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Obsessed is a strong word to use, especially when it's relating to a stranger. But maybe it was the right word because you found yourself swooning over this man over and over, despite barely ever speaking to him. You were in the same camp, sure, but that didn't mean much apart from sometimes riding by his side during a mission, or sitting on the same log as him at the campfire. You'd exchanged few words and you somewhat hoped it'd stay that way, knowing exactly the kind of man he was.
Was this secret obsession something to do with past trauma? your previous encounter with a toxic man that you thought you'd gotten over? or was Micah really just meant to be yours?
But seriously... Micah. Micah Bell. Micah Bell the third, in fact, because somehow his shitty family had managed to breed more than once.
You want to feel sick every time you see him, you really do, just like everybody else in existence does, but you find yourself gazing at him from the other side of camp every single day, so drawn to various little bits of him.
There's the scar on his chin, the one that starts at his split lip, and you're curious as to how he got it, but not as curious as to if you'd be able to feel it when you press your lips against his. You try to tell yourself that his facial hair is stupid, but he always keeps it so neat and clean, and you can't help but wonder what that 'stache would feel like brushing over your thighs as he kissed along them. And his hair, his scraggy shoulder-length hair, the dirty blonde locks that you just want to run your fingers along and grip onto if you had the chance to ride him.
You're doing it again.
You give your head a little shake as you snap out of your daydream, straightening your back and taking a swig of your drink. It's late, and you're enjoying a beer before bed after finishing your shift on guard duty. Micah's sat at his usual space by the campfire in your line of view, and thankfully you haven't zoned out staring at him else, well, that'd be embarrassing.
Micah also seems zoned out, staring at the fire with his hands dangling freely down his sides, one ankle crossed over the other. He lets out a sigh and rolls his head back, staring up at the stars before looking over at you.
Oh shit.
You quickly look away, taking another sip from your drink. You can feel Micah's gaze still on you, but when you do finally peek over, he's back to staring at the fire.
You've accidentally met his gaze a few times before, a mix of you meeting his, and him meeting yours. At least it wasn't always you staring at him, he seems to have an interest in you too, though the two of you rarely ever interacted. Micah had, for some reason, kept his distance from you, despite his blatant and poor attempts of flirting with other women of the camp. Maybe you just weren't his type? But then why would he always stare at you?
Your beer is finally finished and you turn in for the night, following your nightly routine and climbing under your blankets, only to stare at the tent walls and think about Micah.
Ugh. That man, if you can even call him one.
You're a sinner, just like the rest of this crazy bunch that you run with, but it seems whatever Gods float about in the sky continue to ignore your prayers, despite them being desperate.
Please, please can they just stop this attraction to him? Please. There were so many better men out there, a handful of which you run with, but you find yourself worryingly obsessed with this foul man, yet you can't seem to stop it.
You roll onto your side, letting your eyes fall shut and as always, drift to sleep with the hopes that you won't be obsessed when morning comes.
Morning does come, and oh boy, does it hit you hard.
Dutch was quick to call you upstairs to the balcony by his room, telling you to finish your breakfast first, but hurry up as soon as possible.
"It's a party," Dutch tells you. "The mayors' party," Dutch smirks, raising his hands as if he was waiting for you to jump with joy.
"And...?" you question.
"Well. I've picked a fine bunch to tag alongside me, but I'm asking you specifically to help with a special task. Myself, Hosea, Arthur, and Bill will be mingling as singles, but we need a couple to go. We need a couple to weave their way in there with all the others and see what they can find. Maybe get invited to some fancy private getaway or... whatever it is those upper-class city folk do in their free time," Dutch explains, speaking with his hands as always.
"Dutch," you laugh. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm unfortunately single," you tell him as you shake your head.
"I know, just like the rest of camp, but I'll make suitable arrangements for you, my dear," Dutch replies.
"What about John and Abigail?" you ask, the only couple that springs to mind.
"I wouldn't dare ask them, not after that whole fiasco that happened with our dear boy Jack," Dutch says as he shakes his head. "You can say no if you want to, but I could really do with this."
You let out a sigh but then ask "what arrangements are you thinking?"
"Well..." Dutch begins. "I wanted you to be a part of this job to begin with, I knew that as a fact. You've got a good charm and I've seen you gussy up folks before. You know exactly what you're doing, and I need that strength right now," Dutch compliments, though his tone of voice and the way his eyes begin to avoid yours makes you fear for the worst.
