. Morgan –”

“Shut up and get inside,” Arthur cut his protests off, hurrying them both into the confined space. A thousand thoughts raced through his brain as he closed the door behind them – did he close the drawer? Did he put the letter opener back where it was? Did he disturb anything else? Left any trace that would eventually lead whoever was after them to their hiding place?

He didn’t have any guns on him. If anyone found them, he’d have to silence them with his bare hands…

Someone entered the office. A voice called out. Anyone here?

Arthur held his breath. He could hear footsteps moving around the office.

His hands balled into fists on instinct as he readied himself to spring into action at any given moment.

Another pair of boots hitting the shiny wooden floors approached. What’s the matter?

Anne-Marie thought she saw some gentleman sneaking up in here.

Didn’t see anyone…

Arthur listened to the exchange carefully, barely breathing. The voices receded after a few seconds, and only then he dared to draw in some air…

… only for Mason’s soft scent to fill his nose. Soft yet alluring, just a little flowery and sweet, but also… clean, fresh, like morning grass glimmering with dew.

A cologne…?

He didn’t even get to finish the thought. Just a second later, his other senses kicked in, too, and suddenly, he became overwhelmingly aware of how unbearably close they were to each other, with Mason’s hot breath gliding over his neck, and the coarse hair of his beard tickling the soft skin just above the collar of his shirt.

Two warm hands were seated lightly on the hills of his hips. He didn’t even remember how they got there.

With each breath they took, their chests pressed together.

Goddammit.

He still heard the voices but couldn’t quite understand what they were saying anymore due to the boiling blood humming in his ears. All he could suddenly think about was that he needed to put some space between them, but as soon as he moved, his rear immediately bumped into the door of the closet – which was in no way made to accommodate two relatively large men. The contact caused the door to crack open and fall back closed with a small thud, and Arthur froze, his heartbeat skyrocketing as he tried to figure out if anybody heard him…

Mason wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him closer, pressing their bodies even tighter together.

Arthur knew there were other, more important matters he should be concerned about right now – like getting caught, for instance.

And yet, all he could think about was the scorching heat flooding his cheeks, and the quivery… was it excitement that was pooling just below his navel…?

A whiff of hot breath brushed against his ear, and it sent a shiver down his spine. He could feel a subtle spark of arousal go off in his belly.

No, he pleaded internally, closing his eyes. No, no, no, no, no…

He had fancied men before. Never really allowed himself to do anything about it but he just knew he did. He also knew he had fancied Mason ever since he stumbled upon him for the first time a few months ago – there was something endearing about him, something that drew Arthur to him. Was it his naivety? The fact that he hadn’t yet lost his illusions about the world, that he still had the strength to see the best in people despite the danger it was putting him into?

He didn’t know.

Which obviously wasn’t making the fact that he was slowly growing stiff in his pants any less humiliating.

He tried to pull away, get at least one goddamn inch between their groins…

But Mason’s grip on his waist was surprisingly firm, keeping him in place.

Sweet Mother of Jesus, he thought, releasing a shaky breath. Suddenly, it occurred to him just how scared the other man must be – Arthur was used to getting into trouble all the time, and he was also used to getting out of trouble. If someone yanked the door open right this instant, he’d find his way out of here, even if it meant he’d have to leave a pile of dead bodies behind.

But Mason? He’d definitely get arrested for this, even though it was nothing but his naivety that got him here in the first place.

And not only that. Now, to top it all off, Arthur’s body was betraying him, reacting to their proximity in a way a polite, distinguished gentleman such as Mr. Mason surely wouldn’t appreciate. Hell, Arthur would never be able to look him in the eye after this – and probably would have the crime of sodomy added to the lengthy list of his sins, and some additional dollars to his bounty. Not that it mattered much.

He gritted his teeth, trying to think about all the nasty things he had seen in his life – blood, gore, corpses, that goddamn killer he had accidentally stumbled upon in Valentine and subsequently tracked down. He tried to think of that damn incestual couple he had come across just a couple of weeks ago, of Strauss, even damn Micah.

For the very first time in his life, Micah’s rat face wasn’t enough to disgust the shit out of him, as all Mason needed to do was to brush the tip of his nose against Arthur’s ear on accident, and the outlaw was done for.
A single droplet of sweat ran down his temple. Please, make him not notice, make him not notice, goddamn, please…

Except Mason must have noticed. The barrier of clothes between them was thin, and Arthur was… well…

He clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. He wished he could just die on the spot and never have to face the world again. Jesus, what will Mason think of him now?

You goddamn pig, Morgan, he scolded himself internally, yer thirty-damn-six years old, for fuck’s sake, you ain’t even supposed to be able to get it up! You damn sure couldn’t the last time, and it’s been years since then, so why the hell now of all times…?

A touch against his cheek.

Arthur’s eyes snapped open.

It was dark in the closet, too dark to see anything.

And yet, he could safely say Mason was looking at him.

Pressure against his chin, forcing him to tilt his head slightly. He could feel Mason’s heart racing, could feel his warm breath spilling softly over his lips…

He swallowed. No, no, this ain’t right. Me, I’m a no-good criminal who had done far worse but… H–he, he ain’t…

Mason’s beard brushed against his throat lightly.

He ain’t… He ain’t like this…

A kiss was placed right below his jawline.

Arthur shivered. Felt himself throb in the confines of his pants.

Or maybe he is…?

He felt a wet flick of a hot tongue against the sensitive little spot where his artery was pulsating wildly beneath his sweaty skin. His body went rigid at the touch, which was soon replaced by a gentle pressure of soft, velvety lips.

Jesus fucking Christ…

A palm cupped his cheek, fully this time. Tips of Mason’s fingers dived into the unkept mop of his damp hair.

Words couldn’t describe how incredibly hot he felt. “M–Mason,” he whispered, but it sounded more like a whimper. He didn’t even know what it was he wanted to say.

Luckily, Mason didn’t seem to care much. Before Arthur could even wrap his head around what was happening, he brought their lips together, kissing him.

