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Arthur Morgan is an immovable object first thing in the morning, at least when he’s nestled in the comfort of your bed. All thick muscle wrapped around you and a broad, bare chest pressed tight to your back. A warm and heavy thigh hooked lazily over your legs in a tangling of limbs, and clean, white linens pooled at the expanse of his hips.
Sunlight spilled through the windows, and you blinked awake to a morning that had come far too soon. A second passed in mild confusion at the sleep warmed skin pressed against you before realisation dawned that Arthur’s presence hadn’t merely been the sweet conjurings of a pleasant dream. With a contented sigh, you traced your fingertips along the scarred forearms that wound around your frame, pressing a soft kiss to the freshly healed skin of his crooked knuckles, committing the new marks to memory. Arthur had arrived last night, without ceremony or expectation but with a lopsided grin and dirty boots, falling into the familiar routine of feigned domesticity. A hot bath. A hearty meal. An evening warmed with tales of his travels as the fire crackled and popped in the hearth.
As the chime of birdsong fluttered through the window, you found yourself resenting their usually welcome tune, a signal that responsibilities awaited, that the world didn’t stop just because Arthur Morgan had decided to drop by. No matter how much you wished it would.
Carefully, you began the delicate process of extricating yourself from Arthur’s grip.
Steady… steady now.
One foot emerged from the tangle of sheets as your fingers braced against the edge of the mattress, your teeth grazing your bottom lip.
You’d barely managed to put an inch between you when Arthur gave a gravel-rough groan, his arms tightening around you like a vice. His face buried against your shoulder blade, a soft smile curving your lips at the coarse scrape of his stubble catching on your skin and the warm puff of sleep-thickened breathing against the loose curls of your hair.
“Don’t even think about it,” he mumbled.
“Arthur, I have to get up.”
His grip tightened just a fraction as he breathed you in, nuzzling his nose against the nape of your neck.
“No, you don’t.”
"Yes. I do", you chuckled. "I gotta go to work."
“I got money. You don’t need a job.”
“I like my job.”
With a resigned huff, he reluctantly released you, blinking through the golden sunbeams that had no right to signal an end to this perfect morning so damn soon. “Besides”, you whispered, rolling over and reaching up to trace your fingers lazily over the edge of his stubbled jaw, taking in the way he let his eyes slip shut for a moment and turned his face into your palm. “Someone in this relationship has to be respectable.”
“Mm…”, he moaned softly as you brushed your lips against his. “Goddamn if I don’t love you respectable.”
Arthur watched as you dressed, a bulky arm threaded beneath the pillow and a subtle smile kinking the corner of his lip. A whisper escaped his lips, barely there, a murmur caught on the soft caress of the breeze. “I don’t deserve you.”
“I know”, you grinned as you slipped the clasp of your skirt into place. “Will you still be here tonight?”
Arthur sucked a breath in through his teeth, feigning contemplation as he shook his head in a half shrug and a poorly concealed smirk. “I don’t know. I mean, you are abandoning me right now.”
“Oh, ha ha. I truly am a heartless woman, ain’t I?”, you quipped back with a wry smile as you settled back on the edge of the bed for a moment.
His teasing melted away, heavy lidded eyes holding your gaze with a softness he reserved only for you.
“Three days”, he smiled softly, the words warm and sincere as they rolled off his tongue. "If that's alright?"
"It's always alright, Arthur", you whispered, tenderly running your thumb along the strong line of his jaw before leaning down to plant a soft goodbye kiss against plump lips.
For someone half asleep, Arthur moved swiftly, wrapping a firm hand around your waist, yanking you back onto the mattress.
"Arthur!", you squealed against his mouth as he cocooned you back into the warmth of his arms.
“Come back to bed,” he murmured.
“I can’t…”, you whined, your protests weakening with every notch of your spine the calloused pads of his fingers rippled over.
“I’ll ride you into town myself later,” he offered, like it was some grand negotiation. “Swear it. Just… stay a little longer.”
You hesitated, then exhaled. God, you had missed him, and worse than that he knew it, nuzzling into your neck with the surety of knowing just how to make you cave in.
“Five more minutes,” you huffed, settling your palm back against the contour of his waist, unable to deny the man you spent so much time parted from.
"Fifteen."
"Five."
"Ten."
A soft chuckle bubbled in your chest as he pressed his lips to hollow of your throat. "This ain't a negotiation."
"Darlin", he smirked, pulling back to catch your eye. "We both know I ain't smart enough for that anyway."
"Five", you repeated with emphasis. "But you drop me at the tram."
"I can take you to town", he shrugged, "Walk you right to the door."
"Arthur, you know I love you", you sighed, readjusting your head against his bicep. "But you're a wanted man. Last thing I need is tongues wagging."
Hands flickered in joyous embrace as they tugged your closer, a low growl reverberating from his throat.
“So, I’m your little secret?”
You laughed, joyous and melodic as you willingly allowed Arthur to tangle your limbs together again, the warmth of his body bleeding through your blouse.
“You make it sound sordid”, you chuckled before pulling back a fraction, running the pad of your thumb with unexpected sincerity over that tiny scar on his chin. “But... yes. Last I checked, you weren't exactly shouting from the rooftops about me to your little outlaw troupe either.”
“Mm, that sorry lot know as much as they need to”, he mumbled as his ring finger tucked a loose curl behind your ear. ”Keeps you safer that way.”
“Oh, I’m so safe with an outlaw in my bed, ain’t I?”
With a throaty moan, Arthur clambered on top of you, a thick forearm bracketing against the pillow as his other hand traced a featherlight trail along the curve of your neck with the back of scar worn knuckles. His bottom lip caught between his teeth as the apples of his cheeks rounded with that lopsided grin you knew far too well. Hooded blue eyes lazily wandered across your features, drinking you in, savouring you.
“I’m gonna get out, you know?”, he breathed before dipping to kiss you with a tenderness that made your knees tremble. His lips embarked on their wandering journey across your supple skin.
“Just need a little more time.”
Teeth nipped at your earlobe.
“Just need some more money”
Hot breath puffed against your jaw.
“Dutch says one more big score.”
“Ah”, you breathed as your fingers splayed across his cheek, your chests pressed so close you could feel the steady thrum of his heart. “The infamous Dutch.”
“Then I’m done.”
You've heard it all before, those endless don’t-leave-this-bed promises. But even you had to admit, it was a nice dream - your anxiety and worry vanishing like smoke beneath the gentle pressure of his body, beneath the fluttering of his lips as they found that sweet spot on your throat, his fingers kneading the flesh at your waist.
“And then I'm all yours.”
Your neck arched, your bottom lip catching the stubble of his jaw as Arthur kissed a trail of promises along your throat.
"You're gonna leave all that behind for me?"
"Darlin”, Arthur huffed against your neck as though it was something you should have always taken as written. “I’d do most anything for you."
The pocket watch on the bedside ticked with increasing furiosity. The birds sang a little louder. Your limbs seemed all the more reluctant to move.
"Ten more minutes", Arthur breathed huskily against your throat, feeling the steady exhale leave your lungs and imagining your eyes slipping closed at his lips brushing with featherlight touch across your pulse.
“I'm gonna be late”, you murmured as Arthurs deft fingers unclipped your skirt, massaging the exposed skin.
“There’s worse things.”
With a subtle grin, one hand weaved into the sleep mussed curls of Arthur’s hair, the other trailing the muscular plains of his back.
“You are a bad man, Mister Morgan.”
“Mm” Arthur smirked with that lopsided grin, his wandering fingers already slipping free the buttons of your blouse.
“The worst.”