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While out camping with Arthur, you’ve noticed how little Arthur takes care of himself. At the brink of dawn you’d get ready for the day, eating, changing into cleaner clothes, and going down to the nearby lake and wiping yourself down. But when Arthur woke, he stayed in the same dirty clothes from the day before, he barely ate anything, and he didn’t do anything about the grime that was covering his body.
After watching him only eat an apple for lunch, you decided you’ve had enough. You rear your horse to a stop and speak to the man in front of you.
“Arthur Morgan, you feed your horse better than yourself.”
He turns to you, stopping his horse. He’s a bit confused, as evident on his face, “What are you talking about?”
You sigh, shaking your head. You turn onto a different path, telling Arthur to follow you. Valentine wasn’t that far away, you would take him there and get him cleaned up.
“We still have hunting to do.” Arthur protests from behind you.
“It can wait.” You answer bluntly, ending the conversation. He follows behind you and even though he could’ve easily run in the other direction, he knows he’s been caught, and that their would be no way to get out of it until you’re finished.
It didn’t take long until you reached Valentine, your horse trots down the muddy streets until you stop at the saloon. You hitch your horse and Arthur follows suit.
Swinging open the doors, you head straight for the bartender, asking for some beef stew and two beers. You pay the bartender and take your beers while he makes the stew. Finding an empty table, you place the beers on the table, and Arthur sits down while you go get his food.
When you return, Arthur has drank some of his beer. You place the bowl in front of him and sit down across from him. You watch him lift up the spoon and slowly bring it to his mouth.
“I didn’t poison it, Arthur, eat it.” You cross your arm and lean back in your chair, watching Arthur pout like a child. He’s been so busy helping the camp and helping complete strangers that he hasn’t had time for himself. You worry about him sometimes, but for now on, you’re going to keep him fed and healthy, even if you have to force-feed him every meal.
Finally, Arthur starts eating, although slowly. That stubborn bastard. When Arthur finally finishes his meal you’re beer had be long finished. By now, more people are walking in, while you drag Arthur out of the saloon and towards the general store.
Inside, you tell him to get a couple new outfits while you buy him more food for when you’re not there. He’s reluctant, but does what you say anyway, there was no point in fighting it.
Arthur comes back with two new shirts and a new pair of pants. You smiles, happy that he finally listened to you. After paying, you walk to your last stop tonight, the hotel.
Arthur knows where this is going when you ask for a bath. He gives you a look, to which you reciprocate.
“Oh come on, you need to get all the grime off.” You say, leading him to the baths. He was so dirty you barely even wanted to hold his hand.
You push him into the room, and shut the door behind you. He shrugs off his coat for you, and you unbutton his shirt with care, while you try to ignore Arthur running his hand over your waist.
Once his is shirt off, Arthur uses his finger to lift your chin up, making you look at him. He tries to lean into a kiss, but you put a finger to his lips, stopping him.
“Not until you’re clean.” You say, an eyebrow raised at him, and small smile on your face.
Arthur huffs and takes off his boots and unbuttons his pants, he had tried distracting you but it obviously hadn’t worked, not yet at least.
He gets into the tub, lying down in the water until almost his whole body is submerged in the soapy water. He sighs, the warm water soaks his dirty body. Watching him relax for a moment, you feel your smile growing.
When Arthur opens his eyes, he looks at you like he caught you doing something that you weren’t supposed to. Then when a cheeky smile blooms over the bastard’s face, you decide you should stop stairing and get to work.
Rolling up your sleeves, you kneel down beside the tub, taking a bar of soap and lathering it in your hands. You scrub Arthur’s head, washing out all the dirt in his hair. He lets out small grunts while you massage his scalp, his noises go straight to your core.
After you rinse his hair, you start scrubbing his chest, he winces when you touch the scar on his shoulder from being taken by the O'Driscoll’s. You run a light finger over the nasty looking scar, and slowly you bring your lips to the scar, giving the skin a soft peck.
You pull away from Arthur’s skin and immediately start scrubbing his arms, rubbing his tight muscles. While you start scrubbing his legs, Arthur suddenly speaks, “You can join me, you know.”
He felt guilty for making you take care of him while he did nothing. He knew he didn’t deserve your care, but he’d be damned if you left him. No one had cared for him as much as you had, not Mary, nor Eliza.
“I’m not getting in there with you, the water’s filthy.” You smirk. He huffs making you giggle.
“Then at least let me kiss you?” He asks, watching you.
You pretend to think for a moment before answering, “When you get out, Mister Morgan.” You say, rinsing the soap off his legs.
“Well then-” He started getting out of the bath, making you yelp. You rush to get him a towel, finding one, and handing it to him. Arthur dries himself while you find his new shirt and pants that he bought. He ties the towel around his waist when you hand him his neatly folded clothes. He takes them, but sets the clothes down. Instead, he grabs your waist and pulls you flush against him, giving your lips a soft peck before devouring your lips with his own.
His lips are soft and inviting as yours move along with his, his beard scratches your face, leaving a tingling feeling on your upper lip. The faint taste of beer rests on his lips. His hands rest on the small of your back, pulling you closer to his damp body. His hands run up your back and entangle in your hair. Lightly, he tugs your hair, exposing your neck entirely to him. Peppering soft kisses along your neck, his lips trail down to your collarbone, sucking on your sensitive skin.
“Arthur,” Your voice hoarse, “you need to get dressed.”
Arthur hums, his forehead resting on your chest. You know that this is one of the very few moments of peace that he receives, so you leave him rest for a bit. You hold Arthur against your chest, your hands play with his wet hair.
You rest your head against Arthur’s, pressing a kiss to his head. “Can you please get dressed?” You mumble into his hair, not expecting him to answer. To your surprise, he shakes his head slowly, making you sigh, this man was going to be the death of you.