Chapter Text
They were able to gather their wits and remove themselves from the scene, washing the worst of the blood off in the river and walking inconspicuously to Arthur’s car. They drove in silence, and Charles watched as the streetlights passed them by.
“I wouldn’t have — I’m sorry I — I know I wasn’t supposed to contact you,” Arthur said, breaking the silence. Charles frowned, his head and body still aching, not being able to wrap his mind around it. “I know I crossed a line, and I’m sorry.”
Charles squinted.
Yeah, Arthur had ‘gotten in contact’ with him; by barging into a torture scene and saving his life.
He’d known where Charles was in the time of—
“Have you been following me?” Charles’ voice rose, the relief of being alive and the adrenaline of two murders not being able to shroud the astonishment. The gall of his ex– wait, boyfriend?
“I ain’t — I mean, John’s— John’s kept an eye– b-but only, only if you was in trouble, and you ain’t answered his messages tonight, a-and even he got w—”
“Arthur, what the fuck?” Charles couldn’t hide his shock. “Have you– you’ve been following me for six months!?” Charles’ voice was too loud even to his own ears, but he didn’t really care. All the time it took for Charles to work and get over the breakup and the pain and all the things left in the open, and Arthur had just been stalking him?
“I ain’t!” Arthur yelled back, squeezing the wheel so hard his knuckles were white under the dried blood. “But I had to do it today because I thought you was gon’ die.” There was a slightest tremble in his lowered voice as he said the words. He took a glance at Charles before quickly turning his gaze back to the road.
It was a horrible breach of privacy. It was creepy, and it was desperate. It was also a hunch that had been proved true and had saved Charles’ life.
“...I’m not gonna take any lies anymore, Arthur,” Charles said after a pregnant pause. “I need to know what you’re doing and you have to be honest with me.” Charles nodded his head, coming to a conclusion. “One more lie or omission and I’m done.”
Arthur looked at him as the car stood in a red light. He nodded and hummed in agreement.
“But… Charles,” Arthur said, voice low. Charles exhaled low and long, not being able to believe that Arthur was going to protest. “You know people who are together… they don’t always tell each other everythin’. There — some things are still private, y’know?” Arthur glanced at him.
Charles exhaled again, biting his lip. He could very well remember being bratty about wanting to know about Arthur’s brother’s personal business just because he felt entitled to it. Charles had known then that he was pushing a limit, but it had been such a hard pill to swallow that he could cross a line by wanting to know more about Arthur’s life.
“I’ve never pushed you, Charles,” Arthur said quietly. There was a pang in Charles’ throat. Arthur was right, he’d never before asked about Charles’ past, or his scars, or any other thing that he’d smartly calculated to be potentially bad memories. Charles hadn’t been extending the same consideration to Arthur, but—
Charles couldn’t. It was a different thing.
“I’d rather you tell me too much than too little. And no— no lies,” Charles finally answered, standing his ground while looking at the silhouette of Arthur. He looked so beautiful, illuminated by the street lights, even if his temple was bruising fast and his lip was bleeding.
“...I have a lot to tell you,” Arthur finally said, voice quiet and raspy. Charles leaned heavily on the car seat, his head still full of mush and every part of his body yearning for rest. Arthur’s eyes reflected the lights of the night, just like with the Christmas lights months ago. Charles nodded.
“I have a lot to tell you as well.”
–
Charles told Arthur everything.
After he’d showered at Arthur’s place, the man tended to Charles’ wounds with gentle care as Charles sat on the edge of his bed — in the messy and cluttered (Way worse than Charles remembered it) room that had felt like home on Sunday mornings. Maybe he could come back to that home, now.
Arthur taped the cut on his cheekbone and on his arm, dressed the nailless finger (“Ow– shit- fucking– hell—”), and disinfected all the scrapes and rashes on his skin. Charles was feeling more self-conscious than before, with how much he’d lost muscle and gained fat during his break from competing — and since Arthur had last seen him shirtless. Charles was painfully aware of how much less defined he was, even if he’d actually lost weight.
