Chapter Text
The first time John and Arthur talk about sex is the night of John's nineteenth birthday.
Doing shots of whiskey in a saloon a couple towns away from camp.
"What's your preference?" Arthur asks with a gesture towards the working girls chatting against the back wall.
John glances behind himself to see what Arthur's talking about and then rapidly turns back to the older man.
"What?" John asks nervously.
Arthur frowns at him slightly.
"It's your birthday, I'll treat ya," The older man says teasingly.
John shakes his head slowly, looking at Arthur incredulously.
"What's wrong?" Arthur asks and pours John another shot.
"I ain't…" John downs the shot and clears his throat roughly, "I haven't…"
Arthur studies the younger for a moment before his brows raise in surprise.
"Do you even…" Arthur frowns crookedly, glancing back at the women, "Like them?"
"Uh," John shifts before nodding slowly, "But they ain't gonna… They'd probably be disappointed."
Arthur hums quietly in understanding.
"You ain't done nothin'?"
John shakes his head quickly.
"Thought you had somethin' with that girl who was with us last spring," Arthur mentions, "Or that fella from New York?"
John shakes his head slowly.
"But you ain't… Opposed to it, right?"
John scoffs quietly, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand.
"No, Morgan, I ain't opposed to nothin'."
"Hm…" Arthur eyes him then the girls one last time, "You sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure."
"Alright," Arthur says and peers down at the mostly empty bottle between them, "We oughta go set up camp 'fore we can't walk straight."
John snorts but agrees.
--
They pitch their tent deep in the woods, rocky levels of the earth forcing the river into a series of waterfalls that make pleasant background noise.
John burrows under his blanket immediately after shucking his coat and boots, the last chill of winter only just ending.
Arthur stretches haphazardly in the tent before turning onto his side to face John.
"S'the reason you any done nothin' because of…?" Arthur asks quietly, making a gesture at John's body in whole.
John's nose wrinkles defensively... Then he thinks about it.
Then he nods.
"I ain't got many people I trust," John admits.
Arthur makes a sound of acknowledgment then props himself up on one elbow.
"You trust me?"
"'Course."
"You wanna…?" Arthur trails off, looking over John's face.
John blinks in surprise.
"Do you?" John asks breathily.
Arthur shrugs lopsidedly.
"I think I'm the only one who really knows," Arthur says genuinely, "And if you want to, I'm willin’."
"What're you thinkin'?"
"D'you get off?" Arthur asks bluntly.
John makes a choked sound but nods.
"What do you think 'bout?"
"... Different things,” John mutters, seeing Arthur roll his eyes.
“What comes up most often? What gets you off the quickest?”
John stares at him for a minute then frowns, thinking.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” Arthur teases, “Say you were to touch yourself now, what’s the first thing that comes to mind?”
“You, right now,” John says quietly.
Arthur raises a brow and shifts slightly.
“What about me?”
John flusters and looks towards the top of the tent.
“John?” Arthur prompts, “Spit it out, I ain’t judgin’.”
“What you'd feel like… Between my legs," John says hesitantly.
Arthur watches him for a second and John very carefully stays still.
"Inside you?" Arthur asks, voice pitched lower.
John hesitates, then shakes his head.
"Your… Your mouth," John says more cautiously.
"Oh?" Arthur asks, sounding genuinely surprised and John cringes slightly.
He crosses his arms tightly over his chest and closes his eyes even tighter.
"You think 'bout that often?" Arthur asks and John makes a small sound of protest, "What?"
"Stop," John whispers weakly.
"What?" Arthur asks more urgently, concern lifting his voice.
"Just…" John takes in a shaky breath and digs his fingers into his ribs, "Stop."
"Alright," Arthur says quickly, "Shit, I'm sorry."
John hears fabric shifting then Arthur's voice a little farther away.
"I ain't tryin' to push myself on you, I swear," Arthur says emphatically.
John swallows and shakes his head slowly.
"John… Tell me what's wrong, please?" Arthur asks gently.
"S'not right," John says shakily.
"What?"
"Fellas don't… It's not," John squeezes himself and turns onto his side, keeping his eyes closed.
But facing Arthur.
"S'not what?" Arthur prompts lightly.
"I know I've been with y'all for a long time," John whispers, "And you've let me… Dress like this… Act like… Not a woman."
John lets go of himself to pull the blanket up higher.
