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When you return to camp, having spent the entire journey back to Clemens Point trading insults with Sean and Bill, those two both blaming you for the disaster of a robbery you just pulled (and they’re right to blame you—it was your mistake that ruined everything, forcing the three of you to rush away before you had time to locate the money stash, chased by lawmen for miles), you don’t know whether you would prefer to go out and cause a fight, or just hide from everyone and feel sorry for yourself. As you hitch your horse, you decide on the latter, racing across camp to escape prying eyes.
Hurrying towards your tent takes you right past Micah, who sits by the campfire, sharpening his knife (like always).
“Oh, hey there,” Micah says, his tone flirty, when he sees you coming. “Nice to see—”
But you don’t stop to greet your sweetheart, stalking straight past Micah in your haste.
“—you…” Micah trails off, frowning in confusion. He’s used to being the grumpy one in your relationship, so your odd behaviour makes it incredibly obvious to Micah that something is wrong. So, your lover sheaths his knife and stands up, following after you.
Unaware of this, you shut yourself inside your tent. You sit on your bedroll with your legs crossed, hunched forwards with your head in your hands. Part of you wants to cry, so goddamn humiliated by what happened, but the tears won’t come. You sigh, just waiting for Sean and Bill to tell everyone about your mistake, and then you’ll be a fucking laughingstock.
You don’t hear his footsteps approaching, only noticing Micah’s presence when he calls out, “Knock, knock…”
“Go away, Micah,” you say, not wanting him to see you like this. What if Micah finds you pathetic? What if he laughs at you? What if…?
Despite being told to go away, Micah opens the tent flap, saying your name. “What crawled up your ass?” he mutters, clearly offended. But then he looks at you, sat curled in on yourself, head cradled in your hands, and his eyes widen. His grumpy expression softening into one of confusion, he says, “Hey, what’s wrong, cowboy?”
Even the silly nickname doesn’t cheer you up, but you pull your hands away from your face. Meeting your sweetheart’s gaze, you watch Micah crawl inside your tent, tying the flaps shut for privacy (something you should have done earlier, now you think about it).
Micah takes his hat off, placing it on your head (one of Micah’s many awkward gestures that you think he considers to be flirting; whatever the reason he does it, you find it very sweet whenever Micah puts his hat on your head) as he says, “C’mon, tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart.”
You sigh, glancing away from him. “You know that job I went on with Bill and Sean? I fucked it up. Because of me and my shit aim, everything went wrong and we didn’t get the money. And those two are so mad at me, and I know people already think I’m useless, and now…”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, who says you’re useless?” Micah says, raising both hands, his expression suggesting that he plans to kick the shit out of whoever said that.
“Nobody’s said it, don’t worry, Mike,” you say (and Micah smiles awkwardly, your lover always a little flustered when you call him that). “I just feel like… like nobody likes me.”
Micah tugs off his gunbelt and boots before crawling closer, sitting down beside you. “Oh, that’s horseshit. Someone like me? Yeah, everyone hates me. You’re the only one who likes me, darlin’. But you? Nah, people like yooooou. So quit talkin’ shit about yourself already.”
You manage a weak smile, but Micah’s awkward compliment is hardly enough to make you feel better. “Thanks, Micah. Okay, maybe everyone doesn’t hate me. But those two are so pissed off with me. We argued the whole way back to camp, and I feel like such a goddamn idiot.”
“Want me to knock some sense into those fools?” Micah asks, nudging you.
“No. Please don’t,” you say, not wanting Micah to get into trouble for your sake. Still, his bluntness makes you chuckle. “But… thanks for the offer.”
Micah snorts, putting an arm around you. When you don’t shove him away, he tugs you closer, kissing your temple. “No problem, darlin’. Look, those two are morons. Don’t listen to ‘em. And about fuckin’ up a job… even I’ve done that before.”
That catches your attention. “Really?”
“Sure. A couple of months ago, me and Morgan robbed a stagecoach. I planned the whole thing, but never thought ‘bout us bein’ ambushed. And then… we got ambushed.” Micah chuckles, squeezing your tighter. “Nearly got us both killed. Look, we all fuck shit up sometimes. So… just cheer up already, cowboy,” he says, his smile awkward as he tries (and fails) so goddamn hard to cheer you up.
