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A bank robbery, by all accounts, was the absolute worst thing one could encounter on their trip to the bank. It was up there with the building collapsing, although a small part of you would have preferred that to the chaos of several men storming through the doors, guns cocked and ready.
Terror grips you, quickly and your eyes snap to each imposing figure currently sticking a gun in your fellow bank-goer’s faces. One in particular grabs your attention, gold chains sparkling against a black vest, chequered cloth disguising his features. You’re sure he’s the last thing you should be focusing on but something draws your attention to him, an air of intrigue hovers around him and you keep your eyes trained on him - even as you're forced to empty your pockets by another armed man.
Insistent as your stare is, his head tilts to meet your gaze, if only for a moment. Dark eyes bore into yours before snapping away, distracted by the sudden arrival of the law.
You blame your breathlessness on your fear.
The demands of lawmen, to lay their weapons down, break the hold that man has on your mind. Shaking your head, and quietly cursing yourself (you simply must be crazy), you try to take advantage of this momentary distraction. You shuffle to the side a little before realising they had you more or less surrounded. Your little group of witnesses was encased and your attempt to slip out of the line of direct fire seems to have only forced you further into the group of men.
Your gaze meets that dark haired man’s again and something in his eyes seems to harden, focus zeroing in on you, looking you over with intent strong enough to make even the most stubborn of legs buckle.
It's so quick, he's grabbed you before you can react and he holds you against him, arm around your middle and a pistol pressed against your temple. It digs into your skin, and his breathing is heavy against your ear. He doesn't pay attention to how you shiver, too focused on barking orders at his men and then, that silver tongue of his, striking a 'deal' with the lawmen. Let him and his gang go and he won't decorate the walls of this bank with the brains of this pretty little thing he holds in his arms.
Your heart jumps into your mouth and you nearly choke on it, letting out a useless gasp like a fish on land. The pounding, drumming heartbeat in your ears nearly drowns out the resistant agreement of the law, but you don’t miss the name they call out.
Dutch.
Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his fingers flex around the pistol, almost toying with the trigger and you squeeze your eyes shut. From his reaction, you garner that’s his name and the world seems to slow for a few moments - holding onto his name as some sort of twisted liferaft. It echoes in your head over and over, much to the displeasure of your assumed sanity. Dutch, Dutch, Dutch.
It doesn't stop as he drags you out of the bank, his men following suit. Clearly not happy to give up his leverage just yet, he'll take you as far as he needs. He slings you on the front of his horse, jumping on soon after and pulling you into what could be mistaken for a protective embrace were it not for the threat of being shot still hanging over your head.
They ride hard and you have to press yourself back into him to avoid falling off. And despite the chaos of their escape, he reacts kindly to this. Seemingly surprised at first - there’s a sudden tension in how he holds himself - but once they're a little closer to camp, it melts and he slips an arm around your waist and holds you as the gang slows to a gentle trot nearing the hitching posts. Either, he'd forgotten to drop you off somewhere or maybe he didn't want to anymore. All the same, you'd arrived back at their camp with them - Dutch's arm around your waist and a pleased grin on his face.
Ignoring the few glances thrown your way by camp members, Dutch leads you through the camp and to his tent, telling you to just wait there. The sudden and seemingly random trust he had in you, to sit pretty in his tent while he did…whatever made a funny, tight feeling start to bloom in your chest. One that squeezed around your heart and you couldn’t quite tell if it was pleasant or not.
Perhaps he thought you too ordinary to do anything drastic. Too afraid maybe. Whatever it was, you weren't planning on turning tail and running, not when you were seated in the middle of a camp of outlaws.
You awaited with cautious excitement, able to hear Dutch congratulate his men, calling for camp celebrations all around. His grandiose speech dissipated into the chatter of pleased camp members and you hear him excuse himself back into his tent. Something about "dealin' with the new folk."
