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smilingformoney · 1 month

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The Eternal Summer | Elliott Marston/Reader

III. Moth to a Flame

Summary: Elliott has a plan.

Read on Ao3 or below the cut:

You were sleeping peacefully in Elliott’s arms while he struggled to fall asleep. His mind was spinning with plans. He had to find Quigley and kill him, that was certain. Earlier that day, Major Ashley-Pitt had arrived at the station with the bodies of the men who’d taken Quigley into the outback and sealed his fate.

Turning down the work was irritating, considering the lengths he’d gone to to get Quigley there, but he’d have let the man go on his way back to America without any fuss if he hadn’t decided to raise his fists.

Elliott’s back was still sore from his fall. You, with your tender heart and soft hands, had patched him up the best you could, but it still ached. Not only had Quigley made Elliott seem weak in front of his men by throwing him out of his own house, but he’d embarrassed him in front of you too.

Now, Quigley had killed his men, and probably stolen their supplies too. Which meant that he was probably still alive, and though Australia might still do her work on him, there was a chance he’d survive.

Elliott couldn’t let that stand. He had to make sure the American was dead, and if Australia didn’t do it for him, he’d do it himself.

Matthew Quigley wasn’t his only problem. He also had his cousin’s shadow looming over the beautiful woman in his arms, who he was falling more in love with every day. Sometimes he thought perhaps you might be falling for him too, but then you’d mention that bloody husband of yours.

As well as the bodies of his men, Major Ashley-Pitt had also delivered the news from Melbourne that Judge Turpin had been held up in finding suitable accommodation for him and his wife, he’d be travelling to collect his wife as soon as he could and he apologises that she may have to stay at the station a little longer.

That gave Elliott an idea. He didn’t want to have his cousin killed - they were family, after all, and he hardly expected you as a grieving widow would want to be with the man who’d had her husband killed. But he could delay William’s arrival a little longer, giving himself more time to win you over. Then, when William arrived to pick you up, Elliott would challenge him to a duel for your hand. William would either accept, and inevitably lose, or decline and give you the choice to stay.

You hummed with contentment in your sleep and wriggled closer to him, as if you’d heard his idea and thought it splendid. Yes, he’d do that, he decided as he planted a kiss to your head and finally closed his eyes to settle into sleep. In the morning, he’d send three of his craftiest men back to Melbourne and task them with delaying Judge Turpin’s arrival at the station for as long as possible, giving him the time he needed to win your heart.

***

Thanks to his sleepless night, Elliott awoke later than usual in the morning and found the bed empty. He got himself dressed and stepped out onto his porch, the hat on his head protecting his eyes from the glaring sun as he looked around to make sure everyone was at work.

The only person not at work that should be, he in fact noticed, was your brother, Tommy. He had apparently decided that 11 o’clock in the morning was the perfect time to be playing hopscotch.

“[L/n]! Why aren’t you working?” Elliott called just as Tommy hopped onto one leg, causing him to lose concentration and fall down.

“Elliott, you did that on purpose!” you said with gentle admonishment, appearing from around the side of the building with a hat in your hand. “That can only mean that Tommy can go again since he was unfairly distracted.”

“It’s almost noon, he should be working by now!”

“He’s working very hard, aren’t you, Tommy?” you said as you placed the hat on your brother’s head. “Tell Mr Marston what you’re doing.”

Tommy bit his lip, a habit he shared with you. “I’m - erm —”

“Yes?” Elliott prompted, leaning against the pillar with his arms folded.

“He’s keeping me amused, since you’re too busy sleeping to do it yourself,” you said, standing next to Tommy with a protective hand on his shoulder. “I had to have breakfast all by my lonesome this morning, so Tommy offered to keep me company until you woke up.”

Elliott narrowed his eyes at you. You were picking up an attitude, and while that kind of cheek wouldn’t have been acceptable from any of his men, in you it stirred something inside him.

“I don’t accept cheek at my station, Lady Turpin,” he reminded you with a low growl. “[L/n], go find Coogan, he’ll give you something to do. [Y/n], inside.”

Tommy ran off quickly, glad to have avoided Elliott’s wrath, and you followed Elliott back into the house with far less subservience than he would have liked.

As soon as the door was shut, Elliott pushed you up against the wall, lips tantalisingly close to yours.

“Where’s this attitude come from, hm?” he said in a low voice, eyes boring into yours. “Have you forgotten your place?”

