Archive of Our Own

January, 1902

The wind howled low through the valley, dragging sheets of snow down from the Rockies and piling them against the cabin of Arthur Morgan and Charles Smith as if the mountains themselves had decided to bury the place.

Snow swirled thick through the air, turning the world into a shifting wall of white.

It reminded them both of another winter.

Another storm.

Another desperate flight through blinding snow.

The night they’d ridden north after the Blackwater mess and stumbled into the frozen ruins of Colter, half-starved and barely able to see their hands in front of their faces.

Arthur squinted into the wind now, collar pulled up around his face as he pushed through a drift near the barn.

“Hell of a night,” he muttered.

The words were almost swallowed by the gale.

Charles appeared through the snow a few yards away, leading one of the horses toward the open barn doors.

The animal’s ears were pinned back, nervous about the storm.

“It’s getting worse,” Charles called over the wind.

Arthur grabbed the gate and forced it open wider as the horse stepped through.

“Don’t say that like it’s news!”

Inside the barn the air was warmer, thick with the familiar smells of hay, leather, and livestock. The lantern hanging from the central beam cast a steady golden glow against the wooden walls.

But the animals weren’t settled yet.

One of the cows lowed anxiously from the far corner.

The chickens had already taken refuge high on their roosts, clucking irritably every time the barn door slammed open in the wind.

Arthur turned just as another blast of snow rushed through the doorway.

“Where’s the last horse?”

Charles stepped back out into the storm without answering.

Arthur groaned.

“Charles!”

A moment later the shape of a horse and riderless lead rope emerged from the swirling white.

Charles had one hand on the bridle, guiding the stubborn mare forward while the wind tried its best to push them both back across the yard.

The mare dug her hooves into the snow and tossed her head.

Arthur stomped forward to help.

“Oh no you don’t,” he grumbled, grabbing the other side of the bridle. “You live here now.”

The horse snorted loudly, unimpressed.

Between the two of them they managed to shove her through the barn doors.

Arthur kicked the door shut behind them with his boot just as another gust rattled the wood hard enough to make the whole structure groan.

For a moment they both just stood there catching their breath.

Snow clung to their coats and hair.

Arthur brushed some off his sleeve.

“Well,” he said. “That’s the horses.”

Charles nodded toward the far stall.

“The cows still need bedding.”

Arthur followed his gaze.

One of the cows had wandered halfway out of the stall and was staring at them with the calm indifference of an animal that had absolutely no intention of cooperating.

Arthur sighed.

“Course they do.”

Charles grabbed a pitchfork and started pulling fresh hay from the loft.

Arthur moved to the stall door and clapped his hands.

“Alright,” he said to the cow. “Let’s get you inside before you freeze solid.”

The cow blinked at him.

Then calmly walked the wrong direction.

Arthur stared.

“You gotta be kidding me.”

Behind him, Charles tried, and failed, to hide a smile.

Arthur turned his head to catch his expression.

“Don’t start.”

Charles set another armful of hay down in the stall.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Arthur trudged after the cow, boots crunching in the straw.

“Yeah well I can hear you not sayin’ it.”

It took another ten minutes of slow coaxing, gentle pushing, and Arthur muttering increasingly creative threats before the animals were finally settled.

Fresh hay filled the stalls.

The horses shifted comfortably in the warmth.

The cows chewed contentedly like the storm outside wasn’t trying to bury the valley alive.

Arthur leaned against the stall gate, breathing hard.

“Remind me,” he said, “why we decided to own so many damn animals.”

Charles brushed straw from his gloves.

“You like them.”

Arthur squinted at him.

“…That is not the point.”

The wind roared outside again, rattling the barn doors.

For a moment they both listened.

Arthur shook his head.

“Sounds just like Colter.”

Charles looked toward the door, thoughtful.

“Yes,” he said quietly.

Arthur pushed himself upright, joints stiff from the cold.

“Well,” he muttered, “least this time we got a barn.”

Charles’s breath fogged faintly in the dim warmth of the stable. He brushed a last bit of straw from his sleeves and gave a small nod.

“And a home with a functional wood stove.”

Arthur wiped his runny nose with the sleeve of his coat and sniffed.

“Speakin’ of,” he said, “why don’t we get the hell inside and warm up? My balls are freezin’ off.”

Charles laughed under his breath, rubbing his hands together to bring some feeling back into them.

“I can’t help but agree.”

They stepped back out into the storm together.

The wind hit them immediately, sharp and biting, sending needles of snow stinging across their faces. The path between the barn and the cabin was already half buried again, the drifts creeping higher against the fence rails.

Arthur hunched his shoulders and pushed forward through it.

“Hell of a country you convinced me to settle in,” he called over the wind.

Charles walked beside him, steady as ever despite the snow piling around his boots.

“You were the one who said the valley was beautiful.”

“It is,” Arthur grumbled. “In July.”

By the time they reached the porch both men were dusted white again. Arthur shoved the door open and they stepped inside in a rush of warmth and lamplight.

The cabin smelled faintly of wood smoke and fresh bread Charles had made earlier that evening. Arthur shut the door quickly behind them before too much cold followed them in.

“Christ,” he muttered, stomping his boots on the floorboards.

Snow fell off in clumps.

Charles moved straight to the stove, opening the iron door to check the fire. The wood inside crackled brightly, throwing heat into the room.

“Still burning well,” he said.

Arthur shrugged off his coat and hung it by the door. His fingers were red from the cold.

“Good. I ain’t stepping outside again tonight unless the barn catches fire.”

Charles added another log to the stove, then glanced toward the back corner of the room.

“We should warm some water.”

Arthur followed his gaze.

In the corner sat the big tin wash tub they used for baths. It leaned against the wall most of the time, out of the way unless it was needed.

“Thought you might say that,” Arthur said.

Bathing out here wasn’t a simple matter.

There was no running water, of course. Not this far out in the valley.

Most of the time they hauled buckets from the well behind the cabin, or from the creek when the weather was kinder. In winter, the well handle froze if you weren’t careful, and the creek sometimes ran half under ice.

Tonight the snow itself would have to do for part of the job.

Arthur grabbed two empty buckets near the door.

“I’ll get some snow.”

Charles nodded and began clearing space near the stove.

Arthur stepped back onto the porch just long enough to scoop the buckets full of clean powder piled against the railing. The wind tried to steal half of it as he hurried back inside.

“Good enough,” he said, setting the buckets down.

Charles had already pulled the wash tub out and set it near the stove where the heat would help keep the water warm.

They worked together without much talking.

Snow went into a large iron pot first, melting slowly on the stovetop. Charles added a kettle of well water they had drawn earlier that day, letting it heat until steam began to rise.

Back and forth they went—melting snow, pouring warm water into the tub, repeating the process until the basin was finally half full.

The cabin slowly filled with the soft hiss of steam and the steady crackle of the fire.

Arthur rubbed his hands together again.

“That’ll do,” he said.

Charles tested the water with his hand.

“Warm enough.”

Arthur grinned faintly.

“Good.”

He kicked his boots off near the door and started peeling out of the rest of his winter layers.

His coat was already hanging by the door, but his shirt and long johns were damp from snow that had worked its way through the fabric while they wrestled animals into the barn.

Charles wasn’t far behind.

Wet gloves dropped onto the table. His coat joined Arthur’s by the door, followed by his shirt once he felt the warmth of the room sink properly into his skin.

