Chapter 1: Freedom in Chains
Arthur Morgan stood next to your naked body pulling up his pants yet again. For a man who claimed to never get attached, he sure liked to visit you. Something was bothering him again. Whatever was gnawing away at his torn heart made your own sink in your chest.
“You ever gonna come back to camp?”
His sudden question shocked you. It had been nearly two months since he had last asked that question, and almost three years since you left camp. Abigail and you had been a comfort to the men at camp for a while together. Able to share the load, so to speak, and teach each other new tricks. Abigail was a favorite of John and Javier while you had quickly become the apple of Dutch’s eye. You however, had wanted Arthur most of all. He had always melted you with those emerald eyes and soft-spoken voice.
He hadn’t always been that way. In fact, a year before Mary left, he would leave you and Abigail so sore sometimes the two of you would fight over who was saddled with him next. Poor Mary just went along with it, but in the end the outlaw life had proven too much for her. In a way it had broken Arthur. He had grown gentle, and seemed to want to turn to Abigail more. She, on the other hand, was falling for John and the way he offered her flowers even in the winter. After a while you had been the main focus of the hungry ways of the men at camp, and while you enjoyed the pleasure and attention, you wanted more out of life.
Blackwater wasn’t a big town, but you were able to work as a seamstress and pull enough income to buy yourself a hellhole of a cabin. Your old gang had come to help fix it up every so often. Even with you leaving camp, you found yourself with a little company here and there in the form of old faces. The last time Javier had come he had brought chocolates, while Charles would always bring you badly needed herbs, Sean brought some good alcohol, and Dutch used to bring something beautiful. Not Arthur, he always just appeared.
He would visit once a month while the others may have come a few times a week. Always bloody and broken, but never drunk or as violent as his youth. You loved all of your gang. It was hard not to when you shared so much time and passion with them, but there was something special in the way Arthur only came to you when he needed you. Like a stubborn stallion who refused to break, but still came home because he knew it was safe.
Your eyes trailed to where he was looking at Javier’s forgotten hat. The black bowler had hung above the tiny wooden stove in the middle of your one room cabin. On the wall sat Charles’s extra bow for dinners as he was the only one who liked to spend the nights.
One item on the far wall made Arthur’s jaw clench. A red kerchief from John. He had left the gang a year back and fell into your cabin drunk off his mind. Apparently, Abigail had given birth to a son and he was confused. You had let him sleep it off and leave the next morning, but the fact that he came to you last still burned the others even just a little.
“Why do you always ask that?” Your words finally broke the silence. Bare feet touched the wooden floor when you moved to stand.
“You still…” He motioned to where you half sat on the bed pulling a slip over your named body.
“I still spread my legs?” He winced at your words. He never liked it when you were so blunt, and it felt wrong to be so blunt. Long hours spent drunk at a campfire in front of so many outlaws had taught you different.
“I love you, all of you. But I just can’t no more. I need some sort of life. One day I’ll find me an honest man and you all would have to move on. May have a few of my own little ones… Coffee?” Your speech had been long enough to cover the sound of your feet until you reached the stove and boiling coffee. The brown liquid was most likely burnt as Arthur had stumbled in right as you had made it, but you would drink it anyway. He seemed to nod in acceptance as well.
“I run my own shop proper like. ‘Aside, there was only one room for a fairy tale rescue and Abigail was lucky with that one.” The coffee steamed into the fall air when it was poured. The warmth the fire provided into your small cabin was still not enough to stave off the tiny bites of cold to your ankles, so after you finished pouring him a cup you gathered a few off brown skirts to change into.
Arthur, as always, watched you bend and gather your fabrics. His curled blond hair still gleaming on his chest. Angry red marks ran down his arms and back, but he always took a moment to watch you dress before finishing himself. It was like a silent victory for him. Every man had one, it just so happened that this was his.
“I don’t think it was much of a fairy tail endin’ if you ask me.” He placed his now empty cup down and batted your hands away from the strings of your skirts. It was always weird to have a man dress you up instead of down, but you appreciated the strength in his hands. Every time his knuckled dragged against your clothed back you still got butterflies.
“I didn’t say endin’. I said rescue. I’m still waitin’ on mine.” Your words felt hallow in your own throat. You were turning twenty-four as soon as the snow came. The best years of your life were spent playing under the covers with dishonest men. While you were loyal to them, you couldn’t shake the jealousy and anger that came with watching Abigail get the life you had wanted. Jack would turn one soon and you still hadn’t seen him yet. You couldn’t bring yourself to see the boy when you almost had one of your own.
