Archive of Our Own

  Arthur watches the small stream from the ridge above the shore. Personally, he would much rather find a nice pond or river with deep enough water to submerge himself in for bathing. It’s much easier to get in those nooks and crannies and much easier to let his mind float away while he’s weightless.

But John wouldn’t get in water that goes past his knees, if that. God forbid they even have to cross water on horseback, then he’s dealing with anxious glances and frustrated huffs for much longer than the water lasts. He’s not sure what his brother has against swimming. Or learning how to. Maybe he has some past bad experiences, Arthur doesn’t know. What he does know is that John needs a bath. Desperately. Weeks of only washing with a rag and a bucket of water only does so much to a man still new to the amount of testosterone running through his body. 

Finding this little creek running just north of their current camp was a blessing. It made the process of convincing John to bathe a lot smoother. Of course, Dutch did the work, seeing as he had a bigger issue with John’s stink than even Arthur. But then of course Arthur was roped into it. So here he is, climbing down to the rocky shore with John at his heels, fresh clothes for both of them and a bar of soap in hand.

He places them on some dry ground, and starts to untie his boots.

“You gonna corporate, Marston?”

John copies his movements, placing his shoes next to Arthur’s. They wear the same size.

“I can bathe myself.”

Arthur starts to strip first, his back still turned to John as he undresses and disregards his clothes to the ground in a less careful manner than the clean ones. He dips his feet into cool water and turns to John with an unimpressed look.

“We’ll see.”

John has his shirt over his head, fumbling to get it off with the awkward length of his body. Arthur watches the light hit the pale skin of his torso before looking back towards the water with a newfound interest. He steps out, over rocks and sand, until the water reaches just above his ankles. He thinks it may get deeper just over the bend there, but he’ll save adventuring into it for later. If he leaves now there’s no saying that John won’t just run back off or just sit in the stream and not really wash himself. 

He finds a nice spot to sit in the rocks, then starts to take small handfuls of water and run them over his hair and down his face. The water would be chilling should the sun not be shining on them and the weather not warm, but right now it feels like a breath of fresh air. He sighs with content. The last week or so had been rough. All he needs is a peaceful evening like this in a cold body of water and no one to bother him.

Unfortunately that’s only a dream.

He looks back to see John standing just a foot from the water with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at the water with hesitance and possibly disgust, maybe anger. He’s managed to get the rest of his clothes off without incident, much to Arthur’s surprise. 

“Water’s not gonna bite.” 

John meets his eyes with a scalding annoyance, though not for long as he looks anywhere else but at Arthur. He can feel the shame coming off the younger man in waves.

“I know that.” He huffs, like an animal giving a warning, but steps into the water despite it.

Arthur watches him with a curiosity. He takes careful movements as he finds his footing on rocks and pebbles, until he sits just opposite of Arthur. He’s almost impressed he’s sitting directly in the stream, though the sand must be more comfortable than rocks for him. He needs more meat on his bones.

He does his best to not stare anymore as they both wet their bodies. It’s not long before Arthur decides he’s damp enough for soap, reaching over where he had placed their bar and dipping it into the water.

He had bought it in the town here just earlier that day. Some soap-maker had their own shelf in the general store, and though he thinks it's silly to some degree, it didn’t stop him from picking them up one by one to smell them. He couldn’t deny how he quite enjoys the herbal, tobacco scent this one had. So here he is. If Dutch gets to buy himself nice fragrant things then why doesn’t he?

He washes it over his body in rhythmic motions, scrubbing in spots to get out the dirt ingrained in his skin. The soap seems to work well enough. 

Glancing over as he works the soap into his hair, he watches John stare holes into the ground while absentmindedly rubbing different pebbles between his fingers. His hair is soaked and sticks to his forehead and down his neck. It reaches just past his shoulders, dense strands that drip water down his back. He can see the indents of his spine all too clearly as a droplet runs over them and down to his tailbone where it hits the water.

Though a part of Arthur worries over how food just seems to go right through John, the other part likes how it makes him look. Not malnourished, just bony and long all over, still having a good bit of muscle on him. Some people are just built like that. Nice on the eyes.

John looks over at him, blinking a few times with that same look on his face when he meets Arthur’s gaze. He reaches a grabbing hand out and leans closer towards Arthur.

“Give it t’ me already.”

“You’re lucky I just-so-happen to be done now.” Arthur finishes scrubbing his face with it and hands the soap over. “You could use to learn some patience.”

