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It’s not that John hates Abigail. Hell, there are moments when he thinks he might actually be in love with her. She’s sweet, and passionate, and so beautiful John can hardly believe it. It’s just that most of the time, she drives him fucking crazy.They’re too similar in temperament, too hotheaded and fiery, and it’s never long until they’re arguing and shouting and burning each other out. Doesn’t help when she keeps saying that kid is his. They’re at each other all the time, with only rare moments of peace when they manage to agree on something, something to temper the flames and remind John why he might be the luckiest bastard in the world just to have her.Today that something is Charles Smith chopping wood with his shirt off.Sweat glistens over his muscled chest and broad shoulders as he splits logs, one after the other, biceps bulging with every swing of the axe. He’s caught the attention of several of the girls at camp - and, as Abigail has noticed, one John Marston. John feels her hand touch his shoulder as she leans in close.“That’s enough to make a workin’ girl want to get back in business,” she whispers.“Shut up,” John hisses back. He hadn’t even realized he was staring until Abigail pointed it out but it’s hard not to stare when Charles looks like that.“I know what you’re thinking, Marston.”John shushes her again, painfully aware that he still hasn’t taken his eyes off Charles. Abigail just shrugs, but she’s got that conspiratory look in her eyes, and John knows he hasn’t heard the end of it.There’s not much privacy in the yard of the little farmhouse they call home for now, but that’s just part of life with the gang. Living on top of each other means that sometimes you have to turn a blind eye, or a deaf ear, or just pretend not to notice something that really should be private. Conversations, confessions, arguments. Folk enjoying themselves or each other. It’s all part of living together, and it’s why when John and Abigail sneak off later that night, they don’t bother going too deep into the woods before she’s got him on his back with his pants around his thighs.“Would y’look at this. You’re all worked up already,” Abigail says, giving John’s cock a few slow strokes. “You been thinking about him all day, have you?”Her sharp smile is just visible in the dark. John’s already feeling overwhelmed, pressed into the dirt with her practiced hand moving over him just the way she knows he likes. “Ah,” is all he manages to pant out. “What was that?” Abigail prompts, too sweet.John grunts at an upward twist of her grip. “I- ah, yeah. I been thinking about him.”She makes a pleased sound. “Knew it. Been a while since you got to suck a cock, hm?”Fury and arousal melt together at the way she goads him, teases him, somehow convinces him into these depraved games that John’s not sure how to win. She’s been playing with him for what feels like forever, since the moment they met, just lately there’s been a lot more of the arguing and a lot less of… whatever this is. God, John doesn’t want it to stop.Even if he’s not going to be able to look Charles in the eye tomorrow.“I bet he’s big,” Abigail goes on, giving John a sympathetic squeeze that makes a bead of precome roll from the tip of his cock. “Big man like that, he’s gotta be. Think you could even get your mouth around him?”“You could do it,” John shoots back.Abigail laughs. “Of course I could do it. Not sure about you, though. That mouth is pretty small, for the way you always run it off like an idiot. Hm, I bet he’d be real gentle with you, though. Ease you into it.” She tilts her head to the side, smile growing sharper. “Why don’t you ask him?”John whimpers as she runs her thumb over the head of his cock, too sensitive in the slit, though the sensation isn’t quite enough to distract him from the feel of her slowly working open the buttons at the back of his union suit. He knows what’s coming, oh God he knows-The first touch of a warm, slick finger against his hole makes John jolt hard enough that he knocks the back of his head against a tree-root. Abigail laughs again.“You want it?” she asks. “Say it.”“I-I want it,” John mumbles. His body feels like it’s burning up from the inside, flushed from humiliation and arousal, but Abigail’s finger feels somehow hotter as it slides into him.“Please,” John whimpers, not sure what he’s begging for at this point. Abigail knows, though – she always knows what he needs.A twig snaps, seemingly only feet away. They both freeze. That sounded like a footstep – the night watch, maybe. John tries to squirm away, but Abigail keeps a tight grip on his cock, and the feeling of her finger shifting inside him feels so, so good that John has to clamp his hands over his mouth to keep from crying out.“A little privacy here, please,” Abigail calls into the dark.A few moments pass before they hear the sound of leaves crunching as the footsteps move away again. Abigail turns back to John, and to the sticky mess that now coats her fingers.“And people call me easy,” Abigail sighs, letting John’s spent cock drop back into its own mess on his belly.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Abigail is always pretty, but something about her the next morning is so unbearably beautiful that John can hardly take his eyes off her. She smiles as she pours his coffee, face glowing in the morning light.
“There ya go, handsome,” she says, handing him the steaming mug.
That smile – it’s sweet as anything, like she hadn’t kept him up until dawn whispering filthy secrets in his ear.
How tight he was as he took her fingers, how badly she could tell he needed to come, and how well he took his punishment for doing so without her permission.
A flush creeps up John’s neck just thinking about it. She notices – of course she does – and leans in to kiss him.
“I know what you’re thinking, Marston,” she whispers against his lips. He can feel her grinning. She pulls back and touches his cheek, letting her thumb trace along his lower lip.
