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The gentle summer winds claw at your bare arms, the scent of a hazy meadow curling around you as you touch your paintbrush against the lightly tanned paper you brought out earlier. Watercolors are messy when you first start out, but the layers of greens, yellow ochres and azure blues are soon blending perfectly together into a landscape of Grizzlies West on the ides of July.
You rinse out your brush and make the water flow along the bottom of the painting, creating little stars of emerald and gold, thick bushes of grass and a few flecks of dandelions. Next to them, a shadow of a tree and spots of flickering sunlight.
The end of your painting session quickly approaches when you hear footsteps behind you, boots crushing the tall grass at the edge of the clearing. You turn towards the sound and a smile curls in the corner of your mouth when you realize it's Arthur, sweat-covered and smelling like horses.
"You should take up paintin' real people," he grins at you as he finally reaches the patch of shadow you're sitting in, knocking off his hat with one hand and wiping off the sweat from his brow with his forearm. "Ya know, I once knew a painter. He was one really strange fella."
"Was he the man who painted every lady and their mother in Saint Denis?" You giggle and offer him your canteen. Arthur loudly gulps down mouthfuls of water, and he's so hasty that some of the droplets escape and run through his beard and down his neck.
"And their husband, too. Naked as the day they was born," he collapses next to you in the grass, mindful of the blanket you brought out to sit on. The smell of horses and leather is even stronger but you don't mind. It's a smell of home, of Arthur, of the life you'd built together.
You lean down to him to press a gentle peck on his cheek and then his lips, but he stops you when you try to lean away. He pulls you into a full, sweet kiss that leaves you breathless.
"Did the others leave?" you ask him quietly, your forehead still pressed to his.
"Yeah. The barn is almost done, and in a few days the fence is gonna stand too." He's proud when your gaze meets his. A stable built by his own hand and a few friends'. Another dream turned reality.
You pick out a stray blade of grass from his hair.
"And the horses?"
"Grazin' down at the valley," Arthur sits up and you pull back to give him some room. He stands up, dusting off his pants—not that it would have any effect—and he reaches for your hand. "C'mon darlin', wash up with me. This heat's makin' me sweat like a sinner in church."
You let him pull you up and then you turn to him to tangle your hands into the buttons on his already half-open shirt. Arthur watches your fingers, the path your palm takes when the shirt falls open. Undressing him is strangely intimate, even more than seeing him completely bare. It reminds you of the days when he was still unwell, when his chest didn't rise and fell in the easy rhythm it does now. You cared for him then, made sure every day started with a morning you spent together. You made sure he was still alive.
Arthur gently grabs your hands when you stare at his chest for too long, lost in your own mind, the memories and the bitter taste in your mouth dissolving as he makes you look up at him, azure blue eyes happy and alive .
"We don't have all day," he murmurs and kisses your fingers, and then finishes undressing, now without your help. "I'm still smellin' like horseshit."
Your smile returns at that and you kick your shoes down. Arthur comes behind you, already a step ahead you as he reaches for the buttons on the back of your dress, quickly undoing them and pushing the material off of your shoulders.
Your bloomers and stockings follow and you giggle when he tickles your side and slides a palm over to your front. The backs of his fingers gently brush over your stomach, a knowing softness in his touch and you suddenly almost want to cry. When you look down it doesn't seem like much, barely a little bump, but—Christ, it's more real with every passing day. Of course he knew, even before you told him. He cares so much, knows you better than you know yourself.
And then his hand falls away and when you look up he's already halfway in the water.
You sigh and follow him, the smile slowly creeping back onto your face. "You didn't say this was a race!"
"I'm no honest player! You shouldda known that when you got together with an outlaw." He's submerged in the pleasantly cool water to his neck when you finally reach him even though the river is shallow here, barely reaching your knees.
"I always had a thing for dangerous men."
Arthur laughs at that, a still rare but precious sound and it warms you from the inside out even though he splashes the cool water up towards you.