“You’re the one that wanted me out here with you. Maybe learn the consequences of your actions.” He takes the bar and dips it in the water, coping Arthur’s earlier movement and washing his body starting with his legs.

Arthur feels his chest tighten at the display, though subtle enough that he could be making it up. He wonders how much John actually looks up to him despite their insistent fighting.

“Calm yourself there.” He says, “Just wash your ass, will you?”, and repeats the motions earlier of scooping water to pour over himself.

And John does, though not without grumbling something which Arthur chooses to ignore. They spend the rest of their time washing up in relative silence, the only sound being water splashing and some birds above them in the trees. He thinks the sky will grow orange soon, but they’ve got time to not be in any sort of rush. Arthur could enjoy himself a good dip in the dark though, but John? Maybe not so much.

Though Arthur doesn’t stop himself from sparing glances this time. Watching John rub suds into his skin, his hair, his pubes, stretching out his legs into the water to reach better spots. He washes old blood off a shallow wound on his thigh, the red washing away down the creek. Although he’s young compared to the rest of their group, he has his own fair share of scars. Arthur watches the tautness of a lengthy one that goes down his side. It’s not much different then the color of the rest of his skin but he sees it as the light shines off the hidden tissue. He’s not sure where John might’ve gotten that one, maybe from before he was picked up by Dutch, or maybe some knife fight he chose to not tell anyone about.

John notices his staring. He only meets his eyes for a second before shying his face away, his hair hanging over the tinge of red dusting his cheeks. But John doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t turn his back towards Arthur. Doesn’t shoot some insult towards him. 

All to Arthur’s surprise. To his own shameful delight.

John continues what they came here to do, only almost losing the soap into the stream once or twice, whether or not that was influenced by the eyes on him has yet to be decided. Eventually he puts the bar off to the side on the edge of the water.

Arthur watches him with a new courage. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone but himself, but there’s something about John he finds distinctly cute. His long black hair and thick eyelashes, how he fits into Arthur’s hand-me-downs, the rasp to his voice. He feels enamored.

“What kinda soap is this?” John sniffs at the bubbles on himself to make a point before washing them off.

He shrugs. “Just some I found. I’d guess it’s just tallow and… whatever else.”

“Smells like somethin’ Pa would use.”

“Oh yeah.” Arthur chuckles. A little at himself since he picked it out. “He’ll steal it off of me if I ain’t careful.”

Maybe not steal it, but Arthur can feel the embarrassment of Dutch noticing and saying how much Arthur’s growing to be just like him. It wouldn’t be shameful, but embarrassing in the way parents make you feel.

John makes a little noise in agreement and continues washing the soap suds off himself. He dips his head forward so his hair falls over his face, and brings water up to pour over it. 

The back of his neck is exposed. There’s a twisting feeling that pools in the bottom of Arthur’s stomach and brings heat. He licks his lips, and pushes back the thought of that neck being covered in purple kisses. Dutch would kill him. Maybe John would himself.

John brings his head back up, and Arthur has to look away to catch his breath. He should know how to control himself. But does he?

He does, certainly. With both of them finished with their goal, Arthur comes to a stand, cracking his back as he does.

“I’m gonna head down the creek jus’ a bit. There’s some deeper water I wanna relax in.” 

But maybe not with enough restraint as he thinks. Not when John looks up at him with his big brown eyes as he speaks.

“If you ain’t too scared, you can join me.”

He turns as John makes an annoyed grunt and heads down the steady stream over rocks. It’s still definitely a creek even as he gets to the deeper pool of water behind the rigid shore. The water comes to above his knees standing, but it’s the perfect height as he sits down into it. It’s clear and cool and he can see the clay on the bottom and the few minnows that hide in crevices away from him.

Even with a moment to himself, his mind is wandering, maybe even worse than when John is right in front of him. He watches a minnow swim closer while his mind is elsewhere and thinking so much about that particular man.

Arthur thinks about his smooth skin, the paleness behind his neck, and the pink of his nipples and of his soft cock covered in suds that his thin fingers wash off. He thinks of his own fingers and palm replacing them, how John might squeak and shy from, how else he might react, if he would bite back.

He has scenarios he likes to go to, sometimes. Ones he wouldn’t speak of. Ones where he pins his brother over a bed and slowly works open his body while he keeps his face shoved in the blankets. His fingers in something so small and wet. John barking out encouragements and whines and coming undone all by Arthur’s hand. He finds it hard to imagine what it might feel like, to be inside, but he thinks about it. 