Still, the touch of the man he still so dearly loved, even if in a somehow jilted manner, made Charles shiver. There was a small, gentle smile on Arthur’s face as he rubbed a salve on the rope burns on Charles’ wrists, making him flinch.
Charles talked his… boyfriend — his lover through everything. His childhood, his fears, his lapse of judgment with drugs. Prisons, all different kinds of them. Loneliness. The bottle against his jaw, a man using his body as he saw fit, and the razors that were a solace in the most trying time. The longer he spoke, the easier it became, words flowing out unrestrained, for what must’ve been the first time in Charles’ life. And through it all Arthur listened with quiet, understanding hums in just the right places.
Arthur’s fingers traced the hills and the valleys of the scars on Charles’ arms, lifting his right hand to press his lips against it.
Arthur kissed the scars on Charles’ wrist and his hand — Charles noted he gave most kisses to the scars left by the surgeries. His heart twisted, but at the same time, his breathing was easier than he could remember it being. He told Arthur about the months after the breakup, the struggle, the help, and finally; surviving it all.
Arthur knew everything now, and still, he was kissing Charles’ hand. Still, his eyes went over Charles’ arms, his jaw, and finally landed on his eyes. No hate or fear or disbelief. His gaze was full of something like adoration. Despite knowing Charles in a way no one else had known him before.
“Charles you– you almost died,” Arthur said, face hardening, but his tone remained soft. Charles had to stop for a moment to know which ‘almost’ he was referring to. “But… I’m glad you’re — here,” Arthur drawled slowly, pushing Charles’ legs wider so he could stand between them.
Oh.
It was about tonight.
Arthur caressed Charles’ scruff and he closed his eyes. It felt nice. Warm and loving.
“I’m glad you were strong enough to get here,” Arthur’s voice was so close it rumbled in Charles’ ribcage. “I need you.”
“I’m glad to be here,” Charles murmured, and suddenly, lips were on his. Charles leaned into the kiss and scrabbled to touch Arthur. He found his arms, grasping them, as Arthur pushed him flat on the bed with considerable force, toppling them over.
“A-Arthur,” Charles gasped, breaking the kiss. Arthur’s wild blue-green eyes looked at him with love, and care, and hunger. Charles couldn’t say his eyes didn’t read the same. It was easy to understand how the already mellowing out adrenaline was so effortlessly rekindled into something that instead of survival and violence was a physical show of lust and need.
“Just tell me to stop,” Arthur rasped after a deep, shivering breath. Charles shook his head immediately.
“Come here,” he mumbled, grabbing the back of Arthur’s neck and forcing their mouths together, teeth clacking and noses squishing against each other. Charles moaned into the pressure of Arthur moving to straddle him. They were both wearing sweatpants, courtesy of Arthur’s pant shelf, and by god, did the man like them thin and clinging. And that thinness was revered when their hardening cocks brushed together, the contact maddening in how much Charles had apparently missed it.
“Fuck,” Charles groaned when Arthur pulled back to catch his breath. Charles grabbed Arthur’s hips, pulling him down. He had gone too long without that cock against his.
“I didn’t—” Charles started a sentence before his head had given clearance for it. He cleared his throat. “The way you were straddling that — that man,” Charles said, voice thin. Arthur kissed him again, with even more passion than before. Jesus, it was like the guy had been battling blue balls for hours, with how desperately he was kissing Charles.
“When I beat the shit outta him?” Arthur gasped, not pulling back after breaking the kiss, but instead letting his forehead rest against Charles’. He was grinding his hips down, Charles’ erection right under Arthur’s balls, slotting into the man’s perineum. Fuck, that shape was made to fit.
“Yeah,” Charles said, pulling Arthur down against his now full-on erection so hard the man winced. “...I liked the way you looked,” Charles said, almost shocked at the words. But not quite. Still, he was not voicing the full thought. I liked how you looked. I need to have you like that. Like… dominating. I need you to dominate me like that.
