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“Are ya havin’ fun there, Arthur?!” Sean called over the campfire, raising his beer high. The twilight sky glowed above them, streaks of orange fading into deep purples and blues as night settled in. The gang was celebrating Sean Macguire’s rescue from bounty hunters—thanks to Charles, Javier, Trelawny, and Arthur, who’d managed to save their “camp’s favorite son,” as Dutch liked to call him. Spirits were high, laughter echoing through the trees. Arthur, however, sat a little apart, his attention focused on a small piece of wood in his hands. He was carving a toy deer for little Jack, whittling away as he sat on a log by the fire. A rare moment of rest, though his mind never seemed to quiet down. “Sure,” Arthur replied, his tone flat, barely looking up. Sean took a long swig of beer, his lopsided grin aimed right at him. “You don’t look like you’re havin’ fun, boy. Let your hair down, like a real man! Hell, even old man Strauss is more of a laugh than you!” Sean joked, drawing snickers from a few others around the fire. Arthur gritted his teeth, slipping the half-carved deer into his bag with a sigh. A toy for Jack’s upcoming birthday. He could feel the familiar itch of irritation creeping in, but forced himself to stay calm. No need to start trouble over some harmless ribbing. Seeing his reaction, Sean’s grin faded a little. “I—I’m sorry, Arthur. Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.” He fumbled, his face a bit flushed. “It’s just… I care about ya, that’s all. Hell, I love ya, Arthur. Really.” Arthur exhaled, glancing down at his beer bottle. He took a small sip—his second of the night. He wasn’t about to get reckless. “Sure, kid,” he said quietly, though a slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. That seemed to ease Sean, who gave him a playful punch on the arm. Across the fire, Dutch puffed on his cigar, his rings glinting in the firelight. “You know, Arthur,” he drawled, his voice rich with that familiar mix of authority and persuasion, “it’d do you some good to lighten up now and then. As the philosopher Seneca says, ‘We suffer more in imagination than in reality.’” Arthur glanced up, irritation flickering in his eyes as the others chuckled. He felt his jaw tighten. “I have fun,” he said defensively, his tone sharper than he’d intended. He glanced down, wondering if they really saw him that way. Just the brooding one, huh? “The last time ya had fun, Morgan, was nine months before little Jack arrived,” Sean teased, earning another round of laughter from the gang. John shot Sean a hard look, but Arthur’s frown only deepened. “Is that really how y’all see me?” he asked, his voice rising just a bit over the crackling fire. Mary-Beth, sitting beside him, touched his arm gently. “In a good way, Arthur,” she said, her voice soft and sincere. “Like… a sad, brooding poet. Romantic, you know?” Arthur sighed, his gaze drifting back to the fire, his face softening a little. “Romantic poet,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Now there’s a first.” Bill gave him a rough nudge. “Come on, Morgan! Lighten the hell up!” Arthur hesitated, glancing around at the expectant faces of the gang. Hell, maybe they were right. Maybe he was wound too tight. With a resigned sigh, he rose to his feet. “Fine…fine…fucking fine,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He strode over to his tent, grabbed two bottles—high-proof moonshine and brandy—and returned to the campfire, feeling the eyes of the gang on him. “What do you have there— Jesus!” Javier started, watching as Arthur tipped back the jar, taking a long, uncharacteristic gulp. The moonshine burned its way down, and he coughed, but then laughed as he opened the brandy and took a swig of that, too. “Leave Arthur be, Javier! Arthur’s just havin’ fun,” Karen cackled, clapping her hands. Laughter rippled around the circle, but Arthur ignored it, settling back onto the log with a slow grin breaking through his usual scowl. “Alright,” he muttered, feeling the alcohol starting to loosen him up. “Now let’s have some fun.” He grabbed the empty brandy bottle and, with a quick motion, set it on Sean’s head. The whole camp fell silent, eyes wide as Arthur pulled his pistol and backed up a few paces. Sean’s face drained of color, his knuckles white as he balanced the bottle. “Now-now Morgan, I said I was sorry!” Arthur squinted in mock concentration, letting the moment build, savoring the tension. He raised his