He feels embarrassment burn in his face over his own mind. To think about this of another man, his own brother, is strange to feel. He doesn’t consider himself someone of a closed mind but nor does he consider himself someone to think of men like that.

Maybe it’s just the closed quarters and time that he shares with him that causes Arthur’s mind to think like this, because it happens if he looks too long at Dutch as well. And he’s never been that close with a woman in the same way of living together for years and sharing beds countless times.

Still, even with his reserves, he reaches a hand down towards his groin under the water. Smoothing over the hair and wrapping around his own soft shaft, tugging it to a half-chub and letting his eyes close again. It’s been long enough that Arthur assumes John decided to go back to camp instead. Possibly a smart decision on his end. 

He jerks himself off, slowly, meticulously, tightening his fist around his head and pulling the foreskin back slowly. The cold water makes his breath hitch as well as the feeling of his hand twisting back and forth. He keeps going slow. He would if he did this with John.

He starts to think more about John’s face rather than his body. How would it look around him? Eyes blown wide and lips spread apart until the dry skin cracks. Arthur would be so gentle, as much as he’d allow. Only keeping his hand in his hair as a comforting presence, not to hold his head down. Would John let him finish in his mouth, on his tongue, down his throat? Maybe he would spit it up and whine about the salty burn, or be good and swallow it without complaint. He wonders so much about how John is in bed. How much of his bark is just show?

Arthur sucks in a breath and pants it back out. It’s not often he’s close to finishing so soon, but certain imagery is spurring him on faster than usual.

He’s hungry. Thinking of bitemarks in John’s skin, his teeth imprinted.

“John…”

He cums with a short gasp.

Arthur pants with heavy breaths but is able to recover quick enough to let his body untense and relax in the glistening water. This really is what he needed. A few moments to himself. He tilts his head back, eyes closed, into the water behind him. It feels nice in his hair, and he opens his eyes to look at the sky.

He sees John’s silhouette in his peripheral and almost bangs his head on the rocks before jolting up to look at him. 

Oh, christ. He stands with his eyes wide and staring and his body stiff, holding onto one arm while the other dangles in front of him like a censor. His face is now a burning red compared to earlier. Arthur can’t decipher the look he’s being given. How long had he been standing there?

“Is that why you look at me like that?”

“I…” Arthur swallows, spit thick. He’s looking at John the same way he’s talking about and he knows it. So he doesn’t answer. Instead, he shifts to the side, and beckons out to John. “Come here.”

He’s not sure what he’s doing or what his own plan might be. But John listens to him, even if he stands still for a moment in contemplation, and comes to sit next to Arthur. He lowers his body into the water slowly but surely. Arthur doesn’t rush him or say anything, letting him overcome his own fears, whatever they might be.

Through the rippling water he doesn’t stop himself from peeking at John’s erection, despite how he tries to hide it. The sight sparks a dying ember inside him, lighting his gut with that heat again.

John looks at him once he sits comfortably and doesn’t look away awkwardly like he had before. Arthur likes that fight in him, the heat in his own gaze. And he likes how close John chose to sit next to him. Their knees brush as they shift with the slight movement of the water.

There’s a silent pause for a moment.

“I ain’t scared.” John starts. “Just water.”

Arthur nods, and smiles at him, despite the tension in his shoulders. “Right. Just water. Not hurtin’ me.” He splashes his hand around the water for show. “And you certainly ain’t drowning while I’m here.” Yeah, maybe they can just… ignore what Arthur had groaned out earlier.

John splashes at him back, though more deliberately to get water on Arthur’s face than anything. “Right.” He pauses again, shorter this time. “Never answered my question.” Arthur isn’t that lucky, though.

He’s not surprised, though. John’s always like this. Pushing and pulling at whatever he can reach. That’s how they are with each other. Though this time it might definitely be fair.

“Well—“ What does he say? He feels guilt amid all the other emotions swirling around in himself. “I look at you for a lotta reasons.”

John’s closer, leaning in. Arthur feels like he’s choking on his breath.

“Do you think of me? When you—“ Pushing. He feels like John’s sticking his hand into his chest and grasping at Arthur’s heart, or maybe his balls.

“Christ, John.” He interrupts and sucks in a breath. “Do you even know what you want here?” Does Arthur?

John blinks up at him, all starry-eyed and puppy-faced. “The same thing you do.”

Arthur knows what he wants. He stops stuttering through his own thoughts and pushes himself forward. His lips are on John’s, his hand holding sturdy onto the side of his face, caressing the growth of hair there. Oh, what is he doing? 

