Work Text:
Everyone was cursing whoever had decided that they should go North to escape from Blackwater, yet nobody could confidently say who had called the shots. It was late for the amount of snow that had been falling as the group settled in Colter, but it didn’t much matter what time of the year it was when your ears began burning with frost after only seconds outside. Their camp was unusually silent, energy being conserved for keeping warm over having conversations, though maybe part of it was just the shock of Blackwater and the losses that had come with it.
Most of the gang spent their time inside, huddled together, only moving significantly to begrudgingly change guard duty, all waiting. For what, they weren’t quite sure. A plan, they supposed, or a change in the weather. For the Pinkertons to catch up with them. Or for them all to die out here in this white hell, at the worst.
Yet Arthur couldn’t get himself to remain still for more than a moment. The anxiety clawing at his chest became unbearable the second he stopped being productive, stopped being helpful, stopped working. He needed to keep going, for Dutch, for the gang, for John, who was still out there in the cold. Sure, he’d been less than enthusiastic about going to find him, but the worry was digging deep into his heart. No need for all of them to know how much he still cared about his little brother, would be no good for John to find out either. He didn’t need to know that he loved him unconditionally; he’d only take that as an opportunity to be a dick. Probably.
Arthur’s mind was buzzing as he dismounted the horse he had borrowed, lifting the still-warm deer off its back with a grunt. Charles was right behind him, moving to help, but his attempt was waved off at an instant, alongside a mutter about ‘your hand’. He still followed him into the stables, where Pearson had set up the kitchen, seemingly happy with their hunt. Dealing with their cook, who had somehow managed to bring plenty of drink but no food, was irritating as usual, but Arthur was not properly paying attention to anything he said. Instead, he was watching Charles out of the corner of his eye as he helped Pearson skin and prepare the deer.
Even though his hand had been burned, he was moving swiftly and confidently, the knife firmly grasped in his bandaged palm. If this disregard of pain wasn’t enough to draw Arthur in, the focused look on Charles’ face did the job. He looked serious, as he usually did, his eyes dark and moving slowly as he tracked the movement of his hands, face relaxed except for the slightest furrow of his brow in concentration. Arthur caught himself wondering if he’d make that face in any other scenario. The image flashed before his eyes, and he choked on his spit, a hacking cough drawing Charles’ attention away from the deer and onto him.
“You alright, Arthur?” God, that voice was just beautiful. Deep and silky smooth, his words carefully chosen, speaking only when he found it to be prudent, so a verbal response became a reward of its own.
“Sure.” He croaked between hacking coughs, pulling out a flask of whiskey from his coat and taking a sip to lubricate his throat. It worked, but Charles still gave him a rather curious look before resuming his task. Pearson looked at him too, his eyebrows raised, but blessedly did not say a word. Arthur excused himself from the stables shortly after, his cheeks burning with something entirely different from the biting cold.
Charles sought him out again later that day. At least, that’s what Arthur told himself. He was on watch, standing outside one of the houses as the snow kept falling, shifting around the fire to keep himself warm. Lenny was supposed to be taking over after him, but when the door behind him opened, it was Charles who stepped out.
“I’m taking over.” He reached for the rifle Arthur was gripping in his cold hands.
“Thought it was Lenny’s turn,” Arthur mumbled, rubbing his hands together before reaching into his pocket, retrieving his pack of cigarettes. He looked at the slightly crumpled cardboard and frowned. Only a few of his nice ones were left; he pocketed the pack just before their swift departure from Blackwater. He’d have to roll some later; he itched for them every time his anxiety threatened to grow. He pulled one out, placed it between his wind-chapped lips and lit it, then offered the pack to Charles. He earned himself a small smile as the man took one and lit it, and Arthur forgot about his own smoke for a second as he watched those soft lips part to wrap around the filter. He must’ve done something funny with his face as he almost dropped his cigarette.
“You sure you’re alright, Arthur?” Charles looked genuinely concerned.
“Yeah, just…worried.” It wasn’t a lie. Not really, anyways. His nerves were lying blank, each second they were stuck in this frozen hellhole grinding painfully against his soul, the events of what he had witnessed in Blackwater playing in his mind every unoccupied moment. Never mind the fact that Dutch still would not tell him what the fuck had happened, and scenarios kept racing through his mind, each one worse than the other. Hosea wouldn’t talk either, an even worse betrayal than Dutch in Arthur’s eyes. He understood Dutch had a reputation to uphold, their strong and infallible leader, but Hosea usually told him what was happening, even when Dutch didn’t want to.