For a moment they both just stood near the stove, letting the heat thaw them out.

Arthur rubbed his arms.

“Next time there’s a storm like that,” he said, “we’re bringin’ the animals inside the cabin.”

Charles glanced toward the corner where Scout lay sleeping.

The bloodhound lifted his head briefly, then settled back down again.

“I don’t think Scout would approve.”

Arthur snorted.

“Well he ain’t the one nearly froze to death.”

Charles smiled faintly and nodded toward the tub.

“Go on.”

Arthur didn’t need much convincing.

He stepped into the wash tub carefully, lowering himself into the steaming water with a deep, satisfied groan.

“Oh hell,” he said, leaning his head back.

“That’s better.”

Charles watched him for a moment, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly before he began unbuttoning the last of his own damp clothes.

Arthur sank deeper into the tub with a long, satisfied sigh, the hot water creeping up around his ribs while the last of the cold finally bled out of his bones. Steam curled lazily through the air, fogging the edges of the lamplight.

He tipped his head back against the rim.

For a moment he just listened.

The stove crackling.

The wind battering the cabin walls.

The quiet sound of Charles moving somewhere behind him.

Arthur opened one eye.

Charles stood near the table, finishing the slow process of shedding the last of his damp clothes. He moved with that same calm, deliberate grace he seemed to carry into everything he did.

Arthur had seen the man bare plenty of times by now.

It still stopped him short.

Charles’s body had the kind of strength that didn’t need to prove itself— broad shoulders, long arms built from years of hunting and riding and fighting when necessary. The muscles along his back shifted naturally as he moved, smooth and sure, like something carved carefully from dark wood.

His hair hung loose around his shoulders now, still slightly damp from the snow.

In the soft glow of the lantern, the lines of Charles’s chest and stomach caught the light in quiet bands of shadow—something almost sculpted about it, the way the warmth traced over him.

Arthur let out a low whistle.

“Well,” he said lazily, “if I’d known the bath came with a view like that, I might’ve run inside faster.”

Charles didn’t so much as blink.

If anything, the corner of his mouth lifted.

“You’re the one who suggested warming up.”

Arthur rested his chin on the edge of the tub, watching him now without even pretending otherwise.

“I suggested survival,” he said. “This here’s just a bonus.”

Charles stepped closer, lifting the kettle and pouring a measure of hot water into the bath. Steam curled up between them, soft and hazy, blurring the space just enough to make it feel closer.

Arthur squinted up through it.

“You ever consider the unfair advantage you got over the rest of us?” he added.

Charles glanced at him.

“What advantage?”

Arthur gestured vaguely, like he didn’t even know where to start.

“All… that.”

Charles raised an eyebrow.

“That?”

Arthur nodded, grave as anything.

“Yeah. Handsome, calm, strong, mysterious— man’s practically carved outta marble.”

Charles set the kettle down with a quiet clink.

“You didn’t say that when we were wrestling cows ten minutes ago.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

Arthur leaned back, arms stretching wide across the rim of the tub like he owned the place.

“I was distracted.”

That pulled a soft laugh from Charles—low, warm, the kind that settled easy in the chest.

Then, without much ceremony, he stepped over the edge of the tub and eased himself down opposite Arthur. The basin shifted slightly under the added weight, water lapping gently against the sides as he settled in, folding himself into the too-small space with quiet ease.

Arthur blinked.

For a second he forgot whatever clever thing he’d been about to say.

Charles settled in comfortably, stretching one arm along the rim behind him.

The heat curled around both of them now.

Arthur cleared his throat.

“Comfortable?”

Charles looked over at him calmly.

“Very.”

Arthur tried to recover some of his earlier confidence.

“Good,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you catchin’ a chill.”

Charles tilted his head slightly, studying him.

Then his gaze flicked downward toward the water.

“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “you already made sure the tub was warm.”

Arthur frowned.

“Yeah…?”

Charles’s mouth curved just enough to give the line teeth.

“And you certainly didn’t leave much room for anything else in here.”

It took Arthur a full second.

Then two.

Then his ears went bright red.

“Charles!”

Charles only smiled, perfectly composed, while Arthur sputtered and splashed a little water his direction.

“You been spendin’ too much time around Uncle,” Arthur muttered.

Charles leaned back against the rim again, eyes half-lidded with quiet amusement.

“Maybe,” he said. “Besides… would you rather I say the opposite? I think we both know that wouldn’t be true.”

A soft laugh rumbled out of him.

Across the tub, Arthur narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“You’re awful smug tonight.”

Charles shrugged one shoulder, the motion sending a slow ripple through the bathwater.

“Just observant.”

Arthur leaned his elbows on the rim of the tub, studying him.

“That so?”

“Yes.”

Arthur huffed.

“Well you can stop observin’.”

Charles tilted his head.

“Why?”

Arthur gestured vaguely through the steam between them.

“Because you’re lookin’ at me like you’re plannin’ somethin’.”

“I am.”

Arthur blinked.

That answer had come entirely too quick.

“Oh?”

Charles’s mouth curved faintly again, the expression somewhere between fond and mischievous.

“I was thinking,” he said calmly, “that you spend a lot of time admiring me for someone who claims to be distracted.”

Arthur barked a short laugh.

“Distracted is a polite word.”

Charles watched him a moment longer, and raised an eyebrow.

Arthur waved a hand toward him.

“You’re—”

He faltered.

Charles waited patiently.

Arthur groaned.

“You know what you are.”

Charles smiled slowly.

“I’d like to hear you say it.”

Arthur squinted harder.

“You’re enjoyin’ this way too much.”

“Very much.”

Arthur leaned forward again, pointing a wet finger across the tub.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

Charles chuckled under his breath.

“You already established that.”

Arthur muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like damn right I did.

The water shifted again as Charles moved closer, sliding a little farther down into the tub until his knee bumped Arthur’s beneath the surface.

Arthur immediately forgot whatever argument he’d been building.

“…You doin’ that on purpose?”

Charles looked down briefly at the water between them.

Then back up again, perfectly calm.

“Yes.”

Arthur stared at him.

“You’re a menace tonight.”

Charles leaned his head back against the rim, steam curling around his shoulders.

“I’ve been out in a snowstorm all evening.”

“That ain’t an excuse.”

“It’s a reason.”

Arthur eyed him for another long second.

Then a crooked grin slowly spread across his face.

“Well,” he said, settling deeper into the tub again, “if you’re plannin’ on causin’ trouble, Mr. Smith…”

Charles glanced back at him.

Arthur tipped his head toward him lazily.

“…you’re gonna have to come a little closer than that.”

Charles smiled, shifting onto his knees between Arthur’s legs, paying no mind to the water sloshing over the rim of the tub and onto the floorboards.

Arthur simply tipped his head back against the metal rim as Charles hovered above him, wet hair clinging in dark strands to his cheeks and neck.

Up close like this, Charles’s presence always seemed bigger somehow. Not louder, never that, but fuller. The heat of the bath, the closeness, the quiet confidence in his eyes.

Arthur swallowed.

“Well now,” he muttered, voice rough with amusement, “that’s a mighty bold manoeuvre for a man who was pretendin’ to be modest five minutes ago.”

Charles tilted his head slightly.

“I wasn’t pretending.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

“Coulda fooled me.”

