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Thanks for the idea, @sadcowboah​! He does need to be spoiled. 

Summary: It’s come to your attention that Arthur is working himself too hard. You aim to change that – or at least give him some of the care and attention he deserves.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x AFAB Reader, she/her pronouns (Second Person Perspective)

Rating: Explicit

Tags: modern AU, established relationship, high honor Arthur, drinking/alcohol mention, pet names, fluff, porn with plot, reader has hair long enough to grab, healthy communication, lingerie, smut, blowjobs, sub Arthur/bottom Arthur, face-fucking, come swallowing, dirty talk, rimming, handjobs, multiple orgasms, mild gender fuckery, doggy style, praise kink, anal fingering, pegging 

Word Count: 9.9K

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There’s a very annoying sound coming from the kitchen every five minutes, and it’s disturbing your morning peace. In your state of semi-consciousness, you’re not able to grasp what it could be – only that it’s sharp and grating before engulfing your house in silence again, leaving as soon as it’d come. Only when the noise interrupts your on-again, off-again attempts at going back to sleep for the sixth or seventh time do you give up and roll out of bed.

It’s the goddamn microwave.Someone left something in the microwave, never took it out, and the thing’s been beeping for what could be hours now. Desperate to remind you that there’s food still inside. Blinking the sleep out of your eyes, you pop it open, and find a plate of last night’s leftovers. They’ve long gone cold.

You think you know where this is going.

Sure enough, when you round the corner into the living room, there he is. Still dressed in his work clothes and sleeping hard despite the ray of sunlight falling on his face, Arthur’s passed out on the couch after another overtime shift. Even though it disappoints you to know that he didn’t even eat before he ended up here, you can’t say it surprises you. This is the third day this week his job’s asked him to work late, after promising that it would be “a one-time thing”. Not to mention all the times it’s already happened this month. You feel like you barely see him sometimes.

Yet Arthur rarely complains, knowing that overtime brings in better pay, and feeling guilty leaving his company short-staffed. God, sometimes he’s too nice. If that were you, you’d agree to extra hours once or twice and tell them to deal with it once it started interfering with your home life. But no – not Arthur. Despite his tough outward appearance, he’s a big softie.

Hard to believe there was ever a time when you didn’t know that about him. Especially when you’ve been together so long, sharing space and a bathroom and meals. A bed. (Most nights, anyway.) Yet you can still remember him as the man with the mean scowl – and how it melted when you shyly asked him if he’d like to dance. He’d tripped over his own tongue, until finally managing to tell you that he couldn’t dance for shit. Looking equal parts embarrassed and terrified that you’d come up to him with such a question.

The bar is a little hole in the wall joint, with all the fixings you’d expect from such a place. Sticky countertops, neon signs advertising beers you’ll never drink. A jukebox that hasn’t been used in a decade. “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” playing in earnest about once an hour. Almost from a different time, still trying to hang on. It wouldn’t surprise you if this bar goes out of business soon. The few lonely souls still drinking here seem like no more than ghosts themselves, relics of a different age.

You sip on your mango daiquiri, feeling the cherry on top bump your lip, and take another weary look around the place. Not exactly the bar you’d had in mind when it’d popped up on your phone, though there isn’t much you can do about it. You’re new in town, trying to get familiar with what there is to do in a place so rural. You’re quickly learning the answer; not much. I’ll finish this and go, you think to yourself. Head back home.

You’re down to the whipped cream in the bottom of your glass when the cowboy walks in. Heads turn as he lets in sunlight through the creaking door, a few exclamations of recognition ringing out as he moves across the room. The man only raises a hand in response, nodding at folks as he makes his way to the bar. He’s younger than everyone else in here, you note, the old souls come to drown their sorrows. Closer to your age.

This man wears a dusty flannel shirt and real cowboy boots, tapping across the hardwood, each step pronounced. Jeans that fit him well. Brown hair tousled to one side. He takes a seat at the bar, says something to the man behind the counter that you can’t make out over the low country blues playing from the speakers above you. The bartender grins in answer, handing him a beer.

Your glass is empty now, with only whipped cream residue clinging to its sides to show that there was ever anything in it in the first place. Sure, you said you’d leave after one drink…but what’s the harm in staying for one more? It’s not like you have anywhere to be tonight. Your belongings are more or less unpacked, back at your new place. There’s nothing urgent to attend to in the next few hours. You’re free as a bird, as the saying goes. Does your newfound desire to stick around have anything to do with the man that just walked in?

Well, yes.

Feeling somewhat shy, you amble up to the counter (steering clear of the handsome stranger for now) and order yourself another daiquiri. Letting the first sweet sip melt on your tongue, you settle in the back of the bar. It feels weird to watch someone like this, but you have a feeling you need a bit more alcohol in you before you can find the courage to walk up and say hello.

Two drinks later, your feet are tapping along to the music, though you’ve never heard the song in your life. The neon lights shimmer a little brighter under your pleasant buzz, your confidence bolstered after each fruity drink. Now you’re not trying to hide the way you look at the man sitting across the room, though he hasn’t glanced over at you once. He seems content to sip his beer and scroll through his phone, keeping to himself. That, combined with his simple good looks, keeps you lingering at your little table for much longer than you meant to.

Why is it so hard to get out and meet new people? To take that first leap? For a split second, you almost leave the bar, worried that you’ll be bothering him. But you swallow down the strike of fear; you’ve waited this long. You can at least go over and say hello. Leaving your half-full glass on the table, you get to your feet, ignoring how the world tries to wobble around you. You’ve got this. The worst he can do is tell you to fuck off, right?

Shouldn’t have thought of that. But the man is only feet away now, close enough to touch, and you tremble out your greeting.

“Um, excuse me.”

He turns, putting his phone down. “Yeah?”

