Archive of Our Own ^beta

The sun hadn’t set yet. The day before, Hosea had given them some useful information about a farm full of money, wagons, and supplies. And the moment it reached Dutch’s ears, he wasted no time getting people in motion.

“Arthur,” the man said, after waving him over to his tent, opening his arms slightly like he was addressing some imaginary crowd, speaking with that somber voice he used whenever something suited him. “Your help is required… Hosea, you know, mentioned something about a farm. Full of supplies.”

Arthur tilted his head, nodding with those tired, seasoned eyes. “That’s right. It’s run by some fools… Dumb folk with money. And wagons.”

Dutch nodded, a determined gleam in his eye. “Several wagons. And quite a bit of money, son.” Van Der Linde looked around the camp, his brown eyes searching for someone specific. “It’s south of Emerald Ranch, near Heartland Overflow. Good area. The folks running it are well-off enough.” Dutch went on. “They think they’re untouchable. But they’re wrong.”

“Maybe they are.” Arthur replied, voice rough as ever. Dutch’s eyes scanned the camp again, ignoring Arthur’s ambiguous comment and just as Arthur was about to turn toward his horse and ride out, the leader’s commanding voice rang out.

“You’re going with Charles. That way it’ll be faster. And better.” He nodded once, and that was the last thing he said before disappearing back into his tent.

Arthur let out a breath without meaning to, and when he turned toward the horses, he saw the native-descendant was already there. Like he’d been told ahead of time. Arthur quickened his pace, heading over to saddle his colt.

"Looks like we’ve got a job.” His voice was a bit gruff, but firm, and maybe even a little eager.

“Yeah. And Dutch says we’re his best men.” Charles played along, though his face stayed serious. He’d already readied Taima’s reins and was stroking her gently before placing one foot in the stirrup and mounting in a single fluid motion. Arthur didn’t take long to finish prepping his own horse, patting its neck before climbing up to ride out.

“Dutch says a lot of things.” That made Charles chuckle, and Arthur caught it with his eyes too. He raised an eyebrow, amused again, and smiled subtly at the little victory his comment had earned.

The gallop quickly fell into rhythm as they rode side by side. Having barely left camp just a couple breaths ago, Arthur spoke again. “So… what’s the plan?”

Charles glanced to the side briefly. His full lips formed a small thoughtful grimace that lasted only a breath. Then, he looked at the light-eyed man with his own ebony-strong gaze. “Best to get there by night. Quieter… It’s getting late already.” Charles glanced vaguely at the sun trying to hide, then looked back at his companion. “Waiting until tomorrow would be a waste of time.”

Arthur chewed the air, muttering something unintelligible. “I agree we shouldn’t wait ‘til tomorrow…” he paused, now with a sardonic smile, “...but going in quiet? They’re just some miserable bastards with a slightly isolated farm and some money. Not much to spook. Bein’ cautious would take us more time, too.”

“We don’t need more people coming after us, Arthur.” Charles gave a subtle but firm look from his horse beside him. “Even if it’s a stupid job.”

Morgan sighed, lowering his chin slightly. “Fine, fine…” he said, but it didn’t sound very convincing.

The sun had sunk enough to tint the world in amber, soft, but unsettling. The kind of silence that makes a man aware of his own breathing, the weight of his gun, the horse beneath him.

They didn’t talk much after that. Only the rhythm of hooves, the creak of leather saddles, and the occasional snort from the horses. Arthur tugged his hat lower, jaw tight, gaze fixed on the road. His mind chewed over the plan, or the lack of one. He wasn’t fond of improvised work, but with Charles riding beside him, he figured they’d figure it out. They always did.

"You ever been near that farm before, Charles?” Arthur finally asked in a low, yet curious tone. Charles nodded slowly.

“Once. Rode past it on a hunting trip. Didn’t get close, but…” he paused, letting his gaze drift forward. “They’ve got clean fences. Fresh paint. That kind of pride usually hides something worth stealin'.”

Arthur let out a sound somewhere between his nose and throat, half mocking, half approval; smiling. “Rich enough to make noise, dumb enough to leave the windows open. Poor bastards…”

Charles smiled at that too, but it faded quickly. They were close; a believable farming area; gentle hills, easy access to markets, close to the railroad. The Heartlands were always wide open, so maybe Hosea wasn’t wrong about it being one of those “well-off” farms that keep their livestock pristine… and their rifles loaded.

The crunching dirt under their horses’ hooves startled a few squirrels, raccoons, and other small, skittish animals.

Charles took note of that. “We should get off the horses soon. Leave ‘em by the road and go the rest on foot.” Arthur only nodded, like he was bored or just too focused.

They reached a small hill that overlooked a clearing among scattered trees and a wide creek. A house stood proudly in the distance, barely glowing in the twilight. A couple lanterns were already lit on the porch. A barn stood farther back, with a small wagon loaded with sacks outside. Almost behind that large barn, some strong horses and possibly a couple of carriages could be glimpsed. Charles pulled on the reins, bringing Taima to a silent stop. Arthur mirrored him with his white Arabian. They stayed there for a moment, just watching.

"Two, maybe three men. Maybe a woman. No dogs, at least none I can see.” murmured Charles, scanning the terrain.

Arthur leaned forward in the saddle, squinting. “Could be more inside.”

“Could be.” Charles replied. He didn’t sound particularly worried.

Silence. Long enough for the breeze to stir the grass. Arthur’s voice came low, almost thoughtful. “Alright. Let’s do this before they notice we’re here.”

Charles shot him a side glance, then raised an eyebrow almost mockingly. But nothing more. Smith just got off Taima, patting his mane lightly. Arthur’s eyebrow twitched slightly. He scratched his jaw, then nodded once, dismounting the same way.

The plan was simple. Sneak in “from the east, where it’s darker but still visible,” like Charles had said. Take what they needed. Leave unseen. That simple. At first, it worked. Charles had tied Taima behind some bushes, and Arthur left his steed closer to the back fence.

Night had already swallowed the fields, and the crickets were singing their tune like nothing was out of place. With careful steps, they moved through sleeping chicken coops and the barn’s shadows, where they found the supplies: sacks of flour, sugar, and a few boxes marked with a red cross.

“Medicine,” murmured Charles, feeling around the glass bottles. His fingers were skilled, even in the dark.

Arthur grunted in approval, already stuffing some into a sack without much care. Further ahead, in some sort of shed, they found the carriage. Nice, with sturdy wheels and a decent cover. New. Arthur let out a low whistle. “This could sell for a goood price…”

Charles didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the house, where one of the windows flickered with faint light. “Arthur,” he said flatly. “Don’t touch it. It'll slow us down.”

"So what? We’re already here,” Arthur shot back, voice drawn out, somewhere between stubborn and thrilled. He climbed onto the carriage and grabbed the reins. “They won’t miss it. Look what they’ve got. This ain’t a poor farm, Charles. These people are hoarding more than they need.”

Charles stared up at him, jaw tight, hissing. “That wasn’t part of the plan.”

Arthur didn’t listen. Or chose not to. A minute later, they were crossing the field with the carriage full of stolen sacks and boxes, Arthur driving, Charles by his side, some of the supplies packed into his own sack too, visibly pissed.

And as if the universe refused to forgive their boldness, misfortune came fast. A shot cut through the air. Then another. Lights flared inside the house. Voices shouted. More gunfire, this time closer.

Charles reacted first, pulling his rifle and shooting toward a silhouette on the porch. Arthur yanked the reins, whip in hand, making the carriage horses gallop like demons.

“See what I told you?!” Charles roared beside him, covering them.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck, I hear it now!” Arthur growled, ducking when a bullet whistled past his ear.

The escape was loud, messy, chaotic. They plunged into the woods, the carriage eventually abandoned after it hit branches and jumped rocks; the decision came in a rush, made quickly before one of the horses stumbled and doomed them all.

Arthur cursed and leapt off, leaving it all behind. “Horses, now!” Charles shouted, pointing into the thicket.

They left the perfectly good wagon behind in the underbrush and ran toward where they’d tied up their horses. With hooves pounding mud and sweat clinging to their necks, they fled under the moon, never looking back. They didn’t stop until the forest grew thicker, until the shouting was far behind, swallowed by distance and night. And then they saw it. A cabin. Abandoned, some rooms half-collapsed, but with a roof, a door, and shadows to shield them.

Charles dismounted first, rifle in hand, and checked the inside quickly. Nothing. Empty. Arthur arrived after, breathing heavily. He held his hat in one hand, his face streaked with mud and barely hidden rage.

Charles looked at him. Steady. Silent. His gaze said more than any insult ever could. "Told you so.”

Arthur didn’t answer right away. He just leaned his weight against the wall, avoiding Charles’ dark eyes.

"You were right.”

His voice was low. Dry. A silence settled between them. Full of everything left unsaid. The crickets kept singing. Outside, the horses breathed hard, just as worn out as they were. Finally, Charles closed the door. Set the rifle aside.

“We’ll stay here ‘til dawn,” he said. Then, with a rough edge of irony, “Unless you’ve got a problem with that plan.”

Arthur shot him a short, burning look. It almost slipped out of him. “No. This time, I don’t.”

The cabin smelled of damp and old wood. The windows were covered with rags, and the floor creaked with every step. There were only two crooked chairs, and just one rickety bed in a corner. Nearby, a fire pit full of ashes, long since extinguished. Arthur paced from one side to the other, arms tense, like his body still demanded action. Charles sat on the edge of the bed in silence, cleaning his knife with a rag. His calm was provoking.

Too much.

“Huh,” Arthur groaned suddenly “don’t gonna say anythin’?” The cowboy spat dryly, again.

Charles didn’t look up. “I already did.”

Arthur scoffed, irritated. Took another step, then another, until he stood right in front of him. “You know what?” he started, his tone rising. “You’re always there, quiet, like you know better than everyone. Too daaamn interestin’ for the rest of us.”

Charles finally looked up. Jaw tight, dark eyes steady. Like he was holding back. “And you always think you can handle everything. But you ain’t immortal, Arthur. We almost got killed today because of your goddamn stubbornness.”

Arthur took another step closer, so close that if Charles stood up too, their foreheads might’ve touched. There was dried mud on Arthur’s face, and those blue eyes burned with something that wasn’t just anger. It was something else. Something raw.

"Say what you want, but we made it out alive. Again.”

Charles shot to his feet. The air between them tensed like a wire. They bumped chests before they ever touched with their hands. That kind of contact that isn’t quite a hit, but sure as hell has intention.

“That all you care about? Stayin’ alive?” Charles growled, pushing him with his forearm. “You live like dying tomorrow don’t mean shit.”

“And why the HELL do you care how I live?”

“Because you were in on my plan, and you wrecked it like you were out there on your own!”

Arthur grabbed him by the collar, hard. Charles didn’t back down. He shoved him into the wall with a dry thud, teeth clenched, breathing like they’d just run all over again. And there they stayed. Chest to chest. Grip for grip. No one spoke. The moment stretched like a tight rope. Tight until it snapped.

Arthur was the first to grab, with a clumsy, furious force. Charles met him with the same hunger. It wasn’t a sweet kiss, or a soft one. It was a crash of pride, teeth knocking together. They held each other like they were trying to erase bad choices with sheer skin. Arthur shoved Charles against the wall, and Charles shoved back with the strength of someone who knew he didn’t need to ask permission. They kissed with rage, with fingers digging in, trying to take control without really wanting it.

“Son of a bitch.” Charles muttered against his mouth.

"Say that again.” Arthur whispered, a tense grin caught in the kiss, voice hoarse, eyes burning.

Charles pushed him toward the edge of the bed, and they both fell carelessly. Boots knocked against the wall. The world shrank down to ragged breaths, rough hands, and tense bodies. But in the middle of the heat, something cracked. Charles froze, hand on Arthur’s chest, breathing deep. His eyes dropped, avoiding Arthur’s for the first time.

“...I’m sorry,” he said. Low. Honest. Then, he pulled away, toward one of the chairs, sitting almost with his back to Morgan, like someone who doesn't really mean what they're doing. Arthur didn’t respond. Just stared, chest rising and falling, lips still wet from the kiss that nearly scorched them. A confused grimace crossed the blue-eyed outlaw’s face. Confused. And not just because of the damn kiss, but because Charles stopped all of a sudden, like he regretted it.

