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Arthur Morgan's not afraid of much. The things he is afraid of are just common fears: getting bit by a venomous snake a long way from help, falling through an icy lake and getting trapped, getting in Missus Grimshaw's way when she's in a Mood… Things any sane man would be wary of.
But lately he's finding he's more than a little jumpy for reasons so much more nerve wracking than a snake. He wishes it were a fuckin' snake. Because try as he might, it's not any kind of creature Arthur can kill.
It's a crush.
Arthur feels like a fuckin' schoolgirl, but it's inescapable. He's tried everything he can think of, but it just feeds back into thinkin' about it and nothing gets solved, just amplified.
"Hey," says a voice.
Arthur nearly peels out of his skin. "What?!"
"Oooh," John smirks. "Nervous, ain'tcha? Did I scare you?"
"Fuck off."
"I did," John crows, clearly proud of himself.
"Why, 'cause I told you to fuck off? If I had a nickel for every time I was sick of looking at your ugly mug, I'd be rich enough to make you fuck off, y'know?"
John's smirk turns to a scowl. "God, you're touchy when you're scared. Dutch was looking for you." He turns on his heel and marches away, finally.
Dutch isn't hard to find.
"Ahh, Arthur, good. I have something for you."
"Yeah?"
"You know Hosea's off with Bill working on something?"
Arthur nods.
"And you heard the commotion last night, the rich fella Tilly met in town?"
"She said he was a greedy bastard, more money than brains. Seems like a good mark."
Dutch nods. "Great mark. So here's what I need from you."
Arthur is prepared to be told to go rob this man, to tail him into some dark alley or burst in on him with a drawn weapon, maybe even hurt him a little, if it comes to that. He's not prepared for Dutch's next sentence.
"You're going to run one of Hosea's little cons."
Arthur would have done a spit take if he'd had anything in his mouth. "Wha-?"
"Yeah, you know, the Skagway Shuffle, the Apple Pie, all those tricks he's got silly little names for."
"No, I understood you, Dutch, I just don't know why you're sending me on this."
"Why, you're the best I got, Arthur. You've been on these gambits with Hosea since as long as you've been with us. If anyone can do it, it'll be you, son."
"No Dutch, it'd be you. Come on, can't we just rob the man, nice and easy? No need to mentally torture him first. Nor me."
"Arthur," Dutch says. Just his name, with a little emphasis on the 'ar,' that way that lets Arthur know Dutch ain't in the mood for an argument.
"Yeah. Yeah, fine. But when it all goes tits up and I get made and have to shoot my way out, you're paying down my bounty."
"And take the new fella. He seems sensible enough."
Arthur feels his pulse quicken and he desperately fights the rise of heat in his face. "Who, Charles? Yeah, I suppose he does, but we barely know him, Dutch."
"Fine, take John then."
"I'll take Charles," Arthur says quickly.
They ride into town late that night and Arthur gets them a room above the saloon. The proprietor gives them an odd look, but doesn't say anything as he hands over the single key.
"So, what exactly are we doing here?" Charles asks once they're alone.
Arthur isn't sure he's got a straight answer for that question. He's also not thrilled that he said one room and not two. All the jumpiness and pent up anxiety have no outlet here.
"Well, tomorrow we find the guy and then… I dunno yet. Dutch didn't give me an abundance of direction, you see. Some kind of con game."
Charles nods. "Okay. I get the idea there, but… I've never run a con before."
"You want the truth? I ain't either. I'm usually just helping Hosea out."
"So we learn together," Charles says. He sounds confident, calm, and capable.
And Arthur can barely hear him over the flapping of the butterflies in his gut. "Yeah, I guess we will. Uh. Do you wanna take the bed and I'll just take the floor?"
"If you want. I don't mind the floor either. Or…" he trails off.
"Floor's good," Arthur says, not allowing his mind to fill in what Charles didn't suggest.
"All right. Good night, then."
"'Night."
The man wasn't hard to find; he was just down the stairs, flaunting his wealth and talking loudly for anyone to hear. Their first task turns out to be nothing harder than lingering in the saloon and listening. It's easy, ridiculously so, to listen to the idiot talk on about where he's staying and what his interests are. Every word made their job of robbing him blind that much easier.
