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Arthur frowned as a cold breeze swept across his face, the only skin bare to the frigid air of the cabin. He roused further at the gentle creak of the front door, blinking blearily at the bent shape of his husband unlacing his boots. Charles’ sawed-off rested against the wall of the entryway, the blackened metal gleaming faintly in the pale moonlight streaming through the curtains.
“Good patrol?” Arthur asked, his hoarse rumble loud in the quiet of the winter night.
Charles’ head snapped up, guilt stark on his face as he realized he’d woken Arthur. “Sorry,” he said, flushing as he pulled his heavy woolen coat from his shoulders, hanging it on the peg. He was down to his long-johns and socks, having neglected to take the time to dress before going out into the Canadian winter for a midnight patrol of their property. “Didn’t mean to wake you, Arthur.”
“Same dream?” Arthur yawned, shrugging off the apology. If Charles was up worrying, Arthur felt it was only right he should be up too. Arthur raised the comforter and quilt as Charles padded closer, inviting his husband back to bed.
Charles nodded, slipping gratefully back under the covers. The two men curled close immediately, Arthur taking Charles’ frigid fingers between his hands and raising them to his mouth to thaw them. He chafed those long, pretty fingers between his own, blowing hot air across cold skin until Charles stopped trembling from the chill.
“It’s stupid,” Charles admitted, quiet with shame. “I shouldn’t let a dream have such a hold on me.”
“It happens,” Arthur countered, brushing a kiss across Charles’ knuckle before wrapping his arms around him, pulling him close. “Just wish they didn’t bedevil you so. You’re exhausted, darlin’.”
Charles sighed, nuzzling into the cozy space between Arthur’s neck and shoulder. His nose, still chilled from the winter air, brushed against Arthur’s collar, prompting a shiver. “I know,” he said, a hint of misery in his tone. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Lakay, right?” Arthur pressed a kiss against Charles’ hair, lips tingling from the brief cold of melting snowflakes in the dark locks. “Think that one scared all of us, darlin’. Not often a damn machine gun punches a thousand holes through the front door.”
“There’s no reason to think they‘ll find us,” Charles muttered, wriggling nearer. His strong arms were tight around Arthur’s middle, pressing their bodies so close there wasn’t an inch of space between them from knee to collarbone. “We’ve been careful.”
“Did take out those Mounties in November," Arthur allowed. An officer up near the Wapiti’s new home had taken an exception to the tribe’s refusal to send their children to the state residential schools. He’d made a couple veiled threats, and then Arthur and Charles had snuck into their fort one night and removed him and a few of his more enthusiastic troops from existence. Two months on, and Rains Falls hadn’t telegrammed again with any more problems from the government.
“No one knew that was us,” Charles sighed. They’d been very, very careful. Charles had concealed his hair under a winter cap, and both men had borrowed clothes and used common hunting weapons to ensure they wouldn’t be recognized. Arthur’d even left his hat at home, and they’d snow-shoed in the last three miles to the fort rather than risk their horses being spotted. It’d been the cleanest operation they’d ever pulled.
But still, it’d been a risk. A necessary one, but a risk all the same.
“Somethin in your head don’t care much about what’s reasonable, I reckon’,” Arthur said. “Is it really the same dream every night?”
“This week it has been. Always starts nice, which makes it worse.”
“Nice?”
“You and I are in bed together,” Charles said. Arthur felt the cheek pressed to his throat heat as his man blushed. “You know. Doin’ married stuff.”
“Married stuff?” Arthur laughed, giving his husband a squeeze. “That covers quite a wide bit of territory, Mr. Morgan.”
He got a vicious pinch to his side for his trouble, undercut by the press of teeth he could feel against his collar as Charles grinned.
“Hush, you,” Charles muttered, fond. “I mean kissin’, you fool.”
“Why princess,” Arthur teased, smiling even as he winced through another pinch. “That almost sounds scandalous.” Arthur trailed one hand down from Charles’ waist to push up under his shirt, caressing the small of his back. “A married couple kissin’ in bed?” he purred. “Lord knows where that could lead.”
“Never leads anywhere before the bullets start punchin’ through the damn walls,” Charles complained. His back arched, chest squishing against Arthur’s own as he pressed into the warmth of Arthur’s palm with a happy sigh.
Arthur snuck his hand a little lower, massaging the generous curve of Charles’ ass. “Baby, this place is made of solid pine logs,” he said, baffled. “What kinda firepower did those fools haul all the way up a damn mountain just to go after two retired farts like us?”
“Didn’t say it made sense,” Charles grumbled. His legs parted around Arthur’s thigh, one knee working between his husbands’ legs until the solid muscle of his quad was riding against Arthur’s increasingly hard cock. “It’s a nightmare.”