“I hate to tell it to ya, but I don’t think it’s comin’.” Arthur’s bluntness bothered you slightly, but he was right. He was always right.
“Well, least you can do is buy me breakfast. Come on, Mrs. Dewy makes a mean plate of grits and eggs.” You threw his shirt at him and waited for a few moments. His eyes shifted from that dreamy look back into his carefully crafted guard. Every man had two sides of a coin, and it was still amazing to see the shift every time.
“Alright, come on then. Dutch expected me back at sunrise.” He motioned for you to leave the cabin first.
“When have you ever come back at ‘sunrise’.” His smirk followed your light laugh that rang through the forest around you. It wasn’t the best of times, but it was pretty damn close.
Chapter 2: Five Years is a Long Time
Warning: As a Porn with a Plot and Multiple Partners tags suggest this is going to contain a lot of graphic and not so graphic sex. Arthur will ultimately be the romance. Just wanted to clear this up.
Five Years Later…
No one was in sight. It was always the damn wind, yet you never seemed to learn. Hair tickled your neck making you fish for the loose lock yet again. A few unladylike words left your lips while you hunted for the unruly piece that dared to escape your bun.
”Bad time?” His voice still brought your insides to jelly. Dark black hair was pushed back to expose the slight pink that hot sun or hard work slapped on a man. Light brown eyes that could almost pass for the color leaves turn just before they hit the ground. Slight stubble on his pointed chin, and the ghost of shaved facial hair just under his pointed nose.
”Could be better.” You admitted with a few knuckles on your hip, "A few orders came from way back yonder, and I just can't get these pieces to fall just right."
"That old order? You've been working on that one for weeks." His lips met the soft skin that you allowed to show just above your collarbone. A soft moan came from your lips when thin but able fingers ran across your face to place the piece of escaped hair behind your ear.
"Saint Denis went well?" You tried to clear your throat and head. This man had been like pouring oil onto an open flame. His hands and lips were the alcohol to the tiny outlaw still inside of you. Your fingers bunched at his full hips, pulling him closer to you.
"Very well. So well that my business partner wants us to move there permanently, but I couldn't stay away." As if to prove a point a hardness touched your hip making you stifle a grin.
"Mr. Bronte can wait, I need you first. I missed you terribly, Jeremy." Boldness filled with the sense of power that came with the openness of your sexuality. You weren't ashamed to claim your need as a woman, and men weren't ashamed to claim that they needed you.
"Show me just how much, Miss." Wood left your boots quickly when he lifted you. The edge of the counter bit harshly into your ass, and the feeling of falling was turning your gut. As if he could hear your words, Jeramy pushed against you tighter. Metal clacked in the unmistakable sound of a man undoing his belt.
"We are in my shop, sir. Besides I'm a lady and I-" Cool air hit your thighs as quickly as the sound of metal hit the wooden floor.
"I don't see no lady." Jeramy wasted no time sinking himself into you. The sudden push and the lack of wetness made you wince just slightly at the sudden intrusion. He was quick and desperate in his trusts, making you idly wonder how long it had been since he had spilt into his own hand let alone a woman. He wasn't a passionate lover, nor was he one with knowledge of the woman's body. In those ways it made moments like this where he grunted between your legs at an awkward pace feel, well... awkward. When he held himself still suddenly to allow his seed to pump into you the need to click your tongue came. He wasn't a smart lover either. He was lucky that Grimshaw had taught you a thing or two about herbs and preventing children. After what happened before, you didn't want a second time to arise.
"Missed you." Jeramy hissed into your hair breaking you from your thoughts. He wasn't the knight in white armor you had quite hoped, but he was well off and kind. In a way it's what you had wanted and needed for now. Maybe if you hadn't been awoken like a whore in heat you would appreciate his ways more.
"Missed you as well." Slim fingers pulled down his face and raced over the strong bones under the thin flesh. He was kind enough to clean you up to a decent level before fixing himself. A gentle kiss on your hand before he moved to the back of your tiny store towards the small washroom in the back to finish his straightening. A warm smile stayed on your lips long enough to watch him leave. Then the guilt came into your body. A silent hope that one of your old friends could come to visit soon and bring some much needed releif was also a horrid one. Possibly God wasn't judging you too harshly. After all, you were trying so hard to be good.