Arthur swallowed, closed his eyes, and kissed Charles once more, with desperation. Too soon, the pressure on Charles’ groin was not there anymore, and Arthur had slipped down from the bed to sit on his knees between Charles’ open legs.
Without further preamble, Arthur put his hands under the waistband of Charles’ sweatpants and yanked them down.
“Sweet— Jesus, I missed—” Arthus gasped, mouth open and eyes gleaming. Without thinking, Charles sprung up to help Arthur, who didn’t need to finish that sentence. Charles took a handful of Arthur’s now shoulder-length hair and guided the man to his cock. The man took the hint well, shut up, and practically dove between Charles’ legs, mouth open and eyes closed.
“S-shit,” Charles groaned at the wet heat on him. It was so familiar, even after all that time — and all the lonely nights and cold showers. Arthur didn’t hesitate or even seem to think at all, and moved one hand to push Charles’ legs wider and the other to grab the base of Charles’ cock. He looked high. Charles moaned.
It was a great moment to remember that Charles hadn’t jacked off in over a week when his cock hit the back of Arthur’s throat, making the man gag hard.
“T-take it easy,” Charles groaned, not an ounce of heart behind the words. He didn’t need easy, just whatever Arthur wanted to give him.
And Arthur did. He pulled back, circling his tongue over the head while sucking, and bobbed his head, letting the cock hit the roof of his mouth, the insides of his cheeks, the back of his throat. He seemed like he was in a hurry, but still putting his whole being and face into use.
Never before had Charles had a blowjob that felt more like an apology, given with open arms and executed with such wet desperation.
Arthur was moaning with a low sound, his erratic sucking and the entry and the exit of Charles’ cock so beautiful on his blushed face. Both his hands were now on Charles’ thighs, spreading them wider and letting his mouth do all the work.
“How in— ah!” Charles moaned in surprise when the man pushed his face all the way down to the base of Charles’ cock, his nose nuzzling into the thick black curls. Charles opened his mouth but no words came out. Arthur couldn’t do that. Arthur couldn’t deepthroat, yet here he was, Charles’ cock very much buried straight into the man’s tight and hot throat, so relaxed and unmoving for him.
There was a tiny, minuscule, rational part of Charles’ brain that tried to tell him that this was not a blowie from the virginal, repressed, middle-aged man he was so used to, but something too close to feeling like a chlamydia test coming back positive.
Only the slightest twitch of the muscle around his cock took Charles back to the moment, reminding him that he was inside something so sensitive and he was given full trust in that. Charles was effectively cutting off Arthur’s air supply, which was a huge give from a man who had issues with oxygen even without a cock shoved down his air hole.
Arthur’s eyes fluttered open, and he looked at Charles. What a sight it was — Arthur Morgan, on his knees before him, his face in Charles’ crotch and his cock as deep in his face as it would go. There were no words.
After what was probably a lifetime of intense pleasure colored with astonishment, Arthur pulled fully off his dick, breathing heavily. Gasp after gasp, his bare chest heaving with air now freely given to him. His lips shone with saliva, and Charles’ cock wept precum, swaying an inch from his face. Charles had to fight to give the man a moment to catch his breath and not push him back onto his cock with his hands that were still tangled in his hair.
“That good?” Arthur asked, voice breathy and sultry. Charles could only nod, the whole English language still lost on him. “Good,” Arthur said after taking a few deep breaths, and he dove back in.
Arthur moved in a way that let Charles enter his throat irregularly, the motion happening as a surprise for Charles each time. Every time Arthur slightly gagged, or didn’t, the touch of the wet throat around Charles’ cock made him groan loudly. It was the best head Charles could recall ever getting. Arthur committed to it fully, not touching himself but only focusing on worshiping Charles’ cock with his hot mouth, with his slick tongue, with his labored breathing, and then willingly cutting it off. It was heaven on Earth, if only for a while.