Your first thought is that you’ve made a terrible mistake. What were you thinking, walking up to a stranger with no game plan? As soon as you see the suspicious frown on his face, every conversation topic you’ve ever heard of vanishes from your head. It occurs to you that although this man’s handsome, he’s also…frightening. Your heart skips, wondering if perhaps he will tell you to fuck off, dashing all your hopes of making a friend – or more – in such an unfamiliar place.

Above you, the music changes, the track sliding into another uptempo number meant to get people out of their seats. There is something of a dance floor here, though you doubt it’s actually been used in years.

Without much thought, you use the shift in song to your advantage. “Would you like to dance? With – with me?”

Oh, smooth. Real smooth.

The music plays on for a few beats while he stares at you, eyebrows raising as if he hadn’t heard you right. When he realizes that you’re going to keep standing here until you get an answer, his eyes dart down to his lap, almost shy, before taking a last swig of his beer.

“I can’t dance for shit,” he admits at last. “You sure you got – the right feller?”

He twists to look around the room, answering his own question. No one else in here looks much like him. There are a few old-timers nursing whiskeys hanging around the edges of the room or sitting at the bar. To be honest, they aren’t the type of men you’re interested in.

“We don’t have to dance,” you amend, wishing you hadn’t abandoned your glass back at the table. It would be nice to have something to wrap your hands around while you humiliate yourself. “Um. I’ve just – been sitting over there working up the courage to say hi, and that’s the first stupid question that popped into my head.”

The man’s face goes soft.

Not much for dancin’,” he says, “But if you want to sit and talk, I don’t mind. Name’s Arthur. You new in town? Don’t reckon I’ve seen you around.“

Arthur pats the barstool beside him, and you pull yourself onto it, numb with relief. That could’ve gone so much worse, even if you’d fumbled your way through it.

For the next few hours, you nurse a bottle of water, getting to know the man beside you. Turns out, he isn’t as tough and scary as he looks. Once the two of you break past that initial awkward layer of first-time conversation, Arthur has plenty to say, plenty to ask you, all without making you feel uncomfortable or pressured. Talk flows easily – about the town, what you both do for a living, how you’d ended up in this bar. Turns out Arthur – Arthur Morgan – is kind, and a little funny, and very easy to get along with.

Funny how one little chance encounter can lead to deciding to share your life with someone. Years later and now you’re staring down at his sleeping face, deciding whether to wake him or let him rest a little longer. He’s spread out across the couch that you bought second hand in a Goodwill, after deciding to move in together. Sleeping in the living room decorated with your mishmash of belongings. His wooden carvings of animals, your prints from local artists. Everything signaling that your lives are mingled in a way that’s impossible to pull apart. Your home – this physical place – belongs to the people inside it as much as you belong to one another.

"Arthur,” you say softly, crouching down. “Honey. Hey.”

He stirs after a few shakes on the shoulder. And though Arthur seems confused – and still tired – upon waking, he doesn’t fail to smile when he sees your face. That’s worth more than all the extra money he’s intent on bringing home. Arthur leans in to give you a kiss on the forehead, and you pull him into a hug. It’s warm and familiar, and though you wish he would’ve been there to join you in bed the night before, there’s no denying that the man’s cozy in any capacity.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.”

“Morning,” you answer, letting yourself melt into the smell of him.

Sawdust, cedarwood, and a hint of leather, all combining to form your favorite man. When he told you he was a carpenter all those years ago, you thought it suited him. His hands were calloused, hardened from work but dexterous, too. He’s been doing carpentry since he was just sixteen, apprenticing under two men who were kind enough to take him on for a summer. You know he’s lucky to be so experienced in the trade, yet you can’t help but resent it a little, too. Arthur’s company can never resist taking advantage of his spare time or his expertise.

“Didn’t get to your dinner, I see.”

“No,” he says, with a hint of guilt. Arthur pulls away, sitting up with a stretch and a wince. “Never quite – made it there.”

“But you’ll be home in time for dinner tonight, right?” His hesitation is all the answer you need. You sigh in frustration, getting to your feet again. “Arthur… I miss you. Are you at least off tomorrow, still?”

“Yes!” he’s quick to assure you. “Yeah, I wouldn’t – wouldn’t go in on a day off.”

When you don’t reply, Arthur sighs too, wringing his hands. “I know, it’s gettin’ pretty bad. I keep tryin’ to talk to Dutch about it, but he always says he’s busy, to have faith that we’re gonna get through this bad patch. I dunno, darlin’. It sucks.”

“I’m worried about you.” You move to sit down beside him, leaning your weight against his shoulder. “All this overtime isn’t healthy. Did you even get lunch yesterday?”

He mumbles out something unintelligible. You have a feeling that means no. Damn it, this man sure knows how to stress you out, doesn’t he? You take a steadying breath, determined not to take your frustration and worry with the situation out on Arthur. The two of you can discuss this like adults – after you’ve both got a meal in your stomachs.

“I can make breakfast,” you offer. “How about you get in the shower?”

“I’d love that.” Again Arthur’s lips land on your face, teasing kisses on your cheek, the bridge of your nose. “Thankyou.”

You part ways. Humming along to the playlist you start from your phone’s music app, you reach into the cabinets and pull out what you’ll need to make pancakes. Chocolate chip for you, blueberry for him. Arthur won’t be expecting you to be making anything fancier than eggs and toast, but you don’t mind working a little harder. God knows he’s been busting his ass here lately.

By the time you get the batter mixed up and the skillet hot, you notice that Arthur’s left his phone lying on the kitchen counter. Not unusual; you both leave yours to charge out here overnight. What catches your eye is his screen lighting up, right as you ladle the first circle of batter down, scattering a handful of blueberries into its pale center. You don’t mean to be nosy. But the glance you get of the screen tells you that Arthur has an email, and you’ve read the first line on instinct.