The initial contact was bashful and exploratory, merely a testing of the waters rather than a decisive action. Arthur barely managed to hold back an embarrassing whimper, and before he could work up the courage to move his mouth, Mason was kissing him passionately, sensually, deeply. A single demanding flick of a tongue compelled his lips to fall open, and a sharp line of teeth grazed his bottom lip when he didn’t obey quickly enough. The hand that had been resting on the small of Arthur’s back dipped lower, to the round curve of his ass, and Arthur gasped in surprise as the photographer’s lithe fingers squeezed him there, pressing their groins even tighter together and…

Oh.

OH.

Another wave of scorching heat spilled across his cheeks. Jesus, is he… was he… this whole time…?

However, Mason didn’t provide him with enough time to ponder. Taking advantage of the outlaw’s surprise, he promptly invaded his mouth with his tongue, rolling their hips together ever so slightly. Something about the sensation of their lengths aligned with one another soon rid Arthur of all his restraints, and he reciprocated hungrily, greedily. Pinning the younger man against the back of the closet with his body weight, he slipped his hands beneath his jacket, fingers skidding over his clothed flanks. Their mouths glided over each other wetly, and Arthur let out a silent groan as he tasted the fancy champagne off Mason’s tongue, feeling intoxicated by it, by his all-encompassing warmth, the scent of his cologne…

They both stilled all of a sudden.

Silence.

Pulling away from the photographer, Arthur tilted his head as he listened closely.

Mason shifted his weight. “Are they gone?” he asked so quietly Arthur wouldn’t have a chance to hear him if his mouth wasn’t just inches away from his ear.

“I dunno,” Arthur responded, frowning. “Seems quiet…”

Letting go of the outlaw’s ass, Mason moved his hand to a much safer region of his middle back. “Do you think we could… sneak out…?”

Arthur listened for a few more moments. He heard nothing.

Now or never.

“Yeah,” he eventually nodded, letting go of the photographer. “Let’s go.”

Together, they stumbled out of the closet. Arthur instantly busied himself with checking their vicinity, making sure no one was near to witness them sneaking out. It was as much an instinctual act of necessity as it was an attempt to conceal his embarrassment. Jesus, his face felt so hot he doubted he’d ever get rid of the redness staining his cheeks.

Comfortingly enough, Mason looked no better – his eyes were wide and dark, darker than usual, and his cheeks were bright pink. He ran a hand through his hair, sweeping back the few unruly strands that were falling loosely onto his forehead.

Jesus, he looked so…

Feeling himself going off the tracks again, Arthur averted his eyes and cleared his throat. “S’all clear,” he announced matter-of-factly, motioning toward the corridor. “C’mon.”

Obediently, Mason followed him like a shadow. They had to hide by one of the pillars in the hall to avoid being seen by one of the servants, but as soon as she disappeared from their sight, they rushed back to the gala where they mingled with the crowd, escaping any ray of suspicion that might have landed on them.

Arthur partly hoped Mason would separate from him upon re-joining the party, but the photographer stuck with him, following him through the crowded garden as the outlaw made his way over to the table with the champagne. As soon as he reached it, he downed one of the glasses in a single gulp, unsure whether he needed a mere kick of courage or to mercifully pass out. Not that the champagne would do nothing, he mused grimly. Goddamn, what I wouldn’t give for three shots of whisky…

Mason likewise reached for a glass, and even though he was significantly more sophisticated with his way of consumption, the first gulp seemed slightly deeper and more needy than the ones that followed.

Arthur’s heart was racing again. Dammit, I just made out with this feller in a goddamn closet – how the hell do I excuse myself from something like that? Mind working rapidly, he looked around, distressed. He couldn’t even look the other man in the eye.

Dutch, he then remembered, stretching out his neck as he searched for the gang leader. He’s surely looking for him, isn’t he? Isn’t that enough of a reason to…

“Mr. Morgan.”

Cheeks heating up again, Arthur gave the photographer a wide-eyed look.

Fuck, I’m screwed, ain’t I?

Mason didn’t speak immediately. For an incredibly thick moment, they just stood there, eyeing each other up, both all too aware of what just transpired between them, and what it meant. Only after a while, Mason ducked his head, biting his lip in what Arthur thought was a sign of nervousness. “I, ehm… Perhaps I’m tempting my fate here,” he started and briefly looked over his shoulder as if he had places to be, “but… You know, I’m afraid I must return to the rather dull and shallow purposes of my attendance now, but in case you were interested in, um… finishing what I’ve so foolishly started…” He glanced down at his boots before finally looking Arthur in the eyes again, the usually warm, hazel pupils dark and devouring. “Please, seek me out later. I live nearby.”

Arthur’s breath hitched in his throat as he realized what the photographer was offering.

So he is like that.

The first instinct was to refuse. Arthur was never one to indulge in shallow pleasures, and the few times he did he deeply regretted. It was always leaving him feeling kind of dirty and sticky, guilty, even. But then again, Albert Mason was no whore. He was a friend – and on top of that a very attractive man Arthur knew he had a weakness for. Dammit, he nearly got eaten by an alligator just so Mason could snap a picture of it. Not that he ever imagined their relationship to take such an abrupt turn, but well…

… he liked Mason. Or not exactly liked – he liked Sean or Javier, too. Mason, there was more to him. He felt attracted to him.

He wanted him.

But then again – Mason just caught him stealing. And while Arthur doubted the man would ever find it in himself to betray the friendship they had built together over the past few months of coincidentally running into each other, he didn’t know him well enough to blindly trust him, either. After all, Mason came from completely different ranks of society – the kind that usually didn’t take too kindly to Arthur’s sort.

Besides… Arthur was a wanted man. He could ruin the photographer’s life with just a snap of his fingers.

All of the above was enough to prevent Arthur from enthusiastically agreeing. “What makes ya believe I ain’t gonna turn ya in?” he challenged, cocking a brow.

