Work Text:
1907.
Many years after that fateful night, where Arthur told John to leave. To run. He gave him his things, his bag and his hat, before telling him to fuck off.
John ran, he ran away and found Abigail and Jack, and he swore to protect them.
Now, with their house built, Abigail and Jack were safe on their farm that John poured full of blood, sweat, and tears to keep his family and friends safe and fed.
Sadie came by occasionally, it was always good to see her. Abigail was always happy when her.. special friend.. came by for a few nights.
John and Abigail long since agreed they were to be just friends, and that they would co-parent Jack and be there for him. They were still family.
Uncle still lived in the attic, being about as lazy and useless as usual.
Charles came by sometimes, which comforted John more than anyone will ever know. He and Charles loved Arthur, both of them. They didn't fight over him, but both brought out different sides of Arthur. Charles made him soft and sweet, taking a more dominant role in the relationship. While when John was around Arthur, he was more ruthless and demanding.
In the end, Arthur wasn't a great person. He knew this. Charles knew this. He had his good moments and bad moments.
But they loved him all the same.
When John found Charles brawling in a back alley, it was a load off his shoulders, knowing Charles was alive and well.
They didn't talk a whole lot before but now that Arthur was gone, they found comfort and thrived with one another.
More than once had they spent their nights together, demanding the love and touch from one another that they lost from the love of their lives all those years prior. They felt the last remnants of their dear friend and lover in each other.
Of course, Charles never stayed for very long after the house was built and the farm was up and running, but John enjoyed the time he spent there.
During the many weeks, months, John was alone - without Charles - he could feel himself going crazy.
He missed the smell and touch of Arthur, even though it had been years and years and years without the rugged older man.
He could see him and feel him.
John thought he was going crazy. Pure plum insane.
He even talked to Abigail about it.
"Sometimes I just.. see him. I hear him! Behind me in the mirror.. Standing in the fields. Under the tree up the hill to the west.. I hear him talking and whispering.. it fucking hurts, Abigail.." John vented, running his hands through his long greasy hair. He tried cutting it, but he liked it best long.
Abigail just comforted him, "You miss him, dearly, John.. I know you do.. you need to find someone to give you some proper attention or convince Charles to come back more often and stay for a while.."
John blushed at the implications, but they were adults and he knew what her and Sadie got up to on those late nights. Sadie would wake first, she wouldn't dare say it but the look in her eyes told John that she was proud of herself. She was competitive in nature, and to know she had her way with his ex-wife? That, plus the fact Abigail would wake later than normal, a little disoriented and unsure of her own two feet.
John knew good and well he and Charles had their own tells when they'd been up for hours much later than they should have been at night, holding and touching one another.
The man shook his head, "No, I just.." he sighed, not wanting to go into more delicate and intimate details, "Thanks, Abigail.."
The truth was he had seen Arthur more than just out in the fields. He more often than not saw him leaning against the trees, sitting and drawing, or watching him outside a window and pet their horses. He knew it couldn't be real.
It all came down to an art later at night. Every night. He dreamed of the older man.
John washed, stripped down to his union suit, and laid in the big bed, alone. No Charles to cuddle with for warmth, and Charles was a heater compared to his slimmer frame.
When he shut his eyes, he laid there for quite some time before he fell asleep.
Again, he saw Arthur in the field. Much closer than normal, actually able to see his features. He was goddamn beautiful and John would give anything to be able to touch it again.
Instead, he pulled his gun. He knew Arthur was dead and gone. Charles took his body and buried it. This was an imposter. It couldn't be his passed lover.
Still, he couldn't stand to see his lover die again, imposter or not, so he aimed and shut his grey eyes, tears welling and falling as he pulled the trigger.
When no sound of a body hitting the ground was made, he opened them.
He missed. Or so he assumed.
Arthur was smiling at him, "Little Johnny Marston, getting bold, I see. But still a shit shot." He joked.
John was much too vulnerable, and lonely, hurrying over and hugging him, kissing him deeply. He missed this. So fucking much.
The poor man gasped, waking up.
It was just a dream.
Or was it?
There, Arthur stood, already half undressed. Undoing his shirt and pants, he shoved John down on the bed once again, drawing his knife briefly and holding it to his adams apple, "Quiet."
It was a warning, not a threat. He knew Arthur wouldn't actually hurt him. He just knew the adrenaline and fear would evoke all the right feelings and emotions.