We adore your work, and the position is open if you’d ever consider –

The notification vanishes, leaving only one more clue behind it; who’d sent the email in the first place. Maker’s Art Studio. You know the name. It’s a place outside of town; one or two of the paintings decorating your house have come from the artists who work there. You didn’t know that Arthur sent them some of his own stuff. Not that you don’t think it’s a great idea; he’s an amazing artist. Whether it’s woodwork or done on paper, Arthur has creative talent far beyond what you can manage.

What you’d seen stays in your mind as each pancake cooks, flips, and makes its way to a plate. By the time Arthur’s out of the shower, you’re almost done, sorting them into neat stacks and getting the syrup out of the pantry. He thanks you for the extra effort put into making them, insisting you didn’t have to go through the trouble, and you reply by telling him it’s no trouble at all. A routine you know all too well – the man has a hell of a time taking a bit of kindness when it comes his way.

As you eat together in companionable silence, you struggle with whether to remark on the email. Do you admit to seeing it and tell him you know he’s thinking about leaving his job? You’d be nothing but supportive. At the same time, it might spark defensiveness in him. Knowing Arthur, submitting anything he’s drawn or made to the art studio would be something he did on a whim, without expecting a real response from them. And now that he’s gotten one, he’ll be keen to ignore them, conflicted about the opportunity they’re presenting.

Staring at your chocolate-chip freckled pancakes, you decide to let it be, for now. He’s still got one more overtime shift to get through before his day off tomorrow. Maybe after a little rest, he’ll be more open to talking about something like that. You don’t want to spring that on him when he only has a few more hours before going right back into work. It’s difficult enough to navigate talk about all the extra overtime he’s taken on here lately. He’s tired, you’re frustrated, and both of you sorely miss one another.

“What do you want to do tomorrow?” you spear your last bite of pancake, frowning when a string of syrup attaches itself to your chin.

“Nothin’, really.” Arthur gets up from the kitchen table, putting both of your plates in the sink. “Stay in. Be lazy. Wouldn’t say no to not leavin’ the bed at all, if that’s okay. Watchin’ some movies or somethin’.”

“I can get behind that.” You hesitate. “Are you – are you gonna talk to Dutch? About these hours?”

“I’ll say somethin’,” he answers, though with a little less confidence than you’d like to hear. “I know I’m not the only one gettin’ tired of it.”

“Thank you.”

It isn’t until long after he’s gone, packed up once more in his faithful blue pickup truck, that a plan starts to form in your mind.

————

Arthur comes home late, as you knew he would. This time you stay up to hear him unlock the door, kicking off his boots with a world-weary sound. You’re restless as he makes his way to the kitchen, opening the fridge to find the plate you’ve saved. Even as the firm hand of sleep threatens to press down again on your eyes, you don’t want to roll over until you hear him eating it. The microwave whirs into life, and this time, Arthur opens the door right before the beep can sound. You relax a little, hearing him take it out – the silverware drawer rattles, shortly followed by a chair pulled out at the table.

The next thing you know, his side of the bed dips, bringing you back to consciousness. You must’ve drifted off after hearing him get his dinner. Arthur’s hand lands gently on your shoulder, to check if he’s woken you, and you turn to face him.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “Go on back to sleep, sweetheart.”

“Mmm…” you take his hand and kiss it, pleased when he lowers himself to the mattress and crawls under the blanket with you. “S’okay.”

Arthur pulls you close, his chest against your back, and you wiggle to remove any distance that might remain. You love being tucked in, cuddled up and cozy. To be honest, you wouldn’t mind spending an entire day off like this, as he’d suggested. But you’ve got other things you want to do – things you know that Arthur will enjoy. The thought makes you smile a little as he settles against you with a drowsy sound.

“Love you,” he says, a low murmur. “Jus’ you and me tomorrow. You lookin’ forward to it?”

You grin. “More than you know.”

————–

You’d found the nice lingerie lingering in the back of your closet. Something bought when your relationship was brand new, heated, and willing to ignite with only a touch. The babydoll set is dark blue and sheer, with a matching thong. Oh, you remember the first time he’d seen you in it. Even now, running the lace over your fingers, you get goosebumps at the memory.

He’d run his hand up your skirt after a teasing remark that you’d dressed up for him that night, felt the material. The look on his face was priceless; mild shock fading into bottomless lust. The two of you barely made it inside before he was undressing you, drinking you in with an appreciative growl between kisses. Slipping the thong to the side so he could push inside you, right there in the hallway. Hard, fast, so fucking good –

You swallow, throat gone dry. Right now, Arthur’s still asleep. With any luck, he’ll stay that way for a while. You’ve done him the favor of snoozing his regular alarm for a few hours – lord only knows why the man thinks he needs to get up so early on his day off. In the meantime, you’re going to get a start on the day.

Slipping out of your regular pajamas, you don the lingerie, careful that nothing’s peeking out before putting your oversized t-shirt and sweatpants back on. Can’t have him guessing your little secret too soon. With that done, you crouch at the bottom of the closet to look for the other things you’ll need today, smiling a little as you hold them. It’s been a long time since they’ve gotten any use. Toolong.

With that done, you settle back on the bed, content to wait. Though you’d turned off his alarm, it isn’t long before Arthur wakes up on his own anyway – some habits are hard to break. He’s always been an early riser, even before moving to these annoying mid-day shifts. You shuffle in the covers to face him as he blinks awake, bumping your forehead to his in a playful greeting.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

He hums in response, dragging a warm arm over your waist. “Mornin’, angel.”

The low, drowsy rasp of his voice goes right through you. There’ve been many, manytimes when you’ve heard Arthur’s voice lowered like that in a moment of passion, teasing, whispering the filthiest things. And the last time he’d called you angel…well. The situation had been anything but innocent.

Damn. The idea was to build up to this before you pounced on him, but your pulse is already flying. You and Arthur haven’t had sex in a week – no – twoweeks?– and even sitting across the table from him eating a meal is starting to affect you. Watching his hands, wishing they were on your body. Trading smiles and hoping he can’t see what’s going on in your head. Touching yourself alone, wanting him to be there more than anything.