“I must have,” you replied with a mischievous grin that only served to stir Elliott’s cock. “Are you going to remind me?”

Elliott’s hands ran down your body, resting on your waist, his fingers flexing as he resisted grabbing you elsewhere.

“Your place… is right next to me,” he growled. “If I’m in bed, so are you. If I’m oversleeping, you wake me up with your mouth. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Elliott grinned. He pressed himself against you, and you could feel the outline of his growing erection through your skirt. He took a deep breath, as if collecting himself.

“Normally I’d teach you a lesson by taking you right here, right now… but as you say, I overslept. I have work to do. I’m afraid your lesson will have to wait.”

“How are you gonna work with this?” you teased, brushing your fingers against his crotch, and he groaned in frustration.

“Fuck, [Y/n]… what happened to the innocent lamb I met in Melbourne, hm? The girl who was so shocked at the idea of laying with another man.”

“You happened.”

Well, there was no way he could resist that.

But… he did have work to do.

He’d better multitask, then.

Elliott took you by the arm and dragged you over to his desk. He pushed his chair back, giving you room to kneel as he pushed you to your knees, and you knew immediately what he had in mind when he sat in his chair and unbuckled his belt.

He pulled his cock out, hard and dripping with precum, and you instinctively opened your mouth for him. Elliott sighed with relief when he slipped past your lips and his cock sat heavy on your tongue, stopping just shy of the back of your throat. You instinctively tried to open your throat to take him fully, but Elliott grabbed the back of your head and held you still.

“Stay still, darling. I just want you to use that slutty mouth of yours to keep me warm while I work. Can you do that for me?”

You nodded as best you could, and Elliott smiled hungrily. You were so good, so obedient. The perfect little wife.

He pulled out a pen and some paper and began drafting demands for Quigley’s capture and promises of a reward. His servant came in with a plate of jam and toast for his breakfast, and you tried to extract yourself when you heard movement, but Elliott put a hand firmly on your head and kept you in place.

He considered drafting orders to the men he’d choose to delay William, but he decided against it. If written proof were found of his instructions, his cousin could cause him some serious trouble. No, this was something that would have to be done surreptitiously.

Since he was so comfortable at his desk with you between his knees, Elliott wasn’t keen on moving, so he took the time to work on some other paperwork he’d been putting off. He wrote some letters, kept his accounts ledger up to date, and occasionally slipped his spare hand below the desk to stroke the side of your face, making sure you knew he appreciated how good you were being for him. He’d have to think of a worthy reward for you later.

About mid-afternoon, satisfied with the paperwork he’d got through, Elliott sat back in his chair and looked down at you. He gently pulled your head back to pull out of you, and you immediately rubbed your aching jaw.

“Oh, are you aching? You’ve been such a good girl, [Y/n],” Elliott cooed, stroking your jaw affectionately. “Come on, get up here. I think it’s about time we had a break, don’t you think?”

You nodded and stood up, desperate to get off your knees and onto his lap, and Elliott chuckled at your eagerness.

“Skirt up, bloomers down. Be a good girl for me.”

You obeyed, and when your bloomers came down your knees they were soaked. Elliott looked so handsome, sprawled in his chair with his legs spread out, shirt half-buttoned and chest hair poking out - how could you not be dripping for him?

You hitched your skirt up to your waist as you climbed onto Elliott’s lap, knees either side of his hips, and slid yourself down onto his waiting cock. He groaned with relief, finally giving into the desires that had been swirling around his mind for the last few hours, the desperate need to fill you up until you could take no more.

Even though your knees were aching, you desperately wanted to feel the friction of his cock moving inside you, so you ignored the ache as you rode him, focusing instead on the delicious pleasure inside you, the stretch you felt as you impaled yourself over and over again on his cock, the beautiful way he groaned with pleasure, letting you know you were doing well.

“Such a good… good girl…” Elliott muttered. He sucked on your breast through the fabric of your dress, desperate to rip the fabric apart to get at the soft flesh beneath your bodice. If it were easily replaceable he would have, but it was a dress you’d made yourself and he wouldn’t dare ruin your hard work.

There was something so deliciously sinful about watching you ride him fully clothed. Your skirt fell over both your laps, and if it weren’t for your skilled bouncing and both of your sinful groans, a visitor might think you were sitting on his lap quite innocently.