Arthur’s pace was needy and heavy, but Charles wasn’t protesting. His gut twisted in pleasure, his balls got tighter and oh god, each pump of Arthur’s face down his hard cock was just too much for his sensitive—
“Arthur,” Charles moaned with a heavy voice, again and again. He pulled Arthur’s hair, urging him to move faster. “I’m gonna—“
Arthur moaned at that, taking a deep breath through his nose, and with a… practiced motion he let Charles bury his dick into his throat.
That was it for Charles, and with a keen he came directly into Arthur’s throat. Pump after pump, he cried in euphoria, as he knew exactly how it felt when cum was painting your insides like that, and the thought of his Arthur being able to do that was so goddamn erotic.
Even after the orgasm whittled away, Arthur stayed still for a moment more, with Charles still holding onto his hair, scratching the man’s scalp. Charles forgot how to breathe for a moment, eyes watering from the overwhelming surprise of the pleasure. Finally, Arthur pulled himself away, the exit of the cock eliciting a gag on its way out. A string of cum followed Charles’ cock until it broke on Arthur’s lip, dribbling down onto his bearded jaw.
“C’mere,” Charles groaned, grabbing Arthur’s arms to hoist the man up. Charles was hungry with envy, seeing Arthur so satiated, dizzy from deprived of oxygen and high on making Charles cum.
Charles knew how it felt to pleasure another like that, and he needed to do it to Arthur. His Arthur, who ran to him when he most needed it, who was willing to kill for Charles — to do anything to save him. This worship was the least Charles could do to make his appreciation clear, painting the man with his cum and letting him do the same to Charles.
He pulled Arthur’s pants down gracelessly, with the spring of his curved cock making Charles let out a wanton huff. Fuck, it was so beautiful. Uncut, pink, so familiar but still breathtaking. Charles needed it, needed the cock in his hand, in his mouth, in his—
He didn’t follow the needy thoughts, but grabbed Arthur’s arms and pulled the man toward himself, his weight lighter it had been the last Charles had done this.
”Uuf,” Arthur huffed with a rasp when Charles yanked the man on top of him.
”Straddle me,” Charles pleaded, leaning back on the bed, but keeping his left hand on Arthur’s hip. He took his right hand and spat on it generously before grabbing Arthur’s perfect cock with the slicked hand. A shock of pain in his fist made Charles wince.
“Charles, your hand—“
“Never mind the goddamn hand,” Charles gasped and squeezed the cock harder, easily bypassing the pain with need.
Arthur let out needy, gravelly sounds, his so-far ignored cock such a satisfying weight and wet in Charles’ aching hand. The man had practiced some impressive self-restraint, one that Charles had never seen on him, by not touching himself while deepthroating Charles. It was intoxicating. Arthur was so submitting and collected, and so willing to serve without chasing his own release. It made Charles wonder what else he would be willing to submit to.
Charles grabbed one of Arthur’s tits with his free hand and he couldn’t hold back his wanton, pitched groan. The feel of the pec and the breast tissue and the fat was unlike any breast Charles had ever touched, the hair on it only emphasizing how manly it was in its shapely glory. The breast was smaller than it had been before, but Charles didn’t mind — the fit in his hand was still perfect.
”That’s it,” Charles said, drinking in the image of Arthur. Strong, hairy, bruised from a fight and so damn sexy. His heavy chest, (oh, how Charles had missed it) was pushed forward with his arching back, the curve of his spine revealed the bottom of his ribcage, emphasizing his… now quite thin waist and his v-line, his uneven balls jerking with every drag of Charles’ hand. Every raspy sound was the fifth shot of tequila to Charles, every twitch of his thighs a payday, every touch like a shattering of—
Arthur came with a pained keen, and his cum spurted hard, with such force that it hit Charles’ face, neck, chest. Painting him with his spend, marking his territory. Charles was glad to be branded like that, at least once more, having thought he would never again be blessed with that show of love.
