HIS II | Arthur Morgan x Reader

Honor

"Heya darlin'..."

Arthur's deep tone practically vibrates through her body, lighting up a flame inside of her that she didn't even realize was there.

"Sorry, I'm late." His voice was low and hoarse as he shakes off his vest; the summer heat causing a sheen of sweat to creep up his skin.

Mary's eyes trace over him from her seat on his cot, following the line of his neck and down to where his shirt collar hangs open, heat begins to creep up her cheeks at the memory of what lay underneath. Sure, she'd seen it before, even felt it as they had made love, but tonight she craved to touch it, to trace the lines of his muscles. Why? She didn't know why, maybe it was the heat, maybe it was him, or maybe, and most probably it was because of you, because of how she'd seen him look at you yesterday, because of the sickening jealousy that boiled inside of her. A primal urge surfaced within, making her desperate to mark her territory and show her claim on her man, even though you seemed oblivious to Arthur's lingering glances she still needed to make it know that he was hers.

"Charles and I lost track of time." He continues, removing his gun belt carefully and walking over to her, pressing a gentle kiss to her hair. She turns into it, inhaling his scent and enjoying the mixed flavor that was uniquely him, pine, tobacco, horse, and whiskey. He reaches behind her grabbing the half-full bottle of bourbon from the bedside table.

"You wanna go join the others?" he asks, acknowledging the laughter and singing that rages outside, the whole gang loudly celebrating their recent big score that Dutch had orchestrated.

Arthur and Charles had been in town tying up loose ends from the job before stopping in the saloon to celebrate together, getting carried away in their drinking before Arthur remembered he had invited Mary to join the festivities, their relationship feeling strained as of late, thanks to his growing feelings for you, and he felt a celebration would provide a nice distraction.

"I suppose we should." Mary accepts, reluctantly, never truly enjoying the company of the gang. She found the way they partied uncouth and common, a far cry from her higher society gatherings.

"Alright darlin', let's go." He swings a heavy arm around her shoulder cheerfully, drawing her into him but she quickly ducks away, smoothing down her hair and collar with a scowl. "Sorry I uh, forgot." He mumbles.

Taking a long gulp from the whiskey bottle he fights the urge to roll his eyes at Mary's attempts to act 'like a proper lady.' The gang couldn't care less about properness or how a lady should truly act, but still, she insisted on formalities, never truly relaxing in his presence. Arthur was surprised when they had first slept together, he had been willing to wait, knowing how women of her kind typically waited until marriage, but oddly Mary had been the one to push the matter, oddly this was something she didn't believe made her less of a lady. More than happy to oblige Arthur soon discovered that their sex life would be uneventful and lacking a certain spontaneity, with Mary having a strict set of rules about when and where. More often they ended up in a hotel room with Mary laid on her back, and Arthur feeling it more of a formality than an act of passion.

Outside the festivities were in full swing. Javier, Lenny, and Charles played music while the rest of the gang sang and danced along in varying states of drunkenness. Arthur's eyes take in the scene, a large smile spreading across his face at the sight of his family lettings loose. These were his favorite times, the danger of the job behind them until the next opportunity, the kitchen stocked, the booze flowing, and the camp funds sitting healthy and stable. Scanning across the camps his eyes fall on you.

There you were in the middle of the field dancing freely among the couples around you. Dutch and Molly skip freely to the tune, Mary-Beth and Uncle spin and clap whilst Ms. Grimshaw and John dance stiffly behind, much to the amusement of Abigail who claps along with little Jack. Arthur takes another swig, hoping the burn of liquor will distract him, but it only adds to the heat as he continues to stare, watching as Hosea twirls you around before dipping you low. As if in slow motion your hair falls loose from its bun and you laugh warmly before snapping up and twirling away, your skirt and hair flowing around you with the movement.