gun, and with a flash of silver, fired. The bottle shattered, glass catching the firelight as it scattered in a rain of tiny shards. A stunned silence hung in the air for a second—then the camp erupted in cheers and laughter. Arthur felt a thrill of satisfaction as Sean stumbled, letting out a shaky laugh, clearly relieved. “That’s more like it, Arthur!” Tilly cheered, clapping her hands. Arthur grinned, tipping his hat to her. Feeling the warmth of the alcohol and the gang’s laughter, he took a deep breath, then—surprising even himself—he started to sing. “Like the pony express in the wild Wild West, I’ll ride hard all night long…” He tossed another bottle into the air, gave a very seductive roll of his hips, drawing hoots and hollers. “I can saddle up fast, getcha there first class—“ and fired, shattering it mid-air in a shower of glass. “Long before the dawn,” he finished with a flourish, earning another round of cheers. Javier strummed dramatically on his guitar, laughing. “What song is that, brother? Sounds like you’re makin’ it up as you go!” Arthur chuckled, pausing to catch his breath, a bit embarrassed but too far gone to care. “Maybe I am, maybe I ain’t.” “My boy, you should be in the circus!” Hosea called, laughing as Arthur holstered his guns with a showy twirl. “Learned from the best.” Arthur laughed, feeling a rare sense of ease among his friends. “Y’all shoulda seen Dutch and Hosea back in the day,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Dressed up like saloon gals to get into some rich fella’s party. Dutch was so fine-lookin’, the man proposed to him!” Dutch groaned, his cheeks red. “Arthur, no one wants to hear that!” “Oh, come on, Dutch! Tell them about those ruby rings ya wear!” Arthur gestured to Dutch’s hands, laughing so hard he had to wipe his eyes. The gang erupted in laughter, and Dutch sighed, but even he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “Arthur Morgan, you’re in a rare mood, ain’tcha?” Tilly laughed, shaking her head as Arthur tipped his hat to her. “Ohhh no, what are you gonna do with that?” Dutch asked, and half-amused, half-nervous, as Arthur pulled out his lasso, swinging it in wide, smooth arcs. “Jesus, Arthur, you swing that thing like it owes ya money.” With a practiced flick, Arthur looped the lasso around Dutch’s cigar, snatching it right out of his mouth. He caught it mid-air, took a slow puff, and smirked. “Everything owes me money,” he drawled, shooting Dutch a wink. The gang whooped, clapping and cheering as Arthur passed the cigar back. A few exchanged glances, as if realizing they were seeing a side of Arthur he usually kept buried. “Now wait a minute! Ain’t no way ya can do that! I betcha I can.” Bill demanded standing up taking out his own lasso and attempted to swing it around the way Arthur could, only tangling himself up in the rope. Earning more laughter and clapping for Bill’s good attempt. “Hey, Uncle Arthur!” Jack tugged on his pants leg, eyes wide with excitement. Arthur knelt down, his face softening as he looked at the boy. “Will you teach me how to do those gun tricks?” Jack asked, bouncing with excitement. “I wanna be a gunslinger when I grow up-“ Arthur scooped him up before Jack could finish his sentence, tossing him in the air a few times, laughing as Jack squealed. Abigail watched, a mix of joy and worry on her face, her gaze softening as Arthur held Jack close. John couldn’t help but to frown, watching Arthur play with his son so easily. “Arthur, I don’t think little boys can fly,” she teased, resting a hand on his shoulder. “But you make it look easy.” Arthur grinned, holding Jack on one shoulder. Reaching into his pocket, he handed Abigail ten dollars. “Why don’t ya take the boy to town for a weekend, get a nice room. Gonna get loud around here.” Abigail blinked in surprise, touched by his generosity. “Thank you, Arthur. Really.” She smiled, and for a moment, the two shared a quiet understanding. Hosea chuckled, tipping his hat. “I’ll go with ya, my dear. A real bed sounds nice, and I’m too old for this foolishness.” He winked at Arthur, as if to say he knew exactly what was coming next. Drinking down the bottle of gin in hardly a few gulps, Arthur felt a pleasant haze settle over him. He stretched his shoulders, feeling looser than he had in weeks, the weight he usually carried pushed aside for the night. The firelight flickered over his face as he undid his shirt completely, exposing the edges of his union suit beneath. Mary-Beth, Karen, and Molly