Arthur cursed, his brow lowered and mouth open, his face glistening with a sheen of sweat and drops of sperm. He first leaned forward to rest on his shaky elbows, but he soon succumbed to gravity and slumped on his side, slotting into Charles’s arms. Charles cradled him with the arm behind him, but used his free hand to lift Arthur’s head angled in a way that he could kiss him softly.
The kiss lingered, but sex-enhanced exhaustion was stronger than them and they soon found themselves needing to wash up, and then slotting under the sheets together.
Arthur found his place in Charles’ armpit and he nuzzled his face into Charles’ chest. They lay together like it had been just last night when they’d done so the last.
”I killed my dad,” Arthur broke the comfortable silence with his abused voice. Charles’ brows shot up. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. ”...My real one, I guess. As a kid,” Arthur’s raspy voice was muffled from Charles’ chest. Charles caressed Arthur’s back. ”Done fucked me up, I think.” Arthur’s nails scraped Charles’ stomach as he clenched his fist. Charles hummed and pressed a kiss on Arthur’s head. It was slow, and filled with ’I’m sorry it had to be you.’
”It’s four AM, Arthur,” Charles said quietly. ”Life, a-and memories seem bad at this hour.” Charles did mean that, even if he said it clumsily. Whatever trauma Arthur was going to share was going to be too much to go through for Arthur’s tired mind — or Charles’. It didn’t make the situation any easier as they both almost died that night, and Charles had just been beaten up for the second time within a year. He was dead tired, in pain, and didn’t have the bandwidth to talk about the confession Arthur was laying out for him. It deserved the attention Charles couldn’t give at the moment.
Another kiss on Arthur’s head. ”Tell me when the sun is up, okay?”
Arthur nodded, and let out a long and heavy sigh. He lifted his head from Charles’ chest.
”Hey,” Arthur rasped.
”Hi,” Charles said in response, smiling tiredly at the dark figure of his love in the lightless room. Arthur’s eyes were on him — it was a feeling he couldn’t mistake for any other.
”I love you,” Arthur said, quietly. Whispering into the forest to see what came back. Hopeful.
”I love you too,” Charles said in response. Answering in promise.
There, it was out in the open.
Like it should’ve been for a year.
—
After a couple of hours of rest, Charles got up to call Mister Dunn to tell him something close to the truth — Charles wasn’t able to work today or tomorrow. The man understood that the crucial part was left unsaid, but luckily didn’t question it. If Charles had to guess, the man was probably happy Charles was taking a day off to rest rather than work his hands to the bone. Literally.
After the relief of a free day settled into Charles, he went back to the warm bed, where Arthur was curled on his side, eyes open just slightly.
“Hey,” Charles said, settling on his side to face Arthur. He drew the covers over them, and Arthur closed his eyes.
“Mornin’, Charles,” he mumbled. Very tired, and his voice was still weak from that expertly given blowjob. A shiver crawled its way up Charles’ spine at the recollection, but his cock was surprisingly too tired to react to the arousing image.
“It’s not morning for us, yet,” Charles said, tracing his hands over Arthur’s arm to his back, pulling him closer “We need to sleep, still.” He needed to sleep. He was still dead tired and in pain and he needed to shut that off for a few hours more. Arthur nuzzled his head into the nook of Charles’ neck, and they dozed off in each others’ warmth.
Their morning came hours later, with light shining through the blinds of Arthur’s bedroom and painting the room with a warm shimmer. Charles opened his eyes slowly, seeing the silhouette of Arthur. They’d shifted in sleep, with Arthur now on his back and Charles’ arm draped over his midsection. Arthur’s arm must’ve been numb, with how it was pinned under Charles’ neck, but the heavily sleeping man didn’t seem to mind it.
Charles couldn’t help but smile, even if that seemed to be an arduous task. Arthur’s face looked younger in his sleep, with his expression relaxed, and the beard hiding so much of it — the shape, and the wrinkles around his mouth, the permanent fixture of a mischievous smile he wore often in Charles’ company.