Yet every time he looked at Charles, his mind went blank, the gnawing anxiety not disappearing but at least stilling for a moment. He had only joined them a couple of months ago, they hadn’t spent much time together before Colter, and while Arthur had most certainly been intrigued by the young man, his brain had chosen this time to become absolutely infatuated with him instead. The way he moved, the way he spoke, the way his hair shone in the freezing sunlight. He matched, if not exceeded, Arthur in size and strength, yet he had moved so quietly and gracefully as they were hunting together. The way he fought, calm and calculated but with a fire in his eyes that made Arthur’s stomach flip. Could he overpower him? Could the young man pin him down and hold him in place, forcing him to stay still for a moment, to just exist?
He was ripped out of his thoughts by Charles clearing his throat.
“I’m sure John will be okay.” He said, his words slow and measured. Somehow, it instantly calmed Arthur. “He’s tough.” Arthur noticed that his cigarette had burned down. He discarded it into the fire, slightly angry at himself for wasting it.
“Sure.” He said, gaze fixed on the fire.
A bandaged hand on his shoulder made him startle, his hands twitching towards his guns out of sheer instinct, his head jerking to look at Charles. The man was standing close. Very close. He could see the different shades of dark brown in Charles’ eyes, the swirling colours drawing him in, hypnotic in their beauty. He could see some faint freckles across Charles’ nose and cheeks, almost invisible had it not been for the closeness. His lips were a little cracked, his bottom lip more so. Arthur wanted to lick it, soothe the crack with his tongue.
Charles did not speak. He remained still, letting the older man look his fill, giving him time to choose how he wanted to react. Arthur felt utterly overwhelmed. His breath was catching in his chest, Charles’ hand on his shoulder seemingly burning through the many layers he was wearing. He was hard. Achingly so. Naturally, he responded to Charles with nothing but a grunting noise and turned away, hurrying through the snow into the cabin he was sharing with Dutch.
Arthur was pacing in the tiny room he had been assigned. If Hosea could see him right now, he would surely make a quip about him burning a path into the wooden floorboards. He shook his head slightly; he really did not want to think of his father while his cock was aching. He was smoking, puffing away on one hand-rolled cigarette after another. He really ought to have himself under control more, or he’d scare the young man off, and he’d never have a chance. He’s new after all, and there’s nothing like revealing that the gang enforcer is a massive invert to make someone want to leave. Then again, Dutch would probably shoot whoever dared make a comment on it. Arthur wasn’t sure which was worse.
He felt a little unnerved by his thoughts. He would seek out men frequently, but never someone in the gang. Never someone that he would see again after they parted ways. Always faceless men, their interaction limited to mutual pleasure, over the moment they both came. Yet suddenly he understood the swooning ladies in the plays Hosea had made him go and see, the ones he always found rather boring, who would faint at a glance by her love. Not even Mary had felt like this, and he was confident he had loved her. They weren’t meant to be, he knew that, but he cared for her deeply and had seen himself settling down with her, living his life as a normal man.
But Charles…Charles had lit a fire inside of him. He wanted to know him, literally and biblically, wanted to dig himself so deeply into Charles’ chest that he would be shielded from all the outside anxieties and dangers. He was fucked. Utterly and completely fucked. This man, who really deserved so much more than a ragged old outlaw, had entered his life and consumed him. And he loved it.
He wasn’t sure how long he had been pacing, nor precisely why he finally gave up. All he knew was that his erection was very clearly not going anywhere, and it was becoming painful, causing him to sigh and begin to strip. It must be rather late now, as no sunlight was creeping between the rather loose wooden slats, the small room only illuminated by the oil lamp Arthur had placed on the little table. He hung up his hat, pushed off his boots and placed them at the end of the bed. He stripped his outer clothing, despite the instant rush of cold he felt upon shedding his coat, trousers and shirt, but the snow had dampened him, and he knew it would do him better to dry them overnight rather than sleep in them. He tugged off his socks, hanging them up to dry the water that had seeped in through his boots.