exchanged glances, whispering in surprise. Arthur never acted this way, never let himself unwind like this. Arthur noticed their curious looks and grinned, feeling bold. He reached up, fingers brushing the small red earring dangling from his ear—a lucky charm he rarely let anyone see. “Lennnnnny my boy, flip a coin for me. Heads or tails,” he called, giving Lenny a conspiratorial wink. Lenny took out a silver dollar, flipping it with a practiced motion. “It’s heads.” Arthur rubbed his chin, pretending to think. “Heads, huh? Well, it is a rare night, ain’t it?” He chuckled, casting a glance toward the campfire, where Abigail, Jack, and Hosea were gathering their things to leave. The sight of them slipping away toward town made him feel oddly alone for a moment, even surrounded by his gang. He turned on his heel and made his way over to his tent, humming that tune he’d sung earlier. As he reached his tent, he pulled the canvas down—a rare gesture that drew curious stares from the others. Mary-Beth raised an eyebrow at Karen and Molly, leaning in to whisper, “Is he…?” Arthur ignored the murmurs, though his heart beat a little faster. He took a breath, then called out, “Mr. Smith! Could I have ya assistance, please?” Charles, who had been sitting by the scout fire, fletching arrows and listening to the sounds of the camp, looked up in surprise. He felt his cheeks flush as all eyes turned his way, but he rose, crossing over to where Arthur waited, leaning against the ammunition wagon. “Yes, Arthur?” Charles asked, his voice low and steady, but there was a hint of nervousness as he glanced at the others watching them. Arthur’s eyes softened as he leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed against Charles’s ear. In a low voice, he murmured, “You wanna spend the night with me? It’s alright if you don’t wanna… I know you could do better. But I can’t.” A flicker of surprise crossed Charles’s face, but he didn’t pull away. Arthur’s fingers brushed the edge of Charles’s ear, rough but gentle. There was a vulnerability in Arthur’s voice, a quiet admission he rarely allowed himself. He smiled, softening the teasing edge as he added, “But if you’d rather stay out here in the cold, I’ll just drink all that brandy myself.” Charles chuckled, the tension easing as he looked back at Arthur. “Alright, Arthur. Lead the way.” As Arthur tied the tent flaps securely, Mary-Beth leaned toward Tilly, her eyes wide. “Tilly May! You never told us Arthur had a thing for men! I always thought it was just Mary, Mary, Mary!” Tilly shrugged, crossing her arms. “I didn’t know for sure. I had my suspicions, but Arthur’s so damn private. Only reason I even knew about Mary was ‘cause he brought her to camp and introduced her as his fiancée.” “Arthur never closes his tent. You think he’s gettin’ some?” Karen whispered, eyes wide. Sean overheard, scoffing as he held up two dollars. “So what if the bastard’s gettin’ some action? He’s more than earned it. But I bet ya he lasts about ten minutes. Two dollars says so.” As the laughter and murmurs from the campfire faded into the night, Arthur took a long pull of brandy, then leaned closer to Charles, their faces inches apart. With a grin, he pressed his lips to Charles’s, feeding him the drink in a slow, deep kiss that tasted of warmth and whiskey. The world outside faded, leaving only the quiet intimacy of their shared breath. Arthur moaned softly into the kiss, his cougar fang necklace glittering faintly in the dim light of the tent. He opened his mouth wider, kissing Charles with a hunger that surprised even him. Stumbling back onto his cot, he broke the kiss with a ragged sigh. “God damn, ya can kiss,” he murmured, a hint of awe in his voice. Trailing a hand up his own chest in a slow, deliberate motion, he watched Charles’s reaction, slipping his shirt off and letting it fall to the floor. With a mischievous grin, he poured a bit of the brandy onto his chest, opening his legs as he teased, “Whoops…” Charles’s dark eyes gleamed, a hint of gold flickering within them as he took in the sight before him. Arthur’s chest was a map of scars, freckles, and hard-earned muscle—a body marked by years of survival and sacrifice yet still had a soft layer of fat. Charles felt a pang of admiration mixed with desire. marveling at Arthur’s strength and vulnerability all at once. Whimpers fell softly from Arthur’s lips as he arched up, his body instinctively chasing the warmth of Charles’s mouth. Each slow, deliberate sweep of Charles’s tongue over his skin felt like honey melting into him, seeping into places Arthur hadn’t even realized were starved for touch. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was just Charles, but every press of his lips made Arthur crave more—need more. More, more, more. “I didn’t…” Another warm, lingering kiss. “Know you… enjoyed men, Arthur,” Charles murmured, his voice a low, rough rumble against Arthur’s skin as he pressed a gentle bite to his chest nosing at that cougar fang necklace the other man wore. Arthur’s hand found the fabric of Charles’s blue shirt, fingers curling to hold him close, grounding himself. “Ain’t somethin’ I do often,” he admitted, voice breathless but steady. “Ladies? Fellers? I like ’em the same. Always have.” Charles paused, lips hovering just above Arthur’s collarbone, as though considering that. He pressed a soft kiss to the spot, then whispered, “How often?” Arthur held up three fingers almost shy now, smirking slightly. “Mostly it’s… myself, if ya understand. A rare mood.” He lifted his hand to brush a kiss over Charles’s forehead, surprising himself with the tenderness of the gesture. “What about you?” Charles’s eyes softened, his gaze steady. “About the same, I reckon,” he replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Rare tastes like ours aren’t easy to find.” He hesitated, then added, “Finding a woman who accepts all of what I am is hard enough… let alone a man.” Arthur let out a low chuckle, hands fumbling with Charles’s shirt buttons. “Damn fools. Don’t know fine art when they see it.” Finally managing to get the shirt undone, he tugged it off Charles’s shoulders, letting his eyes wander appreciatively over the bare skin. “I appreciate ya, if that means anything.” He leaned up, pressing his lips to Charles’s in a kiss that felt like a quiet promise, something honest and real in a world that had taught him to hide nearly every part of himself. While kissing they changed places, Arthur showing off his strength pushed Charles down to the cot, his head resting on the pillow. Breaking the kiss, Charles laughed at Arthur showing off. Only to realize what was on the pillow beneath him. A red silk scarf, was placed on the pillow. Arthur was thoughtful enough to make sure Charles was comfortable? His heart thundered in his ears. “Oh Arthur…” Arthur glanced over, catching the look on Charles’s face. He shrugged, almost bashful. “Figured it’d be… better for your hair than a rough bedroll,” he mumbled, cheeks red as can be, as he undid Charles belt buckle and trousers with a flick of his wrist. “Now what we got here?” He whispered licking his lips drawing Charles cock’s out with careful hands. “Something you like?” Charles playfully asked, with hooded eyes and voice as rich as the brandy they had shared. “Maybe.” He teased, right hand grasping the member yet touching gentle leaning down to lick the head of Charles cock with a soft moan. The taste of this man! Maybe Arthur was too hot to trot himself, but Charles tasted so good. Arthur eagerly took the the head into his mouth, his hands resting on Charles thighs as he took the member down to the root with a few good bobs of his head, his eyes watering because he was choking. “Oh god!” Charles cried out reached down gripping into Arthur’s long hair pressing him closer. “That mouth of yours!” He cursed bucking up into the skilled mouth that was working Charles so well. He groaned when Arthur pulled off his cock with a slick pop. “What ar-“ he almost yelped when Arthur took one of his balls into his mouth, sucking loudly and messily. Charles normally wasn’t loud in bed but- outside the tent, the once lively party had become quiet with awkwardness from the sounds of the new couple. Bill staring at the campfire slapped Sean in the back of his head. Knocking Sean’s hat off in the process. “All of this, is ya damn fault Sean!” He hissed his cheeks red as another loud cry from Charles echoed through the camp. Mary-Beth is as red as can be, furiously writing things down in her little book. “How is it my fault?!” Sean demanded, blushing as he shook his head at another cry was heard. “My god what is Morgan doin’ to him?!” He hissed, feeling inadequate compared to the love making skills of Arthur Morgan. Who knew?! “Next time I’mma keeping drink away from’em.” “you egged him on. You told him to open up and you teased him about not getting any!” Lenny listed off face in his hands. “You pulled the coyotes tail and now you are getting bit.” Suddenly, the tent