In the middle of that strange pause, Arthur clicked his tongue, sitting back down on the bed, rummaging through his bag and pulling out a whiskey flask. Perched on the edge of the worn-out mattress, he took a swig, staring out through those ragged curtains at the dark night surrounding them. He scratched the back of his neck, messy light hair between his fingers, his face tired and tense. The cold from outside crept in through the cracks of that battered cabin. Arthur stood up. The ash-filled fire pit looked like a luxury fireplace now with how cold it was. He drank one last, long sip from his whiskey flask before leaving the half-emptied bottle behind and grabbing his rifle, which he had left by the door when they came in from the escape.

He muttered in a low, raspy voice near the entrance, “Be right back. Firewood.” He almost sounded like a caveman.

Charles just nodded, still focused on anything that wasn’t Arthur. Maybe.

Outside, the cold was even worse than inside that sad excuse for a cabin. It was the kind of cold that burned, a sunless cold, the kind that made even the furriest night animals huddle together. The stars were high above, and there was little to see apart from the candles and the two sorry lanterns Charles and Arthur had lit earlier, trying to make it feel a bit more livable. Arthur tried not to shiver, sighing and taking deep breaths with each step, rubbing his arms, making sure his rifle was secure on his back.

Luckily, it wasn’t too hard to find firewood, sticks or some decent fallen chunk of wood to get a fire going and warm them both up. Morgan gathered as much as he could in his arms; bits of everything, any hard and dry material that could keep him and Charles warm. The tips of his fingers were frozen, his nose reddened, and his sturdy body shivered beneath his deerskin coat.

"That will do…” Arthur muttered to himself. When he stepped back into the cabin, an icy, glacial aura clung to him, trailing behind like a ghost hanging off his body. Even Charles felt it. Morgan thought he saw him flinch slightly when he opened the door. “I’m back.”

He dropped all the wood, enough for one night, beside the fire pit. He didn’t face Charles, quite the opposite. And sighed when he realized he had nothing to light all that crap. "...You got a match?”

Charles only murmured a soft “Uh-huh,” before rummaging through his leather satchel. His looks seemed lighter than usual, Arthur noticed that. He wasn’t wearing his knife belt strapped to his thigh, nor his ammo belt, nor any weapon holsters. No bow, no rifle. Nothing. “Maybe he took it all off while I was out gettin' wood,” Morgan thought, waiting for the match.

It was urgent to light up that miserable termite-infested hole. The native-descendant extended his large hand, holding the match between his thumb and index finger. That tiny matchstick looked so small, squeezed between his fingers.

“Thanks.” the light-eyed cowboy murmured, taking it. But his expectant expression shifted to something tenser when he saw that the other man won't let go of the matchstick easily. Arthur didn’t get the chance to ask, when Charles spoke.

“...I said I’m sorry.” His serious face was touched by regret and that pride of a strong man who’s got a heart.

“I should be the one sayin’ that, Charles.” Arthur’s voice was still a little tense, but softer than before. Charles turned his face to the side briefly, like he couldn’t find the words. Morgan spoke again. “I acted like a damn fool.”

After that, Charles let go of the match, almost reluctantly. Arthur struck it against the sole of his boot, lighting it. He had already thrown some dry wood into that moth-eaten nest, so all that was left to do was set it ablaze. And it happened almost instantly. The firewood burned, slowly at first, but soon it was lighting up nearly every corner of the cabin. It hadn’t been more than an hour and some change since they fled Heartland Overflow. Their bodies were already starting to warm up again.

Morgan took off his ammo belt, his gun belt, satchel, weapons… And hung everything on the awful backrest of that one narrow, dusty bed. Arthur touched his lips, a bit chapped from the cold; he sighed. He ran his left hand through his ashy-blond hair, staring at the floor, then at his boots. The cabin was already a little warmer than before.

Soon, he stood up from the worn-out mattress, as if only now noticing there was just one bed in the entire place. Charles was still sitting on one of those poor chairs, which creaked under the weight of the large man every time he moved.

The blue-eyed outlaw grabbed the half-forgotten whiskey flask from the nearby nightstand, looking for some warmth, whether from inside that bottle or out. He found it odd that Smith hadn’t turned around the whole time, but figured the situation from a few moments ago was still gnawing at his mind.

Morgan approached, casual-like yet still tense. He extended his hand with the flask, but his friend’s voice echoed before his own could. “I wanted to do that for a long time,” He said hurriedly, referring to the kiss, praying Arthur would catch on that that's what he meant. Charles sounded regretful, not for what he felt, but for having forced it. “Maybe for months, even. I don't know what's gotten into me, I just…”

And there he was; Charles Smith. Honest. Oh, he always was…

The blondie sighed. Shook his head. He was, indeed, speechless.

“I just don't want you to think badly o’ me, Arthur.”

“I wouldn’t even if I wanted to.” His voice came out raspy, toeing the line between curious and modesty.

Arthur kept his hand outstretched, right near his cabinmate. The night was only just settling in, and it was bitter cold beyond the thin wooden walls of their temporary shelter, already warm now, almost cocoon-like.

Charles eyed Morgan’s hand, still holding out the half-finished flask like an offering. But just as he reached for it, a little resigned, Arthur pulled it back. To Smith’s surprise, the blond man next to him snatched his hand back a split second before he could take it.

Charles frowned, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes, thinking maybe he’d changed his mind, but before he could say anything, Arthur spoke again: “Come a lil’ closer,” he said, bringing the mouth of the flask up to his own lips “just a bit, it's easier that way…” The last part came out in a low, focused breath, almost a whisper.

Then, finally, he took a long sip of that burning elixir. But it didn’t go further than his throat. He adjusted his face, leaned his body toward where his friend was sitting, watching him. Arthur, still standing with whiskey in his mouth, pointed at his lips. A pink flush had bloomed across his cheeks from the heat and the liquor, though he wasn’t drunk.

Charles got the message though he hesitated. He looked honestly surprised, uncertain, like he wasn’t sure Morgan’s gesture really meant what it looked like it meant. But he didn’t take long either. He brought his full lips close to Arthur’s, mouth slightly open, and it was the right move.

Arthur leaned in too, closing the gap between them. His throat burned a little from the whiskey, but he didn’t care. Charles felt the hot, spicy fluid rush over his half-parted lips and how the blondie pushed every drop forward with his tongue like he didn’t want a single bit to go to waste. Still, a few drops escaped, dripping down to the floor and onto Charles’s legs, still sitting.

Both mouths drank from the other in some way, Morgan’s tongue still tasting inside Charles’s mouth, making a wet sound when they finally pulled apart.

Arthur looked breathless from holding back so much, and the darker man licked his lips, chasing the burn of the alcohol. There was a pause, just a few seconds, where they stared at each other like they hadn’t eaten in days. Charles was the one to break it. “Gimme that.”

Snatching the bottle from Arthur’s hands, he took a swig, but like his friend, didn’t swallow. Arthur just smirked, shameless and curious, saying nothing. Then, just like Charles, he leaned in and latched onto his mouth again, ready to drink straight from him. This time, he drank with more hunger, and in the middle of it all, Charles used his tongue not just to keep the whiskey in, but to massage the hot roof of Arthur’s mouth.

Golden drops slipped from between their mouths. Inevitable. The kiss dragged on longer than necessary, their lips now twisting and pressing with growing heat, alcohol and spit messily mixing between them. The floor, Smith’s pants, and both their boots were steadily getting soaked in spilled whiskey. Arthur snatched the flask again and took another swig, just to do it all over before his mouth spent too long apart from his friend’s.

Charles drank and kissed with open want, his face burning like his throat and lips. At some point, he stood from his chair to deepen the kiss, pushing Arthur back just enough to make space between them without breaking it. Morgan grabbed a fistful of his blue polka-dot shirt in a flash of hot, rough need. Charles answered with his own grip, on the back of Arthur’s neck and part of his deer-hide jacket, right at the collar.

The kiss was wet, borderline obscene. Low growls and breathy moans caught between their lips and tongues, as both men devoured each other without shame. But when Charles tried to take another sip from the bottle and realized it was empty, he muttered under his breath, “Shit…”

Quickly, without letting go of Arthur, he reached for the deerskin bag slumped near the chair he’d just left. His hands moved fast, practiced. From inside, he pulled out a bottle of moonshine, popped the cap off with his teeth like it was nothing, and took a long swig.

The liquor pooled against his lips, but it didn’t last long. The blondie was on him again, mouth crashing into his, thirsty like Hell. All that liquor they’d downed was finally starting to burn under their skin, fog their heads sip by sip. They weren’t drunk, not yet, but the shame was already slipping.

“You’re a…” Arthur managed to breathe out between kisses, barely catching his breath, “...handsy drunk, huh.”

His voice was a sin. Raspy, low, laced with hunger and filth. It dragged across Charles’s ears like velvet and smoke, and made his already burning groin ache to be touched. Arthur was just as far gone; had been for a while now.

Charles pursed those full lips of his again, an aroused expression painting his face, eyes narrowing just slightly in that smoldering way of his. A crooked smile followed. “And you're a mouthy one.”
 His voice, low and velvety, brushed against Arthur’s ears like molasses and smoke, just as Smith began to rub his shoulders and arms- rough, but with intent.
 “Wonder if you ever shut up…”

Arthur’s hot, raspy laugh slipped out as he hurried to shrug off his coat, left now in just his blue shirt and that black neckerchief—which Charles, with skilled fingers, had already started to untie.
 “Oh yeah,” he purred “I do.”
 Then he snatched the moonshine bottle from Charles’s hand, took a long swig, and this time swallowed it down. “But I can shut ya up instead, cowboy…”

As he took a second bold gulp, Charles gave him a look full of clear, hot amusement. “Uh-huh?” the taller man murmured, suggestively, right against Arthur’s ear, wet, very wet.
Morgan growled low at the dampy pressure on his lobe, that velvet voice curling into his ear. He grabbed a fistful of his friend’s hair, not gentle, not brutal, just enough to yank him face to face, and made him drink from his mouth again.
The fire wasn’t the only thing heating them up; the aguardiente had both their cheeks flushed, Arthur looking sickly red, and Charles with those glassy, wild eyes as they devoured each other.

Their bodies, way closer than before, tangled, touched, fought for friction like it was survival.
 Their erections, already burning for too long, rubbed through the cloth. Their pants squeezed them like Hell itself, and their boots, soaked in spilled whiskey and moonshine, tapped hard on the wood floor in a rhythm of urgency.
“Shit, Charles…” Arthur hissed into his ear, grinning like the damn devil when he felt the darker man shudder, “touch me.”
 He nuzzled his face against Charles’, turning slightly, exposing more of his neck so Smith could get to it. “Hell, touch me harder.”

Smith narrowed his glassy eyes, and purely out of instinct and heat, buried his face into the crook of Arthur’s neck and shoulder.
 He started with hot, wet kisses, dragging his tongue along the skin, making Arthur sigh under his mouth and rock his hips unconsciously, lasciviously, against him, their cocks grazing through their pants.
Charles’s hands, clumsy from both liquor and the high of near-sex, were already fumbling with the buttons of Arthur’s shirt.
 Morgan, on his end, grabbed the bottle of aguardiente with his right hand, and with the other, a greedy handful of Smith’s ass, pulling him forward, grinding against him like he was begging for more.

While the native-descended man stayed locked on Arthur’s neck, Morgan took two long swigs, one for himself, and one he meant to pass from his mouth to Charles.
 But before he could get to him, Charles snatched the bottle straight from his hand, impatient, and drank it himself, two deep gulps.
 They were drunk. Not enough to make fools of themselves, but just enough to not give a damn about anything except the pleasure they were feeling, and the kind they still craved.
The taller man kissed Arthur wet, spilling a few drops of the liquor between their lips in a greedy exchange.
 With the shirt now open, Charles pressed his hands to Arthur’s chest, kneading, rubbing.
When he finally got the space to look, he did.

