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Arthur was avoiding you.
That was the only rational conclusion that you could come up with. What else could it be? It was one kiss-- one mistake . You took a swig of moonshine, scowling as you watched fire devour the pieces of wood in front of you. Arthur was lonely and drunk and wallowing in his past and he thought he would find comfort in your embrace but he was wrong because you woke up alone and cold the next morning, a piece of paper sticking out of the saddlebag on your horse with two words scribbled on it.
I’m sorry.
You felt the hot, angry tears roll down your cheeks and you bit your lip hard enough to draw blood to keep it from quivering. Of course he left you after what you did. You were disgusting. Unnatural. You pitied yourself for ever believing you would have something that good-- least of all with him.
You remember riding back to camp, hopeful but with a sinking feeling in your stomach. Maybe something came up. Maybe he was sorry for not being able to say goodbye properly before having to rush off. Maybe he was waiting for you at your tent. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
He wasn’t at camp. He didn’t show up for the next day and a half you spent there, either. When he finally did return late one evening, you felt relief wash over you and tried to catch his eye from where you were sitting. He didn’t even acknowledge you, striding past swiftly into the flap of Dutch’s tent. Each clink of the spurs on his boots nailed a pain into your chest that you were all too familiar with as he walked further and further from you. You caught him later, reaching for him and trying so desperately to figure out what was happening. When he yanked his arm away and gave a low warning at you, Not now (Y/N), it felt like your entire world was crumbling apart.
You packed up your horse and rode hard into the night. You didn’t stop until you couldn’t see past your tears and you slid off the saddle of your horse, leaning into her strong neck with arms clinging around her as you quivered and sobbed. By the time you could compose yourself, you felt drained and weak. You used all the strength you could muster to find a spot in the woods and start a fire.
That’s how you found yourself to where you were now. Drinking, alone, in the middle of the woods and crying over Arthur goddamn Morgan.
You sniffed and swiped at your eyes frustratedly. This stupid cowboy didn’t deserve your sorrow but you couldn’t deny the aching in your chest. You were a goddamn fool. You clenched your teeth as anger shot through your hands and you hurled the near-empty bottle out into the darkness, hitting a tree and hearing it shatter into pieces.
“(Y/N)?”
A voice called out from somewhere in front of you. You recognized it instantly, your heart stopping in your chest and then again quickly thudding with rage. Your voice was thick with anger and venom when you spoke, “What the fuck do you want, Arthur?”
He approached where you were sitting, slowly becoming illuminated by the firelight. His face softened when he saw the wetness on your face and the way you slumped on the ground and you didn’t know if you wanted to kiss him or punch him in the jaw. Maybe both. His voice was soft and gentle, “Can we talk?”
You snorted, shaking your head and looking back down at the fire, “I don’t know, Arthur. Is now a good time? Sure you don’t just wanna run off again?”
His shoulders locked broadly and he set his jaw, eyes narrowing at you, “I’m sure.”
You hated this. Hot tears flowed down your cheeks again and you quickly wiped them away, cursing yourself for letting Arthur tear you apart so easily like this. He didn’t want anything to do with a fucking freak like you. You choked silently at the realization that he was probably here to tell you goodbye or never to show up at camp again and you buried your face in your hands.
Arthur’s boots thudded against the ground as he walked closer and you heard him sit down next to you. His fingers grazed the back of your shoulder, hesitating and almost pulling away before letting it smooth over your back. Your body involuntarily relaxed at the motion and you raised your head to look at him. His eyes were wide and uncertain and he looked like a horse about to spook at any second. You shook your head and wiped your nose, sniffling, “Why are you here, Arthur?”
His eyes flicked down, cheeks flushing ever so slightly as he gruffed, “I-I came to…I’m trying to… What I did… ”
“Arthur just tell me to leave, get this damn thing over with already.”
His eyebrows knit together and he looked up at you, his mouth open slightly in confusion, “What the hell you talkin’ bout?”
You didn’t know why, but that set you off. You shoved him roughly as you jumped to your feet, your voice growing louder with each word, “I know it was a mistake, Arthur, you made that damn well clear! Now stop toying with me and run me off or threaten me or do whatever the hell it is you came after me to do!”
