HIS II | Arthur Morgan x Reader

Allies

Years ago

You don't know what came over you, you were never this bold. His hand feels heavy and warm in yours as you guide him into your tent, the earlier confidence you felt seemed to flee the minute you stepped into your space.

"Uhm please, make yourself comfy."

You gesture to the bed not knowing where else to seat him since your tent didn't provide room for more than a bed, a small table, and a trunk for your clothes. He sits down, the bed creaking under his weight and his sheer size makes the space feel even smaller. Pulling out the whiskey from your trunk you suddenly realize you don't have any glasses, turning around you laugh nervously holding out the bottle to him.

"Sorry, no glasses."

He takes the bottle from you his fingers brush against yours sending a shiver through you.

"I'm hardly the type of company that cares." He gestures next to him for you to sit beside him, "C'mere."

Taking a seat you feel his warmth, the small bed causing your shoulders to brush against each other. "So, this how you spend your nights?" he shakes the whiskey before tipping it back and swallowing deeply.

You watch him while he drinks, and you can't help but get lost in his features. His jawline is sharp, lightly dusted with the perfect amount of hair, his eyelashes long, brushing against his cheeks when his eyes flutter closed while he drinks.

Arthur clears his throat, and you blink, your face growing hot with embarrassment when you realize he'd caught you staring.

"Something on my face?" he offers with a smirk.

"No, sorry. I didn't mean...Can I have a drink?" you snatch the whiskey from his hand, quickly plugging your mouth and chugging the amber liquid down.

As soon as the burn hits your throat you begin to sputter, choking and gasping for air.

"Easy there." He chuckles patting your back gently and taking the bottle from your hands.

"Sorry...Wrong hole." You breathe through gasps.

God, could this get any more embarrassing?

Arthur continues to rub your back, ensuring you were breathing properly, and had you not been dying of embarrassment you would have savored the touch. When you finally catch your breath, you realize Arthur hasn't moved his hand, his fingers are still pressed lightly against your back, spreading goosebumps across your skin.

With his thumb and forefinger, he carefully tilts your chin up. The gesture is gentle, light, and you hold your breath not daring to move, instead, you let him guide your face to his.  eyes drop to your lips and he hesitates, his gaze flickering back to meet your eyes and you hear his breath catch. The air in the tent is thick and heavy, as time appears to stand still, the two of you locked in a moment of possibilities.

After an hour-long second, he glides his palm across your cheek, his thumb carefully swiping away a tear that spilled during your coughing fit. You fight the urge to lean into his hand, wanting nothing more than to keep his touch on you. He leans back, suddenly seeming to second-guess his actions.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't..."

He goes to pull his hand away, but you stop him, instinctually reaching up to grab his wrist and hold it still.

"Please." You whisper through your breath, your heart hammering through your chest.

He begins to lean in, his hand returning to your cheek. His tongue teases his bottom lip, itching to taste you and you shudder, desperate to feel him against you.