Yes, you looked innocent, but underneath the exterior image of the sweet little Lady was a cockhungry slut, desperate to be fucked and loved the way you deserved, and Elliott knew he was the one to give it to you. Sure, William fucked you three times a day, but did he make you cum? Did he look after you, make sure you were clean and comfortable, adore and worship you the way you deserved, even out of the bedroom? From everything you’d said about him, Elliott suspected not.

He grabbed your hips firmly, stilling your movements, and lifted you up to place you on the desk. He supported your back with one hand while he laid you down, hair a mess and dress crinkled, your cheeks bright red, all splayed out on the desk for him to see.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, before thrusting into you once more.

Elliott’s face was red and sweat was dripping off his brow thanks to the Australian heat plus the exertion of fucking you into the table, but that didn’t slow him down. You could see his chest glistening too between the loosened buttons of his shirt, and the way he looked at you, with both adoration and hunger, was an image you wanted to burn into your memory forever.

“Have I ever told you how handsome you are?”

Elliott nearly faltered in his movements, and if he weren’t already bright red from exertion you might have seen him blush.

“You think so, huh? Even when I’m fucking you into the desk?”

“Uh-huh. Especially now. You’re so lost in the moment, it’s - ah! - it’s beautiful.”

Elliott laughed and shook his head. “I’ve been called a lot of things, [Y/n]. That sure isn’t one of them.”

You were too lost in the moment to hear the door open, but you did hear the voice of one of Elliott’s men as he walked in.

“Hey, Mr Marston, me and the boys were wondering - woah!”

Elliott stopped his movements but stayed buried inside you.

“I am busy, Cavanagh,” he hissed.

“Yeah, I see that. Hey, I thought we weren’t allowed to fuck this one?”

“This one has a name. And no, you’re not allowed to fuck her. She’s mine.”

“Ain’t she married?”

“None of your business, Cavanagh, now fuck off.”

The door slammed shut, and Elliott sighed. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” you said quickly. “Just keep - keep going, please…”

Elliott grinned. “As you wish.”

Cavanagh had a point, Elliott thought as he continued his desperate thrusting into your cunt. You were married. And yet — here you were, on his desk, legs spread open for him, telling him he was handsome when he fucked you. Telling him he was beautiful. And when he slid his hand under your skirt to press his thumb against your clit, you moaned his name so sinfully, he wanted nothing more than to mark you as his.

Your orgasm washed over you, causing you to scream his name loud enough for the whole station to hear, and the way your cunt clamped down around his cock made withdrawing impossible as he exploded inside you, shooting his seed into your womb, a long, sinful groan stuttering from his throat.

Elliott almost collapsed on top of you, just about catching himself with his elbows, and you took the opportunity to kiss him, silencing any apology he might have been forming for spilling inside you. In fact, you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him in further, as if trying to push his seed as deep inside you as he could.

He trailed kisses down your jaw and neck, murmuring words of praise, telling you how good you were for him, how beautiful you looked in the throes of pleasure… he had to stop himself from telling you how much he adored you, how you invaded his every waking thought, how desperately he was falling in love with you.

Those words would have to wait. But if your words and actions that afternoon were anything to go by, it wouldn’t be long until he could have you all to himself.

***

A few days later, you were sitting in the shade of a tree with a pile of the men’s clothes next to you. You’d offered to patch up the holes in some of Elliott’s older shirts, and when the men heard what you were doing, they began bringing you their torn clothes too. Elliott made it very clear to them that they had to ask you politely, and if he heard of anyone treating you like a servant, they’d have no dinner that night.

You, of course, had no idea of this instruction and thought the men were all just being very polite, and you were too polite yourself to say no. Not that you minded - you liked being useful, you liked sewing and you liked sitting under the tree. Most of all, you liked that you could look up and watch Elliott at work, ordering his men around. Even the way he stood was attractive to you, his hands on his hips, stance relaxed yet powerful at the same time. Any stranger coming into the station would know he was the man in charge.

You had no idea, as he stood giving instructions to three of his men, that he was telling them to sabotage your husband’s journey to pick you up.

“When you can’t delay him any longer, you offer to escort him here,” Elliott was saying to them. “Keep him alive, treat him with respect, but make the journey slow as possible. He’ll get here eventually, and when he does I want him unharmed. Understood?”

“Yessir,” the men all said.

“Good. Get your supplies together and get going. The longer he takes to get here, the more I’ll pay you.”

Excited at the prospect of more gold, the man clapped each other on the back and scarpered. Elliott looked over at you and smiled when he realised you were watching him. He gave you a little wave and you waved back before ducking your head to focus on your sewing, a little embarrassed that he’d caught you watching him. He had a spring in his step as he went around the back of the station to find the women where he’d hoped he’d find them, tending to the allotment that had been cultivated to the rear of the station.

