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You stirred awake to a shadow looming in the tent. The soft clanking of metal, and clicking of spurs from unsteady steps made your breath hitch. Now propped up on your elbows, your heavy eyes managed to follow the man fumbling in the darkness. Through your delirium, incoherent murmurs must have escaped you which warranted a response.
“jus’ me, hush.”
John’s whisper, soft like butter, melted your body back onto the bedroll. It only took three words from the man to bring you the security he offered, in more ways than one.
“s’alright.”
John reassured through a strain, knowing he startled you all too often— whether it was a late night drinking, or a guard shift. Your shared tent was tucked behind the medicine wagon, close enough for John to keep an eye on you, but far enough for some privacy the man so desperately requested. Soon enough his body was united with yours, a welcoming embrace of tobacco and whiskey that never failed to blanket you with comfort during the night. His chest vibrated against your back as he hummed, rejoicing in the mutual comfort that he brought you. John’s hand ran down your side, calloused palms snagging on the fabric as he worked against it. Your torso trembled, anticipating his every action as he was soon consumed by a different high. His lack of rationalization from the whiskey radiated off him with a feverish heat that pulsed over you.
“c’mon sweetheart.”
The vague and needy words dissipated as quickly as they formed. Your eyes met his, a certain sadness sunk within his dull blue wells, glossed and masked over with the liquid dopamine he poured every night. Turning to his embrace, your hands weaved through his shirt, both unclasping the buttons and beckoning him. An offer John gladly took as you positioned yourself for his body on top of yours. With one arm propping himself over you, and the other tussling at his waist. His rehearsed movements in the dark had to be second nature by now. The wind rippled through the fabric of the tent, momentarily welcoming in the moonlight. Allowing you to catch a glimpse of the man over you, the blue beams kissing the raw scars on his cheek. There was no doubt John got off easy, The wolves could have taken much more from him, but managed to be more forgiving than any BlackWater lawman could have been. You let out an impatient protest as his hands continued to fumble, temporarily appeasing you with his lips. His stubble dragging across your collarbone made you shutter. John’s kisses were usually coated in whiskey, only to leave you with a different high than the one he chased earlier.
“you’ve been eyeballin’ me all day, missy.”
He remarked against your skin, a slight drawl presenting itself as he freed your torso from your shirt. You felt your cheeks heat up, both from his words, and your naked state. Despite John knowing your body just damn well as his own, everytime managed to feel like the first. John always caught your eyes on him. Sweat beading down his forehead as he worked an axe effortlessly, it was almost as if the man was beautifully built for manual labor. You were infatuated with the way his biceps would flex while his toned muscles peeked through the shirt that clung to him with every move. He would eventually meet your indiscreet gaze with amusement, knowing very well he would be all over you at night's arrival. Your eyes would simply linger a moment longer, despite being caught red handed. He couldn't help but to admire your boldness, a confidence hidden within you not needing to be boasted about for validation. “Someone’s gonna hear—“ You cooed, your worries being thrown away by the hungry lips and hands that carassessed your breasts. John grumbled, not bothered to remove his attention from your neck. Throughout his buzzed state, his hands became coordinated, grasping at and invading every part of your bare skin available to him. How sweet he thought you were, a blank canvas only for him cast upon. A small gasp escaped your lips as you felt a small nibble on your neck. His excitement demonstrated through the smile plastered against your skin, along with a hard spot pressing against your leg.
“keep those little lips quiet, now.”
John commanded with a whisper, his rough fingertips ghosting their way across your waist to free you from your restricting garments. His drunken staggering alone was enough to wake the others, but the man always blamed you for being too noisy. Perhaps it was his own pride, cocky words he could not help but to boast— he reckoned it ain’t his fault he’s so good in the sheets. Hell, he can’t help how he makes you feel.
“such a good girl for me, ain’t ya?”
John murmured through a soft moan, just the thought of you made him ache, his body begging for the release you so willingly gave him. His pants were finally kicked down and bunching up just below his knees. Before words could be spoken they were interrupted by John’s fingertips that raised to his lips, a dollop of spit being dispersed onto them. A brash groan left his lips and graced your rosy cheeks while his hand stroked up the shaft of his cock— either unneeded preparation, or a ritual of his, you couldn’t tell. Your torso knotted and quivered against him, impatience consuming your every move. Quiet moans escaped you as the head of his cock met your slick entrance, always proving his preparation irrelevant.
“Jesus, woman— this worked up over me?”
The man beamed with a husky chuckle, not realizing the volume of his voice until your palm smacked his chest. More of a tease at your dismay, John couldn’t help but to always comment on it. Your wetness was a mere reminder he always took pride in. His smug smile eventually twisted into a bitten lip as he eased himself into you, the lack of self control overrunning any wit to him he had left.
“that’s it,”
John praised gently, his jaw going lax as his length slipped further in you. A rugged hand clasped over your mouth as his hips began to thrust. His half-lidded eyes eventually meeting yours. Your eyes held so much trust for him, trust he was never sure how he earned in the first place. How he wished he could hear the moans of his name, but instead focused on the shared pleasure you gave him. With your walls contracting and fluctuating around him, he thought it was nearly too much to handle.
“
Marston
! It's
your
shift!”
A nasally demand rang from outside the tent. Through your ecstasy, you had no recollection of any steps approaching, and neither did John— god only knows how long the pervert was loitering outside the thin canvas.
“Christ!”
The shriek of horror that left John’s lips, you could have sworn he saw a ghost. Springing up at your feet, his pants were yanked up and manhood tucked away while you scrambled for cover. John stormed out with a stumble, so many feelings of wrong and right flooding through and past him like the wind. “Goddamnit— Williamson—“ He sputtered in disbelief, arms gesturing violently towards the man’s mug. “If I didn’ know any better, I reckon you’d like hearin’ my woman.” John barked at the man, the shock in his tone long erased by bitterness. You hid in your palms, the embarrassment burning through your cheeks, and the airborn tension that managed to leak into the tent. The silence John created was painful, if it wasn’t obvious enough already, the entire camp was now aware of you two. The pause was eventually broken with a nasty hawk and spit, along with curses that ran off of John’s tongue. His pleasant night with you was quickly turning into a sober guard shift. John trudged back through the tent flaps in defeat, retrieving his discarded gun belt at your feet with a frown plastered on his face, gently illuminated by the lantern he now held.
“never again in camp.”
The man scowled to himself, the risk of waking the others was long gone— if he had to be miserable, so did everyone else trying to sleep. With John’s attention circling back to you, another kiss, just as needy as before, was placed on your lips, lingering for a moment before meeting his impending doom. His boots were haphazardly pulled on with a struggle. You repeated his words, a small grin crept upon you in his state of frustration. “never again.”