You wash each other quietly, exchanging small kisses and lingering touches. Arthur lets you comb the majority of the dirt from his hair with your fingers and you get a nice shoulder-massage in return. When you decide it's time to retreat back into the shade from the scorching sun, Arthur swims for a few more paces while you walk to the river's edge, watching him for a little and then looking down at the clear surface to catch a glimpse of yourself.
The water's reflection is a bit cruel, twisting your body in various ways but between gently flickering droplets you can see the change—a gentle bump in your belly and the subtle swell of your breasts. It's frightening in a way, something you were always scared of; growing a life in your body from the seeds of love.
A shadow looms over you in the reflection, and then you feel him, his warm chest and his steady breathing. Even, slow, with no trace of the sickness. Arthur's presence calms you instantly, and as he curls his hands around your body you lean into the embrace.
"What's wrong sweetheart?" He murmurs into your hair, his hands settling on your stomach and under one breast. His thumb draws a slow circle there and his lips touch the side of your head.
"I'm just…" you sigh and lay your hand upon his, over your belly. You fiddle with his wedding ring, a small band made of silver that reflects the warm white of the afternoon sunlight. "I'm afraid."
"Don't say that," he whispers and trails over your cheek and the crook of your neck with small kisses. "Ya're the most fierce woman I've ever known."
You smile at his words. Sweet man.
"What are ya afraid of?"
You release a breath as his nose brushes over your nape and his thumb continues to caress the flesh of your chest.
"This," you murmur, tightening your hold on his hand.
"You're afraid of me?" His smile is gentle against your skin but you just shake your head and he listens while you gather up your courage. "I know ya ain't."
"I'm afraid of this change… of giving birth. Raising a child of my own," your voice wavers, a lump forming in your throat from the admittance. "I was never good with kids, I—I don't want to be a bad mother, Arthur."
It's better when the words are out.
You can feel the water lapping around your ankles, the hair curling on his chest against your back, the steady exhales that skim over the top of your spine. Arthur takes your hand in his and reaches for your face, turning you towards him until his forehead touches yours.
"I think I know how you feel," he tells you, turning you more until you're fully embracing, chest to chest. You know what he means. He's told you about his son, a family he couldn't protect, a life he couldn't live. The responsibility he never grew up to.
"Don't think I'm not happy," you whisper, leaning closer until you can taste the sour cherry he ate earlier on his lips. "I want this."
He nods and his mouth softly covers yours. The kiss is slow and wet, something you usually preserve for the bedroom, yet you chase after him when he tries to back away and murmur, "I know how you feel."
You pull him in after that, flick your tongue against his because you can't get enough of this man. You love him so much it almost hurts.
You're afraid of that too.
Love never came easy for you. No one cared enough. But Arthur loves you so much it overflows from his heart, spills out of his ribcage, drips into you in droplets of gold. You grab his hair and kiss him harder. Need crawls up your body like a vine woven from warmth, like liquid sunlight that reflects in his eyes when he pulls away and looks down at you.
"You're everything for me," he murmurs like he had been reading your thoughts, and you watch how the sunshine flickers on his fluttering eyelashes.
A tear escapes the corner of your eye, catching on his thumb as he slowly wipes it away.
"Arthur—"
"Shhh," he reaches for your hand and gently pulls on it, bringing you towards the threadbare blanket you always carry with your painting supplies. He flops down onto it, maneuvering you into his lap until you're both sprawled over the material.
"C'mere," he guides his hands around you, pushing your hair to the side and gazing into your heavy-lidded eyes.
You kiss him first, with an insistent tongue and a soft rake of teeth, kissing him like you hadn't in weeks, kissing him slowly, forcefully. It's the sweetest thing. The sour cherry, the hint of tobacco, the whiskey, the lingering scent of horses—it's all so perfectly him you want to drown in the sensations.
And then he groans, so freely, with his lips still tangled with yours and you gulp down the sound. Greed is a sin, lust is a sin, and you're sure love could be one too, because you can't even think about all the things you would do for this man.