Arthur’s hard, but that’s not a surprise. He’s just woken up, after all. Still, you gravitate down, trailing your fingers down the planes of his stomach until you’re holding what you want through the material of his sweatpants. Arthur feels thick and solid and good in your grasp, and you fight not to let out a little sound of want. To let this all seem casual.

“Hey,” he chuckles. “Hold up there, missy. Where d'you think you’re goin’ with that hand?”

You grin, nosing into the soft hair of his stomach. The trail leads right where you want to go, and you can hear Arthur’s breath catch when you shift lower.

“Who said anything about my hand?”

Giving him one more squeeze, you let go of his length. Now Arthur’s fully hard, watching you with lake-blue eyes devoid of tiredness. You kiss more on the expanse of his stomach, right where his sweatpants meet his hips, knowing he’ll squirm at the building anticipation. Arthur loves having your mouth on his cock, though he rarely asks for it. Sliding a finger under the waistband, you teasingly slip his pajamas down, exposing a little of his hip for you to see.

“You don’t – have to,” Arthur breathes out, though the look in his eyes suggests he very much wants you to proceed.

“Been working so hard lately.” You gesture for him to raise up, and Arthur does so without a beat of hesitation. The sweatpants shuffle down to his knees, underwear too, leaving his shaft to bob up eager and flushed. “Let me spoil you for a minute.”

“Yesma'am –” Arthur’s voice trembles as you press your lips to his cockhead, the lightest kiss.

You like the sound of that word in his mouth.

“Attaboy.”

The soft sigh that leaves him when you lick down the underside of his cock sends goosebumps up your arms. With one hand, you grasp him tight at the base, slowly stroking what you can’t fit in your mouth – which, admittedly, is a lot. Lavishing attention on the sensitive tip, you take your sweet time before you even put your mouth around him, sucking in your cheeks to apply that pressure you know he craves.

“Fu– sweetheart,” he whines, twisting a careful hand into your hair. “That’s so good.”

You purr in response, a deep, throaty sound that sends vibrations through what you’re sucking on. Looking up to make eye contact, you find Arthur staring down at you, brows knit together in earnest concentration. He’s chewing hard on his lip, like it’s taking everything in him to stay so still for you. Like he’s holding back to keep from thrusting, from fucking your mouth and coming hard. Doubtless he’s had some alone time with his hand in the weeks you’ve gone without sex, but the desperation on his face drives you wild anyway.

Opening your throat, you take him deeper. This is the part about oral you don’t like much. Not the ache in your jaw, but the inevitable drip of drool that follows from having something so large shoved in your mouth for so long. For Arthur, though, you’re willing to tough it out. Especiallyif he’s going to be so enthusiastic.

Your hand and mouth work in tandem to keep all of him stimulated. Arthur’s hips flex off of the mattress, just a little, but it’s enough for you to feel the difference in the back of your throat. He wants to go faster – the sharp puffs of breath he’s huffing out with every thrust prove it – and you know he’d never ask. No; the man needs your permission.

“Arthur,” you say quietly, pulling off of him with little elegance. “Do you want to fuck my throat?”

He hesitates, swallows. Inches from your face, his dick is bright pink and leaking, shiny with your spit. His balls lie full and heavy underneath, and the longer he takes to answer, the more you squirm. God, you want to fuck him.

“Yes,” he admits at last. “But you don’t have to if you don’t want. If you ain’t comfortable.”

“Arthur,”you say again, more insistent this time. Arousal pounds its way between your legs, a heartbeat. “I told you I wanted to spoil you. And if I need to stop, I will. Okay?”

Arthur mumbles his agreement as you rise to your knees, gesturing that you should switch places. In an instant, Arthur follows your command, letting you lie flat on your back in the bed as he straddles your chest, breathing heavily to linger over you. He nudges his cock to your lips, his gaze uncertain, and you flash him a reassuring smile.

“C'mere.”

You get your hand around him again, adjusting so that you’re in a better position to take him like this. Looking at your partner with eyes full of trust, you place your lips around him once more, and Arthur takes it as his cue. He thrusts into the wet heat of your mouth, gently at first. When you place your hands on his hips and moan out your wordless encouragement, letting him know that you can take more, he ups the pace.

“Fuck,” he says softly, letting his eyes slip closed as he finds a steady rhythm. “Oh, oh fuck –”

There we go.

With his sweatpants still tangled around his ankles, Arthur starts to lay into you. Every thrust gets a little harder, a little sloppier, as he loses himself in the bliss of your mouth swallowing him up. You only gaze up at him with all the smirk you can manage. It’s a pleasure to see him like this, completely lostin passion. There are so few opportunities to see Arthur let go and think only about himself, especially when it comes to sex.

From the way he’s gripping onto the shoulders of your t-shirt, you don’t think it’ll last much longer. There’s a desperate snap to his hips now, something frantic in the way he utters your name. The bed creaks a little as he fucks your throat, gasping and panting and screwing up his face in that gorgeous expression that you know means –

“Sweetheart, oh my god yes –!”

The first hot pulse hits the back of your throat and you swallow on instinct. Arthur pulls back, not wanting to choke you, and a dribble of come paints your lips and cheek. You reach up to wipe it away, tasting it as he watches, and he makes a little sound of want.

“Sorry,” he says, scooting back off of your chest. “Didn’t realize I was that close.”

“I didn’t mind.” You give him another grin, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

Arthur all but pouts. “What kinda question is that?!”

You giggle, rolling over on your stomach. “I just had to make sure! You always say it to me.”

“Guess I do.” He ruffles your hair fondly before rising from the mattress with a slight wince. Sore from work again, you’re sure. All the more reason for the two of you to stay in bed today and follow the plans you’ve made. “Think I’m gonna hop in the shower. You comin’?”