Charles lifted his hand to caress the bearded cheek, slightly turning Arthur’s face toward him. It was a temptation he couldn’t resist, taking a better look at his lover.
Arthur’s face was more gaunt than it had been half a year ago. Now in the daylight, it was clear to see how uneven his complexion was — even more so than usual, the bruise on his temple and dark circles around his eyes popping out from his pale skin that was stark with freckles and broken capillaries. He'd acquired a new scar on his right cheek, partly covered by his thick, uncombed beard — and another two on both his top and bottom lip.
Still, he was the most beautiful man Charles had had the privilege of waking up next to.
“I’m still sleepin’, you monster.” Arthur’s drawl was always made heavier by intoxication and exhaustion, with his words gaining length and weight level with his tiredness. Charles didn’t think he’d heard the drawl as slow before as he did just now.
“You’re talking a lot, considering that,” Charles said and pressed a chaste kiss on Arthur’s mouth. His boyfriend opened his eyes slowly.
“I talk in my sleep,” he smiled.
“Well, pray tell, how do you know you’re still asleep?” Charles asked, glad Arthur dragged them closer together with his probably numb arm.
“You wouldn’t believe the dream I’m havin’,” he said, pressing another kiss on Charles’ lips.
The kiss was slow, dragging on the same way as Arthur’s words. Charles’ heart thumped, and the shroud of sleep was lifted slowly and tenderly off him. A kiss was suddenly two, by accident four, and for a moment there was not a future where they were not kissing… Until there was.
Charles pulled back as Arthur started with his hacking morning coughs, a sound so painful but so missed at the same time. Arthur rose to take his inhaler and water from the nightstand, then slipped back between the sheets so he was on his side as well. Sniffling, but able to breathe.
Here they were, looking eye to eye, months after Charles thought he’d never see those beautiful eyes, the wrinkles, the sandy hair that was now awkwardly covering Arthur’s face. Charles brushed the hair behind Arthur’s ear.
“Your hair grows fast,” Charles said. The corner of Arthur’s mouth tugged upward at that.
“You worried I’ll catch up to you?” he asked cheekily, and Charles chuckled.
“Sure, if you keep at it for, uh– the next four to five years.” Arthur blinked.
“...Would you braid my hair, then?” Arthur’s voice was low and hopeful. Charles nodded. He brought his hand to Arthur’s cheek, caressing the beard.
The promise hung on them like a painting on a ceiling, so vivacious and bright, yet still something you couldn’t see without straining. It was better left alone. The time would pass, even without trying to focus on what would be ahead.
“You were…” Charles didn’t know how to formulate the thought. Amazing? Well, that was obvious. Horny? Yeah, like the man hadn’t had sex in six months, but with the way he was sucking dick like Charles knew he hadn’t been able when they were still together…
“You’ve been practicing,” he landed on. His stomach flipped at the words. He was trying not to let it burn.
“Huh?” Arthur asked, narrowing his eyes.
“You’ve been growing your hair and sleeping around,” Charles tried to disguise it as a joke. It didn’t work out — it sounded pained and accusatory, and not lighthearted at all.
“Uh… yeah. I-I… I have,” Arthur finally said, blushing. It was less noticeable, with the beard.
“A lot.” That was a straight-up accusation. Not even a shade of jest in it.
“Well, yeah,” Arthur’s brow lowered and he huffed. “You left me,” his voice cracked.
Charles pursed his lips. Touché. That’s what you get, Smith, when you dump a sexy hunk of a man in a city this size. Men are going to want to take him on a ride, and he’ll be heartbroken enough to accept the invitation.
Charles assumed — with the general state of Arthur’s apartment and his slimmer look — the breakup hadn’t been easy on Arthur, either. Maybe sex (it could’ve even been dating) was his way of handling it, or — self-destructing. Charles knew how sex could be used in the wrong way.