“Afternoon, ladies,” he said, tipping his hat to them. “I wonder if any of you are versed in floriography?”

***

The next day, you spent almost all day patching up the clothes you’d been given, and it wasn’t until almost evening that you were able to finish the last shirt.

You laid out the men’s clothes in a pile outside their lodgings, then you were about to go searching for Elliott when you saw him approaching you with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

“I thought tonight we might dine under the stars,” he said, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Just you, me and Australia. How about it?”

“I’d love to!” you grinned.

“Excellent, I’ve got the wagon all set up. I know just the spot!”

He took your hand and led you out to the wagon, which was waiting at the gate with Elliott’s servant at the helm.

Elliott helped you up into the wagon, which you hadn’t been in since your arrival, and you noticed that he’d already loaded it up with baskets and blankets.

“Why, Mr Marston, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were taking me on a date,” you teased as he heaved himself up into the wagon and took a seat opposite you.

Elliott winked at you, then hit the side of the wagon twice to signal to the servant that he should start moving.

You were excited for your date, or whatever it was. You always ate alone with Elliott, but your meals were too often interrupted by his men bursting in with some question or news. He always shooed them away, but that didn’t stop them interrupting again when something else came up.

“How’s your search for the gunman going?” you asked.

“I’ve put up a reward for his capture, and I’ve got men out looking for him,” Elliott replied. “If he knows what’s good for him he’ll be heading to Melbourne to get the first boat back to America, so I’ve sent some out that way too.”

“Is it a good idea to send so many men out to find him? What if he kills them like he did the last two?”

“There’s never a shortage of men looking for work,” Elliott shrugged. “Besides, I’m sure they’ll bring him in soon enough. He’s a long-range shooter, he’ll be useless at short range. They just need to get close enough to him.” He shook his head and put a hand on your knee. “But never mind that nasty business. I want to know all there is to know about you. You’ve been by my side for a week now and I feel I’ve hardly scratched the surface of you.”

You shrugged coyly. “You know all there is to know, Elliott.”

“I doubt that. For example - I’ve noticed there’s a scar on your left arm. There must be a story there. How does a gentle thing like you end up with a scar?”

Your hand instinctively grabbed at your upper left arm where the scar in question was. You forgot about it most days, as it was hidden underneath your sleeve - but Elliott, of course, did everything he could to get your clothes off.

“Oh, yes… that’s from when I was shot.”

Elliott’s eyes widened in surprise.

“You were shot?”

“Why so surprised? You love shooting things.”

“Yes, but not women!”

You laughed.

“I suppose not. I was shot by the sailor who stole William’s ward away. She ran away quite literally; I chased after down the street. He shot at me to keep me at bay. He only grazed my arm, but it was enough to delay me, and enough to leave a mark.”

“Why were you chasing after them and not William?”

“He was busy finding a constable to arrest the man who’d tried to kill him.”

The confused frown on Elliott’s brow deepened, and you laughed.

“I’m sorry, I’m telling the story backwards. I should tell it from the beginning. It was frightening at the time, but looking back on it now, it’s quite an exciting tale.”

Your telling of the tale of Sweeney Todd, the demon barber of Fleet Street, lasted the whole journey, and you were just telling Elliott about the death toll on the final night of Todd’s reign of terror when the wagon pulled up at your dinner spot.

“What a horrifying experience for you,” Elliott said as he helped you down from the wagon. “No woman should be exposed to that sort of thing, especially not someone as sweet as you.”

He took a blanket from the wagon and laid it down on the ground for you.

“Here, have a seat and admire the view while I get our dinner unpacked.”

Seated on the blanket, you admired the view just as Elliott had told you to - but the view you were admiring wasn’t the horizon, as beautiful as the Australian landscape was, but Elliott as he unloaded the baskets from the wagon - particularly when he bent down to open the baskets, and you got a lovely view of his bum.

You were restless after the journey, so you stood and looked out over the landscape. Elliott had taken you to the top of a cliff that looked out over the outback, a landscape that stretched for countless miles, with not a building in sight. You saw trees, and animals, and a few ponds, but mostly it was empty plains. It made you feel small, but it also filled you with pride, knowing that the land you were looking out on was Elliott’s.

“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?” Elliott said softly as he came up behind you.