The room now looked a mess, clothes hanging from every possible surface, Arthur standing in the middle dressed only in his red union suit, his erection tenting the fabric comically. Thankfully, the fabric of his union suit had remained dry, offering him at least a little warmth for the night. He sighed again, sitting down on the ominously creaking bed. He didn’t want to get too comfortable; the shame of what he was about to do made his ears burn and made him hope that it would be over and dealt with quickly. Arthur flicked open a few of the buttons right over his cock, just enough to draw out his cock and balls through the gap in the fabric. It had left a dark patch in the fabric just below his belly button, making him roll his eyes. He’d have to give that a wash himself whenever they finally moved from Colter, he couldn’t give something so obviously precum-stained to the girls to wash.
His cock was angry red, so hard he was pointing up at his own stomach, his foreskin already pushed back slightly to reveal the glistening head. Arthur groaned and spit in his hand, wrapping it around his cock with a hiss of relief. He was a pretty good size, the head poking out clearly from his large fist, enough to make most of the men he sought out want to be fucked by him. He liked it, of course he did, but god did he want to be taken instead. He would bet his favourite revolver that Charles would fuck him good. He’d never gotten a glimpse at Charles’ cock, the young man was quite private and preferred to bathe by himself, far away from prying eyes, but he seemed like he’d have a nice cock. Everything else about him is gorgeous, so it would only make sense.
He was fisting his cock quicker now, the slick skin making a rather obscene sound in the quiet room. Arthur’s eyes fell closed as he thought about Charles, particularly about the time he saw him chopping wood in their camp just south of Blackwater, shirtless and sweaty. He had had to excuse himself rapidly after seeing him like this, fleeing to jerk off desperately in the woods far too close to camp. Bill had almost caught him but it didn’t stop him from painting the ground with his cum, the image of Charles’ smooth dark skin glistening in the sun, his pecs flexing as he picked up logs. Arthur wanted to sink his teeth into them, leave marks on his flawless skin, suck and bite until Charles was no longer so stoic and controlled. He imagined Charles standing over him, shirtless and sweaty, one hand threaded tightly into Arthur’s hair, pulling his face towards his crotch. He’d feel just how hard Charles was as he grinds his bulge against his face, making him whimper.
“Charles…” He felt more than heard the name slip from his lips, distorted into an embarrassing whine. His cock was throbbing, and it wasn’t hard to imagine Charles’ big hands on his cock instead of his own. His hips had begun twitching upwards, thrusting into his fist, and the whimpers and moans just wouldn’t stop spilling from him.
He was imagining Charles, trousers open and cock pulled out, hand in Arthur’s hair and slowly feeding his cock into his mouth. Arthur would be good and take it all in, no matter if he choked on it or not. He was sure Charles would be real gentle, but he wanted him to be rough, to fuck his throat until his voice was gone, until his eyes were watering and his face smeared with spit and precum. Arthur was getting real close, his balls tight and high, his cock leaking non-stop now. “Charles, fuck, Charles…” He was panting as if he had just run from the law, his hips uncontrollably fucking upwards. He was floating, the world reduced to his fantasy of Charles and his impending orgasm. He was so close, about to spill, when…
“Arthur?”
It was as if a bowstring drawn taught had finally snapped. Arthur fell backwards onto the bed as his cock began to spurt, ropes of cum shooting across his union suit, pooling on his stomach, a few making it all the way up to his chest. He couldn’t remember ever coming so hard; his entire body was shaking, noises that he had never made before tumbling from him at an uncontrolled volume. His hips kept thrusting, although stuttering now, until the fat spurts became a dribble, desperate to draw out this perfect moment. Then Arthur opened his eyes, and he felt as if he had plummeted down onto the bed from the highest mountain.
Charles was standing there in the doorway, still wearing his heavy coat, eyes wide and face flushed. His lips were parted, as if he was about to say something, yet his voice had vanished. Arthur remained frozen for a moment until the situation finally registered. He jumped, grabbing his shirt from the nightstand to cover his softening cock, face burning hot. If the earth could open up and take him, he would go willingly.
“Shit, Charles, I’m sorry, I didn’t hear…” Arthur started, sitting up and looking thoroughly embarrassed. God, he would never live this down. Charles was going to leave the gang, and nobody except for him would know why. He fucked it all up.