 That pale chest -strong, soft, lightly hairy under his hands- made his cock pulse hot all over again, as if it hadn’t been screaming already.
“I love them,” Charles said with slow, deliberate honesty, like the booze and the lust wouldn’t let him lie.
 “I… fantasized lots ‘bout this.”

At last, his eyes met Arthur’s again, and the blond was even redder now, smiling shyly, face flushed like hell.
“So yooou say.”

 Arthur tried to keep it cool, but those shy, unsure blue eyes, flickering under Charles’s stare, betrayed him fast.
“Mhm.”
 Charles nodded, looking almost spellbound, his hands still circling over the blond’s chest. “When you’d walk up to me in camp... shirt half undone, helping me with the wagon wheels…” The bigger man was savoring every word, slow and filthy. “...You don’t know how bad I wanted to drop you right there and rip that damn shirt off, just to see…” He pressed his lips together, gaze softening with a kind of long-forgotten restraint. “…More. See more.”

Arthur clicked his tongue, trying not to let surprise -or lust- get the better of him. Though honestly, it was too late for that.
 “You can have it, big man.” He rasped, voice teasing as hell, pushing his chest forward like he’d seen those saloon girls do back in Valentine.
His friend locked eyes with him, sharper now.

 “Really.”
 It wasn’t a question, it was a check. A line in the dirt. Those eager hands were still all over Arthur’s chest, squeezing and pressing, still slick from the liquor that had spilled from their kisses, and from the sweat building between them in the fire’s heat. They were both still standing, right in front of the chairs and the fire, over a mess of spilled whiskey, aguardiente, and spit.  

And even though it looked like Charles hesitated for a second, he gently pushed Morgan back, like a suggestion, a silent dare, before saying:  “Lay down on the bed.” His velvety voice now had a thread of command woven into it, though it still dripped with heat and want and Arthur. He added, softer, deeper: “Please, Arthur.”
Morgan blinked a couple of times before curling into a hesitant, but horny smile. Without breaking eye contact or bothering to look back, he stumbled a few awkward steps toward the sad bed behind him.

He leaned his back against it, then slowly let his whole body sink into the mattress, facing his friend, his eyes hazy with lust. The taller man stared down at him, starved.
 Without hesitation, he dove in, kissing along Arthur’s collarbones, the kisses wet and growing wilder by the second.
That alcohol-warmed tongue carved paths across the cowboy’s skin.
 His shirt -what little was left still clinging to him- looked worse by the minute, and Morgan kept licking his lips, breathing hard, full of want.
Charles’s broad, strong hands pinned Arthur down, while the blond’s nipples stood hard from sheer anticipation. Then, no pause, no warning, Smith’s mouth gave them attention too.
 He wrapped his full lips around them, covered them with that wet, slippery tongue.
 He circled over the warm flesh like he might devour him whole.
 And damn he really wanted to.

“Ssssshit… Charles…”
 Arthur hissed, riding out the overwhelming pleasure of being tasted like that.
 It wasn’t just the booze spinning his head now. It was also the way Smith was on top of him, so hungry for him, it made his cock ache. “You’re amazing…”
Arthur’s hips lifted and dropped in a slow, desperate rhythm, as if he were trying to fuck the air.
 Horny. Hard. Hopeless.
Charles moved back up to his neck, and his kisses grew harsher, edging into dangerous territory.
 His canines grazed the sun-reddened, pale skin of Arthur’s shoulders. He squeezed his eyes shut, like he was fighting the need to sink into every tendon and muscle of his friend.
 Still kissing, trying to behave- Until Arthur spoke again. “’S that all ya got?” His voice was teasing, sultry, practically a dare. “I ain’t gonna break, big ma-”

A sharp, sweet sensation bloomed between his shoulder and jaw.
 It made him moan, surprised, pained, but also a little victorious. 
At the same time Charles bit him, his right hand was kneading and playing with Arthur’s chest, rolling and flicking at his nipples, keeping the whole fire going.

He sucked, licked, and bit again, Charles, while grinding his clothed cock against his friend’s lower stomach, like a dog in heat.
Morgan kept his lips pressed tight, eyebrows furrowed, eyes shut.
 But still, a few hot, filthy sighs spilled from his throat, half-moans, half-whimpers.
Out of nowhere, Smith pulled away from his friend’s chest and neck, only to stretch out and grab the open bottle of moonshine they’d abandoned on one of the nearby chairs.
 And while he was at it, he reached for his leather satchel, dragging it close to have more bottles and booze at hand.

Morgan, aching and throbbing under him, stared up with expectant, hungry eyes.
 Charles tilted his head, leaning in closer to the outlaw’s flushed face.
“You know how long I’ve wanted to do this?” he asked, voice feverish. “Mhm?” Then he took a quick swig from the bottle, swallowing it, eyes still locked on Arthur.

 His hand cupped Arthur’s face, firm and a bit rough, fingers pressing softly into the scruffy cheeks, feeling the coarse stubble of three-day-old beard.
Arthur raised a brow, dazed. “You coulda just asked me, big man.”
 His voice came out low and breathy, the words slightly slurred under the weight of Charles’s grip on his face.

“I didn’t know you were that kind of feller. And I ain’t interested in anyone else.” He still held the bottle in his left hand. “You’re beautiful, Arthur Morgan. Real beautiful…”

Arthur’s reply was nearly a growl.
 “Just kiss me, you big bastard.”

The next kiss was even more fervent, both men practically drooling into each other's mouths with hunger. Arthur, lying beneath Charles, took the other man’s face in both hands to deepen the kiss, if that was even possible, and to stop the native-descendant from pulling away. 

Smith suddenly broke the hold, roughly, only to grab Morgan’s face and cheeks with his left hand and pull back, staring at the blond with the kind of eyes a hunter has when he’s locked onto prey. And not just any prey; something as big and dangerous as him. 

 “Stick your tongue out a little.” he said directly, taking another swig from the bottle in his other hand. Arthur obeyed almost instantly, face flushed from the heat, and from Charles. The larger man leaned back in for a kiss, but this time let the liquid drip in a thread from his mouth into his friend’s. Charles smiled at the obscene act, almost mocking. “Good boy.”

“Oh shut up…” The heavy, hot weight of the native man's body on top of Morgan gave him such a twisted, insane pleasure. The excitement grew with every second, especially every time he noticed just how close his friend’s bulge was pressing into him.

Both of their heads were spinning deliciously, like caught in a drunken, blissful vertigo. Then, Charles asked, his voice velvety and raspy: “Can I do something… with your chest?”

Arthur grinned, shameless “I told ya,” his cock beneath his trousers was throbbing painfully, burning, “just say the word. I’m aaaall yours, big man.”

Without thinking much more, Charles began unbuckling his trousers, fumbling slightly with his belt, hands urgent and clumsy from the rush. But after a little effort, he finally pulled his cock out from his clothes. It hung proud, thick, and gleaming in the firelight. The kind of cock that had presence, and knew it.

Quickly, he slid off of Arthur’s warm body, positioning himself at the side of the bed. “Kneel.”

Arthur let out a low laugh, and obeyed without hesitation. He felt drunk, and god, he felt hot. “What a bitch you are, huh, Morgan?” he thought to himself. Not that he minded in his current state. Not really.

In their current position on the bed, with Charles slightly hunched over, his cock reached just at Arthur’s chest, between his pecs and collarbone. If the blond decided to lean forward, just a little, he could lick the tip of his friend’s cock with some effort.

But Charles moved first, starting to rub his cock against the blond’s warm, bare chest, tossing his unbuttoned blue shirt to the floor. Arthur could feel the soft, sticky texture of the pre-cum. The length was not exaggerated, but definitely impressive, as it spread across his pecs like a knife dragging through butter. The blond stared, dazed, trying to squeeze his thighs together to feel some friction from his pants against his aching, needy cock.

He could smell the alcohol in the room, all over both of their bodies,
but the scent of sweat and skin from his friend’s dick was something else.
It made him lick his lips and feel a twist in his gut.

“Can you… press them together a little?”
Charles’s low voice was delicious, hungry, but like he’d already gotten a taste of what he wanted. “Together…”

“The things a man’s gotta do…” murmured the ash-blond, teasing and playful,
though a bit shy about using his body like that. He wasn’t a woman, after all. He couldn’t wrap Charles’s cock up between his tits and get him off like that.

But still, he did it.
Seeing the look of delight on the native-descendant’s face from down there was everything. His own cock throbbed, just like Charles’, rubbing against his chest.

Before long, the rubbing turned into light thrusts, and soon enough Smith took his cock in hand, wrapped it in his fist, and began a slow stroke, up and down. It pulled a few sighs out of him.
The bottle of moonshine had been left by the bed.

Watching his friend like that -touching himself while still rubbing up against Morgan-...
It was too much. The heat and urgency pushed the blond to unbuckle his trousers in a rush, pulling out his own desperate cock and stroking it,
while Charles kept grinding against him, so close, so hot.

“ Hell… ” The native’s moan came out strained, breathless, while he fisted his own dick and slapped the tip of his cock against the outlaw’s meaty chest. “Arthur…”

The blond was stroking his cock with his fist too, delighted at the sight of his friend’s aroused expression. Smith’s breathing was getting heavier by the second, until his thrusts became more urgent, more feverish against both his own palm and Arthur’s chest.

Suddenly, Charles shoved Arthur back without any ceremony, making him fall onto the mattress. “Woah there-” the blond managed to mumble before the bigger man climbed on top of him again, now with his cock so close to his face. So close…

That sudden roughness from Smith somehow made Morgan’s cock even harder. He didn’t know why, but it turned him on a lot.

The heat of Charles’s body, his cock and balls, the haze of moonshine, and the nearby fire created a sticky warmth that clung to Arthur’s skin, a burning flush in his cheeks, and a desperate ache between his legs to be touched, held, handled .

Shy but dead-set, the blond nuzzled Charles’s cock with his face, eyes glassy and lewd, a coy smile on his lips. “Charles Smith…,” his voice came out as a sexy little growl, “so big ‘n masculine… Not only you…”

Like it had been a cue, an open invitation, Charles suddenly began dragging his cock across Arthur’s face. Not much rough, but eager. “Y’like that?” Smith’s voice was like velvet, but teasing, raspy, a little smug. “Havin’ it so close to your pretty face.” Arthur let out a low, drunk laugh just before the darker man reached out to grab his face, playful, filthy, almost possessive and pornographic. He kept going: “I remember that big feller in Valentine… Said you were a ‘pretty boy’...”  Arthur’s blue, boozy eyes seemed to drift back in memory. Charles kept stroking and holding the blond’s face, dripping with sexual hunger, and something more. “We were in a tight situation and I didn’t say nothin’... But oh, I wanted to agree soo bad…”

Smith let go of the other cowboy’s face and went back to grinding his cock across his friend’s cheeks and lips, his dark ebony eyes devouring him.

Every passing second made him faster, more desperate, letting out deep moans and ragged sighs that drove Arthur to grab his own cock again and stroke it underneath him, watching his friend’s expression up close and hearing those filthy sounds that he hadn’t even known turned him on so much.

“Mh…, Arthur…” The taller man groaned, harsh and heavy. His body instinctively leaned forward the moment he felt that heat coil in his gut, and without thinking, his free hand reached down and grabbed Morgan’s head, pressing it even closer to his cock as he jerked himself off.

He could feel the warmth of his palm and Arthur’s face, his scruffy three-day beard, and the haze of liquor wrapping around them both.

His body trembled slightly, and his cock rubbed over the cowboy’s cheeks, cheekbones, and even part of his lips before he came in a thick, whitish load that reached Morgan’s forehead, dripping down to his chin, warm and wet. Arthur kept jerking himself off on his own, though he stopped when Charles finally looked at him, still holding his head close.

“...Sorry.” The darker man nodded, subtly embarrassed that his release had ended up there, and by how suddenly it all happened. Arthur didn’t seem upset; if anything, he looked amused. “I’ll clean you up.”

Quickly and still a little clumsy, Charles grabbed Arthur’s blue shirt lying on the floor.

“You’ve got more clothes on your horse, right?” he asked as he got back on the bed in front of his friend, straddling him again, though a bit lower than before.

