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He was strutting his stuff, parading around camp like a prize pony, adoration and admiration brought his way from left and right. Surely, Arthur Morgan had done a lot for the bunch of them, had provided for the gang more than any other ever would. He was bringing in the money and the meat, was carrying out tasks and errands nobody else dared to touch. But boy, if he didn't make it known.
Micah had noticed it fast enough, had caught on the fact that he would never be as well-liked as the workhorse of the gang, that the other's smiles and encouragement would never be for him to see. He didn't need it, really, told himself that he didn't crave the positive attention at all. They were more different than most, Arthur and he, while still being similar deep down; for Micah knew that the pure soul of Dutch's favorite executioner was nothing but rotten beneath all the pretending.
At least Micah was honest, at least he didn't try to let others believe what wasn't there, baring his teeth to the abuse thrown his way, to the mockery he was often greeted by. Nobody wanted an honest man these days, no woman fawning over him or romanticizing his actions, everyone calling those vile or unhinged. If only they knew what loomed within Arthur, if only they could see just what Micah saw. Though there rarely was someone listening to him either way.
"Another round!" The rowdy voices of camp drew closer as Micah emerged from the trees, working to close his pants again as he went. He brushed his hands off on his legs, his nose crinkling as the others broke out into song. Micah avoided those bonding moments as much as he could, keeping in the distance to observe, having no intention to get dragged into this pretense of family-life. It was all so fake, fake like the countless reassurances coming from Dutch's mouth. They could huddle close all they wanted, could sing the nights away while drinking more than anyone could rightfully handle, and it still wouldn't take away reality - wouldn't get the Pinkertons off their heels or eliminate the bounties on most their heads.
They were criminals, for fuck's sake. But no one seemed to acknowledge that most days.
"Brother--" he flinched, nearly expecting Sean's drunken drawl to be directed his way, his shoulders relaxing when the man latched onto Arthur instead. He had to have been out on an errand or whatnot, appearing just in time for the party he seemed little enthused about. "Have a drink, M'rgan." Sean pressed a bottle into Arthur's hand without awaiting a response, hanging onto his shoulder like he had been drinking ever since the day broke. It wouldn't surprise Micah if he had, truthfully, the camp atmosphere barely endurable in a sober state.
Arthur chuckled and brushed the intoxicated man off gently, taking his hand off his shoulder with a shake of his head. Charming, alluring - goddamn fake.
Micah grit his teeth, though he had no desire to get involved, his presence not wanted as it was. He turned to find himself a seat, propping his feet up on an empty stool before leaning back, reaching for the pack of cigarettes he kept in his chest pocket.
-
The passage of time only allowed everyone to get more drunk and silly, songs turning raunchy soon enough, voices raising to levels that made Micah wonder how they had remained undetected for so long. Horseshoe Overlook was as good a place as any, hidden between trees with a direct road leading to Valentine. He had ridden it often enough, encountering few travelers at most, the likes of people who sure would enjoy to discover a camp of wanted criminals. They weren't exactly laying low, already making noise wherever they could while drawing attention to themselves left and right - and it wouldn't be long until someone finally caught onto them at all. Until someone came and burst this bubble they were living in, this pitiful life that was more of a chore than anything.
"Mr. Bell." Susan Grimshaw was a force to be reckoned with, a fine woman of Micah's taste, fierce and loyal and bitter like no one else.
"Yes, sweetheart?" Smoke flooded from his nostrils, swirling around his head before raising towards the sky. "Finally thought about that proposal of mine?" He asked with a lopsided grin, easy and wide despite the lack of alcohol running through his system.
"Oh, cut it out," she scolded, putting her hand down on the table, already in her nightgown by now, the white fabric flattering her figure. "Mr. Morgan wants a word with you."
"Does he?" Micah couldn't help the questioning raise of his eyebrow, not remembering Arthur ever wanting to voluntarily speak to him.
"He's at the main campfire. The others- well, I reckon it's best everyone else went to sleep." Susan departed after her closing statement, ignoring the way Micah's eyes clung to her all of the way, gaze following her movements until she disappeared from his line of sight.
"What a woman," he muttered under his breath, pushing himself to his legs as he tossed his cigarette to the ground, letting it burn out in the damp grass. The nights were cold, dew often coating the green strands in the mornings, the freezing air causing small clouds to shape with his breaths.
