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He dreams of endless, expansive plains overcome with cacti and bare trees and coyotes. He dreams of the weight of a revolver in his hand. The sun is bright, and he squints through it. At the edge of the horizon, there stands a man. He’s as imposing and broad as a mountain, a shape in the swimming haze of the heat.
Javier doesn’t get any further.
He wakes up to the stirring of canvas, the creak of leather, the song of spurs.
At first, his consciousness comes slowly, realizing he’s not in the desert, and he isn’t armed with his revolver. But then it occurs to him it could be only one man entering this tent. He blinks heavily, shedding the sleepiness from his mind, rising up on an elbow with excitement.
Arthur’s standing there just within the tent, pushing the flap shut behind himself. He’s looking at him beyond the brim of his hat, those blue marbled eyes hard like the unkind end of a knife. He’s covered in dust from the road, looking wearier than a cowboy after a day’s long shift of moving stupid cattle.
Javier knows it’s early, because he’s not on watch, and pale sunlight’s just beginning to bleed in through the canvas. Early morning birds are singing merrily—loudly.
“Anyone see you?” Arthur asks in a low drawl, taking his leather hat off his head. He drops it onto the table beside his cot with a soft smack of stiff leather, then casts him a look past his lengthening hair that he’s really gotta cut soon; it curls slightly against his cheekbone.
Grinding the heel of his hand into his eye, Javier sighs, “No. I make sure of it every time, Arthur…”
“Well, make room, I’m goddamn exhausted from that trip. John had me near strangling him this time. Honest to God.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Javier mumbles, remembering the loud argument the men were sharing just as they were riding out of camp on horseback. Dutch had sent them to scout out a bank in a nearby town, which is usually an overnight excursion to take note of security and shift changes. Arthur loathes doing that shit with John of all people, considering the recent drama of him coming back home after a year-long sabbatical.
Dutch had insisted on it. Wants them to mend the holes, he’d overheard the man saying when Arthur kicked up a small fuss. Though he never fussed much with Dutch. That’s how Javier knew Arthur really didn’t want to.
He scoots over. Arthur, after shedding his dusty coat, boots, and gun belt, drops into the cot next to him.
“Show me yer back,” he rumbles, and so Javier does. He turns onto his side, facing the canvas of Arthur’s tent. An unearthing sense of burning excitement bubbles inside of him, sweet like froth on champagne. He gnaws on his bottom lip, quelling a smile he doesn’t need to quell.
Arthur scoots up, jostling the entire thing, and slides his hand ‘round his waist and settles his arm real comfortably around him. Javier gets a pulse of heat in his groin at that, but leaves it be. The weight of his embrace comes with the smell of dust and horse and sweat. It’s heavy, his arm, but in the best of ways.
Arthur sighs, a warm gust of air against the back of his neck and ear.
“Feels nice,” he mutters, a rare honesty he shares when he’s either drunk, or dog-tired. He pushes his warm, worn hand into the unbuttoned front of Javier’s union, loosely cradling his stomach. Just for some nice skin contact, Javier knows, and it soothes him, too.
Anticipating an unexpected romance with the most unexpected man was not something he considered when he first joined this gang years ago, but, yet, here he is. And it feels so good. Nothing feels quite as good as Arthur does.
Javier hums a soft sound. “Glad you’re back.”
Not long after that exchange, Arthur begins snoring softly right up against him, near about smothering him to the cot with his weight. It’s comfortable. Javier, curled up into the blanket and pillow with Arthur’s fingers twitching against his belly, follows after him, too.
At an indiscernible time later, Javier stirs to the sound of Arthur talking in his sleep. His eyes crack open to a fresh, new darkness, the lack of sunlight very apparent through the canvas. The shortness of days in the wintertime, even after his years on this planet, still jars him.
“I ain’t no… goddamn…” Arthur mumbles, trailing off. Javier shakes with the effort it takes not to laugh.
He then realizes Arthur’s hand had inched into his union suit a little deeper, and now he’s cradling his soft length and balls in the warm cup of his hand. It's surprisingly comfortable.
“What aren’t you, Arthur?” He asks quietly, his voice thick with sleep.
Arthur grunts. “I ain’t gettin’ up.”
Javier snorts. “Yeah, you don’t have to.”