He could see Mason’s jaw clench a little. He knew what Arthur was referring to, without a doubt – sodomy was a serious crime, after all, and while for Arthur having a few additional dollars to the price on his head didn’t matter much, for Mason, well…

“We both know what you were doing up there,” the photographer eventually replied, voice calm and collected. “So, seeing as we are both rather conveniently in possession of each other’s secrets…”

He stepped closer, and his gaze fell onto Arthur’s chest, where the letter was safely hidden away in his breast pocket. “I assume we have an understanding?”

Well, having the mayor on his ass would surely cause him a hell lot more problems than a charge of deviance. Arthur swallowed, eyes darting to Albert’s pink, plump lips as he carefully weighed his options.

Eventually, he nodded. “Sure,” he agreed, silently accepting the deal. “Sure, we do.”

A smile brightened Mason’s features. “Splendid!” he exclaimed as if they were nothing but two businessmen seeking connections and trade opportunities in this hell hole. He turned around, making his way back to whatever dull and shallow purposes he had here – but then he paused. “Mr. Morgan?”

“Yes?”

He gave him an intent look. “Don’t be too obvious,” he then advised – or pleaded?

“I won’t,” Arthur promised, earning a small, although slightly sheepish smile. Before he could fully process what he just agreed to, the photographer disappeared from his sight.

Once he was left alone, he released a deep, shaky exhale.

Christ alive, he thought, what the hell am I doing?

Chapter Text

Approximately an hour later, they were both on their way to Mason’s apartment. Separately. By that time, Dutch, Hosea, and Bill were long gone – after handing Dutch the letter, Arthur informed the trio he needed to stay behind to take care of some personal business, and once they left, he dived back into the muddy waters of Saint Denis' finest population, keeping his eyes on Mason from where he lurked in the shadows and sipped on his champagne. Any one of those fragile creatures so obnoxiously calling themselves gentlemen would be straight-up drunk after consuming as much alcohol as he did throughout the night – and some of them clearly were – but Arthur was used to much stronger stuff and was therefore barely a little tipsy by the time Mason made eye contact with him, gesturing with a nod of his head.

Not long after that, Arthur seated himself in a coach, commanding the driver to follow the one Mason was in.

By the time the coach stopped, his insides were already tied into a big navy knot. Observing the scene from where he told his driver to stop, he watched the photographer get off and disappear into one of the buildings. Soon after, he spotted the golden glow of a lamp lightening up in one of the windows.

Here we go.

He didn’t go in immediately. He waited on the side of the street with a cigarette between his lips, heart fluttering nervously in his chest – dammit, what am I even doing here? A heavy mass of shame settled in the pit of his stomach as he smoked, a feeling similar to the one he experienced after each one of the very rare hookups with working girls back in his youth. Was this really any different?

But then his mind would go back to what happened in that closet, and something would stir in his belly, almost making the tips of his fingers quiver.

Oh, Morgan, you goddamn fool…

He took one last drag from his cigarette and threw the butt to the ground. Then he finally headed for the door.

Mason left them unlocked, making it easy to sneak inside without making a single sound. Remembering in which window he previously saw the light, Arthur put together an improvised map of the building in his mind, slowly making his way through the dark corridor to where he assumed Mason’s apartment was located.

His heart was beating all the way up in his throat and he swallowed it down before knocking.

For the next few seconds, he was left waiting in the dark – until finally, the door cracked open, inviting him in.

It was surprising to see that Mason’s apartment was rather modest, just as any average homestead he could come across out in the countryside. Simple furniture, nothing but necessities – a table with two chairs, a stove, a fireplace, a working desk, a bed. Two other doors led out of the main room. One of them surely must have been a bathroom, the other… a study, maybe…?

“Mr. Morgan,” Mason spoke politely, and Arthur turned to him, breath hitching in his throat at the sight. While he had been wasting time summoning courage in front of the house, the photographer shed the upper layers of his suit. It left him only in a plain white button-up shirt which was currently undone at the collar, revealing more of the soft skin of his milky throat. A few more strands of hair were falling on his forehead in unruly curls as the hair pomade lost its grip throughout the night. The black pants he was wearing were far from the baggy riding clothes Arthur usually saw him wearing out in the wild – those were clearly custom-made, given how well they sat on his wide hips and emphasized his waist.

He held a glass of red wine in one hand. If the way he kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other was meant to be a clue, then Arthur would guess he needed the drink to calm down his nerves.

It was a little comforting to know the man was just as nervous as he felt.

“I… I wasn’t sure if you would come…” Mason admitted, averting his eyes. Even now, his cheeks remained bright pink. “Thought you’d change your mind…”

Letting out a small chuckle, Arthur spread out his arms awkwardly. “Well, I’m here.”

“I know,” Mason replied, and for a fraction of a moment, a smile brightened up the dim palette of shadows and gold that painted his face. A sight followed, though, and he ran his fingers through his hair, allowing more dark strands out of their usual order. “I… I apologize,” he said, gaze still driven into the floor, “for losing my head so recklessly back there. I shouldn’t have…” He trailed off, shaking his head, but even the unfinished sentence was enough of a cold shower to Arthur’s ears.

Bitter disappointment and sour anger spilled through his veins. “Oh,” he let out, silently accepting what he thought was a rejection. You damn moron, Morgan, you really thought he’d want an old dog like you? “So you’re sorry, that we…”

“Oh, no!” Mason’s eyes went wide, horrified. “I… yes, but… no, no!” He quickly downed the rest of his wine and placed the glass on the table, exhaling deeply. “I’m merely apologetic about… assuming things,” he clarified hurriedly. “I should’ve asked before I threw myself on you so shamelessly. Please, forgive me.”

Arthur frowned, trying hard to ignore how warm his cheeks felt. “Ain’t nothing to forgive, I guess…” he muttered. After all, it was him who got hard all of a sudden, he started it…

Or did he? What if Mason…?

Seemingly relieved, Mason stepped a little closer. “So, you still wish to…?”

Oh, Lord. “To what?”