Charles’s hands rested lightly on the sides of the tub beside Arthur’s shoulders. Water ran slowly down his arms, dripping back into the bath in quiet taps.

“You’re the one who invited me closer,” he said.

Arthur squinted up at him.

“I said a little closer.”

Charles leaned down a fraction.

“This better?”

Arthur opened his mouth.

Then closed it again.

“…You’re doin’ that on purpose.”

“Doing what?”

Arthur gestured vaguely upward.

“Loomin’.”

Charles huffed a quiet laugh.

“I’m kneeling in a wash tub, Arthur.”

“Yeah well you’re doin’ it menacingly.”

Charles’s shoulders shook with another soft laugh.

The steam curled around them, blurring the edges of the lamplight. Outside, the wind still howled faintly against the cabin walls, but inside everything felt warm and close and quiet.

Charles studied Arthur for a moment longer.

“You were saying something earlier,” he said calmly.

Arthur frowned.

“I say lots of things.”

“About admiring the view.”

Arthur’s ears reddened slightly.

“Oh, that.”

“Yes.”

Arthur shifted a little in the water, suddenly finding the far wall of the cabin very interesting.

“Well,” he said gruffly, “ain’t much point denyin’ the obvious.”

Charles leaned just a little closer.

“The obvious?”

Arthur waved a hand toward him.

“You know.”

“I’d still like to hear you say it.”

Arthur groaned.

“You’re insufferable tonight.”

Charles’s mouth curved again.

“And yet you keep looking at me.”

Arthur opened his mouth to fire back—

Then abruptly froze.

His expression changed in a way Charles immediately noticed.

Charles’s eyebrow lifted.

“What?”

Arthur very deliberately looked anywhere but at him.

“…Nothin’.”

Charles’s gaze dropped briefly toward the water between them.

Then slowly lifted again.

A quiet, knowing smile spread across his face.

“Oh.”

Arthur’s face went crimson.

“Don’t start.”

Charles tried—and failed—to hide the amusement in his voice.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re thinkin’ it.”

Charles leaned back just enough to rest his forearms on the rim of the tub, effectively trapping Arthur between his arms and the metal edge.

“I think,” he said mildly, “that you might be the one in a delicate situation.”

Arthur pointed a warning finger at him.

“You take one step further down that road and I swear—”

“And you’ll what?”

Arthur faltered.

Charles leaned down just enough that their foreheads almost touched.

Arthur muttered under his breath.

“…You’re still enjoyin’ this way too much.”

Charles’s voice dropped softer now, warm with quiet laughter.

“Arthur,” he said gently, “you started it.”

Arthur stared at him for another long second.

Then a reluctant grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“…Yeah,” he admitted. “Reckon I did.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” Charles challenged with a toothy smile, one eyebrow ticking upward.

God, Arthur was beyond fucked.

Arthur huffed out a laugh, more breath than sound, and splashed water up at him, more instinct than strategy, before taking the opening. He shifted forward, one hand braced on the rim of the tub, the other catching at Charles’s arm, and with a bit of clumsy leverage and a lot of stubbornness, he managed to press Charles back against the opposite end.

Water sloshed over the sides in protest.

“There,” Arthur muttered, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth. “That answer your question?”

Charles let his head tip back against the rim, dark hair damp and clinging at his temples, eyes bright with quiet amusement. He didn’t resist, didn’t need to. Just looked up at Arthur like he’d been expecting exactly that.

“Not quite,” he said softly.

Arthur leaned over him, bracketing him in without quite touching, breath still uneven from the cold, from the closeness, from him.

“You always gotta have the last word, don’t you?”

“Only when it’s worth it.”

Arthur snorted, but it came out softer than he meant it to. His gaze dragged, unhelpfully, over Charles’s face— over the line of his jaw, the way the lamplight caught on the planes of his shoulders, the steady rise and fall of his chest. There was something almost unfair about it, the way Charles could sit there half-submerged in a dented washtub in the middle of a freezing winter and still look like something carved careful and deliberate.

Not perfect. Not untouchable.

Just… solid. Real. His.

Arthur swallowed.

“Y’know,” he started, voice rougher now, “a man could get real used to this. You sittin’ there, runnin’ your mouth, thinkin’ you’re clever.”

Charles’s mouth curved faintly. “Careful. Sounds like you’re admitting something.”

Arthur huffed again, but his hand — traitor that it was — settled at Charles’s shoulder, thumb brushing absent, slow arcs through the water along his skin.

“Don’t read too much into it.”

“Mm.” Charles’s gaze flicked down briefly, then back up, something knowing tucked behind it. “Might be a little late for that.”

Arthur followed that glance before he could stop himself, and then immediately wished he hadn’t.

“…hell,” he muttered under his breath.

Charles’s smile widened, just enough to be insufferable about it.

“Problem, cowboy?”

Arthur dragged a hand down his face, equal parts exasperation and reluctant amusement. “You’re bein’ insufferable.”

“Maybe,” Charles said, shifting slightly, deliberately, water rippling around them. “But like I said. You started it.”

Arthur barked out a short laugh at that, shaking his head. “That so?”

“You splashed me,” Charles pointed out mildly. “Escalated things.”

Arthur leaned in a fraction closer, close enough now that their foreheads nearly brushed, voice dropping. “Reckon I can escalate a whole lot more than that.”

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Charles’s expression softened—just a touch, just enough to take the edge off the teasing without losing it entirely.

“I know you can,” he said quietly.

Something in Arthur’s chest pulled tight at that; something steadier than the heat, deeper than the banter. He exhaled slowly, the tension easing out of his shoulders as his grin turned a little less sharp, a little more fond.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Well.”

He shifted again, this time less about winning some invisible contest and more about settling. About fitting. One hand slid to the side of the tub to steady himself as he  turned around and lowered down properly so his back was against Charles’s chest, the water rising around them both.

“Make room,” Arthur muttered.

Charles huffed a quiet laugh but obliged, adjusting just enough to make the cramped space work. It wasn’t graceful. Their knees knocked, water sloshed again, and Arthur’s shoulder bumped awkwardly into Charles’s chest before he fully settled.

They both stilled for a second.

Then, inevitably, they laughed.

Low, tired, a little breathless.

Arthur leaned back, letting his head tip against Charles’s shoulder this time, eyes slipping shut for a moment as the warmth finally sank all the way in.

“Christ,” he muttered. “Worth near freezin’ to death for this.”

Behind him, Charles shifted closer — closer than Arthur would’ve thought possible — until there wasn’t an inch of space left between them. Solid. Warm. Grounding in a way Arthur hadn’t known he needed until he had it.

“Let’s not test that,” Charles said dryly.

Arthur smiled without opening his eyes.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Fair.”

The edge of their earlier teasing softened, easing into something quieter, slower. Outside, the storm still pressed against the cabin — wind rattling faintly at the walls — but inside it had all dulled to the creak of settling wood, the occasional drip of bathwater onto the floor, and the steady rhythm of shared breath.

Arthur’s hand drifted again, settling loosely against Charles’s arm this time. No intention behind it. No thought.

Just contact.

Charles didn’t comment. He only leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss just behind Arthur’s ear. His other arm wrapped around Arthur’s middle, pulling him in fully, his hand moving in slow, absent strokes through the damp hair on Arthur’s chest.

