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“C’mere darling.” Arthur’s voice is as smooth as the whiskey he’s sampling, lined with the same warmth. The type that starts at your cheeks and spreads down to your fingertips after a few sips. It’s alluring, as always, and your feet carry you without a second thought.
Arthur’s gathered around one of the many makeshift tables with a few of the other men: John, Bill, Lenny, and Uncle. It’s a quiet evening, one that doesn’t call for money to be robbed or men to be shot. So during this lull, they spend their time gambling at apropos of nothing. Why steal from strangers when they can empty each other’s pockets just as easily?
It seems Arthur is currently the most successful poker tycoon, an impressive pile of wooden chips resting just in front of him. It’s just a hunch, but something tells you that his streak won’t be beat anytime soon.
“Mister Morgan,” you greet, blushing slightly at the wolffish grin that crosses his face from his name. You’re well acquainted with his preferences, what sparks his moods like flint. It’s a song and dance he’s taught you many times now, the steps are muscle memory.
Arthur reaches out for you and takes your hand in his, an idle thumb tracing your wrist. “Why don’t you sit with me?” He asks, patting his thigh with his free hand. It’s posed as a request, but he knows you could never deny him of anything. “Watch me bleed these fools for all they got,” he adds with a snicker earning eye rolls and groans from those he’s mocking.
“Come on Arthur, don’t embarrass us in front of the lady!” Lenny pleads, his defeat apparent on his face.
“This is a men’s game, Arthur. Leave your woman out of it.” Bill barks but quickly swallows his remaining choice comments when he sees the ferocious glare Arthur directs at him. Arthur’s bad side is the last place anyone wants to be.
“Shut up Williamson,” John laughs, “let her stay. Arthur’s reign of terror will end soon and she’ll be here to pick up the pieces.”
“We’ll see about that, Marston.” Arthur responds coolly, turning his attention back to you.”Well darlin’?” He asks you again.
Don’t keep him waiting.
You smile shyly and nod; Arthur spares no time pulling you into his lap. A soft whisper of praise is purred against the shell of your ear. and a shiver wracks you on queue.
“Well ain’t Arthur a lucky duck,” Uncle says with a lecherous whistle. “We’re doomed now fellas, Arthur’s got himself a pretty lil’ Lady Luck.”
“Careful Uncle, or I’ll personally put you in an early grave,” Arthur warns. Uncle just retorts to the threat with a raspberry. The chatter is quickly ceased and their attention is returned to the game at large.
Arthur uses one arm to hold his cards while the other is wrapped snugly around your waist, settling you comfortably into his lap. You hope the dim light of the kerosene lamp masks the pink adorning your cheeks. It doesn’t, and Arthur notices. It’s only amplified as his hand sneakily travels down to your rear, palming it eagerly just below the table’s view.
You fight to contain a yelp of surprise when Arthur starts to move your hips against him. He quickly silences you with a well placed pinch to your bottom, stopping his movements briefly. You know better than to voice your displeasure.
Although he isn’t shy to unconventionally displaying his affections, there’s an added excitement when he expects you to hide it from the rest of the gang. Another familiar game of his with a memorized set of rules.
Stay quiet, win a prize.
You bite your lip, mentally preparing yourself before you wrap your arms around his neck.
Check.
Arthur taps his knuckles against the wood, passing his turn on to Bill beside him. While Bill mulls over his strategy, Arthur resumes his ministrations. He uses your hips to trace subtle circles with your rear against his lap.
Bill follows Arthur with a check as well. Uncle and Lenny regretfully have to fold. They can’t afford to be bankrupt by Arthur - again. John checks and deals another card.
Raise.
Arthur makes things interesting in the form of forty cents, earning him a few scoffs of disbelief. He looks down at his cards confidently and then to you.
“A kiss for good luck?” He presents his cheek to you and you concede to his wishes with a giggle, gifting him a chaste kiss. Arthur rewards you in kind with an upward thrust of his hips, disguised as a seating readjustment.
A heat forms in your stomach as you feel the hard ridge of his erection on the underside of your thighs. The friction is pleasant, nipping just underneath your skin and enveloping you in a pleasurable haze.
It sends that same heat fluttering lower, lower, and lower.
A moan bubbles up in your throat, begging to be set free. You hold it back and Arthur chuckles darkly as you grip his shirt a little tighter than before. His laughter rumbles in his chest like thunder as he generously pairs a swivel of your hips with another well calculated “adjustment”.
Another cycle of turns weans the competition, eliminating Bill from the pot. John turns the final card upward on the table and regards his hand with a wry smile.
Proceed with caution if you want to go up against the wolf.
“All in, Morgan.” John growls as he pushes his remaining chips into the center. The table goes eerily silent as the onlookers go back and forth between the two outlaws. They unanimously think that John Marston is a fool for challenging Arthur Morgan.
“Oh so you’re finally ready to play with the big boys huh?” Arthur taunts, pulling you as close to him as possible before taking your chin in his hand.
“All in.” Arthur follows John’s poor attempt at one-upmanship as he pushes his own chips into the pile, turning to face you completely.
Arthur calls for a hungrier kiss this time to quell the adrenaline surging through his nerves. His lips move against yours and you can taste the whiskey on them still, further intoxicating you. You gasp into his mouth as he bites at your bottom lip before he retreats to handle this unfinished business.
The gentle sting and the press of his cock against the building pressure in your belly is a spectacular promise of more to come. But first he has to remind an insolent boy who’s top dog around here.
Breath is held as John reveals his hand with gusto, a simper spread across his scarred face.
Full House.
Arthur gives John an unimpressed look, disregarding the hand he was previously pleased as punch about. Immediately, John senses the trouble he’s soon to be knee deep in.
“That all you got Johnny?” Arthur jabs, feigning boredom. Any defensive rebuttal dies on John’s tongue as Arthur nonchalantly tosses his own hand onto the table for all to witness.
Royal Flush.
Arthur takes all.
You’re so giddy with excitement, all the protesting discordance is mere background noise. Your focus is primarily on Arthur, basking in his victorious, golden glow.
Win fun games, win fun prizes.
“Gentleman.” Arthur addresses everyone as he stands, sweeping you into his arms with ease. He doesn’t attempt to hide the hand that eagerly finds purchase on your rear once more. You try to contain your squeal of delight but it seems Arthur is keen to hearing it.
Arthur regards his winnings tepidly; this was never about the prospect of taking a meager amount of pocket change.
“I’ll be taking my winnings and retiring for the evening.” Arthur begins to head back to the manor of Shady Belle, leaving a seething and significantly poorer John behind. The hand on your bottom is soft (for now). Arthur thinks you’re in for a well deserved reward.
“And John,” Arthur regards the loser once more. “You can bring my money to my room in a few hours.”