Two seconds of awkward silence. Then Mason uttered a small snort. “And here I thought I was rather pristine about my intentions…”

“You are,” Arthur confirmed, his heart hammering so loud in his chest that the photographer surely must have heard it. He cleared his throat and ducked his head. “Just… makin’ sure we’re on the same page here…”

He caught a glimpse of the tip of Mason’s tongue as it briefly glided over the delicate skin of his lips. It left Arthur transfixed, drowning in warmth as the photographer closed the distance between them with a few excruciatingly slow steps.

Once there were only a few inches of thin air left between their bodies, he looked Arthur straight in the eyes, and only then Arthur noticed how widely dilated his pupils were.

“I…” the photographer started, his voice low and husky. “I’d like to take you to my bed…”

Breath elevated, Arthur moved his hand just a little bit, letting his fingers dance over the curve of Mason’s hip in a feather-like touch.

“… and devour you just as I’ve longed to do since the very first time I landed my eyes on you,” Mason finished in a whisper, gaze already fixed on Arthur’s mouth.

The outlaw nodded. “Then I reckon you’ve been pristine, yeah,” he rasped, surprised to hear how breathless he sounded.

The weight of a hand settled on his waist, pulling him closer. “Very good,” the photographer mumbled against his mouth, and Arthur’s eyes fluttered closed on their own accord as their lips connected in a slow, sensual kiss.

Albert Mason kissed just like he handled his camera – with undeniable passion and thrilling enthusiasm. His hands instantly slipped beneath Arthur’s jacket, palms sliding across his flanks and fingers ever so slightly digging into the soft muscle hidden beneath the barrier of the clothes. However, what started as slow and sensual soon turned heated, desperate even as Mason tugged at the jacket impatiently, and Arthur yielded to the photographer’s desire with a racing heart, allowing the piece of clothing to slide off his shoulders and fall to the ground. One hand immediately seized his chest, gliding over the malleable firmness of his pecs, and he exhaled shakily through his nose, the scattered shreds of his mind vainly trying to remember the last time he was touched like this, the last time he was wanted like this.

His vest soon followed. Arthur didn’t even have enough capacity present to fully notice because right then, Mason’s mouth left his lips, leaving behind a glistening trail of little kisses as it moved toward his throat.

Teeth sank into his skin, and Arthur let out a silent whimper.

His hands snapped to grab a fistful of Mason’s shirt, stilling his eager doings. “W–wait…”

Letting go, Mason pulled away, hazel eyes briefly darting to the spot where at least a little mark surely must have started to form on the side of Arthur’s tanned neck. “What is it?”

The outlaw swallowed. “You sure you wanna…?” he whispered, his cheeks growing hotter with each word. “I mean, with me? I… I’m a wanted man, Mr. Mason…”

“Albert,” the photographer corrected, “and yes, I’m aware.”

Arthur frowned as he scrutinized the younger man’s face, trying to wrap his head around the fact that Albert knew, yet he still wanted him. He eased his fingers out of the folds of Albert’s shirt, bringing them to the smooth, pale skin at the base of his throat instead. “You really ain’t got a brain in that head of yours, huh?” he muttered grimly, earning an amused grin.

“Yes, I do realize I am a fool,” Albert acknowledged, both hands now resting against Arthur’s ribcage. “But while I’m aware of your, eh… occupation, for the lack of a better word, I… chose to trust you on the evidence of your kindness and heroism you’ve repeatedly shown me. I wouldn’t be alive today if it wasn’t for you, after all.”

Arthur averted his eyes as he remembered the encounter with wolves. He didn’t consider it an act of kindness – he was purposefully trying to charm the photographer that day. If he were kind, he would never allow him to go through with his foolish bait plan in the first place. But no, instead, he felt bold enough to put the man’s life at risk just so he could show off his gun-handling skills.

That he simply didn’t expect so many wolves to turn up, much less to attack them, was no excuse at all. He should’ve known better.

And yet, Albert still interpreted his failure of judgment as an act of heroism. What a fool you are, Mr. Mason…

A hand cupping his cheek eventually cut off the thread of disquieting thoughts. “I know what I want, Arthur,” Albert stated firmly, chasing away the doubts feasting on the outlaw’s mind. “And if there were to be repercussions, then I’m more than willing to accept them.”

Arthur wanted to point out how stupid that was, but then he felt himself being pushed against the wall, and it promptly knocked the air out of his lungs. He looked at the hand on his chest, before glancing back up at Albert. “Jeez…” he breathed, taken aback by the scorching desire he found glimmering in those beautiful hazel eyes.

Closing the distance between them again, Albert buried his face into the crook of his neck, placing more kisses there. “Now, how do you wish to do this…?”

Arthur closed his eyes. “I… I don’t know…”

“Have you ever been with a man before?” A warm, wet tongue prodded gently at his ear, and he shuddered. Jesus goddamn Christ…

“Arthur?” Albert asked again, reminding him that he was expected to answer.

He cleared his throat. “I… No… Not like this, anyway…”

For a moment, Albert went still. Then his head dropped on Arthur’s shoulder. “Oh, heavens…”

Arthur went rigid. Maybe I should’ve lied… “What?”

“N–nothing,” Albert whispered, “I’m… Merely trying to maintain my composure…” Inhaling deeply, he raised his head again, finding Arthur’s eyes. “Gracious, and to think you’re letting me put my hands on you…”

“I… ain’t been with many women either,” Arthur admitted, not quite sure why – but considering the kind of activity they were soon going to indulge in, Albert should probably know, just in case Arthur messed up. He was already throbbing in his pants, longing to be touched with the same scorching intensity he dreaded the idea with. He didn’t trust his body in the field of intimacy – he knew it would fail him, one way or the other. It always did. He had never been particularly skilled in bed, anyway. He always ruined everything.