Arthur sits across from Charles at a small table, each sipping a drink and feigning a fascinating conversation.
Charles raises his beer bottle to his lips and takes a long, slow drink. Arthur tries desperately not to watch (and fails), eyes flicking between Charles' strong fingers around the neck of the bottle and his Adam's apple moving as he swallows.
"Huh," he murmurs. "Did you catch all that?"
Arthur couldn't have caught a runaway freight train if he was standing in the tracks. "No," he says. No sense in lying.
Charles doesn't needle him or anything, just inclines his head and fills him in. "Our man likes music. A lot."
"We could use that," Arthur says, suddenly recalling something Hosea had taught him long ago…
First thing's first, they need an instrument which is not as easy to buy as a box of bullets or a can of peaches.
"Harmonica doesn't count," Arthur says. He's seen and heard Charles play one before, but it's not flashy enough for this kind of job, even if Arthur likes all the mournful tunes Charles can play.
"I was thinking, what, a violin or something? A piano would be good, but we'd die lugging it around."
"Violin would be perfect. Just need to find one. That could be tricky."
But anything's possible if you don't mind getting your hands dirty. Arthur's hands have been dirty for decades. He knows just the kind of greasy-looking snake to approach, the right questions to ask. He stupidly hopes Charles doesn't think less of him, but that ship's probably sailed long, long ago.
Finally, Jimmy introduces them to Christopher, who's cousin, Jeb, has a violin he can sell them.
Arthur holds the thing in his hand, wishing he paid a bit more attention to Hosea last time he had one of these things. He has no idea what he's holding.
"It's genuine wood," Jeb insists.
Before Arthur can fathom another question, Charles takes it from him. He holds it in his hands carefully, as if it were the priceless piece there about to make it out to be. He turns it over, runs his fingers along the wood, looks like he's musing on it for a good long time.
"Okay," he says finally. "We'll give you ten bucks for it."
"You're gonna be fine at this, Charles," Arthur says, while they're walking away from Jeb. "Good acting back there."
"Thanks."
"Is it worth ten, you figure?"
"Hell if I know, but we need it, right?"
It's getting late, so they return to the hotel.
"I think, if we're here, I'm going to take a bath," Charles declares. He sets the violin down on the bed and sheds his jacket. "That okay?"
"Sure," Arthur says, his throat suddenly dry.
"And you take the bed tonight. S'only fair."
"Yeah, okay."
Charles steps out of the room and Arthur puts his face in his hands. Charles said 'bath' and Arthur's mind just ran with it. But he can't and he shouldn't and Charles is only nice to him because he's a nice guy, not for any ulterior reason.
He goes down to the saloon for a drink to clear his head, or at least muddle up his thoughts so he's not picturing what he's imagining is going on upstairs. But while he's down there, Arthur runs into a cattle rancher with wide, steady hands just like Charles's and the whole exercise is moot because his thoughts start racing away from him anyways. Arthur slings back his drink and heads for bed.
Back upstairs, whisky burning in his stomach, Arthur runs into Charles in the hallway. Fluffy towel slung low over his hips and carrying his dusty clothes, wet hair tied in a neat braid, Charles looks like a mythic figure, a god on a mountain somewhere.
"Hey Arthur," says the god to the mortal, like they're somehow on the same plane.
Arthur has to mentally slap himself so he doesn't say something stupid. Instead, he says nothing at all, just smiles. Like that doesn't make him look immensely stupider.
"Early morning tomorrow, I guess," Charles continues.
"Sure." Arthur thinks looking Charles in the eye will be better than, y'know, staring at his chest, or the jagged scar sweeping across his ribs, or the trail of dark hair leading somewhere under the towel. It's not.
Charles's eyes are deep, dark, and mysterious, and now, when Arthur meets them, there's a smile there. Arthur wants… well, he just wants.
He slinks into their room without voicing any wants. Charles follows close behind.
"You think this is gonna go well?" Charles asks. He sounds a bit hesitant and of course Arthur feels the hesitancy. But he obviously can't tell Charles that.
"We're gonna be fine. We've done the research, we got the right story."
"And he's gonna fall for it?"
"Sure. Rich men are all greedy. S'how they got rich. He won't see past his greed to what we're doing. I bet he won't even look twice at you."