flap opened, and Charles leaned out, his hair a mess, his face flushed. Panting as if he couldn’t get enough air. He looked like he’d been through a storm and barely survived. Before anyone could speak, two strong arms reached out, yanking Charles back inside. The tent flap snapped shut. Silence fell over the camp. Then Karen raised her whiskey bottle, pointing it at John, who was sitting off to the side. “How come you’re not dyin’ of embarrassment?” John pulled out the wool from his ears, looking baffled. “What?” Tilly hurriedly walked over to John to steal his wool now, like true siblings both started to slap fight over the wool ball. “Share john!” She hissed. “Find ya own wool!” John shot back. Back in the tent, Arthur was pouring a bit of oil from a very fancy green bottle onto his cock, the rich scent of roses filling the air. Charles jumped a bit at the cold feeling but tilted his head, watching him with amusement. “What’s that?” Charles asked, raising an eyebrow as Arthur set the bottle aside. “Orchid root and roses. My own special blend of oil,” Arthur replied, his voice a low purr. But then he caught himself, suddenly shy, and looked away. “Reckon I got a little carried away… if you don’t wanna keep goin’, it’s just fine.” Charles shook his head, reaching over to tilt Arthur’s chin back toward him. “You’re full of surprises, Arthur Morgan. Don’t stop now.” Earning himself a kiss from the outlaw. Arthur crawled on top of the man beneath him, kissing Charles back with everything he had while his slicked up hand worked his hole open. He was too impatient, he wanted Charles so damn badly. He was so damn empty, so turned on and just wanted to be loved. Arthur added another finger into himself with a grunt. “You should have let me do that. You’ve been doing all the work.” Charles said between kisses running his hands up and down Arthur’s back soothingly. “Not used to people taking care of you, are you?” He whispered wrapping a hand around Arthur’s cock, almost the same size as his own if not bit longer and slightly thinner. Charles pumped Arthur’s cock in time with the man’s busy fingers. his breath hitched, bucking up into Charles hand with a small sound. “No, I’m not.” He admitted rolling his hips to get more of that rough hand that almost felt like velvet. Arthur quickly added another finger with a whine, shuttering when his fingers started to bump against that spot inside him that made Arthur see stars. Charles carefully guided Arthur’s fingers out of him. Before flipping them over making the old cot creak under their weight, surprising Arthur who might have gasped in surprise. Head on the pillow, cheeks flushed and looking at Charles like he hung the moon and stars. “Red looks good on you Arthur.” He teased, slotting himself between Arthur’s opened legs. “Do it?” Arthur looked at the red scarf behind his head. “Never noticed-“ He cut himself off when Charles moved his legs over his broad shoulder, practically folding Arthur in half. The head of his cock pressing teasingly over Arthur’s greedy hole. “Christ Charles just put it in! I’mma hard enough ta pound nails-“ Arthur made a sound like he was gutted. when Charles carefully pushed into him all the way to the hilt, it burned but felt so damn good being filled up that deeply. “God yes!” Arthur bellowed. The smell of floral oil, sweat and sex filled the air, the rhythmic sound of skin slapping and the groaning wood of the cot filled the air. Arthur couldn’t keep himself quiet if he tried, the weight of Charles on him. Making him feel safe and secure, hole stretched and filled so damn deeply. The head of Charles cock hitting that spot that made Arthur’s eyes cross. “Oh god, oh Christ, yes yes yes.” Arthur babbled, clawing at Charles back, trying to hold the man closer. Charles groaned in Arthur’s ear. “So good, so needy, your so sweet Arthur.” He praised kissing the outlaw, deeply his tongue licking into Arthur’s hot mouth. Charles groaned into the kiss, Arthur tasted like brandy and Charles himself. He moaned loudly, his thrusts becoming more needy and frantic. He broke the kiss with a loud cry of pleasure when Charles reached up to pinch and pull at his poor nipples. Each little tug sent a bolt of electricity all the way to the top of Arthur’s prick. “Oh fuck! Gonna! Let me!” Arthur was silenced with a kiss as he came all over their bellies with a shutter, his hole clinching down greedily on Charles cock milking the other man for everything he had, the burning heat of that tight wet