The Great Grey

Arthur worried about the arm; he couldn't not worry about the arm, however blithely Cash had dispensed with its securing straps. Even as he was pulled into Cash's embrace, his own was eager but mindful, one hand fisted into the back of the cowboy's shirt as the other splayed across the freshly-shaved line of his jaw. Their kiss was hot and breathless, born out of a gulf of weeks that had proven most inopportune when they had just begun to kindle a proper attachment. Arthur's hips swung forward, his erection already firm enough to feel through layers of fabric, and then dropped his head back with a delighted sigh as Cash's mouth roamed across his neck.

The tightening of their embrace was unexpected, but warmth flushed across Arthur's skin in the wake of it. He nosed against the messy strands of Cash's hair and pushed the flat of his hand up the back of his shirt, fingers warm enough now to press against skin without a shock. He mourned a little when the American pulled away, that sheepish expression on Cash's face as if he'd not just made Arthur feel more worthy than any partner in a solid decade.

In the context of the locale, Arthur afforded the hanger an uncertain stare even as he accepted it. At the explanation, he stared more, this time at his lover, because no one — No one — had ever made such a thoughtful gesture, never regarding his oft-maligned fussiness about his clothes. Blinking, stunned, he watched as Cash began to disrobe, and only jolted into action again when the other man sprawled shamelessly across the makeshift bed.

A sharp, astonished breath pushed past Arthur's lips, and he ducked his chin as he shook his head. Dear God, but he was deep in this now, much deeper than he'd anticipated even when he'd crawled into Cash's lap beneath their tree. He wanted to dispense with his clothing with swift efficiency, but forced his fingers to slow — Not a deliberate show, but enough that there was time to look.

When everything was arranged on the hanger and the hanger hooked over the rope, he stepped across the loft and around the length of Cash's thighs so that he could lower himself onto the older man's lap, take his face in both hands, and kiss him breathless.

To Cash's perception, nothing he'd done was anything near remarkable. A bit embarrassing, maybe, how he'd clung onto Arthur like that, but it was all just... Obvious, to him. He cared for Arthur, and regardless of what Cash thought about clothing and the nature of it, Arthur thought otherwise. It was an easy thing to do; an easy way to make him happy. Call it selfish, because that's what it was. Cash liked to see Arthur smile. The real smile, the one that showed his dimples and made his eyes squint.

It wasn't that smile he saw now, but any concern about that hesitation was thoroughly put to bed when the valet put himself squarely into Cash's lap. He abandoned his own length to pull the other man close, holding the nape of his neck with one hand as the other again wrapped around his waist. There was nothing to do but kiss him, until the taste and feel of him was entirely burned into the cowboy's mind. It had been far too long since they'd had this last, and he fully intended to never go quite so long without it ever again.

(The thought pulled him up short, at least in his own mind; was it really that dramatic, already? Maybe, he mused, even as he held the valet all the tighter.)

"I missed you so fuckin' much," he admitted between kisses. "Next time I'm just gonna kidnap you." A laugh escaped between their kisses. "Like a Roman come to steal away him a Sabine woman." And he would, too, if the choice was put before him. The idea of it in its entirety was also appealing, though he shied from sharing it: Stealing him a wife, keeping Arthur entirely to himself. A low moan answered that thought, and then another as he pushed his hard length up against the other man's ass.

"I wanna watch you ride me," he ordered when he finally pulled back, lips red from their affections and breath stolen. Gently he brushed an errant curl away, hand shifting then to hold Arthur's chin so he could be kissed again; something chaste and slow, in stark comparison to their hunger just prior. The nest was not flat, built upon the side of a hay pile as it was, and so the position they were in now would simply have to do; Cash reclined, his man in his lap. That was better, anyway. He didn't want to have to stop kissing Arthur just to get his way.

Blindly he reached for the oil he thought he'd grabbed from the house; a frown placed itself on his lips as he thought, and then: "Oh, hell. I forgot the oil right on my bed." The frown turned into an apologetic grin as he asked, "You still carry your fancy stuff around in your suit?" Normally he would consider stealing some of the pig fat from the tack room, used to keep the leather soft in weather like this; somehow, he didn't quite think Arthur would approve. In the worst case scenario, he'd simply have to get dressed once again and brave the cold to run inside for the stuff. God knew that no matter how experienced Arthur was, he couldn't very well take someone of Cash's size without some help.

