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The evening was humid and languid in its length. The sun seemed to have sat at the edge of the sky for hours and the camp hummed drowsily with small signs of life. You sat with Charles, fletching arrows, hair still wet from your swim in the river. To your left, John, Pearson, and Arthur played a quiet game of poker, while Javier strummed his guitar and the ladies, who had stripped down to their bloomers and stockings in the heat, lay in the grass fanning one another. Dutch sat at the entrance to his tent reading, as the “Flower Duet” slid quietly from the gramophone. His hair curled in the damp, falling just-so over his face. Your eyes met his across the camp. Setting down the arrow you were fletching, you raised an eyebrow suggestively. Dutch snorted in amusement and then returned to reading his book. So that’s how it was going to be, was it? You finished the arrow, tucking it away with the others before making your way to Dutch’s tent. He did not raise his eyes from his book as you drew the tent flap shut, nor as you draped yourself across the cot. Dutch van der Linde was not a man to shower you in affection publicly, but behind closed doors was another matter. He turned a page. “Can I help you with something?” You said nothing. He was being purposefully obtuse. You were rarely able to spend more than a day at the camp lately and any alone time spent with Dutch was precious. Pushing yourself up from the cot you made a turn around the tent, fingering the gold pocket watch that sat next to the gramophone. You paused behind him, running your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. Dutch hummed in approval and you took that as your sign to continue. Sliding your hands down his shoulders to his waist you lifted a revolver from his holster and spun it around your index finger expertly. Still no reaction. Settling on a crate next to him you continued to play with the revolver in an idle kind of way. “Didn't your daddy tell you never to play with guns?” Finally lifting his eyes from the book Dutch watched you, eyes sparking darkly. You pretended not to notice as you held his gaze and ran your tongue along the barrel of the revolver, before blowing softly on the end. “You know I never listen Dutch.” His movements were deft and matter-of-fact as he marked his spot in the novel. “My dear, believe me when I say that I know that better than anyone.” Plucking the revolver from your hand, Dutch stood and replaced it in its holster. “Now if you insist on being the center of my attention,” he pressed the book he had been reading into your hands “we’ll make it worthwhile.” His voice trailed into a playful growl. Lifting your chin with one hand, Dutch placed a searing kiss on your upturned lips. Your eyes fluttered shut and as you leaned into his warmth Dutch pulled away. If there was any uncertainty about what kind of lesson it would be, he set the stage as he cupped the back of your neck and traced the line of your jaw before gently but firmly pushing you down on the cot.You knew this game, and played the part well; reclining fully on the cot, kicking your boots off and flicking the book open. You sighed in pleasure as Dutch relieved you of your trousers with an easy movement. The temperature in the tent was stifling, but it was a worthy price for the privacy. You took the liberty of discarding your button-down shirt and bandana as well. “I trust you’ve been practicing? In between apprehending those lawless accountants?” Dutch said, standing at the foot of the cot, eyes running along the length of your naked body. You stretched lazily for effect. “Of course” you teased, “I have to read the bounty posters, don’t I?” Dutch knelt, tracing the edge of your thighs with his hands. “I believe you are at a disadvantage here, my dear” his tone was smug “I would prefer,” he paused, punctuating his sentence by placing a kiss on your inner thigh “if you put your pretty mouth” he kissed the opposite thigh “to better use, namely…” in one swift movement he hooked your legs over his shoulders and drew you to him, “reading the goddamn book you found fit to distract me from.” You tsked at him but opened the book to where he had marked it nonetheless. His ringed hands gripped your thigh and waist in a relaxed but steady manner that reminded you of the way practiced musicians held their instruments or the way the truly talented duelists handled their guns. Despite his position, you knew this is what Dutch enjoyed, being the one in control. His ministrations were light, but encouraging as you began to read aloud.His touches and kisses trailed down one thigh and then the other. You peered around the edge of the book at him, catching his eyes as his even breaths teased your clit. Gently nudging your hips toward him in an act of enticement, you hissed as he reached up and flicked your nipple, as if annoyed that you would try and rush him. You returned to your reading, but not before shooting him a playful scowl.“...A place that shows, beyond all reasonable doubt, that when left to his own devices, when removing God entirely from his creation, man will induce not heaven, but hell. The gilded inferno. The marbled … p-purrrg-” Dutch paused in his actions. “Purgatory” he corrected. “ Limbo. A waiting room on one's way to the proverbial pearly gates.” His short lecture was matter of fact. He gave your thigh a squeeze to encourage you before returning his attention to your physical pleasure. You gasped as he teased you with his oh so clever tongue, purposefully avoiding your clit. You continued without comment. Running a hand idly through his hair as he sucked and licked around your slit. He was maddeningly gentle, every soft breath or brush of his tongue making you shiver in the heat. You arched towards him again, involuntarily this time, moaning through the next line of the book.“... Man is reduced to the desire for desire. Wanting is all that matters…” You gasped again as Dutch pulled you closer to him, finally humouring you, awarding your cunt a deep french kiss. His left hand slid up to cup your breast, fingers teasing your nipple, rings warm against your skin. “Not loving, not being, not having, but wanting. We are killers for desire. Even… ah... sport would be preferable… mmm…” You bit back a moan, bucking your hips helplessly as Dutch held you fast. “This is the grand sickness, the eternal sickness of this land—it is, man unleashed. Man unleashed and turned into, he knows what not?” You dropped the book, arching towards Dutch as much as you were able, twisting a fist into his hair as he sucked on your clit, nearly sending you over the edge.He pulled away and you sighed in annoyance. Dutch narrowed his eyes. “Did I ask you to stop?” He pulled himself up, leaning over you. The cot groaned a little under your combined weight. You grabbed his collar. “Did I ask you to stop?” He traced a finger along your hips and further still, parting your thighs, brushing a thumb against your most sensitive parts.“You are greedy my dear,” Dutch chuckled, sliding two fingers easily inside of you “... aren't you?”The camp was coming to life outside the tent. Pots and cauldrons clanged together, punctuated by quiet chatter and the heavy chop of a butcher's knife on wood. You ignored it, desperate for the release that was so close. Dutch circled your clit with his thumb, putting his trigger finger to equally good use as he picked up his strokes. He leaned in on his left arm, thumb following the line of your throat. “Who's my girl?” his own voice was husky and gruff with want. You knew what he needed, you knew what he got off on, but you held off. Hooking a leg around his waist, above his gun belt, you smirked cheekily from where you lay on the cot in a haze of pleasure. His steady pace and gentle hand on your neck had you coming up on your climax quickly. Grasping his shirt and vest you peppered his neck with feverish kisses and love bites.“I’m your girl, I’m your girl Dutch.” Your voice was breathy and low as you came undone against him. You fell back across the cot panting, feeling the warm glow spread as Dutch stroked your hair and kissed your face. A voice from outside the tent made you both tense.“Uhh, Dutch? I think I might need your hand with something…” John’s voice trailed off and he coughed awkwardly. Dutch hung his head in annoyance and sighed. Tucking a light sheet around your body he kissed your hair and pushed himself off of the cot. He straightened his shirt and adjusted himself before pulling back the tent flap, as if everyone else hadn’t known exactly what you were up to. Your eyes fluttered shut and your breathing slowed as you began to doze. It was getting dark outside now and John made a little noise of surprise as Dutch slipped out of the tent to chide him. “God damn it John! How old are you? Do you need me to spoon feed you too?... Is Hosea not free for you to bother?... Where is Arthur?!...“