Arthur Morgan One-Shots, Imagines, and Preferences

A Dance With the Dastardly (NSFW)

This is a request for @roxkstardevil ! Thank you for the request, I had so much fun writing this!

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Jovial energy surrounds the camp. Little Jack had been safely returned from Angelo Bronte and energy was high. Upon Jack's arrival, Javier had given quite the show with his voice and guitar skills playing Cielito Lindo while everyone gathered around. Whiskey and beer were the beverage of choice and it was obvious: voices were loud, stories were told, and bad decisions were made. It's when you hear the gramophone's static voice that your heart jumps with joy.

Dismissing yourself from the awkward conversation you're having with a very inebriated Karen, you decide to make your way over to Javier. He's flipping the vinyl record over when you approach him.

"Hello, Mr. Escuella," you say, giving him a small, drunken bow. You quickly notice that the record he was playing was a bolero, and one that sounded to be quite sensual, but let it slip from your mind.

"Ey, cariño," Javier responded, a wolf-like grin crossing his face.

"Care to dance," you ask, holding out your left hand which wasn't occupied with a beer bottle.

"I'll always dance for you, Mi Amor," he answers, a sultry tone now playing in his voice.

Quickly, with the first beat of the chorus, Javier wraps an arm around your waist. Startled, your brown, opaque beer bottle drops out of your hand and to the ground. He chuckles while you throw your head back letting out a laugh, much louder than need be. A few gang members turn their heads and watch as Javier dips you so low your hair sweeps the moss-colored grass. Still laughing, Javier brings you back up to whirl you around with his hand and then lets you fall back into his arms. Your hand presses against his chest as you both sway to the music.

As the song ends, Javier dramatically unfurls his arm letting you spin outward. As you give another bounding laugh at his dramatics, movement next to a tree catches your eye. You give a few parting words to him before going off to do your own thing once again, deciding to head to the crate of beer again. But before you can make it more than ten paces, a large hand grabs your shoulder, fingers tense and strong. Your body freezes at the sudden contact

"What're ya doin' messin' around with him like that," a deep voice you recognize to be Arthur's invades your ears. His hot breath fans over the curve of your neck, smelling of whiskey and tobacco, smelling like him. "Get'cher ass upstairs," he growls, releasing your shoulder with a slight push.

"But-" you begin to protest.

"I said, get your ass upstairs," he orders you, hand holding your hip, fingers clamped down with a vice-like grip. "Best not have anything on by the time I get up there," he whispers.

"Yes, sir," you respond with a gulp, arousal bubbling in your core at his words. He dismisses you with a short slap to the ass and watches as you make your way to the doors of the manor home. The dynamic you and Arthur have is not something easily explainable by words, probably best described as something like fuck-buddies. But sometimes, unwillingly, your mind likes to make you believe that there's something more there, something the both of you are too stubborn to admit, too scared to let yourselves believe or accept.

-

The crickets and frogs that reside in Shady Belle sing a sweet song, chirping and croaking to fill the empty night. Goosebumps spread across your nude body as a gust of wind climbs through the rickety window that's been propped open to ventilate the swampy air. Your fingers mindlessly played with the hem of the sheet you sat on as you watched the stars from the window. The familiar clink of spurs sends a shock to your core and snaps you out of your trance. Your attention turns to the door as it creaks open, hinges old and weathered. Arthur's eyes immediately lock onto your body as he crosses the threshold.