“Yes, it’s wonderful,” you replied with a smile. You turned to him, and you gasped a little in surprise when you saw that he was holding a bouquet of flowers.

“I gathered these from the allotment for you,” Elliott said, and you blushed hard when he held them out to you. “Would you accept them as a token of affection from my humble self?”

Your heart was all aflutter. Who knew he could be such a romantic!

“Oh, Elliott, they’re beautiful!”

You took the flowers from him, and your heart skipped a beat when you realised they were red tulips. You hesitated, then held the flowers to your chest and smiled at him shyly.

“Thank you,” you whispered, as if speaking any louder might be heard in Melbourne.

Elliott smiled, and you swore you saw relief cross his face. He offered his hand to you and led you to sit on the blanket, where he’d laid out an array of snacks for you. You sat there together for hours, and when the sun went down and the air became chilly, Elliott wrapped his coat around your shoulders to keep you warm.

“Now, I’m sure you’ll agree that the best way to enjoy strawberries… is with chocolate,” Elliott said proudly as he opened a tin of melted chocolate, and your eyes widened.

“You’ve got chocolate!” you gasped. “I haven’t had chocolate in years! And so much of it too - Elliott, you shouldn’t have, this must have cost a fortune…”

“Nonsense. It’s worth every penny to see the look on your face right now.”

You glanced at him and blushed when you saw the way he was looking at you, eyes alight with admiration.

“Oh, but it’s all melted!”

“Trust me, that’s how we want it.”

Elliott picked up a strawberry, dipped it in the chocolate and held it up to you.

“Open.”

You obeyed, and when your teeth sunk into the strawberry, you thought you must have died and gone to Heaven, because nothing on Earth could possibly taste this good.

“Do you like it?”

You nodded your enthusiasm, mouth too busy savouring the flavour to speak. You took a strawberry and dipped it, then held it up for Elliott to take a bite. You giggled when you saw that he’d managed to get some chocolate in his moustache, and when you pointed it out his response was to dab some chocolate on the end of your nose.

“Why have chocolate-dipped strawberries when I can have chocolate-dipped [Y/n]?”

“Oh, sure, I bet you’d love to lick it all up off me, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Elliott replied innocently, before licking the chocolate from the end of your nose.

“Hmm, then I guess you won’t mind if I do this?”

You forwent the strawberry and dipped your finger straight into the chocolate and dabbed it on Elliott’s lips. He caught your finger in his mouth and sucked it clean, but you still managed to get some on his lips, so once your finger was free you licked his lips clean in a motion that one might have mistaken for a kiss.

Elliott wrapped his arms around you and pulled you with him as he fell onto his back, both of you giggling like children.

“Careful, you’ll knock the food on the ground!”

“You think I care about that?”

“I don’t want to lose any of the chocolate.”

“Have a preference for sweet things, do you, [Y/n]?”

“I like you, so I must do.”

Your words flooded Elliott’s brain as he kissed you, and though the chocolate was long since cleaned up, he continued exploring your mouth with his tongue, and to his surprise your tongue fought back, fighting for dominance between your mouths.

“God, I want to fuck you right here, beneath the stars,” Elliott growled when you both called the battle a draw and paused for breath. “All of the land below us… and my cock in your cunt, just as it was made to be.”

You grinned mischievously and sat up, scooting back slightly to sit on his legs, pinning him to the ground while giving yourself access to unbuckle his belt.

“You’ve done so much for me today, Elliott. Let me return the favour.”

He stared at you, flabbergasted, wondering what had happened to you to suddenly want to take the lead. But he wasn’t complaining - there was something so incredibly sexy about you owning your power.

Elliott closed his eyes and groaned when you took your cock in his hand, and his eyes shot open again in surprise when he felt you sinking onto him almost immediately.

“[Y/n]…”

You hummed inquiringly, as if you didn’t know exactly what had him so surprised.

“Are you… not wearing any bloomers?”

You grinned.

“Why bother? They always end up a mess anyway. I might as well save on the washing, and be ready for you whenever you want me.”

Now it was Elliott’s turn to wonder if he’d died and gone to Heaven. But he’d killed too many men to ever get anywhere near the pearly gates, so he must still be in the mortal realm, you the visiting angel who was blessing him with your grace, your presence, your kind heart and — son of a bitch, your damn fine cunt too.