As his mind was spiralling, Charles cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Arthur, I heard you calling out for me…” If it had been possible, Arthur would have flushed even more. He felt as if he was running a fever, his entire body hot.
“I’m sorry, I-…” Arthur blindly reached to grab his cigarettes, lighting one as the feeling of cum seeping through the fabric on his chest and stomach became less and less easy to ignore.
“Were you thinking about me?”
“What?” Arthur croaked, choking slightly on the smoke.
“When you were…were you thinking about me? Was my voice what made you…” Charles still looked a little out of place, but there was a certain glint in his eyes. One that Arthur had never seen before. One that made his stomach begin flipping.
He could only nod, not trusting his voice. His throat was burning, and he felt the urge to get up and run, off into the snow. Yet he couldn’t move, eyes trained on Charles’ face. The man didn’t look disgusted. That was…something. Then he began to move, and Arthur had to pinch himself to make absolutely sure he wasn’t dreaming, or that he hadn’t hit his head and was currently dying.
Charles was taking off his jacket, then the scarf wrapped around his head and neck, then his shirt and boots. All in quick succession. He was left in his undershirt and trousers, suspenders shrugged down to hang loosely from his hips. Then he was right there, in front of Arthur, and he was suddenly at eye level with the bulge straining against the dark fabric of Charles’ trousers. But instead of undressing further, Charles sank onto his knees, level with Arthur sitting on the bed. His cold fingers felt blissful against the heated skin of his face, tilting his chin up to properly look at him. “Charles…” Arthur’s voice was nothing more than a rough whisper.
“Arthur…can I…” Charles’ voice sounded strained, as if he was holding himself back and struggling to do so. Arthur didn’t know what he was asking for. He didn’t care. He would let this man do whatever he wanted. He would let him kill him and accept it with a smile on his face. Charles’ face was so close again, he could see just how long his eyelashes were. He wanted to kiss the freckle on his forehead. He wanted to bite at his throat, marking him as if he’d been attacked by a wild animal. Arthur couldn’t muster more than a soft noise and the slightest nod. Then they were kissing and he was spinning away from his little room in the little cabin high in the mountains at back-breaking speed. Charles’ skin was cold, he must have just come off his guard duty. But his mouth was so hot it burned, and Arthur wanted to crawl inside of him. They kissed until they were breathless, the world slowly coming to a halt again as they gasped for breath. Arthur had dropped his cigarette somewhere, his hands now grasping Charles by the shoulders, pulling him in closely for another kiss. He had no idea how, but the younger man tasted incredible. Like cigarettes and a bit of whiskey, sure, but somehow fresh and sweet and absolutely addictive. His lips were soft, and Arthur finally got to run his tongue over where his bottom lip had cracked in the cold. He could have sworn Charles’ breath hitched a little as he did so, so he had to do it again. Charles swore under his breath as they parted again, his hands digging into Arthur’s hips.
“What were you thinking about?” His voice was rough and deeper than usual, strained in a way that made it clear he was trying to sound more composed than he was.
“I…you, Charles.”
“I knew that, Arthur…” He chuckled, leaning forward to pop a couple of the buttons at the top of the older man’s union suit, exposing more of the freckled, sun-damaged skin before leaning forward, pressing soft kisses against Arthur’s neck.
“You…ah…you were fucking my face. Real rough like. Making me choke.” He struggled with his words, Charles’ tongue on his skin both distracting and encouraging.
“Would you like that, Arthur?” He felt the man smile against his skin. God, the way he said his name, it was like music to his ears. He had never particularly understood calling out someone’s name during sex, but now it seemed like the most obvious thing in the world. He would bet Charles could make him cum just like this. He couldn’t form the words to answer, but Charles seemingly understood the high-pitched whine to be an enthusiastic yes. He leaned backwards, the loss of touch making Arthur whimper a little, rising to his feet to unbutton his trousers. Arthur felt as if his eyes were going to pop out of his head as Charles shoved his trousers and underwear down, exposing his hard cock. God, it was an absolute marvel. His mouth fell open as he lunged forward clumsily, not being able to stand another second with his mouth so desperately empty. His lips wrapped around the tip of Charles’ cock, tongue dipping under the man’s foreskin, desperate to taste him. He moaned as the bittersweet taste bloomed on his tongue, causing Charles’ hips to thrust forward slightly.