Arthur didn’t push for details past that—he could put the pieces together. Sometimes he woke to Charles clinging so tight to him it half felt like he’d caught TB again, what with how hard it was to breathe.
Arthur dragged his nails up Charles' back, eliciting a delicious shiver from the man tucked safely in his arms. “So blue balls on top of everything, huh?”
“Yeah,” Charles sighed, rocking his thigh almost absently against Arthur’s cock in retaliation. He was quiet for a time, then made a thoughtful humming noise against Arthur’s jugular, where he’d begun to idly nip. “Hmm.”
Arthur shifted the hand on Charles’ waist to the back of his neck, running his fingers through the loose braid there, further mussing it. Charles would forgive him when Arthur took his time brushing the snarls out in the morning. He was like a cat, in that, forever pleased to be pet and doted on. “What you thinkin’?”
“What if we did get further?” Charles mumbled, kissing gently at the bristling underside of Arthur’s jaw. “What if that, I don’t know. Breaks the cycle?”
Arthur kneaded the knot of tension at the top of Charles’ neck, satisfied when the muscle began to loosen under his care. “Figure that’ll work?”
A lethargic hum of satisfaction in Arthur’s ear. “Maybe. If you want, I mean.”
“If I want, he says,” Arthur snorted. “Like I’m gonna say no to lovin’ on ya and getting a full night’s sleep. What’s the plan? I wake you up for a fuck every time you start fussin’? Might leave us just as tired.”
Charles was quiet for a moment, burrowing even further into Arthur’s neck, flustered. “Not quite,” he admitted shyly.
Arthur leaned back, tugging gently on Charles’ braid to get his husband to look at him. It was dim in the room, but there was just enough moonlight to see the bashful furrow of Charles’ brow, the tiny hint of his canines as he bit his lip.
Arthur’s heart melted straight through his ribs, suffusing his whole body with a glowing, golden adoration. A man as deadly as Charles Smith had no business looking so damn cute. “Whatever you need, sweetheart,” Arthur assured, rubbing his nose against Charles’ own.
“Maybe you don’t have to wake me,” Charles said, going in for a short kiss. His lips were plush and warm, fully recovered from the chill of his night time wandering. “You know, like that one morning back in December.”
And what a morning it had been. Arthur had fingered Charles awake in the small hours of the morning, soft and sweet before fucking not one but two orgasms out of him. If his man wanted an encore to that performance?
Then he would be happy to deliver.
Arthur kissed Charles again, tongue slipping between his teeth to tease against the roof of his mouth. He kept at it until his lungs strained for air, pulling back just far enough that his lips moved against Charles’ as he spoke. “Liked that, huh?”
That shy smile widened against Arthur’s own. “Yeah.”
The next night, Arthur had Charles settle on top of him to fall asleep. Normally the two slept curled together, one or the other playing the little spoon depending on their moods. But Arthur wanted to be sure he’d wake at the slightest sign of Charles’ nightmare beginning.
“You sure this is okay?” Charles asked, lowering himself gingerly to hover over Arthur’s body. His arms were tense, braced against the bed to keep his weight off Arthur’s chest.
“I’ll be just fine,” Arthur insisted, tickling the inside of Charles’ elbow. His husband huffed, loose bangs fluttering about his face as he collapsed.
Arthur oofed as over two hundred pounds of heavy muscle hit his diaphragm. He laughed off Charles’ subsequent worried glare, patting his back reassuringly.
“Ain’t the first time you’ve laid on top of me,” Arthur reminded him, craning his neck to peck a kiss between those furrowed brows before relaxing back into the pillows. “‘Sides, I like this.”
“Being crushed half to death in your sleep?”
Arthur pinched Charles’ ass, chuckling again when he got an affronted look for his efforts. “Damn straight,” he bragged, gripping Charles’ thighs to settle his husband’s legs on either side of his own hips. “Nothin’ nicer. Lay your head down, darlin’. I gotcha.”
They fell asleep with Charles’ head pillowed against Arthur’s chest, his hands tucked under Arthur’s shoulders while Arthur’s arms secured him at the waist. Charles drifted off quickly, lulled to sleep by the small circles Arthur couldn’t help but rub into the small of his back.
Arthur buried his nose in the silk of Charles’ curls, which were combed back into his usual pretty braid for sleep. They’d bathed that evening, and his man’s hair smelled like the lavender infused oil he used to keep it smooth and shiny. The scent filled Arthur’s dimming senses as he, too, succumbed to dreams.
