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june 3rd, 1858. utah.
the utah war’s still in full force, it feels like. a’least the battle fields are above-board with the smell of corpses and gunpowder. it’s easy to avoid. makes picking pockets even easier. The soldiers leave a lot behind- doubt i’ll run out of ammo for a good few months till we get to the next gunsmith or general store. but i can’t help feeling bad, mighty guilty, for those mormon folks who just wanted some place to settle. Kicked out or being murdered by this god forsaken governent. Charles is doing his best to not let the conflict bother him, though i know this hits him where it hurts –
“Care to share with the class?” a deep voice crooned behind Arthur’s ear.
“Goddammit Charles! You can’t sneak up on me like that” Arthur hissed, shutting the leather-bound journal with a solid thunk . His companion laughed, clearly amused at ruffling Arthur’s metaphorical feathers.
“Just want to see what has you so.. Well you always get this look on your face.”
“A look?” Arthur deadpanned, growing increasingly loathsome of this conversation for the sake of his own embarrassment and hot cheeks.
“Sure, your tongue pokes out your cheek, eyebrows furrowed with such concentration- it’s adorable .”
“Oh fer-” Arthur started, shaking his head. “The day I’m adorable is the day coons are flying and Marston washes his damn hair.”
“Hush love, you’ll pull a muscle.” Charles cooed, grasping Arthur’s shoulders as he took a step behind him. Knees knocked the blonde’s back. Utterly sinful thoughts rushed Arthur’s mind and at once he banished them from his consciousness and his loins. He was glad he was sat leant over a log and even so tall, Charles wouldn’t spy what was going on between his legs.
The dirty blonde straightened himself out and gently pushed Charles off his shoulders, expertly adjusting his pants. Expertly, if the word meant obvious and stupidly. He knew in a heart dropping instant that Charles knew, and the bastard had the audacity to smirk to himself, clearly so proud all he had to do was breath and Arthur was horny. Arthur slid his journal into the rucksack fastened to his mare’s saddle. A fine Perlino Andalusian straight from the Iberian Peninsula. How Arthur was able to fool the poor owner into trading her for some poor morgan horse still mystified him- but no reason to dwell on it. He stroked her smooth nose adoringly, offering Charles a calm voice, “So what’s our next destination lookin’ like?”
“Salt Lake City. I passed through there a number of years ago.” Charles smiled fondly, distantly, “They’ve got great alcohol there.”
Arthur wrinkled his nose, scoffing. “You’re ridiculous. I thought you’d at least have some scheme or hunting trip planned out. And you just want to be drunk off yer ass?"
“Hey… ‘s better than stealing from dead people right?” Charles shrugged nonchalantly. “C’mon Arthur, loosen up a little. I never got to drink much with so much guard duty. Besides, we’ve got a nice long trip ahead of us, we’ll have plenty of time to talk on our ride. Relax when we camp, make a journey out of it, no rush.”
“Relax? What an implication….” Arthur skulked, resisting the temptation as best he could. But he just knew he was in for an uncomfortable ride till his hard on was worn down. “Traveling through a god damned warzone, this better be some heavenly alcohol you're offering me, Mr. Smith.”
“Allers, Mr. Morgan. Whatever will make you happy.”
“What would make me happy is a hotel room ‘n a bath.” Arthur snorted, grabbing the horn of his saddle, stirrup dug up to his heel. His muscles clenched as he pulled himself up, mounting his mare.
It took all of Charles’s strength to keep himself from staring at that perfect form he called a partner. His throat felt parched all of a sudden, making him swallow hard. The way Arthur’s hand held the cantle behind him, then idly toyed with the saddle strings. It was practically teasing. Damn Arthur Morgan for being such a tease and he wasn’t even aware enough to capitalize on it. A few lone hairs clung to Arthur’s forehead, slick with sweat brought on by the sun. Dirt clug to his fingernails like parasites. Charles had to nod and agree, a bath was in order.
“Then we move out, sooner the bath will come.” Charles clicked his tongue and Taima responded in kind with a whinny. They set off at a canter, Arthur in the lead, giving Charles plenty of time oggle selfishly, unbidden. He may be secretly lusting over his best friend -- his one true friend whom he would depend his life on -- but he had restraint. At least a shred of it. He raked four fingers through his silk black hair, following Arthur’s lead.
“What’s th’ closest bath?” Arthur turned over his shoulder, out of habit holding his reins in his non-dominant hand. A true cowboy, Charles admired.
“Best to make our way t’ Provo. It’ll be easy once we get there.”
“And until then…”
“...You and I can enjoy some camping.” Charles completed the sentence for him, smiling wide and confident. That small shred of restraint didn’t include his blatant flirting but it all seemed to go over Arthur’s head. So nothing ever gave him a reason to stop.
“Mm.” Arthur replied non committedly, turning himself back around and spurring his Andalusian.
“Now off to Salt Lake!” Charles exclaimed in a bout of unbridled excitement that surprised even himself, if Arthur’s wide eyes was anything to go off of Charles nudged Taima with his heels to push ahead of Arthur. He whooped giddily and ripped down the light slope of the wide open plains of the territory. Dust kicked up behind the worn steel shoes of his mount, leaving Arthur in the trail of it.
“Always full of balderdash, ain’t ya?” Arthur had called out to his companion, pomade locks whipping in the wind. “You're not even trying to go fast.” He whipped his reins hard, ushering a challenge sounded by the whinny from his mare as he pulled ahead of Charles, letting out his own cry of excitement. This felt like true American freedom to him. More of a dream than any day in camp had ever been, any day at that ranch they’d holed up at months yonder. From his first try lassoing a calf to wiping heavy sweat off his brow after a hard day’s work, nothing felt as exhilarating as this. It truly was wild . Beautiful and untameable.
The sun was falling back down to be gobbled up by the dry earth once more. The more Arthur gazed, the more it hurt his eyes to witness the mirage in the distance, the horizon line flickering and dancing with wild abandon. Both men settled their rides into a steady canter, in companionable silence-- save for the constant rhythm of hooves ringing into the air. The deep heaves from the muzzle of each steed, the occasional chuff. The constant pound of it all left Arthur remembering the heady days of chasing the bison. The days with a pistol in hand, Lancaster at his back. The smell of hay and whiskey was a far away sense in his head, solid and tangible if only he thought hard enough.