“‘Kay.” Arthur tightens his arm around him—even in his sleep, he doesn’t take his hand out from his union suit. Javier’s a little scared he’s gonna squeeze his rather vulnerable bits, so he reaches down and very gently pushes his hand down to his thigh. Arthur mumbles, flattens his big hand along his lean thigh, digging his thumb into the muscle there like he’s gotta get a good hold on him.
Javier falls back asleep, content.
He can tell it’s not much longer when he wakes again, because he didn’t even dream.
This time, he wakes to Arthur’s hand sliding out of his union suit, the man carefully detaching from him as if to rise out of the cot.
Javier reaches back to paw at him, clutching at his shirt before he can get away.
“Where y’going?” He’s nearly slurring in his half-awake state.
“Gonna take a piss,” Arthur mutters. “I’ll be right back.”
“Oh, alright.” Javier releases him. “Just don’t take long, Arthur.”
Arthur leans into him, crushing him a little into the cot, and kisses him on the head. “Won’t be gone but a minute.”
Javier has some doubts; Arthur’s seldom left alone when he walks the camp. But he leaves it be.
Arthur turns on the lamp with a quiet turn of the knob, filling the tent with the softest glow. It hisses quietly while Arthur steps into his boots. Javier observes the broad stretch of his back and the way his plaid shirt pulls taut when he leans over to tug his boots on.
Arthur slips out of the tent. His footsteps crack leaves and sticks as he enters the nearby woodlands to relieve himself, and the crickets become silent in the arrival of a bigger, scarier creature.
He doesn’t go that far; Javier can hear him begin to urinate a moment later.
Javier also hears Sean yapping away to some poor soul at the other end of camp. There’s the soft sound of someone playing a harmonica, accompanied by the pops of the campfire. It’s peaceful.
Staring up at the shadows dancing over the canvas, cast by the lamp, Javier waits for him to come back. He wonders, briefly, what’s in store when he does.
A moment later he hears the crunching of footsteps and Arthur spitting into the brush nearby. Javier props up on his elbows, eyes on the closed tent flap.
It parts, and Arthur ducks inside again. He looks up with those pretty blue eyes landing right on him, touched by the lamplight. Javier bites his lip, struck by it in a way he didn’t anticipate, even after all this time. Arthur’s a handsome man.
Looking at him with a glint to his eyes, like he can tell what’s going on, Arthur takes off his boots. He then removes his work pants, and the dusty, sweat-dried shirt he slept in, revealing his red union suit below. Javier doesn’t miss the fact that he’s a little hard; his cock’s thickening, pushing out the cotton there just enough to be noticed. The realization brings forth a heat to Javier’s core, and then flames start to lick over him.
Arthur plods over to rejoin him on the cot, jostling it when he climbs on. Javier sucks in a quiet breath, looking up at this paralyzing image of the bigger man crawling over him.
In an act that surprises Javier, he manhandles him fully onto his back, albeit gently, and settles on top of him. Arthur strokes back his dark hair from his scarred face with a hot, scratching touch of his weathered hands, looking all along him with a glow of warmth to his gaze.
“You think you can be quiet enough for it?” Arthur mutters, stroking a blunt thumb against his temple, searching in his eyes. “Wanna make love to you.”
Javier feels a whole lot more awake suddenly.
He nods, flicking his tongue between his lips. “Yeah, Arthur. You know I can.”
Arthur grins, a sly little thing showing a sliver of teeth. There are stars in his eyes, tiny and burning, sparkling with a sense of fondness and excitement Javier knows many are not privileged to.
He leans down to kiss him, all warm and heavy in the way Arthur always is. Javier sinks back into the pillow, humming, and Arthur follows, shifting higher up over him to kiss him that much harder. Javier groans into it, his jaw falling open from the force of which Arthur gives it to him. Heat rolls through his body like flames rapidly consuming a dry plain. It burns from the top of his head to the very ends of his extremities.
The wet smacking of their overlapping lips is loud and incriminating, but the distant sound of the campfire and Sean’s babbling soothes any concerns Javier may have, regardless. No one’s paying attention to this tent.
For a good long minute, they kiss heavily, a back and forth crushing of their lips that leaves Javier’s mouth area wet and warm, his breath short, his head spinning. Arthur’s hands lay stationary on his head, keeping his hair pushed back and out of the way, his blunt fingertips warm on his temple, his cheekbones.