“Gonna make me sleep,” Arthur murmured, voice low and thick, sinking another inch into the warmth. The heat of the bath, of Charles, of the room — it all settled heavy in his bones in the best way.

“You can, if you want,” Charles said softly.

Arthur huffed, just barely.

“Don’t wanna.”

Charles’s hand slowed, but didn’t stop.

Arthur shifted slightly, turning his head just enough that his voice brushed against Charles’s jaw.

“Got plans for you yet, Charles.”

A quiet pause.

Then, gently—

“Oh?”

Arthur cracked one eye open, a lazy sort of grin pulling at his mouth.

“Mhm. Don’t think I forgot about all that teasin’ you did.”

Charles’s arm tightened just slightly around him.not restraining, just… holding.

“Is that right.”

Arthur shifted in his grip, turning just enough to look at him properly now. There was still that softness in his expression, but something else threaded through it too. Something a little more awake.

“Ain’t right,” Arthur said. “Man spends all that time runnin’ his mouth, then expects me to just… fall asleep about it.”

Charles’s mouth curved faintly.

“I didn’t expect anything.”

Arthur snorted.

“That’s a lie.”

Charles leaned in again, brushing his nose lightly along Arthur’s temple before settling close.

“I thought you might need a minute.”

Arthur turned his head, their faces close now.

“I took one.”

“Did you.”

Arthur’s hand, still resting against Charles’s arm, tightened just slightly.

“Long enough.”

Charles watched him for a moment. Really watched him, like he always did.

Then he smiled, softer now. Less teasing. More certain.

“Well,” he said quietly, “I’m still here.”

Arthur held his gaze, something steady settling in his chest at that.

“Yeah,” he murmured.

Then, after a beat—

“…that’s kinda the problem.”

Charles huffed a quiet laugh against his skin, his hand resuming its slow path across Arthur’s chest.

Arthur didn’t move away.

If anything, he leaned into it, his hand slipping beneath the water to rest along Charles’s thigh —  warm, solid, real under his palm.

“Ain’t the point of a bath gettin’ clean?” Charles quipped, though his voice had softened, and he shifted just slightly. Subtly, but enough to press more firmly into Arthur’s touch.

Arthur just grinned, eyes half-lidded.

“We ain’t in here to get clean, Mr. Smith,” he murmured. “We’re in here to get warm.”

His thumb traced a slow, idle path where his hand rested.

“And I can think of a more efficient way to do that.”

There was a beat.

Then another.

Charles held his gaze for a second longer, something flickering there, something that gave way from teasing into decision.

Without another word, he stood, jostling Arthur in the water. 

Water spilled in quiet streams down his legs onto the floorboards, but he paid it no mind. He didn’t reach for a towel this time. Didn’t pause. Didn’t linger.

Arthur blinked, watching him.

Charles turned slightly, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Bed,” he said simply.

There was no teasing in it now, just quiet certainty.

“Now.”

And then he was already moving, crossing the cabin with easy, unhurried strides, leaving damp footprints behind him as he disappeared into the bedroom.

Arthur sat in the bath for half a second longer.

Then he huffed out a low laugh, dragging a hand down his face.

“Bossy,” he muttered.

But he was already standing.

Arthur followed him into the bedroom, the warmth of the other room clinging to his skin as he stepped inside.

Charles was already there, striking a match and lighting the lamp beside the bed, a towel tossed on the floor nearby. The flame flickered to life, casting a soft, golden glow across the small space — catching along the curves of his shoulders, the damp sheen still clinging to his skin.

By the time Arthur reached the bed, Charles had settled back against it, stretched out on his back, one arm bent behind his head.

He lifted it just enough to look at him, a quiet smile tugging at his mouth.

“About that idea you had,” he said, voice low, easy. “Feel like warming me up?”

Arthur didn’t answer right away.

He just looked at him for a second, like he still hadn’t quite gotten used to the fact that this was his. That Charles was here. That he could reach out and touch him and not have it disappear.

Then he exhaled softly through his nose, something fond and a little disbelieving in it.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Reckon I do.”

He climbed onto the bed and over him without hesitation, settling his weight carefully, like he always did — aware, even now, of his own strength.

Charles’s hands came up to rest at his sides, steady and grounding.

Arthur leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to his chest — then another, and another, unhurried. Not chasing anything, not rushing.

Just taking his time.

Charles let out a quiet breath beneath him, his fingers shifting slightly where they rested, brushing along Arthur’s sides.

Arthur lingered there a moment, his mouth against warm skin, before lifting his head just enough to glance up at him.

There was a softness in his expression now, less guarded, more open than he ever let most people see.

“Still cold?” he asked quietly.

Charles shook his head faintly, one hand sliding up along Arthur’s back.

“No.”

Arthur huffed a small, satisfied sound.

“Good.”

He leaned down again, slower this time, letting the moment stretch; not just want, but closeness, something steady beneath it.

Charles’s hand settled between Arthur’s shoulders, holding him there. Not guiding, not urging.

Just keeping him close.

Letting him take his time.

Arthur did, slowly working his way down, unhurried, his touch more about closeness than anything else. He paused now and then, pressing warm, lingering kisses along Charles’s skin, letting each one land with quiet intention rather than heat alone.

By the time he settled lower, nuzzling the curly hair at the base of Charles’s cock, it was less about teasing and more about feeling — about the way Charles reacted beneath him, the way his breath shifted, the way his fingers threaded more firmly into Arthur’s hair.

“Mm… Arthur,” Charles murmured, his voice softening, losing that earlier edge of playfulness.

Arthur huffed a quiet, pleased sound against him, still taking his time — alternating between mouthing at Charles’s cock and sucking tender marks into his inner thighs — dragging things out just enough to make a point of it.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, voice low, his breath warm against Charles’s skin.

Charles exhaled slowly, his hand tightening slightly where it rested in Arthur’s hair.

“I just want you,” he said, honest and unguarded. “Don’t much care how.”

Arthur stilled for a brief second at that, just enough to feel it land.

Then he let out a quiet laugh under his breath.

“For a man who was talkin’ big about a plan,” he murmured, “you sure are meek now.”

Charles huffed, somewhere between a laugh and a breath.

Arthur huffed a quiet laugh, lifting his head again, that crooked grin tugging at his mouth.

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”

Charles’s eyes flicked toward him, narrowing just slightly, but the corner of his mouth gave him away.

“Easy there, Morgan. I’ll kick you out of bed if you’re not careful.”

Arthur snorted.

“What, and leave you hangin’? You wouldn’t have that.”

“I can take care of myself just fine,” Charles replied evenly, though there was a low hum of amusement under it.

“Maybe,” Arthur said, shifting back upwards, settling his weight more evenly on his forearms. “But where’s the fun in that?”

Charles’s gaze held his for a moment longer — steady, thoughtful, just a little dangerous in that quiet way of his.

“You’d be surprised,” he said softly, reaching down to take himself in hand.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, leaning in just slightly.

“Oh yeah? And what would you think about?”

Charles didn’t answer right away. Instead he gently pushed Arthur away with his foot, beginning to stroke himself slowly.

“You,” he breathed, closing his eyes. “Your hands. Your mouth.”

Arthur exhaled slowly, something in his expression shifting — caught between surprise and something warmer, deeper.

For a second, he just looked at him.

Charles, stretched out against the bed, loose and unguarded in a way he rarely let himself be. Not putting on a show, not really. Just… open.