The flap of his tent is pushed aside, just enough that he can enter and your eyes follow him with impossible-to-disguise interest. Under the warm light of kerosene lanterns, his strong features aren’t nearly as imposing as they had been in the bank - although now you had a much clearer look at them. Your attempts not to stare are useless, and you study him, eyes tracing the bridge of his nose and then to his eyes. It seems cliche to describe them as pools but they are. Dark and shimmering and just like a body of water, you feel like you could drown if you stared into them for too long.
Intent on keeping your head above water, you draw an exhale from your suffocating lungs and pull your eyes away from his, shuffling a little in your spot. Your heart pounds like a great drum in your ears, and your fingers are restless, toying with the fraying fabric of your pants - the longer this is drawn out, the more you fret.
Whatever his intentions are with you, he doesn't make them clear. Instead, he crosses his tent, to a bottle of dark liquid - likely whiskey and you can see the amber dappled through it slightly when he raises it up into the light.
"Drink?" He offers and not knowing how much he's really offering, you accept without question. You'd rather not piss him off. He smiles, the corners of his mouth curling up underneath that thick moustache. "Good." He follows, with a degree of levity but his tone is just as steady, as smooth as ever. Pouring you a glass and then one for himself, he sits in a chair across from you - not before handing you your drink. You'd sat yourself on his bed, perhaps a little assumedly given you didn't know the man but you'd done it before you could really think about it and now it seemed too embarrassing to move.
Palming your glass, you aren't sure where to look. At the floor seems too cowardly but you can't quite manage eye contact - not that he seems to have any trouble with that. No, his eyes bore straight into you, although notably, his gaze isn't unkind. Just...expectant.
In lieu of saying anything, you take a sip of your drink which proves your guess to be correct. Whiskey burns your tongue and you swallow with all the difficulty of someone who'd never had a drop of alcohol in their life. His smile grows at this, and a heavy silence falls over you both. Not awkward, no, this silence is like a blanket. Warm...suffocating almost and you take a shaky inhale. He seems content to watch you squirm and so, perhaps hoping to put yourself out of your misery, you speak.
"What do you want with me?" It's not really a question you want the answer to but with nothing else to do, you have to ask. Better find out sooner than later you figure. A larger, wider and altogether more smug smile dances on Dutch's lips. He leans forward a little, as if considering the question for the first time himself.
"Hm...well indeed. What do I want with you...?" It's not an answer that lessens your anxiety, quite the opposite. Your fingers tap against your glass, a sort of frenzied dance across its surface.
"I suppose it depends on what you can do for me." He says, words as smooth as the whiskey you were hesitantly sipping.
You can't quite produce an answer, words sticking in your throat and you have to swallow thickly. He hums curiously, studying how your eyes dart away from his, your chest rising and falling in quick, nervous inhales.
"You're unusual...it's partially why I brought you back here. That and I was a little preoccupied with robbing Uncle Sam blind." A small chuckle follows his words and you blink quickly.
"Unusual how?" Any words you do produce are rather choked, and you down another swallow of whiskey in the hopes it may loosen things up.
"Not many push themselves back into the arms of a man they hardly know. Much less an outlaw leader who had not too long ago taken them hostage." His eyebrow quirks up slightly. Oh yes, he hadn't missed your little wriggle in his arms. Seeing how your cheeks flush, and you go to turn away, he shakes his head. "Now...I'm sure there is a perfectly good reason for it, not falling off my horse being the main one-" He stands, placing his largely untouched drink down before carefully looming closer to you. "-Right? I assume that is the reason." His smile has morphed into a much more smug one and you focus on the lines that crease slightly around his mouth as a result.
Realising all together too late that you've been staring with some focus at his features, you look away again. With no real answer for him - wanting very greatly to confirm his reasoning but being unsure if you truthfully can - you settle for nodding your head. Something burns in his eyes, illuminated and fiery the more embarrassed you seem - and you would have missed this had he not gently edged your gaze back to his with a hand on your cheek. Turning your head seems as easy as breathing to him and you have to suck in a quick breath at his forwardness. At least you...think it's him being forward. It's hard to tell, with his words clever as anything and a smile just as dangerous as he surely is.
