Arthur Morgan is finally happy.
A wife, a daughter, and another child on the way, he's finally living the life he never thought he deserved. Finally free from the gang and with Colm dead, Arthur looks to continue his family and marital bliss, but...
Warnings: light smut (<--- that's pretty subjective to the writer so assume light by my standards)
"Arthur, c'mon you've had enough," Charles states, watching on as his friend drains yet another shot of whiskey, him getting progressively drunker as the night wore on.
"Oh wouldya stop bein' a wet blanket Charlie boy." Sean chimes in, slinging an arm drunkenly around Arthur and splashing him with whiskey. "Tha poor man's just had his heartbroken, let 'im drink all he wants."
"Yea Charles..." Arthur raises yet another glass, swaying slightly in his seat, "'m heartbroken lemme drink." He slurs, tipping back his head and wincing when the amber liquid hits his throat.
Charles shakes his head, realizing when he's beat, he throws his hands up, sliding in next to Arthur. The pair slap him on the back, welcoming their new drinking buddy and ordering another round to celebrate.
A few hours later and the trio can barely stand, the three of them lean on the bar for support, Arthur holds his head low, the brim of his hat covering his eyes. Charles, and Sean flank either side of him, each with an arm crossed around their friend's shoulders, leaning in and shouting snippets of support into his ear, like two drunk guardian angels.
"You've got to get back on the horse English."
"I can't believe I'm saying this but Sean's right. Besides, I happen to know someone who's got her eye on you.
Arthur raises his head quickly, sobering a little he turns to face Charles, "Really?"
"Yeppp." Charles prods Arthur's chest and stumbles, grabbing the bar to balance himself again. "She told me so."
"Who?" Arthur steadies his friend, grabbing his elbow to prevent him from falling back.
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Charles' lips pull up into a toothy grin, his eyes glazed from the alcohol. "S'not right to say, but shes from camp and she thinks you're a reeeeeal catch."
"Jesus English, what have you got that I don't? I can't get any o' the women t' even look at me."
Arthur ignores Sean's question, his drunk mind scrambling to guess who Charles was referring to,
"Ya know who I wouldn't mind gettin' a piece of? Miss Y/L/N..." Sean whistles, shaking his head as he thinks of you, "Sweet little thing she is walking around in dem jeans. What I wouldn't give t-"
Sean barely has time to blink before his feet leave the floor, his back slamming against a beam in the middle of the bar.
"Don't talk about her like that," Arthur growls, gripping the labels of Sean's jacket and holding him up.
"Ah, so Morgan has a thing for the new lass, eh?" Sean laughs unphased by his current position.
"I mean it Sean, don't."
Holding his hands up in surrender Arthur reluctantly lowers his friend to the ground, silently returning to his position at the bar and draining the last of his drink.
"I'm going home."
He isn't sure how he managed to get home, between his drunken state and his mind thinking of you, it was a miracle he made it back to camp.
Thank God for that compass of a horse...
Finally, he stumbles back to his tent, throwing himself on the bed and staring up at the canvas ceiling. As he lay there his thoughts began to drift, as they so often did at this hour, back to you. His mind replayed your dance together, no doubt the catalyst in ending his and Mary's engagement, he relived every touch, every step that had caused him so much turmoil, but now he was free to remember it without the weight of guilt in his heart.
The alcohol in his blood clouds his mind, so he closes his eyes, drifting off into the memory and letting sleep wash over him, allowing the intoxication to morph the souvenir into something he can really feel. He gasps when his hands ghost over the curve of your back, his fingers press gently against your flesh and suddenly he's right back in the moment.
You smile up at him and his heart begins to pound, torn between wanting to kiss you or to keep staring at you more. But this isn't a memory, this is his dream, here he is finally free to live out the reality he wants, no longer tied to his promise of marriage. So, tentatively he leans down, capturing your mouth with his. He feels you startle, a slight tension in your back before your muscles relax, your body sighing into his and welcoming his touch. This is better than he imaged, the taste of your tongue and the feeling of his lips sliding against yours, he wants the savor this moment forever, he tangles a hand into your hair holding you tight to him so you don't disappear. A whimper escapes your breath, and he bites your lip, the sound awakening a primal instinct deep down inside. His body needed you, it ached to feel you.
Pushing you back, he watches as you fall against nothing, the scene molding its shape to alter the landscape. You bounce against his cot, reaching up to him and pulling him down against you. His breath is shaky and his skin vibrates, desperate yet nervous to finally get lost in you.
"Arthur please." Your voice pleads and he moans at the sound, his body pulsing with the need to give you what you beg him for.
He leans down and kisses your neck, his tongue creeping out and tasting the skin, he hums at the taste, sliding his hands down the curve of your body and feeling your clothes simply melt away. You grind your hips up against him desperate for contact, and he reached down, eager to give you what you seek. His finger trace against your core, delicately sliding against the wetness, dipping in and teasing the entrance.
You were so God damn wet for him.
Drawing his hand to his length he slides against you, stroking himself and relishing in the feeling. Your neck arches and he clamps his teeth down, the primal side of him fully in control. Pulling his hips back he lines himself against your entrance, slow sinking in and savoring th-
"Oi English, you in there!?"
"Sean shush the others are sleeping!" Charles tries to hush Sean bit his own whispers are far from quiet."
"I want t' see if he's up for another round!"
I could shoot them dead, right now, I wouldn't even have to get up, I could just shoot them through the tent.
Arthur thinks staring at the canvas top, his body coated in a light sheen of sweat and his length hard underneath his jeans. His drunken mind had finally allowed him to indulge in a wet dream of you and these two idiots, his friends¸ had woken him up, just as he was getting to the good part. Dragging a hand heavily over his face, he tries to wipe about the dream, shaking off any evidence of his indecent imaginative acts.
"Mr. Maguire, Mr. Smith!" Ms. Grimshaw's voice screeches through the fabric. "Do you have any idea what time it is!? Get your sorry hides into bed now, and If I catch you waking everyone up again I'll be sure to put you on laundry duty for a week!"
Arthur rolls over and chuckles, for once he was glad for Ms. Grimshaw's bat-like hearing.
A/N: I've been mixing in the past and the present to give some background to the reader and Arthur's beginnings. Let me know your thoughts on if you like this or not.