“I– oh, Arthur, you know I didn’t have a choice,” Charles said, stomach still sinking with jealousy and… sorrow on how he’d missed such a big chunk of Arthur’s life. He should’ve been there with the man, not having his silly little breakdowns in his shithole of an apartment all alone.
“...I know,” Arthur said, still a shade of angry but much less so. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. It was earnest. Charles took Arthur’s hand and pressed a kiss on the scraped knuckles. He knew the man was sorry. Charles could still hear it from five to seventeen thousand times, though — at least every time his right hand tinged with pain.
“You were going to tell me something, last night,” Charles finally said, lowering his hand from Arthur’s face to his bare chest. The hair on the heave of it was abundant and soft, and if Charles wished deeply, it felt like it had missed Charles’ hand. When Arthur was lying on his side, the breasts pushed together, creating a cleavage. Charles traced his fingers between them.
Arthur’s gaze averted, and he ducked his head the best he could while lying on his side. Charles let him hide. Yesterday, telling all about his past and mistakes — it hadn’t been easy. He’d needed pauses, time, silence from time to time. He would give it to Arthur as well, especially now that they were so close to getting to the root of why Arthur behaved the way he did.
“...I said I never done — that I’d never killed no one who ain’t deserved it,” Arthur finally said. He wasn’t looking at Charles, still. He huffed. “But he’s the only one I can’t get out of my head.”
“...Okay,” Charles said after they’d been quiet for a moment. He wasn’t going to ask any questions like Arthur had yesterday, in his gentle curiosity. Arthur owed Charles the truth, but he wouldn’t coax any of it out of him. If months of being together hadn’t given the man the opportunity to bring in the effort of truth, now was the last call for it.
“I guess the others don’t haunt me ‘cause… Gah. Never told anyone this,” Arthur gave a slight shake of his head, swiping a hand over his eyes, clearly struggling.
In Charles’ case, Charles’ mother knew what had happened. He’d already told someone, before. Apparently, Arthur hadn’t. Imagine sitting with all these memories for years, decades.
“Well, never mind the whys,” Arthur finally got out, strained and weak. He scoffed in a berating manner, finally lifting his gaze to meet Charles’. “I think I can manage the whats better,” he said and took a deep breath.
The whats were… terrifying. Interesting, amazing, sometimes funny, sometimes even admirable. Arthur recounted how his inpatient treatment after his father’s murder turned into an adoption into a family with clinical issues with the general order of society. How his dads trying to go straight made them a hot mess, and Arthur’s life actually got better with each successful heist or crime, how his parents’ divorces (which had never gone through) made their family stronger.
It was a tale Charles could relate to on every level except factual. They’d lived such different lives and paths, with Charles thinking Arthur had taken a more active part in choosing, but deep in him he knew that was not the case.
There had been no path for Charles to travel other than what he’d taken.
There had been no path for Arthur, aside from the one he traveled.
They’d both done their best in a life that had dealt them both a shit hand. Charles wasn’t going to hold that above Arthur. The only thing he didn’t agree on, now on a proper thought, was thinking that Charles wouldn’t understand. Because he did, so deeply.
It was by luck, or happenstance, or mistake that those paths crossed, and Charles had never believed in destiny or whatnot but this — this felt like it would’ve happened the same fifty years ago. A hundred and fifty. Thousands and millions of years ago and into the future — something like this had happened and would not, and they were lucky they were here to experience the mistake.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Charles asked after a long and poignant silence. Arthur’s face drew into something closed-off. Charles didn’t like it.
“Remember when you first asked what I did for livin’?”
“Yeah,” Charles replied, instantly. It was over a year ago, but the butterflies in his stomach and the tingling on his skin were a memory his body would not let go. “When you were walking me to the bus stop when my car was in the shop.”
“That’s it,” Arthur said, pouting a little. “I-I — I thought about tellin’ you, right there and then. We was runnin’ a big — one of those pyramid scams in secret with Dad, just the two of us, and makin’ real nice money. I wanted to tell you, and ask you to run away with me,” Arthur said, and the blush crawled back on his face.
