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You didn’t know who from camp gave Arthur this tip but you sure as hell hoped they were getting sick on Pearson’s stew for the shame you’re about to go through.
It was supposed to be just a simple home robbery; had been until the point you had your fill and tried exiting through a window. It was the same goddamn one the two of you crawled in through, why on earth would it have any business shutting on you as you crawled back out??
Still, here you were: your lower half still inside the burglarized residence and your other staring out into the night. The sill was heavy on your lower back and did not seem to budge as you writhed against it, nor could you maneuver your arms behind you to lift it up. Hands clutching the earth in mortification, you pursed your face as you mustered up the courage to call your companion over for some help.
It wasn’t that you disliked Arthur Morgan, far from it actually, as you’d been harboring some rather impure feelings for the man since you joined the crew. He was broad as an ox and strong as one too, and while you could tell some kindness lingered under his rough exterior, he damn well could be mean as a wolf when he wanted.
Turning your head over your shoulder (or as much as you could given your position), you whispered his name into the homestead.
“Arthur. Arthur,” you hissed.
He had just been grabbing a few more valuables the room over, so you sighed with relief upon hearing his heavy boot steps answer to your call.
”What?” He rasps in that gruff voice of his. “Where the hell are y-“ You hear his steps stop in time with his voice as he finally catches sight of you.
God, this was the worst. You were grateful for the cool night air for how hot your face was getting from the silence and implication of him staring at you like this.
He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle and slowly stepped closer to the window. “Well, well, look’at what we’ve got here.” He was definitely laughing at you, voice full of mirth like that.
”I don’t want to hear it, Mr. Morgan,” you seethed in embarrassment. “Damn thing just slammed down on me, I probably have a bruise! Now would you just help me out so we can go?”
You hear him place something on the floor, likely his satchel now full of stolen spoils, before you feel him stand awfully close behind you.
”Alright, alright- Lemme have a look at’cha.” He pairs the statement with fiddling with the windowsill and where it connects with your body, trying to loosen it. At one point he places a hand on the small of your back and you barley suppress a startled noise at the contact.
Hell, the whole ordeal has you flustered like a nun at a peep show the way your body is reacting to his. Him pressed up behind you, hands occasionally brushing your waist… least once you were out of this mess you’d have these particular memories for later use.
After a bit more fiddling, you hear him pull back and sigh, making your blood spike in panic.
”What?” You ask, startled. “Is it not budging?”
He hums. “‘Fraid so… may just have to leave you here then.”
”What?!” You squawk, clawing at the ground. He wouldn’t… would he?
He laughs at you again, and it both eases your panic and does mean things to your gut.
”’m just playing wit’ you,” he says lightheartedly, like he didn’t just give you a heart attack.
“Haha, very funny Mr. Morgan,” you shoot back with much less humor. “So. Um. What do we do then…?” Apparently the resident family wasn’t due back for a day or two so they weren’t a worry, but it wouldn’t be long till the sun came up and someone saw you looking like this.
He makes a thoughtful sound from behind you, one of his hands coming to gently caress your thigh. “Well, you stuck like this, there’s one thing I can think of.”
It takes you a moment to digest his words, frustration and disbelief guising the innuendo. Still, the way his thumb is rubbing into your thigh, it was hard to deny what he was thinking.
“I-Wh- Mr. Morgan!” You shout, snapping your mouth shut at the loud noise. “You cannot be serious right now,” you say, this time much quieter. “Is-is this another one of your jokes? It ain’t funny, let me tell ya.”
His other hand comes to touch you, appreciatively exploring across the expanse of your clothed thighs and ass. “Don’t see why not,” he insists, matter of factly.
“Word ‘round camp is you been thinking of me. In fact, I reckon I might’ve heard my name coming from your cot during the late hours of the night a time or two. You really gonna tell me you ain’t been wanting this?” He accentuates his point with more wandering of his broad hands.
Your heart is beating jackrabbit fast within your chest as you reply. “…No,” you all but whimper out, resigning into his hands a bit. While you’d much prefer this happening in another context, you were growing increasingly flexible.
”Mm, atta girl,” he says approvingly, making your stomach twist. “Figured it’d take something like this for you to slow down a bit; yer always so up tight round me…” You hear him unclasp your belt and relieve you of your lower clothing. While the air is cool on your bare skin, Arthur’s gaze is red hot.
You hear him suck in a breath and you jolt as one of his hands comes to touch against your entrance, surprising yourself with the damp noise that follows. You hadn’t even realized you’d gotten so wet.