Javier strokes his hands along Arthur’s warm sides, down to his hips, and then back up again to rest on his broad shoulder blades. Feels nice just touching him. Having his weight on him.
By then, Arthur’s huffing and grunting into it, rocking his hips slightly, just enough to drag his hard pecker back and forth against Javier’s belly through the layers of their union suits. It’s so good—Javier whimpers into the kiss. His own erect length’s trapped between them, and, well, Arthur’s weight grinding over it feels real nice. Pleasure pulses from the core of his groin, deep and powerful and heady, rolling throughout his entire body, intensified in the places where they touch.
Arthur pulls back, looks at him with hooded bedroom eyes. Javier feels vulnerability on his own face. He knows it’s there, shining in his eyes, looking up at Arthur with his face completely open, unguarded. Arthur strokes his thumbs back and forth against his temples for a second, glancing all across his vulnerability.
Javier’s instinct is to pull away, to hide his underbelly, but—Arthur’s got him well and truly wrangled, trained into this softer version of himself. He lets it be.
“You feel like takin’ it for me tonight?” Arthur murmurs, bold and cut-to-the-chase.
“Think it’d be messy,” Javier admits, panting. “Ate right before bed.”
“Alright,” Arthur murmurs, sounding a little disappointed. “We gotta find the right time for it. Want’chu again.”
Javier groans softly. He grasps at the hips of Arthur’s union suit from how desperately he wants it, how frustrated he is with the timing. God, he wants Arthur in him again, but it just isn’t worth it when the mess would kill the mood, anyway. “I know. I want it, too. Let’s try tomorrow. For now? I really wanna suck you. Do you—do you wanna sit down?”
Suddenly, Arthur clutches a fistful of his hair and firmly, albeit gently, pulls his head back. Javier pants heavily in excitement when he starts slowly kissing along his neck, crossing sensitive skin and that thick scar tissue gnarled on his throat. Trembling, Javier closes his eyes.
Arthur begins rocking his hips again, real slow and firm. But then he’s pushing Javier’s legs open, hands shoving under his knees to force them up, putting him in a rather indecent position with his ass up, knees nearly to his chest. Javier gasps, his hands flying down to Arthur’s wrists on instinct, though he merely lays them there.
Arthur looks down into his eyes with pink, damp lips and hooded eyes, his dusky blond hair falling across his brow. He rolls his hips into him like that, over and over, rocking forward into his backside.
Javier’s head spins, and he lets loose a whinier moan than he meant for, feeling that big, hard length grind back and forth against his clothed ass through the layers. Javier feels so overwhelmed in the best of ways.
“D-Dios, Arthur,” he chokes, his voice thin and strangled. English vacates his mind, beautifully shaken by everything that Arthur is, and what he’s doing to him. “¡También te quiero sentir adentro. Pero tenemos que esperar—! Ah, shit, w-we gotta wait!”
“Shh,” Arthur murmurs, bucking into him with one more hearty, firm thrust of his hips, and Javier gasps. “Gettin’ too loud, darlin’. Be quiet, now, and get on your knees for me. I’ll have you taste me instead.”
Phrasing it like Javier don’t got a choice is driving him mad.
Javier moans another little sound, and Arthur, huffing a fond laugh, pats him on the thigh. He rises up off him, standing from the cot. Javier’s real quick to slip off, too, dropping to his knees.
He crawls over, burying his face, without hesitation, into the big tent Arthur’s pecker’s making of his union suit, his hands clutching at his thighs. He breathes in, nuzzling into it, and smells only a heady stench of his musk, of dried sweat from a day or two of riding with no bath.
Only a man can create this smell, and it’s making his head spin. His own cock throbs in his union, and he feels it, the warm pre soaking into the cotton, sticking to his shaft.
“Fuck,” Javier groans, mindless and horny and forsaking God. Shame prickles somewhere in the back of his mind, but the more they make love, the less it stings.
He rips open Arthur’s union suit, just barely patient enough to maintain the integrity of the buttons. His thick shaft pops out from the opening. The head of him is flushed a dangerous red, shiny with pre, foreskin pulled back. Javier doesn’t waste a second guiding it to his mouth and sucking him in, scarred fingers securing tight around the base.
“Christ,” Arthur grunts, curling his hand around the back of his head.