Normally you would. You love bathing together, getting all warm and soapy under the hot water. But you’re already dressed and ready for him, and letting Arthur go alone gives you the perfect opportunity to set up in here.

“Nah, I – I’m good,” you say, hoping it sounds casual. “You go ahead.”

Arthur shrugs. “Alright.”

Grabbing fresh clothes, he heads out, without any further scrutiny. Perfect. Now that he’s gone, you shut the bedroom door and take off your pajamas, revealing the lingerie underneath. Giving yourself a quick once-over in the full length mirror to make sure it’s not wrinkled, a little thrill goes through you to see how good you look in it. You’re sure Arthur will think so, too.

Next, you grab the other things that stay tucked away in the closet when you’re not using them, secure in a plastic storage box. The strap-on harness feels good in your hands, just as you know it’ll feel against your body. Along with it comes your favorite dildo. Slightly curved, not too huge, perfect for hitting certain sweet spots in a cowboy who’s been overworking himself.

You place the toys on the floor beside the nightstand, pulling a bottle of lube from the drawer. When you hear the shower water stop running, you take care to arrange yourself nicely on top of the blankets; legs crossed, back straight. Waiting. Only minutes until he comes back to find you like this. You’re almost nervous.

Arthur doesn’t disappoint. His eyes land on you as soon as the bedroom door opens, his surprise quickly turning to appreciation. And though he’d been in the process of putting on a shirt, he stops as he takes you in, perhaps realizing that doing so would be counterproductive. You can’t help the rush of excitement that spikes through your chest as Arthur approaches the bed, his eyes full of renewed lust.

“What’s all this?” he says lightly, tossing the shirt on the floor.

“You said you wanted to stay in bed all day,” you reply, letting your legs fall open. “I figured I could make it…interesting.”

“Oh?”

He sinks onto the mattress, crawling toward you with a knowing smirk. Your breath hitches as one of his big hands squeezes your ankle, his palm sliding up your bare calf. The look of enjoyment on his face only grows the further up you let that hand go – past your knee, to your thigh, higher. Arthur’s fingers rest on your barely-covered pussy as he straddles you, arm dipping low between your bodies.

“That why you’re wrapped up all pretty like a present for me?”

Come on, think. Say something.

Arthur reaches up to trace the little bow between your breasts before pinching one of your nipples, drawing a little mewl out of you. The bulge of his cock presses deep into your core, hardening again after the brief respite, and you arch up into him on instinct. Every muscle in your body wants to give in, to let him slip your lace panties down and take you now.But this isn’t what you had in mind – and it definitely won’t benefit his sore back and knees.

“Yes and no,” you manage, trembling when his mouth finds your earlobe.

“Now, what does that mean?”

“Itmeans,” you say, fighting to keep your voice from quivering, “that you lie here on this bed and let me do the work.”

“You sure you want that?” he whispers.

His length is rock-solid against your body, a promise of what he could give you if only you said the word. God, you know he would lay into you if you asked. Grabbing you by the waist and fucking you deep with every thrust, bracing your legs on his shoulders. Or taking you from behind, shaking the whole bed frame. Rendering you speechless with the ferocity of every motion.

“I want you to relax even more.”

Arthur grins. “Fuckin’ you would relax me.”

You roll your eyes a little. “How about Ifuckyou for a change? Work you open until you’re ready for my cock? How does that sound?”

Now it’s Arthur’s turn to look flustered. He twitches against your belly, like even the thought is enough to excite him. His face is a light pink, like the concept is something he’s thought about more than once recently. Like it’s something he wants, maybe even more than the original idea he’d proposed.

“Been so long since we did that…” he breathes, licking his lips.

“Mm…” You lean up to kiss him. “Does that mean the answer’s yes, or no?”

There’s passion in the way he kisses you back, his tongue swiping at your bottom lip in only seconds. His hips rut into you over and over, relieving the friction, and you can’t help moaning at the feeling. You ache for him, knowing that if this little game goes on much longer you won’t be able to resist having him take you. Luckily, Arthur lifts up, dragging his gaze over your rumpled lingerie with eyes that burn.

“That’s gonna be a yes,” he says. “So long as I get to pay you back before the day’s through.”

You don’t protest, but it’s a near thing. Here you are making a big deal about him not having to do anything but relax and enjoy himself, and what does he do? Insist on paying you back in kind. Well, you’ll just have to spoil him so good that he forgets about it. Today you aim to pamper him, make him forget about the goddamned overtime and all the aches that come with it. Hell, maybe you’ll even make him get serious about telling his boss he needs to work less.

“Whatever you want,” you answer instead, reaching to squeeze his ass.

That’s enough to get him up. Giggling a little at his sudden motivation to switch places, you lean over the edge of the bed and fish up your strap-on. Arthur raises his eyebrows, looking from the dildo to you and back, and you smile innocently as you clamber off the bed. He shifts to make himself comfortable, watching as you place one leg through the straps, then the other, tightening them as you go.

“Had the whole thing set up and ready?”

“Sure did,” you say cheerfully, sliding your cock into place.

He bites his lip as he watches it bob up and down, one hand clenching beside him in the blankets. When it comes your turn to dominate, you know he has a tendency to get…impatient. Because as slow and as sweet as Arthur can be when he’s making love to you – or as fast and as hard as you can ask him to be – he’s a writhing mess under your ministrations. The instant you touch his hole, he has trouble keeping composure. That’s part of what you love about this.

And seeing such a powerful man brought to heel? Well, there’s nothing wrong with getting off on that, either. Instead of grabbing the lube off the nightstand to start opening him up like you normally would, you give Arthur an easygoing smile. Rejoining him on the bed, you position yourself back between his open legs, placing a hand on each thigh, stroking in soothing circles. He shudders in a trembling breath when you straddle his waist, your length brushing up against his, eager to kiss you again.