The abrupt, unstoppable train of self-depraving thoughts sent a whirl of anxiety through his stomach. He closed his eyes, sighing in frustration. “I… fuck, I’m no good at this…”

But Albert didn’t seem discouraged but the claim. “Well, it’s not like there are many ways to educate oneself on the matter,” he offered with a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” And with that promise, he claimed Arthur’s lips again, both hands now traveling downwards to where his shirt remained tucked into his pants. Arthur gladly accepted the distraction, letting his mouth fall open obediently as soon as he felt the tip of Albert’s tongue flicking against his lips.

One single powerful yank was all Albert needed to ease the shirt from the tight fit of the pants. “Goodness,” he whispered into the kiss as his fingers finally made contact with the bare skin of Arthur’s stomach. “Do you have an idea how dashing you looked tonight? In that suit? I – I couldn’t take my eyes off of you…”

Arthur snorted at that. “Dashin’?” he echoed. “I felt like a clown…”

“Well, I admit chaps suit you just as well,” Albert agreed, placing a small kiss just below the corner of Arthur’s mouth, “but frankly, nothing of that matters much right now, as all I currently wish to do is to finish undressing you. If I may,” he quickly added, giving Arthur an out.

Arthur glanced down where he was fiddling with the buttons of Albert’s shirt for the past half a minute. So far, he had managed to undo a few, revealing more of the photographer’s smooth, alabaster skin and the dark patch of coarse hair in the middle of his chest.

Goddammit, I wanna see him…

“Sure…” he agreed hesitantly. “But…”

Albert cocked a brow. “But…?”

“I ain’t much to look at,” Arthur muttered – and instantly regretted it. Jesus, Morgan, just keep your damn mouth shut…

Albert tilted his head. “Why would you say such nonsense?” he asked softly. A shallow wrinkle of concern was now etched between his dark brows.

Arthur shrugged. “I live rough. It shows.”

“As I would expect,” Albert replied slowly as if he didn’t quite understand Arthur’s concern. “But in case you need to hear it... Perfection is tremendously overrated, Arthur.”

Breath hitched in the outlaw’s throat as he watched him reaching for the first button of his now loosely hanging shirt, waiting for permission. “May I?”

A simple question, yes or no.

He felt like he shouldn’t want this. Hell, thinking about it, he didn’t even know Albert all that well…

But to say that he didn’t want him wouldn’t be a damn fat lie.

And so he nodded.

Mason worked the buttons open quickly. Goosebumps spread all over Arthur’s body as the cool air hit his bare skin – through the heat consuming him from the inside, he didn’t even notice how chilly Albert’s apartment truly was, despite the fire dancing in the fireplace. However, he promptly forgot all about that because just a second later, the photographer’s hands were on him again, roaming the wide plains of his chest, stomach, and sides, gently examining all his scars. He dropped his gaze when he felt the nimble fingers inching toward the raw, purplish scar uglifying his left shoulder like a big spider web. It still wasn’t fully healed, and he was slowly accepting the fact that it would likely never be. He was gradually gaining back his mobility and strength, but the damage was done and irreversible. He was left with a tremor that made it difficult to use his hand as freely as he used to, and although the most unbearable pain had subsided a long time ago, his shoulder would still spasm with a dull ache every now and then. It caused him to rely much more heavily on his dominant hand, and while he was aware he could’ve ended up much worse, it was limiting, nonetheless.

No wonder the sight of the scar filled him with sickening dread every time he looked at it or simply acknowledged its presence.

“What happened?” Albert asked, outlining the shiny patch of tender skin with slow motions of his thumb.

“Got shot,” Arthur replied simply. Albert was better off not knowing the precise details of his lifestyle, anyway.

Luckily, Albert didn’t dwell on it. His hand traveled lower, over the dark curls covering Arthur’s chest and stomach, until it reached an old, pale scar just below his ribs. “And here?”

“Fell of a horse. Got scraped on a rock.” He also likely broke a rib or two on that occasion but he didn’t say that.

Nodding in acknowledgment, Albert’s eyes moved up, to Arthur’s face. He brought a hand to his chin, thumb running gently over the little scars shining like stars amidst the darkness of his stubble. “And what about this one?”

Arthur swallowed. “Got into a fight when I was a kid,” he replied, voice ragged and just slightly breathless.

A shiver trickled down his spine as the thumb previously stroking over his chin found his bottom lip, running over it gently yet firmly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Arthur…” Albert whispered, and the words cut through the fog gathering within Arthur’s skull. He blinked, frowning.

“What’chu mean?”

“You’re… remarkably beautiful,” the photographer breathed. “A mesmerizing map of stories…”

That elicited a bitter chuckle from the outlaw’s throat. “Got a handful of those, that much is true…”

Albert smiled in return, before taking Arthur’s hands and pulling him away from the wall. The outlaw followed him quietly across the dim room, toward the bed, and obeyed with no protest or hesitation when the photographer seated him on its edge. Their lips reunited in a passionate kiss as he proceeded to make himself comfortable on Arthur’s lap, and Arthur hummed contentedly, relishing the grounding pressure of the weight pinning him down. He took hold of Albert’s waist, pulling his shirt up, up, up until it eased out of his fitted pants, allowing him to slip under and finally touch the man’s warm, velvety skin. Albert sighed shakily into the kiss, and he used the opportunity to catch his bottom lip between his teeth, sucking and nibbling gently, causing goosebumps to spread under his palms.

From there, it only took them barely two minutes to fully undress. Arthur’s breath shuddered when he felt the tip of Albert’s hard length brushing wetly against his belly, but the photographer’s unrelenting kisses didn’t provide him with enough capacity to unnerve himself over it. Instead, he let his hands roam all over the younger man’s body, big and heavy in his arms but also soft and pliant under his touch. Albert certainly wasn’t like most of the men Arthur usually associated himself with, men whose rough life reflected in the way their sturdy bodies were built. Still, there was healthy firmness hidden beneath the thin layer of fat covering his belly, and undeniable strength in his lightly toned arms. Within the safety of the city, he seemed nowhere near as fragile and vulnerable as he did out in the wild – there was stern decisiveness in the way he handled Arthur, in how he explored and subsequently claimed every single inch of his battered body. He was relentless, and yet his touches remained gentle and caring, loving, and soon, hot arousal started pooling in Arthur’s core as he continued to melt in the photographer’s arms, feeling raw and vulnerable among all the unfamiliar tenderness but also cherished in a way, safe, and… and…

All of a sudden, Albert pulled away, leaving Arthur’s lips tingling with the unexpected sensation of abandonment. “Oh, crap…” he breathed, and only then Arthur found the will to open his eyes.