passage, that worked Charles so needily. He couldn’t hold back, he couldn’t even pull out. Charles shutter as he bit his lip hard cumming thick and hot inside of the outlaw underneath him, just at the feeling of Charles pumping his load inside of him, brought Arthur into another orgasm making him cry out like a bitch in heat. Just for Charles. Both men were panting and sweaty. Arthur brought Charles in for another kiss. “How about a round two?” He whispered into Charles lovely lips, making poor Charles groan. How could he say no? The aftermath of the night’s festivities hit the Van der Linde gang hard the next morning. As the sun rose high and unforgiving, everyone clutched their cups of sludge-like coffee as if it were precious gold, grimacing and squinting in the light. Everyone, that is, except Arthur Morgan. Arthur was whistling under his breath as he went about his chores, acting like he hadn’t shown the entire camp a side of himself they’d never expected to see. His steps were steady, his face unbothered, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Molly muttered under her breath, stabbing her embroidery needle a little harder than usual. Life wasn’t fair—she hadn’t had Dutch’s attention in weeks, yet Arthur, of all people, had spent the night wrapped up in Charles’s arms, making the kind of noise that had kept everyone awake. Charles, meanwhile, looked exhausted, but he wore a small, contented smile as he nursed his coffee, dark circles under his eyes. Karen, seated nearby, gave him a look of envy. “Alright, I’ll bite. Was it that good with Morgan?” she asked, her tone half-joking, half-jealous. Charles just shrugged, trying to hide his smile behind his coffee mug. “I don’t kiss and tell.” Sean slapped his thighs, shaking his head in disbelief. “Now, c’mon, Charlie! No man has that much get-up-and-go, especially after a night of drinkin’! What did Morgan use, eh? A tonic? A magic herb?” Bill leaned in, nodding. “Yeah, did he cheat somehow?” John snorted, rolling his eyes. “Ain’t nothin’ like that. Arthur doesn’t need any fancy tricks.” The group turned to John, who shrugged as if the answer were obvious. “Arthur has talismans, same as I do. They help with all sorts of things—keepin’ him goin’, keeping him from gettin’ too drunk, and keepin’ him healthy.” He tapped the feather tucked into his hat. “Mine’s for luck.” Lenny scoffed, looking skeptical. “Bullshit. Those are just knickknacks.” John gave him a wry smile. “Maybe for you. But for Arthur and me? They work just fine.” Charles’s eyes drifted toward Arthur’s tent, thoughts racing. He recalled the small wolf-carved bead in Arthur’s earring, the cougar fang necklace that dangled against his chest. Could there be something more to them? Before he could overthink it, Charles got up, curiosity driving him to sneak a peek inside Arthur’s tent. Amidst the scattered belongings, his gaze landed on a small, intricately carved fertility statue—a figure of a woman with rounded features, unmistakably crafted to symbolize abundance. A warm hand landed on his shoulder, making him jump. Arthur’s low chuckle sounded right beside his ear. “Somethin’ caught your eye?” Charles turned, his face a little flushed. “Arthur… does this stuff actually work?” He gestured vaguely toward the statue, a mix of surprise and amusement in his expression. Arthur’s lips curved in a grin, unbothered. “Who knows? Can’t hurt to keep it around, can it?” With that, Arthur pulled a small charm from his pocket and held it out. It was a carefully crafted piece—a hawk feather and two gleaming panther teeth bound together with bison leather. He extended it to Charles, a glint of affection in his eyes. “I made this for ya. Thought it’d look good in your hair.” Charles accepted the charm, running his fingers over the smooth leather and the sharp edges of the teeth. He tucked it into his braid, feeling a warmth settle in his chest. “A talisman, huh?” Arthur shrugged, a bit shy now, but his eyes were soft. “Maybe. Just between you and me, alright?” Charles leaned in, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s lips, his smile breaking through. “Alright, partner. Our little secret.” Arthur chuckled, brushing a thumb over Charles’s cheek. “Now, c’mon. We got chores to do before the whole gang starts speculatin’ about us even more.” As they stepped out of the tent, arm in arm, a few heads turned their way, and the usual camp murmurs began again. But neither of them paid it any mind. For now, they had all they needed.