"Trelawny's going to take you into the city to pick out a dress for you, the women have already said they'll help get you ready for the party-"
"Dutch. Who am I going with?" you cut him off, noticing the way he's avoiding the elephant in the room.
"I put a lot of thought into this, ___. I really have. I've gone through all the members of the camp-"
"Dutch," you sigh as you cut him off again. "Just tell me."
"Micah," Dutch says as his eyes meet yours. "Like I said, you can say no if you'd like. I just know the two of you would be able to make this work, and I could really do with this," he explains.
"Have you already asked him?" you question.
"I have, and he said he's happy with it if you're happy with it," Dutch tells you as he watches your expressions and body language, though you surprise him as you show no signs of discomfort.
"Alright, I'll do it," you shrug.
"Thank you, my dear," Dutch grins as he places a hand on your shoulder. "It's this evening. Trelawny will be waiting for you outside the tailors in Saint Denis, and make sure you're ready a little early. I want time to run through the plan before we set off."
The Gods were definitely mocking you at this point, sat up there on their high horses, laughing and pointing down at you as they continued to worsen your situation. Really? A party with posh folk? And you have to pretend to be a couple with Micah? You barely know him for starters. What if you two really weren't meant to get along? The last thing you wanted to do was cause a scene after Dutch had asked you so kindly to go in there and fish out information for him.
Trelawny seemed in his usual cheery mood when you met him, helping you pick out something nice. Honestly, the dress is gorgeous, and you feel beautiful wearing it. You have no problem playing dress up, sometimes secretly looking forward to it as you rarely get an occasion to wear something other than your usual attire.
The women shower you with compliments as they help do your makeup, picking out some nice matching jewelry that compliments your facial features, along with a pretty necklace that seemed to draw even more attention to your cleavage. You haven't worn a corset in a while, and the sight of your boobs bulging up against your chest was clearly meant to be a distraction to try and lore out some weaker men. Maybe Micah would end up dragging them off to the side, only to knock their lights out and loot them for "looking at my woman!"
Ugh. Your stomach hadn't stopped turning like a stormy sea the second Dutch had told you who you were going with. You hadn't seen Micah around the camp all afternoon, probably mentally preparing himself for whatever shit-show that was about to happen.
Well, you were ready.
Mary-Beth was quick to run out of the house and draw everybody's attention, attempting to give you some kind of grand reveal, as if the camp had never seen you in a dress before. They have, but this was the fanciest you'd ever worn; with your hair up in a do that took all afternoon to keep in place, and jewels that perfectly matched the shade of your makeup.
"She's ready!" Mary-Beth squealed, attracting the attention of Dutch and Arthur as they lingered over, the rest of the camp perking up their ears and eyes. "Now, you better all flatter her 'cause she seems a little shy, and we spent all afternoon helpin' get her ready, but-"
"Mary-Beth, please," you sigh as you exit the house, not wanting the grand entrance that she would want. There's still a mix of oo's and aah's throughout the camp, and Susan is quick to rush over and take your hands in hers, looking like she's about to cry.
"My dear, you look so wonderful," Susan tells you.
"Thank you, Miss Grimshaw," you reply as you give her hand a little squeeze.
"She's right, ___. Trelawny and our women have excellent taste. Thank you, all of you," Dutch tells them as he speaks to the camp, then turning back to you. "Are you ready, dear?" he asks.
"Physically, yes. Mentally, no," you joke, though you're serious.
"Well, it'll have to do," Dutch nods.
"My my," a dreaded voice calls out. Micah's approaching, stopping just beside Dutch as he speaks to you. "Ain't no way you can go the party like that, sweetheart. You're gonna knock 'em all dead with them pretty looks of yours," Micah compliments.
Your stomach begins to turn again, though you begin to question if you should curse the gods or thank them, because the sight of Micah in a tux is one you could get used to. He's dressed like the other men, a smart black tux with a white shirt and bowtie. He's clearly had a bath, as his hair looks the cleanest you've ever seen it, nearly bunched into a low ponytail with a few loose strands shaping his face. Micah always keeps his facial hair clean, but it's freshly trimmed and perfectly shaped just underneath his jaw.