The pair slept peacefully for a time, bodies bare and cozied close under their usual bedding, as well as the spare blanket Charles had dragged from the trunk to make up for their lack of woolen underwear.
It was just past midnight when Arthur awoke to Charles mumbling in his ear.
“Arthur,” his husband sighed, lips working against the densely furred muscles of Arthur’s chest. Charles’ fingers clenched and unclenched lazily where they were tucked under Arthur’s back, reminiscent of a cat kneading biscuits.
Arthur blinked in the night, sleepily enjoying the gentle affection before remembering that he was on a mission.
“Gettin’ started without me, huh?” Arthur yawned, unfurling one arm from Charles’ waist to rummage for the tin of slick he’d ensured was tucked conveniently under his pillow. One-handed, he managed to pry the lid off while he pet slow, soothing circles against Charles’ lower back.
Charles’ dick was already chubbing up against Arthur’s belly when he used his free hand to pull one thickly muscled thigh up around his hip, exposing Charles’ tight furl. Arthur scooped a generous glob of slick onto two fingers, rubbing the gel between forefinger and thumb to warm it before slipping his hand between those plush, parted cheeks.
Charles sighed happily as Arthur carefully rubbed the slick against his hole, murmuring some sort of sleepy-sweet nonsense as one callused fingertip tested him.
“That’s it, darlin’,” Arthur couldn’t help but whisper, kissing Charles’ crown as he breached his sleeping husband. “Taking it so nice for me.”
Arthur resisted pulling at Charles’ rim. Awake, his husband would shiver and moan, delighting in the dirty, tight stretch that teased at how much wider Arthur’s cock would soon split him. But the intent here was to keep his husband from waking, so Arthur was determined to avoid causing even the slightest hint of discomfort. It helped that the slide inside was smoother than usual, eased along by the lax state of Charles’ softly slumbering body.
Still, Arthur was careful, working almost excessively slowly as he gently wriggled his finger into that familiar heat. He curled his hand, seeking the round bump deep inside that he so often used to being his husband to trembling ecstasy.
Charles’ deep, slow breathing hitched, stomach jumping. He snuggled unconsciously closer, hips rocking lazily down until his rim bumped against Arthur’s knuckles.
Arthur smiled triumphantly. “There she is,” he muttered, satisfied. He stilled, waiting for Charles to settle back down before getting to work.
Charles sighed, breathy little moans escaping as Arthur rubbed his prostate slowly. He shifted minutely in Arthur’s arms, cuddling closer and seeking comfort like Arthur was some oversized, stuffed toy. He was almost unbearably cute, a trial sent by the gods to test Arthur’s resolve. Arthur fought the urge to kiss those sweetly parted lips, to swallow down those wonderful noises—soon enough he was pushing in a second finger, thumb teasing at the soft give of his husband’s rim.
Strong arms tightened around Arthur’s ribcage as Charles humped against his fingers. His cock was fully hard now, a searing line leaking precum that caught sticky in the hair of Arthur’s belly. It’d be a pain to deal with in the morning, but for now the slow trickle of wetness just made Arthur’s own arousal that much harder to control.
He’d fingered Charles in his sleep before, but it’d always been with the goal of gently rousing him for a lazy morning of making love. Tonight, Arthur would go unsatisfied. He was fine with it, excited even. The only thing that mattered in that moment was the precious, tiny whimpers of unconscious pleasure that spilled from Charles’ lips to Arthur’s greedy ears.
Charles’ hips began rocking harder, fucking himself urgently. The moist, panting breaths against Arthur’s chest came faster, so much so that Arthur feared his husband was about to jolt himself awake.
“Whoa there,” Arthur crooned, deliberately slackening the pace of his fingering. He soothed his free hand down the broad expanse of Charles’ back, gentling him. “Slow down, princess.”
Arthur switched to small, tentative circles around the tiny bump of Charles’ prostate, stimulating the gland only indirectly. He massaged carefully, not daring to apply more than a whisper of pressure. Gradually, Charles’ breaths evened back out, his hips relaxing back to a subtle, barely perceptible rocking.
“Good girl,” Arthur praised, ducking to kiss against the shell of his husband’s ear. He resumed with a firmer touch, caressing Charles’ back idly at his husband’s drowsy moan. “Nice and easy, sweetheart.”
Arthur slowly milked Charles’ orgasm from him like that for half an hour, though to Arthur it felt like no time at all. His wrist may have been aching like a sonuvabitch, but nothing pleased him more than pampering his husband. It was its own kind of heaven, holding Charles’ warm, heavy weight; hearing his small, sweet noises and feeling his body writhe needily as he clung to Arthur, affectionate even in the depths of sleep.