The memory of a painful night resurfaces, when you killed for him.
And now, now you bear his child under your heart, something you thought you could never have. Arthur gave you a family you never had. He let you pour out all the love you felt bubbling under your skin.
He gave you a reason to love.
"Arthur," you pull away, panting, clutching his hair like your life would depend on it. He says your name in return, sliding a large palm over your spine, to the small of your back and the other to one thigh. He turns you under him, immediately hiding his face in the crook of your neck to kiss and nip at the tender skin over your pulse.
"Ya want somethin'?" You feel him smile because he knows exactly what you want—what you need—from the sound of your voice alone. "Tell me darlin'. Your wish is my command."
"Arthur," you feel over his back, the nape of his neck and decide to bury your hand in his golden brown locks. "Want you."
He hums, licks over a small spot under your ear and murmurs,
"How ya want me?"
You don't want to beg. You know he likes to tease you a little, to play along until you can form those sinful words he so loves to hear, but his fingers are already ghosting over one bare thigh, turning over to the inside where you can feel slick dampness that's not from the stream.
"Want you inside me," you're shameless when you whisper it into his ear, delighted by the rumbling groan that leaves his lips at your request.
A sun-warmed hand skims over the spot where your mound meets one thigh, the skin thin and sensitive there, and it makes you shiver and grip his shoulder tighter. His palm cups your cunt, two thick fingers wedging their way between your folds, parting your wet heat.
When you tug at his hair to urge him on he just chuckles, pulls back his head to look down at you.
"Gotta make sure," he paints the words onto your lips and your tongue flicks out to lick at his upper lip.
And then those two sinful fingers push inside you.
"Shit," it catches you off guard, the sudden blooming pleasure, but you can't be mad at him, not for the teasing nor for the sweet way he prepares you.
"You know I don't want to hurt ya," he presses a small kiss onto your lips and then moves on, downwards, down, down, until his cheek rests over one of your thighs so he can watch how his fingers disappear and come away wet.
You look down at him, one hand still buried in his hair, and you guide him closer to where you want him most. His lips are soft when they meet with your flushed folds, and he smiles into them when your moan reaches his ears.
"Jesus, Arthur," you pant, already lost in the feel of his mouth and the insistent press of his fingers. "Right there, just right there—"
He memorized you like pages from a favorite poetry book, the syllables of your flesh and the rhythm of your movements and he takes you apart like this, with his head between your legs and his fingertips pressing up, up inside your walls. You pull on his hair, brush it out of his face and watch the concentrated furrow of his brow and his nose squished against your mound, broken one too many times and now red with the deep blush of his arousal.
It doesn't take long for you to come apart like this—it's like ink running down a clear page when water spills over it, there's nothing that could stop the rush engulfing your body and the sparks that catch aflame in your veins. Your chest is so tight, the air barely enough, the pressure snapping away and leaving you with the phantom feeling of it for a few more seconds.
"That's it, sweetheart," Arthur praises you, pulls away to watch how your chest rises and falls with every hastily gulped down breath.
He slowly pulls out his fingers, still tightly clutched by your fluttering heat and spreads the wetness over your cunt. His gaze lingers on your belly, on the small bump he can feel under his palm when he moves up to kiss you.
"You're sure it's okay?" His voice is so soft when he brushes away your hair, tucking it behind your ear as your legs fall even more open and his hips settle between them. His cock is hard against the inside of your thigh, and so hot it startles you for a second.
You answer him with a nod, your voice not working properly when you try to murmur his name.
Your hand is still between your bodies, traveling down to his erection so you can get a hold of him and have him as you want. Arthur shudders as your fingers meet with his feverish skin, curling around his fat cock and pumping once, twice, while you guide him to the right place. He groans into your neck, shuddering from your touch. His want is far more stronger than he lets on—you know exactly how loving you is something he can never get enough of.