Trusting him enough to be seen like that.

Arthur swallowed.

“Not quite as good as the real thing, though, is it?” he muttered, a faint edge of his usual confidence creeping back in.

Charles let out a soft breath that might’ve been a laugh, opening his eyes fully again to meet Arthur’s.

“Cocky,” he said.

Arthur’s mouth curved.

“Honest.”

He leaned in closer again, the space between them shrinking, his voice lowering as it brushed the air between them.

“Wouldn’t you like it though? Me bending you on your hands and knees, taking you from behind.”

Charles’s breath hitched. Barely perceptible, but there.

Arthur noticed.

Of course he did.

“Or I could sit pretty on that cock of yours,” Arthur grinned at the sight of Charles speeding up his hand ever so slightly.

“Jesus, Arthur,” Charles breathed, the sound low and unsteady despite the way he tried to hold onto himself. “Keep talking.”

Arthur stilled for half a second at that — like something in him sparked, caught, lit up.

Then he shifted, rising just enough to hover over him, close enough that their bodies nearly brushed again. He leaned in, mouth grazing the shell of Charles’s ear, his voice dropping to something softer — less about bravado now, more about truth wrapped in heat.

“You’re a strong man,” Arthur murmured. “Always have been.”

His hand came to rest along Charles’s side slowly and deliberately, like he was mapping him out again.

“And you don’t even try to hide it,” he went on, quieter now. “The way you carry yourself. The way you hold steady, no matter what comes at you. It turns me on, Charles.”

Charles exhaled sharply beneath him, the composure he’d been clinging to slipping just a little.

Arthur felt it.

Saw it.

And God, it did something to him.

He pulled back just enough to look at him properly and for a moment, the words faltered.

Because Charles — spread out beneath him, solid and open and real — looked… beautiful.

Not delicate. Not fragile.

Strong. Grounded. Built like something meant to endure — and still choosing, somehow, to be soft with him.

Arthur swallowed.

“…You got no idea what you look like right now,” he said, voice rougher than before.

Charles’s eyes flicked up to his, searching.

Arthur’s hand shifted, almost without permission this time, sliding along his side again like he simply couldn’t not touch him.

Like looking wasn’t enough.

Charles drew in a breath, chest rising under him, holding it.

Waiting.

There was a quiet tension between them now — not sharp, not strained, but charged.

A standoff.

Who would move first.

Who would give.

Arthur held it for as long as he could.

Then he let out a quiet, defeated huff under his breath.

“…Ah, hell.”

And just like that, he gave in.

His hand moved again to Charles’s cock, firmer this time, his body following without hesitation as he closed the space between them completely.

Charles let out a soft sound — relief, maybe, or something warmer — and his hand came up immediately, finding Arthur’s shoulder like it belonged there.

Arthur pressed close, voice low again, almost reverent now despite everything.

“Can’t help it,” he muttered. “Not with you lookin’ like that.”

Charles’s fingers tightened slightly where they held him.

“You’re a big man, you can take all of it. I’d fill up your nice little hole — you’d like that, wouldn’t you Charles? You like the way it makes you feel like a man when I’m rough.”

The words alone were enough to pull a strained sound from Charles’s throat, his composure slipping as he pressed closer, chasing the contact Arthur offered.

Arthur adjusted, slower now, more deliberate — drawing them together, keeping the rhythm steady, grounded. Not rushed. Never rushed.

Charles’s head tipped forward, breath catching as his forehead brushed Arthur’s.

“Don’t stop talking,” he breathed against his mouth.

Arthur felt that — felt it settle somewhere deep in his chest, warm and certain. He’d always been a talker, always filled the quiet with something sharp or easy—but this—

This was different.

His voice dropped further, softer, roughened by want but threaded through with something steadier.

“Yeah?” he murmured, brushing his lips just barely against Charles’s. “You like that?”

Charles let out a quiet, unguarded sound in response, his hand tightening where it held onto Arthur.

Arthur smiled faintly against him — felt it more than showed it.

He leaned in closer, voice low — meant only for him, warm against his mouth.

“Course you do.”

“Fuck me, Arthur,” Charles breathed, the words slipping out softer than he meant them to. His hand came up, threading into Arthur’s hair and tugging — firm, grounding. A reminder as to who was in control.

Arthur huffed a quiet laugh at that, something bright and a little smug flickering through him.

“What?” he murmured, mouth brushing close again. “Thought you said you could handle yourself.”

But he didn’t pull away.

If anything, he leaned in closer, like he was daring Charles to prove it.

Charles didn’t rise to it the way Arthur expected.

Didn’t snap back. Didn’t rush.

Instead, his grip in Arthur’s hair tightened, pulling just enough to keep him exactly where he was. Close. Close enough that Arthur could feel the shift in his breathing, the way it steadied instead of breaking.

“Arthur,” Charles said quietly, and there was something different in it now — less teasing, more certain.

His other hand slid up Arthur’s chest, broad palm pressing there, feeling the weight of him, the warmth.

“You think I don’t know what I can handle?”

Arthur’s grin flickered, but didn’t disappear.

“Oh, I’m sure you—”

Charles cut him off — not with words, but by pulling him down into a kiss.

Not rushed.

Not desperate.

Slow. Deep. Intentional.

It stole the rest of Arthur’s sentence right out of his mouth.

Arthur exhaled into it, surprised despite himself, his hand tightening where it held Charles.

Charles didn’t let him take control of it.

Didn’t chase, didn’t yield.

He just held him there — steady, grounded, meeting him instead of giving way.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t far. Their mouths still brushed when he spoke.

“I said I could take care of myself,” Charles murmured.

His thumb dragged once, slow, along Arthur’s jaw.

“That don’t mean I don’t want you to.”

Arthur stilled as the words landed.

Charles’s gaze held his — dark, steady, unshaken now.

“But if you’re gonna talk like that,” he added softly, tightening his grip just slightly in Arthur’s hair again, “you better be ready to follow through.”

Arthur’s breath caught just a fraction.

And for the first time since this started—

he hesitated.

Only for a second.

But Charles felt it. And smiled, just a little.

Arthur pulled his hand away for a moment, giving himself just enough space to really look at him like he was weighing something.

Because he knew that look.

Knew that quiet, steady confidence Charles got when he was pushing — when he was daring him without saying it outright.

It had taken Arthur a long time to learn it, to see it for what it was. Most folks would’ve missed it entirely.

But not him.

Charles could be cheeky — hell, more than that. There was a streak in him, sharp and playful and a little defiant underneath his stoic exterior. Arthur might’ve even called it bratty, on a good day.

And the thing was—

Charles didn’t bluff.

Not ever.

He pushed because he meant it. Because he wanted to see if Arthur would meet him there.

And Arthur always did.

So the thought of just handing that control over, of letting Charles steer this without a fight—

No.

Not a chance.

Arthur huffed softly under his breath, something like a grin tugging at his mouth.

“Alright,” he muttered, more to himself than anything.

Then he moved.

Quick enough to catch him off guard, but not rough —  never too rough for him. His hands slid down, catching at Charles’s legs and drawing him in, shifting their positions in one smooth, controlled motion.

Charles let out a short breath at the sudden change, his balance tipping as Arthur guided him back against the mattress.

Arthur followed immediately, closing the distance, grounding him there.