At last, Charles stiffened, body tensing against Arthur’s as he came with a sigh. His cock jerked between their bellies, searing spurts of cum dribbling down to the join of Arthur’s hip.
“There we go,” Arthur murmured, wiping his fingers on the inside of Charles’ thigh as he withdrew. “So good for me, darlin’.”
His own cock was still rock-hard, Charles’ heat and wriggling having brought him to full mast not five minutes into their little experiment. He was tempted to slot his cock between the sultry clench of Charles’ thighs, to hump carefully against his still slumbering husband until he reached his own peak. It was something they’d done before, in waking hours, and Arthur knew for certain Charles wouldn’t mind.
But as lovely as it was to get Charles off in his sleep—and the beauty of that trust burned low in Arthur’s breast, a perfect ember of love that felt like it could consume him from the inside out—Arthur had no desire to finish the same way.
He was too fond of the look in Charles’ eyes when he watched Arthur come; the smug, preening satisfaction that made Arthur want nothing more than to pull him immediately in for a second round.
Charles mumbled sleepily against Arthur’s chest, nuzzling into the thick thatch of hair there like a cat scenting its territory. He continued to slumber as Arthur adjusted them, nudging Charles up just enough so Arthur could press a lazy kiss to the corner of his eye. Charles’ eyelids remained closed, his lashes beautiful sweeps of ink against his cheeks.
Arthur watched his sleeping husband for a while longer, holding guard to ensure no more disturbances troubled that cherished brow. Eventually, satisfied that his work was done, and excellently so, Arthur slipped back under the heavy mantle of sleep, floating away on the heady scent of lavender.
When Charles unstuck the side of his face from the sticky mess of drool and curling hair that he’d made of his husband’s chest, he felt the best he had in a week. He’d managed to sleep the whole night through, thanks to the efforts of the beautiful man snoring away under him like a particularly earthy angel.
And Arthur did look angelic, in the weak winter morning sunlight that had begun peaking through their windows. Open, pink mouth and drool aside, his husband cut a startlingly handsome figure against the red checker flannel of their bedding. The angle of the daylight on his hair brought out copper highlights alongside the shiny, silver hairs that had begun to appear in Arthur’s beard and temples.
Much as the man grumbled, Charles adored the grey. It made him look distinguished, and older than he’d dared imagine them growing together, even three long years ago when he’d first offered Arthur his heart on a balmy Lemoyne night.
Smiling, Charles allowed himself to nuzzle down into the plush muscle of Arthur’s chest, pleased at the tickle of downy hair against his cheek. He took a deep breath, inhaling the warm, musky scent of clean skin alongside the lingering wood-smoke and tobacco smell that seemed to follow Arthur everywhere.
Charles released the breath with a gentle sigh, carefully working his numbed hands out from under Arthur’s back. He trailed tingling fingers down the curve of Arthur’s biceps, taking a moment to treasure the beauty of the man slumbering beneath him. For all his enthusiasm for Charles’ body, to include his scars and softer points, Arthur had always been frustratingly self-conscious. It was rare that Charles could properly demonstrate his own delight in every dip, curve, and divot of his husband’s form.
Speaking of curves—Charles became aware of the length of Arthur’ cock, hot and stiff where it pressed against between their bellies.
Charles turned his head to press an affectionate kiss to the knot of rough tissue at Arthur’s shoulder. He traced the scar with his lips, appreciatively mapping every inch of the shiny skin. Arthur was self-conscious about the mark—he called it ugly, hated the raised red of it against his breast.
Charles could never hate it; it was a manifestation of every ill and misfortune his husband had survived—every hurdle that Arthur had overcome, every stumbling block he’d managed to trip through before landing here. Here, in a cozy cabin, on land he legally owned, unknown and unwanted by local law, lightly snoring, his heart beating like a steady drum under Charles’ ear.
How could Charles ever hate something so wonderful?
Charles finished his ritual with a careful kiss to the very center of the scar, where it burst from Arthur’s skin like a flower. Then, grinning to himself, he slunk under the covers, wiggling down Arthur’s body until he was eye to eye with his quarry. The covers were a plush tent around his head, leaving Charles alone in the dark with only his own breathing and Arthur’s warmth.
Arthur had gotten Charles off without waking him. Even if it hadn’t been for the fact that Charles had slept through the night, that fact was evidenced by the stickiness smeared against his thigh and the slick he could feel in his ass. And, judging off the iron-rod stiffness of Arthur’s cock, Charles suspected that his sweet, foolish husband hadn’t gotten off himself. It was cute, really—Arthur was so eager to see to Charles’ satisfaction, and yet so reluctant to see to his needs himself.