The wet efforts of Javier’s sucking fills the tent, dangerously loud and debaucherous.
Javier feels drunk off it all. Arthur tastes strong, smells even riper without the union suit. It’s disgusting, he knows it is, but, shit, he doesn’t care. Arthur’s stink turns him on.
He’s sucking up and down Arthur’s shaft, eyes screwed shut in focus, all the while thinking he should’ve starved himself after his shift on watch and just gone to bed. If he did, Arthur could be pushing his way into his body right now.
Arthur strokes back his hair with a show of gentleness. “Slow down, Javier. Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
“Mmm,” Javier moans around him, lazily licking his tongue over the pinkened, warm underside of his shaft, huffing and puffing against him. He sits back, sniffling, looking up at Arthur.
“You wanna sit down? Let me—shit, let me get my bearings.” He laughs a little, realizing how frenzied he’s behaving.
Arthur, grinning, reaches out to pat him on the wet cheek a couple times before lowering down onto the cot. Javier pushes his way between his knees, and like a sated bull, Arthur rumbles a deep sound. It feels like it reverberates throughout Javier’s every bone.
Javier ducks his head, and Arthur’s big sprawl of his hand lays over the back of it, pulling him in. Javier moans just from that, a low, groaning sound in his throat. He slides his hand up Arthur’s belly, pushing on his chest so the man leans back just a little, giving him some room.
Like this, bowed over his lap, Javier fixes his fingers round the base of his shaft, holds him tightly. He softly sucks over just the head, the quiet slurping of it loud in Javier’s ears, though he’s sure it isn’t leaving this tent. Arthur’s pushing his other hand into the loose collar of his union suit, stroking along his shoulders, his back, and it feels so very nice.
Javier tries to be patient with himself. He works him languidly, unhurriedly, sucking tight enough his jaw and cheeks begin to ache from strain. He keeps it shallow at first, knowing it’s best to take his time, to work himself up to it.
When he needs to give his jaw a break, he sits back just enough to stroke his tongue along the underside of his cock, panting in hot puffs, catching his breath. Looking up into his eyes, he licks slowly at the sensitive head of him, a lazy circling of his tongue, and Arthur’s hips tremble. Javier hums in pleasure. He loves when he makes Arthur’s body react.
The man reaches out to card back Javier’s dark, long hair with both hands, holding it tightly in a fist, keeping it all out of the way. Javier appreciates it, and rewards him by sucking the tip tightly into his mouth, the wet sound of it filthy in the quietness of the tent. He bobs his head slowly, working only the most sensitive part of him back and forth between his lips and into the tight squeeze of his sucking. Arthur groans softly, hand tightening to a point of pain in Javier’s hair.
“You takin’ your time, ain’t’chu,” he murmurs. “I don’t mind. Could sit here watchin’ you play with my pecker all night.”
Javier hums, trailed by an amused, quiet laugh, muffled around his cock. Idiot.
Panting, he gently pins up Arthur’s wet, flushed cock to his hairy belly with a couple fingers, ducking his head to start sucking wetly along his heavy balls, drawing one testicle into his mouth. He nurses tightly, and Arthur groans.
He doesn’t do it briefly. He alternates between both sides, letting them slip from his mouth with obscene pops, until Arthur’s whispering a heated Javier, c’mon, suck me, you goddamn tease.
Javier, with a grin, licks up the thick girth of him to oblige the man.
Arthur takes deep, focused breaths all while Javier sucks up and down his cock, like he's struggling to stay composed. Slow and tightly, he works him, languidly bobbing his head, his wet fingers fixed tight around the base to keep him right where wants him.
“Jesus,” Arthur groans, a near whimper, when Javier pulls off real slow, sucking so hard his cheeks hurt even before he fully pulls off. He breaks off with a damning sound, and then, gasping, he looks up at Arthur past his loose hair and murmurs in a hoarse sound, “Can you lay down, Arthur? Wanna get comfortable.”
“God, yeah, sure,” Arthur sighs, knowing just what that means. Javier, grinning, gets up, hands grasping at Arthur’s hairy thighs for balance.
A little bit of rearrangement, then Arthur’s laying back on the cot, arms folded up under his head to better see Javier while he crawls in-between his legs, getting settled there. Javier sprawls his touch along Arthur’s hips, stroking his hands up his sides, cradling his rib cage. He bites at his soft belly, a teasing gesture that has Arthur snorting a laugh.