Arthur can imagine it now, knowing how most people see Charles. It baffles him, frankly, how people don't stare more, but people are fickle and presumptuous, thinking whatever hateful things they're going to think instead of actually seeing.
Charles hums, nodding. "You're right," he says. Arthur doesn't preen, but he does turn towards the bed and make a big show of yawning and stretching.
"G'night Arthur," Charles says. Arthur hears the rustling of movement behind him and a gentle whump. Something soft, like Charles's towel, hitting something wooden, like the floor.
Arthur all but dives into the bed to hide his face.
The pillow smells like Charles, so even a deep breath to steady himself is off the table. Luckily, there's no more obvious reminders that Charles is naked and four feet away before Arthur manages to fall asleep.
The next morning, the game is afoot.
Charles dresses in some old dusty work clothes they dug up. The jeans are a bit small, hugging his ass in a way Arthur resolutely decides not to notice, but they look shabby as all hell and it's perfect. He ties his hair up before slipping on a cap. Without his lovely hair cascading down his back, he just looks… different. But that's the idea, Arthur reminds himself.
"Ready?"
Arthur looks him up and down. He tugs on his own jacket so it sits straighter on his shoulders. "I think we are, yeah. Remember, if it goes south... "
"We'll regroup at camp. It's gonna be fine," Charles assures him. "We've got it."
The plan is a classic con, one Hosea taught him when he was probably only fifteen or sixteen years old. It's called a 'fiddle game,' and it's going to involve a little acting on Charles's part, some 'oh poor me,' and then they wait for the mark, the rich businessman, to be a slimy, greedy prick. Arthur will be there to help it along and to be backup in case something goes wrong. As long as Charles doesn't give himself away, it'll be the perfect play.
"Good luck," Arthur says.
Charles gives him a genuine smile before he leaves. "Yeah, thanks. You too."
Arthur waits a few minutes, maybe ten or twelve, before following him to the other bar in town. The mark is already there, holding court at a central table with a few men and just enough women to make trouble. Arthur's not fond of that -- women, especially pretty ones, are an element he didn't consider. They can be very distracting.
He takes a seat where he can watch Charles from the corner of his eye without looking obvious, and watch the mark . He orders a bourbon and sips it slowly. Charles is doing just fine, as the first part of the con just consists of eating a meal he 'can't afford.' The violin is tucked up near his feet on the floor, innocuous as anything.
Arthur's a bit unfocused, mind drifting to later, when the con's over, and he and Charles can relax for a minute and celebrate a job well done. Maybe Charles will be excited and grinning, and he'll take Arthur by the arm and give him a hearty pat on the back. Maybe, more likely, he'll be collected and calm, but in Arthur's mind, he's still smiling.
"No, no, no," says the barman, volume a bit louder than it ought to be, pricking Arthur's ears. "I've seen tricks like this before; sure, I bet it was your grandfather's. 'You're a musician,' my ass, you're trying to fleece me!"
Arthur doesn't move for his pistol, though his palm is itching to hold it. Instead, he waits for Charles to make a move he can follow.
"What'll it take to convince you?" Charles says. "Need me to play for you?"
Arthur tenses in his seat. That was the dumbest thing he could have offered, because now they have to back up the lie with action. Going to be a very different action than the barman's expecting.
"Yes," the man says. "Lemme see this violin, then you're gonna play."
Charles agrees and moves the instrument up to the table. Arthur just prays he's got his sawed off in the violin case. At least they've got the mark's attention. In fact, all eyes are on Charles now.
He pulls out the violin (made of real wood!) and turns it in his hands, showing it off. "See?" he says.
The barman grimaces.
"Fine," Charles says. He raises the violin, Arthur assumes to hit the man with and start the fracas, but instead he tucks one end under his chin and fishes the stick part from the case.
God, he's committed, Arthur thinks. And then, shit, is this my cue to do somethin' violent?
And then, before Arthur can commit violence or even rise from his seat, Charles starts to play.
Arthur starts to wince but instead of screeching demonic noise, actual, honest to God music comes out of the violin. He doesn't think he's ever heard proper violin music before, maybe just some rasping facsimile from Dutch's gramophone, but as the song spins out, soaring and sweet, Arthur can swear he feels something. Something besides his crush on Charles getting all the more serious, even.
