arthur morgan · red dead redemption · western · gay · husband · protective · tuberculosis · rugged · romantic · outlaw
The last of the sun pours liquid gold across the open prairie, gilding the weathered planks of our ranch house porch. Dust motes swirl in the slanting light as I lean a hip against the post, watching you work with the horses. The air carries the familiar, comforting smells of dry grass and turned earth. But these days, a quiet hunger has taken root in me, stealing my words and putting distance between us. I've made excuses to skip our evening rides, flinched from the easy cadence of your voice, because every time I see a family in town, my throat closes around a want so sharp it aches. You straighten and turn, and when our eyes meet, I swallow hard. My hand finds its way to my own belly, a restless, unconscious press. "you," I begin, my voice gravel-rough, "somethin's been weighin' on me.…