His bare skin feels good through the lace. With almost no barrier between you, you can feel his heart working hard. This time, Arthur lets you lead the touch, backing off and allowing you to do what you please as you press your lips to his again and again. But he’s still holding onto you – as eager as he seems about the whole situation, you’d be concerned if he wasn’t. His hands grip your ass as you roam lower, breaking the kiss to nip at his neck and collarbone.

“Haveyou been thinking about this?” you ask.

Your breath ghosts over his nipple, and you’re pleased to see it perk up in response. He’s sensitive here, too, but you won’t focus on them today. This is only a prelude as you toy with him, seeing how much he’ll take.

“It’s a – possibility,” he says, already hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants to get them off for you. A brief moment passes as they get tossed to the floor, leaving him naked for you. “Missed you so much, sweetheart. Been way too long.”

“I know,” you murmur.

When you dip your head to the tip of his cock, you know what he’s expecting. That you’ll take him in your mouth again, tease a little before moving on. Not this time. If your hunch is right, he’ll like this better. Instead you breeze past it, unable to keep yourself from gripping him once in your hand before going lower. You kiss at the skin of his balls, lavishing attention on them for a moment.

“Hand me the lube?”

Arthur does as you ask, reaching over. The familiar little bottle lands beside you, and you grab it with a soft thanks.The cap pops, liquid inside moving sluggishly as it’s tilted upside-down. This particular bottle is flavored, something both of you have had an exorbitant amount of fun with since you bought it. The mild scent of strawberries greets you now as you squeeze a little into your hand, rubbing it between your fingers.

“Now spread for me, gorgeous.”

He does, without even a protest at the compliment. You’re proud of him for it, grinning to yourself as you warm the lube with your breath. Carefully, you touch two digits to his hole, feeling him flinch at first. After it’s spread around to your liking, you lower your mouth back down to his thigh, kissing delicately as the tip of your middle finger works in circles. Only teasing, for now. Arthur’s breath comes in short bursts, like he’s too busy concentrating on what you’re doing to remember how to suck in a full inhale.

Wiggling to lie on your side, you drift back to his cock, giving it one slow lick. He arches up, groaning at the feeling, and you have to marvel at how goddamn good Arthur looks like this. Just lying here, waiting for whatever you’re willing to do to him. You never knew being in charge was such an incredible turn-on until you started dating Arthur, but now that you have the knowledge, there’s no going back.

You nose down further. He gasps quietly when you pass his balls, kissing down the skin of his perineum, clenching when your hot breath touches his hole.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers. “God fuck –”

“You want my mouth?” your voice is low, sultry, one hand caressing the back of his thigh. “You want me to help get you ready like this?”

His answering moan is helpless. “Please.”

“Just relax. I’ve got you.”

Taking another moment to kiss around his entrance without actually touching it, you let him get used to the sensation of having you there. And when you place your tongue to him, Arthur’s thighs tighten around you with a quiet curse. You start with small licks, using only the tip of your tongue against his hole. He tastes like lube and warm, clean skin. Circling his hole incites a string of drawn-out whimpers as Arthur fights not to arch up into your mouth.

What is it with this man and holding back? You think in exasperation, spreading his thighs wider. Some instinct from who knows how long ago always seems to press on the back of his mind. He never wants to go all-out unless you tell him it’s okay. While you appreciate the concern for your own comfort – you really do – you want to see Arthur let loose and enjoy himself, too.

“Feel good?”

“Feelsso good,” he says at once, his voice colored with honesty and lust.

The confession makes you even wetter within the confines of the flimsy lace thong. With the material of the strap-on rubbing against it, the sensation only burns brighter. A part of you is impatient to be inside him, to finally watch your cock sink into his body – but all in due time.

“Don’t be afraid to tell me what you want,” you urge. “This is about you.”

Arthur nods, though you aren’t certain he’s going to take advantage of that open invitation. Then, with a shaky breath, he speaks again.

“Want you to – go faster. Please.”

You grin. Wordlessly, you press your tongue back to his tight hole, licking at an ever-increasing pace. Arthur moans above you, running a hand through your hair like he can’t decide whether to hold you back or push you in deeper.

“Can you, um,” he starts, cutting himself off like asking would be too much. You wait patiently, kissing up and down his taint until he can find the words. “t-touch me? While you –?”

“While I eat you out?” It’s hard to get a good look at his face from here, but you’re almost positive that he’s blushing. Satisfied with that response, you reach up and grasp his cock tight. “Of course, sweet boy.”

As you start stroking him in time with what you’re doing to his ass, Arthur begins to lose his sense of control. You hear him slap a hand over his mouth to stifle the loud sound of pleasure – but it echoes into the bedroom regardless. A stifled groan as he finally lifts his hips and thrusts into what you’re doing. You answer with your own encouragement, flicking the tip of your tongue inside of him, rewarded with a strong tug at your hair.

“Darlin’ oh god yes,” he gasps out. “Jus’ like that – keep goin’ – please, please don’t stop –”

“You gonna come for me?” you say roughly, pausing only to ask the question and lick a wet stripe up the base of his cock.

“Yes –!”

The single word is high, desperate bliss, and in the seconds that follow, Arthur keeps his promise. He shoots over his own stomach, over your hand, keening your name as each pulse brings more come. You shimmy onto your knees, kissing Arthur’s as you do, happy to see him staring up at the ceiling blissed out and covered in his own mess.

His eyes slide to you. “Goddamn, woman.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment?”

“Pssh. C'mere.”

You tuck yourself under his arm, happy to rest for a minute or two. His skin is warm and sticky with sweat, and you’re proud that you did that to him. Arthur’s pulse still pounds when you rest your head on his shoulder, and you snuggle in there, grinning. Of course, you’ll both have to pause and clean up a little in a minute, but for now…rest. Then back to your plans.

“You sure are spoilin’ me,” he says after a beat of quiet. His lips brush your temple, light but fervent. “I appreciate it, sweetheart. Appreciate you. Not jus’ this, but – all of it. Everything. Your patience. Your…kindness.”

