Work Text:
As the sun settles beneath the horizon, Loid busies himself with cleaning up the remnants of their meal. There’s only so many ways to combine such few ingredients into a palatable meal in the desert, but he likes to think he’s mastered that art, if the empty pan sitting over the smoldering fire is anything to go by. At least his company had managed to expand his repertoire somewhat; he isn’t too familiar with eastern cuisine, given most of his travels had taken him westward, but he had to admit the Southern Stew dish she’d told him about was quickly growing on him. Nothing beats a home-cooked meal, especially when home is several miles away by this point.
Fishing a rag from his pocket, he wets it with the leftover water from their canteen, absentmindedly dragging it across the pan.
Home.
He wonders if she misses it. Misses the saloon. Her patrons. Her brother.
He grimaces.
Loid knows she doesn’t blame him for their current predicament. Rather, she’s been startlingly calm about the whole situation. Being kidnapped and held for ransom in exchange for the safe return of the orphans abducted by the Desmond Group isn’t exactly a desirable situation to be in, but she’s managing to make the best of a bad situation so far. At least, he hopes she is.
Though, he’s not quite sure anymore after the day’s earlier events. Yor nearly getting shot in a gunfight. Cleaning her wound. Trying to—
He viciously shakes his head.
What was he even thinking? Trying to kiss her? While she was in such a vulnerable state? Did he want to invoke Sheriff Briar’s wrath? If he ever caught wind of that stupid stunt, surely he’d be hanged and quartered in the town square without a second thought.
And yet, he can’t get the image out of his mind. The softness of her skin beneath his calloused hands. The rise and fall of her chest with every breath. Lips ajar and red, just like the warmth that was blooming ever so slowly across her chest.
And he just had to ruin it by trying to kiss her.
Loid pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling, followed by a sigh from somewhere behind him. Frowning, he turns around to spot his stallion still tethered in place, giving a satisfied huff, tapping its front hooves against the dirt in amusement.
“Hilarious.” Loid deadpans, getting up to return the now clean cutlery to their safe spot in his saddlebag. “A true comedian, aren’t you?” He remarks, shushing his steed as it responds with a happy whine, “You’ll wake her.”
Though truth be told, with how she was putting away her liquor at dinner, Loid wasn’t sure anything would wake her at this point. After she’d asked for the bottle they’d picked up the prior town over, he could only watch as she progressively worked her way through it in silence during dinner. With every swig she took, he’d felt his stomach sink deeper into his abdomen. Knowing his moment of weakness earlier had driven her to drink so heavily only served to further cement his growing fear he’d made her uncomfortable, something he absolutely could not afford if he wanted this operation to end peacefully.
He’d find a way to make it up to her somehow, someday. But for now, he needed to rest. Tomorrow he’d need to cover a sizable track of land to stay on course, and he couldn’t afford to be this tired, or this conflicted.
Settling against his rucksack by the embers of the dying fire, Loid crosses his arms over his chest and closes his eyes. At the very least, the exhaustion settling into his body would ensure he’d be asleep soon. Though evidently, not soon enough, as his eyes immediately snap open at the sound of a familiar whine coming from the tent.
Sitting up, he stares at the makeshift shelter for a beat, ready to accept he’d simply imagined it and the desert night was getting to him. But sure enough, after a few moments, he hears it again.
“ Loiiid!”
“Yor?” He questions, cautiously inching closer to the tent, “Everything alright?”
Silence.
He moves closer, sitting beside the entrance now. “You alright?” He asks again.
After a moment, she finally pops her head out of the tent.
“What’re you doing sleeping outside?” She questions in return, eyebrows knitting together as she stares at him. Or past him. He’s not really sure.
“You’d already turned in for the night by the time I started picking up after dinner.” He answers truthfully, electing to forego mentioning how after the day’s earlier events he wasn’t sure he’d even be welcomed anywhere near her at this point.
“It’s too cold out here.” She states, “You should sleep in here.”
“I already told you I’m perfectly fine out here.” He reassures her, “But I appreciate the concern—”
Unfortunately, he doesn’t get a chance to finish, or a chance to protest, as her hand encircles his wrist and pulls him into the tent with that monstrous strength of hers that nearly disconnects his arm from its socket.
The first thing he notices is the smell of alcohol, the very strong smell of alcohol, as he lands flat on his back in the darkened shelter. His hand clinks against a foreign object to his right, which he can only assume is the liquor bottle she’d been consuming hours earlier, lying empty if the subsequent vibration of the glass against his hand is anything to go by.
That’s most certainly not a good sign.
“Yor,” He starts, propping himself up on his elbows, “I already told you, I’ll sleep outside.”
“Why?” She challenges from the darkness.
“What do you mean why?” He frowns, “Do I need a reason to—”
“You were perfectly fine sleeping here yesterday.” She points out, the sound of her voice drawing closer.
“That was yesterday, not today.” He grunts, moving to rise from the ground, “So like I said , I’ll be sleeping—”
“No.” He feels a firm, somewhat unsteady, hand on his chest, roughly pushing him onto his back, “You’re sleeping in here.”
“I am not— ”
“I want you to sleep here.”
And just like that, his mind comes to a grinding halt.
“Come again?” He swallows roughly, the hand planted on his chest trailing up to cup his cheek.
“Are you avoiding me?” She asks softly, hovering somewhere up above him, breath tickling his cheeks, the smell of liquor heavy on her tongue.
“Of course not—”
“Loid.”