You notice Arthur already glaring at him in the corner of your eye. Why Dutch didn't ask Arthur to go with you was beyond your knowledge, but something tells you he has a deeper reason behind picking the two of you to go together.
"Thank you, Mister Bell," you softly reply as your eyes meet his.
"Guess that makes you Mrs. Bell for this evening," Micah smiles. "Don't it, Dutch?" he asks as his eyes quickly turn to Dutch's.
"It does! Now, let's all get going before we're even later than we already are. I'll go over the plan on the way there," Dutch huffs as he waves his gloved hands about, hurrying everybody along to the stagecoach that was waiting.
You're about to walk off, but Micah's sudden movement catches your eye. He offers you his hand. "Gotta look the part, darlin'," he tells you.
"Oh! I just remembered!" Micah says as he suddenly moves his hand away, reaching into his pocket to fish out a pair of gold wedding rings that he no doubt had stolen recently, specifically for this event.
"May I?" Micah asks, holding out his hand again. You take it, your soft palms gently settling in rough ones. He flashes you another smile, then flicks his eyes down to focus sliding the wedding ring onto your finger. The sight of that alone is enough to make your knees go weak, but you try your hardest not to pass out, and thankfully Micah doesn't seem to notice how lovesick you're feeling.
The ring is only slightly too big, and hopefully, you'll notice it if it gets close to slipping off. He quickly slips the other one onto his own finger, and takes your hand again, his eyes finally moving away from yours as he leads you over to the stagecoach, following behind the others.
The ride there isn't too bad, and the plan seems simple enough. Steal nothing, only information. Only your 'husband' was most definitely not going to do that, even if he doesn't tell Dutch about it.
He helps you out the coach, gently tucking your hand around his arm as he walks with you into the party. Surprisingly, Micah didn't bring his guns with him, making a comment to you under his breath about how he doesn't trust anybody with them. That's understandable.
Dutch and Arthur head upstairs to do whatever it is they were going to do, speak to Jack's surrogate father or whatever, leaving you and the others to wait on the balcony.
You rest your hands on the railing, looking down at the mishmash of strangers below. Micah removes his hand from yours, resting it on the small of your back as he turns to speak to you.
"You nervous?" Micah asks.
"I'm sure I won't be after a couple of drinks," you joke, turning your gaze to meet his. You've never seen his expression so soft before, and have his eyes always been that blue? They're an icy shade, maybe a warning sign about his cold heart, but he's making yours burn up with his stupidly sweet smile and that stupid cute little ponytail that he just had to tuck his hair into.
"So now I gotta take care of my drunk wife whilst also lookin' for leads?" Micah jokes back, though there's something about him calling you his 'wife' that makes your stomach turn faster than it ever has before.
"I ain't gonna get drunk!" you laugh. "Your wife can handle herself, thank you very much," you raise your nose jokingly.
"You sure? Cause if I remember rightly, the last time you got drunk you tripped over and almost fell in the campfire," Micah chuckles, watching your expression drop. How did he remember that? That happened months ago!
"I'm a changed woman," you reply, "for tonight," you add.
"Sure you are, Mrs. Bell," Micah grins as he moves a few loose strands off your face. "Then after tonight, you can go back to fallin' into campfires."
"And would my dear husband not save me if he saw me falling into one?" you question.
"I ain't really your husband, sweetheart. Not unless you wanna keep that ring on and keep playin' dress up with me," Micah replies, trying to make it sound like a joke, but you both know that if you said yes, Micah would happily continue your fake marriage.
It's a good thing Dutch arrived when he did, cutting you off as you opened your mouth to speak, but you were thankful as you hadn't even thought of a reply.
Dutch gave you all another pep talk before shooing everybody off on their way, and you were thankful a server passed you as you reached the bottom of the stairs, taking a glass of champagne for yourself and thanking them, Micah grabbing one for himself also.
Your hand finds Micahs arm and he walks with you a while, eyeing up any obvious leads as you pass through the strangers. You come to a stop at the back of the party, pulling Micah to one side as he rests his hand around your waist. God. You could get used to Micah having his hands on you at all times.
"You see anything obvious yet?" you ask Micah before taking a sip of your champagne. At least it was decent, not having that awful cheesy flavour that cheap bottles had.
"I ain't been lookin'," Micah replies, making you snap your eyes over to his with a little scowl on your face.
"What?" you ask.