Or maybe he just preferred it when Charles handled things, he mused. Taking Arthur’s cock carefully in hand, Charles braced himself against the mattress beside the sleeping man’s hip. Position secure, he kissed the plush head, licking briefly against the underside before bobbing forward, lips caressing down the shaft. Charles worked his way further, loosening his throat as he gradually swallowed Arthur’s cock to the root.
Charles breathed through his nose, hands kneading gently against Arthur’s hips as he worked. There was something so simple and satisfying about the stretch, the mild ache in his jaw, the salt of his husband’s skin against his tongue. Charles felt floaty as he nuzzled against Arthur’s bush, the man’s tightly drawn balls brushing the bottom of his chin. The covers created a snug, balmy haven in the darkness, and Charles almost suspected he could happily drift back to sleep just like this.
Arthur was big, and learning to take him all the way down to the root had been a long experiment in breathing and forcing certain muscles to loosen. But it was worth the effort, Charles thought hazily, bobbing gently on his husband’s cock so his nose bumped into the soft give of his groin. Arthur’s natural scent was strong there, a heady, masculine musk that Charles half-thought he could get drunk on.
Charles drew back, working his tongue against the underside of Arthur’s dick as he went. He panted for breath, the humid air beneath the blankets and Arthur’s thighs heavy in his lungs. Stringy saliva coated his lips, leaving a viscous bridge from Charles’ panting mouth to the plush, leaking head of Arthur’s cock.
Charles fondled the crests of Arthur’s hipbones, savoring the solid bulk of the body under his hands. Arthur’d begun to twitch, his moans of sleepy pleasure rumbling low in his belly where Charles pressed his forehead as he caught his breath.
Eager for more of those wonderful noises, Charles took Arthur back in hand, swallowing him down in one smooth, swooping motion.
Arthur’s breathing changed, his abdomen going stiff. Thickly muscled thighs pressed around Charles’ ears, an instinctual squeeze as Arthur awakened to the delight of his husband’s hot, tight throat massaging his cock.
Charles gave a moan of his own as clever fingers slid through his hair, cradling close to the scalp as Arthur gently secured him in place. The vibrations must have felt fantastic, because Arthur’s hips bucked helplessly, momentarily choking Charles in his enthusiasm.
Charles pulled off with a wet cough, burying his face against Arthur’s raised thigh as he caught his breath.
“Shit,” a low, husky drawl cursed. Blunt fingernails changed from pulling Charles’ hair to petting it, clumsily apologetic. “Sorry, sweetheart. Wasn’t expecting to wake up to something so lovely.”
“Morning,” Charles said, kissing against the lightly furred skin of Arthur’s inner thigh. Now that his husband was awake, he allowed himself a few nips, working a bruise into the pale flesh.
Arthur’s breath hitched, his toes curling where they were braced beside Charles’ ribs. “Damn, darlin’,” Arthur gasped, nails scratching deliciously against Charles’ scalp. He cursed his eyes, suddenly furious that he couldn’t see straight through the layers of wool and cotton and feather down stuffing to the sight his man must have made beneath them. “What I’d do to earn such a nice hello?”
Charles turned his head, sucking a bite into Arthur’s other thigh, directly opposite the first bruise. His hands caressed Arthur’s hips, trailing the narrow width of them.
“Don’t play dumb, Arthur. Took good care of me,” he hummed, releasing his mouthful to lick teasingly against the underside of Arthur’s cock. He grinned at the sleepy moan that earned him, pleased when that loose grip tightened again in his hair. “Wanted to say thank you.”
“Ain’t need no thanks for takin’ care of my man.” Arthur shuddered as Charles seized his knees firmly, pinning them to the mattress as he bobbed forward, taking Arthur’s cock back inside. His lover’s throat was so lovely and tight, molten and slick and working him perfectly. He moaned, pleasure curling warm in his belly. “But if you insist, I ain’t gonna fight ya.”
Arthur cursed the chill of the room. He didn’t dare push the blankets aside—they’d both be popsicles within five minutes. Still, he wanted nothing more than to see what Charles looked like in that moment—the stretch of his pretty lips around Arthur’s root, those sweet doe-eyes looking up at him from under long lashes. It was a sight he must have seen dozens and dozens of times by then, but it was one he’d never tire of.
“Oughta be a hangin’ offense, doing such a thing to a man where he can’t watch,” Arthur bitched, gasping and bucking urgently against Charles’ iron grip when his husband drew back just far enough to work his tongue against where the root of Arthur’s cock met his sack. “Shit, Charles—”
Charles just hummed, settling back to the work of fucking his own throat. His dick was leaking against the sheets, awakened by the heavy weight of Arthur on his tongue, the smell of him, the lightheadedness encroaching from the lack of air. Arthur was big, so big that even breathing through his nose wasn’t quite enough. His muffled, drawling praise sang in Charles’ ears, sending a filthy thrill tingling down his spine.