But John doesn’t back away or push him off, though Arthur would let him, instead he pushes into the kiss harder than Arthur started it. There’s a ferocity he wasn’t sure if he expected from John, but it was much more than welcomed. He pushes his tongue into the wet mouth he was just dreaming of and John fights it back to stick his own tongue in Arthur’s.

They go back and forth, sloppily missing each other’s mouths and getting spit on their lips. Now he’s really feeling that heat bubble in him again. And it’s always little Johnny’s fault.

While one hand supports him on the creek rocks, the other slides up from John’s cheek into his wet hair. He gathers black strands into a fist and gives a curious tug at them. John moans around spit and tongue and Arthur tugs again. Again, harder. Louder.

He pulls back John’s head with the next pull of hair. It was all he could do to not bite onto the tongue dipping in and out of his mouth. John looks like a wild animal and Arthur feels like one himself.

He watches John’s chest rise and fall with his breaths and wipes spit onto the back of his hand, letting go of John’s hair to do so.

“I do.” The answer to the question earlier just slips out. Arthur looks to the side, conflicted. “I mean, you’re just…”

John stares at him, oddly patient. Maybe waiting for something.

“I don’t wanna go ‘n make you… uncomfortable.”

John huffs like what Arthur had said was unfathomably stupid. “Arthur, jesus. If I was upset about it I woulda come beat you with one-a these rocks.”

“Christ.”

“What? I’m not some kid anymore.”

Arthur almost argues against that— John is most definitely still young, and most would consider anything under eighteen to be a kid. But that makes Arthur’s argument of even thinking about John that way even worse. So he stays quiet on the matter.

“Sure. But I really ain’t about making you scared of me. You should be doing this with someone your own age.”

“You don’t scare me, not when I want it.” He meets John’s eyes again. God, he’s gorgeous. “I like this. I like you. I don’t care about no girls enough.” He shrugs.

Arthur goes back and forth on feeling awkward then starving for a taste of the boy in front of him. The hunger wins only after a few moments, just like every time today. He adjusts his posture and pats his chest right above the waterline.

“C’mere then. If you’re sure.”

John listens without complaint, another nice chance of pace. It takes some fumbling of limbs to find a comfortable position but eventually John is straddling Arthur’s lap. He usually stands a bit shorter than him, even with the growth spurts he’s gone through, but sitting like this he’s looking down at Arthur.

Arthur settles his hands on John’s hipbones under the water and brushes his thumb against his thigh. He feels the muscle under that thin layer of fat and John squirms whenever he lightly presses into it.

“We take this at your pace.” Arthur says, serious. One of his hands slides farther down John’s thigh and keeps rubbing those circles into skin.

John brushes wet hair out of his face and stares down at Arthur. Arthur takes the time to admire the sparkle in those deep pupils. “Okay. Touch me.”

He knows John’s stiff between them, he can feel it brush against his stomach when the water sways. His own is still half-soft, not fully recovered from its session earlier. Life would certainly come to it soon. Either way; John seemed just a little too shy to look at it yet.

“How?”

He doesn’t stutter at the question. “The way you want to.”

It’s just a good enough answer for Arthur to not argue with his stubbornness. He hums, and his hand wanders into the wiry hair on John’s inner thigh. Just a little higher and he’s brushing against John’s cock, just barely. It’s enough for him to notice John holding in a breath.

“If you want this so bad you gotta relax.” Arthur’s voice is stern but assuring; soft. His fingers wrap around John under the water and he gives him one tight stroke up to the tip of his shaft. “Won’t feel good if you’re all tense.”

John lets out a shaky sigh and nods, tilting his hips to push into Arthur’s hand. The movement alone and the little breathy noises John makes as Arthur starts moving his hand has electricity going down the older man’s spine. He thinks this boy will be the death of him.

He keeps his movements slow like that for awhile. Gentle tugs to the cock in his hand while his other hand holds firm onto his hip and ass. It has John unraveling quicker than Arthur could’ve thought with his bold statements, but it seems to him that John is all bark and no bite. At least with Arthur.

“You should,” John holds on tighter to Arthur’s shoulders, “You should tell me more about what you were thinkin’ about. When you was jerkin’ off while moaning my name.”

Arthur’s fist tightens by a hair, and John gasps with it.

“Don’t know if you need to know all that.” But Arthur will humor him, maybe as an apology to all the sweet noises he’s been milking out of John. “Just you. That pretty body of yours.”