Albert was staring at him, wide-eyed and mortified.

He frowned. “What?”

“What a terrible host do I make, huh?” the photographer blurted, straightening his back. “I haven’t even offered you a drink!”

To say that Arthur didn’t give a damn about a drink would be an understatement, although the proclamation elicited an amused snort out of him. “Ah, no need to worry ‘bout that now…”

“Oh, nonsense! Completely unacceptable,” the photographer declared, clumsily scrambling up to his feet, naked as the day he was born. Not that it seemed to bother him too much as he made his way across to room toward the cupboard. “Do you like wine?”

“Uh…” For a brief second, all Arthur’s brain was able to process was the sight of Albert’s plump buttocks, and his hard length bouncing between his legs with each step. Realizing that he was asked a question, he blinked, forcing himself to tear his gaze away. “I’m usually more of a whiskey sort of fella…”

“As I imagined,” Albert replied, already rummaging through the cupboard. “Unfortunately, I don’t have whisky, but I can offer wine, rum, or even tea if you’d like…”

The idea of Albert preparing them a goddamn tea made Arthur groan impatiently. “Dammit, Albert, I’ll take the wine if it makes yer ass come back here right now.”

To his surprise, the photographer flashed him a grin that couldn’t be described by any other word than naughty. “Impatient, are we?”

“You ain’t gonna get no confession outta me,” Arthur growled, making Albert laugh.

Fortunately, the abrupt intermezzo soon came to its sought end. The photographer once again seated himself on the top of Arthur’s thighs, a half-filled glass of red wine in his hand. Arthur promptly reached for it, ready to down it in a single gulp just so they could finally return to the real good stuff, but Albert dodged him. When Arthur opened his mouth to protest, he raised a finger, silencing him.

“Oh, no, no,” he said, a playful smirk tugging on one corner of his mouth. “I’ll do it.”

“Yer be the death of me, Mason,” Arthur huffed, but a spark of excitement whirled through his belly and made his cock twitch in interest as the photographer held up the glass in front of his face.

“I hope not,” he answered, and his free hand seized the side of Arthur’s neck, thumb pressing against the bottom of his chin to make him tilt his head. “Open your mouth.”

And Arthur did. The edge of the glass pressed against his lips, and he accepted it, waiting with a fluttering heart for Albert to start pouring the dark red liquid into his mouth. Once he did, he started drinking thirstily, gulp after gulp, trying his best to not let a single drop go to waste. Still, one or two found their way around his lips, running down his cheeks and throat.

“Very good,” he heard Albert whisper, and the praise made his cock twitch a little. By the steep tilt of the glass, he could sense there wasn’t much wine left in it. “There you go, sweetheart…”

Swallowing down the rest, Arthur finally pulled away to catch his breath. The alcohol already felt warm in his stomach, but his cheeks felt even warmer once Albert’s mouth lunged for his throat, kissing and licking away the drops he had failed to capture.

He didn’t even notice where Albert put the empty glass. All he could focus on was the pleasant warmth spreading through his veins, Albert’s wet kisses, and the friction of his soft hands gliding across his skin. He felt good – too good. Damn, he hadn’t felt this good in a long time.

And just like that, turned out that a glass of wine – in combination with all the alcohol he drank back at the mayor's house – was all he needed to completely forget about his previous anxiety and his past failures.

Without a warning, Albert shoved him backward until he was lying flat on his back. The photographer’s warm breath soon seized the side of his neck again, only to start moving lower and lower, slowly, teasingly, over his collarbone and down to his chest. Arthur arched his spine with a breathy moan when Albert captured one of his nipples with his mouth, sucking and nibbling, teasing the sensitive nub with firm glides of his tongue and sharp tugs of teeth, and dammit, it soon turned Arthur into a panting mess, it felt so good, so damn good, and then Albert’s thumb started rubbing the other nipple as well and the outlaw keened softly at how overwhelmingly hard and sensitive his nipples felt, and as the torture went on, it was more and more difficult to tell the difference between pleasure and pain with how raw his skin felt but oh, wasn’t it perfect, and so he kept flinching, gasping, arching his back, gripping helplessly onto Albert’s hair to get more until a little puddle formed where his cock lay trapped between their bellies, throbbing and itching for attention...

“Al…” he breathed, and a hiss escaped him when Albert bit his nipple again, sending a jolt of warm pain through his body. “Dammit, I… You go like this for a little longer and I swear I’ll fuckin’ burst…”

Pulling away to admire his artwork, Albert smirked. “What a shame would that be,” he noted, clearly more than pleased with himself as he took in the sight of Arthur’s reddened, slightly swollen nipples. Only once he had enough of the view, he placed a small kiss on Arthur’s sternum before moving up to his lips, capturing them in a tender, loving kiss. “How… how would you prefer to…?” he whispered, and for some reason, the question sounded incredibly funny to Arthur.

He giggled. “Got no idea.”

“Uh, just so you know…” Albert continued a little… sheepishly? Dammit, he was cute as hell like this, so flushed and shy… “I’m fairly comfortable with both options…”

“I’m feelin’ plenty comfortable, too,” Arthur muttered, smiling up at him. He didn’t really feel drunk, no – he honestly felt just… good. Warm. “Jeez, I don’t care, do whatever ya want with me.”

Albert frowned. “But… I thought you said –”

“I trust ya.” He wouldn’t trust just anybody with his body like this. Hell, he wouldn’t even trust most folks from his gang to have their way with him.