He loved watching you ride him with your dress still buttoned, your skirt pooled around your waist, your hair just about still pinned up but threatening to fall out at any moment with the ferocity of your movements. Dressed like a prim and proper Lady, fucking him like the desperate slut he knew you really were underneath. Even under the confines of your corset, he could see the movement of your breasts bouncing in time with your hips, desperate to be free of the stifling confines of your dress.

If only you could always be as free as you were now, taking your pleasure because you wanted to, not because you thought you had to. Elliott could give you that freedom here, the freedom to be your own woman. Even if you were his wife, he’d let you be free, doing whatever you wanted. If you wanted to have five kids and devote yourself to being a mother, he’d happily build a bigger house to keep them all; if you wanted to devote yourself to creating and mending clothes to earn your own money, he had plenty of space to build you a shop. He’d give you anything you wanted, anything at all. You only had to ask. You already had his heart; what was anything more on top of that?

You grabbed his right hand from where it was holding onto your thigh and guided him under your skirt towards your sweet spot.

“Touch me, Elliott,” you begged. “Please…”

Oh, with pleasure, he meant to say, but it came out as more of a mumble, his brain too addled by the pleasure you were bringing him to focus on something so menial as forming coherent words.

You could have happily stayed there for hours, bouncing on Elliott’s cock while he caressed your sweet spot in just the right way, but your cunt had other ideas, and you could feel the pleasure building up inside you.

“If you cum on my cock, [Y/n], I don’t think I’ll make it,” Elliott warned you, his voice high and whiny, betraying the way you were sending him absolutely fucking wild.

You leant down, pressing your clothed torso against his, and Elliott gasped when you nibbled on the skin on his neck.

You pressed your lips to his ear and whispered, “Go ahead. I want you to.”

Elliott immediately increased the speed with which he was touching you, his hips thrusting up to meet yours, and just as he’d promised, when your cunt clamped around him and you moaned his name into his ear as ecstasy overtook you, Elliott shuddered as his seed spilled inside you, filling you up with his desire, his adoration and - fuck it - his love for you.

“[Y/n]… [Y/n]… oh, [Y/n]…”

He mumbled your name like it was the only word he knew, as if saying it over and over again would be enough to tell you everything he could never say.

You stayed in his arms even long after you’d both come down from your highs, savouring each other’s presence, lingering in the cloud of everything you could never say to one another.

But maybe you didn’t have to say it. Because once upon a time, when Johanna was teaching you to read, she showed you a book with many pictures and short descriptions, a book which also taught you about the secret language of flowers among the social elite, and you remembered the entry for red tulips very well.

I declare my love.

You were in big trouble.

***

You’d been at the station for over a week now, and you were starting to get worried.

William had promised to join you within a few days of your own arrival. Elliott tried to assure you that delays happened, he might have been held up in Melbourne or on the journey, and there was surely nothing to worry about.

That didn’t ease your mind. You remembered what Elliott had said to you in the bathroom about your husband taking whores in Melbourne. Surely he wouldn’t? He had promised fidelity in his wedding vows, after all, and your husband was a pious man. He didn’t make promises lightly, and certainly not promises before God.

Then again, he’d ordered you into Elliott’s bed, even knowing it was infidelity. He’d sworn no one else would ever have you, yet he’d offered you up as if he were simply lending a book. Was he getting bored of you? Did he even intend to pick you up at all, or was your ‘visit’ a ploy to get you off his hands? Perhaps he’d found whores more skilled than you in Melbourne, or even a better wife, one of good standing whose womb would take his seed.

Or… perhaps he had left Melbourne, never to arrive. Maybe he got lost in the plains. Maybe… maybe he was lying dead in the sun somewhere, dingos picking at his corpse —

You pushed the thought out of your mind. You couldn’t stand to even imagine it.

You were sitting atop the hill that shielded the station from the worst of the sun, looking out across the land that stretched to the horizon and, somewhere beyond it, to Melbourne. It was peaceful here; with your back to the station, far enough that you couldn’t hear the goings on, you could almost imagine you were alone.

That was, until you heard the footsteps of someone coming up the hill behind you. They stopped, and you ignored them, continuing your watch over the horizon.

“What on earth are you doing up here?”

When you didn’t reply, Elliott clamboured over to you and sat by your side.

“You know, sitting in the sunlight for too long can make you sick.”

He pushed back a strand of your hair that had fallen across your cheek, and you winced.

“[Y/n], you’re bright red. You need to get inside. What are you doing out here?”

“Which way’s Melbourne?”