“I’m not avoiding you. I’m just…giving you space.” He explains, though he’s certainly not convincing anyone with that line of reasoning. Certainly not her, and certainly not himself.
“Why?”
“I reckoned you’d want some space after…what happened earlier today.” It’s not an outright lie. After her obvious discomfort in the tent, he’d made himself scarce, keeping an appropriate amount of distance between the two of them during dinner. He may be a wanted man, but that doesn’t change the fact his mother raised him to mind his manners.
“But what if that’s not what I want?”
The beating of his heart is borderline deafening.
“Well,” Tongue darting out to wet his lips, “what do you want?”
“You were going to kiss me earlier,” She starts, feeling him tense underneath her, “weren’t you?”
“I—” He feels her hand drag along his arm, fingertips ghosting across his calloused knuckles as she takes his hand in hers.
“Why did you stop?” She settles her weight on either side of his hips, his free hand curling into a fist. The dissonance between her casual inquiries and sensual movements enough to make his head spin.
“Because I—” She places his hand in the valley between her breasts, the overwhelming sensation of supple skin against his weathered hand flooding his senses, the fabric of her unbuttoned blouse subtly scraping against his forearm.
“I wanted you to.” A confession so quiet only he can hear. “I want you to kiss me. I want you to touch me, Loid.”
Pulse pounding in his ears, Loid’s fingers twitch against her skin, reveling in the breathy gasp it elicits from the woman before him.
“You’re playing a rather dangerous game, you know that, right darling?” He warns darkly, hand skirting beneath her chest as it descends down her torso, eventually settling on her hip, his other hand following suit on the opposite side, “So I’ll ask you again. What do you want?”
“I—” Yor inhales sharply, fighting a shiver crawling up her spine.
Thumbs hooking underneath the waistband of her underwear, he steadies himself, using her hips to sit up. “You gotta say it, sweetheart.” He goads, whispering against the shell of her ear, strands of dark hair tickling his nose.
“Touch me.” She gasps as if it’s wrenched from somewhere deep within her, “Please.”
“I’ll touch you.” He promises, fingers sinking into her plush skin, “But not like this, and not right now.” With that, he withdraws his hands, the lingering sensation of her skin against his palms a fleeting sensation he desperately seeks to burn into his mind before it escapes him once more. She shifts, and Loid braces himself for whatever comes next. A slap? A string of curses? He most likely deserves both.
Surprisingly, the answer is neither. Instead, he feels her head thump against his shoulder, a strangled whine leaving her lips.
“Why not?!” Yor slurs, “I asked politely!”
“Because you’re absolutely smashed , Yor. Manners be damned.” He chuckles, placing a hand on her back to steady her as she fidgets in place.
“Of course I am.” She pouts against his neck, “I wouldn’t be able to be this…honest if I wasn’t.”
“I appreciate the honesty, but I’d prefer if you didn’t drink yourself to oblivion.” He says, hand rubbing the space between her shoulder blades comfortingly, “Last thing I need is you getting sick to your stomach under my watch.” Then he most definitely wouldn’t hear the end of it from Sheriff Briar.
“I’ll be fine.” She insists, shifting on his lap to face him and nearly toppling over in the process, “I promise.”
“I know you’ll be fine, but that doesn’t change anything.” He replies, swift hands buttoning up her shirt (well, his to be more correct) in the process, “Besides, the desert ain’t befitting for a lady such as yourself.”
“I can handle myself perfectly well out here.” She frowns, “I think the last few days demonstrate that.”
“That’s not what I meant, sweetheart.” He grins, watching as her lips squiggle and face burns red as realization slowly dawns on her.
“I— I knew that.” She clarifies, unable to meet his gaze.
“Bet you did.” He agrees.
“Still–” She glances at him cautiously, “I…you’re not going to…?”
Loid searches her eyes momentarily for any kind of doubt, any sign of second thoughts. Such a bold request couldn’t possibly come without its hesitations. Yet, despite the alcoholic stupor gripping her mind, all that stares back at him is the gaze of a sheepish but determined woman. It’s enough to drive any man wild, and he is certainly no exception.
Inhaling deeply, one hand snakes its way up her back to cradle the back of her head. Pulling her close, he presses a chaste kiss squarely on her forehead, lips lingering before pulling away.
“That count?” He questions, looking down at her.
“I– yes. I would say that counts.” She concedes.
“Good, there’s plenty more where that came from.” Loid ruffles her hair, disturbing her already messy braids as he moves to rise from his spot on the ground, “Now get some sleep before you regret this in the morning.”
“Wait.” Yor blurts out, and he immediately halts, raising a questioning eyebrow at her. “It’s just,” She twirls a strand of hair between her fingers, gaze fixated on the lock, “well, it’s still rather cold out. I know you said you wanted to give me space but, would you consider sleeping in here…with me? Like before?”
“Do you want me to?” Loid asks.
“I…I would like that.” She admits, thankful for the cover of night to hide the scarlet hue coloring her cheeks.
“As you wish.” He hums, placing another kiss on her cheek before moving her off him and positioning her beside him. Tucking his arm beneath the pillow, he draws the cover up over them, free arm moving to encircle her waist as he buries his nose into the nape of her neck.
“Goodnight, Yor.”
His breath tickles her skin, toes curling in response. She would give anything to savor the moment for even a second longer, but between the warmth of his body against hers and the warmth of the alcohol overriding her senses, she’s barely able to keep herself awake. Relaxing against him, she exhales, and submits herself to slumber.
“Goodnight, Loid.”