Charles plays for an unknown length of time, maybe a minute, maybe an hour. Arthur takes a second and looks around, getting his marbles back enough to realize they're still on a job, and everyone, it seems, is enraptured just the same as him. From the suspicious barkeeper, to the mark and his crew, to the working girls in the back, peeking their heads through the swinging doors to see where the music's coming from. Apart from Charles's playing, there's no sounds in the saloon.
He finishes playing and sets the violin gently back in the case. "Satisfied?"
"Jesus Christ," Arthur murmurs to himself with feeling.
"Yes, fine," the man says, falling for the next step of the con perfectly. Not that he had a choice after that performance. Charles sold it beyond any reasonable expectation. And why hadn't he told Arthur he could play?
Nevermind that now, it's almost Arthur's turn to play his part.
"Can I see that violin?" he asks, once Charles is clear of the building.
The barman eyes him suspiciously.
"I know a thing or two," Arthur lies to him. "Yes, see, look here, she's in great shape, and oh. Oh my Lord. How much does the man owe you?"
"A couple bucks," the man says.
"This is a Nicholas Lupot," Arthur says, something Hosea taught him ages ago. "It's worth, my heavens, a few hundred. Where did he say he got it from?"
"His grandfather."
"A Frenchman, I suppose?"
"How would I know that? Is it really worth a lot of money?"
"A Lupot, you say?" another voice asks. It's the mark. Perfection. Arthur's heart feels as light as this guy's pockets are about to be.
"Gotta be, look at the markings here, and the curve of the lower bout. The f-holes are a dead giveaway, too."
"Yes, yes," the guy says, falling for Arthur's babble hook, line, and sinker.
"When the man returns, tell him I'll pay good money for this instrument. I'm staying with my cousin down at Red Barn, tell him to stop by," Arthur says, speaking loudly for everyone to hear. The barman might not be as honest as they need him to be, but surely someone in the place will say something if the barman tries anything funny before Charles comes back.
"I'll pay more," the mark says as Arthur leaves. Perfect fuckin' idiot.
He goes back to the saloon and packs up the horses so they can beat a hasty retreat the moment Charles is back.
Arthur doesn't have to wait and wonder for very long. Charles comes back, walking as nonchalantly as Arthur would expect, and hauls himself in Taima's saddle. He ditches the cap and let's his hair free, but of course, he can't ditch the tight jeans. Arthur spares a brief glance for Charles's powerful thighs before focusing on the space between his horse's ears.
"So?" he says, as they ride out.
Charles looks over at him and grins. It's exactly what Arthur had hoped it would be.
"Yeah?"
"Four hundred bucks. He was gonna give me three-fifty, but I managed a sad story about my dear old granddaddy and got the extra fifty." That's a hundred each and two for the gang. Not shabby at all.
"Goddamn," Arthur says, beaming at him. "You did good."
"We did good," Charles reminds him. "I woulda been lost without you."
Those words hit Arthur different, he's sure, than Charles intended them.
"Yeah," he says, his throat suddenly dry.
"It was a lot of fun," Charles adds. "I uh… Liked it. The gang is… busy. Loud. But just you and me. Well, we made a good team back there."
Arthur nods. "Yeah. We sure do. Did. So uh… You gonna tell me where you learned to play the violin?"
Charles clams up at the question, shrugging it off.
"Sorry," Arthur says belatedly. "Didn't mean to pry."
"My life's been… pretty complicated," Charles says some time later. "I picked up more than a few tricks to stay alive."
Arthur still has a million burning questions, but he doesn't want to piss Charles off. "I know the feeling. Hey, that violin wasn't actually worth any money, was it?"
"God no, piece of junk. Barely a kid's toy."
"You made it sound good," Arthur says before he can stop himself.
"Thanks. I uh. Thanks. I haven't played in a couple years. Since that piece came out, actually."
Arthur figures 'piece' is the music way to say 'song.' He doesn't know why it's not just called a song, but that's fancy academic folk for you.
"You should. Play more, I mean. If you want."
"I don't have a violin. And… that's not something I do any more."