"But that ain't… What I was taught, growin' up," John says carefully, "I ain't supposed to want that. Christ, even talkin' 'bout it is…"
John shakes his head quickly and presses the wool over his mouth.
He can feel his heartbeat pounding in his head and tries to relax his face a bit, not holding his eyes shut so tight.
"Then what are you supposed to want?" Arthur asks quietly.
"... Nothin'," John mutters.
"Nothin'?"
"Some things you need and some things you gotta do," John says slowly.
And Arthur thinks John sounds like he's speaking someone else's words.
"And to get the things you need, you do the things you gotta do," John says and rubs the blanket against his cheek.
"And what do you gotta do?" Arthur asks cautiously.
"'Be pretty, be agreeable, find a husband, give him children.'"
Arthur frowns down at John from where he sat up.
"Bullshit," Arthur says.
"The man from New York?" John asks quietly, "The one you mentioned earlier?"
"... Yeah?"
"He… He knew," John murmurs, "Dunno how. But that's why he…"
John swallows roughly and rubs at his cheek again.
Desperate to find some semblance of comfort.
"Did he… Try anythin’?"
"No," John mutters, "Said he was gonna, though."
Arthur feels his jaw ache with how hard he's clenching his teeth.
John's eyes finally re-open and Arthur softens his expression immediately.
John looks up at him, tired and timid.
It makes Arthur's chest hurt.
"I don't even know if I…" John whispers, "If I'd… Be good at that."
"At what?"
"Bein' a wife… Bein' a… Mother, I suppose."
"Do you… Want that?" Arthur asks hesitantly.
"I dunno," John murmurs and lowers his gaze to Arthur's hands where the older man is restlessly flexing his fingers.
"You wanna go to sleep?"
John nods slowly.
"Alright," Arthur murmurs and reaches behind himself to snuff the lantern.
"Wait," John whispers, "Will you… Lay down?"
"... Do you not want me to?" Arthur asks worriedly.
"No. No, I want you… With me," John says weakly.
"You sure?"
John glances up at him, and then at the entrance to the tent, before closing his eyes and nodding.
The tent darkens through his eyelids and John feels Arthur's warmth come closer.
He scoots back to make room for the older man then almost immediately burrows against Arthur as the older man settles down.
John feels Arthur layer his blanket over them both and makes a small, appreciative sound.
"Alright if I touch you?" Arthur whispers.
"Yeah," John nods quickly and fights his own blanket so Arthur can get under that layer with him as well.
"You ain't upset with me?" Arthur asks cautiously as he settles a hand on John's waist.
John frowns and opens his eyes to look at Arthur in the darkness.
"You didn't do nothin'," John murmurs, "And you stopped."
"You told me to."
"Thank you," John says quickly, forcing out the words under cloying embarrassment.
Arthur leans in slowly and presses a light kiss to John's forehead, pulls back and wraps his arm tighter around John.
--
The second time John and Arthur talk about sex is after two jobs fail in a row, both John's fault.
John's sitting cross-legged on the back of the wagon they use to store dry goods, worrying a small piece of paper in his hands.
"Hey," Arthur says and sees John's eyes snap up to him, the younger instantly drops the paper, shifting one leg to hide it.
"Arthur?" John asks quietly, "Somethin' wrong?"
"What's that?" Arthur points at the younger's thigh.
"What?" John asks slowly.
Arthur rolls his eyes and steps forward until John's forced to lean back and Arthur can tumble the younger backward with a small nudge.
He grabs the paper while John struggles to right himself.
"Arthur, Christ," John mutters and sits up, reaching for the paper.
Arthur easily steps back, out of reach.
John takes in a deep breath through his nose, staring at Arthur with frustration and sadness twisting his expression before he drops his gaze.
"This an address?" Arthur asks, squinting at the messy writing.
John doesn't answer, scratching a nail over a crack in the leather of his boot.
"... It is," Arthur murmurs, "I recognize it. It's in town."
Arthur flips the paper over and more of the messy script meets him, this time a name.
"You found a job or somethin'?"
"Yeah," John says, a little quickly.
Arthur frowns at him and commits the name and address to memory before holding the paper out to John.
"You gon' share what you know or…?"
John takes the paper and shoves it in his pocket before sliding off the wagon and starting to walk away.
"I ain't even sure I'm doin' it, Arthur."
Arthur can't get rid of the sour taste in his mouth at John withholding information and tails the younger back into camp.
John slips into his tent and Arthur follows right behind him.