In the heart of the camp, Javier hears the crackling of the fire, the laughter of their campmates, and Charles playing on that harmonica.
It eases his concerns of being overheard, and it must do the same for Arthur, giving him peace of mind, because he’s a whole lot more relaxed when Javier leans down to take one of his testicles back into his mouth. He gives him some more love there, eyes closed. He glows with warmth hearing Arthur’s pleased sighs, feeling his balls flex in his mouth like his body’s responding to it.
With firm knuckles, he nudges Arthur’s thighs open a little more, brings his hand down to gather his warm, slick balls in his fingers. He looks into Arthur’s eyes while sucking his pecker back into his mouth, humming drunkenly while he does.
“That’s it,” Arthur groans lowly, arching his hips up a little and forcing it deeper, though not by much. Javier moans, too, feeling his shaft throb in his mouth, pulsing with blood. Shit, he loves it when he can taste Arthur’s excitement, when he can anticipate his upcoming orgasm.
Squeezing Arthur’s nuts in his fingers, just enough to assert dominance but not enough to hurt, Javier lets his jaw fall slack, tongue cupping the underside, and begins bobbing his head again. He keeps on going, and going, until the wet sound of Arthur’s tip hitting the back of his tongue and the crest of his throat fills the space around them, wet and squelching and filthy, and Javier’s choking softly.
“Christ,” Arthur spits, trembling under him wildly—Javier manages to take him a bit deeper, and even more then, until his lips meet his wet fingers at the base. It hurts, pushes at the boundaries of his throat, but it’s satisfying all the same.
Arthur’s heavy hand grabs at his hair, fingers tight and painful, but he knows what he likes—he begins forcing Javier’s head up and down, though not too violently, not too painfully. Javier coughs and chokes every so often, but Arthur’s patient, gentle in how he pushes his hips up.
“There you go, boy,” Arthur slurs, so drunk in the head now he’s saying the shit Javier wants to hear only from this man. “You ain’t done ‘til I say. Keep at it.”
Javier chokes, coughing, tears clumping his eyelashes. His whole body burns, being told what to do by Arthur, denied his pride, his choice in the matter. A wildly aroused heat melts away any coherency that lingered.
But he can only go a moment longer; Arthur rocks up into his slack jaw, into the wet, sloppy mess of his mouth, until he’s right on the cusp of genuinely gagging.
He’s good about it—he lets go when Javier pulls off, gasping and sniffling, wiping his nose off on his wrist. He coughs, recuperating, his face burning so hot he’s sure he could light a fuse off his cheek. Thick spit’s dripping from his lips and chin, clinging to Arthur’s hairy groin and stomach.
God, it’s filthy, and Javier’s sure if any respectable person saw this, they’d fucking faint.
But, no, this is perfect to him. He can recognize the hollowing of his morals, his self-respect, his self-discipline, but, at this point, he doesn’t care.
God may hate him for it, but, fuck, he thinks he loves Arthur. And he wouldn’t give this up. Not anymore.
Lo lamento mucho. Pero lo elijo a él.
This all passes airily through his mind while he kisses softly, wetly, along Arthur’s thighs and quivering belly, hands cradling his hips, tickled back by the soft brown curls of hair found everywhere. Arthur’s breathing in that loud way he does when he’s about to finish.
Grinning, Javier brings his mouth back to the head of him, sucks it in-between his lips and teeth. Arthur goes tense, huffing one sharp exhale.
Lazily, like he really does have all the time in the world, he works only but an inch of his pecker. He keeps on going, and going, and going, keeping it steady for a good, long minute or so, the soft, wet sounds of it constant and consistent. Arthur winds up real tight like a toy underneath him, shaking and shuddering, the tiniest, choked sounds slipping from grit teeth.
“Gonna shoot,” Arthur warns breathlessly. “Right now, Javier. Ah, shit—”
Javier props up on a hand and begins stroking the length of his warm, wet skin, nursing tight over what he can comfortably fit in his mouth without effort. Arthur’s shaking hard underneath him. He’s gone quiet, focused on his orgasm. Javier loves it.
Javier keeps at it, stroking and sucking, up until Arthur’s suddenly jerking against the cot, his knees rising to dig into his sides, a choked-off groan catching in the man’s throat like a wrench thrown into a rusty machine.