For a moment, they were close — really close — Charles drawn in, his legs hitched higher over Arthur’s shoulders, Arthur braced over him, steady and sure.

Not forceful.

Just… undeniable.

Arthur settled there, one hand still firm where it held him in place, the other braced beside his shoulder. His breathing had gone a touch heavier now, but his expression — God, that expression — was all quiet satisfaction.

“Careful now,” he murmured, voice low, edged with something warm and certain. “You keep pushin’ me like that…”

His gaze flicked over Charles, taking him in before returning to his eyes.

“…you might not like how I answer.”

At  least it’ll prove you’re not all talk,” Charles shot back, a grin tugging at his mouth — easy, unbothered, like he hadn’t just been maneuvered into place and practically folded in half.

Arthur huffed a quiet laugh at that, shaking his head just slightly.

“Christ, you don’t quit, do you?”

“No,” Charles said simply.

And there it was again, that steadiness. That refusal to back down.

Arthur felt it settle somewhere deep in his chest, something warm and sharp all at once.

“Good,” he muttered.

His hand shifted, sliding along Charles’s side, slower now; less about control, more about contact. About feeling him there.

Charles’s breath hitched, just barely.

Arthur noticed. He leaned in closer, closing the space between them until there was hardly any left at all, his voice dropping again, quieter this time, less teasing, more certain. “I’m startin’ to think you like bein’ proved wrong.”

Charles’s grin softened, but didn’t disappear.

“Maybe I do,” he said.

Arthur held his gaze for a beat longer. Something in his expression shifted again, that quiet heat giving way to something more deliberate.

Then he moved. Slow this time.

He brought his hand up, brushing his fingers lightly along Charles’s mouth — not forcing, just there, an invitation more than anything.

Charles didn’t hesitate.

His lips parted, breath warm against Arthur’s skin as he leaned into the touch, accepting them into his mouth with an ease that sent a sharp, quiet thrill straight through Arthur’s chest. There was nothing rushed about it, just a steady, intentional closeness, like he was meeting Arthur halfway.

Arthur exhaled, a little rougher than before.

That did something to him.

More than he’d expected.

He drew his hand back after a moment, slower than necessary, his thumb dragging lightly along Charles’s lower lip as he pulled away, his fingers slick with saliva. Charles looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, spit-shined lips parted, breath slow and unsteady in a way that made Arthur’s chest tighten.

For a second, Arthur just watched him. Caught again on how open he looked like that. Not weak. Never that.

Just… there. With him.

Arthur shifted, taking quiet advantage of the moment, his touch returning and pressing into Charles’s hole — slower now, more deliberate, gauging, listening for every change in Charles’s breath. Gently, 

The reaction he got — sharp inhale, a soft, unguarded sound — went straight through him.

“You’re good for me, right, Charles?” Arthur murmured, a hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth, though his voice had softened again. Less teasing. More searching. He began to pump his finger gently, feeling Charles’s body tighten around him. 

Charles exhaled slowly, his eyes closing for a moment as he settled into the feeling, his hand sliding up along Arthur’s neck, curving around his shoulder like he belonged there.

“Speak for yourself,” he murmured back, voice low and steady despite the way his breathing had shifted. His fingers pressed in just slightly, grounding. “I’ve got you right where I want you.”

Arthur blinked.

Just… blinked.

Then a quiet huff of a laugh escaped him, something caught between disbelief and admiration.

Charles really was a sneaky bastard.

And the thing was, Arthur didn’t mind. Not really.

For all the noise he made, all the bravado and rough edges he wore like armour, there was something in him that settled when Charles took the lead like that. Something that didn’t feel like losing control so much as… sharing it. Trusting it.

As with most things where Charles was concerned, Arthur found himself yielding— not out of habit, not out of weakness, but because he wanted to. Because somewhere along the way, wanting to take care of Charles had become as natural as breathing.

And being taken care of in return, that had been the surprise.

They hadn’t been built for softness. Not at the start.

The world they came from didn’t leave much room for it. It carved men into something hard, something useful. Strength meant silence. Meant endurance. Meant taking whatever came your way and not letting it show.

Arthur had lived most of his life like that.

So had Charles.

Different paths, same result.

Two men shaped by survival, by violence, by the quiet understanding that feeling too much could get you killed — or worse, leave you with something to lose.

And yet—

Somewhere between the long rides, the quiet mornings, the nights where neither of them could sleep—

Something shifted.

Not all at once. Never all at once.

But piece by piece, the edges wore down.

Arthur laughed more now. Easier. Louder, sometimes.

Let himself lean into things he would’ve shrugged off before: resting a little longer, speaking a little softer, letting his guard drop in ways he never would’ve thought possible.

And Charles—

Charles, who had always been steady, always been grounded—

He softened, too. Not weaker. Never that.

Just… warmer.

More willing to let himself be held in return. To accept care without deflecting it. To meet Arthur in those quiet moments instead of standing just outside them.

Maybe it was the life they’d built. Something honest. Something theirs. Or maybe it was simpler than that.

Maybe it was just what happened when two men who’d spent their lives surviving finally found a place where they could live.

Arthur glanced down at him, something softer settling behind his eyes.

“Yeah,” he murmured, more to himself than anything.

He eased his hand away, shifting just enough to reach toward the nightstand. As he did, Charles’s legs slipped slightly from where they’d been hooked over his shoulders, and Arthur paused immediately, attention snapping back to him.

“Hold on—” he muttered, guiding them down with careful hands, easing them to rest more comfortably on either side of his hips.

His touch lingered a second longer than necessary.

“Did that hurt your hips?” he asked, quieter now, already reaching again and finding the small tin tucked in the drawer.

Charles let out a low hum, eyes still half-lidded, watching him.

“Not really.”

Arthur glanced back at him, unconvinced in that familiar way, brows pulling together just slightly as he worked the lid open.

“You’d tell me if it did.”

Charles’s mouth curved faintly.

“I would.”

Arthur studied him for a beat longer, like he was weighing that, then gave a small nod, accepting it, but not entirely letting it go.

He warmed the balm between his fingers, movements slower now, more grounded than before. Whatever edge had been there had softened again, settling into something steadier.

Something familiar.

He rested a hand lightly at Charles’s side, anchoring him before he spoke again, voice quieter, almost absentminded.

“Still gotta take care of you,” he muttered.

Charles’s gaze softened at that, something quiet passing through it, something deeper than the teasing from before.

“I know,” he said.

Arthur didn’t look up right away.

Arthur kept his focus where his hands were — careful, deliberate, attuned to every shift in Charles’s body like it mattered more than anything else as he pressed two fingers into his hole. 

“You alright?” he asked softly, the roughness in his voice giving way to something quieter, more grounded. Charles’s body began to relax under him as his fingers moved, widening experimentally in an attempt to stretch Charles open as gently as possible. 

His other hand came up almost without thinking, cupping along Charles’s jaw, his thumb brushing lightly there feeling the tension, the warmth, the life under his palm.

Charles nodded, leaning into the touch instead of away from it.

Then he turned his head just enough to press a slow, lingering kiss into Arthur’s hand.

“You’re so good to me,” he breathed.

And that—

That undid Arthur faster than anything else had. It always did. The words hit somewhere deep, somewhere old. some place in him that had spent years being told he was useful, dangerous, necessary… but never good.

Never that.