John whips around, about to fire off some protest when Arthur holds up a hand and points at the stool in the corner.
"Sit," Arthur says firmly.
John tenses sharply then stiffly moves over and sits down, clenching his fists over his knees.
"What's the job, John?"
"It's nothin, Arthur, I-"
"John," Arthur says lowly and crouches to be level with the younger.
It makes John feel like a child and he absolutely loathes it.
"It's a whorehouse, alright?" John huffs and reaches up to rubs roughly at his temple.
"... What's the job?" Arthur repeats, a whisper with an entirely different tone.
"It's… There are some men with… 'Unconventional interests'," John says quietly.
"No."
"What?"
"You ain't doin' that, John, you ain't doin' anythin' like that," Arthur says harshly, reaching out and squeezing John's knee, "You understand me?"
John lifts his head to frown at Arthur, studying the older man.
"You gon' stop me?"
Arthur's face smooths in surprise and then crumples in concern.
"... You know I can't," Arthur whispers, "But why?"
"Money," John says simply.
"Other ways to make money."
"Mm, and I've done real well in those other ways lately, haven't I?"
"A couple mistakes under your belt," Arthur says soothingly, "No one got hurt. Nothin' serious was lost."
"And what about the next time I screw up and someone does get hurt?"
"Work now on gettin' better, fightin' bare-handed is your weakness. You get good at that and there will be fewer 'next time's."
"But, it's an option."
"It is," Arthur sighs and digs his thumb in on the side of John's knee.
--
The third time they dance around it.
John straddling him is just about the last thing Arthur expects as he's sitting on a stump on the edge of camp.
"John?" Arthur leans back, both hands in the air to either side, holding pen and journal.
John ducks his head and leans in pressing his lips to Arthur's neck as he pushes their hips together.
Arthur's chest hitches and he sets the journal and pen down to grab John's waist, pushing the younger back.
"What are you doin'?"
"Fuck me," John murmurs, fighting to get closer, to bury his face in Arthur's neck.
“‘What?”
“You heard me,” John huffs and unbuttons the top few buttons on Arthur’s shirt, shoving the collar out of the way to mouth along Arthur’s collarbone.
“John?” Arthur whispers.
"Art?"
Arthur blinks his eyes open and quickly, sleepily, focuses on John.
"... You was callin' me," John says after a silent moment just studying the older man.
"Shit," Arthur mutters, propping himself up on his forearms.
John's eyes move down from his, dragging them away like he's having to physically rip through fibers locking their gaze together.
Arthur tenses mildly, knowing where the younger is looking.
The bulge in his union suit, the cooling damp spot.
John slowly meets his gaze again, conflicted.
"Sorry," Arthur says roughly, fighting himself to not look away.
"... S'fine," John says quietly after a moment, "... You don't need somethin' from me, then?"
Arthur shakes his head, lifting one hand up to scratch at his jaw, giving in, finally, closing his eyes.
"Alright," John mutters, "Supper's been ready."
"Thanks," Arthur whispers, just as John's ducking out of his tent.
John pauses, mid-step, then shakes his head and trots on.
--
"Too tight?"
"No," Arthur says tiredly, flexing his arm slightly to test the bandage's rigidity.
"... You gon' be alright?" John asks, worry leeching into his voice as he sits back on his heels, kneeling on Arthur's bed, "S'pretty deep."
“Had worse,” Arthur mutters and lays back carefully.
John looks down at him for a moment then shakes his head, exasperated.
He glances towards the entrance, then back down to Arthur.
Not wanting to leave, not wanting Arthur to leave him and go and get hurt again.
“Can I stay with you?” John whispers.
Arthur doesn’t respond for a moment, then lifts his uninjured arm, inviting.
John quickly but carefully lays down, not wanting to jostle the older man too badly.
He fits himself against Arthur, closing his eyes and feeling a calm wash over him as he presses his face into the older man’s chest.
“Was you dreamin’ ‘bout me?” John asks slowly.
“What?”
“The other night…” John hides his face under Arthur’s chin so the older man can’t see the pink of his cheeks.
“I…” Arthur clears his throat weakly, struggling to find the right answer.
“S’alright, y’know?” John whispers, lightly tapping Arthur’s chest with one fingertip, “If you were.”
Arthur presses his lips together tightly, searching for the right thing to say and by the time he can gather his thoughts he leans back to look down at John and the younger is fast asleep.