He doesn’t even talk for a moment, just spreads your legs and takes it all in. “Jesus, sweet girl, look’at you. So wet n’ ready for me.” His fingers return to dip into you, making you moan.
“That’s right, make some pretty noises for me,” he instructs, and you comply.
His fingers are thick as the rest of him and it isn’t long before you’re clenching and squirming something fierce against him, begging for him to just fuck you proper already.
”We ain’t in no rush,” he had said, before continuing to work you open for another good while. While your aching arms might disagree, your cunt certainly didn’t with how close you were to release.
”Oh Arthur, Arthur please-“ you begged incoherently as he continued to pump in to you without fail. You had to clasp a hand over your mouth as you came, orgasm ripped from you with a vengeance.
Your arms are wobbly and your is head spinning from the high, tears brimming in your eyes from it all. In your stupor, you miss the sound of his belt unbuckling and how he lines himself up against you. What brushes against your sopping entrance is decidedly a limb you’ve not encountered before, and that sobers you up real quick.
You feel him tap against you, sticky meeting sticky as your fluids connect. “Oh god, Arthur, s’ not gonna fit,” you cry, imagination taking over from what you can feel pressed against you.
One hand smooths down your back soothingly while the other holds his cock firm against you, just barley catching on your hole. “Gonna be just fine, sweetheart, just breath. After all, ’s what you’ve been beggin’ for,” is what he says as he slowly presses in.
For as wet and loose as he had gotten you, you still felt the stretch of him filling you something fierce. He groans deep and low as he pushes in, drowning out the sound of your whine. Feels like forever until his groin is pressed flush against you, his cock filling you up completely.
His broad hands circle your waist as you both breath haggardly, adjusting to the sensation.
”Christ, thought I’d stretched you, but yer as tight as, er, tight as,” he can’t even finish the comparison, groaning as he leans forward to press his forehead on the cool window.
You murmur something incoherent back to him, head hanging limp between your shoulders from how stuffed full you were. He takes note of your rag dolling with a pat to your thigh before slowwwly pulling back out, eyes trained in on the way his cock shines with you.
Tomorrow he’d inevitably apologize for his handling of you, but for now he’s a man with everything he’s ever wanted right under his nose.
His first thrust is firm, making you cry out into the night. You think he shushes you, but it’s hard to tell through the sound of skin slapping skin as he fucks you hard and fast. Your thighs press uncomfortably against the wall with every jerk of his hips from the way he plows into you, but you’re hard-pressed to care about anything with the Arthur Morgan fucking like you’d been dreaming.
It’s like he’d been waiting for this too with how eager his thrusts were, curled over what half of you was stuck inside. You hear him call out your name, grit out sweet praises and dirty promises from how well you were taking him; all while his thrusts grew sloppier and sloppier.
”So good f’me.”
”Doing so well.”
”Made for my cock.”
”Gonna make you mine, pump you full.”
The thought of his spend, pumped deep inside you, is what sends you over the edge. Dirt catching under your nails as you scramble, choking out his name. You must squeeze on him awfully tight, because he only thrusts once more before pulling out and spilling across your back with a punched noise. You feel hot ropes of cum drench your back and splatter against the glass, clenching on nothing with a disappointed whine.
You just know Arthur’s breath is fogging up the glass from how deep he’s breathing, tucking himself back into his pants after a moment. You’re a little out of it but you feel the windowsill give under his hands, and you’re tenderly pulled inside to rest against the wall with him as he towels you clean with a napkin.
It’s hard to catch in the dark, but you can see his pretty face glowing red in the moonlight. You murmur a tired ‘thank you’ as he discards the dirtied towel into the house, and he grunts in reply and pulls you in to him.
He’s broad and warm and holding you close, kissing your temple and telling you what a good job you did. It’s almost enough to pull you under, but something is nagging you.
”Wait,” you protest groggily. His bright eyes focusing on you is almost enough to get you flustered again, but you endure. “When the window come unstuck?”
Arthur is quiet for a moment as he stares at you with those bright blue eyes of his, before he makes an awfully shy expression.
He looks away and rubs his neck rather sheepishly. “Well, Darlin’, maaaybe it never was in the first place.”
There’s a few beats of quiet as you look at him, before you slug him in the ribs and stand to leave, pulling up your pants.
”Fuck. You. Mr. Morgan.”
”Well, darlin, I think you already-“ you cut him off by tossing a book from a shelve at him, making him dissolve further into pained laughter.
Yeah. You hoped whoever tipped him off was choking on their stew.