𝐗𝐗𝐕𝐈

                                    

                                          
Awoken by few hushed mumbles of far away good mornings carried in the tepid fog covering Flat Iron Lake, you found yourself nestled into the side of a wagon on top of a cot bed. The elasticity offered support to your injury, as you turned to face the opposite way. Gathering your bearings, you noticed you were tucked into Arthur's canopy once more, the shades drawn; offering some privacy as he changed out of the Union suit he slept in, pulling on his usual work attire. 
You tugged the thin blanket, just covering your modesty, over the bottom half of your face. Hiding blushed cheeks as you revelled in the sight of the fine male specimen stood in-front of you. His back speckled with freckles and moles, like constellations in the night sky. Few hairs graced the top of his back and across his broad shoulders; faded into the dark neck tan he'd developed after years of labour. 
Scattered scars, some faded, some newer, littered the central part of his frame. Cicatrices of battle wounds told a thousand tales, you wished you could trace them with your finger tips and hear the stories behind each of them.
His thick thighs distinguished with dark androgenic hair, twitched as he pulled saddle pants over his bare legs. Your eyes followed the trail they left up to Arthur's hips, daring to linger not a second longer; all the while desperate to take a peak.
"Enjoyin' the view?" He turned to you. Buttoning his white linen shirt that made his skin appear darker than usual in the morning sunrise. 
Curling your legs up to your chest, flashing a little more skin than you probably should, you pulled the soft blanket over your head in embarrassment. 
Arthur chuckled in his low, husked tones. "Ain't no point hidin', princess, I saw y' takin a good look." Jesting at you, he pulled the blanket from you face, planting a delicate kiss on your forehead. 
"How did I end up here?" You questioned, trying to detangle your (h/c) bed hair with your fingers.
"Y' passed out in Grimshaw's tent—she figured my bed would be more supportive, for y' leg n' all." Arthur shrugged, using his arms to support his words, gesturing to the bed you were hurled up in. 
"Wouldn't be wantin' Karen bootin' that bruise in the middle of the night." He knelt down, inspecting the mark blemishing your thigh. 
The swelling and pain had eased some, leaving a hefty blood blister stretching slightly further down your limb; fading into purple just above your knee.
Wincing as Arthur skimmed his index finger across your thigh, the cowboy took his hand away as quickly as he'd placed it there, afraid he'd hurt you. 
"It's okay, Arthur—just sensitive." You giggled at how tender he viewed you, his desperation to not hurt you so sweet indeed.
"Coffee?" He offered. You were certainly not used to this luxury hotel treatment you were receiving. A glimpse of what it would be like in some distant, alternate universe, where yourself and Arthur woke up together every morning. Perhaps getting to work on a ranch the pair of you owned or taking a morning stroll by a river. 
"Mm—yes please." You hummed a half-lid, soft smile at the cowboy, wishing not to escape dreamland just yet.
With that, Arthur disappeared out of the shaded canopy. You chucked the soft linen blouse from yesterday over your arms. Unsure whether you'd be able to take saddle pants over your swollen leg, you felt the floor for the prairie skirt you'd seemed to have lost in the blank moments from entering Grimshaw's bedsit, to winding up under the comfort of Arthur's tent. 
Arthur used his head to create an entrance through the canvas material, placing both coffees on a side table. "Uh—how's it you get to watch me gettin' dressed but I don't get to take a look at chu'." His lips pursed like a child's when they don't get their own way.