“Shit, sorry…” He mumbled, but Arthur only swallowed more of him down in response, pulling at his hips to spur him on. “You want this, Arthur?” The garbled moan he got in response sent vibrations through his cock, and he began to thrust slowly. He learned quickly that Arthur started choking and gagging at about two-thirds of the way in, but he seemed to like it. His eyes had become glassy, drool spilling from his lips onto his chin each time Charles pushed in, a continuous stream of choked noises coming from him.
“Breathe…” Charles ran his hands through Arthur’s hair gently, pushed in far enough to make him choke. He felt him breathe and relax, slowly pushing forward until he felt his cock slip into his throat and Arthur’s nose was buried in his pubes, chin brushing against his balls. Charles chose not to pull out far, just enough to give him space to grind and fuck into the older man’s mouth with smooth, quick thrusts, each swallow getting him closer and closer to orgasm. Then Arthur’s mouth and throat were suddenly empty and he whined at the loss, moving forward as if to chase the feeling of Charles’ cock inside of him.
“Shit, wait, Arthur…” Arthur felt pride blossom in his chest at the fact that the young man was out of breath, gripping the base of his cock tightly to starve off his orgasm. “Can I fuck you? Please Arthur…” His voice was rough, sounding a little as if he couldn’t believe that this was happening.
“Please”, Arthur’s voice was hoarse, as if he’d smoked too many cigarettes. “Been wanting it so bad Charles…” The room felt hot as Charles rose to his feet, quickly stripping his remaining clothes, throwing them on the floor. Arthur was transfixed, watching, so intent on taking in every inch revealed to him he didn’t react when Charles suddenly moved, pushing Arthur onto the bed, flipping him to lie on his front, pinning him down to the squeaking mattress. The sheer show of strength made Arthur moan, his hips grinding against the bed, trying to move from below Charles’ grip. It was fruitless. He's not going anywhere, and it made him even harder.
His cock had been stirring ever since he got to taste that beautiful dick, but it was now back to fully erect and beginning to leak. He felt Charles’ large hands roam over his covered back, his thighs, his arse. He felt fabric shift, followed by a sudden chill over his arse. Charles had unbuttoned the bottom flap of his union suit to expose his ass, his cold hands massaging the firm skin. Something about being almost fully dressed, only his cock and ass exposed for Charles to play with, made Arthur whine, pushing back into Charles’ firm grip.
“Fuck, Arthur, look at you…” Charles’ voice was low, his fingers tickling over the sensitive skin, dipping into his hairy crack to ghost over his hole. He could’ve guessed that Arthur would be hairy, he’d seen his chest, but something about the sheer masculinity of it made his mouth water. “Can I…”
“Anything, whatever you want.” Arthur huffed, face pushed into the mattress.
“Be careful, Arthur…” He could hear Charles’ smile, his fingertip pressing against his hole a little more firmly.
“I mean it.” The words were a low grunt, yet suddenly Arthur let out a squeak so undignified he would shoot anyone who had heard it. Charles’ impossibly hot mouth had made contact, soothing over the cool skin of Arthur’s ass. He pressed kisses into the skin, bit down on the fat part of his ass, then soothed the mark with his tongue. He repeated this until Arthur was whining, his hips moving of their own volition, and finally touched him where he knew he wanted it most. That burning hot tongue swiped over Arthur’s tight hole, swirling over it until he relaxed, just enough to breech him ever so slightly.
It’s not something Arthur had ever been on the receiving end of, and now he understood why some men would beg and plead with him to fuck them with his tongue. He felt as if he were on fire, each touch fanning the flames, the slurping sounds making his face burn even hotter. Fuck, Charles was good at this. He briefly wondered how often he’d done this before, the thought of Charles with his face buried in a faceless man’s ass both making him whine with need and filling him with jealous rage. He pushed himself back further, onto Charles’ tongue, who made a muffled noise of surprise and pleasure. He fucked him as deep as he could, his tongue as deep inside of him as possible, pulling away only to catch his breath and suck on his own finger, moistening it with spit. Arthur’s upset noise was cut off by a moan as that thick finger pushed inside of him with ease, loosened up well from how thoroughly he’d been eaten out. Arthur let those sweet fingers open him up, beginning to protest once Charles had been spreading three fingers inside of him for over a minute.