He walked towards the campfire with ease, uncertain of Morgan's intentions at all. Micah didn't believe that anything good was to come out of the man's mouth, though he couldn't help but be curious. He always had a soft spot for pretty boy Morgan, after all.
-
"Heard you wanted a word with lil' old me," he drawled, heavily plopping down on the chair across the campfire. Arthur sat comfortably upon a log, fingers clasping the neck of a bottle of whiskey, though Micah couldn't possibly tell if it was his first or third one. "Finally warmin' up to me, ain't you?" He added, barely needling the other man some more, a lopsided grin shaping on his lips.
Arthur observed him silently, too proud to rise to Micah's bait, too constipated to even muster a smile. He wasn't putting up the charming facade now, showing his real face when it came to dealing with the 'pests' of camp - and Micah apparently was little more than that to him.
"What?" Micah leaned forwards, elbows on his knees as he leaned closer to the campfire and Arthur on the other side of it. "You called me here to stare? Could've said you was sweet on me before," he chuckled, leaning back again, shifting, almost nervously adjusting his weight on the wooden chair.
"Y'know this party ain't for you, d'you?" The man asked, raising an eyebrow. "That these folks ain't care if you swung that day?" He was clearly alluding to the time he had enabled Micah to escape the Strawberry jail with his neck still straight. Arthur had selflessly shot his way through town with him, saving the life Micah treasured more than anything else in this world.
Thankfulness or not, though, it hadn't been his fault that the law had taken him in.
"How could I ever forget that?" Micah asked, frowning with his words, his status as an outsider painfully clear to him. "I never belonged to them fine folks you are," he muttered, almost regretfully now. He didn't want to share any of this with Arthur, with the very man who was casting his shadow all over his gooddeeds, who took the praise for jobs Micah told him about.
He could pretend it didn't hurt him all he wanted, could tell himself how he was better for being true to himself at least. But was it really that bad to crave a little recognition? Just a fraction of the admiration Arthur received day in and out, a couple of the encouraging words brought his way.
"Didn't know you was that bitter 'bout it," Arthur grumbled, propping his ankle onto a knee, confident and cocksure where he sat; enraging Micah with every intention of doing so. "You wanna be coddled or somethin'? Treated like the fragile little flower you are?" Of course he was only trying to rile him up, to get a rise of him with his usual teasing. "How could anyone respect you? You're nothin' but a deranged lunatic, nothin' but a wild animal Dutch believes he can tame."
Micah chortled, though the anger crawling beneath his skin was undeniable. "Least I am no liar... t'least I don't pretend to be some golden boy, the big bad outlaw with a heart of gold." He shook his head, the image all others had of Arthur simply ridiculous to him. "Just cut the act, Morgan. I see right through it, I can see just how much dirt is beneath that surface of yours." And it came to light now, the guarded expression upon the other's face slipping, eyebrows creasing in irritation.
"Don't pretend we's equal," he warned, low and threatening, obviously displeased with being associated with the likes of Micah.
"But we are." Micah stood, gesticulating to underline his words. "You 'n me, we're just the same. Nasty sons of bitches tryna survive, takin' pleasure in a good fight."
"I ain't takin' pleasure in no fights," the man bit back defensively, raising to his legs in turn, seemingly ready to jump Micah if he dared to say something 'wrong' again.
The grin upon Micah's lips only grew wider, however, self-assured now that Arthur's true colors began to show. He had always enjoyed poking at the man, to catch a glimpse of what laid bottled up within, to maybe experience his wrath first hand. "You can admit it, big boy, it's just us here," he whispered, looking around purposely to see the entire camp quiet around them. "I saw how much you enjoyed blowin' those fuckers heads off in Strawberry."
That seemed to silence the other man, Arthur freezing, his face dumbstruck as heat started to creep into his cheeks.
"No shame in admittin' that killing makes you hard, sunshine," his tongue curled around the last word especially, tasting it for all it was worth.
He couldn't bask in his success for long, though, Arthur shaking his embarrassed daze as he charged at him, growling with their bodies colliding. Despite being younger than Micah, he had a couple of pounds on him, a lot of muscle mass and some inches of height. It was no surprise that he brought him to the ground as quickly, though the sound slipping from Micah's lips was shocked nonetheless. He tried pushing him off himself, fingertips digging into the other's muscular neck, both their hats knocked into the dirt with their sudden collision.
"Son of a-" Arthur swung, catching Micah in the face with his fist, his head thrown to the side by the impact. He felt the ache of his jaw, groaning out as he tried to stop another punch, his elbows raised while his hands tightened around Arthur's throat.