“‘Course.” Arthur simply said.

The taller man nodded again, then took one of the sleeves and began wiping the spots where his cum had landed. Arthur just let him do it.

When he finished, Charles tilted his head and looked Morgan over from head to toe, still lying underneath him on the mattress. He hadn’t realized his friend’s cock was still out. His dazed eyes blinked once, but with curiosity.

Arthur’s dick was still hard. Not as much as before, but still clearly present.

The native-descended man reached for the abandoned bottle of moonshine beside the bed and took a swig for himself. Then, taking another sip, he leaned in and brought his friend’s face closer again. Arthur was already watching him with hungry eyes, and he opened his mouth to receive the stream of alcohol inside him, only to meet in a kiss right after, as if the drink had just been an excuse.

Delicious, expected, and burning hot. They truly enjoyed every second of it. At some point, Charles grabbed another bottle from his satchel hanging off the bedpost and swapped it out for the empty one so he could drink again while still kissing Arthur, this time faster, making him swap the bottle again soon after.

The blond grabbed his friend by his long, dark hair and pulled their mouths back together. “Mmh…” Morgan let out a low moan through a breath, smiling. "Don't stop kissin’ me…”

His smile turned more coy now after saying that, even though the alcohol had clearly sunk its claws deep into both of them.

Charles murmured something, licked over his friend’s mouth all hot and greedy, then moved down to his neck, ignoring the gruff little groan Arthur gave when their lips parted. He caressed the cowboy’s neck and chest with both hands as he leaned in; in the firelight, he realized his teeth and lips had definitely left their mark on the blond’s collarbones and nape.

He licked his lips, then dipped back down to the curve between Arthur’s neck and shoulder.
He started nibbling and licking again- sucking on Arthur’s warm skin as the man squirmed beneath him, letting out low, heated moans and groans. Enough to get any man worked up, but especially Charles. The blond’s skin was already blotched with reddish-purple marks.

Despite that, a scoff came out of the blond’s lips. “...What? You gon’ stop right there?” Morgan rasped out, voice all provocative and breathless.

That teasing hit Charles like a match to gunpowder. He scoffed too, and seconds later, his teeth were buried in Arthur’s skin again.

After each bite, Arthur would mumble a pained but pleased, “Holy ssshit… ”, only for Smith to soothe the bruised flesh with a lick -a fake little moment of comfort- just a few seconds before sinking his canines back into that flushed, heated skin again.

After a while, Charles kissed the blond again, like he missed him, missed his lips, even though it had only been minutes since the last kiss. He ran his wide tongue across Morgan’s lips, then slid into his open, wet mouth, brushing against his teeth and wet palate.

Then, in the blink of an eye, he moved down again, this time, lower than the other cowboy’s chest. “...Lemme do it for you.”

“The what exactly?” Arthur raised an eyebrow, eyes all dazed.

“Suck you off.” Charles murmured. Somehow, just saying it made his dark eyes look twice as hot and needy, like Morgan was about to be hunted down any second now.

“You know you don't need to do that, Charles.”
Even if Arthur said that, he was dying to have the other man between his legs. “You...”

“But I want to, Arthur.”
His chin rested gently on his friend’s stomach. His half-drunken voice made that velvety tone slip into Morgan’s ears like water. “Please…”

Again with that… Morgan thought. He let out a sigh that sounded frustrated, but was full-on thrill.
He tried to stop his chest from blooming and trembling with the anticipation of having a man like Smith in that spot. “Okay, okay…”

Charles smiled, his breath warm against Arthur’s stomach. For a second, he just stayed there, pressing lazy kisses against the skin beneath him. Each one landed softer than the last, but burned hotter; lips warm and damp, leaving a trail of heat that made Arthur’s belly tighten.

Morgan’s chest rose and fell, his breathing picking up as Charles worked his way down. The tips of his lips brushed lower, planting open-mouthed kisses just below his ribs, then his navel, his trail light but electric.

Every kiss sent little shivers up Arthur’s spine. The mix of moonshine in his blood, the fire flickering nearby, and the man between his legs; it was all too much. His fingers twitched, gripping and caressing the sheets beneath him.

“Goddamn…” he muttered under his breath, eyes half-lidded as he watched the dark head of hair move lower, trailing down his stomach like a slow, warm current.

Charles paused for a moment, just below his navel, pressing his cheek gently against Arthur’s skin while his hand ran up the side of Morgan’s hip. “You’re shiverin’…” he whispered, voice a deep hum, like silk against his skin.

Arthur let out a breathy chuckle, his words shaky:
“Maybe ‘cause you’re ticklin’ me, Sulky…”

Charles just smiled again, needier. His hand slipped lower, gently wrapping around Arthur’s length with a reverence that made Morgan’s head drop back against the pillow. That simple touch had his cock throbbing, already sensitive from the anticipation. Without a word, Charles dipped lower, his breath ghosting over Arthur’s tip before his lips barely grazed it. That first warm touch of his mouth made Arthur jerk lightly under him, a low hiss slipping through his teeth.

“Easy, cowboy…” Charles murmured with a wicked grin before slowly, deliberately, taking the head into his mouth.

The heat was dizzying. Wet, warm, and so goddamn slow it was almost torture. His lips sealed around him, tongue swirling as he began to sink lower, taking more of him in with every glide of his mouth. The soft sounds of suction mixed with Arthur’s hitched breaths filled the small cabin.

“Mhm, Charles…” Arthur groaned, one hand sliding into the man’s dark hair, not pulling, but resting there like he needed the anchor. His thighs trembled soft as Charles picked up the pace, moving with that same careful hunger, like he was savoring every second.

Smith hummed softly around him, sending vibrations through his cock that made Arthur shudder, his hips giving small involuntary bucks upward. The pressure of Charles’s hand on his hip kept him steady though, grounding him as the heat in his belly coiled tighter and tighter.

“Jesus…” Arthur gasped, completely lost in the feeling, his body melting under the attention.

Charles could feel Arthur’s cock twitch inside his mouth, pulsing against his tongue like it was begging for more, and he was more than willing to give it.

He slid his head down deeper, until his lips met Arthur’s trimmed curls, swallowing him almost whole. The thick length filled his throat, his jaw aching deliciously as spit gathered and began dripping messily down his chin, pooling around the base of Arthur’s cock.

Arthur let out a choked, broken groan, his hips twitching as he tried to hold back.
“Shit, Charles... you’re gonna…- goddamn…”
But Charles wasn’t stopping. Not now.

With a wet pop, he pulled off slightly, letting the spit-slicked cock rest against his tongue for a moment, strands of saliva still connecting his lips to Arthur’s tip. The mess glistened under the low firelight, obscene. "...You really are somethin', Arthur.” Charles rasped, his voice thick and gravelly, like it came straight from his gut. His hand pumped the wet shaft, making filthy slick noises with every stroke, experienced as if he had already done this more than once.

Arthur's head fell back, his fingers digging into his friend's dark hair tighter now, practically trembling under the onslaught of heat and wetness.

Then Charles dove back down, more desperate this time, his head bobbing faster, lips sliding noisily over the thick length, tongue swirling as strings of saliva drooled freely down his chin and Morgan's balls. The mess only made him hungrier.

Sloppy wet sounds filled the shack, mixed with Arthur’s broken moans. His thighs tensed, body shaking as the waves of pleasure kept crashing into him. “Jesus, Charles… There…” Arthur gasped, voice cracking with the pressure building inside him. His hips involuntarily bucked upward, forcing more of himself down the native's throat.

But Charles handled it like a man possessed. He groaned around him, the vibrations buzzing up Arthur’s cock, eyes fluttering shut as tears pricked at the corner of his eyes from how deep he was taking him. The tip pushed at the back of his throat, making him gag slightly, but he didn’t pull away.

Instead, he doubled down, breathing through his nose, sloppy strings of spit and pre dripping down his chin and onto Arthur’s lower stomach. Every sound was downright filthy; the wet slurps, the deep moans, Arthur’s ragged breathing, it was pure sin.

Arthur’s free hand clutched the sheets as his muscles locked. “Oh-” He gasped again almost whispering desperately, “Goddamit-  Charles, I, I can’t, I will-” his voice broke as the orgasm finally snapped inside him.

With one final deep suck, Smith grunted lowly, holding him deep as Arthur spilled down his throat, the blond man’s legs shaking slightly yet notorious under him, gasping for breath.

Charles swallowed, slow and greedy, before pulling off with one last obscene pop, licking his full lips. His chest heaved, his eyes dark and deep as he looked at Arthur, whose face was flushed and glowing, still twitching in the aftershocks.

Charles wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his voice low, fucked-out and raspy but with a playful undertone:
“You taste even better than I thought.”

Arthur managed a breathless laugh, one hand still buried in Charles’s hair as his chest heaved.
“...Holy.”

Charles just smirked, crawling up slowly to kiss his lips. Before that, he took the bottle of moonshine, abandoned by the bed, and took a long, heavy sip out of it, letting some of the liquor dribble down the corner of his mouth and onto Arthur’s chest again.

He grinned against the rim of the bottle, “Still holdin’ up?” he rasped, voice thick with whiskey.

Arthur let out a breathy chuckle, eyes heavy with lust but playful as always. His thumb swiped across his chest, catching some of the spilled alcohol, licking it clean right in front of Charles’s gaze. “You tell me, big man…” His eyes were glittering under half-closed lids, already watching Charles’s cock standing proudly again between them.

The room smelled like sweat, moonshine, and woodsmoke, a thick heady mixture that made their skin sticky and their heads hazy. The creaking of the old cabin floor added to the low growl of the fire. Their bodies glowed under the dim orange light. Charles leaned down again, finally catching Arthur's mouth in a kiss. Deep, hot, drunken. Their teeth clashed slightly in their rush just as the fist time, tongues tangling instantly, trading the taste of moonshine and leftover salt on each other's tongues. The blonde mumbled into it, his hands sliding along Charles’s back, feeling the muscles flex under his palms.

As the kiss deepened, Arthur’s cock, which had softened slightly was already stiffening again under the attention, swelling against Charles’s abdomen where their bodies pressed close.

“Arthur...” Charles groaned against his lips, “can’t get enough of you.” His breath was ragged, his forehead sticky with sweat as he spoke, nose bumping into Arthur’s affectionately, but his eyes darkened again with that hungry gleam.

Arthur chuckled, low and cocky, his voice dropping into a growl; he took the bottle himself and before lending it to Charles again, Morgan lifted his head a bit to drink another sip that emptied the flask. 

“Yeah? Then take what you want, cowboy.”

 That was all Charles needed. With slow deliberate kisses, he started trailing down Arthur’s flushed chest once again. He nipped at a nipple, sucked another, leaving wet circles before biting just enough to make Arthur grunt and arch under him.

Lower and lower he went, hot breath fanning over Arthur’s stomach, leaving a sloppy trail of open-mouthed kisses, tasting sweat and salt with every inch.

Arthur’s belly tensed and fluttered at the sensation, his fingers tangling into Charles’s long hair, breath hitching and a small dizzy smile on his mouth. He laughed breathy, voice breaking, “Such a…” He couldn’t even finish the sentence, his voice fading into a low whimper.

Charles let his lips rest just above Arthur’s lower stomach, inhaling deeply like a man savoring a meal before the first bite. “Turn around.”

Arthur’s stomach flipped at those words. His head spun from the booze and the desire clouding every thought. Without a word, he took his trousers completely off as he bit his lip and obeyed, rolling over slowly onto his stomach, arms folding under the pillow, ass lifting just enough in anticipation.

Charles sat up on his knees for a moment to admire him; broad back, flushed skin, sweat glistening, that ass practically inviting him. His cock twitched at the view. Smith reached for the bottle again, taking another long gulp, then poured a small amount of the moonshine straight onto Arthur’s lower back, watching it dribble and run down between his cheeks. Arthur gasped at the sudden cold burn, shivering from both sensation and anticipation.  His hands spread Arthur’s cheeks gently, and with one slow, deliberate movement, Charles dragged his tongue up the curve, following the trail of moonshine, circling the tight little ring of muscle before giving it a wet deliberate kiss.