"Hard to focus on a bunch of snobby strangers when I got this pretty woman clinging onto me," Micah grins. You realize that your hand had come to rest on his forearm as his hand had found your waist, clinging onto him a little too tightly, your body practically pressed up against his. At least the two of you looked like a couple.
You go to take a step back, but Micah is quick to pull you against him more, holding you firmly in place. "I'm jokin', sweetheart," he tells you. "I've spotted a few here 'n' there."
"You better not be lyin'," you tut.
"You not trust your own husband?" Micah smirks, chuckling even whilst he has a sip of his drink. "Besides, we ain't even planned our story yet. How we gonna mingle with other couples when we don't even know how we met? Or when we got married?" Micah asks.
He's right, the two of you had no time to prepare your story, but you're far from earshot of these strangers, so now would be a good time to get your stories straight.
"Well, what have you got planned then? Seeing as you brought this up?" you question.
"Nothin'," Micah shrugs. "I figured I'd ask my lady, seeing as you women tend to fantasize about these situations." You can't deny that, because little does Micah know, you've had a few fantasies about the two of you getting together for quite some time now.
"Do I look like the type for romances, Micah?" you ask.
"Do I?" Micah replies. Good point.
"Well..." you sigh, trying to think of a few ideas. "You plan how we met, and I'll plan our wedding?"
"Sure, darlin'," Micah nods as he finishes off his drink.
"Wait here. I'll go get us a refill," you say as you take Micahs empty glass, finishing off your own, and wandering off back into the party to find your next round of booze.
Micah watches you leave, tucking his hand into his pockets to fish out a cigarette to enjoy whilst he waits and ponders.
Finding a server wasn't hard, and you thanked them as you swapped your glasses over. On your walk back you overheard another couple talking about how they met, saying she was a server on one of the ferries and he was there to gamble, only he ended up spending the night distracting her from her job.
You find your way back to Micah, who's just finished his cigarette, stomping it out on the ground with his polished black shoes. "I picked you up at a bar," Micah tells you as you hand him his drink.
"What? No," you scoff, scrunching your face up at the generic and boring backstory.
"What else you got then, sweetheart?" Micah asks before taking a sip from his drink.
"I just overheard a couple say that they met on one of those gambling ferries. She was a waitress and he spent the whole night chattin' her up."
"You wanna steal their backstory?" Micah tuts. "Dutch said we shouldn't be stealin," he says as he shakes his head jokingly.
"We'll just change it a little... I was a bartender and you spent the night chatting me up," you suggest.
"A woman bartender?" Micah questions your suggestion.
"Times are changing, Micah. It's believable," you reply, getting a little defensive.
"I didn't mean it like that," Micah says as he raises his hand. "I like it. And we met 4 years back, got married in April last year. How's that sound?" he asks.
"Good," you nod, realizing that you'd done each other's jobs rather than the ones you assigned. "You ready to mingle?" you ask him.
"Fine," Micah sighs.
Neither of you wants to do this, both forcing a fake smile and kind accents as you speak to the strangers. After an hour, you haven't found much, a few mentions of summer homes and private boats, but nothing within the area.
You're a few more glasses in, beginning to feel ever so slightly tipsy, but you needed that buzz to help you get through the smugness of these strangers.
"You want another?" you ask Micah who has barely sipped on his current one. He's only drunk a glass less than you have, but he doesn't seem affected, though his tolerance is probably higher than yours.
"I'm alright, my love. I'll wait here for you," Micah tells you as he moves his hand off your waist, letting you wander off into the crowd.
You're still not used to the pet names, but you hope they continue to roll out of Micahs mouth, seeing as you no longer had that sickly feeling in your stomach. It seems your nerves had finally calmed down, being replaced by a warm and gentle buzz instead, though that's probably the alcohol in your system.
You thank the waiter as you take another glass and turn to leave, but overhear the most hideous voice you've ever heard call out to the same man you just thanked. You attempt to walk away, but quickly stop and look over your shoulder, face scrunching up at the sight of quite possibly the rudest woman you've ever seen, if you can even call her a woman.
She drones on and on, insulting this poor stranger that was only trying to do his job. God. The way she spoke to him made you sick, and before that little voice in the back of your head can stop you, you've already approached her and cut her off, attempting to speak to her sweetly.