The man covered him with his entire body, pinning him to the ground with his weight, his thighs soon tightening around Micah's sides as he wrenched his hands off of him. Another movement at the edge of Micah's vision and his head knocked back against the ground, blood starting to run from his nostrils.
"You sick-- bastard." Arthur didn't let up, punching him again and again, spitting and growling all the while.
The others had to be comatose not to hear them, sleeping away what would be a sight to see. For all he knew, Morgan might just plan to beat him to death, his head spinning and swimming by now, black dots dancing in front of his eyes with every oncoming punch. He didn't struggle much, however, more inclined to take what the man was dealing, to wait for him to realize that he was hard and aroused in his pants again, his erection matching what Micah's pants were barely able to restrain.
-
Arthur's breaths were heavy when he eventually dropped his hands at his side. His chest rose and fell roughly, the man sitting on top of Micah's very own lungs, his weight making it hard to even draw a proper breath while blood filled his mouth.
He turned his head to spit, barely clinging to consciousness as his ears kept ringing. The grin settled on his face all too easily again, though, lips quirking up confidently, his body squirming beneath the bigger one above it. Micah's arousal was evident, erection hot and heavy, sparks of lust in his half-lidded gaze.
"See?" He rasped, voice strained, his hips rolling upwards to rut against Arthur's bottom. "Got you all hot 'n bothered," he mumbled, not minding the pain that only increased his arousal.
"Shuddup-" Arthur appeared to be in denial, staring down at himself in disbelief, his cheeks tomato red. "This ain't-- I'm not-" he grasped for words he didn't have, voice breaking off when Micah grabbed for his ass, grinding him down and onto his erection forcefully.
"You're just like me," Micah muttered, licking his split lower lip, blinking up at the other man.
Arthur groaned, a low sound that seemed to vibrate through his entire body, pleasant tingles running down Micah's spine.
He canted his hips against Micah's experimentally, reluctance visible in his motions as he started moving with him in desperation. "Fuck," he breathed out, his hands left and right of the other man's body, shaking as they barely succeeded in holding him up.
His anger seemed forgotten for the moment, nothing but lust readable in his features. Not even Arthur was capable of resisting the simplest of pleasures, playing along like Micah had hoped he would.
"You want me?" He asked, panting, his heart beating loudly in anticipation. They were at the main campfire, in the middle of camp with Lenny and Javier snoring a few feet away from them. Still, Micah thought of nothing else than being buried deep within the other man, locked between his tight walls to prove that their cravings were similarly twisted.
Arthur climbed off of him, sparing him an answer as he ripped the buttons to his pants open. Micah bit back a moan, his erection meeting the cool night air; a stark contrast to his heated flesh. He had little time to adjust to the feeling, however, his pants pushed further down his thighs as a different heat engulfed his cock, Arthur's lips wrapping around it in a heartbeat. The man had his eyes closed tight, grabbing for Micah's thighs while he sucked him down his throat almost expertly.
"Jesus-- Morgan," he groaned, fingers grasping for the man's golden strands of hair, tangling in the softness of it as he pulled him further down. He was obviously good at this, Micah's hips stuttering upwards and into his mouth, sloppy wet sounds between them as he tried fucking up into Arthur's mouth properly. The man barely gagged, taking his cock like he was meant to, the occasional sounds of his struggle driving Micah further off the wall.
He had no idea why Arthur was doing this for him at all, though he held no complaints, either. He saw one of the man's hands disappear behind and likely within himself, his pants pushed down to his ankles, fingers slick with a substance he had retrieved beforehand. The man's ass was raised high, his face buried in Micah's crotch still, a switch seemingly flipped inside of him now that he had an erected cock in front of himself.
"You wanna get-- fucked real bad, huh?" He asked, satisfied, cocky, fingers twisting harder in Arthur's hair.
Arthur barely nodded against him, the sound leaving his lips akin to a whimper as he worked his fingers in and out of himself. His mouth stayed busy upon Micah's cock, sliding up and down his girthy member; Micah knowing he had less length to show for it. That didn't seem a problem, however, Arthur pulling off eventually to mount him with his back to him, grabbing for the lube he had used previously, the ointment he had retrieved from his satchel.
They were mostly clothed, Micah's cock his only exposed skin, hard and waiting, tip red and swollen with all the stimulation it had received already. Arthur wrapped his hand around it tentatively, covering it in the lube before lining him up to his little hole.