Arthur exhaled, uneven, his grip faltering just slightly before steadying again. “Ah, don’t—” he muttered, but there was no real protest in it. The warmth had already spread up his chest, across his neck, right to the tips of his ears.

Charles felt it. Of course he did.

A faint smile touched his mouth; not teasing this time, not sharp, but knowing.

Arthur huffed under his breath, ducking his head just a little like he could hide it, though he didn’t pull away.

Didn’t stop touching him, spreading him, treating it like a job he was born for. “Gonna make me soft,” he added, quieter now.

Charles’s fingers shifted where they rested against him, grounding, steady.

“You are soft,” he said gently. “With me.”

Arthur stilled for half a second at that.

Then his thumb moved again along Charles’s jaw, slower now.

“…Yeah,” he admitted, barely above a murmur.

There was a pause, brief but full of something unspoken, before Arthur shifted slightly, grounding himself again in the moment, in him.

“You ready for me?” he asked, quieter now, leaning down to press a firm, lingering kiss along Charles’s collarbone, feeling the uneven rise and fall of his chest beneath him.

Charles let out a soft sound, eyes opening just enough to take him in. Really look at him, like he always did.

“Mmm,” he nodded, voice low, steady despite everything. “Please.”

Arthur exhaled through his nose, something tightening and softening all at once in his chest. He took a second, just a second, to steady himself, to make sure.

He pulled his fingers out to scoop out more balm, spreading it onto his cock with a sigh at the relief it gave him. Then he lined himself up and pressed into him, slow and deliberate, giving Charles time to adjust, his hand braced firm at his side as he buried himself to the hilt.

Charles’s breath caught, his head tipping back slightly into the pillow, a broken sound slipping out before he could stop it.

“Arthur—shit—”

Arthur huffed a quiet, breathless laugh at that, leaning down instinctively, pressing close, his face burying into the crook of Charles’s neck.

“Shh,” he murmured, not to silence him but to steady him, his lips brushing warm against his skin.

He lingered there a moment, breathing him in, letting that closeness settle instead of rushing through it. The world narrowed to heat, to breath, to the familiar weight of each other.

“I love you,” he added quietly, almost without thinking, like it had simply slipped loose.

Beneath him, Charles let out a soft, rumbling laugh, the sound warm and fond.

“I know, you daft fool,” he murmured, turning his head just enough to brush a kiss against Arthur’s temple. “Now quit stallin’.”

Arthur snorted softly against his skin, but there was no real protest in it.

“Yeah, alright,” he muttered.

And then he moved.

Not rushed, not clumsy, just instinctive. Like his body already knew the rhythm, knew how to meet Charles where he was. He let himself fall into it, into the closeness, into the way Charles responded beneath him.

“Jesus—” Arthur breathed, voice already starting to lose its edge, slipping into something rougher, more open. “You feel—”

He cut himself off with a quiet huff of a laugh, like even he couldn’t keep up with the flood of it.

Charles didn’t say much.

He never did.

Just a soft sound, low in his throat, his eyes squeezing shut as he held onto the moment in his own quiet way. One hand reached back, gripping the headboard — not for control, just to steady himself.

“Just for you,” he managed, barely above a breath. 

The words hit Arthur square in the chest.

“Just for me,” Arthur echoed immediately, like he needed to hear himself say it, needed to hold onto it. His words kept coming after that, easier now, spilling out between breaths.

“Look at you,” he murmured, half in awe, half in disbelief. “Always so damn steady, and then—” he shook his head, a breathless laugh slipping out, “—then you go and say things like that.”

Charles huffed softly, something like a smile ghosting across his face despite himself.

Arthur leaned in closer without even thinking, his voice dropping, but not quieting.

“Don’t even know what you do to me half the time,” he went on, words tumbling over each other now. “Just—look at you and I— hell—”

He laughed again, softer this time, almost fond of his own lack of composure.

Charles opened his eyes just enough to look at him.

There was something warm there. Something steady.

Something that liked this— liked Arthur like this.

Unfiltered. Loud. Feeling everything all at once and not even trying to hide it.

A balance.

Charles’s quiet, meeting Arthur’s noise.

Arthur caught the look and huffed.

“Don’t you start smilin’ at me like that,” he muttered, though there was no real warning in it.

Charles’s voice was soft when he answered.

“I like hearing you.”

Arthur stilled for half a second. Then shook his head, a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh slipping out.

“Yeah,” he said under his breath. “Well… you’re gonna keep hearin’ me.” Arthur grabbed one of Charles’s legs, adjusting it higher, changing the angle of his thrusts. Almost immediately, Charles let out a sharp gasp, his body arching off the bed with a groan.

“Oh fuck—“ Charles moaned, rolling his hips up against Arthur. “Right there— please—“

Arthur felt the words shoot through his body like a lightning strike. “Yeah? You like that? You take it so well, Charles.” He murmured almost absentmindedly. 

There was almost no thought to continuing his rambling because it was always like this. Once he started, he wasn’t able to stop. The words just came, rough and unfiltered, pulled straight from somewhere deep in his chest.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice uneven, half a breath, half a laugh as he continued his unrelenting pace. “Always so quiet, then you go and— hell…”

He shook his head, like even he couldn’t quite make sense of it.

Charles didn’t interrupt. He never did.

Just held onto him steady and grounding, letting Arthur fill the space the way he needed to.

Arthur leaned down again, pressing close, his voice dropping but never truly quiet.

“You got me all twisted up,” he went on, almost accusing, though there was no real bite to it. “Don’t even try, and still—”

He let out a low, breathy laugh, the sound slipping into something softer as his thrusting grew somewhat erratic.

“Christ, Charles…”

Charles’s hand shifted along his back, slow and reassuring.

“I’m right here,” he said quietly.

Arthur huffed, like that only made it worse.

“I know you are,” he replied. “That’s the problem.”

There was a pause, just long enough for Arthur to catch his breath, for the moment to settle again.

Then, softer—

“Don’t you go anywhere,” he added, almost instinctively.

Charles’s grip tightened just slightly. “I’m not—“ a gasp left his body. “Arthur— I’m close—“

Arthur nodded, more to himself than anything, forehead resting briefly against Charles’s shoulder. “You’re doing so well, Charles. Reckon you can come without me touchin’ your cock?”

Charles simply nodded, trying to meet Arthur’s thrusts, as the man above him leaned down to suck a mark along his collarbone, hard enough to leave a bruise that would no doubt take days to leave.

With that, Charles let out a series of staccato moans before his whole body tensed, relief washing over him as he came, his cum shooting onto his own stomach.

Arthur felt Charles’s body tighten around his cock like a vice, and he let out a loud groan in response. “Shit, Charles— Look at you,” he panted, “didn’t even have to touch you,” he chuckled at that, before he found his hips stuttering. He only made it a couple of thrusts before he reached his own peak.

Arthur’s voice broke loose in a low, unsteady cry as he finally let go, the tension draining out of him all at once. For a moment he just stayed there, folded over Charles, like his body hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that it was over.

Then he let himself sink.

Not heavily, never careless, but enough that the weight of him settled across Charles in a way that felt grounding, real.

His head dropped to Charles’s chest, and there it was—

That steady, familiar rhythm. Arthur stilled, listening to it. Feeling it. Like something he needed to reassure himself was still there, still strong.

“…Hey,” he muttered softly, voice rough from everything that had just passed.