"Are you an entertainer?" you ask.
"What on earth are you yapping about?" She questions as she looks you up and down in disgust.
"Well, it's a very good act you've got going on here. Playing the stereotypical obnoxious upper-class woman, though I wouldn't recommend performing it when you're not on stage," you respond, acting as if you genuinely thought she was a man in drag.
"Well, I never!" She squeals. "You've got some lip on you, little girl. Do you now know who I am?"
"Oh, I do apologize, madam. What's your act called? Maybe I'll drop by to hear you squeal on stage next time I pass the theatre."
You can't hold back the grin creeping across your face as the stranger's face turns red, her huffing and puffing attracting a handful of eyes nearby. Thankfully, the poor served had managed to sneak off, so at least she wouldn't take it out on him any more than she already had.
She goes to open her mouth again but is quickly cut off when Micah appears by your side.
"Oh, I do apologize for my wife's behaviour," Micah says with a wave of his hand. "Sweetheart!" he says as he turns to you, putting his arm around your waist and beginning to walk you away. "What have I told you about feeding the animals?" he says in clear earshot of the woman.
The both of you don't get to see the woman explode as you rush off, but your grins are as wicked as each others as you lead Micah to the back of the party, giggling devilishly.
You can still hear the woman protesting as she's asked to leave, and is eventually dragged out, which was more than satisfying to watch. The party returns to how it formerly was, the strangers barely looking your way as it seems you'd done everybody a favour.
Your eyes meet Micahs, his arm still wrapped around your waist as your hand rests on his shoulder, your body pressed against his. Both of your grins remain there as the two of you look at each other, suddenly realizing just how pressed up you were against your 'husbands' body.
"I ain't seen that fire in you before, sweetheart," Micah tells you.
"There's a lot of me you ain't seen, Micah," you reply.
"Ooooh," Micah sighs as he chuckles. His head dips down slightly, speaking more directly into your ear but far enough that he can still see your reaction. "Well if you'd be so kind as to show me," he flirts.
Your knees feel like giving up on you, and you're thankful that Micah's grip is tight enough around your waist to hold you upright. You go to open your mouth and invite him to find out, but you're cut off before you can even make a sound.
"Mister and Mrs. Bell?" A familiar voice asks. Both of your smiles fade as you turn to see Dutch standing there, his brows slightly furrowed. "What the hell was that?" he whispers through gritted teeth.
"She deserved it," Micah shrugs, his voice returning to his usual tone as he softens his grip on you.
"What happened?" he whispers.
"Dutch, trust me, anybody would have done the same. It seems I did everyone here a favour," you reassure him.
"I don't care if she deserved it or not. Just stop drawing attention to yourselves, please!" Dutch hisses.
Micah raises his hand innocently, "sure, boss," he says.
"We'll keep quiet," you add on.
"Thank you, now go and mingle," Dutch attempts to force a smile, waving his hands about as he encourages you to head back into the crowd.
He doesn't walk away, so you're forced to drag Micah back into the handful of strangers and continue where you left off, doing whatever you can to find at least a little something to take back to the camp.
Thanks for ruining the moment, Dutch.
The whole time you're speaking to these strangers, all you can think about is the flirtatious glisten Micah had in his eyes when he said that line. His hand is around your waist once more, only you're well aware of the way his hand is slowly trailing down you, eventually resting on your tailbone, a little too close to your ass, though you wish he'd move his hand a little lower.
A stranger quickly thanks you for having that woman kicked out of the party, and your bitching session about her is cut short from the loud bang coming from the sky. You almost drop your drink, surprised to hear what sounds like gunshots, only to turn and see the sky glowing an array of colours.
They're fireworks. You've heard about them before but never seen them, and despite how pretty they are, you wish they were a little quieter. Sure, you're a gunslinger, but loud noises still make you jump, despite being somewhat used to them.
Micah stands almost directly behind you, moving his hand to your hip as he pressed his body against yours. You relax against him, your back pressed against his chest and shoulder. Micah places his empty glass on a tray that trails past him, using that same hand to brush a few strands of hair from your face, catching your attention as you move your gaze off the fireworks.
"You think we're doing a good job, sweetheart?" Micah asks.
"A good job of what, exactly?" you reply.
"You know exactly what I'm on about," he chuckles. His gaze was soft on you to begin with, but it softens out even more as you make him laugh.