“...So why didn’t you?” Charles asked. His heart beat fast. Oh, what a path that would’ve been. Easier. More romantic. With fewer kidnappings.
“I was scared,” came the answer, from Arthur, whose eyes were darting between Charles’ and the pillow they shared and everything in between.
“Scared I’d call the cops?”
“Scared you’d laugh. And say no,” Arthur’s scarred lips drew into a thin line. Charles just looked at him, so beautiful in daylight. Still scared, from what seemed from how he was clutching the sheets, how he was breathing heavily. How his eyes were restless and how he was biting the inside of his lower lip.
“...Let’s try it again,” Charles said, his voice almost only an exhale. Arthur worked his jaw, the motion visible on his temple. “What do you do for a living?” Charles asked, echoing his question from a year past.
“Me an’ my dads… we have a family business,” Arthur started to formulate the thought slowly. “It ain’t exactly the legal kind, but the money’s good. Good good — good enough you ain’t need to work after this one is done.” Charles’ breath was shallow. Good money for a guy with his medical debt was an offer too good to be true. And maybe it was.
“And… I don’t rightly think I’m in my right mind, askin’ you this…” Arthur trailed off for a moment. Charles could hear now, with the confidence Arthur was putting forward, that this speech was practiced. Was it rumination of an exchange he’d gone over again and again, or something he’d been building the courage up to ask now?
“...But I’m real sweet on you and I’d like to– to… I’d like for you to come with me to this job we’re workin’ on. We get the money and get someplace. G-get away, together.” The air was thick and the tension thicker. “Come with me?”
Charles’ head was so full and so empty at the same time.
It was the biggest ask he’d ever been presented with. It was against all sense in Charles — he’d worked his ass off to get on the good side of the law, the good side of the worst parts of him.
Arthur’s life… It was dangerous in a way that Charles’ never was. The hurt and the violence were intentional, and not a byproduct. But, after last night… Charles knew he could take it if it was like that. If the violence was needed. Necessary, and tactical.
He’d never felt as close to another human being as he’d felt last night, after all the action and after baring himself to Arthur in multiple ways — he knew this man loved him to the moon and back. Arthur would die for him. Arthur would kill for him, no questions asked.
“You… asked Joe who he was working for,” Charles said, slowly. Arthur nodded.
“Yeah. Ain’t seen ‘im before and given his line of work, I should’ve,” he muttered, furrowing his brow. “I know Dad would never… You know that wasn’t him,” Arthur’s voice was pleading. Charles hummed. He didn’t really know that. But he knew Arthur, and Arthur only wanted what was best for Charles. He could trust him to do his best to keep him safe, even from a family member. He could.
“...How much is the take?” Charles asked before he could even start with the bundle of thoughts he was trying to untangle. He was safe with Arthur, that much he knew. Everything else would untangle on its own time.
“A lot,” Arthur said, quiet but certain.
“What is a lot, in your world?” Charles was afraid the money was going to answer in his place. The debt, the proven uncertainty of his career choice, the fact that he didn’t even know if he could compete ever again. What else did he have? What separated Charles from living on the street was not three or two paychecks, but one.
“It’s not set in stone, but…” Arthur bit his lower lip and blinked slowly. “We’re estimatin’ it around five million dollars—” that wasn’t bad, not even for a big team, “...Each. For a team of eight.”
“Fuck,” Charles gasped. “A-and if we do it together, you and me…”
“It’s ten million dollars, Charles,” Arthur said, shaking his head slowly as if he couldn’t believe it either. Fuck.
“And after…” Charles started, already saying yes with the question, even if he didn’t want to. Goddammit.
“We can do whatever. It’ll be clean money,” Arthur said, taking Charles’ hands into his own. The nailless pinky on Charles’ left hand throbbed. A warning.
But warnings can be ignored.
“What’s my part in this?”