Elliott looked at you for a long moment. Then, he looked out at the horizon and pointed. “Two or three days that way, speed depending. Maybe four if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Elliott seemed to know what you were thinking because he put his hand over yours and said, “Sitting here won’t bring him any closer.”

“But I’ll see him sooner —”

“And he’ll be greeted by a burnt red tomato for a wife. Believe me, [Y/n], you don’t want to be burnt by the sun. Please will you come back to the station with me?”

You hesitated, but you agreed, and Elliott helped you to your feet. You took his arm to steady yourself on the uneven ground, and as you walked, you noticed your skin was feeling dry and tight. You raised your spare hand to your cheek, and noticed the heat radiating from yourself.

“Am I very red?”

Elliott stopped walking, turned to face you and pushed your bonnet back to examine your face properly. He winced, and you knew it wasn’t good news.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Like I said, we need to get you inside. I’ve got some ointments to help with the dry skin. I’ve caught the sun plenty of times, but it’s not a pleasant experience, and certainly not one I wish for you. You should have told me you were going up there, [Y/n]. You could have been taken by an Aborigine or worse.”

“I wanted to be alone,” you replied dejectedly. “And I wanted to wait for William —”

“I know, sweetheart,” Elliott said softly, gently cupping your face in his hands, and though he smiled sympathetically, a fleeting sadness crossed his expression when you said your husband’s name. “But you need protection, even from Australia herself. I could have given you a parasol for the sun, a gun for defence… Well, never mind that now. Come on.”

As you entered the station, you passed some of the men practising shooting tin cans, and you recalled Elliott’s comment about giving you a gun for defence.

“Would you teach me how to shoot?”

Elliott looked over at you, a hint of excitement on his face. “You’d want to learn? A delicate lady like you?”

“I’m tougher than you think!” you insisted stubbornly. “I grew up on the streets of London, remember?”

Elliott chuckled and put his arm around your waist as you entered the house, and you had to admit the shade was a relief.

He sat you down on the sofa and pulled out a jar of ointment from his desk drawer. “Alright, I’ll teach you how to shoot. But only for emergencies, understand? You should stay with me whenever possible, so you’ll always have me to keep you safe.”

He sat next to you and carefully took your bonnet off to start applying the ointment to your reddened skin.

“You’re so protective,” you said with a giggle. “Like a lion. Will you protect me from the scary dogs and the wild people, my big strong lion?”

“I’ll protect you from anything,” Elliott said seriously. “I’m the fastest draw in Australia, there’s nothing and nobody I won’t shoot down to protect you.”

“You can’t shoot the sun, Elliott.”

“I can try. How do you feel?"

Scared for where my husband is. Frightened of how I feel for you. Terrified that I want to stay.

“It stings.”

“It will, but it’s necessary to heal.”

“I know. I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

Because I’ll do anything to have you.

“I’m a dangerous man, [Y/n].”

He gently turned your head to the side to pay attention to your other cheek.

“You don’t seem so dangerous to me.”

Elliott smirked. “The most dangerous men seem harmless, until they stab you in the back.”

“You won’t stab me in the back, Elliott. You’d shoot instead.”

He smiled.

“Shoot you? Never. But if a man threatened to harm you… I wouldn’t hesitate.”

He glanced at your eyes before returning his focus to your skin, wondering if you understood his meaning. He didn’t want to tell you that he planned on challenging William to a duel for your hand as soon as he arrived, but when it did happen, he wanted you to understand that he was doing it to protect you, because from everything you’d told him, no man had harmed you as much as your husband had.

“Have you had news of the sharpshooter?”

Elliott’s lips thinned and his brow furrowed in the adorable way it did when he was annoyed.

“He killed more of my men last night. Seems to have decided he’d rather protect the Aborigines for nothing than shoot them for pay.” He scoffed. “I’ve upped the reward. I can’t afford to lose so many men so quickly. There, I think I got it all.”

Elliott stood to return the ointment to its drawer.

“What will you do when someone does bring him in?” you asked. “Oh, if you have him arrested, maybe William can send him to the gallows.”

Elliott smirked and pulled his revolver from its holster. “Nah, no point in all those formalities for the same outcome. I’ll kill him myself.”

He turned the gun around in his hand and pointed the handle towards you.

”Still wanna learn?”

Frankly you were still scared of guns, but you were more scared of Matthew Quigley and, though you’d never tell Elliott this, the men at the station, who leered at you when Elliott’s back was turned.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

***

Wary of your fresh sunburn, Elliott waited until sundown to teach you how to shoot. He stood behind you in the middle of the station, hands on your waist as he guided your stance. The heat being what it was, you’d taken to wearing thinner skirts, which made it a lot easier for you to feel the outline of his cock pressing up against your bum.

