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Arthur and your first encounter wasn't off a fairytale or a novel per se, one which came out from the deepest depths of horror made inflicted upon humans by and for themselves.
Savage wildfire and undead guilt from years upon years of killing and fraudulent leading up to drowning in ones own misery, or for a lack of a better word, drinking to forget and maybe to ease up the constant tinge of misery. In the bar where it all started and where it all should've ended.
Eye candy, you were to him, started as atleast. He'd see you there time and time again, made his day when he did. Like a little treat he could get if he acted right, a blessing of god from above. Heavens be damned he had something better than eden to stare and maybe, and god forbid if he was brave enough, to dream about.
A beautiful dream to wake up from when the time came to finally leave and go back to his own personal making of a hell. But he didn't mind, not when he got to see your pretty face on days like that.
You hadn't noticed him either, not yet atleast; he was all good to stare, respectfully he'd say to himself. A sweet smile blossoming on his face far from his usual grumpy and stoic self.
Rough on the edges, maybe harder on himself than any, he couldn't get to have you, rather, he shouldn't. You were too good to be true, maybe it was unhealthy for him to put you on such a spot in his mind, but there you were. Hard not to do when you're the way you were.
Arthur had promised himself not to get people involved with him, from all the times he was at fault for dear people to his heart getting hurt, or worse, killed. Tortured for information, or maybe just because affiliation for the Van der Linde gang. He hated himself for it.
You were supposed to stay like that, his eye candy a sweet escape from reality, maybe just maybe, if he was generous enough, he could spare a good evening to you. Generous enough to give himself a part of you. He wouldn't dare. Not when he's the man he is. Not when he's a murderer, a cold blooded monster of his own making.
He knew your name, heard it around. You must've been beloved in the circle of bounty hunters, not a socialite nor one to go around knowing names, but he reckon you had quite the number of suitors, by the looks of it. Yet, the stubborn woman you were, given advances or looks from both men and women alike, you tend to return none. Truly a sight for sore eyes, you were.
A closed shell that got around quite the status. Yet moved no pieces to advance on anybody, he'd imagine you lived on your own terms quietly, getting around on and off. Thats why he watched you from afar. Afraid he'll spoil your ground if he got too close. Afraid he'll break anything if he's not careful enough.
Not until you took notice of the melancholic cowboy that'd be joining your folk in the bar more and more frequently, and with each time his gaze faltering on you for longer. You don't approach him then, and he's not aware you've known his interest, watching from afar as he always does, weeks go by and you get accustomed to this stranger that you too would taken an interest in.
One night, after a good bounty with a lot to spend you find your way around Valentine to that bar; you'd started calling the shots, counting the heads and looking around to see your favorite stranger when you did, as usual you have, but he wasn't around tonight. Which was odd, he's always at time, everyday. Even only for half an hour, he'd show up.
With a disappointing sigh, you find your way around the drunkards and settle on your usual seat, drink your usual old school and talk to your usual folk. But how unusual for you it was not to have him around, you ask of the man about, the answers vary, none very bright.
Arthur Morgan, they say his name to be. An outlaw, a boneless one to work for a bastard called Dutch Van der Linde. Some say him to be a good man even though his affiliation with Dutch and that gang, you doubt.
Nobody was a saint around here, not even the man of god, the church or it's mass.
"He's a dangerous man, right hand of Dutch they say.. The type of men you hunt, ya know?"
"Seen him around these parts, always in for some business. Heard they pay five thousand for his head alone. The best enforcer they have."
"No good comes out an outlaw like him, you should know better."
Yet some praise him, a good man at heart for all they know, facade or not. The contrast of his life hidden beneath.
"Seen that man help folk 'round, he denies much yet protects the people if not for honor."
Hard to believe anyone before you'd see the man for yourself, get to know and understand him maybe.. Is that what you wanted?
’Cause you were supposed to be the one for law, uphold it unlike him. Your people called his folk savages, 'a little better than them Indians'. You'd never believe to see your acquaintances make such remarks about people. Yet life had its ways to surprise you then again. Old slavers and inbred critters.
You sip down your last glass with two wide gulps, the heavy taste of whiskey burning your insides and your senses. Getting up from your seat, you pay for your drink and make your way to the door, all tipsy and disappointed.
As you move through the crowd and reach the door, not realizing the heavy mass in front of you and accidentally walking to it, smacking your head against a hard chest. The man doesn't even budge, almost like a steel wall, you bounce off it with a yank and with your haze you start bickering to yourself in cursive until you look up to whom he is.
It was him, Arthur Morgan. You take your words back quietly, it was like a fairy tale. Truly. What was the odds? Seeing your long awaited cowboy just when you were about to leave. You spew out an apology, embarrassed and flustered, yet you don't realize the spark in his eyes.
While you apologize profusely, hesitant to make a wrong turn and ruin everything, as if you had any. You look up at him, he'd frozen to his ground. Arthur has never been this close to you, damn him, you were even prettier up personal. Not to be weird but you smelled good too.