You and Micah have been together for a few weeks now, and you quickly discovered how bad Micah is at what he once called ‘affection shit’. He tries his best, but Micah’s flirting leaves a lot to be desired, and his compliments often come out wrong, leaving him going red and verbally backpedalling to correct his mistake. Once, when drunk, Micah admitted that he’s never been in a romantic relationship before (“Sex ain’t nothin’ new to me, cowboy, but… I’ve never done this romance shit before. So that’s why I… I suck so bad,” Micah said, slurring as he clung to you, so drunk he could barely sit up.), explaining his struggles with any form of non-sexual intimacy or affection.
Some people might find this annoying, but you’ve always considered Micah’s awkward, bashful side rather cute, and even as you feel like shit for ruining everything, you almost laugh at Micah’s words.
“I’m not sure it’s that simple,” you say.
“Thought you was gonna say that,” Micah says. “Good thing I’ve got another plan, ain’t it?”
“And what’s that—”
Before you finish speaking, Micah flops onto his back, tugging you down with him. You end up lying on your side, your head on his chest, and Micah hugs you tighter, trapping you in his embrace. Grinning, Micah says, “This.”
Part of you wants to push him away, ashamed and humiliated by your failure earlier today. But cuddles with Micah are always the best, warm and comfortable and soothing, so you curl further into his embrace, letting out a shaky sigh.
“You feelin’ better yet?” Micah asks, rubbing a hand up and down your arm.
You chuckle, resting your cheek against Micah’s chest, able to hear your lover’s heartbeat. He genuinely had no idea how to comfort someone when you first met, and watching Micah gradually learn such a basic skill has been a rather sweet, but very amusing, experience. But, as he just proved, he still has a lot to learn.
“Not quite yet, Mike,” you say.
“Oh, c’mon, what else can I do?” Micah whines, your big, bad outlaw of a sweetheart sounding like a right brat. “Ain’t this enough?”
“No, you aren’t doing anything wrong, you idiot. This is nice, really. It’s just… not that easy for me to cheer up.”
“Okay, I get ya,” he says. “Sooooo, you wanna stay like this for a bit?”
“Yeah. That sounds nice.”
For a few minutes, you lay in silence, your head on Micah’s chest as he holds you close. You almost forget about the incident, relaxing into the cuddle, soothed by Micah’s heartbeat as you snuggle against him. He hugs you tightly, his fingers digging into the sleeves of your shirt, and as much as Micah tries to pretend that this is only for your benefit (he still tries to insist that he doesn’t really like hugs, and it’s a big thing he does to make you happy—but you’ve watched him goddamn melt in your arms too many times to believe that), his contented sigh tells otherwise.
As you cuddle Micah, you find yourself wanting to feel the comfiest part of his body, sliding your hand down his chest and resting your hand on his belly. Micah’s breathing hitches, but he relaxes when you stroke his tummy through his shirt, not resisting when you unbutton his shirt.
Breaking the cuddle, you sit up, sliding down the bedroll as you stare at his bare stomach. With Micah watching your every move, you place your palm flat against his stomach, mapping the curves of his tummy with your hand. His soft belly jiggles under your fingers, and you smile at him.
Micah raises his eyebrows, propped up on his elbows to look at you. “So, this is what it’ll take to cheer you up, huh, cowboy?” He gives an exaggerated sigh, and says, “Oh, go on, then.”
“Thanks, Mike,” you say, grinning. And when you lay back down, you don’t use Micah’s chest as your pillow, but his bare tummy. And it’s such a perfect pillow, soft and warm under your cheek, and you sigh happily. “I love your belly. Have I ever told you that?”
“Only ‘bout a million times, darlin’,” Micah says, snorting. But your compliments mean a lot to him; he used to feel very insecure about his belly, refusing to let you see it, but after your repeated reassurances over many weeks that his tummy is lovely, cute to look at and a comfy pillow and a wonderfully perfect part of him, he grew comfortable in his body for the first time in years. So, he knows exactly how it feels to be so insecure, and in his own, awkward way, he wants to help you just like you helped him. “You comfy down there, cowboy?”
“Yes, thanks,” you mumble. And as you use Micah’s tummy as a pillow, resting your cheek against a part of his body that he only lets you see because he trusts you immensely, your own insecurity about your mistake begins to fade. “Hey, Mike?”
“Yeah?” he murmurs, putting a hand on your head.
“I think I might be cheering up now.”
Micah chuckles. “’Bout time…” He stops laughing, his tone becoming softer as he says, “Seriously, though. Glad you’re feelin’ better, my handsome feller.”
You laugh at the cringeworthy compliment, but just cuddle Micah tighter. “Thanks, Micah. This… it means a lot to me.”
“Sappy bastard,” Micah mutters, but he chuckles harder, petting your head. “But… I guess you’re welcome, cowboy.”