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It had been almost a year since John had run off but life had kept on going without him for the Van der Linde gang. If she was feeling less than charitable, Abigail might even say things were much easier without him.
Initially, the mood around camp had been uncertain; they had even debated if they should keep their camp in the same place, lest a humbled John had come crawling back in the middle of the night.
But as the weeks, then months had kept right on coming with no sign of him, a decision had to be made.
One night, there had been a loud argument in Dutch's tent that had resulted in two outcomes: Hosea storming out through the canvas flap muttering angrily to himself about spared rods and spoiled children and Dutch making an announcement the following morning.
They would be moving camp. Immediately.
Dutch didn’t speak about John after that, not at least during the day. Arthur had found him once, a few months later, draped over Hosea’s shoulder late one night sitting around a guttering fire. He was singing softly to himself, a shiny tear track on his cheek glistening in the moonlight.
Arthur had known better than to try and talk to him about it.
No one else had seemed much troubled by John’s disappearance, chalking his absence up to “just one of those things that happen”. While the Van der Linde gang was a tight-knit one, they were still just that: a gang. This many people sticking together for so long was rare, and they had lost members before.
So life went on.
Jack grew quickly, pulling himself up on cot frames and even walking with some assistance from Uncle, who found it funny that there was finally someone in camp whose step bobbled more than his. Miss Grimshaw had started asking Abigail for more help with the laundry and the mending, even entrusting her with the occasional trip into town with Mr. Pearson to pick up supplies.
Even Arthur, for all his coldness, seemed to be warming to the idea of her and Jack sticking around.
He hadn’t taken John’s place; they still slept in their own beds, even on the nights she snuck into his tent after putting Jack down. She would return to her own cot a few hours later, her hair mussed and at least one fresh bite mark decorating her neck .
Once, she had found a new dress, still wrapped in brown butcher paper from the mercantile, sitting on her cot, along with a small stuffed horse toy. She had been folding laundry later that night , Jack on a blanket at her feet playing with the horse, when Arthur had passed by. She reached out and touched his thigh, stopping him in his tracks. She had to clear her throat as she struggled to focus on anything but the firm muscle beneath her fingers.
“I uh…. I got the dress. The one you left for me, on my cot. That was from you, right? That and the toy for Jack?”
Arthur looked down at her; she had no idea what he was thinking. His voice was rough and husky when he answered, as if it had been hours since he had spoken to anyone.
“I figure I owed ya one after the mess I made outta the only good dress ya got.”
Abigail’s cheeks flushed at the memory of how Arthur had destroyed her favorite cornflower blue dress; tearing it open at the collar to suck deep, angry bruises into the soft flesh of her neck and chest then using the ragged fabric to clean his mess off her back. She looked up at him through fluttering lashes, a sudden heat building in her core.
He hadn’t asked her to take her hand off his leg.
She wasn’t sure how long they had been there, staring at each other the way they were, when suddenly Jack cried out, making her give a small jump.
Abigail twisted to set down the shirt she had been folding so she could tend to the crying child. But before she turned back around, his crying stopped. Confused, she lifted her head to see Arthur holding the baby. The small child was cradled in his arms, wrapped loosely in the blue blanket Miss Grimshaw had knitted for him. The gunslinger was bouncing the baby gently, his spurs jingling softly with the movement.
She watched him curiously, momentarily too shocked by the sight to say anything. Jack reached for Arthur’s face, his fat little fists swinging in the air as he babbled, tears still clinging to his dark lashes.
“That’s some first timer’s luck right there. Maybe you should head over to the saloon, see what kinda killing you could make at the poker table.”
Arthur laughed bitterly and crouched to set the now satisfied boy back down on the ground.
He dusted his hands off on his shirt and replied with a sigh
“You and John wasn’t the first ones fool enough to have a kid when ya ought to have known better. Y’all just ain’t had to bury yours yet.”
Abigail’s stomach dropped
Fuck
“Arthur, I- I’m sorry. I didn’t know. John never-”
“And John better never, neither! It ain’t none of his business to be sharing, and I don’t aim to start advertising it myself.”
He scoffed, shaking his head
“I don't know why I said anything. Just….forget it. Let it lie, woman.” Arthur growled, his posture stiffening.
There was a coldness in his stare that ensured Abigail knew better than to continue pushing the subject.
Jack cooed between them, waving the toy horse in the air, but all she could see was Arthur’s icy blue eyes, staring down into hers.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
Dutch’s voice dripped with sarcasm and suspicion as it cut through the heavy silence that hung between them. Arthur didn’t move, simply shifting his gaze from Abigail up over her head to look at Dutch
“Naw, Dutch. You ain’t interruptin’ a thing.”