Goddamn it.
He would kill to have you, yet he denied himself you all the same. But with the undeniable chemistry you two had with only your gaze all this time, he felt special. He felt like life was worth living. With you it was.
And you were still a complete stranger to him. Yet something pulled you two together, you don't dare call it the red strings of fate. You've lived long enough to know not to waste time on some nonsense like that.
Arthur knew you were a bounty hunter, he knew his lifestyle would complicate things, another reason he didn't wanted to involve you with his cowpoke.
Yet he still wanted to speak to you, feel you, be close to you. He wasn't a good man, he knew that much. But he wanted to treat you right, he never wanted anything more than that, he reckon.
In a spontaneous spark, and with your semi inebriated state you take the step, Arthur knew he wouldn't, not when he didn't deserve you. Not when his rough edges wouldn't fit near you. But you would.
All he had in mind about keeping his ground rules and not approaching you or having you at arms length for your own good has failed. He didn't equate you coming up to him with this, ever.
At that point you were both indulging in your longing anyway, and you needed to make a proper apology to this fine gentleman. Nothing to lose.
"Let me buy you a drink, cowboy?"
-
That was all it was supposed to be, one drink and he'd be off. Arthur was finally this close to you and he was self sabotaging it. But he couldn't find the strength in him to reject your offer, or reject you to put simply.
And thats where it lead him, a lonesome love he can't escape, yet he defies. Or rather, defied. Used to. Not when your lips found his in a gentle kiss -such tenderness was foreign to him at best- and not when he could feel your heartbeat through his. The liquor on your lips mixing and matching, slick with the pent up passion exuding from the embrace.
He was playing a dangerous game, he knew. But your sweet scent and soft lips, your skin against his, enveloping your small frame by his lean muscles... it was all too much. He was losing his resistance, you were driving him uphill with no way to go down other than by you. You shouldn’t have kissed him like you weren’t complete strangers. He shouldn’t have let things get as far as they did. Yet his hearts calling tells him this is the place he truly belong. He wasn’t hard enough of a man to resist you.
A man is truly in love when he wants to give his sweetheart everything, including himself. Because all's fair in love, and absence makes the heart go yonder.
Just touching you, he felt was going over the line. What line, he dared not ask. For all he knew was his hands were rough and bloodied, they had no right touching you the way they did. The kiss felt like both an eternity and a minuscule of the shortest second. When you pulled away, his eyes were the brightest you've ever seen with cheeks as blush as how sun sets on the horizon.
You had one hand on his cheek, thumb carefully caressing circles to his cheekbone. His calloused hands were atop, palms covering the back of your hand. The anticipation of such closeness left you both breathless, he felt weak under your affection. Melting with the way your lips left him.
You quieted his guilt with a soft whisper against his skin, leaving a small peck right at it too. He was too hazy to recognize your words as your own, felt like a dream to him.
With the final push, enough to break the last remaining resistance in his mind to finally give in, he takes your hand, quickly drawing you close and leading you to where you'd assume to be his abide in the motel upstairs of the pub.
Next thing you know, he's the one initiating the moves, feeling all over you. Hands on your waist holding on for dear life, almost as if you'd slip away from his fingers, feeling like if he wasn't careful enough he'd break you. Trouble is not a stretch of his imagination to Arthur, it snaps back on him.
But all this yearning, longing for someone whom never even belonged to him, but knowing now that you reciprocated all along was a relief in and of itself. He felt guilty but relieved all the same.
You had your hands fisted at his dirty blonde roots, holding his head steady while he drove into your lips like no other, feeling all of you even while you had your clothes separating you, but Arthur became greedy when it comes to you. Wanting more of you, every single part of you.
As you two are wrapped, he makes no haste to rush the moment, slowly but ambitiously sliding off each layer of fabric that's covering your sweet body. You in return, tug at the hem of his top to subtly tell him you want to remove his' too. Two can dance this dance, no?
Soon your warm skin is revealed to him bare, breasts spilling out of their confines, his eyes follow, one hand raising up from your waist to cup and fondle with your boobs. Kneading it with his palm, a perfect fit to his hand too. A soft whine escapes you as your hands work his button up, down.
As his upper body is exposed to you, sweat highlights his pecs and shoulders, biceps the size of your head, forearms veiny and just thick enough for your liking. He had a generous amount of body hair on him, you don't mind. It suits him you think. And not to mention that happy trail going down to his V line.
He doesn't give you much time to drool over his body and goes straight to nibbling and sucking on your nipple, his hand covering the other and flicking it while he gropes your tit. Your hands find his nape with heavy breaths and grunting all you can hear, along with the occasional sound of pop from his lips.
He trails kisses from the fat of your breasts up to your shoulders and collarbones, leaving teeth marks, was he moving too fast? Fortunately he had no time for rationality as everything right now was about feeling, sensing, perceiving. You.