At just the last moment, Javier pulls back, panting, sighing in delight, all while he watches Arthur unravel; his semen flows from him in great, warm pulses, spilling down the tight ring of Javier’s fingers as he strokes him through it. Weak spurts spit out of the red, sensitive tip, like even his orgasm’s lazy. It makes Javier grin.
Arthur’s entire body is wound up, trembling, his hands fisting around the edges of the cot. In the low, gentle glow of the lamp, Javier can see his slack face, his narrowed eyes, the deep flush to his cheeks and forehead. He’s clearly not fully there, still locked in the feeling.
“Mmm,” Javier moans softly, smiling. Arthur’s cock is pulsing in his hand, twitching. “That’s good, Arthur. There you go. Let it all out.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Arthur whimpers, and Javier laughs quietly. Overwhelmed, Arthur tips his head back, his hair spilling across his neck and the pillow, his broad, sweaty chest heaving. Gorgeous man.
Once he stops ejaculating, Javier leans in and calmly sucks him back into his mouth. He tastes salty and tangy, pungent with his seed.
Javier holds him down with a wet hand to his stomach. He slowly works his mouth back and forth over his sensitive, cherry-red length, really taking all he can. Arthur’s shaking, twitching against the cot, hissing his name and groaning quietly in his throat.
It’s so fun, sucking him like this even after he’s done. Feeling him go soft in his mouth is just as exciting as it is to feel him get hard. He slurps greedily over the waning shaft, cleaning him up with his mouth.
When Arthur’s knees jolt against his sides, that’s when Javier pulls off, letting his spent length slap back down to his belly.
They look at each other in the dim light, both of them short of breath. Javier’s head is a haze, a fog of neediness, of hot desperation. He can’t ignore it any longer. He’s so close, just from putting his mouth on Arthur.
He presses his cheek and nose into Arthur’s inner thigh, breathing in the aroma of him at his core while pushing a hand into his union suit, taking himself in his fist. He feels a big hand push through his loose hair, holding onto the back of his head. Arthur sighs a deep, sated sigh.
That’s enough for Javier. He strokes himself only a dozen times, huffing into Arthur’s skin, rocking his hips into it, and then he’s sullying his union with grit teeth and clenching eyes.
“Oh, mierda,” Javier groans, quickly, shakily beating himself through it, the slick sound of it filthy in the tent.
It sweeps him off his feet. He hasn’t felt this good in a while.
He cries a muffled sound into the cot’s blanket, pushing his face down into it between Arthur’s legs. He humps into his hand unconsciously, hearing Arthur’s quiet words of praise he cannot decipher, though his voice is enough, anyway.
Just to taste his name on his tongue, he whispers in a quivering voice, “A-Arthur.”
Then it’s gone.
Arthur pets his hand through his hair, even after Javier slumps down into the cot, even after he pulls his hand from his union suit and goes still.
It feels so nice.
For a little while, they bask. Javier lays half-sprawled over him, breathing in deep, shaky breaths, head spinning. He didn’t expect his orgasm to knock him out like that.
“Come up here and lemme hold you,” Arthur murmurs a moment later. “Unless you wanna clean up.”
Javier doesn’t have his voice back yet, nevermind speaking English.
He crawls up over Arthur’s body and drops down upon him, snuggling into his side. Arthur brings his arms around him, holds him close.
They’re both a little sticky, a little sweaty, and it reeks like sex in here. Javier isn't usually the type of guy to enjoy the nasty side of sex, but with Arthur? Well, even this is nice. He strokes his hand down Arthur’s side, humming contentedly, and presses his face into his shoulder, his neck.
“Since I put in so much work, you clean me up, cabrón,” Javier mutters eventually, his voice hoarsened by what he’d done. Arthur chuckles deeply enough, his chest bounces under Javier’s weight.
“Can do,” Arthur murmurs. “I’ll even warm up the water for you. You’ll just have to be patient.”
Javier grins in the low light, pulling his hand from Arthur’s side to stroke it over his belly instead. He likes how his hair feels against his fingers, so he keeps it there.
“I’ll be patient,” Javier promises.
What is that American saying? All good things come to those who wait?
He thinks that when it comes to Arthur, he is more than willing to wait, because he’s certain now that there are only good things to come with this man.