The tip catches on your entrance, slowly slipping in, still far faster than you anticipated, but it's good, so goddamn good. Arthur's hand clenches into the blanket next to your head and he rushes in to kiss you again. It's rough and needy and perfect and his teeth rake over your tongue when you open up for him.
The stretch is familiar yet still present every time you have him inside you but you're not complaining when it burns so sweetly, like the fire flicking at the beating of your heart inside your ribcage. Arthur slowly drags himself out and then pushes in again, and you're so wet there's a loud squelch.
"Hm, you want me this bad darlin'?" He pants into the side of your face as his lips slip over your jaw, not focused enough to keep kissing you longer, but you don't mind. This way you can nip over his strong neck while he pushes inside you again, and again, building a steady rhythm.
"Ah… I—I hope that was a rhetorical question," you smile into the crook of his neck but it's short lived when he picks you apart so easily with only a few well-practiced thrusts.
Arthur embraces you tighter and takes you faster, chasing an end that approaches so quickly you can't decide if it's because of the summer heat or the days you spent without intimacy, too busy with the ranch and the horses. Maybe it's both, or neither, you don't really care anymore. Your thoughts are turning hazy, glazed over by yellow ochre sunshine and azure blue eyes that stare at you like you're something worth living for. You tip your head against Arthur's and kiss him once more, letting him take you apart, steal your pieces, build you whole again inside his own heart.
His hand is there again, on the taut skin of your belly where a seed of love blooms. There's a tear sliding down your face. You don't know if it's yours or Arthur's.
It doesn't matter anyway.
You embrace him with your legs and arms and he cradles you close to himself in return, grinding into you until the familiar pressure bubbles under your skin again, flames fanned alive with practiced movements and soft touches.
You're somehow kissing him. Slow and deep. Arthur's hips fall out of pace and you can feel him twitch inside you but you keep him close with your heels pressed into his thighs.
"Arthur—"you pant, sweaty hands tangling into the hair on his nape. "Stay."
Arthur lets out a loud groan, something that's rare and rumbling and it just fuels the fire inside you even more.
"Ya want to be even more full of me?" His voice is raspy and so low you only heard him talk like this when he was threatening bandits. Jesus, this is the end.
"Yes," you hiss against his face, your kisses only landing on the corner of his mouth.
"Christ darlin', talk to me like that an' I'm gonna lose my goddamn mind," he grabs onto your left thigh, opening you up more.
You lean up until you can whisper into his ear, "You made me like this."
The answer for that is an uncontrollable buck of his hips and a silent gasp right next to your ear.
"So many dirty things spilling from that pretty mouth."
"Ya gonna shut me up?"
He presses himself deep, not as much as you want—he's trying to be careful, but it makes the air hiss out of your lungs anyways.
"Is that good enough?"
Your only answer is a whine, so needy it's almost embarrassing, but it's only spurs him on more. Your end is near, the pleasure twisted in your gut unfolding in the most beautiful way, blooming inside every vein in your body. You clutch his shoulders as you crest, clenching around him in an almost painful way, letting pleasure burn up your veins like fuses of dynamite. Arthur groans into your neck, his hand quickly descending to your mound, prolonging your pleasure with practiced fingers and the torturously slow drag of his cock.
"A—Arthur," you're incapable of saying anything more than his name and quiet words of love, but it's enough, it's always enough.
Arthur stills inside you with a final thrust, twitching and shaking as he fills you up, catching your lips in a final kiss that lacks the earlier passion.
"You're gonna be the death of me," he mumbles when he's pulled himself together enough to speak.
He turns you to your side when he pulls out of you with a hiss, settling beside you with an arm still laying around your middle.
"Thank you," you whisper as you knock your nose to his, closing your eyes for a second. You feel him breathe out slowly, freely. You don't say what for but you know he understands.
Arthur presses gentle kisses over your eyelids, and then he moves to stand up. You follow on wobbly legs, clutching his hand while you go back to the river to clean up and dress.
You turn your head to look at Arthur, to the clear azure sky and the ochre and green meadow reflecting in his eyes.
He's smiling.