Arthur moaned low and laughed in a breath shamelessly into the pillow “Hell, Charles…”

Charles smiled, diving back in, his tongue teasing, circling, flicking, every motion filthy tasting him deeply, like a man absolutely obsessed. The dirty sounds of lapping filled the tight air of the cabin, mixing with Arthur’s broken whimpers. Charles didn’t stop. His broad hands gripped the other man’s hips tighter, spreading him wider, keeping him still as his tongue worked relentlessly. Each time his tongue flicked inside and around the blonde’s back would arch just a bit more, his thighs twitching, his breath breaking into a low whine that echoed off the wooden cabin walls.

“Haa, goddamn…” Arthur breathed, his voice cracking, forehead pressed hard into the pillow as his hands clenched the worn sheets. The mixture of whiskey, sweat, and the heat radiating from the nearby fire made his whole body feel feverish.

Charles paused only briefly, letting out a low, almost growled exhale against the slick heat of Morgan's hole, before pressing his tongue even deeper, grinding his face against him like a man starved. The wet sounds filled the room and only made Arthur’s cock throb harder beneath him, leaking onto the sheets below. The native man finally pulled back, his breath ragged and hot, voice heavy as sin.
“...What a sight.” he rasped drunk and burning up.

Arthur couldn’t help the shameless chuckle that slipped from him.
“You makin’ me shake, big man…” His voice wavered as he pushed back instinctively, grinding against Charles’s face like a filthy tease. “Keep goin’…”

Charles mumbled low, smiling too. He ran a hand slowly down his friend's back, fingers tracing his spine. Without waiting for another word, Charles leaned back down, pressing more sloppy kisses around the entrance, spit mixing with the moonshine remnants still clinging to Arthur’s skin. His tongue worked in filthy circles, wetting him thoroughly, making Arthur’s hips push back slightly, desperate for more. The afro-descent man pulled back slightly, reaching for his satchel nearby, pulling out a small flask with grease oil, tallow he usually used for crafting weapons, but he knew damn well it worked just fine here. He popped it open, letting a small drizzle run down Arthur’s hole, mixing into the wet mess already there. The oil glistened under the firelight, dripping lazily down, pooling between Blondie's thighs.

“Iiii see what's goin’ on here…” The blue-eyed man hissed, cocky with a dizzy smile and drunk gaze directly to Charles from his place, his face all over the pillow.

“Just relax, Arthur.” Charles muttered, voice low and velvety. “Let me open you up nice...”

He rubbed the oil in with his thumb, slowly working small circles. Arthur faced into the pillow, his belly twitching with every gentle push. After a few slow, teasing strokes with his thumb, Charles carefully pressed his middle finger in, just the tip first, letting Arthur adjust. Arthur whimpered low, pushing his hips back instinctively, as if trying to swallow Charles’s finger deeper on his own.

“Fuck… there ya go.” Charles grunted approvingly, sliding the finger in further, curling slightly. Then, with a softer voice, he asked: “...You good?”

Arthur let out a deep sigh, turning his face a bit to take a look at his friend properly. “Yeah it just… 'T's been a long time that's it.”

Charles just chuckled gravely, so gone for him. He began to pump the finger slowly, working him open, licking his lips while watching Arthur squirm under him and open his blue eyes due the suddenness of the action. His cock throbbed painfully, leaking onto Arthur’s thigh as his other hand gripped his own length, trying to soothe the ache while he worked from time to time.

“You're doing so well, Arthur.” he muttered under his breath, half to himself, half to his friend, too.

“God… goddamn, Charles…” Arthur moaned, his voice cracking with every syllable, hands gripping the sheets like he’d fly apart.

As Arthur moaned and writhed, Charles eased in a second finger, stretching him wider, deeper, each motion pulling out gasps that fueled his growing hunger.

“Easy…” He freed his cock to caress the blondie's back again, sending shivers, tilting his own head a bit to look at his friend properly with a lustful gaze. He got closer, leaning onto Morgan, still fingering him. His dark, long hair sliding on the blonde’s back skin, tickling him a bit. He licked his lips just a bit at the sight. “Such a pretty, fine feller…” He murmured almost in a whisper that made Arthur sigh due the flutter in the stomach and the shame he felt every time Smith said something like that that night.

The cabin walls echoed with the obscene, wet sounds of the fingers pumping inside him, mixing with Arthur’s filthy low whines, and Charles’s ragged breathing.

“You” Morgan spoke suddenly between his breath, “said that already.”

“Can't I?” Charles pushed his fingers deeper, that question sounding like a tease and at the same time, a genuine question.

Arthur didn't answer “You're a fine man too.” He pressed his eyelids together again, enjoying his friend like Hell. “Mh..  Fuck…” With Smith fingers moving slow and deep, stretching him open, Morgan's cock pulsed heavy. The fire crackled louder now, shadows flickering over their glistening bodies as Charles worked him open, drunk on both the liquor and the obscene sight in front of him. A wave of pleasure took his belly over, and then, he said, with effort but with a smile, turning his face again towards his feller: “So fine that I want you to fuck me silly …”

His cock started dripping more at the idea, just like Charles leaking as he watched Arthur fall apart beneath him. His flushed face, his drunk, gravely and slutty voice, made Charles frown, his cock pulsating a lot, aching due the desire, the urge.

Charles growled softly, his breath thick and hot as he hovered above Arthur, his fingers still working him open, feeling how easily he was taking him now. The mixture of slick spit, oil, and moonshine dripped down between Arthur’s cheeks, messy and obscene under the low firelight.

Arthur turned his head slightly on the pillow again, half-lidded eyes locking onto Charles’s with that cocky little grin of his. “Well? You jus’ gon’ stare, or...?”

Charles didn’t answer at first. Instead, he pulled his fingers out, and reached back for the satchel beside the bed and pulled out a fresh bottle of moonshine, already opened. He took a long, heavy swig, letting the burn hit his chest and make his head spin deliciously, before offering it down to Arthur.

“Your turn.”

Arthur huffed a breathless chuckle, shifting slightly beneath him, muscles twitching from the teasing burn inside him. He took the bottle, tipping it back for a deep gulp. Some of the liquor dribbled down the corner of his mouth, slipping onto the sad excuse of a pillow and across his flushed cheek, but he didn’t care. He licked his lips, letting out a satisfied exhale, eyes glassy and wild. Charles watched him like a man starved, breathing ragged. His cock was leaking, hard as stone, resting heavy against Arthur’s slicked-up ass. He reached down, pumping himself slowly, spreading more of the oil along his shaft, eyes never leaving the mess of a man below him.

“You sure?” he rasped, voice low, rough but still with that creamy, soft choice of tone.

Arthur’s smile was half-drunk, half-desperate. “Hell yes. I been sure for a while now.”

Finally, he leaned in, pressing his slick tip against Arthur’s loosened entrance. He moved slow, deliberate, letting Arthur feel every inch as he pushed inside. The tight heat squeezed him instantly, forcing a low, guttural moan from both men as Charles buried himself slowly to the hilt.

“Fffffuck… ” Arthur hissed into the pillow, his fingers curling into the sheets, body trembling under the stretch and fullness. His back arched instinctively, taking him deeper.

Charles held his hips firmly but gently, giving him time to adjust, even as his own cock pulsed violently inside him. “Shit, Arthur… Tight…”

For a few seconds, they just stayed like that, breathing, trembling together. The heat of the fire crackled behind them, casting flickering shadows across their bodies. 

When Arthur gave a faint nod and shifted his hips, silently begging for more, Charles started to move. The first few thrusts were slow, shallow, testing the waters, but the slick mess made each roll of his hips smooth, filthy wet sounds echoing with every movement. Arthur whimpered, panting into the pillow, pushing back into every stroke, hungry for the full stretch.

“You’re takin’ me so good.” Charles groaned, his voice thick and low, eyes dark as he watched himself disappear inside him again and again.

As he picked up pace, the slaps of skin echoed louder, mixing with Arthur’s broken, gravelly moans. The bedframe creaked under them, adding to the symphony of filth. Charles leaned over him, bracing himself with one hand beside Arthur’s head, the other gripping his hip tightly to keep him steady.

Arthur’s voice was a shattered mess. “Charles, Jesus, don’t stop,” His gravelly drunk voice sounded full of effort as he said that, trying not to moan halfway through the phrase “don’t you fucking stop…”

Charles didn’t plan to. He leaned down further, pressing his sweaty chest against Arthur’s back, still pounding into him with drunken, greedy thrusts. Then, almost desperately, Arthur turned his head to the side, searching for him. “Kiss me, goddammit...”

Smith wasted no time. He captured Arthur’s mouth in a deep kiss, tongues tangling, tasting moonshine on each other’s lips. Their breath mingled hot between them, the kiss growing more desperate as their hips kept moving. Arthur groaned into the kiss, biting at Charles’s bottom lip, his fingers reaching back to clutch at the man’s hair, pulling him even closer as the pleasure built inside him again.

Their foreheads pressed together briefly as they broke the kiss, panting hard. “You… feelin’ good, Arthur?” The taller man rasped against his friend's ear.

Blondie chuckled breathlessly, his voice rough “As good as ever…”

Charles grunted, his thrusts growing harder now, rougher filled with need. He sat up slightly, both hands gripping Arthur’s waist, fucking into him harder, deeper, making the blonde man cry out with every heavy snap of hips. The wet slaps filled the room shamelessly. The moonshine bottle still laid nearby, some of the liquid having spilled, mixing with the sweat on the sheets. The whole cabin stank of their filth. Arthur was seeing stars now. The pressure in his gut coiled again, his cock leaking onto the soaked sheets below. He started fisting it with urge. “Charles…!” he gasped, voice cracking.

“Arthur…” Charles grunted through clenched teeth, watching Arthur writhe under him. 

And with a broken moan and after some strokes in his dick, Arthur came, his body tensing hard, cock pulsing as he shot onto the messy sheets, his back arching under Charles’s grip. The sight alone was enough to push Charles right over. Smith moved his hips in a wild, back-and-forth motion. The flesh and skin of his legs and groin ground against Morgan's ass as he sighed and moaned, deep and low, thrusting in and out, fast.

“Shit...!” he growled, burying himself deep one last time before spilling outside him with a harsh groan, his hips shuddering as he emptied himself completely. His head dropped against Arthur’s back, both of them gasping, shaking as the aftershocks rolled through their trembling bodies. They stayed like that, slick and sweaty, catching their breath as the fire crackled quietly nearby.

The afro-native finally sat down slowly, his cock slick and twitching still. He slumped down beside Arthur, chest heaving, pulling the exhausted man into his arms, but not really close. The bed was small for two men their size.

Arthur’s face was flushed, sweaty strands of hair sticking to his forehead, but his blue eyes gleamed under heavy lids. He spoke breathlessly. “You… came outside.”

Charles lifted an eyebrow, still catching his breath. “Thought you wanted it like that.”

But Arthur stayed quiet this time. His breathing was already steady. Arthur laid there on his back now, limbs sprawled carelessly over the ruined sheets, skin flushed deep red. A little smirk tugged the corner of his lips, his eyelids heavy but glittering with that drunken shine.

Charles, sitting half-upright beside him, wiped a bit of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His dark eyes roamed lazily over Arthur’s messy form, pupils blown wide with booze. Without a word, Smith reached for the moonshine bottle again, taking another heavy swig before offering it back. Blondie chuckled softly, taking the bottle with a shaky hand and tipping it back, drinking greedily. “Mmm…”

Smith's eyes followed his friend's every move; how he gripped the bottle, or how the liquid went down his throat and how his Adam's apple bulged at it. The afro-descent leaned down, placing his lips on Morgan’s collarbone, gently and warmly caressing and tickling it, action that made Blondie's stomach flip hard at the feeling.

"Touchy, are ya?" Arthur teased, voice low, gravelly.

Charles hummed very low against his collarbone, but didn't said a word.

The fire cracked again. For a moment, they simply breathed near each other with that quiet tension building back up between them, their eyes locking in a heavy pull neither could escape.

Arthur’s cock twitched back to life first, slowly rising, bobbing against him as his breath deepened. His fingers lazily stroked along the shaft, his grin widening.