"I think we're doing well, but we can always do better," you flirt.
"Oh?" Micah smirks, picking up on your hints. "And how are we gonna do that, my love?"
Micah boldly places a gentle kiss to your temple, your heart fluttering as his 'stache brushes against your skin, a lot softer than you thought it'd be.
"Well, for a start, you could kiss my lips rather than my temple," you reply, just as boldly as his move.
"That so?" he smiles.
"It is so, darling," you reply.
"Just you wait," Miah grins, kissing your temple again. "I ain't gonna let that happen in the middle of these folk," he explains.
"That's alright, Mister Bell. I can wait," you reply as you rest your head against the crook of his neck, angling upwards so you can continue to watch the fireworks.
Micah places another kiss to your temple before wrapping his arms around your waist, enjoying the way your hand rests on top of his, the other one still holding your glass. He continues to place gentle kisses against you every so often, holding your back firmly against his chest.
Little do you know that Micah's heart is also racing just as fast as yours, his stomach feeling just as sick and his knees feeling just as weak. All those times he'd accidentally met your gaze from across the camp were times when he'd been admiring you, watching you from afar as he tries to figure out a non-creepy and non-cheesy way to talk to you.
When it comes to one night stands and quick hook-ups, Micah will blurt a few stereotypical pickup lines out and hope for the best, but he's been lovesick the second he saw you, and his feelings continued to grow the more he saw your personality come out within the camp. He felt a little jealous at first, finding a woman who's just as good with a gun and knife as he is, but the thought of "but what if she was mine?" struck his mind, and he then decided that he just had to have you.
Micah struggles to talk to women, he's barely interacted with them, and it's even worse growing up without a female role model in his life. But the camp continued to move and hunt for money, and when Micah found out that Dutch was invited to the mayors' party, he finally saw his chance. Despite trying to recommend taking another set of hands along, without Micah making it obvious that he wanted an excuse to talk to you, Dutch quickly picked up on what was going on and decided to stir the pot even more.
Originally, Micah just thought Dutch could do with his help and maybe take one of the ladies, but Dutch is smart and picks up on little things like the two of you admiring each other from afar. Dutch grinned as he thanked Micah for his suggestion, and then said he could do with a fake couple there so they had all their options open. Micah was quick to dip his hat over his face and blurt out "sure boss, I'll leave it to you," scurrying off when he realized that he'd dug this hole a lot deeper than it was meant to go, but he swallowed his fear and went along with it.
And here the two of you are, Micah leading you over to the gazebo at the back of the mayors' house to have a "little talk about the leads we've found." There's another couple stood on one side, but the gazebo is big enough so if the two of you stand on the other side and speak under your breaths then they won't hear you.
"Well, what you think?" Micah asks as he gently removes your hand from around his arm, holding it lightly in both of his hands as he leans back against the railing, crossing one ankle over the other.
"We got a few bit here 'n' there. It ain't been easy," you shrug. It seems that despite every single person here being an obnoxious prick, they had their guards up around strangers, not letting things slip out too easily.
"But have you had fun?" Micah chuckles.
"I've had fun playing dress-up with you, Micah," you grin, noting the way Micah's fidgeting with the ring on your finger, probably slightly nervous.
"We can always do it again some time," he flirts. "Maybe go to one of them fancy poker games they host at the saloon here," Micah suggests.
"Oh, I bet you'd enjoy that," you giggle. "Gambling, liquor, and me sittin' on your lap."
"How could I not enjoy that?" Micah asks as he stands upright. "But is it a sin if I do enjoy it?" Micah asks, his tone turning slightly stern as he looks into your eyes.
"Do you want it to be?" you ask, watching as Micah moves your hand from his to rest on his shoulder, his hands finding your waist.
"I ain't really bothered, sweetheart," Micah tells you with a little shrug. "Sin or not, I'll have you on my lap, so I'll be happy," he adds.
"You know, we ain't gotta play dress up again just for you to have me sit on your lap," you flirt as your other hand comes to rest on his shoulder, slowly wrapping around his neck.
"Don't say that, darlin'. Cause we both know that you'll get tired of me constantly takin' up that offer," Micah jokes.
"You think I'm gonna get tired of you, Mister Bell?"