Abigail didn’t dare to turn around, already feeling the embarrassed tears burning the corners of her eyes. She started at Arthur’s boots, the shoes and the grass beneath them beginning to warble.
“Well….. If it’s nothing then I’m sure Miss Abigail won’t mind if I request your presence in my quarters for a conversation. A private conversation.”
Abigail opened her mouth to reply, but Arthur brushed past her, following Dutch without another word.
Hours later, when the last song had been sung around the fire and the final shot of whisky poured, Abigail had made her way across the campsite and stole into Arthur’s tent.
He was sitting on the ground, leaning back against his heavy trunk, sketching in his journal. He didn’t look up when she came in. She stared at him for a moment, waiting for him to say something. When he continued to silently scratch away in his journal, she sighed and said
“Well, Dutch seemed pretty serious. Are we moving again? Somebody cause some trouble?”
Arthur grunted, shaking his head. Silence, again, settled heavily over the tent.
Abigail rolled her eyes and waved at the distracted man, trying to get his attention
“Well? Hellooooo?? Cat got your tongue? What? Did you get in trouble with Daddy for neglecting your chores and don't wanna talk about it?”
Arthur’s pencil stopped moving and his eyes snapped up from the page to glower at her.
He tossed his journal to the ground beside him, and he twirled his pencil in his fingers casually, but his voice was all rough edge
“Dutch heard tell of a man hauled into the county jail this weekend, next town over. He did some poking around, and it turns out this fella is none other than his beloved prodigal son, John.”
Abigail suddenly had difficulty swallowing, her mouth was full of cotton.
“H-what?”
“You heard me, girl. I’m heading out to pick ‘im up first thing in the morning. Luckily, the fool was only busted for public drunkenness, so they should be more than willing to let him go without too much hassle. “
Abigail sank down onto Arthur's cot, her eyes fixed on the ground. Her mind was racing; a low moan escaped her, and her hand flew to her mouth to stifle the sound.
A far off coyote wailed in the darkness outside the tent.
When she spoke again, her voice was a ghastly croak that was choked with emotion. She couldn’t look up from her toes; she pushed them through the thick grass, trying to distract herself from the knot in her throat that was pressing on her windpipe.
“We can’t…. This is - we ….we can’t tell….John. John can’t know about this. Ever.”
Arthur laughed, a cruel cold laugh that made Abigail feel about two feet tall and worth half as much. She squeezed her eyes closed, like the sound physically hurt.
“So what was your plan? Use me to keep limber til your pretty boy came crawlin’ back and expect me to keep your dirty secrets?”
Abigail felt a hot tear roll down her cheek as she shook her head. She couldn’t look at him, she wasn’t sure why.
“That’s not fair, Arthur.”
He laughed again, and groaned softly as he stood.
“Not sure what I expected from a whore. ‘Spose I should be grateful you were clean and y’ didn’t charge me.”
Abigail suddenly had no trouble looking up at Arthur now. Her eyes blazed with rage and she wiped the tears off her cheek with a quick swipe of her wrist.
“Fuck you, Arthur! Just because I have a chance at somethin’ you lost doesn’t give you the right to be a hateful bastard!”
She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips. He blinked, flinching as if she had slapped him. Immediately his posture changed; he straightened up and took a step back away from her.
He began unbuttoning and rolling up his sleeves, and he nodded towards the flap of the tent
“Reckon you should head back to y’own quarters, Mrs. Marston. I’ve got a long ride back from town with your child’s father tomorrow. Long ride means a whole lotta time to fill Mr. Marston in on what’s been goin’ on around camp.”
Abigail could feel herself drowning; her head was beginning to feel light, and her lungs were burning. She stared at Arthur, whale-eyed.
“ Arthur…..please. I can’t- he…. “
She swallowed hard and drew in a ragged breath, trying to steady herself. When she spoke, her voice was small, desperate
“He’s Jack’s daddy, Arthur. What choice do I have?”
Before she realized what she was doing, she stood and stepped forward, closing the gap between them and grabbed one of his hands. She squeezed his fingers tightly and looked up into his face, tears streaming back across her temples to dampen her hair. She cleared her throat and gave him a weepy smile.
For the first time, Arthur had a hard time meeting her gaze.
“I’d like to think we can be friends about this. We had our fun, but we both knew this couldn’t go anywhere, didn't we? Neither of us even wanted it to go anywhere…..right?”
She felt him pull against her grip; she squeezed his fingers a little tighter.