“Well look at that…” The blonde man murmured.

Charles exhaled deeply, his own length thickening again at the sight of his friend. He reached down, pumping himself a few times, watching Arthur like a hungry wolf.

“You're trouble.” Charles said, voice low, creamy. That velvety tone that made Arthur’s stomach clench and his cock twitch like a pulse.

Arthur’s heart stumbled, but he forced a cocky little huff. “You seem to like dealin’ with trouble.”

Charles shifted, hovering back over him, the firelight glowing against his sweat-slick muscles and skin. “That I do.”

Then, he captured Arthur’s mouth again, deep and wet, their tongues meeting in a messy tangle of heat and breath. Arthur hummed into the kiss, arms wrapping loosely around Charles’s shoulders, fingers dragging through his damp hair.

When they broke the kiss, gasping, Charles caressed Morgan's hair, moving some strands out of the way, gently. Eyes fixed on his friend. Then, the afro-descent man rolled his hips all over Arthur's lower part, closing his eyes for a second, tilting his head but lifting his eyelids again to catch any reaction. Arthur answered by grinding up against him, breath hitching as their slick cocks pressed together. Both men were impatient, especially Charles this time, who with calloused hands, caressed the inside of the blond's thighs and knees from his half-sitting position. 

Without much warning other than a squeeze on the flesh of his friend's legs, Charles grabbed Arthur’s thighs firmly, spreading him open again, wide and inviting.

Arthur watched everything as he took a last sip that emptied the bottle of moonshine in one go, and left it there abandoned with an expectant, hot and cocky-drunk grimace. He simply let it happen, guided by Smith's broad, strong hands -strong enough to move and place a man like him and more-, and his own obtunded desire.

Charles spat into his hand, slicking himself up again, before lining his tip at Arthur’s entrance. Slowly, deliciously, he pushed back inside, inch by inch, stretching Arthur open again. Arthur’s head fell back into the pillow, mouth open on a broken moan. “Ah, Charles…” he rasped.

Charles groaned deeply, burying himself to the base, his hands gripping Arthur’s thighs tight. “So good…” he breathed, pulling out halfway and slamming back in.

The rhythm picked up quickly; rougher, deeper, every thrust making Arthur’s body jolt on the bed. The slick sounds of their bodies filled the room, mixing with the breathy moans and grunts bouncing off the cabin walls.Arthur clutched at Charles’s arms, holding on as his hips snapped into him over and over.

“Y'like that? Charles asked, voice thick and dizzy, silky in a whisper. “Mhm… Arthur.”

Arthur whimpered, his cock now rock-hard again, bouncing with every thrust. “Feels damn good…” The bed rattled beneath them, the old frame groaning under the force. Sweat dripped from Charles’s brow onto Arthur’s flushed chest as he pounded into him, breath hot against his face. Blondie let out a lascivious growl from his lips. “Charles…”

Smith's hips rolled and pressed against the blonde's ass, his cock going balls deep, rubbing every corner of his friend's insides with his dick. At one point, he lifted his head and threw it back, closing his eyes, releasing a moan from his throat, a low, heavy sound, as tempting as tobacco that came from deep in his chest; but quickly, the native looked down at his friend beneath him in that small bed, as if he didn't want a single detail, as if he didn't want anything to escape his drunken eyes.

Charles’s hips rolled again sickeningly slow, his cock buried to the hilt inside Arthur, stretching him open so perfectly. Every stroke filled and caressed his insides deliciously, but one of them, hard and sudden, touched right up against that sweet spot inside, making his back arch involuntarily, his fingers twisting in the ruined sheets.

“ Fuck… Holy…- Charles-” Arthur gasped, voice cracking, lips parted, cheeks flushed as sweat dripped down his temples. Arthur took a long breath, rolling his hips unconsciously taking every inch like he was made for it.

"You feel me in there, don't ya?" Charles hands gripped Arthur’s hips tighter, pulling him back into every deep, grinding thrust.

Arthur’s head fell back, blue eyes fluttering, his cock hard and leaking between them. “God- y-yeah... I feel...” he slurred that incomplete sentence through gritted teeth.

Charles’s hips slammed forward harder now, every thrust making wet, obscene sounds echo in the tiny cabin, the moonshine and sweat mixing into a messy pool beneath them. “Look at you,” Charles groaned, almost in awe, his voice breaking as his thrusts grew faster, rougher. “drivin' me fuckin’ crazy, Arthur.”

Arthur squirmed beneath him, greedy for every brutal snap of Charles’s hips, every slap of skin on skin, his toes curling as another loud moan spilled from his throat. His belly flipped every time Charles spoke to him like that, with that thick, needy voice, full of reverence and want.

Smith shifted his angle slightly, lifting Arthur’s lower part a bit, rolling his hips deeper, grinding hard against Arthur’s prostate. The blonde’s whole body jolted, a loud cry escaping him. “Oh, fuck, Charles, right there!”

Charles threw his head back again, mouth falling open in a raw, low moan that rumbled straight from his chest, heavy like smoke. The sound alone made Arthur’s cock twitch desperately. But again, Charles couldn’t keep his eyes off him for long. Drunk, hungry eyes fell right back down to the sight of Arthur trembling under him, face wrecked, flushed and begging. That manly, raspy, strong man beneath him like that.

 His pace snapped harder, almost punishing, slamming Arthur into the mattress. Charles growled, losing himself completely, his hands gripping Arthur’s thighs and folding him further, bending him open to drive even deeper. Flexible. Years of riding and riding horses were of more use now.The sound of Charles’s balls slapping against Arthur’s ass mixed with the sloppy wet noises filling the air, both of them panting like animals, their bodies completely soaked in sweat. Then Smith leaned in again, his lips barely brushing Arthur’s ear. His voice was like a warm velvet cushion against his lobe. “Tell me...” he whispered, pausing slightly his thrusts, still buried deep. “Where you want it, Arthur.”

Arthur’s whole body burned at the question. His breath caught in his throat for a second, heart pounding wildly. He swallowed hard, eyes flicking open to meet Charles’s gaze, pupils blown wide. His voice came out rough, almost desperate. “Inside.”

Charles chuckled softly, his breath hot. “Oh, you’re such a trouble, Arthur…”

Arthur cried out, his whole body seizing again as he came hard, cock pulsing in his hand, painting his stomach and chest with his release. His back arched high, trembling under Charles’s grip.Without another word, the native snapped his hips forward hard, fucking him deep and fast again, sending wet slaps echoing as Arthur gasped under him, arching up desperately. Arthur hummed and moaned out loud, his own hand flying to his cock, stroking wildly. “Goddamit I’m close, Charles- so close-!”

Their bodies moved in perfect rhythm, both of them moaning through clenched teeth.Charles's hands gripped Arthur’s waist, pulling him down harder onto his cock with every rough thrust, as Arthur pressed his free hand against his friend's butt to somehow make him go even deeper.

“So deep… Arthur…” Charles whispered almost to himself, breathless. 

The native's breathing grew uneven, hips jerking erratically now, nearing the edge. Arthur fisted himself quickly, stroking with wild, desperate pace as the pleasure built up like fire in his gut. The tight clench of his friend's near orgasm milked Charles right into his breaking point. With a long, guttural moan, Charles drove in deep one final time, cock pulsing hard as he emptied himself inside Arthur’s spent body, thick and warm, just as Morgan wanted.

Charles kept thrusting inside despite his recent orgasm. Morgan, moved by the throbbing and pulsations of his friend's cock inside him, felt that well known sensation all over his stomach, his ecstasy, crying and groaning out sharply as he finally spilled onto his belly, his whole body trembling in overwhelming pleasure.

Both men gasped and sighed, bodies still grinding together through the aftershocks.

Arthur barely had time to catch his breath. His chest was rising and falling fast, his entire body flushed and damp, sweat dripping from his temples, strands of dirty-golden hair stuck to his forehead. His cock laid heavy, spent, resting on his belly; but his stomach was still flipping and twisting as Charles stayed buried deep inside him, pulsing softly.

Charles was breathing hard too, his dark eyes heavy-lidded and drunk, never leaving Arthur’s face. His hands still held Arthur’s thighs open wide, fingertips pressing into the flesh like he didn’t want to let go, like he couldn’t.

For a moment, it looked like they might collapse and rest, both completely wrecked. But Charles shifted slightly. Arthur felt it instantly- the slow grind of Charles’s cock still hardening inside him again, swelling thicker, making him inhale sharply.

“Charles…” he exhaled, his eyes widening just a bit in surprise, but his voice betrayed how much he liked it.

The afro-native only groaned, leaning in, voice rough and breathless against Arthur’s ear.
“I ain’t done... not yet...”

He buried his teeth softly into the crook of Arthur’s neck, growling low, that deep rumble vibrating right into Arthur’s chest. His hips never stopped rolling, thick cock dragging through Arthur’s raw, overstimulated insides, coated and gliding in their mixed mess.

Arthur’s toes curled again, as every thrust rubbed that swollen, sensitive spot inside him. His cock twitched helplessly, hard again. He dammed his stamina and how much Smith had too. The sticky, watery, strange, liquid sensation of Charles’ penis sloshing around inside his ass, still with his semen inside, made Blondie's head spin and lick his lips, his body betraying him in the best goddamn way. Still buried balls deep, his cock thick and slick inside Arthur’s warm, stretched hole, Charles rolled his hips again. Slow. Deliberate. The wet, obscene squelch of their mixed release filled the thick air around them. Charles was looking right at him, pupils blown wide, face dark flushed, lips parted, sweat dripping from his brow as his hips rolled once more, his cock twitching alive inside Arthur’s pulsing heat.

“Can’t help it…” Smith whispered thickly, like someone who doesn't have any other choice. “You… feel too good.”

Arthur’s belly flipped hard, cock giving a weak twitch against his belly. “Shit… you’re insatiable, big man…” The stomach of the blonde man tightened, his body jerking with every slow, firm stroke. His own hand flew to his cock again, desperate and messy, his grip weak but eager.Arthur’s eyelids fluttered open, still hazy, breath hitching as he felt Charles shifting inside him again. “Augh…” Arthur whined through his teeth, tears pricking the corners of his eyes from the overwhelming heat pooling in his gut again. “I can’t...” Blondie's stomach tightened, his body jerking with every slow, firm stroke. His own hand flew to his cock again, desperate and messy, his grip weak but eager.

Charles locked eyes with him, pupils blown wide, that hungry wolf stare.
“You’re so beautiful like this…” he whispered roughly. “Ah, Arthur…”

Charles ran calloused hands over his friend's torso, caressing him as if he wanted his fingerprints to remain in his sun-burned skin. Arthur’s body seized overwhelmed by the deep, aching stretch inside him and the relentless pace. His cock pulsed violently as he suddenly came again, hot, wet ropes spilling onto his belly and chest once more, his whole body trembling hard under Charles’s grip. The grinding of Smith's cock inside his ass drove him wild. Even though he'd cum and was dry, he felt his hard thrusts and penetrations causing small drops of semen to continue to come out from his penis. Everything felt intense, even when te native man simply stroked and caressed him, it seemed to make him feel even better. 

Charles, at his breaking point, simply bent forward, sweating and panting like a dog, finally releasing his seed for the second time inside his friend. “Mhg… Ahn…” He sighed gravelly, full of ecstasy. The cabin went quiet except for their gasping breaths and the crackling fire. Charles eventually stilled completely, resting his weight carefully over Arthur without pulling out, his cock still thick, buried inside that hot, wrecked heat.

Arthur laid there, twitching slightly, boneless, his whole body buzzing. “Jesus Christ… ” Arthur rasped with a breathless, half-drunk chuckle. “Ya tryin’ to kill me, partner?”

“Maybe.”

For a few quiet minutes, they just laid there tangled up, breathing together, their slick skin sticking in places as the sweat cooled. The moonshine buzz still spun their heads deliciously.

Eventually, Charles carefully slipped out of Arthur with a slick sound, groaning as he sat back on his heels, rubbing his face. His thighs trembled slightly, exhausted and shaky. The white substance slid from between Morgan's inner walls, leaving him, warm, sticky, and like a reward that would be much more embarrassing if he were a hundred percent sober.