He loves her. He really does. Times like this, he don’t even mind her kid playing nearby – John ain’t the kid’s father, but he supposes Jack is family same as anyone else in the gang. John could be perfectly happy with Abigail, if only…
… if only he always felt this way.
He won’t. He knows it with a sour taste at the back of his throat, because peace like this doesn’t last. Folk tiptoeing around them shows just what’s expected next. John and Abigail might be cuddled up like two lovebirds now, but it won’t be long before the next storm rolls over the horizon and they’re at each other again, arguing and shouting and burning each other out.
John feels sick. Oblivious to their impending doom, Abigail leans in to kiss him again, and pulls back when she finds him unresponsive.
“John?” she asks.
A shadow falls over her face. They both turn. Charles stands over them, silhouetted against the rising sun.
“Morning,” he offers.
“Morning,” Abigail says back. John says nothing, because all of Abigail’s whispered fantasies are coming back to him and it takes every ounce of willpower he’s got to keep from staring at the front of Charles’ pants.
“You busy?” Charles asks him.
“Uh, no,” John manages, “Why, you heading out?”
Charles nods. “Could use a hand checking the traps.”
Silence stretches on, until Abigail pinches John’s thigh.
“A-alright,” John says, hoarsely, and gets to his feet to follow Charles into the forest.
John’s never been much of a hunter. He learned to fend for himself real quick when he was on his own, but it never came easy, not like it does for Charles. Charles moves through the forest like he’s meant to be there, more at ease than John’s ever seen him at camp. The rising heat doesn’t seem to bother him, and he follows paths only he can see, while John’s feet catch on roots and underbrush with every other step. Least all the stumbling keeps him from thinking about-
“There’s another snare over there,” Charles says. “Go check it out.”
John’s head snaps up from where he definitely wasn’t staring at Charles’ ass, and he slinks over to the bush Charles is pointing at.
Goddamn,
John needs to get his head on straight, before he makes a complete fool of himself. Not like it’s very hard out here. He can’t even see the damned snare – least not until his foot catches in it, and he pitches forward into the dirt.
Groaning, John pushes himself up onto his elbows. Charles draws near, silent except for a low hum that John realizes is a laugh.
“Looks like we caught a big rabbit here,” Charles says.
He crouches down to loosen the rope from around John’s boot. John gingerly turns over, aching and scratched where he hit the ground. “
Shit,
” he says, “Sorry, Charles. I’m useless out here.”
Charles picks a dried leaf from John’s hair. “It’s alright. Just need to reset the snare.”
John still feels dumb as a rock as Charles shows him how to tie the rope and bend the sapling. It’s something he ain’t done before, or even thought about. John should be paying attention to the way Charles’ hands tie the knots, but he can hear Abigail’s voice in his head telling him how much she’d like to see one of those big hands holding a fistful of John’s hair.
John’s face is flaming – as if he wasn’t already sweating like a hog in the morning heat.
“See,” Charles says, “Easy.”
This is just why John should be respecting him, instead of caught up in some stupid fantasy. John might do his share of pulling in money for the gang, but it’s calm and steady Charles who really puts food on their table.
“Thanks,” John says. “For – well, everything. Providing for us. Think we’ve eaten better in the months since you joined up than we ever have. And that’s even after Pearson gets his hands on it."
Charles laughs again. John grins at him.
“I mean it,” John says, “Folk really appreciate it.”
Charles returns the smile. “You and I are alike.”
“How’s that?”
“Because we both know it’s better to be part of the pack, than a lone wolf,” Charles says, “That’s why you came back, after leaving for that year.”
All the air seems to vanish from the forest and John’s hackles are up at once, the same reaction that comes out when Arthur gripes on about John’s time alone with every other breath. “I don’t-“
“I’m not judging you for it. Just saying, there’s a reason you want to be here. This means something to you.”
Why the Hell is he bringing this up? Wary, John gets to his feet. Charles remains crouched on the ground and watches, calm as ever. He ain’t trying to start a fight, that much is clear.
“Yeah,” John agrees at last, because the gang is his family, if not in blood then in the way it really matters. “Means something to you too, huh?”
Charles nods. “It does,” he says. “But it’s new to me. Been a long time since I was part of anything.” Charles glances down and away. “It’s different – having other folk around. And I don’t know how to ignore it, when I hear them fighting. I can’t help but listen. And I wish I… could do something for it.”
It’s the most John’s ever heard Charles speak at once, and though it’s as cryptic as ever, John knows what he means. Charles was among the folk tiptoeing around John and Abigail at camp this morning, waiting for the dam to break. It’s nothing new for the rest of them, but Charles still isn’t used to this part of living in close quarters.
John scratches at his jaw, uncomfortable. “Aw, shit. I’m sorry Charles. We- Abigail and I, we don’t mean to upset you, with the arguing.” John takes a breath. “Wish there was more we could do about it, but the way we get, sometimes…”
“Seemed like you were getting on fine this morning.”
“… Uh. Yeah.” How’s John supposed to tell him that they were getting on so well because they were both caught up in a fantasy about John sucking Charles off? “Guess we were.”
“Seemed like you were getting on fine last night, too.”