John looks back down at him, from having his head tilted back in pleasure, and looks a little flustered at the thought. “Yeah? I thought you thought I was all skinny.”

“I do. You used to really be skin ‘n bones.” His hand on his hip slips back a little more, grabbing a handful of his cheek. “You still are, but you’re growing into it real well.”

John pushes his ass back into the pressure. Arthur rewards his movement with more attention to his cock, pushing his finger over the slit in its head where pre is surely leaking into the water. This freshwater might as well be saltwater by the time they’re done.

“You got a nice face on ya too.” Arthur keeps talking, hoping how smitten over the boy he is isn’t obvious. His eyes graze John’s cheekbones and down his jaw and admires all the little details in his skin and pores. 

John just about preens at the compliment and attention, but the eyes on him must be a little too much, judging by how he dips his head to nuzzle into Arthur’s neck instead. Arthur imagines his scruff can’t feel great against his forehead and cheek, but he still tilts his head into John’s hair and places a kiss onto the wet locks.

He doesn’t think about it before doing it, something about the motion feeling so natural and comforting to both of them. Arthur could really get used to kissing him more often. Hopefully in more places.

John’s hips start to thrust along with Arthur’s hand. It’s a little awkward at first before they fall into a rhythm.

“You think about doin’ things to me?”

Arthur hums, like recalling a fond memory. “‘Course. Lotsa things.”

John’s just about humping into his hand like a dog now, ignoring the pace Arthur had put them into. It had only lasted a few seconds anyways.

“Like what?”

“Things like this. And a little more.” Arthur chuckles to himself, using that hand that was grabbing at John to reach down his ass more, straight to his little hole. “A hell of a lot more.”

John squeaks and gasps and Arthur feels him clench. He worries for a second that might be too far for him, and he thinks about stopping everything he’s doing until John speaks up again.

“Like inside?” He sounds like he never even considered the idea. The innocence of that does things to Arthur he doesn’t want to mention.

“Yeah, but you don’t gotta do none of that.” He returns another kiss to the side of John’s head, and John turns to the side to give better access to his ear. Arthur takes the chance to pepper another kiss on it. “I just think about it. Not like you got another hole down there.”

John seems to think about that for a brief moment, where the only sounds are the creek and his noises into Arthur’s neck. Arthur almost pulls away when he feels John push himself into Arthur’s circling finger, just barely pressing into the bud. It’ll take more work than that to actually get a finger in there. Especially if John hasn’t even considered the idea that anything could go in there.

“I want that. I wanna— wanna know what that feels like.”

Arthur grunts and it makes John shiver. “It’ll feel real good. But you’re little, might just wanna use fingers til you can get used to it some more.” Arthur thinks about how he would be John’s first. It feels world-shattering in both ways. “If you really want it, ‘n if you like it.”

John nodsnodsnods, eager for more as always. He’s already clawing into Arthur’s shoulder and bicep, clinging on like he’ll burst any moment. Arthur would guess he won’t last long enough for much more than a finger.

He still takes his time to just barely break the seal, it’s not like there’s much hope for lube when they’re submerged in the water. But with the way John keeps pressing down on him harder, he surely must be feeling the burn of opening up and he doesn’t seem to mind it.

“Oh God.” John hisses and moans. He sucks and nibbles at Arthur’s throat where he can reach, stifling some of his sweet, sweet noises to Arthur’s dismay.

“That’s it, doin’ good.” Arthur can’t help but thrust his own hips up, his cock hard by now and sitting untouched. John notices and whines, and Arthur can feel all those thoughts churning in his mind.

His hands are kneading where they hold onto Arthur. “That’s so much. Arthur…”

Arthur’s only got just past the first knuckle in him, if even that. “I know.” He kisses around his ear feverishly, giving John goosebumps down his arms. “Told you, you’re little.”

“Big fingers.” John argues without any real intent, too lost in the feeling of fucking into Arthur’s hand and then back onto Arthur’s finger. It’s a display that Arthur wants to burn into his mind and think about forever, staring down at John’s little body working itself into release. His back arches and bends with his movements and Arthur can see how his ribs expand with each breath.

“I…” John’s voice is higher pitched than he’s ever heard it, he can barely get a word out. “Fuck— fuck, Arthur, Arthur…”

He chants Arthur’s name like a lifeline and almost cries into his neck. Arthur forces his finger in deeper and deeper, making John’s movements stutter as he tries desperately to fit it in while still seeking that warmth in Arthur’s fist.