“Now you listen and you listen good, boy,” Arthur was on his feet, too, pointing his finger accusingly against your chest and pushing against you ever so slightly. His voice was rough and tough but you saw the gentleness in his eyes and knew he wasn’t going to do anything to hurt you.
“I know I ain’t good with words, and I sure as shit ain’t about to open up about the shitshow of what happened the other day.”
You looked away, clenching your jaw. So not only was it a mistake, but a shitshow. Arthur grabbed your chin, lifting it so your eyes locked with his again. He had the faintest trace of a smile on his lips and his voice grew considerably softer, “And before you go gettin’ lost in that head of yours, I’m the one who fucked that up, not you.”
All you could do was stare at him. What was he talking about?
“Arthur, I don’t--” Your sentence was cut short as Arthur pushed himself against you, lips finding yours and kissing you much more roughly than you were expecting. You felt your back thunk against a tree and Arthur hummed into your mouth as he pinned you there, his big hands moving down to your hips and gripping you firmly. He broke away, moving his hot mouth down over your jaw, biting and sucking your neck. You let out a low moan and let one hand rest on his shoulder while the other tangled up in his hair.
“Arthur,” you whimpered his name instinctively and he moved back up to catch your mouth with his.
“(Y/N),” Arthur’s voice was low and ragged between kisses, “I’m sorry.”
You pulled back, holding his face in your hands and you felt your heart melt at the way he leaned into your touch. His voice was barely a whisper when he spoke, “I like you, (Y/N), I-I really do. I just-- well, I ain’t never done this before and I guess… I guess I’m just afraid.”
His voice cracked on the last word and you pulled him flush against you without even thinking. Your arms went around the back of his neck and you squeezed reassuringly. He hesitated a moment, caught off guard and not used to the affection. Slowly, he relaxed and brought his arms around your waist, clinging to you fiercely. You felt his warm breath drift over your neck, his face buried there and his beard rubbing against your skin pleasantly. You kissed the crook of his next softly and couldn’t help your quiet chuckle at the soft gasp that escaped his lips in response.
“Arthur,” you leaned back to meet his wonderful blue eyes, tucking a loose strand of hair out of his face and watching him blush, “You ain’t ever have to be afraid with me. Alright?”
He opened his mouth to object but you cut him off, “There’s too damn much in this life to worry about already. Bein’ with me shouldn’t be one of ‘em. And I swear I’ll kill any bastard who’s got somethin’ to say ‘bout you kissin’ another man.”
His eyes lowered in shame and you felt your heart ache.
“That’s what this is about, isn’t it? It’s why you left.”
He shrugged defeatedly, biting his lip to keep it from quivering. You stroked his cheeks softly with your thumbs. Arthur was always so tough and indestructible. You’d seen him hunt down men and beat them into the ground and yet here he was in front of you, baring his heart to you against everything in him that was inevitably screaming not to. It made your chest swell with equal parts sorrow and pride.
“C’mon,” you took his hand in yours to lead him, “this can wait. It’s getting late.”
His eyes drooped with exhaustion suddenly as he followed you to the tent you had managed to pitch earlier in the night. You left him, moving to gather both of your bedrolls off your horses and lay them in the tiny, canvas-enclosed space. Methodically, you stripped down. Removing your boots, gun belt, holster-- until you were in nothing but your union suit. Arthur hesitated, but did the same. You reached for him again and smiled as he eagerly took your hand once more and let you lead him into the tent.
It was really only big enough for one man, but you managed to make it work with both of you laying on your sides. You pressed your chest to Arthur’s back, humming pleasantly at the warmth radiating off his body in the chilly night. Your arm slung over his side and you mumbled against the back of his neck sleepily, “Wish I coulda done this in the mountains.”
He relaxed back against you, one of his hands absentmindedly resting over yours. He was bigger than you, but laying here spooning him like this made the huge, brooding man seem so small. You kissed his shoulder softly, “G’night, Arthur.”
His voice was rough and laced with sleep, “Night, darlin’.”
You raised your eyebrow at the nickname, but before you could respond, his light snores filled the tent. Smiling to yourself, you nuzzled against him and quickly slipped away into sleep yourself.