“Good Evenin’!” the words were out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.
"Good to see you again'." That voice stopped you cold. You could already picture the pointed chin and nose that made the slimy bastard look like a snake. The way his grey hair wisped around his head in a style that desperately tried to hide his balding spots. He would either be wearing the purple or green vests he had ordered from you. Either to flaunt his ability to buy expensive fabric or to wave his wealth while you worked away. You hated him, but plastered a smile on your face anyway. After all, Mr. Morus did own the bank whos loan you took.
"Mr. Morus, it's wonderful to see you as ever." It took you a moment to smooth your dress out. Cold air hit the wet that painted your legs making you feel a sick sense of joy that Jeremy didn't have the stamina of a horse. Another wave of grateful feelings came when you realized that Morus was more focused on a dress that you had been working on, than your own disheveled self.
"You could attempt to lie a bit better, dear." Morus clicked his tongue and slid his beedy blue eyes over at you. A shiver of disgust flew into your bones.
"Why lie? You are one of my best customers." Your voice nearly broke under the strain you held. In some ways you missed being an outlaw. Strangling a man was one of them.
"Mm-hmm. Your rent was due yesterday Miss. I'm sure you knew that." A stutter came from your throat in an attempt to fix the situation, "I don't appreciate tardiness." As always, Morus seemed to take great pleasure in rendering you speechless. A man of status like himself always enjoyed flaunting it.
"W-well I wouldn't be tardy if you hadn't raised my rent by nearly thirty dollars!" A welt seemed to appear in your throat from the sudden influx of emotions.
"Your home and this shop are in prime spots, Miss. I have been offered hundreds over what I would ever make in your lifetime alone to buy the land of your home alone. It took everything I had to convince the other families in the bank to let you stay there." Words slowly broke into your mind, "If you don't have the thirty dollars by the end of the week. We will have to evict you."
You swallowed hard and attempted to keep your head high, but it was hard to do under the sudden weight on your shoulders.
Morus took a moment to muse over the green dress with hand sewn patterns on it, "Lovely dress." His parting words stung you. Leaving you in your shop once more staring out through the small window in the door showing the fading light of day.
"Who was that?" Jeremy returned from the back looking as if he had never been ruffled to begin with.
"Mr. Morus." You spoke hollowly.
"My offer still stands." Jeremy placed knuckles against your spine in a massage motion, "You could come down to Saint Denis with me."
"Would I be allowed to have my own shop?" His answer was always the same, but you asked anyway.
"Now, I don't think-"
"I'll find a way. I have for the past five years. I can do it for much longer." You interrupted cooly.
"You gonna start whoring again?" The tone of his voice struck you like lightning. Even when you were passed around by a gang of men you had never felt so low. Men worshiped your body, paid for it, and wanted it. Yet, it was only when someone spit out the word whore like it was nothing more than shit broke what little strength you had left.
"You should go." Eyes closed, knuckles white. Anger and sadness danced until the blue and red combined into a purple inferno that burned as cold as ice.
"I only meant-"
"Just go!" Voice as broken as you felt. The shop closed early that night. Not that anyone truly came in after noon, but it was open while you sewed away. Tonight you waited outside your cabin and prayed that an angel would bless you. In one way, you supposed they had.
"Molly was asking about her dress." His back was as straight as ever. Black hair and nearly black eyes reminding you of how dark he could truly get. In the best of ways, of course. Clothing fit his form in a snug, yet fancy way. You would have mistaken him for an expensive man who owned much land and livestock if you didn't know who he really was, "Came back after nightfall. Her and Grimshaw said you closed early today. You never close early."
Everything slowly came back to life around you after he dismounted Duke. The light of his cigar was followed by lightning bugs zig zagging in the sky behind him. Squirrels and mice dug into brush while owls watched from their hidden perches. In the distance a coyote called her pack excitedly.
"It's good to see you, Dutch. Been almost five years since you came to see me." You slid over on the small steps to allow him to sit. His scent still found you in ways that made your heart and stomach twist painfully. You wanted to feel his fingers and cold rings run down the middle of your belly. Cupping your thighs as he spread them, with that devils smile, and deep breathy chuckle. It was still the past, so when his side touched yours you turned to place a soft kiss to his cheek. The smoke from his cigar burnt your nose just a little as it always had.