He pressed a slow, absentminded kiss over Charles’s heart, lingering there a second longer than necessary, like it meant something more than he could say out loud.

Beneath him, Charles lay quiet, breath still uneven, his body slack in that rare, unguarded way he only ever allowed with Arthur.

Arthur shifted just enough to look at him, propping himself slightly on one arm.

“…You with me?” he asked, softer now.

Charles blinked up at him, eyes heavy but clear, a faint, tired smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” he murmured.

Arthur studied him for a beat, really studied him, before something in his shoulders finally eased.

“Alright,” he said, like that settled it.bHis hand came up, brushing lightly across Charles’s chest, slower now, no urgency left in it. Just touch for the sake of it. “…You look wrecked,” he added after a second, a hint of a grin returning.

Charles huffed quietly.

“Your fault.”

Arthur snorted, then took in the sight of Charles beneath him, his release streaked across his stomach. His hand came to rest at Charles’s hip, thumb moving in slow, absent circles as he pulled out, shifting down until he was level with his abdomen.

Charles watched him for a moment, curiosity soft in his gaze, before his eyes drifted closed as Arthur’s breath brushed warm against his skin. Arthur followed instinct more than thought, unhurried, letting the moment stretch as he moved with a quiet, deliberate care, lapping the mess up with his tongue in languid strokes.

He let himself sink into it — the rhythm, the closeness — feeling the way Charles’s body tensed and eased beneath him in small, responsive waves. There was something deeply grounding in it, something that made Arthur slow down without even realizing it.

Charles let it happen, didn’t pull away, didn’t hide. Just trusted him.

And that, more than anything, struck Arthur every time.

He’d never get used to it. The way Charles allowed himself to be seen like this. The way he wanted it, even.

Arthur felt it settle deep in his chest, something warm and almost disbelieving. He was the only one who got to see this side of him. And God, that meant something.

Not that Arthur was much different, if he was being honest. He huffed softly to himself, a faint, crooked smile tugging at his mouth.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t love the other side of it too; the way Charles could take hold of him just as easily, steady and certain, grounding him when he needed it most. The way he could handle him, without ever making it feel like something taken.

It had been strange, at first. Letting someone in like that. Letting himself be vulnerable in ways he never had before.

But Charles—

Charles had made it easy. Easier than Arthur ever thought it could be. And somewhere along the way, that unfamiliar vulnerability had turned into something steadier. Something safe.

“You gonna take care of the rest?” Charles murmured, voice low with amusement, shifting his legs just enough to make the implication clear; subtle, but deliberate.

Arthur paused mid-movement, blinking down at him.

“…You’re somethin’ else,” he muttered, a slow grin tugging at his mouth despite himself.

Charles didn’t even bother to hide it, one corner of his mouth lifting, eyes half-lidded and knowing. “Just askin’,” he added lightly.

Arthur huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well. You ask a lot for a man who can barely keep his eyes open.”

“Still answerin’, ain’t you?”

That got him.

Arthur let out a quiet snort, leaning down just long enough to press a quick, fond kiss low on Charles’s stomach before pushing himself upright. “Above my pay grade I’m afraid,” he said, though there was no real conviction in it.

His legs protested faintly as he stood, a dull ache settling in, but he worked through it, making his way into the main room. He grabbed a couple of towels from where they’d been left and, out of habit, stopped by the stove to stir the fire. The flames picked up with a soft crackle, throwing a steadier warmth through the cabin.

“Keep burnin’,” he muttered.

When he came back, Charles had sunk deeper into the mattress, eyes barely open now, drifting.

Arthur tossed the towel his way.

“At least cover yourself. You’re gonna freeze to death like that.”

Charles groaned low and unimpressed, but still managed to catch it. He dragged it lazily over himself, making a half-hearted attempt at drying off before his arm gave out and the towel slipped right from his grasp, falling uselessly to the floor.

Arthur stared at it.

“…That was real thorough,” he said dryly.

Charles only made a vague sound in response, already halfway gone.

Arthur shook his head, but there was no bite to it. He moved around the bed and slid under the covers with a low exhale, letting the warmth sink in as he helped Charles get under the blankets next to him. After a moment, he reached out, catching the blanket on Charles’s side and tugging it toward him.

“C’mon,” he murmured.

Charles shifted without protest, rolling closer, settling in against him with the ease of someone who’d done it a hundred times before. Arthur’s arm came up automatically, draping over him, pulling him in.

“Better,” he said quietly.

Charles hummed faintly.

For a while, it was just the fire crackling and the wind brushing along the cabin walls.

Then a soft thump at the foot of the bed.

Arthur cracked one eye open as Scout climbed up, circling once before dropping heavily into place, letting out a content sigh. “…Course you are,” Arthur muttered.

Charles huffed faintly, not opening his eyes. “Cold,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, well. You and me both.”

Scout settled, tail thumping once before going still. Arthur glanced toward the window, listening to the wind push harder for a moment before easing again.

“Reckon they’re alright out there?” he said after a beat, quieter now.

Charles shifted slightly against him, just enough to answer. “Barn’s solid,” he murmured. “Latched it proper.”

Arthur nodded, even though Charles couldn’t see it.

“Yeah… yeah, we did.”

A pause.

“…Still don’t like it,” he added.

Charles’s hand shifted faintly against him, a grounding weight. “They’ll be fine.”

Arthur huffed softly. “Always say that.”

“And they usually are.”

That pulled the corner of Arthur’s mouth up, just a little. “Fair.”

Silence settled again, easy this time.

Arthur’s hand moved once along Charles’s back, slow and absent, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. “Gonna be a mess in the mornin’,” he said after a beat. “Drifts’ll be halfway up the fence line. Horses’ll be restless, cattle’ll—”

“Arthur.”

It wasn’t sharp.

Just… firm.

Arthur blinked, glancing down. Charles hadn’t even opened his eyes.

“Quit talkin’,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep. “Ain’t fixin’ it tonight.”

Arthur stared at him for a second.

Then huffed a quiet laugh, something warm and fond slipping through it. “…Yeah,” Arthur said. “Guess not.”

He let out a quiet breath, something softer settling into his chest as he shook his head and eased back into the pillow. “Still the same,” he added, more to himself this time.

And he meant it.

Charles had always been like that — even back when he first rode in with the gang. Quiet, sure, but not in the way most folks expected. Not hesitant. Not unsure. Just… deliberate. Said what he meant, meant what he said, and didn’t dress it up for anyone’s comfort.

Plenty of people hadn’t liked that. Found it rude. Off-putting. Too blunt for polite company.

Arthur never saw the problem. Hell, he’d liked it from the start. In a world full of half-truths and men talking in circles, Charles had always been steady. Honest. Clear in a way that cut straight through all the noise.

Still was.

Even now, half-asleep, barely conscious, telling him plain as anything to shut up and leave tomorrow for tomorrow.

Arthur huffed a quiet, fond sort of laugh at the thought.

“Yeah,” he murmured again.

Charles didn’t answer. Already gone. Arthur’s hand shifted once along his back, slow and absent, like it belonged there.

Outside, the storm carried on, wind dragging low across the valley.

Inside, the fire held steady, warm and constant.

Scout snored softly at the foot of the bed, curled tight against the cold. Arthur let out a long, quiet breath, his eyes finally drifting shut.

“…We’ll manage,” he murmured.

And this time he let himself leave it at that.