Arthur sighs, looking away. “You know I ain’t good at this. Better at writin’ it down. But I wanted you to know.”

You’re struck with a glow of warmth for the man that has nothing to do with the temperature of his skin.

“You’re sweet,” you say, kissing his shoulder. He tastes like salt, but you can’t bring yourself to mind. “You know I appreciate you too. Your hard work and everything youdo for me.”

“Hard work,” Arthur repeats with a sigh. “Seems like it ain’t gonna stop here lately.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Do you let the conversation fizzle out? Or…bring up what you’d seen on his phone yesterday? This wouldn’t be a terrible segue. And the longer you have time to think about it, the more you really want him to try and accept the position they’re offering. In an art studio, he wouldn’t just have the opportunity to sell and paint new work. He’d be teaching others. You know he’d love it.

“So, um…” you begin, awkward. “I saw something on your phone yesterday morning.”

He turns to look at you. “Shit. If it was a text from Sean, don’t take it serious –”

“No, not that.” Though you’re sure he’s right. “An email popped up. From Maker’s Art Studio?”

Arthur lets his head fall back to the pillows, seeming to sink back into the mattress like he’s deflating. “Oh. Yeah.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I dunno, sweetheart,” he says, tone going earnest. “It means I’d love to try and do somethin’ like that but I’m worried. What if it ain’t enough money? What if the benefits aren’t good? What if I’m not any good at it?”

The doubts are listed off on his fingers one after another, like it’s something he’s given a lot of thought to. Just as you’d suspected, Arthur’s ignoring the good things about this opportunity because he’s scared about what could go wrong. He’s a notorious worrier – about you, about his friends, about anything important to him. And it holds him back.

“Arthur,” you say softly, making sure he’s looking at you. “I think that you’re –”

“Only focusin’ on the negative,” he finishes. “I know, I know. But takin’ such a different job after all this time – it’s a big step.”

“It is,” you agree. “And you should definitely weigh all the pros and cons. I think it’d be good for you.”

“You might be right.” He concedes with another long sigh, staring up at the ceiling. “I’ll think about it. Alright?”

“Okay.”

You reach over to kiss him again, on the lips this time, and Arthur hums into the gentle touch. It lasts for longer than you meant it to as you taste one another, his hand tangling in your hair with an urgency you wouldn’t expect after what you’ve just done to him. Looks like he’s still eager to have you put the strap-on to use.

“Time to go again?” You tease. “I didn’t put this thing on for nothing, you know.”

“Wouldn’t mind if you did,” says Arthur casually. “You look sexy in it.”

Your face gets hot, though this is far from the first time he’s called you that. Wearing the strap-on does make you feel sexy, powerful, dominant. Knowing that Arthur likes you in it too only adds to the experience. You like the way the thing feels under your fingers, how it looks jutting out from your hips. Even though it isn’t technicallypart of your body, there are times when you wish it was.

“How do you want me?” you ask, after he’s cleaned up.

Arthur takes a moment to think about it, looking at you sitting there on the bed in your lingerie. It may have been a long time since you’ve had sex since he’s taken on all these extra hours at work, but it’s been even longer since you’ve taken him like this. Months, even. But from the way he’s growing hard again, standing there and contemplating how he wants you to fuck him, you have a hunch that the two of you will be making this a more common occurrence.

“On my hands and knees,” he mumbles. “Least to start.”

“Nice and deep, huh.”

Uncapping the lube again, you gesture for him to join you. Arthur nods, unashamed in his intentions, settling across from you on the mattress. Your tongue did a little work opening him up, but there’s still a ways to go before he’ll be ready to take your cock. Luckily, he knows exactly what to do. He lies down on his side, letting one leg fall open as you drizzle plenty of lube onto your fingers.

“Good boy,” you praise.

He turns his face away, biting on a small smile, and you kiss his knee. Always so shy for this part. Massaging the lube around his already wet hole, you gently place the tip of your middle finger to his entrance. Arthur forces himself to relax, taking a deep breath and then letting it out. Your free hand is soothing on his thigh as you push inside the ring of muscle, working to stretch him in small increments.

This is something you have to be careful for, though it’s clear he already wants more. You take your time with each finger added, pausing to check in and adding more lube as you go. Only when he can take three fingers do you consider him ready. You curl them deep inside his body, pleased when he cries out with a sound of wanton need.

“Sweetheart, please.”

“You want me?” Playfully, you rub your cock against his leg, and Arthur sucks in a shuddering breath.

“Y-yeah.”

“On your hands and knees, then.”

The mattress dips as Arthur hurries to adjust, presenting himself for you. God,what a view. You hesitate for a beat to line yourself up behind him, taking it all in. This strong man, your man, kneeling as he waits for you to enter him and please him. You come back to yourself when he shifts a little, looking over his shoulder to see what’s keeping you – and you give him a smile. Pressing your hips to his ass, you spread his cheeks to help line yourself up, placing the very tip of your cock to his entrance.

“Ready?”

“‘Course I’m ready,” Arthur grumbles, the words tinged with a hint of impatience. “C’n you jus’ hurry up and – f-fuck –”

You sink into him slowly, memorizing the way he goes still with utter pleasure. Only the first inch or so of your cock is inside him now, yet he’s helpless for it, eager to get more. When Arthur makes it clear that you’re not hurting him, you shuffle forward more, taking your time as you spread him open wider. Part of you wishes you could see the look on his face, though his body language is telling you a lot about how good this feels for him. Arthur’s hands clench in the sheets, his back tense.

The contrast of your hands gripping his waist is indescribably hot. He shifts to spread his legs a little wider for you, already panting. With your first shallow thrust, he outright whimpers,expressing weeks’ worth of pent-up need. At that point, you swear your brain shuts off. Because you’ve been waiting too – and nothing matters more than watching him take your cock.