Had he ever been wanted like this? With this level of simple, guileless devotion? Arthur really didn't think he had. Rollo had played at being deeply intoxicated by every part of him, but there had been little truth in the act, particularly in the end. Whatever part of Arthur that wanted to use his past to balk at this new affection found it impossible to gain any traction — Even in the weeks apart, he'd never do much as mused on the notion, but merely stroked himself to sleep instead.

All of which was to say, he could not keep himself from smiling, despite feeling a bit dizzy from the effusiveness of the attention. A valet's education had not taught him about the history of Romans and Sabine women, but he was quick enough to comprehend the broader implication. "Is it still stealing if I come willingly?" he asked, and kissed into Cash's moan as his hips rolled instinctively against the thick cock sliding along in the crease of his arse.

He was nodding before Cash's next sentence was even complete — There was little he enjoyed more than being put on show for a lover, and that it was this particular lover made the instruction all the more palpable. The divergence to practicalities had him blinking away the descending fog of his lust, but then his eyes went abruptly round.

"I was so entranced by your charms I utterly forgot I've something for you," he said, and dropped a peck to Cash's mouth before pushing himself to his feet and hastening back to where he'd deposited his coat. From an inside pocket, he withdrew a small package about the size of a tea cup, and then retreated to the warmth of Cash's lap.

"Happy Christmas," he said, and presented it atop an upturned palm. It was neatly wrapped in brown paper secured by red twine tied off in a loopy bow. Beneath the bow he'd tucked a small sprig of holy. "I suppose it's for us both, but I was thinking only of you when I bought it."

Again came that thrill, a skipped beat of his heart and a warmth in his chest that left Cash grinning in a rather goofy manner. They never could, of course – Arthur was far too married to his work, far too proud of it, to simply up and leave one day. And, as hilarious as it was to imagine the valet of all people roughing it, Cash hadn't the most remote hope of ever dragging the prim and proper Englishman into the wilds even for a single night.

But it was nice to imagine, wasn't it? Just the two of them, cuddled close together in a tent, a blanket of stars over-head. Well, maybe I could talk him into one night.

The happy future dreams were a bit ruined by the sudden loss of warmth and weight from Cash's lap. "More than the wine and the chocolate?" His tone was a bit bemused, his hands falling back into his lap as he watched the other man with bare curiosity. At least it was a very short-lived absence, and soon enough Arthur was right back where he belonged.

Had Cash been ordered to imagine a gift wrapped by the valet, this was more or less what he'd expect: Perfectly done, that thoughtful extra step drawing the eye and making it that much more special. Shaking his head slightly, glancing up at Arthur, he admitted, "I got you somethin' too, but I suppose you'll be wanting t'wait 'til after for that." Not that he begrudged the valet that much. God knew he wasn't keen to wait, either.

Still, he obediently opened the gift, out-right laughing when he realized what it was. "Arthur, this must've cost–" Shaking his head, he bit off the incredulous sentence. It was the valet's own money to spend how he wished, and Cash couldn't help but imagine that his position afforded him a rather healthy income. So he satisfied himself with a gentle kiss. "Thank you. I'm sure we'll be puttin' it to real good use."

Grinning, he twisted it open and offered it to the other man. "Wanna do the honors, you sweet thing?"

"None of that," said Arthur, with a brief press of a finger to Cash's lips. "I've enough to treat us. And it's Christmas." Easing in, he met Cash's mouth for a soft and easy kiss, ignoring the rapid fluttering of his heart in his chest.

Accepting the tin, he bit against his bottom lip, and then tipped a hesitant glance back up to Cash. "Now, this is just for us," he said, gaze bouncing between the blue of the cowboy's eyes. "I'll be cross if I learn it's been used on someone else."

He'd let Arthur have that much, then; ignore the discomfort at the reminder that things weren't perhaps quite so equal between them as he'd like to pretend. (As though there hadn't been any number of signs pointing to that much.) It didn't matter, not really, but it was still something Cash pushed away in favor of those soft lips on his own.

It wasn't the response he'd expected. Arthur had never shied away from a good show, never seemed to be bashful when it came to sex. But this wasn't really about sex; wasn't about saving the good stuff for himself. "Well, that should be pretty easy. You're the only one I wanna use it with." Cash answered the unstated question with a casual tone that he didn't truly feel, not with his heart in his throat like that.