Arthur spoke again, voice still rough. “Still standin’, huh?”

Charles shook his head with a lopsided, breathless smile. “Barely.”

After a beat, Charles reached lazily for Arthur’s satchel beside the bed and pulled out a small bourbon bottle, popping it open without a word. He took a heavy swig, exhaling at the burn, before offering it down.

Arthur, still sprawled out like a mess, took the bottle with a shaky hand, lifting it toward Charles in a mock toast before tipping it back, coughing softly at the kick.

“Shit.” Arthur rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You know, you’re insane.”

Charles leaned down, brushing damp hair from Arthur’s forehead gently, voice low and warm. “And you’re trouble.” Arthur only scoffed subtly.

A moment passed, calm; but then Charles’s brow furrowed slightly.
“You alright? I… got carried away.” His voice dipped, almost apologetic.

Arthur huffed a breathless chuckle. “All good, big man.”

Morgan let out a deep as his head sank into the old mattress beneath him. His muscles twitched occasionally and his lips curled into a lazy grin. Charles sat next to him. The two of them were sticky, sweaty, covered in each other and bathed in the warm light of the dying crackling fire.

The blonde man lifted the bourbon bottle again, taking another shaky sip before groaning quietly as the burn hit his throat. “Shit,” he rasped, wiping his mouth “That goes down worse every time.”

Charles let out a soft breath of a laugh, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He was still breathing heavy, sweat making his skin glow. His cock, finally softened, rested lightly against his thigh, glistening with their combined mess. His gaze slid lazily down Arthur’s sprawled, wrecked body. The creamy mess leaking out from Arthur’s ass still slid slowly onto the ruined sheets beneath him, making Charles swallow hard at the sight.

Arthur caught the way Charles was looking at him and snorted breathlessly, voice dipping into a low tease. “You starin’ again.”

Charles licked his lips and sat back up straighter, trying to compose himself, though his pupils were still blown wide, drunk on bourbon, and Arthur Morgan.

“We should stop drinkin’ for now.” Smith finally said. His hand gestured toward the half-empty bottle. “This night at least.”

Arthur huffed out a weak laugh, letting the bottle rest on his chest. “...Might be smart.” He let his eyes flutter closed for a second, chest still rising and falling slowly. “Much more of this and I’ll be dead by mornin’.”

The afro-descent  let his hand drift lazily across Arthur’s chest. His voice softened into a low murmur again. “You alright?”

Blondie peeked one eye open at him, still grinning like a bastard. “I told ya, big man. All good.” He chuckled faintly, voice rough. “Wrecked, sure. Sticky as hell.” His voice dipped teasingly. “Specially my ass.”

Charles chuckled low, shaking his head as he gently dragged his fingers lower, across Arthur’s stomach, tracing his navel, then further down toward where the sticky liquid laid. Arthur just pressed his lips together at that.

“Might need a goddamn bath after this one.” Arthur murmured. Lightly flushed at the sensation.

“Mhm…” Charles hummed, still watching him like he was the finest thing he’d ever seen. His thumb brushed gently near Arthur’s thigh, feeling the damp heat still leaking between his legs. “Could clean you up… but then I might just get started again.”

Arthur let out a weak laugh “Christ. You’re dangerous, partner.”

“Might be.”

Arthur’s smirk softened just a bit at that. He yawned after a second. The native's voice dropped again, this time serious, but still rough. “I ain’t never-” He stopped for a moment, exhaling slow, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to gather his words through the fog of the alcohol and his own mind.

Arthur peeked at him again, curiosity in his heavy-lidded eyes. “Ain’t never what?”

Charles swallowed, his throat working. “Ain’t never wanted someone like this before.” His voice stayed low, steady, like he was almost afraid to say it too loud but the thought wandered so much in his mind that he had to say it. And he was sure.

Arthur stared at him, his lazy smirk twitching smaller, replaced by something deeper, unreadable. His stomach flipped, but not from the booze this time.

Soon, the blond man made a gesture with his free hand. Not dismissive, but disparaging. As if he didn't trust what his friend was saying. "Oh, you're drunk..." And that tone of voice, somewhere between mocking and fatalistic, that the (also somewhat drunk) Arthur used... He didn't even look at the man next to him. "That's it. Drunk. Drunk as three bums in a saloon."

"And you're in the same state, and that's how you almost reason." Smith sounded somewhat annoyed, offended not only by the response given but by his friend's fatalistic and self-sabotaging tint.

Arthur slid a breathy laughter between his teeth.

He sat there, leaning forward, arms resting on his knees, shoulders still glistening under the firelight. His brow furrowed slightly, lips pressing into a kind-off sceptic smile. Smith only admired, saw the curve of him on the bed, the lazy sprawl, the cocky mouth that kept saying nothing.

The native exhaled once, slow through his nose. “I am drunk,” he said flatly. “But that don’t mean I’m lyin’.”

Blondie didn’t reply. Just blinked up at the ceiling, fingers still absently tracing the bourbon bottle resting on his belly. His mouth opened like he might say something, but nothing came.

Charles leaned back, resting against the wall, letting his head tip back slightly. “I don’t... do this kinda thing with just anyone, Arthur.” Smith looked around then at his dear friend again. “Not even when I’m three bottles deep.”

Arthur finally looked at him then. Long.  The native-descendant went on: “If you want, go ahead and drink for the rest of the night. I won’t take another drop.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow, that crooked little smirk still tugging at his lips.

“What’re you playin’ at, big man?”

“Trust is real important to me.”

“This ain’t about belief.”

“Oh, it sure is.”

Now Charles was smiling again. Just slightly.

Arthur stayed close now, side slightly pressed against Charles’s, still cradling the bourbon like it was precious. He took another lazy sip, let it burn all the way down, then exhaled sharp through his nose.

Charles didn’t move at first, his hands resting loosely on the mattress and his stomach.

Arthur spoke. “Still not drinkin’, huh?”

“Nope.”

Arthur huffed a little, still watching the firelight flicker in front of them. “Doin’ that for me?”

Charles shrugged once. “Doin’ it for what I want.”

That made Arthur glance at him again, just briefly, but long enough for something to flash behind those tired eyes.

Then, Arthur leaned further, letting his head tip against Charles’s shoulder. Smith didn’t say anything about it. He let his arm drape behind Arthur’s back on the mattress, loose. Arthur took another swig. “...Hard.”

Charles blinked down at him. “What?”

Arthur’s lips curled in a lazy smirk. “You’re hard.”

And sure enough; The afro-descent cock was half-hard again, resting thick between his thighs, twitching back to life just from Arthur being Arthur. He didn’t reply, just swallowed. Morgan turned his head slightly, cheek still resting on Smith’s shoulder, and muttered like it was a secret: “You want it again?”

Silence. Then Charles’s voice, low and reverent: “I always want you.”

Arthur didn’t respond to that, at least not in words. He climbed into Charles’s lap without warning, one knee on either side, cock brushing against Smith’s chest. He set the bottle down. His hands pressed to Charles’s shoulders, steadying himself. No smile now. Just watching him. Jaw tight. Eyes a little hazy, a little hungry.

Charles reached for his thighs, held him firm, like something sacred. “Arthur…”

“I know what I’m doin’,” Arthur muttered, voice thick and low. “You’re the one bein’ careful, big man.”

Then, slow as hell, he lined himself up and sank down onto Charles’s cock again. Both of them let out raw, sharp breaths, Arthur gripping Smith’s shoulders hard as he took every inch. His mouth parted, his whole body trembling just slightly at the stretch. Still slick, warm and dripping with the mess of before.

“Shit…” Arthur exhaled, forehead dropping to Charles’. “Still fills me up too good…”

Charles could barely breathe. Could barely move. He was buried deep again, his hands sliding up Arthur’s back, pulling him in closer now finally letting himself hold him. “You sure?” he whispered, voice as rough as wet sugar.

Arthur looked at him from under heavy lashes. “I’m the one who climbed on, didn’t I?”

And he rode him. Slow this time with just the wet sound of skin on skin, the low crackle of the fire, and the breathy, filthy noises falling from Arthur’s mouth as he worked his hips in lazy circles. Charles groaned from his throat as Arthur smirked, whispering dirty sounds back, enough to make Smith twitch inside him. “Mm… still fit so sweet,” Arthur breathed against his ear, grinding down, slow and heavy, the curve of his ass meeting Charles’s thighs with a slap. His breath smelled heavy due to the mix of moonshine, whiskey and bourbon “Made for me, ain’t it?”

Smith's head tipped back against the wall, jaw slack, eyes fluttering. “Christ, Arthur…”

Arthur braced himself with his hands on Charles’s shoulders again, the muscles under his palms twitching as he moved, up, slow, slow, letting that cock drag all the way out till just the head stretched him, then dropped down again, hard and wet, gasping when he bottomed out. “F.. fuck…” he moaned, voice cracking.

Charles’s hands found his hips, gripping tighter, helping guide the movement now. Not taking over, messy, insatiable. Arthur licked his lips, breath stuttering as he rolled his hips again, sloppier now, bouncing in slow rhythm, the clap of their bodies echoing off in the sad excuse of a cabin.

Charles dug his fingertips into Arthur’s flesh like he was trying to leave permanent marks. The native’s hips snapped once, involuntary, and Arthur cried out, low, hands gripping tighter at his shoulders.

“You’re gonna make me…” Charles warned, voice tight.

Arthur panted, pressing his lips together after that. “You hold it. Jus’ a lil’ longer…”

Blondie rode him faster now, sweat dripping from his neck and hairline, ass slapping down over and over. Charles watched him with a reverent hunger, eyes locked on the way Arthur’s manly, flushed face twisted with pleasure.

“Look at you…” Smith's voice came out gravelly. “So goddamn pretty, Arthur…”

Arthur’s eyes fluttered half-shut at that, body arching slightly, the praise hitting him just right this time. His cock bounced between them, hard again, leaking, untouched.

Charles reached for it with one hand, but Arthur caught his wrist.

“No no no don’t touch me yet,” He spoke like he was in a hurry. “Wanna… wanna cum just from this… . ”

Obedient like a man starved, the native pulled the blonde man closer with both hands again, burying his face in his neck as he thrust up just slightly now, matching Arthur’s rhythm.

Arthur whined softly, that low, too-manly-to-beg sound he made when he was falling apart. Their bodies slicked together, moving in sync. Arthur’s thighs trembled as he ground down again and again, his orgasm building slow and hard in the pit of his belly. When it hit, it did so without a hand , just that cock buried deep and moving inside him. Arthur’s whole body jerked, a broken cry ripping from his throat as his cock twitched and spilled between them, shooting hot over Charles’s chest and stomach.

The afro-descent wrapped his arms tight around Morgan's waist, pulled him in, and began fucking up into him deep, hard, like he was finally letting himself have it. Arthur let himself collapse, head in Charles’s neck, letting Smith use his body with pleasure. Arthur muttered something incoherent against Charles’s shoulder.

When Charles came again, it was quiet. Almost reverent. Blondie’s head buried in his neck. The native's hands gripping his waist, trembling to the last drop. Both of them whispering things too soft to really hear.

Arthur stayed on him, trying to relax his breathing and body, still pressed on Charles.

The fire was nearly dead.
Just soft orange embers cracking low, shadows licking the walls like ghosts. Arthur hadn’t moved much. Still perched across Charles’s lap, though he’d slumped forward now, cheek pressed to Smith’s shoulder, a satisfied sigh rattling out from his nose. His body twitched a little, hips giving lazy, instinctual rolls, like his cock still hadn’t figured out they were finished.

Charles hummed, deep in his chest. “You tryin’ again?”

Arthur shifted, rubbed his cock against Charles’s stomach as he moved a little more deliberately now, breath hitching. “Maybe…” he drawled, words sticky-slow with drink. “Feels good still.”

Charles’s hands slid up Arthur’s sides, lazy, open-palmed. “You’re insatiable.”

“Pot meet kettle.” Arthur smirked, worn down. His hips rolled again, but softer now, more suggestion than rhythm. His cock pulsed weakly against Charles’s belly, still slick. Below, Smith’s was twitching again too. Arthur lifted his head, forehead pressed to Charles’s, their noses nearly brushing. “Think we got another in us, big man?”