Micah released a breath, watching the man slide down his length, watched the way he stretched around him easily, taking him in in one go. There was no way he didn't know what he was doing, Micah's hand meeting the side of his cheek with a sharp slap, encouraging him to get moving.
"You been wantin' me for a while, didn't chu?" He asked cockily, feeling on top of the world with Arthur impaled on his cock, no matter how effortlessly he was taking him. "Probably been real desperate... for this," he added, thrusting upwards in his position, forcing a low moan from Arthur's closed lips. "C'mon, baby, ride me... you'll get a real nice treat, I'm tellin' ya." Most of all, Micah wanted him to make noise, though, for him to wake camp and have everyone see his true colors.
"Be- quiet," Arthur pressed out between grit teeth, gyrating his hips before raising them slightly, Micah's cock dragging along his walls as he dropped back down all at once. He repressed most sounds he was making, his expression hidden from Micah's view.
"N'aw, don't get shy now," Micah cooed, thrusting up and into Arthur's tight body with every downwards movement of the other man, astounded that he was as much of a snug fit with how experienced he appeared. "Let 'em hear how much you want it," he grunted, unable to direct the pace like he wanted and *force* the sounds he needed to hear from the other man's throat.
Micah didn't waste another second, pushing himself into a sitting position despite his protesting body. Arthur might think he had beaten him enough to have him pliant, but he was in no way frail, ignoring pain and dizziness as he changed their position, pushing Arthur forward and into the dirt, his cock slipping from his gaping hole for a second before he got to his knees behind him.
"That's better," he found, grabbing Arthur's hips to raise them properly, sheathing his erection back into his tight heat with a low groan.
"Oh God," Arthur dropped his head into the dirt, trying and failing to muffle his moan in the crook of an elbow. He let Micah pound into him without complaint, appreciative noises slipping from his lips, raising in volume as he seemed to forget about his surroundings, as he gave in to the pleasure and allowed Micah to take up all of his senses completely.
Micah relished in the feelings of delight, never one to miss a chance of a willing body beneath himself. He rarely got his rocks off these days, more used to his own hand than the warmth of a dripping cunt or an even tighter ass. And to him, Arthur might just be the best fuck he's had in years.
The man responded positively to the rough pace, Micah's balls slapping against tender skin with each harsh thrust, his hands kneading Arthur's ass-cheeks in admiration. He was a noticeably attractive man, a bit rough around the edges but rewarding even moreso; the mere sight of him surrendering himself to Micah enough to have his head spiral.
He was nearing the edge, already impossibly close when he had first slid into the man's body, his visible and audible enjoyment only spurring him on further.
"Gon' fill you up now," he grunted, thrusting deep and hard, fully intending to hit the spots most pleasurable to Arthur. "Give you a nice reward--" he groaned again, feeling the other man squeeze around him, figuring that he was getting close himself.
Micah's balls pulled tight, movements swift and uncoordinated as he kept rutting forward, riding Arthur like his life depended on it, no regard for discretion in his sounds. He came with a low growl, white exploding in his already impaired vision. His seed flooded the other's hole, his cock jerking as it filled him up and painted his insides in white.
Arthur seemed to appreciate the feeling, throwing his head back as he grasped his own cock, stroking himself swiftly as his hips stuttered back desperately. He bucked back and forth, alternating between thrusting into his hand and fucking himself on Micah's softening cock, the visual as well as the sensation having Micah' head spin with ardor.
He neared his finish quickly, bliss clouding the innocent blue within his eyes as they fluttered open for a second. Though with his orgasm hitting him full force, Arthur's eyes rolled back the very next moment, inner walls pulsating around Micah's limp length, the cock within his grasp twitching and spilling onto the ground. Arthur was breathless, exhausted and overstimulated when he fell forward.
Micah's cock slipped out of his hole, spent and lube slowly starting to trickle behind to seep into the ground. He wiped himself off on Arthur's pant leg, tucking his member back into his pants.
"I told you, you was just like me," he concluded with a low chuckle, slapping Arthur's cheek for him to wince before clumsily getting to his legs. His vision spun, the copper taste upon his tongue making him nauseous.
Arthur let his body recline against the ground, the rise and fall of his chest only proving his exhaustion. "Maybe you's right," he muttered, his cheek squished against his hand, his eyes eventually fluttering closed, Arthur holding no more shame for laying exposed and soiled in the middle of camp.