“’M ready, Charles, I can take it.” He mumbled, his tone making it clear that he would not be argued with on this.
“Yessir…” He could hear Charles smiling, a little upset that he was facing away from him.
“Give it to me, big guy.” Arthur felt the head of Charles’ fat cock press against his hole and pushed back, letting the tip slip inside of him with ease. Charles’ hands gripped his hips, holding him steady as he pushed in until he was seated deep, his hips flush with Arthur’s, breathing hard. Before Arthur could open his mouth to complain, Charles was moving, and all thoughts left his head as he was speared open. He shifted a little, and that fat cock began to hit his prostate dead-on, making Arthur whine, grunt and huff as he desperately fucked himself backwards on Charles’ cock.
The younger man curled over him, his lips coming to kiss and bite at the back of Arthur’s neck, licking up where sweat had dampened the skin.
“So good for me, Arthur.” Charles mumbled, his sweet kisses accompanied by sharp thrusts that beat the air from Arthur’s lungs. “Been wanting you, been wanting to fuck you ever since I saw you.” His hips were snapping against him at a rapid pace. “I know everyone thinks you’re the one doing the fucking, but I could see it right away…you were made to take cock, weren’t you?”
Arthur’s eyes were rolling in his head with pleasure as he nodded, his head bobbing with the thrusts. “Your cock, Charles…” He moaned, back arched, trying to push back into every point of contact with the young man behind him.
“That’s right…” Charles must be getting close. His voice sounded strained, his thrusts starting to be off-rhythm, snapping desperately forward. His large hand wrapped firmly around Arthur’s neglected cock, which had been dripping onto the mattress like a leaking tap. Arthur moaned, and had the briefest flash of realisation that goddamnit, he hoped that Dutch was not in the building. But then the firm grip on his cock began moving in time with Charles’ thrusts, and all thoughts disappeared. Within seconds, he was coming. He tried to warn Charles, but words could not form, only a series of desperate moans spilling from him before he stiffened and began to spill, dirtying the mattress and Charles’ hand. He must’ve tightened quite a bit, as Charles groaned, almost as if in pain, and his thrusts became sloppy and desperate. Then Arthur felt more impossible hotness, right inside of him, heating him from his very core. It was so much that he felt it spilling from his hole stretched around Charles, heat dripping down over his balls before rapidly cooling.
Charles slumped over him, covering him with his now very warm and slightly sweaty body, pressing kisses to whatever bit of Arthur’s skin could reach. After both a second and an eternity, he lifted himself, gently sliding out of Arthur, who immediately felt unbearably empty. The older man whined slightly but didn’t move as Charles moved off the bed and began rummaging through his things. He returned a few moments later, brandishing a bandana that he must have dampened from his water canteen, swiping gently over the cooling mess spilling out of Arthur. When he was satisfied, he grasped Arthur by the hips, flipping him onto his back to gently clean his cock. He cleaned his own cock as well, before awkwardly stilling, looking unsure of what he was supposed to do. As he rose and began to look for his socks and underwear, Arthur finally croaked out some words.
“And where do you think you’re going?” His eyes were barely open, but he was looking at Charles, both a little amused and challenging.
“I thought I…”
“Get back in here, Charles.” His voice was stern now as he shuffled over on the small bed, which was certainly not made to house two very large men, “’s cold.” He sighed happily as Charles sank onto the mattress, pressing himself close so they could both fit.
“Just…wake me up at six, ‘m supposed to take guard after Javier.” Arthur mumbled, his face pressed against Charles’ neck. He began snoring shortly after, holding onto Charles tightly like an overly large pillow.
Charles was a little confused at how he had gotten here, but goddamnit, he would not be complaining. He’d hoped the gang’s enforcer would be receptive to some…homosexual activities but this was much more than he had ever hoped for. Well, if he wasn’t so sure about if joining the Van Der Linde gang was a good idea before, he was now confident it was the best choice he’d ever made. He fell asleep like that, Arthur’s breath heavy against his skin, his warm body pressed as close as possible, and a strange, tingly feeling building in his stomach every time Arthur sighed in his sleep.