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You hadn’t been running with the gang for very long. Dutch had picked you up not too long after Charles, approaching you after watching you pickpocket nearly everything short of the clothes off several patrons’ backs in a saloon. Lookin’ for someone to ride with, son?, a deep voice with a smirk approached you outside the back of the building, Always could use an extra pair of hands. You were mildly intrigued-- agreeing to tag along, but not without a backup plan to bail, of course.
That is, until a robbery in Blackwater went south (like, really south), and you were left with little choice but to flee with the gang.
The trek through the snowy mountains was bitter and exhausting. It wasn’t all misery and shit, though. Everyone got on well enough with you. Dutch was on edge, no doubt, but he showed kindness to you when he could. Hosea offered wisdom and always seemed to be genuine in listening to you, even in idle chat. You tagged along with the other men when they would let you. You knew you weren’t trusted as well as some of the others like John or Arthur. God, Arthur.
You hadn’t been close enough to anyone in the gang to disclose your... preferences, but the first time you laid eyes on Arthur Morgan you near passed out from lack of oxygen. He was so damn handsome. You couldn’t stop yourself from watching his mouth move when he talked, feeling your pulse quicken as his hot breath painted the frozen air. You would be lying to yourself if you hadn’t thought about that mouth on yours or the blissful warmth he would radiate sleeping next to you on these bitter cold winter nights. The more you interacted with him, the more you wanted to be with him more intimately. Once he began to shed his layers of clothing at Horseshoe Overlook, it only got worse.
He was always so kind to you, too. Shooting you grins from across the campfire at night when he caught your eye. Tipping his hat when passing you in camp, a gruff “(Y/N)” and the faintest hint of a smile to accompany it. More often than not, stopping by your tent on his way out to camp and asking if you wanted to ride with him. You’d heard the other gang members whispering and giggling about it. You had lost count the number of times someone would approach you, tell you how happy Arthur seemed to be around you-- how open and nonchalant he was becoming with each passing day. It made your heart stutter in your chest, your palms sweat slightly. Maybe-- No. No, Arthur wasn’t like that. He flirted with the women in town, told you about Mary and how much she broke his heart. Once, he even told you about Eliza and Isaac. You were both sitting under the open stars in The Heartlands, and with his breath tainted with whiskey and what you could swear were tears in his eyes, he told you about his son. You felt your heart ache in your chest as he smiled sadly at you, “Just weren’t meant to be, I suppose”.
“I-I’m sorry, Arthur,” You hesitated before resting your hand comfortingly on his shoulder, “I really am. You would have made a good father.”
He paused. You weren’t entirely sure, but for a split second you swear you felt him lean into your touch. He shook his head with a snort, twitching your hand off his shoulder as he raised the bottle to his lips, pausing to grumble, “Now that I ain’t too sure about”.
“You’re kind. You got a big heart, though you insist you don’t. I seen the way you are with Jack,” You stopped, watching his shoulders fall with the thoughts of what could have been. When you speak again, it’s quieter, “You’re a good man, Arthur Morgan.”
You watched him play your words over in his head, chewing on the inside of his cheek and staring off into the horizon. The urge to comfort him washed over you. You wanted so desperately to lean over and pull him to your chest, forgetting how much bigger than you he was. You knew he wouldn’t reciprocate, though. Arthur wasn’t one to accept physical touch-- even when he needed it. Instead, you settled for leaning to your side and bumping your shoulder with his, “‘Sides, you got Marston to take care of anyway.”
He smiled weakly and you could tell he appreciated your attempts at comfort. You sat in silence for a few more minutes, digging your heel into the dirt and watching the flames of the fire lick up into the air. You took a particularly deep gulp of alcohol and felt it burn your throat and rest heavily and hot in your stomach. Fuck it, now was as good a time as ever.
“Arthur, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he sat up a little straighter, interested and seeming to notice the change in your voice. You watched him, his pupils dark with drunkenness and glimmering with firelight-- he looked so fucking beautiful. His tongue darted out to swipe across his lips, glistening them with his saliva and, god you wanted to reach over and tangle your fingers in his hair and taste him. You swallowed thickly instead, quickly shifting your gaze back to the dancing fire as you spoke softly, “I, uh, well, I ain’t told anyone this yet.”
You stopped, a huge lump rising in your throat. Your tried to focus on breathing but you felt like you were going to be sick. This was a bad idea. What if he didn’t want anything to do with you anymore? He would probably be disgusted with you and you’d lose the relationship you’ve spent months building with him. You didn’t expect to ever be with him in the way you wanted, but maybe this friendship would be enough. What if you didn’t even have that?
You felt Arthur give you a light shove, “You gon’ keep me sitting here in suspense?”
“Sorry,” Your voice cracked and you squeezed your eyes shut as you mentally kicked yourself, “It’s just.. I don’t want you treating me differently is all, I suppose.”
He studied your face carefully for a few seconds, “Don’t know what you could tell me to make me do that.”
“Arthur, I-,” Your voice sounded tired suddenly and you took another gulp of whiskey, “I ain't too sure how to say this but… I like men. Love ‘em, actually.”
You heard Arthur let out a heavy breath next to you and you felt your nose sting with the promise of tears. You shouldn’t have said anything. You kept your eyes locked in the dirt, blinking furiously to get them to focus through the forming wetness. Your body felt tense and you realized you were waiting for the sound of Arthur riding away on his horse-- away from you. The sound never came, though.
The next thing you heard was Arthur’s voice, just barely above a whisper, “How did you know?”
You looked up at him, and saw him looking at you intensely. His bright blue eyes hid something behind them that you’d never seen in the man before. You sniffed, rubbing your nose with the back of your hand, “I suppose I always knew. I kissed a boy when I was sixteen, though. His name was James. Nothing ever felt so damn right in my life.” You smiled to yourself at the thought.
You heard Arthur draw in a shaky breath and looked over at him. He was looking into the fire, his eyebrows knit together in thought and frustration. He glanced back to you, his eyes hard yet soft at the same time. You watched as his gaze darted down to your lips and then back up to meet your eyes.
“(Y/N) I-I might’ve thought,” he was leaning closer towards you and you could smell the tobacco that lingered on his shirt, “I… well, I never knew how..” He trailed off in frustration and you felt your heart miss a beat. When he reached forward and grabbed the lapels of your jacket to pull you into a kiss, you were pretty sure your heart full on stopped. One of your hands cupped his jaw and the other moved to the back of his neck as your lips met his. They were rough and chapped and he tasted of whiskey and you swore you grew drunker just from kissing him.
He let out a sigh into your mouth, like he was finally releasing the weight of the world off his shoulders. You thought for a moment that he probably was. You pulled away, but only slightly so. Your noses were grazing each other and you watched as Arthur’s eyes fluttered open. He was still breathing heavily with flushed cheeks and blown pupils and he looked at you like you were the only thing to exist in the entire world.
“Was that… Am I….. (Y/N) I’m sor--” he started to pull away but you kept your grip firm on the back of his neck and held him in place, laughing softly at his embarrassment. As if you would ever object to this. You felt him melt under your touch and he leaned into the hand holding his cheek. You couldn’t help the grin that pulled over your lips, euphoria surging through your veins, “How long you been waiting to do that, cowboy?”
He closed his eyes with a smile and leaned more heavily against you, “Too damn long.”