“At the end of the day, you were chasing some other woman, some other baby. And I was lookin’ for another man. We just got lonely….. convinced ourselves that we might’ve found what we was searching for. At least for a little while.“
Abigail sighed, her breath shuddering, and she shrugged
“He’s Jack’s daddy and I’m…..well, we both know what I am. What man would have me, have us?”
The truth of her words hit her like a freight train. She really didn't have anywhere else to go.
John wasn't a good man, or even a halfway decent father, but Jack was his and sometimes he made her laugh. That was enough.
It had to be.
Arthur had stopped pulling from her grip and much to Abigail’s surprise, twined his fingers with hers in a gentle gesture, his gaze fixed on their clasped hands. He sighed, the sound weary
“Well, guess there's no point in gettin’ all worked up about it.”
Arthur's eyes moved from their hands to Abigail's arm and up along her neck until they found her face. He stared down at her for a few moments, his brow knitted and his mouth a firm line. His free hand raised, then stopped, hovering in mid air for only a few seconds , before he cupped her chin, tilting her face up towards his.
Then, before either of them had the chance to think better about it, he leaned down and kissed her. And she let it happen.
Arthur released her hand, throwing it aside to wrap his arm around her back and pull her in tight. Their noses smashed against each other's, the pain lighting a flare in front of Abigail's eyes. She cried softly, the sound immediately being swallowed by Arthur's mouth; he was hungry, searching for every inch of her, to consume her fully.
As if he knew that after tonight he was being cursed to starve forever.
Abigail threw her head back, a breathy wail rattling her frame as she clung to him; the heat of his mouth and scratch of his stubble as he trailed kisses along the tender flesh of her neck made focusing on much of anything else difficult, standing included. She bobbled, her knees buckling slightly, and his lips left her skin, pulling away with a soft pop. They both laughed, soft breathy chuckles
He pressed a kiss into her crown and rested his cheek against her hair for just a moment before he hummed softly and Abigail felt him guiding her back towards the cot.
She knew that this was coming; this was what always happened when she came into Arthur’s tent. She didn’t mind. She had learned a long time ago that this was just one of the parts of travelling with men. At least with Arthur, she had always enjoyed herself.
Fresh tears stung the corners of her eyes; she didn’t do anything to keep them from falling.
She groaned softly as the cowboy settled on top of her, his weight pressing her into the thin mattress of the cot. His hands raked up and down her body, palms rushing against the bare skin of her thighs as he slipped under her skirt. His touch was rough and urgent. Arthur pressed his hips into hers, grinding his stiffening length against her stomach, and nuzzled against her cheek.
His voice was a rough whisper, husked into hot skin
“Oh, pretty girl……”
Suddenly his hand was loosening her skirt belt and dipping inside her waistband and underwear. She was shamefully wet when he found her core, his long fingers spreading her and plunging inside her. She moaned , low and shuddery, her hips pumping up, following the feeling of his fingers.
Arthur rolled onto his side, throwing a leg over her stomach to keep her flat on the mattress. He humped against her hip, digging his hard cock into her soft flesh. Growling softly, he decorated her jaw and neck with kisses while his fingers flew to open the buttons that trailed down the front of her top.
Abigail cried out when he touched her, his cold rough skin on hers as he reached inside her blouse. He grabbed her breast, squeezing it tightly before drawing his fingers to her nipple to twist it gently. She pressed her forehead against his and took a deep,trembling breath; his thumb was rubbing slow circles into her clit, his fingers curling against her walls.
“Oh… oh Arthur….Arthur…”
She twisted her fingers into the sandy curls at the nape of his neck and rubbed a lock with her thumb, trying to memorize the feel. A fat tear welled in her eye and rolled back down her cheek. Arthur leaned to wipe it off with his own cheek, his whiskers scrubbing against her wet skin.
Abigail turned her face to give a choked sob. She squeezed her eyes closed tightly, trying to ignore the urge to break down crying and focus on the feeling of pressure building low in her hips.
Arthur sighed and shifted his weight, hovering over her and caging her body with his knees. He grabbed her chin in the crook of his thumb, turning her face towards him, then brushed a tear off her cheek with his fingers. His voice was a gentle rumble as he purred into her skin between kisses
“Hush, now. Quit y’ cryin’. “
He pressed his lips to hers, breathing in deeply before releasing her to kiss his way down her neck to her chest. Spreading her shirt open wide, he nuzzled his face against her breast before teasing the tip of her rosy nipple with his tongue. Abigail hissed, the sudden lightning bolt of sensation slicking her thighs.