"Was hard to see you go, but we all need to spread our wings at some time." His arm crossed against your back and fingers cupped your side. The familiarity was nice, but the dance between attraction and platonic feelings was getting dangerous.
"Why did you really come? You got a woman now, Dutch." You mused slightly laying your head on his shoulder.
"I can't care about my own?" The question fell a tad flat from the serious tone he was trying to achieve.
"You have big ideas and plans. Your hand has remained outside of my shirt as well." The tease made him laugh softly.
"We have a job. A big job. We need a certain expertease and Abigail is well... she ain't who she once was." Your eyes slipped to gaze at the frown on his face. Emotions blazed inside of you. Sadness, shock, worry, anger, and fear raced together to make it to your heart first, but it was excitement that pumped itself into your veins. Squeezing your mind and leaving you nearly breathless at the promise of what the money could bring you. Adrenalyn, power, greed, and ,most of all, stability for your current life.
"How much does it pay?" Sounds left your ears save for the pounding of blood in your ears. There was no reason to fear your old gang, but there was reason to fear being caught and losing what little grip you had on a more stable way of life. Even if it was rocky for the moment.
"Couple hundred." The excitement in you left. Dutch, feeling you shift away, gripped your hip tighter and pulled you closer against him.
"Ain't much spread between-"
"Each." His interruption brought a smile to your face. That kind of money hadn't touched your fingertips in a long while.
"What's my role?" Hunger rose like a beast inside of you. Determination fueled by the ever rabid dog that needed to show its strength.
"The bewitching harlot." You could feel his grin spread when you gave a slight sigh in response.
He was suffocating you. His body the stone that kept you from moving, mouth like hot coals as sharp teeth drug against your skin. He was powerful and ,while he respected your own power, he wanted you to bow down to it. Your legs bent almost painfully back until your feet rested on his shoulders. His hands gripped your hips in ways you knew would bruise, but care left you. Hips snapped together giving his cock enough force to nearly make you cry from the roughness.
It wasn't supposed to end like this. All you had done was offer a bit of coffee before his departure. You both had laughed at old memories, and blushed at the more vulgar side of things. Eventually your competition came to a head with him pulling each and every ring off slowly, and you pulling your hair down. Both of you tiptoed around the rising sexual tension. Attempting to push it away or even squish it completely. The battle between pure animal need and human mind waged harshly. When his fingers had wrapped around your throat and your teeth had sunk into his bottom lip, the battle had ended.
Dutch radiated strength and sexual prowess. God, did he know how to use it. Yout neck ached from both the pressure and his teeth, but you wanted more of him. It had been too long since you were able to drown in him, and it felt so damn good. His lips moved to meet yours in hot sloppy kisses. A mewl of happiness left your mouth just loud enough to let him know you were in a trance.
"Who owns you?" He growled lowly.
"No man owns me." Your whisper turned into a gasp when he pushed as deep as he could go into you and twisted. Dutch loved his games, and the memory of him playing with your body for hours until you yelled his name into camp was one of them.
"Who owns you." His cock grew engorged inside of you. It made your heart panic and hips buck in response. You hadn't reached your end just yet.
"Hold on." You begged throwing your head back. A cry of want left your lips when he retreated from you. A horse curse left his lips as he painted your abdomen in white. As gentlemanly as ever, he placed a thumb to your aching clit and lazily drove circles into it.
"P-please." Sweat on your body mixed with his seed, running down your hips to soak into the ruined sheets under you.
"Who... Owns... You..." Desperation bundled in your chest while pleasure beckoned you to fall from your pedestal.
"Dutch, Dutch owns me!" your hands moved to grip his wrist. Pushing and pulling in an attempt to get him to...
"That's it. Go on, fall for me." his lips brushing your ear was the last thing on your mind when the world stopped. Pleasure licked your body like the hot flames of an inferno followed by the blizzard satisfaction you dearly missed. It came in waves. Fire replaced by ice over and over until all that was left was a gentle spark and a slight breeze.
He wasn't one to lay beside you after the deed was done. As much as you loved each other sexual attraction did not make for a romantic endeavor alone. Still, he pulled the coarse blanket over your body and gave a gentle smile that shown of a best friend instead of a dirty lover.
"We leave in the morning." His fingers against your temple to wipe your hair back was the last thing you felt before sleep coaxed you into her dark depths.