Arthur’s tried to keep his finger relatively still this whole time, but he figures he must be deep enough to start searching for that sweet spot. Hell, John might just cum without it.

When he curls his finger into John his reaction is more instant than he anticipated. John yelps, and bites into the soft meat of the muscle by his neck. Arthur groans and does it again, relishing in the feeling of John’s little canines digging into him and the thought of the bruise it’ll leave. He just barely keeps himself from biting John back, but he thinks that might kill him with all the noises he’s making already.

Arthur keeps that up and John gets more frantic, knees scraping on rocky clay while he tries to stay sitting up. His teeth unlatch from Arthur and he’s almost whimpering, loud enough that a passerby would hear them with ease. His body squirms and he’s saying Arthur’s name again like he’s begging.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be lettin’ me do this…” Arthur hums and the haze in his voice is obvious. The only thing in his mind is this pretty little thing coming undone in his lap. “But fuck, keep singin’ like that for me, John.”

“Arthur!” John pants. “I don’t— I—“ He pants, and cries out again. “Fuck, help!”

Help? It should alert Arthur to some extent, but instead it goes straight to his dick and he curls his finger into that bundle of nerves harder.

“You’re alright, it feels good.”

This is all he’s ever wanted.

John’s babbling, nothing coherent except occasional pleads for help and Arthur’s name, and it’s no surprise when his body stiffens up and he cums into the creekwater with another yelp. 

“Help— Arthur!”

Arthur listens, helps him through his orgasm and fucks his finger into him real slow, soaking up the sight of John’s little body spasming on top of him. He watches and kisses John’s shoulder and neck until his body relaxes and his panting returns. It’s almost over too soon and there’s a second where Arthur considers making him take more. But he doesn’t want to hurt him, doesn’t want to fuck this up.

John melts into his lap, pressing into Arthur’s hard-on. He doesn’t seem to notice in this state and Arthur cares more about tending to him right now. He wipes his hand clean in the water then caresses the back of John’s head, shushing the boy when he makes pitiful noises. He feels like dead weight as Arthur wraps his other arm around his waist and holds him close.

The regret hasn’t set in yet, but Arthur can feel it bubbling in the back of his mind. Despite how much of a shithead his brother is and all the other things that make them butt heads— he feels responsible for him in some sense and so worried he’s going to somehow ruin John and everything he is. 

Everything else good Arthur’s had, he has ruined in one way or another, save for when Dutch guides him. John has so much ahead of him. 

His breathing steadies out as Arthur pats his back, and he rolls just to the side, so that he still has his leg over Arthur’s but now he’s nestled in the crook of Arthur’s arm. He doesn’t mind, it’s easier to hold John closer like this, and it brings Arthur out of his thoughts.

His head is tilted down, resting on the side of Arthur’s chest and just on his shoulder. He snakes an arm away from where it had dug crescent-moons into Arthur’s skin and keeps his palm flat down the hair of his stomach.

“You liked that, huh?” John’s voice cracks from its previous use, almost coarse like he’s just waking up.

Arthur doesn’t mean to gulp as John’s hand plays with the pubes around his cock, while it’s red with need and leaving a trail of precum in the water. “Like seein’ you feel good, is all. You like all that?”

John nods, lazily, less frantic than the last time. “Mhm. Felt like I was on fire.”

“That why you were yellin’ for help?”

John huffs and tugs at the hairs between his fingers, Arthur’s face twisting with momentary discomfort. “Shut up. Your fault.”

Arthur chuckles at him and kisses the top of his head. It’s already a sweet spot to kiss, but it’s even better when John lifts his head up and presses his lips into Arthur’s. This kiss is softer, slower than their first, sweet with the warmth of two boys in summer heat.

John’s still messy about it, but he does good at following how Arthur moves his lips and copying it. Arthur hums into the kiss, pleased, as he lightly drags his fingertips over John’s side. He smiles into it when he feels John shiver from the light touches. He likes how easy it is to make him do that. Delicate skin, under his hands. The idea of it being all his runs through his mind and he wants to swat it away like a fly. Instead he brings his fingernails down into the repetitive movement over John’s skin, leaving slightly raised trails.

John purrs as he parts from Arthur’s lips and starts his way down to his collarbones, leaving wet kisses and marks. His hand wraps around the base of Arthur’s cock.

“I wanna see you feel good, too.”