Drool leaked from around Charles’ lips, dripping obscenely to pool against Arthur’s belly. Arthur could feel himself getting close, the edge coming quick and easy in the satisfying lassitude of the morning darkness.
Arthur blindly tapped at Charles’ shoulder, a bid for his husband’s attention. “Get up here, princess,” he begged. “Wanna kiss that sweet mouth of yours.”
Charles pulled off slowly, giving Arthur’s dripping cock-slit a parting kiss before wriggling his way back up the bed, careful not to push away the bedding. Arthur’s mouth was on his as soon as he was in range, thick fingers gripping his nape delicately as his cowboy gently guided him into place.
The pair made-out leisurely, Arthur’s fingers stroking Charles’ jaw and caressing his neck as he clutched his husband close. They were sleep-clumsily, teeth clacking and noses bumping as their lips fumbled, slick with spit and Arthur’s precum. Even when they parted for breath, their faces ducked close, the space between them balmy with shared breath.
Big hands skimmed down Charles’ back, squeezing his thighs before curling to fondle his ass, parting his cheeks as Arthur rutted against his crack.
“Can I?” Arthur mumbled into the kiss, too busy chasing the taste of his own salt on Charles’ tongue to form a proper sentence.
“Yeah,” Charles sighed, kissing him again eagerly. He wriggled a hand between their bodies, grasping Arthur’s spit-slick cock and guiding the leaking tip against his hole. He was still wet from Arthur’s fingering, just loose enough that it was the work of moments for the two men to buck together, inching Arthur’s cock inside until he was buried to the root.
Charles paused, slumping against Arthur’s chest and panting as he got used to the fullness. Arthur hadn’t stretched him much, so even though it was a smooth ride it was a tight one. Downy curls of scruff brushed Charles’ neck as Arthur kissed against his jaw, a gentle smatter of pecks that landed like a summer rain.
“Take your time, gorgeous,” Arthur murmured, rubbing soothing palms against Charles’ thighs where they spread wide under the bedspread, bracketing Arthur’s hips. Tiny droplets of sweat beaded against Arthur’s brow, and his stomach clenched and convulsed against Charles’ own. It was taking everything he had not to begin fucking Charles in earnest.
“The hell you so big for?” Charles whined, humping minutely backwards to take the final centimeter of his husband’s thick shaft. At this angle, Arthur’s cock pulled tightly at Charles' stretched rim, sending a delightfully filthy shiver up his spine.
“Reckon the lord made me just for you,” Arthur chuckled, breathless, his blunt nails dimpling Charles’ flesh, a white-knuckle grip on his restraint. He kissed what he could reach of Charles’ mouth, grinning. “Custom order.”
Something broiling shot through Charles’ gut, arousal burning through him like molten gold. He fucked back deliberately, keeping his chest close to Arthur’s own so his cock could rut against the pleasant plushness of his hairy belly.
“Say that again,” Charles demanded, the words spilling fervently between their open mouths as his elbows braced where Arthur’s shoulders met the mattress. Charles twined his fingers in the shaggy lengths of Arthur’s hair, tugging. He ducked low to bite at the neck obediently offered to him, hunching greedily over his prey as he rocked lazily back onto the cock stuffing him full. “Again, Arthur.”
“Shit,” Arthur whined, mind hazy. “Hold on, dammit, just woke up—“
“Made for me,” Charles breathed. His blood was burning inside his veins, his cock twitching as he fucked himself roughly. A pulse of precum slicked the space between their bellies, spurring Charles to rock back and forth between the press of Arthur’s dick against his prostate and the friction against his own cock. “More. Tell me more.”
“Ain’t no one else drive me crazy like you do,” Arthur gasped, feet bracing against the mattress as he brought his knees up, pushing Charles that much closer as he thrust up into him, hands on his man’s hips helping to slam him back onto Arthur’s cock as he buried himself in that perfect heat. “Knew the first time I saw you kill a man that you’d be trouble for me—”
“That poacher,” Charles whimpered, hardly believing the words falling from his own mouth. He felt half-insane, the roaring of his heartbeat in his ears drowning out any trace of reason. They’d been married a year now, but it still hit like lightning out of the blue, the man between his thighs was his, just his—
“You killed him for me,” he moaned, burying his teeth in Arthur’s neck, grinding down on his cock with a dirty twist of his hips. “I was doomed after that—I wasn’t ever gonna be anyone’s but yours.”