"You might," Micah says with a shrug. He moves one hand off your waist to gently cup your chin, making sure your eyes are on his. "Mrs. Bell," he says with a grin, noticing the way your heart flutters at the sound of it.
"I bet you I won't," you smile.
"We'll just have to see about that, won't we?"
"We will, Mister Bell."
Micah gently moves his hand from your chin, gently brushing it along your jawline as he cups it, his thumb rubbing slowly over your cheek. You melt into his touch, and the sight of that is enough to pop Micah's patience.
He finally dips his head down, gently pressing his lips against yours, though he's not surprised when you begin to kiss back, deepening the kiss. Micah's hand moves from your cheek, joining the other one around your waist as he holds onto you, pulling your body against his.
Despite how firmly his lips are pressed against yours, his moustache is a lot softer than you imagined, running against your upper lip, lightly tickling you. There's the strong taste of champagne on his lips, and a faint taste of tobacco on his tongue as he slides it against yours. It's a good thing Micah has your body pressed up against his, holding you firmly, as you can feel your knees getting weaker by the second.
Micah lets out a soft sigh as he moves one hand to gently cup the back of your head. Your fingertips brush against his low ponytail, a style that you hoped to see him wear again. Maybe he'll keep it for this upper-class poker date that you'd both just planned, and even though neither of you said it was a date, the way you were gazing at each other says otherwise.
There's a sudden cough, and that's when you realize that someones been coughing to get your attention a few times now. You were far too engulfed in locking lips with your 'husband' that you didn't notice poor Arthur standing a few feet away, trying to get both of your attention.
Micah momentarily breaks the kiss to mumble "go away, Morgan," before bringing your lips back to his, continuing where you left off.
"We're leavin', Micah," Arthur tells him in a stern voice.
Micah ignores him, and although you feel bad for Arthur being there, you're not willing to break this kiss for anything. You've waited far too long for this.
"You two, come on," Arthur sighs, and Micah finally breaks away from you.
"Fine," Micah frowns as his gaze meets Arthurs. Arthur ignores his attitude and walks off, heading through the slowly-dispersing crowd to find the others.
Micah doesn't say anything but flashes you a cheeky smile as he offers his arm once more. You take it, and he leads you through the party, meeting the others who are already climbing into the stagecoach when you arrive.
Micah does most of the talking on the way back, telling the others about the few leads the two of you had found. His hand rests on your knee the whole journey back, and Dutch seems to notice it, smiling to himself.
When you arrive back at camp, Micah offers you his hand as he helps you down from the stagecoach, and despite being back, his hand still lingers in yours whilst you say goodnight to everyone.
"You want me to walk you home, Mrs. Bell?" Micah jokes.
"Oh, you're so kind, offering to walk me ten steps," you giggle.
Micah does it anyway, stopping outside your tent.
"I err..." Micah gulps, his eyes flicking around the camp, then back to you. "I had fun tonight. Now I know we didn't get many leads, but I still enjoyed myself."
"I did too. Maybe we'll make up for our losses when we go on that upper-class poker mission," you smile. Micah's eyes widen a little.
"You were serious about that?" he asks, a tint of doubt to his voice.
"I was. But I understand if you're tired of pretending to be my husband already," you jokingly sigh, bringing a smile back to Micah's face.
"I ain't ever gonna get tired of it. But if you're up for it, then well, I guess I better start lookin' for a way to make it happen," Micah replies.
"You let me know as soon as you find it."
"Anyway, I ain't gonna keep you up. You get to bed, sweetheart," Micah says as he takes hold of your hand, placing a gentle kiss against your knuckles.
"You still ain't learned where my lips are, have you?" you flirt, watching Micah's eyes light up at your comment.
"I guess you better show me then, Mrs. Bell," Micah grins, his face dipping down to meet yours as you lean up to kiss him, your arms wrapping around his neck once more.
Micah doesn't keep you up for too long, softly kissing you goodnight and finally letting you turn in. You hear him walk away as you close your tent flaps, taking your time to get undressed and get ready for bed. The whole time you're changing, your stomach is still turning with butterflies, in shock at tonight's turn of events, even though you adored all of them.
In some ways, the Gods finally did answer your prayers, giving you the sinner you fawned over rather than taking your feelings away. Either outcome would have been fine, but you definitely preferred this one, especially now you had a date lined up.
Maybe those romances that Mary-Beth reads aren't so silly after all.