Arthur bites his lip. He brushes off the urge to lay his head back, no, he needs to watch John’s slender fingers as they experiment how they can wrap around Arthur and twist and pull. All while under the water and breaching the surface when he tugs upwards. The imagery, the reminder who’s doing this to him, maybe he understands why John resorted to begging.

Arthur grunts as John pulls back skin, curious fingers pressing into his glands and the tip of himself. “I think I’ve been feelin’ pretty good this whole time.”

John starts to jerk him off, slowly, mimicking how it must’ve felt when Arthur touched him earlier. He can tell by the way he’s so unsteady about it, but seems to know what places to squeeze and press. Maybe he’s just copying how he does it to himself; both ideas make Arthur take a deep breath.

“I can tell,” He snickers, and sucks blooming purples into Arthur’s skin, “I wanna make you cum too.”

“Ain’t you a saint.” He finishes his sentence with a thrust of his hips, pushing his body closer into John’s and therefore into his wet hand. It excites the younger man and he fastens his pace. His enthusiasm makes it a hell of a lot easier for that numbing guilt to die down, replaced completely with chasing release and soaking up how John looks. All curled up, halfway on his lap, sucking as hard as he can around Arthur’s neck and chest but only leaving faint marks. 

He can feel his orgasm brewing in his stomach. One hand holds onto the rocks beside him while the other one grips John’s shoulder, pulling him up closer so he can bury his face into John’s hair. It makes him chuckle and make that content humming noise Arthur compares to purring.

John smells like his soap, like the muddy-ness of the creek, and like the musk that permeates in his scalp. Arthur soaks up that scent happily and just about growls out a moan. His body chasing and tensing and thrusting until it’s all a blinding white, and he empties into the water and some onto John’s hand.

John sighs dreamily, licking a long stripe on Arthur’s neck and grazing his teeth when he gets to his Adam's apple. Arthur comes down slower than John had, simply hugging closer to John as he mumbles something. John nods and makes a noise to whatever Arthur had said despite not understanding any of it. He, too, soaks up the feeling of watching his brother come undone.

Arthur peeks his eyes open again. He lazily watches the water cascade over the rocks, eyes focusing over as he sees John let go of him and bring his hand up, inspecting the milky white that hadn’t washed off his fist in the water. There’s a moment where John just looks at it, before bringing it up to his lips and lapping up at the mess left. Arthur curses at the display. John pauses, like he didn’t know Arthur was watching, but doesn’t stop. Hell, Arthur would say he makes a show of it.

“Salty.”

“Uh-huh.” Arthur blinks with eyes half-lidded. “‘N that’s not that freshwater you’re tastin’.”

John cleans it all off, like a dog with a dirty plate. Arthur watches his tongue twirl around his fingers until spit lathers them clean. He’s definitely making a show of it.

When he eventually seems satisfied with getting every last taste of Arthur, John settles back down into their cuddled position. Arthur watches the slow rise and fall of his ribs, where the water sways around him when he wiggles comfortable, and admires how the evening sun bounces off of his skin. He thinks they must stay like that awhile, just enjoying the afterglow and letting themselves drift away from reality.

He really could stay like that forever. John’s breath is warm on his skin, the same as his hands where they absentmindedly play with the hair on Arthur’s chest. Soon enough, though, John squirms free of Arthur’s hold and stretches out all his limbs. He hears a small pop from his back when he twists it— the way he was curled up must’ve left it needing that.

Arthur reaches out a hand and touches down John’s spine as he sits back up. “You alright?”

John turns to him. The smile on his face is wide, one you could mistake as innocent, but also smug in the way that John is. “Better than that.” When he talks, Arthur watches his bottom canines where they stick up farther than the rest of his teeth. There’s something charming about them.

“Good.” He sits up as well and looks where the sun sits under the trees. “We should be gettin’ back to camp soon. They’re gonna think I drowned you out here.”

John sighs. “I guess.” He watches Arthur as he stands up out of the water.

Arthur looks down at him and playfully scoffs. Not that he doesn’t wish they could stay in that bliss longer. “C’mon, I thought you didn’t even want to come here?”

He reaches a hand down, John takes it and gets hauled to his feet.

“Well I like this place now, s’long as it ends up like this.”

They walk back down the stream of water as they talk, John trailing behind Arthur and just about stepping on his ankles.

Arthur quirks an eyebrow that John can’t see, but he imagines it could be heard in his voice. “You mean I gotta do this every time I want you to quit stinkin’ up the place?” He scoffs, but his tone is playful.