“Princess,” Arthur groaned. His arms wrapped around Charles’ waist, pulling him down tightly. The next second, the world was a confusion of twisted blankets.
Charles oofed as he landed face-up on the pillows, amazed to find Arthur had managed to stay inside while flipping them. He laughed, giddy as he met Arthur’s ardent kiss. One big hand shifted from his hip to tuck under his knee, spreading him wide as Arthur resumed their fucking, drilling dutifully like it’d kill him to leave the embrace of Charles’ ass for more than a heartbeat.
“You don’t know what you do to me,” Arthur growled, breaking their kiss to nibble indulgently down Charles’ jaw, leaving a trail of hickies down his neck to his sternum. Arthur licked at Charles’ heaving chest, working bruises into the cushioned swell of his pecs, kissing and sucking at his nipples until they pebbled tight despite the sweltering press of their rocking bodies. “Never gonna let you outta this damn bed, you keep talkin’ like that.”
Charles chuckled, scratching ferocious lines down Arthur’s bunching shoulders, pleased. “Pretty sure we can’t live off sweet-talk and orgasms,” he joked. He threw his head back against the pillow with a low cry as Arthur thrust just right, nailing his prostate dead-on.
“Maybe we just ain’t try hard enough yet,” Arthur shot back, working one hand between their bellies to seize Charles’ twitching cock. His thumb swirled against the slick head, spreading the generous beads of precum as he began to jerk Charles off in time to his thrusts. The bed squeaked as it jounced against the wall, the heavy wooden headboard smacking loudly in the quiet. “Couldn’t hurt to give it a shot, huh?”
Charles tried to get the breath for a retort, but the speed and ferocity of Arthur’s thrusts jolted the air from his lungs, leaving him gasping. His toes curled, balls drawing tight as the stars behind his eyes brightened.
“God,” he gasped, clinging to Arthur’s shoulders as his husband kissed and bit at his neck, worrying a collar of bruises into the sensitive skin. “Fuck, Arthur, Arthur—“
“C’mon, sweetheart,” Arthur panted, drunk on the low, wrecked timbre of Charles’ throat-fucked rasp. “Give it up, beautiful. Lemme have it.”
Charles shook his head, stomach convulsing as he tried desperately to hang on. His hair was a mess, mussed and pulled until the raven curls were more out his braid than in it.
“Not fair,” he whined, wriggling delightedly in Arthur’s hold. Flipping Arthur would be easy, but he loved this game, loved the greed in Arthur’s eyes, the way his man licked his chops and salivated over him like an animal. “Wanted you to—“
“You first, princess,” Arthur demanded, nails biting fiercely into Charles’ thighs as he pressed him down harder, throwing his full weight behind every thrust. He needed Charles to come first, felt the avarice for it rising like a monster in his chest with every beautiful cry. “So good for me, baby, c’mon now.”
Charles twined his fingers in Arthur’s shaggy hair, pressing him against his neck as the need in his belly drew taught, a bowstring about to snap.
“Do it,” he commanded, titling his jaw back to make more room, guiding Arthur’s lips to the join of his neck. “Give it to me, Arthur, please—“
Arthur obeyed, biting down fiercely into the proffered muscle. Charles cried out, stomach trembling as his release burst through him, an obliterating wave that tingled from his groin to the tips of his fingers and clenching toes and coalesced into the throbbing, wonderful pain of Arthur’s teeth buried in his neck.
“Oh,” Charles groaned, gutted, hips pulsing helplessly. His spend shot across his chest, immediately smeared between his and Arthur’s burning skin. The pleasure came in waves, drawn out impossibly by Arthur’s hand, which gripped Charles’ twitching cock and pumped, working him through his orgasm until tears stung his eyes from overstimulation.
Charles’ limbs were heavy, leaden and impossible to coordinate. Even so, he managed to wrap his legs around Arthur’s waist, trapping his husband close even as the man tried to pull away.
“Hell no,” Charles slurred, reaching clumsily for Arthur’s face. He cupped his jaw, insistently pulling him down into a sloppy kiss. “You finish where you started, cowboy.”
“Tryin’ to be a gentleman here,” Arthur whined, hips still humping feebly, driving his cock in and out of Charles’ clenching hole, a direct counter-point to his objection.
“Aint’ ever been one before,” Charles huffed, hitching his thighs tighter, drawing Arthur deeper. His hole hurt, over-sensitive and stinging, but it was a delicious sort of agony. “Don’t you dare start now.”
Arthur bit his lip, then thought better of it and ducked to bite Charles’ instead. “Too goddamn good to me,” he groaned, admiring the sparkling, overwhelmed look in Charles’ wet eyes, the way his chest heaved with choked sobs.