He put it away just as quickly as it came out, trading for touching over his lover, as if he hadn't seen him for years. This wasn't real, it couldn't be. John didn't care, though. He finally had his Arthur back, and that's all he ever wanted.
Arthur went right for his neck, kissing and licking, the scruff on his jaw scraping John's skin. He didn't mind. He loved everything Arthur was willing to give him.
John couldn't help but grab onto the larger man and moan, pulling at his clothes, messily undressing one another.
Articles of clothing hitting the floor, both in their union suits, being unbuttoned for full access on both parts.
Soon enough, John felt damn near complete, having Arthur's fingers inside him, his mouth on his chest, biting and suckling on his nipples. This was payback, he just knew it.
A while back, when they were still in the gang, and Dutch still had his brain, John would do nothing but pay attention to Arthur's glorious chest, suckling and massaging them damn near everyday. Eventually, his chest soon became sore and swollen.
John couldn't help but laugh at the fact he made Arthur lactate, but it made for a happy John and some good sexy times in the end.
In the moment, John's mind was fuzzy and gone, Arthur's other hand over his mouth to keep him quiet, as his own hands held it in place. He didn't want Arthur to let go, or to stop. His fingers were so good inside of him, remembering they fit perfectly inside of him. He missed this.
Faster than his brain registered, he was suddenly flipped over, hand going back over his mouth, and fingers being replaced with something else. Something he longed for.
Charles was big and had no problems satisfying him, but Arthur was just different. He knew the shape of Arthur perfectly, and when his cock shoved into him, he felt full. He felt good. He felt complete.
John couldn't help but moan, falling apart under the larger man. He felt light headed, breathing heavy and unable to get enough oxygen through his nose into his lungs. He didn't mind.
Arthur fucked him like they used to, never failing to miss his prostate, rocking him and jerking his body against the bed. Making his own cock drag against the bedding beneath, it all feeling so so good.
The pleasure was blinding, and John never felt less lonely. He felt complete and comfortable.
Even as Arthur grabbed his hair to yank his head to the side, baring his teeth and showing his neck off.
John knew where this was going.
Arthur always bit down either down below his shirt collar, where he could hide it easily, or in the middle of his neck. Making him wear that red bandana around his throat to hide the purple and red mark made by Arthur's teeth.
Like clockwork, Arthur's thrusts became erratic and less rhythmic as his climax grew closer, making him go in for the kill.
He leaned down and bit down on John's throat as he came into the smaller man, drawing out a strained moan and tears as it shoved John over the edge, cumming and seeing white. The bite felt like it nearly broke skin, making his heartbeat hard against his teeth.
He could have blacked out with the intensity it hit him with.
Instead, he woke up.
Again?
John woke, face down on the bed.
It was still dark outside, but he was covered in sweat, and his union suit was sticky.
It was just a wet dream.
A really intense wet dream.
It felt so real.
John sat up carefully to change, embarrassed about the fresh cum in his clothes, gently rubbing a hand down his face and over his neck.
Though, he winced. Confused. His neck hurt where Arthur had… in his dream...
He shook his head. It couldn't be. It was just a dream. A very realistic dream..
John pushed it out of his mind as he got up, quickly changing and cleaning himself up before going back to bed.
_____________
In the morning, as the sun shown through the windows of his house, he got up, not knowing entirely if he felt exhausted or well rested.
He got up, either way, getting dressed in a normal outfit, tying his bandana around his throat like a dog collar, how he did all those years ago when Arthur was getting too bold with his marks.
Of course, Abigail noticed right away, pulling him to the side, out of sight and earshot of Jack and Uncle.
John got confused, thinking she had a problem, "Abi, what is it??"
She just moved the bandana out of the way, sighing, "I didn't know you left at all last night.. tell someone next time. One of us coulda woken and found ya gone and freaked out."
John was even more confused, "What in the hell are you talking about, woman?"
"The bite mark on your neck?? Don't think I wouldn't notice. That dog collar trick you always did when Arthur got too handsy.. or even now when Charles comes over. John, you're a dog and you truly act like it sometimes." She huffed, shaking her head, "Just warn someone next time ya go out and find a man. I'm glad you're finding something for you when Charles ain't here, but again. A warning." She said before walking off to continue her own chores.
John was still confused, touching the spot on his neck that still hurt before heading into the bathroom and going straight to the mirror.
There it was.
A red and purple bite mark.
Arthur's teeth shape, too.. it was perfect.
But how?
It was just a dream, right?