There was no obligation to speak of anyone else that he'd tumbled; no real reason to sit and linger on the thought. Still, he sighed, grimacing a bit before he spoke next – knowing he might be poisoning this delicate, unnamed thing between them. "I– There were a few, when I was in London. I ain't gonna tell you what to do with yourself, but I..." He laughed, a dry noise, and shrugged. "I don't think there's anyone else for me, anymore. Just you, long as you'll have me." There were more words, swallowed back for an equal fear of being too desperate, too needy, rushing into this far too headlong. Even the words he'd said felt absurd for the short time they'd actually spent together – but he didn't regret a one.

Arthur hadn't meant the caveat as a gauntlet, truly. That Cash was happy to oblige him was plenty enough to please him. But the American kept talking, and with every word it was more difficult for Arthur to hear him over the pounding of his pulse in his ears. By the end, the vulnerability on display was so acute it nearly pained Arthur, and it wasn't even his own.

Words seemed paltry, and so he set the open tin aside and took Cash's face in his hands again, to kiss him long and languid until he had to pull away gasping for breath, and even then only inches, their panted breath a warm tapestry between their mouths. "There was — Has been — someone else. Regularly," he admitted without drawing away, his eyes yet closed. "But I think I'm done with that. You've made me realize how badly he's treated me."

Blindly, he felt for the tin again as he nosed in against Cash's cheek. "I need you in me, Daddy," he whispered, and dipped two fingers in the chill-thickened salve.

It was a particularly sour thing, with Arthur's sweet lips so close, his breath stolen by those deep kisses, to hear the admission. It was fair enough, Cash knew. He'd fucked others, and at least the valet had limited himself to just the one. The worst sin, though, was that admission at the end. Any bitterness, any sourness, any hurt was washed away in the heat of anger. Arthur could fuck half the city, and Cash wouldn't like it, but he'd put up with it for Arthur's sake.

"Arthur, what do you mean? I don't care if you're- you've been with someone else. Look at me, hey? What d'you mean, he's been treatin' you badly?" There was no heat in Cash's voice; just cold, bare steel. He hadn't seen any marks that he, himself, hadn't put on the valet the last time they'd fucked, and he hadn't seen any marks on him when he'd disrobed prior, but under the anger was the fear of it.

Gently his hands took Arthur's, trying to pull his attention back. "Fuck, baby, you know I want that. Just–" Swallowing thickly, trying to ignore the ache in his cock aroused by that single damn sentence, trying to ignore how it conflated with his anger, Cash gently squeezed Arthur's hands. "Tell me you're alright, and I'll fuck you all night long."

The intensity of Cash's reaction took Arthur back despite himself; that cool, dangerous voice alone made him recall how little he actually knew about the man.

But then the tone shifted, gentled, and he had hold of Arthur's hand, a smear of oil transferring to his fingers from Arthur's own. "It's all right," Arthur allowed at last, searching Cash's gaze and finding a heady mix of emotions there. "I've not been abused or anything like that." Surely that must have been the heart of such anger, the idea that Arthur had been beaten. Sighing, he slid his gaze away beyond Cash's bare shoulder.

"I'm only ever wanted for a fuck, and some people have made that incredibly apparent," he said, and pulled in a breath through his nose as he looked back to Cash and swallowed hard. "That's all it is. You've not kicked me out of bed, and it's nice. I promise I'm all right, apart from not having you inside of me yet."

For a long moment, he wasn't sure if he trusted that answer; it would hardly be the first time someone had downplayed the abuse they had suffered. But there was no reason for Arthur to lie, and Cash hadn't seen any marks on him. He didn't flinch and shy like a beaten horse would, like a beaten man might. The tightly-coiled fear unwound a bit, and the anger was allowed to burn itself into a smoldering pile that Cash might feel just a hair embarrassed about, later.

"Alright then." A deep breath, shoving away the burning embers of anger, and then a crooked smile was put back into place. "I don't mean to pry or ruin the evenin'. I'm real fond of you, Arthur. I don't like the idea of anyone treatin' you poorly, is all." Finally he let go of Arthur's hands, absently wiping the salve on his own bare thigh in an attempt to rid his fingers of the slick feeling.

That particular deficit, though, he could help with. The smile broadened into a grin, and Cash chuckled ruefully. "Alright, you needy thing. Let's put that fancy salve to use, hm?" With some of it having smeared on his own fingers, he held the tin up in case Arthur wanted more.