Arthur dug his feet into the mattress, setting to his appointed task of fucking his husband good and hard, driving himself to the edge and Charles towards the bright, shining line between pleasure and pain that was oversensitivity. His husband always fell apart in the best way when Arthur fucked him through his orgasm, pretty tears shining on the high apples of his cheeks, eyes wide and bright like an angel’s.
Charles clung tightly to him, breathy moans like heaven’s call in Arthur’s ears. “Gettin’ close,” Arthur groaned, cupping his hand under the curve of Charles’ skull and pulling him close for a deep, consuming kiss. “You feel too goddamn good, darlin’.”
“You’re one to talk,” Charles breathed, his sharp canines pricking gently at Arthur’s lips. His hips shifted, and Arthur gave a gutted shout as the hot hole he was driving into clenched down, going brutally tight against his aching cock. “Come for me, Arthur.”
Arthur nodded weakly, sweat smearing between their brows as he attempted a few final, aborted thrusts. Trembling, he fell obediently over the edge.
Charles sighed as Arthur’s spend seared his insides, satisfied to receive his due. He tucked Arthur’s head against his neck, peppering kisses against his hair as his husband moaned helplessly, hips stuttering as his cock jerked and sputtered. Arthur collapsed against Charles as he finished, crushing him pleasantly.
“I love you,” Charles murmured, kissing the exposed crimson curve of Arthur’s ear. He released his crushing grip around Arthur’s waist, gingerly relaxing his legs against the bed until he could tuck Arthur comfortably against him, a perfect mirror of how they’d fallen asleep. Charles trailed his nails mindlessly up and down Arthur’s sweat-slick back, gentling his heaving breaths. “No one’s ever cared for me as good as you do.”
“World’s full of fools,” Arthur huffed, nibbling another hickey into the smooth skin of Charles’ neck. He nuzzled close, exhausted and content to enjoy the buzz of afterglow. “I might be one of them, but a man’d have to be blind to treat you any other way.”
Charles chuckled, hugging Arthur tight as he kissed against his crown. “Sweet-talker.”
“You are a miracle, Charles Morgan-Smith.” Arthur pushed up onto his elbows, craning his neck until Charles met him in a besotted kiss. “And I intend to treasure you long as I live.”
The soft light of morning had fully filled the cabin when the two former-outlaws were jolted from their lazy cuddling by what sounded like a battering ram crashing against the front door.
Charles rolled out of bed fully immediately, rushing to the entryway fully nude to grab his shotgun. Arthur was up just behind him, snagging his pistols from his gunbelt and ducking down next to the window overlooking the front yard with his pistol ducked down next to the window to see what insane, soon-to-be-dead bastard was trying to bust down their door.
His eyes widened as he caught sight of what—who—awaited them on the snow-covered porch.
Arthur slapped his palm against his forehead. He’d been idly wondering why they didn’t lie in having lazy sex every morning. It was a baffling oversight, he’d been thinking, leaving their bed before the sun dawned instead of indulging themselves in the warmth of marital embrace.
“Darlin’, Arthur called to Charles, gesturing to put his gun down. “Ain’t no Pinkertons, just—“
Their two biggest reasons to be up early— loudly dissatisfied, likely hungry, and definitely of the opinion that one or both of their riders should get some damn pants on and feed them already—nickered as Charles wrenched open the door.
Taima greeted her rider by shoving her face into his bare chest so hard that he toppled back, sprawling blinking and nude in the entry hall.
“Oh,” Charles said, flushing guilty as his oldest friend looked down at him, snorting and pawing at the wooden porch. She looked distinctly unimpressed with his state—he could swear she was rolling her eyes at the mess of bruises littering his chest and neck. “We’re late with breakfast, ain’t we?”
Arthur chuckled, going to his husband’s rescue and hauling him up from the floor. “That we are.”
Charles used their joined hands to pull him into a hug, burrowing against him as the freezing air of the cabin finally overcame the adrenaline fading from his veins. “I’ll take care of the girls. You get the fire going?”
“Sure,” Arthur agreed, huddling close against the cold. “We should get a move on before the ladies start dismantling the stable on us.”
Neither man gave any indication of leaving their warm embrace until Taima stuck her head through the open doorway. The mare snorted, impatiently nipping Charles’ hair with a firm tug. Outside, Maeve whinnied in solidarity.
“Ow,” Charles grunted, batting at his horse as he broke away from Arthur’s grasp. He leaned up, patting her on the nose and carefully pulling his hair from her grip before turning to retrieve his clothes. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”