"Unless you wish to tell me that is not the reason." Forced to look at him, you know he won't miss how you swallow - sure he can even pick up on how your mind is racing, heart following soon after.
"I- yes. It is..." And then knowing you're an absolutely awful liar - at least in this situation, under his demanding gaze - you correct yourself. "It's most of the reason...part of the reason. Some of it."
You hate yourself for being honest and you hate even more how much you enjoy the look in his eyes as a result.
"And what, pray tell, would be the other part of the reason?" His voice drops a little, growing huskier and you really have to focus on not shivering.
"I-I'm not...sure." This, surprisingly, is completely true. You could tell him that his eyes, wild and dangerous, excite you so. You could say it's his voice, how it cracks at the edges but still manages to command, his words and tone making your head spin. You could say the feeling of his body pressed against yours sent shivers up your spine, ones so great that it nearly made you freeze and really he had no need to press that gun against your temple - you would have stood still anyway.
But you can't, not a fool enough to admit all that. But...fool enough perhaps to let your eyes bore into his. The uncertainty leaves your expression, even as unhelpful as your answer was. His chest rises, inhaling deeply and then letting it out as a pleased hum.
"Is that so?" He lets his words hang in the air. "Perhaps I should ask a better question...what would you like me to do with you?" His eyebrows raise again, this time in burgeoning curiosity - almost edging on desire but he keeps it reigned tightly in - like it could snap at any moment if he so wished it to.
Your lips part before you even know what to say, and your mind slows - words sticking like tar in your throat. Everything about you feels sluggish and slow, a little intoxicated by the heat of the situation. Unable to say what you want or even form a proper thought about it, you stare up at him. Hoping desperately your eyes will say it enough because although you don't know what you want him to do with you, you know what you want. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him.
The hand on your cheek returns, stroking it softly and for a second it quells your nerves. Your gaze flicks to it, studying the rings adorning his fingers. Distracted as you are, you miss when he leans closer and closer to you.
It takes you by gentle surprise when his lips press against yours, and there's a degree of uncertainty for the few seconds where you don't reciprocate - something that warms your heart. The idea of him being at all worried that you may not...want this makes you smile into the kiss. Returning his affection, you rise a little, just so you can press yourself against his body and place a careful hand on his waist - almost to support yourself. One of his hands rests at the nape of your neck, while the other finds the low of your back and he deepens the kiss.
You can taste whiskey and cigar smoke on his lips and it's addicting in a way things tend to be about him - something you're discovering more and more. A small part of you feels a little crazy for so willingly accepting his advances but when his tongue presses against your lips and you grant him access, your mind wipes away its grievances. Hungrily - and with the sort of desire that makes your stomach drop - his tongue explores your mouth, dipping you a little.
A gentle sigh escapes you as the kiss breaks and you have to catch your breath soon after. You know he's smiling without even looking and once again, you find it hard to meet his gaze. Your cheeks are a blazing red, heart pounding but he seems just as taken with you - his own cheeks dusted pink.
"Your lips..." He says, voice a whisper. "I'd love to see how well you use the rest of your mouth." With that insinuation, as forward as it is, your cheeks turn an even deeper shade of red (if that was possible) and you shiver a little.
"I don't w-want you to get your hopes up." You deflect, and he smiles.
Waving away your attempt, he whispers a quick "Oh I think you'll manage just fine." His words carry you to your knees, to where he strains against the fabric of his pants and his hand rests on his belt.
Your eyes flick up to him before staring straight ahead. He encourages you with a nod of his head and you unloop the buckle of his belt, slowly and looking up at him the entire time. His smile stretches lazily across his face, hand finding your hair.
"Good boy..." He whispers as you unbuckle and unbutton him, letting him free a little more. Fishing himself out of his boxers, he gives you both a moment to pause.
Unable to help yourself really, you size him up. Average in length and little on the thicker side, you swallow despite yourself. The tip is ever so slightly red, and it takes all your strength to resist pressing a kiss against it.