“Yeah. Duh.” They reach their bathing spot and John steps out of the water first. He seems happy to be out of it even if they did have a good time. “How else will I fit more?”

Arthur pauses in his steps, almost chokes, then shakes his head and gets out of the water as well. What a kid.

“Guess you got a point.”

He thinks about pointing out they don’t only have to do things like that here, but he has a feeling John would get them caught real quick. Next thing he knows John’s gonna be sneaking into his tent at night and then not knowing how to keep quiet. And well, the idea isn’t all bad if Arthur ignores his right mind.

Arthur grabs the towel under their clean clothes and dries himself off, pressing over the spot on his shoulder where John bit. The tenderness feels nice along with the small patterns of half-formed hickies on his chest. He throws it at John and starts to put on fresh clothes.

Soon they’re both dressed and putting their boots back on. They’re both considerably dressed down; barely more than their union suits but enough to be decent while they walk back to camp. It’s a minute or two trip just through a path in the trees and Arthur had decided before coming here that he didn’t need to get them both on his horse just for this. Now, well, he’s just a little more tired than before.

As they walk back, Arthur has to hold himself back from glancing at John every two seconds. He’s not yet sure if he either really fucked up or not. John seems indifferent about it all— no, not indifferent, pleased. His mouth is slightly lifted with contentment and his eyes look all lazy and relaxed.

Maybe he’ll be alright, Arthur thinks. Even if he doesn’t think there’s anything that could fix the stupid in the boy’s brain.

When they get back to camp, John tosses him a farewell and a wink before running off to finish whatever chore he might have for the night. Dutch spots them both before Arthur can hurry off to busy himself.

“Looks like you had some success, son.” Dutch pats his shoulder with a prideful smile. Or maybe it’s one of relief that Arthur didn’t drag John back worse than he left.

Arthur sighs and looks over at Dutch. “Not easily.” He then shrugs. “But I get the job done.”

“You sure do. I’ll be thankful to not have my nose assaulted when I walk too close to that boy now.” Dutch shakes his head and gives Arthur another pat before letting go of him. “Well, I’ll let you recover.” 

Arthur nods, expecting Dutch to walk back off to his tent. 

Instead Dutch pauses and hums. For a moment, Arthur thinks he’s been caught red handed. Like Dutch could look into his memories and see the things he had done with John. He starts to panic in his mind, would Dutch be mad? Treat him like he ruined his golden boy?

“I like whatever soap you’re using.” And then he’s off, dismissing Arthur before he has a chance to respond.

John was right, he supposes, and he lets out a breath. 

He heads off to his own tent to put away his dirty clothes and soap, and later that night John sits next to him by the fire. It was just them awake, other than Hosea who was off on the other side of their hideout, and John was taking that opportunity to sit closer than he usually would.

“You ain’t tired from being in all that water yet?” Arthur teases, voice low and tired himself.

John shrugs, staring into the burning embers. He’s definitely tired and Arthur can tell he’s fighting to keep his head up. “Maybe tired from other activities.”

“Oh, hush.” Arthur prods him with his elbow, and John takes the chance to retaliate by laying his head on Arthur’s shoulder.

He thinks about shrugging him off but he can’t bring himself too. The boy must be tired and maybe this is just payback for making him so, but Arthur really can’t complain with how cute John looks there. Cheek pressed up so he can only keep one eye open, until the other one falls shut too. Arthur can just barely hear the sound of him breathing over the fire and the cicadas. Soft little huffs like a dog. 

“Arthur…” He mumbles. Arthur wraps an arm around his shoulder and holds him, so he doesn’t fall as he drifts off. John just nuzzles his face into the warmth.

“Get some sleep, Marston.”

They stay like that for awhile, John snoring softly against Arthur while he watches the fire. After some time he hears Hosea’s tent flap close, and his own drowsiness is starting to hit. With only a little bit of hesitation about disturbing John from his sleep, he scoops up his lithe frame easily and carries the sleeping body to its own tent. John rouses just enough to huff at Arthur and scrunch his face.

When he lays John down in his cot and brings the blanket up to his chest it seems to settle him down. Arthur brushes the hair from John’s face, the strands still damp at the base, and stays just a moment to listen to John’s breathing fall deep again. Even in the dark of the tent with just the slightest moonlight peeking in through the holes of it, he still thinks John is the prettiest man he’s ever laid eyes on. He likes it when he looks peaceful like this with all the anger drained from his face.

Arthur knows today won’t be a one time thing. For once, he’s happy to indulge himself.