Arthur’s cock strained against the fabric of his pants, begging to be released as it pressed into her stomach. She squeezed her hands in between their bodies to fumble with his belt buckle, the process being made all the more difficult by Arthur pinching her nipple, rolling it gently between his teeth. She whined softly, bowing her back to press tightly against his torso, then fell back down onto the cot, tugging his belt loose with a sharp yank.
Arthur chuckled against her skin, her nipple still clamped between his teeth, as he felt her hands pulling down the front of his pants, freeing his cock to dangle heavily over her.
He sat up slowly, pulling at her nipple until it slipped out between his teeth.
Abigail yelped, though the sound was quickly stifled by Arthur’s fingers filling her mouth. She gagged noisily around his digits, and he patted her on the cheek with his free hand, cooing praise
“Lookit that! That pretty little mouth is good fer somethin’ other than runnin’ a mile a minute! Good girl….”
He slid his fingers in and out of her mouth, drool bubbling out over her tongue to trail back down her jaws. She moaned against his fingers, winding her tongue between them.
“Thaaaat's right……fuck that mouth feels so good.”
His hand slick, Arthur sat back on his heels to stroke his firm length, preparing to fuck her. Then, in a single smooth movement, he was on top of her and pushing inside, his cock stretching her with a familiar, almost pleasant discomfort.
She cried out, leaning up to bury her face in his shoulder. Arthur laughed, patting her head before grabbing the loose bun that hung near her neck and pulling her head back towards the mattress.
“ Let me look atcha this time.”
Abigail opened her mouth to speak, but all she could manage was a ragged keening as Arthur pumped into her hard and fast. She squeezed his sides with her thighs, tossing her head back into the mattress to wail skyward. He angled her face to one side with the tightening of his grip in her hair, blinking through a bead of sweat to watch her expression change, shifting with each thrust.
Her brow furrowed and her mouth hung open, her breath rasping out accompanied by soft, whining moans. She reached up to wrap her arms around his neck; he turned his face to nuzzle against her wrist.
Abigail could feel a tightening pressure low in her abdomen;she leaned up towards Arthur , pulling against his grip on her hair. She was going to cum and she needed to kiss him.
His eyes met hers and he knew what she was searching for. Arthur leaned down and kissed her full on the lips, deep and passionate as he fucked into her.
He grabbed her waist, pressing her body closer to his,trying his best to be mindful of his strength. Arthur seemed to realize she wasn’t his to mark up any more; his fingers still twisted in her hair, pinning her to the mattress, but he hadn’t bitten her, hadn’t sucked deep purple bruises into her skin.
Hadn’t devoured her the way he was used to doing, the way he wanted to.
Suddenly, he felt the tightening of her body around him, heard her breathing quicken and shallow out. He grinned against her mouth
“Good job, baby girl. Let me feel ya…”
Abigail came with a low groan, bucking against Arthur and pressing small crescents into his shoulders with her fingernails. With her release came fresh tears, and Arthur snuggled down on top of her holding her tightly while she cried. She sobbed into his shoulder , breathing in his musky, sweaty smell and he kissed her, gentle and tender, on her tear-damp cheeks.
After a few minutes of shivery breathing, Arthur kissed her on the lips; Abigail gave a small sound of surprise that melted into a soft whine.
When their lips parted, Arthur had started pumping into her again, his own breathing quickening. Each thrust was accompanied by a hoarse grunt or praise husked into Abigail’s sweaty skin
“That pussy… ah fuck”
“G-good girl…..that’s a good girl”
“Shit, I’m - I’m gonna .”
He lifted to pull out, but Abigail wrapped her legs around his back holding him in place. Arthur stared down at her, his sweaty brow knitted with confusion. Abigail simply nodded and leaned up to place a soft kiss on his lips. Arthur seemed to understand her, pursing his lips and nodding back before closing his eyes and quickening the pace of his hips.
Abigail gave a soft gasp as he felt the first spray of heat inside her, but said nothing. Arthur cried out with a loud moan, crumpling to rest his head on her bare chest as he panted and quivered out the last of his load. She wrapped her arms around him, petting his hair and pushing his damp curls off his forehead.
She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like this before they fell asleep. But the next thing she knew it was morning, and she was alone in Arthur’s cot.
She sat up , pulling up a blanket to cover her chest, and looked around her. Finally her eyes settled on Arthur. He sat on his heavy chest, tugging on his boots. He looked up, the sound of her movement drawing his attention. They held each other’s gaze for just a moment, then Arthur rose from his seat with a sigh.
“Well, guess I’m headed to town.”
Abigail stared up at him, twisting the blanket in her grasp. She nodded silently