Last night…
John has to turn and take several steps away. Was that Charles, who’d stumbled upon he and Abigail in the woods? It must have been – because that’s just John’s awful luck.
“Uh. That was- it was just something Abigail likes to do,” he hurriedly explains, before God answers his prayers to open the ground and swallow him whole. “Don't know what you heard, but I’m not – I’m not really trying to, uh, suck your dick or something out here. It’s just – a game, I guess.”
The moment stretches on as Charles considers this.
“Alright,” he says at last.
John doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed that Charles dismissed it so easily. Relieved, of course. He’s a fool to hope something like this could happen anywhere but Abigail’s whisperings.
He hears Charles get to his feet, then nothing. With the way Charles moves through the forest, John doesn’t realize Charles is behind him until he feels a hand close around his wrist.
“Because if it wasn’t just a game,” Charles says, “Now’s a good time to get on your knees.”
It's a joke. It's got to be a joke. John doesn’t laugh. Sweat drips down his back, soaks through his shirt. Somehow, his throat is dry and his mouth is watering at the same time.
He lifts his eyes to meet Charles’ gaze, and that rare smile returns, darker now.
Then, John hears the sound of underbrush crackling beneath himself as he gets to his knees, deafening in the quiet forest.
“This is what you wanted?” Charles asks. He’s like some kind of monument towering over John. Breathless, John can only nod. He still ain’t sure this is really happening. Maybe he hit his head when he tripped over the snare and this is all a hallucination. God, don’t let him wake up now...
With shaking hands, John reaches for the front of Charles’ trousers to pull the laces free. The heat beneath his palms is searing, and when he finally gets Charles’ pants open, Charles pushes his hands aside and reaches in to pull his cock out,
heavy and thick. He makes a low, soft sound of pleasure as he strokes himself, inches from John’s face, close enough that John can smell the heady musk of it.
“What would Abigail say?” he asks, giving himself a few strokes, “Seeing you like this?”
“S-she,” John pants, mouth too wet, “She’d laugh. Say that she knew I wanted to suck your cock.”
“She’s right,” Charles says.
John groans. He leans in, lips parted, but Charles takes a step back.
“Say it.”
“I-I want it,” John mumbles.
Charles hums. John is transfixed by the slide of his hand over his cock, steady and firm, picking up speed and driving John completely mad. Charles remains just out of reach, stroking himself like he means to finish.
“
Please,
” John begs.
“I’m not so sure,” Charles says, breathless, like he’s struggling to hold himself back, “that you like being given what you want.”
No, no, no
– Charles can’t really mean to not let him have this – can he?
When Charles finally, finally steps closer, it’s only to take a fistful of John’s hair and hold him steady as he comes over John’s cheek, spurting up over his nose and chin, until Charles groans and sags forward, spent.
Holy shit.
John’s hard as a rock.
Charles just watches him for a moment with half-lidded eyes, panting as he catches his breath.
“Does she let you come now?” Charles asks.
“Y-yes,” John lies.
“Does she?” Charles asks again.
A high, desperate sound slips out of John’s throat.
“Please,” he begs again. Charles cups his cheek in a big hand, letting his thumb trace along John’s lower lip, through the come splattered there.
“Do it,” Charles says.
John’s hands are clumsy as he pulls open his own pants, struggling to get himself out. He’s aching hard, and his cock throbs hotter as Charles’ hand slides up into his hair and tightens, tugging just right. John comes so fast it hurts, with a high whine that sounds like a dog’s even to his own ears.
It takes a few dazed moments for John to realize that come is being wiped from his face with a handkerchief. He blinks his eyes open. That huge, looming figure is above him again. There’s such a warmth to Charles, a kindness towards everyone he looks out for.
This means something to you,
is what he said.
John gets it now.
“Charles, I, uhh…” John swallows. “We- Abigail and I, we didn’t mean to upset you, with the arguing. We’ll try to… keep it down…”
“This will give you two something to agree on for a while, won’t it?”
When John tells Abigail what happened… when she finds out that John didn’t even get to suck Charles off, just took his come on his face… she’s going to be tormenting John about this for
weeks.
“Uh.
Yeah,
” John says, with a pleasant shiver.
Charles nods. His warm smile has returned. “Then I’ll take you out like this again anytime you need.”
Then, like it was no big deal, Charles helps John to his feet and they continue on checking the trap lines. John stumbles, and sweats, and does his best to follow Charles’ instructions to reset the snares. They’ve got a couple of rabbits each by the time they head back. The damp that soaked through John’s pants while he was kneeling has dried, but dirt still clings to his knees. Abigail’s going to spot it immediately. Ain’t no point in hiding it, John supposes, though he can feel heat creeping up his neck again.
Charles seems to catch on to his train of thought, and he looks amused.
“Now I just need to find a way to stop you from arguing with Arthur so much,” he says.
“That ain’t me!” John protests. “He’s the one with the problem.”
“Takes two for a fight.”
“Yeah, but he always starts it.” Arthur is gruff and about as much fun as a wet blanket, but John’s never the one who starts on him. “You want him to stop picking fights? Find a way to get that stick out of his ass."
Charles considers this for a long moment.
“I will,” he says.