And then realising that's exactly what you're down there to do, you don't fight the urge and with a soft groan from him, you press your lips to the head of his cock. His grip on your hair tightens slightly, threading with your locks and guiding your head a little further down him.
"Mmhm, good." He murmurs, twitching a little when you press a few more kisses against his shaft. Then, letting your lips part slightly, you take the tip into your mouth. He inhales quickly, a sharp sudden draw of breath and the noise encourages you.
Taking his length further into your mouth, you can feel every vibration and subtle twitch of his body - how his fingers flexed in your hair slightly, how the muscles in his legs tensed - and of course, how his cock throbbed a little on your tongue.
The more you relax around him, the further he seems to want to go - slowly guiding your mouth onto him - a tight grip on your hair making it easier for him to manoeuvre you. Slow as he is, he still pushes himself all the way in, down to the base of his cock and you close your eyes, concentrating on not gagging. You manage and he sighs. His gaze is fond, looking at how your lips wrap around him and the picture is almost enough to make his self control snap.
And then you move, his grip on you loosening and letting you bob your head. Slowly at first, making sure he feels every inch of your mouth around him but it's not long before he starts to buck his hips into your mouth himself - almost removing the need for you to move at all. He can't seem to help himself, and his fingers pull on your hair a little - pushing you down his cock - coupled with short thrusts of his hips.
The combined movements make you whine slightly, a muffled noise around his cock but it sends vibrations up his body and he lets out an approving hum of his own. You can tell he’s making an attempt to be gentle but it fails when he really hits the back of your throat - an action that startles you enough that you drum a few fingers on his thigh. He takes your signal, easing off on you a little and nearly pulling out of your mouth completely.
Instead of being deterred, his respect is enough to make you want to try, even if your eyes sting with tears. You meet his gaze with renewed fire and the desire you find in his eyes makes you shiver. Slowly, he re-enters your mouth, thrusting into your throat and the slick noise of it makes you squeeze your eyes shut.
Holding you there by your hair, tightly enough that you don’t move much, he continues to fuck your mouth.
"Christ, I needed this-" He manages between short gasps and moans.
You don't doubt him, not when you feel how he reacts to all your movements - or how he groans when you swirl a tongue around his shaft and with a warning moan he bucks into your mouth for the final time. All of him tenses, and he starts spilling down your throat, ropes of cum hitting the back of your mouth. His brow furrows, sweat rolling down his forehead and he sings your praises as he keeps your mouth pressed to the very base of his cock, not letting up until he's finished.
Pulling you off his cock, he smiles down at you. The hand in your hair relaxes and he lets you lean back on your haunches a bit - your breathing heavy. It takes a few moments for your heart to settle, running a million miles a minute as you inhale much needed gasps of oxygen.
His hand returns to your cheek, just as gentle as before and he wipes the corner of your mouth.
"I knew you’d manage." He comments while tucking himself back in his pants. "In fact...dare I say, we've found out what I should do with you." His smirk turns your tummy - albeit pleasantly.
With burning cheeks, you nod and shakily clamber onto his bed. He pulls you into an embrace soon after, pressing soft kisses all down your neck, large hands wandering over your body and slipping beneath the waistband of your pants - promising to reward you for a job well done...
---
His ringed fingers do exactly that, pushing into you - and you're wet enough that it's no issue. Gently at first, he pumps one finger in and out of you and when you arc back into him, asking for more, he adds another thick finger - stretching you wonderfully.
Feeling the cool metal of his rings pressed inside you, as he goes down to the knuckle does little to dampen the roaring fire in your belly but you don't mind. You're lost in how he fingers you, softly and then more passionately when you cry out his name - over and over and then he presses his fingers against your clit. Rubbing gentle circles and whispering in your ear about how he'll take such good care of you. How he'll have you, take you so well that he'll ruin you for anyone else. You'll want no one else but him.
And when he makes you cum over and over, each time as powerful as the last - shaking and whimpering out his name softly - you start to believe him.