"Sorry," Arthur says, because his words feel sad. Mournful.
"Don't be," Charles says, and Arthur can hear the forced cheeriness. "We did good today."
"Yeah," Arthur agrees.
They're a ways away from town when Arthur signals for a break.
"All good?" Charles asks him.
"Oh yeah," he says. "Gonna take a leak."
Charles chuckles and slides off Taima's back to do the same.
When he's done, he wipes his hands on his too-tight jeans. Arthur wonders if he's gonna keep them in rotation and wear them again or if he'll ditch them the first chance he gets. He imagines Charles peeling the denim off, down his legs, and kicking them to the side, and… nothing, nothing at all, because Arthur's not imagining things. Charles is stripping.
He's turned away from Arthur, but that doesn't mean much when he's literally getting naked. Arthur's brain stutters to a stop. He stares, openly, at the expanse of gorgeous skin suddenly revealed to him and the curve, that dangerous, delicious curve of Charles's ass.
"You okay?" Charles asks him, casting a glance over his shoulder.
"God!" Arthur snaps back to himself and turns away. "Sorry. Sorry, I…"
"Should have warned you," Charles says, seemingly unconcerned he just caught Arthur staring at his naked ass. "I wanted to change in case someone thinks they recognize me. And those jeans were pinching… everything."
"Yeah, I imagine," Arthur manages.
Charles chuckles. "You noticed?"
"Hard not to."
"I, uhh… Arthur?"
"Yeah?"
"You can turn around again, if you want."
"You're decent?"
"I've never been decent," Charles sighs. "But I put my dick away."
"Oh. Well." Arthur turns around and indeed, Charles is dressed again. Except he's wearing something else, an odd little smile, head and hips cocked, regarding Arthur with an expression Arthur doesn't know how to interpret.
"Caught you staring a few times now. At first, I thought you were keeping an eye on me, like maybe you didn't think I could handle this, but now, well. I'm not thinking that any more," he says, taking a step towards Arthur.
Arthur gets caught between getting defensive or playing dumb and ends up not saying much of anything. He chuckles weakly.
"Yeah, that's what I thought. It's okay. I don't mind."
"No? You don't mind some creep eyeing you up?"
"Now that I would mind. But you're not a creep. Not to me, anyway."
"What are you sayin', Charles?"
"Just… eye me anytime you want."
Arthur files that away for future reference.
Charles takes another step forward. "And uh. Do me a favour?"
Arthur bites his lip before he blurts out 'anything, I will do literally anything.' He nods instead.
"Don't tell anyone? About the violin stuff."
"Oh. No, 'course not."
"Thanks," Charles says. He's right in front of Arthur now. "I really owe you one."
"Nah, it's nothing," Arthur says, looking at his hands, picking at a hangnail.
"It ain't nothing." Charles speaks very slowly, carefully. "I really owe you."
Arthur glances up just in time to see Charles reaching for him, taking hold of his hands.
"Unless," Charles says, just as delicately. "Unless you just want to keep staring. That's fine by me."
"Oh," Arthur says. He feels stupid, but the light is dawning. "You mean…"
"You're following, are you?"
"I am."
Charles kisses him, careful and brief, drawing away until Arthur catches him by the front of his shirt and drags him back for a much more physical second kiss. Arthur could swoon, finally having confirmation that Charles is just as good a kisser as he fantasized.
It occurs to Arthur after an indeterminate amount of time that they're still in full view of the road.
"We should go," Arthur says, breaking away and feeling Charles's breath ghosting across his lips, driving him to distraction. He kisses him again, nipping at Charles's bottom lip.
Charles makes a little noise, a whimper almost, when Arthur pulls away for real. "Fuck. Yeah. You're right." He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and sighs. Arthur's not great at interpreting sighs, but maybe happy?
"So. We'll… continue this later?" Arthur says, hoping against hope.
"Sure." Charles nods emphatically.
Arthur doesn't punch the air, but it's a near thing.
He levers himself back onto his horse, watching Charles do the same and feeling a bit better about staring, even if this pair of jeans isn't quite so tight.
Charles looks over his shoulder and flashes him a grin. It's been a hectic few days, full of cons and tricks, and somehow Arthur feels like he's pulled off the best one of all.