But it was easy to trust Albert. His Albert, with his silly little hat, and soft hands, and big heart. Well, he wasn’t wearing a hat right now, thank God, but he always looked a little silly, adorably so, and Jesus, Arthur kept staring up at him as he towered over him, the golden glow of the lamp highlighting each curve and surface of his face and naked body, and all Arthur could think about was how beautiful he was, how pretty he looked…

“Heavens…” he heard him sigh, and then a hand cupped the side of his face, a thumb gently stroking over his cheekbone. “Well, in that case, I’d like to, eh…” He trailed off, blushing, and that was enough for Arthur to smirk teasingly.

“What was that? Didn’t hear ya,” he prompted, wanting to hear it out loud.

Albert’s throat moved as he swallowed thickly. “I’d like to… take you,” he said carefully, although his voice was deep and husky with longing. “If you let me.”

Ever the polite gentleman. Arthur snorted. “Ah, c’mon, Mr. Mason, say it properly.”

The expression of confusion that settled on Albert’s soft features was pure. “W–what do you mean?”

“Don’t play coy with me,” Arthur grinned and raised his head off the pillow so he could run the tip of his nose along the younger man’s beard, feeling the coarse hair tickling his skin. “You ain’t as much of a proper city boy as you let on.”

Albert’s breath hitched in his throat, and Arthur smirked, bringing his mouth higher, to his ear. “C’mon,” he encouraged, letting his lips dance over the shell lightly, “say it like ya mean it.”

Albert’s head fell onto his shoulder with a shaky sigh.

Arthur huffed, amused. He flicked out his tongue, prodding and teasing, tasting the small shivers that ran through the photographer’s lithe body. His hands cupped his chest in the meantime, thumbs searching, circling, until they finally found the hardened nubs of his nipples. Albert moaned sweetly when he rubbed them, further hiding his face within the crook of the outlaw’s neck.

“Ain’t so bold all of a sudden, eh?” Arthur teased and bit his earlobe.

Albert shuddered, his hot breath cascading wetly over Arthur’s skin. The outlaw pinched his nipples, and he groaned.

Jesus. So sensitive, so receptive, so goddamn perfect…

“Damn it,” he heard him whisper breathlessly, and then a hand closed around his throat, pressing him down against the pillow.

A little firework of excitement went off in Arthur’s belly, just above the base of his throbbing length. The grip wasn’t even nearly firm enough to cut off his breathing, but just the ostensible rough dominance of the gesture was enough to make his head spin with arousal. “Dammit, Mason…”

“If you need to hear it so desperately then yes, Arthur,” he found those darkened hazel eyes glaring down at him, “I do wish to fuck you. Is that what you longed to hear?”

I do wish to fuck you. Arthur’s eyes fluttered closed for a second, and he felt his abdominal muscles clench with desire. “There you go,” he appreciated breathlessly, relishing the unrelenting pressure on his throat. “Ain’t that hard, huh?”

“Oh, I can show you exactly how hard it is.”

That made him pause and blink in surprise. “Hell, Mason,” he then chortled, amused, “yer goin’ a little unleashed on me.”

“Then the wine has done its job,” Albert declared, easing the pressure. “Just, eh… please, be mindful.” He gently stroked over Arthur’s jawline. “I got neighbors, and while I’d love to make you scream till your throat runs dry, I…”

“Understood,” Arthur acknowledged before the younger man could even finish his sentence, and swiftly pulled him closer so he could kiss him again. “Now, c’mere, goddammit.”

I must be drunk, he thought barely a few seconds later when Albert started to pave his way down his body with tender kisses. Not that he felt drunk – he felt warm and a little careless, but not drunk. Hell, he’d need at least a few more glasses of whiskey or a whole damn bottle of wine to get drunk, right and proper. Still, as Albert buried his face between his legs and ran his tongue through his crack, the reality of what he was about to do hit Arthur like a goddamn train, and surely he must have been drunk because there was no way in hell he’d let Albert do this to him otherwise, much less to reward the wet prodding of his tongue with a quiet moan, but he did, and goddammit, it felt… strange, but… in a good way, and then he felt a slick finger rubbing his hole, seizing its way in, and…

“Jesus…” he whimpered, a little alarmed at the unfamiliar pressure.

Albert immediately stopped. “Have you changed your mind?” he asked, eyeing Arthur worriedly. “We can switch, or stop altogether if you –”

But Arthur shook his head. “No,” he huffed, swallowing against his tight throat. “Just… go easy on me.”

And Albert did. Not that Arthur expected anything else, anyway, the photographer had a kind soul, tender hands, and a soft heart. He wouldn’t be able to go hard on him even if he wanted – or could he…?

Arthur reckoned the question wouldn’t be left unanswered by the end of the night.

The sensation of being stretched open left him breathless. Fast, flickering motions of a tongue were frequently replaced by the firm pressure of long fingers, coaxing his tense muscles into relaxation, helping him to get used to being filled up, and for a while, Arthur wasn’t sure how exactly he felt about the feeling but then Albert's fingers brushed something deep inside of him and oh my fucking God…

And from then on, he was lost.

“A–Al,” he stuttered, trapped within the unmerciful grip of pleasure and desire. “Goddammit, I… p–please…”

He didn’t even have the capacity to feel ashamed for begging. Not when Albert’s nimble fingers kept hitting that sweet little spot again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and it was making him feel lightheaded, intoxicated, making the hot pleasure that had completely paralyzed his mind ooze from the tip of his cock like dripping honey, adding to the little puddle forming just below his navel, and then Albert leaned down to lick it away and Arthur’s mind went blank, so blissfully empty…

The cool air of the room felt hot and sticky against his skin all of a sudden. Arthur barely even noticed Albert reaching into the can of oil he dug out from God knows where, too caught up in the sensation of feeling empty after being stretched wide open, but then he felt Albert aligning himself with his entrance and…

Jesus.

So big. Wide. Hot.

“Heavens,” he heard Albert’s whimper. A hand seized his hip firmly, convulsively.

Arthur gasped for air.

