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“Leave me alone, Arthur,” John bit out a harsh whisper, “not in the mood to fight.” John Marston stormed past their fellow campers’ tents, taking care not kick anything around that would wake them. Most of them had fallen deeply asleep hours ago. Dutch and Hosea were the only ones left awake, sitting by their dying fire discussing the finer details of their next heist. Depleted beers spread among them on the dirt.
“For Christ sakes John git yer ass back here.” Arthur plowed ahead as John quickly made for the outskirts of camp. John’s shape became a black figure in the shadows as the camp lights faded behind them.
“I don’t need you scolding me too.” John called back to him as he disappeared over a hill and hid behind a tree. He hoped that Arthur would crest the hill, be unable to spot him and give up and turn into camp. He would return later when the time was right.
“Not out here to scold you like a bad dog.” Arthur insisted, reaching the top of the hill. His eyes scanned the valley, unable to locate where John had gone next. “You just can’t keep making bad calls on jobs, John. One day it’s going to bite us in the ass, hard.”
John sank his teeth into his tongue, holding back a hot retort. His fist was clenched at his side.
“Where’d that boy run off to…” Arthur softly murmured to himself. He descended the hill toward the little stream ahead, missing John’s silent form behind the tree to his left. As soon as he safely passed, John slipped up the hill to return to camp and hide in his tent with Abigail to let the day fade into forgotten memory.
A stick snapped loudly as he mistepped.
Arthur whipped around and John started into a run. The weeks spent isolated in the wild chasing game had given Arthur a significant edge to survival. In a few steps he caught up to John and wrapped his arms around him, pinning his arms at his sides. John snorted like a furious bull and proceeded to whip around, trying to throw Arthur off him. The attempts almost pulled a laugh from Arthur. He outweighed him, was taller and stockier and far stronger. John’s narrow frame and skinny limbs were an unfair match.
On the wet leaves and soft ground beneath from earlier rain, Arthur lost his footing and slipped on the hill, easily pulling John down with him. Unleashing John for a moment, he shoved him onto his back and pinned him down, his thighs holding down his legs and with one hand, pinned John’s arms above his head.
John sucked back his saliva, preparing to spit. Arthur, with his free hand, slammed it down against his mouth.
“I swear if you spit on me I can turn this whole charade into something nasty.”
Snorting in defiance, but submitting, John gave up on that idea. His body was tense and hot under Arthur’s. With a jerk, he tried to free his arms. Arthur’s hold was like iron shackles.
“Lemme up.”
“Not until I’ve driven it deep into your head that you need to shape up and grow up. You’re not the same young fool you once were. Prove it to the rest of us.”
“Save your breath Arthur. I’ve already heard this shit from Dutch.” John’s body writhed under him, trying to get free. His struggling grew frantic enough that Arthur had to use his free hand to hold him down. John’s slender body was twisting hard, bringing his breath to labored pants.
“Stop fighting and I’ll let you up.” Arthur said. A glaze formed over his eyes as he watched his futile escape attempts. To his surprise, John went still beneath him. But his eyes didn’t meet Arthur’s. His jaw was clenched hard as he stared up at the stars. The light of the moon cast down on them, lighting up John’s features. Finally, John met Arthur’s eyes. Neither said a word. The only sound in the woods was the crickets and frogs, and their heavy breathing. Arthur bent forward slightly, closing the distance between their faces. John gave a start and angled his face away.
“Wh-what are you doin’?” He whispered, brow furrowed in confusion. Without a word, Arthur pressed his lips hard against John’s. John’s sharp gasp caught in his throat and his body recoiled for a second, renewing his fight for a fleeting moment. Then, his body relaxed and he pushed back against Arthur’s lips, returning the forbidden kiss.
Slowly, Arthur released John’s wrists, trusting him not to use them for defiance. John’s hands braced against Arthur’s chest, his fingers twisting around in his shirt to hold him closer. Finally able to use his hands for something other than holding John down, Arthur slipped a hand under his shirt around his waist and the other cupped his jaw. Both broke apart to take a heavy breath before clashing together again. Arthur’s tongue swept into John’s mouth, tasting the sour whiskey and cigarettes on his tongue. John gave a soft moan and his hips bucked upwards, requesting more attention.
A dark chuckle escaped Arthur as he broke away to whisper, “desperate for me aren’t you?”
“Shut up.” John replied breathlessly, gripping Arthur’s jacket to keep him from getting up. His legs slid out from under Arthur’s weight and wrapped around his waist. Their tongues and mouths clashed again, hard and yearning. This forbidden embrace exciting Arthur enough to reach down between them to feel John’s arousal against his thigh.
John broke the kiss off with a breathless gasp. His hand grabbed Arthur’s and stopped him.
“We can’t do this. Not so close to camp. Not out in the open.” He reasoned.
Arthur grunted, displeased, but he stopped as John requested. His eyes gazed down at the man below him. He bent down and kissed John one more time before rising up off the ground. He offered down a hand to help John up. They brushed the dirt and grass off of their clothing and leisurely walked back into the camp.