There’s no use in asking him if he’s ready for more. You trust him to stop you if you’re giving too much at once, after doing this so many times before. Though you’re still fond of checking in with one another, an unspoken knowledge of your partner stands in the air, too. Reading his face and his body, knowing he wouldn’t keep silent if you were doing something that hurt him.

You’re so lucky to share that kind of intimacy with him. It’s what gives you the confidence to thrust deeper inside him now, drinking in the way he leans back to get as much as he can. Arthur’s body feels loose enough for you to move comfortably into, and you start fucking him in short, smooth motions.

He tries to arch back with every press in, wanting more, uttering swears under his breath that you don’t quite catch. Watching his body take your dick is almost hypnotizing; the smooth, constant in and out.

“Harder,” he whispers, barely loud enough for you to catch.

You tighten your grip on his skin and sink inside down to the hilt, drawing a high, warbling sound from the man with biceps almost bigger than your head. Granting his wish but not trying to hurt him, you keep each motion long and languid, delighting in the friction it creates against your cunt. Delicious and full and teasing, yet not quite what you need, rubbing your clit but not scratching the itch.

“Angel,” Arthur manages. “Wanna – wanna look at you –”

“Of course,” you reply at once.

Carefully, you slide out of him. He’s quick to arrange himself on his back, legs spread, face flushed. With a little more lube, you enter him again, a thrill of arousal shooting up your spine as you get to watch his eyes flutter closed in bliss. You brace a hand on either side of his body, a light sheen of sweat forming on your own skin as you maintain the pace he wants.

Your back might be sore tomorrow, but Christ.He’s staring up at you like getting fucked on your dick is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. As you gradually go harder, faster, his eyebrows knit together in that familiar expression of urgency. You haven’t even started rubbing up on his prostate the way he loves yet – just watchingthis man is going to be the death of you.

“You’re such a good boy,” you tell him, overwhelmed. “So fucking pretty, taking me like this, you know that?”

“Sweetheart,” he protests, blushing darker.

Even as you change your angle, searching, rooting for the bundle of nerves inside him that’ll quickly render him incapable of argument. You can see it on his face when you find it. Arthur’s mouth drops open, his hands turning into claws.

“Aren’t you my good boy?” You say again, pressing up full and deep against his prostate.

“Yes, ma'am,” he gasps. “I’m your good boy, jus’ don’t stop –”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you answer with a grin.

Despite all the times you’ve already pleasured him today, it doesn’t take Arthur long at all to reach his peak like that. With his cock standing firm and untouched between you, he spills a third time, grating out a noise somewhere between a moan and a sob. Both of you are a panting mess by the time he finishes, and you collapse to the mattress in a sweaty pile of limbs.

It takes a hot minute to recuperate. You shimmy out of the harness and strap, hearing it thump against the floor. You’ll be sure to clean it later – for now all you want to do is lie here. There are still plenty of hours left in Arthur’s day off, and it looks like you’ll be spending them all in bed as he’d suggested. After you get something to eat – you’re starving.

“Gotta get back in the shower,” Arthur muses. “And I’m takin’ you with me this time.”

“That’s fair.” You look up at him with a smile. “So…how’s the day off so far?”

“Way better than I expected,” he laughs. “Way better. But I’m pretty sure if you put your hands on me one more time, we’re both gonna fall apart. We ain’t teenagers no more.”

“Yeah…”

As much as you hate to admit it, he’s right. You’re both tapped out for the day, maybe even a few days. And you’ll have to take some Tylenol tonight. Getting old is the worst.

“Looks like I owe you one hell of a payback session.”

Arthur’s tone is teasing, but his eyes are serious. It makes you forget for a while about your growling stomach, the dull ache in your back. Because you know he’ll dish out as good as he got today. You’re already anxious to have his mouth on you, his cock filling you up…and your mind goes to his work schedule, counting down until the next day off. With any luck, you won’t have much longer to wait.

“What do you feel like for breakfast?” You say casually, rolling over to check your phone.

He only looks at you for a second, like you’re joking.

“What?”

“Sweetheart.” There’s concealed laughter in his tone. “It’s noon.”

Well, look at that. Your phone’s background lights up, displaying a picture of you, Arthur, John, and Abigail. You’d taken a vacation together last year, gotten a cabin out in the mountains. Gone swimming in waterfalls, hiking on trails, spending the evenings toasting s'mores and getting too drunk. Above your grinning faces, in bright block numbers, 12:25 PM.

Guess time flies.

“Okay, smarty-pants.” You snort. “Lunch, then.”

The rest of the day is spent taking it easy. You order delivery and curl up in bed, catching up on the shows you haven’t been able to watch with him so busy at work. (Avoiding spoilers has been social media hell.) It’s exactly the kind of simple, mindless rest he had in mind, and when you finish one series, you start another. No housework, no stress. Only you and him, occasionally pausing to discuss whatever plot twist just took place on the screen.

Even if it’s short, today still feels like the perfect day. You hope the chance to have more like these will be coming soon, one way or another.

————-

Two months later, Arthur’s home from work by five o'clock. He isn’t covered in sawdust and wood chips, like you’re used to seeing him. These days, his hands and forearms are covered in splatters of paint. Sometimes you like to guess what he’s been working on by the colors freckling his skin, which amuses him.

He has a set schedule and weekends off, and yes, he gets to teach. At first he was anxious about the idea, but when he came home from his first day of beginner’s painting classes, he couldn’t stop talking about how much he enjoyed it. You can’t remember the last time you saw him smile this much. The kid’s classes are his favorite, and sometimes John brings Jack, who’s obsessed with seeing his Uncle Arthur lead a class. (And apparently, Arthur gives the kid way more stickers as a reward than he needs for completing a painting.)

No, it doesn’t make as much as his old job. Neither of you care; in this case, his happiness and yours are more than worth it.

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