Charles exhaled sharply through his nose, a breath that almost became a laugh. “I’d try, if you keep doin’ that.”

Blondie licked his lips. “Yeah? Thought you said you were done drinkin’.”

“I am.” Smith let out a murmur, “Never said I was done with you.”

That made Arthur groan and grind down again, not with strength but with weight like he needed Charles to feel it. His friend hissed in response, his cock swelling half-hard again beneath Arthur, pressing up slow, snug, so warm it was dizzying.

Arthur tried. He lined himself up again, already open, already sore, already perfect for it, and began to sink down, panting. But the stretch hit him different this time. Too slow. Too much. He wobbled a little, winced.

Charles noticed immediately. “Hey,” His hands were on Arthur’s hips, anchoring him gently now. “You alright?”

Arthur blinked hard, then let out a short, hoarse laugh. “Dunno. Just... tired.” 

Smith smiled at that just a bit. “Then rest.”

Arthur exhaled, a bit embarrassed, but didn’t argue. He slumped forward, burying his face into Charles’s neck again, arms weakly wrapping around him. “Felt good just tryin’…”

Charles wrapped him up again, warm and solid. “Next time.”

“Mmh. Next time.” Arthur’s words were mumbled against skin. “‘M gettin’ old…”

“Don't say that.”

After a quiet minute, Charles shifted gently, and so did Arthur off his lap and laying down slowly, spread out on the mattress like a man thoroughly undone, sticky thighs parted, his whole body buzzing.

Charles stood up and muttered something half-sworn under his breath and bent to throw on a shirt, mostly for the sake of the cold. He added more wood to the fire with practiced ease, checked the corners of the cabin, peeked once out the boarded-up window to be sure no angry folks were circling back for revenge. All quiet.

He came back to bed, Arthur barely moved, eyes lidded, cheek pressed to his own arm. Charles laid beside him, one hand reaching instinctively to brush a curl of sweat-damp hair off Arthur’s brow, and he kinda regretted it. Finally, the native stretched in that small, old bed and laid down next to Morgan, pulling him closer so they both fit in the mattress, maybe.

…

Daylight slipped in through the cracks of the window, patched up with cloth and wooden boards. Dim, but promising, it made the room feel warmer somehow. The fire had already burned itself out.
Sunlight streaked across the bodies of the two men on that poor excuse for a bed that had somehow survived the night.

Surprisingly, Arthur was the first to open his eyes. And even though he could feel his corneas and skull vibrating beneath his skin, he didn’t close them again. It hurt like hell, and the whole place reeked of alcohol, which didn’t help. The bottle of bourbon from last night still lay next to the bed.

Morgan groaned and, with effort, managed to half sit up.
He stayed still for a few seconds, head rigid on the axis of his shoulders. He knew Charles was next to him. He touched his own forehead. Guess I didn’t forget it, he thought, and he didn’t know whether that was a bad thing. Or a good one.

Finally, he looked over at his friend beside him, sleeping, maybe not deeply, but exhausted, like him. Judging by the angle of the light slipping in, it had to be midday. Maybe even afternoon. He sighed again, like he had a thousand times in his life.
Dutch was probably wondering where the hell they were, and what the hell happened to that supposedly quick, in-and-out mission.

His head replayed yesterday. The robbery -almost successful- the getaway, how his stubbornness made them flee with witnesses. The wagon, abandoned a few miles from the godforsaken cabin they were in.
He wondered if it was still there. Or if someone had already taken it back where it belonged.

Then his thoughts went back to the night.
The near fist-fight. The rough, unexpected kiss. The firewood. The drink. And what followed after…
He blushed as he frowned, rubbing the bridge of his nose again like he was trying to pull the memories out of his head and drop them onto the mattress.

He groaned. It didn’t really bother him that he’d been with a man. Wasn’t his first time, not before Mary, and maybe not even after. An outlaw’s life came with its own pleasures and sins.

What did bother him was that it had been Charles. His friend. Maybe the best one he had.
Dear Charles; hunting partner, campfire companion.
Smith, quiet, who broke his stoic front only around the blonde.
Morgan sighed again, his breath rough in his throat. Was he really that special?

Arthur lay there afterward, chest still heaving, staring up at the rotting beams of the cabin ceiling. The silence was there to emphasize not only the fact that Arthur was awake, but also that Charles hadn't yet woken up. And this made him more and more anxious.

His head was buzzing from liquor and heat, but what rattled him more was the silence pressing between them. He’d been in plenty of beds, in plenty of situations; and yet this this was different. 

“Too close.”

The deep, rough, and yet velvety voice of the native made the blond man not bother to turn around to confirm the obvious; that Charles was awake. Even though his heart was racing, and the little twitch of the hand resting in his own messy, light hair after the poor night’s sleep on that small bed gave him away a little. Almost, maybe.

Morgan muttered, staring at the window poorly boarded up with wood. The light leaked through the cracks. “It’s a damn tiny bed.”

“True.”

An elephant in a shoebox. That’s how the blue-eyed cowboy felt. Damn it, what was he supposed to say? And if he said it, how? Why?

“Arthur,” called the dark-skinned man. His long, inky-black hair tried to be tamed by his right hand as he barely sat up, almost not at all. “It must be noon already, don’t you think-”

“Gimme a second. Charles, for Christ’s sake.” Arthur muttered, sharper than he meant, rubbing at his jaw and nose. He then reached for his boots, still with his body on the mattress  and without leaving the sad excuse for a bed in which both men were, stretching out his hand, tugging them closer with a grunt. The leather brushed against his fingertips, seemingly refusing to be grasped, but Morgan continued. Anything to keep busy. Anything to not look at him. “Hell, I know what time it is."

“I meant for us to eat something,” Charles said finally, low and even, like he’d been reading the tension in Arthur’s shoulders. “Not run off.”

Arthur froze. His fingers hovered uselessly over the boots, then dropped, retreating to his lap. He huffed through his nose like he just made a fool of himself, the sound halfway between a laugh and a growl. “Coulda said that.”

Charles’s lips twitched, almost a smile but not quite. “I just did.” He leaned back against the headboard again, dark hair falling across his face, his hand resting loose on the sheet like he had nowhere better to be.

Arthur scrubbed a hand down his jaw, scowling at the floorboards. He could feel Charles’s gaze on him; steady, unhurried, patient in a way that made his skin crawl and settle at the same time. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

Blondie waved a hand vaguely, frustrated with the words that wouldn’t come.

“Like I know somethin’ you don’t,” Arthur muttered finally, voice raspy like he was ashamed of his own true colors.

Charles leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, gaze sharp but calm. “Maybe I do.” he said. His hands were still loose on the sheet, but his words carried weight, deliberate. "You say it, before you decide to run off again.”

Arthur frowned, but didn’t answer. His fingers dug into the mattress, tracing the frayed threads like it’d distract him from the truth lingering between them.

“Y'think this,” Morgan said slowly, lazy, almost like weighing each word, “this thing… whatever it is… it’s gonna change things?”

“Doesn’t gotta."

Arthur’s hands stilled, hovering over the mattress as his mind drifted. Mary… he hadn’t thought of her in a while, not like this. The memory of her laugh, the way she looked at him, that fleeting warmth, they felt so far away now, tangled up in smoke, gunpowder, and dust. He’d been running from that too, pretending it didn’t matter, burying it under whiskey and work for the gang.

And the gang; Dutch, Hosea, all of them. The weight of promises, of loyalty, of endless chaos that never stopped gnawing at him. He’d left trails behind him, abandoned decisions, half-heartedly followed through, always something more pressing, more dangerous and permanent.

Charles’s voice cut through the haze, steady as the dawn seeping through the window cracks. “You don’t have to go anywhere just yet.”

Morgan just shook his head, as if he found it funny, and at the same time, as if he didn’t understand what he was hearing, without looking at the native-descendant.

“Never thought I coulda felt sweet for another feller.” His tone sounded bitter, but not out of hate; rather, from that slow realization forming in the blue-eyed cowboy’s chest. The sentence left his mouth in an oily way.

"I don't care." The native's dark hair fell gracefully over his shoulders as he spoke, like river water along a mountainside, and Arthur could see him out of the corner of his eye sitting in his place on that bed. "No one shoul' care that you fancy another feller. And no one should care that I feel sweet on you."

"You feel sweet on me." The question wasn't so much a question as a hesitant statement from Morgan. He looked at Smith from the bed beside him with an incredulous but also somewhat sad, sardonic smile. Out of the corner of his eye, almost straight ahead, but not completely.

"That I do."

Arthur looked at his face for a moment, and then turned to look where he had been looking before, straight ahead somewhere in the room. “Guess there’s nothin’ to do with that.”

Smith shook his head, amused. He was still watching the blond. "We can dissapear any folk that gets our nerves if we feel like it."

"Kill 'em."

"Arthur."

"What?"

Smith sighed amused again. "In camp... I don't think anyone cares either. Maybe Micah or Bill but" the native-descendant gestured with his head contemptuously "ain't no account."

Arthur scoffed but Charles didn't took it badly. "...The stagecoach. Will it still be there?"

"Guess we gotta check out."

"Guess."

The cabin was silent and outside, next to the sun, the trees moved with the cool and warm breeze of the afternoon that had barely stopped being noon. 

Charles moved his body closer to the blond, but only slightly, on that bed. Their bare knees barely brushed against each other between the sheets that were almost rags by now. His dark gaze searched for Morgan’s, clumsily finding it beneath a few strands of light hair that fell between them and the other cowboy’s forehead. "You and me, reckon we got a thing?"

The question, spoken in a firm but calm voice from the dark-skinned man’s mouth, made the blue-eyed cowboy stop and stare at him.

“Do we?” Morgan thought.

He also thought of the gang. Of course, he cared what they might think. The whispers, Micah’s likely jokes, Tilly’s curious questions, John’s gaze. But what made them any different? They were all outcasts. Maybe they would understand. Mary-Beth, romantic as always, John with his thick head, Hosea and Dutch, the rest, maybe they will understand.

And Mary Linton, the figure of the woman he once knew how to love, and she him, looked like black smoke on a meadow. He let out a soft sarcastic, almost imperceptible snort through his nose. When was the last time a letter from her wasn’t a reproach? When was the last time they saw each other, loved each other without that invisible barrier that crushed them? And his beloved “daddy”…

Arthur focused his gaze on the man in front of him. His ebony skin tinged by the sun streaming through the dusty wood, rags, and tacks of the window.

Charles was a good man. Grounded. With that talent for bow, herbs, a hunter with principles, and a hard, deep gaze that only softened at Morgan. And if God existed, damn, the way he said his name; velvety, wrapped in a fancy box smelling of coca and vanilla flowers like those Arthur found along the Bayou’s banks.

Morgan also looked at Charles’ hair, falling over his well-shaped shoulders, and those arms that held him in an embrace, hands that could pat him firmly, yet gently.

And in a way that was both determined and shy, his droopy blue eyes still fixed on his companion, Arthur let out a laugh through his nose and tilted his head just so. “Guess we got ourselves somethin’..."

Another laugh slipped from Smith’s nose, quieter than his companion. He shook his head, but it came off more like a strange sort of nod, looking down with a smile on his full lips, his deep eyes looking softer.

The wind whispered through the gaps in the cabin. Charles put a hand over Morgan's lightly, and When he realized he wasn't being rejected, he deliberately embraced the blonde’s fully, looking at both sets of fingers. His calloused fingers caressed Blondie's hand, which was also rough. 

“We gotta had back." Arthur spoke, feeling the warmth of his companion’s hand, trying to hide his gaze. “I don’t think Dutch’s happy waiting now.”

Charles just nodded, feigning disinterest. “Gotta check the stagecoach too.”

At the native’s visible nonchalance, Arthur scoffed again. “You think it’s still there?”

The two cowboys exchanged amused glances, as if they already had another mission as an excuse to stick together through the day. Smith raised an eyebrow, kinda amused.

“Maybe.”

And the blond smiled one last time. “Gotta check out, partner.”