He reaches your neck, kissing your sweet spot sloppily and leaving a light bruise right under your jawline. All the while you squirm under his hold. Oh how he dreamed of this day. How he promised it'd remain a dream and he'd refrain from mouldering you with his rot. But what he felt was far from that of rot, it was almost like rebirth in a sense. Rebelling to his cut edge nature.
His lips on your flesh feel so true, so unadulterated and pure. He murmurs sweet nothings to your ear and your knees give up, buckling. Luckily he's there to hold you, whom you can depend on. Your hands splayed across his bare chest, nails raking across.
For the first time that night, as he cradles you with his touch, you breathe out his name softly, calling for him almost like a purr. "Arthur-" you say and everything goes blank. His vision goes blank. He would've never thought hearing someone cry out his name would turn him on this much, but here he was, pants almost getting too tight for all thats worth.
You feel his hard cock even under his clothes, he readjusts his belt, painfully obvious from his eyes that he's hardly able to contain himself. He leaves one more hickey near your earlobe and then in a heartbeat you find yourself splayed on your back in his bed half naked.
Your breath hitches when he gently lays you down and climbs on top of you shortly as you look up at him through your lashes, chest rising and falling rapidly he takes your hand and lays kisses starting from the back of your hand trailing them through your inner forearm.
Quite aroused, you were so wet that you're pretty sure your panties stick to your damp mound now. His broad shoulders caging you, each arm on either side of you as he gets close and starts sucking on your lower lip, you pull at his upper with a whine, which he responds with a groan.
When he pulls away, your lips are linked with a slick trail that lead to eachother. Bonding between kisses one way or the other. He keeps a hand on your hip as he slips your pants off and discards it aside while moving to work on his belt. Cupping his throbbing cock beneath his pants he sighs, almost. He is so close to having you, and so fucking afraid of messing it up.
All you two said to eachother since you arrived has been either sounds of pleasure, your names in breathless moans uttered almost inaudible or incoherent words mid kiss. In your case no words need to be said as all it takes is for the action to speak for itself. And it does.
Once he's out of his pants, the bulge in his underwear all the more obvious, he was packing a hefty much. Good god. You gulp down. Not your first rodeo, you remind yourself. But never had one this girthy before so.. you brace yourself.
He leans in this time, without removing his underpants, giving you a feel as both of you grind on each other with light cloth of undergarments separating you. Even with them still on, his pearly pre cum and your wet patch combined making it slippery and easy to move. But enough is enough. You've waited long enough.
Arthur removes your panties and spreads you open, you bare yourself to him fully. One hand settles to the inside of your thigh, dangerously close to your center but not quite. Not nearly enough. He caresses your skin softly while holding you in place, just enough pressure to make sure you remain on display to him like this.
He quickly gets out of his boxers and tosses them aside, his member bobs out with a bend, prettiest dick you've ever seen. His length was above average with a pink tip, a prominent vein or two and the tip was leaking precum down his shaft.
He positions himself between your legs, lubing up his dick with your slick, tapping his tip to the sensitive bundle of nerves making you bunch up the sheets in your curled fists.
As he slowly centers in your leaking hole, the sweet stretch is but a welcome one, slowly easing himself in your eager cunt. You sigh, sharply exhale as he patiently opens you up.
Once he's buried all the way to the hilt, pressing against your clit with his pelvic making you toss your head back and melt, he rolls his hips and gets a head start as he fits just right with your pussy.
Feeling him right at your g-spot you almost hurl at how sweet pleasure fills your body, he leans in and nuzzles your neck while his hips work their magic, going back and forth with a pace he builds up, talk you through it with honey glazed praise.
You felt dizzy on his dick and he was drunk on your pussy, intoxicated you move in a delicious rhythm having you feel him in all the right places. Breathless, shaky, lightheaded.
Flesh on flesh, primal. It came natural to him.
He thrusts with need, you wrap your legs around him while his lips leave open mouthed kisses to your collarbone. One arm holding you close by the small of your back to the waist, and the other drew circles to your clit. It wasn't long until you came undone, clasping his cock impossibly tight. He curses under his breath about how tight you are, and that he's close too.
Bucking his hips, going all the way out except the tip and sinking down again and again until he's twitching inside meaning he gotta pull out. He slams one last time, slit kissing the opening of your womb, making you squirm. He pulls out with shallow curses under his breath, spilling his seed all over your belly.
Both of you are disheveled, panting while never breaking eye contact. He gets his shirt to clean you up nice and smooth. Once he's satisfied he pulls you close, your head nuzzled up to his sweet scent.
Neither of you know the right words, then again, you're people of action. Thats your language. Not much was uttered by words but all was understood. All was spoken with silent intention.
Guilt slipped his mind then, not to return soon, atleast not tonight.
Under his warm embrace you desperately hold onto, how peaceful life could get with him or what might tomorrow look like. All was well in your head, satisfied with today. And thats what mattered.