Oh my fucking God…

“You feel so…”

Arthur cracked his eyes open, finding the photographer leaning over him, wide-eyed, flushed, skin glistening with sweat.

“Goodness gracious,” he sighed, pushing deeper, eliciting a silent groan out of the outlaw as a result. “You feel so… so…”

Arthur swallowed back a grunt. “So…?” he prompted breathlessly, feeling a drop of sweat running down his temple – a moment later, the photographer kissed it away.

“So good,” he purred into his ear, “so… remarkably good, so tight… Oh, Arthur, you… you can't even imagine…”

Not that Arthur had much space left for imagining. Hell, he hardly had any space left for anything, or so he thought because then Albert pushed all the way in and he moaned like a fucking whore, his shaking legs locking firmly around the photographer’s waist. “A–Al…!”

And Albert held him through it, showering him with myriads of praises and expressions of reassurance, telling him how good he felt, how pretty he looked, how well he was taking him. Arthur had never had a high opinion of himself, deeming himself too much of a bad man to ever deserve praise, but right now, he was in no position to fight Albert’s kindness, to refuse his words, and so he let them cut deep into the scarred flesh of his soul, dark and weighed down with shame and sin, relishing the way Albert continued to kiss his cheeks and stroke through his sweaty hair, the way he claimed him as his, calling him my dear, my sweetest, my love…

With his heart growing heavy in his chest, Arthur wrapped his arms around the photographer’s shoulders, holding onto him firmly, and for once, he simply accepted the sweet nothings that were being cooed into his ear. One of his hands found its way into Albert’s thick hair, running through the slightly damp, soft strands while the other followed the shallow line on his spine, down to where their bodies were connected, and the photographer understood the clue, rolling his hips ever so slightly, and it sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through Arthur's body. “F–fuck…”

“So good for me, Arthur,” Albert muttered against his skin, “my love…”

Arthur barely repressed a moan as he felt him bottoming out. “Albert…”

“Taking me so nicely,” the photographer continued, pushing back in, slowly, agonizingly slowly. And then again. “So… Oh, heavens…”

Arthur’s eyes fell closed at the next thrust. His fingers dug into the soft muscle of Albert’s back, eliciting a little gasp from the photographer.

The next second, his hands were pinned to the pillow.

It would take a little effort for him to turn the tables. Albert would stand no chance against him if he chose to fight him.

He didn’t. Instead, he dug his heels into the round swell of the younger man’s ass, urging him forward, initiating a slightly faster rhythm. He was met with a swift – and quite eager – understanding.

The bedframe started cracking faintly, and the obscene sounds of sex, no matter how quiet, filled the room. They held onto each other tightly, muffling one another’s moans and whimpers as they rocked together, kissing each other's names off their lips. Albert’s hand seized its way between their bodies, taking a firm hold of Arthur’s neglected cock, and the outlaw nearly tore the pillow apart with how convulsively he held onto it, almost choking on his moans and grunts as he felt the climax approaching, and Jesus, he wasn’t going to last, he wasn’t…

“Gracious, I…” Albert panted, a glistening layer of sweat covering his forehead as he fucked into him, hard and deep. “I’m so – Can I… inside…?

“Yes,” Arthur replied without a single thought breaching his mind. The only thing he could focus on was the bone-snapping tension straining his muscles, and the overwhelming pleasure that burned and tingled under his skin. He was so close, so goddamn close… “Al… please…”

Albert grunted, burying his face into the crook of Arthur’s neck, and then the outlaw felt him twitching as he emptied himself into the depths of his body. The hand on his cock stilled for a moment, forcing a tortured whine out of Arthur’s throat, and the outlaw bucked his hips helplessly, trying to get it to move, to finally push him over the goddamn edge… “Dammit, Albert, move, for fuck’s sake…!”

Finally, the grip on his cock tightened as Albert reinitiated the pace, stroking him fast and hard, almost too hard but right now, Arthur didn’t care, he just needed to cum, just three more strokes, please, two more, one…

He came with a punched-out gasp, back arching taut as he spilled himself in pulses so powerful it left his abdomen spasming with a dull ache. Albert sagged bonelessly against him as soon as he was done, clearly unbothered about the sticky mess gluing their bodies together.

Panting heavily, Arthur scooped him up in his arms, pressing his face into his shoulder, breathing in the intoxicating scent of his cologne mixed with sweat and musk.

Albert pressed a small, tired kiss to his jaw. “Are you alright?”

“Hmpf,” was all Arthur was able to muster, eyes closed.

It earned him a small, breathless chuckle. “Yes, I wholeheartedly share the sentiment…”

Arthur smirked, amused. How the hell does he still come up with them big words?

They lay together like that for a while, both too spent and tired to move. They only found the will to clean themselves up once the mess started drying up, causing their skin to itch. They used a damp cloth Albert provided, and there was some kind of weird, foreign, yet peaceful domesticity to how they helped to wipe the mess of each other's skin, content in their nakedness and vulnerability, and something about it made Arthur’s heart wither with sorrow.

Despite his exhaustion, no sleep came to Arthur that night.

Albert was curled up under a blanket by his side, forehead pressed lightly against his upper arm. He was snoring softly, one of his arms resting limply on Arthur’s stomach.

The sight of him made Arthur’s chest clench uncomfortably. You fool, Morgan. What the hell were you thinking? Albert wasn’t some kind of a whore he could fuck once and throw away. He was a friend. Hell, who was he fooling, they veered off the trail of mere friendship the moment the door of that damn closet closed behind them. Maybe even earlier, come to think of it.

One thing was clear – whatever this was, it had to stop. For both their sakes. Especially Albert’s.

Sighing, he rubbed his eyes tiredly. As he lay there in the dark, he continued to gently comb through the photographer's soft hair.

So here's that.

Time was passing. First rays of sunshine spilled across the sky behind the window.

The sleeping photographer didn’t even twitch when his lover carefully snuck out of the bed to collect his possessions. Soon after that, the door of his apartment opened and then fell closed again.

By the time he finally woke up later that morning, Arthur was long gone.