“Do you stand this close to your men when you teach them to shoot?” you said with a smirk.

“Of course I don’t,” Elliott murmured in your ear. “But I find myself drawn to you like a moth to a flame.”

“Careful, sweetie,” you whispered in reply. “The moth dies in the flame.”

“And what a way to go that’d be. Now… remember what I told you?”

“That I look pretty in this dress?”

Elliott chuckled, his breath warm on your cheek. “You look pretty in everything, darling. No, I mean about the gun. How do you make sure you don’t accidentally set it off?”

“Safety on at all times. Click it off only to use it, then straight back on.”

Elliott kissed your cheek. “Good girl. You wanna give it a shot?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Alright. Show me your grip.”

His heart swelled with pride when he saw your fingers slide into place around the barrel of the gun, as if you’d held one a thousand times before.

“Good. Now, aim it at that can over there.”

He pointed to a can that he’d placed on the fence. You raised your arm, holding the gun straight, and Elliott gently placed his hand on your shoulder.

“Relax your arm a bit. You don’t want to be tense, or the recoil’s gonna be a bitch. Now, I wanna see how you aim naturally. Give it a go, but don’t worry, I don’t expect you to get anywhere near it on your first try. Take your time. Breathe. Line it up… then take the safety off and pull the trigger.”

He still had a hand on your waist, but rather than distracting you, you found it soothing, as if his very presence was grounding you.

You thumbed the safety off, then pulled the trigger, and winced at the loud bang as the bullet shot out the end - and the can toppled off the fence.

“Holy shit,” Elliott breathed.

“Hey, I got it!” you said with surprise.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ did,” Elliott growled. He wrapped his arms around you, groping you hungrily, and you felt his cock pressing against your bum again. “God, that was so hot. You’re a natural, [Y/n]. You sure you’ve never shot before?”

You blushed, excitement tingling through you, pleased with yourself that Elliott was impressed with you.

“I just figured it’s not much different from sewing, right? Except it’s a gun and a bullet instead of a needle and thread. The target’s just the hole for the thread.”

Elliott grinned. “Brilliant. So brilliant. Here, let’s see where you managed to hit it.”

He jogged over to pick the can up from the floor and examined it. It was dented right at the top - you’d managed to hit it, but only just. He brought it back to you and showed you the mark your bullet had left.

“Not perfect, but a damn good shot, especially for your first try. I have men who practised for days before they could hit it.”

“Not perfect?” you repeated with mock indignation. “If that was a man’s head, he’d be dead either way.”

“True enough, sweetheart. Even I don’t shoot it perfectly on target every time.”

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you show me what you’ve got, cowboy?”

Elliott looked at you with a devilish glint in his eye. He loved to shoot, he loved to show off, and he especially loved to show off in front of you.

He replaced the can on the fence, then took your spot to ready himself to shoot at it.

“Nuh-uh, mister!” you protested. “That’s a beginner’s spot. If you’re such a good shot, you need to take another… six paces back.”

Elliott shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

He took six steps back, making sure they were big strides too, and you stepped back as well, not wanting to be close to his firing range - not that you expected him to miss so wildly as to hit you.

Elliott locked eyes with you and grinned cockily. You hardly had time to smile back when his gun was out and the can was flying off the fence.

You retrieved it this time, and just as expected, there was a round bullet-sized hole slap bang in the middle of the tin and mirrored on the other side.

Elliott jogged up behind you to examine his work.

“See? I told you,” he said proudly. “Best shot in Australia.”

“Sure you are.” You grabbed his hat, which he’d left hanging on a fence post when the sun went down, and placed it on your head. It was a little big for you, so you tipped it back to stop it covering your eyes.

“Look at me, I’m Elliott Marston! I like shooting things, making jelly and fucking [Y/n] [L/n]. I own so much land in Australia but I wish I was an American cowboy. I have a massive cock and I know how to use it. I —”

BANG!

You let out a squeal of surprise when the gun in your hand went off, and you instinctively dropped it to the floor. Fortunately, the bullet only lodged into the fence post, but Elliott instinctively pulled you back anyway.

“What’d I tell you about the safety!” he hissed. “You gotta turn it off as soon as you’re done shooting!”

He grabbed the gun from the floor and clicked the safety on. He tucked the gun under his belt and turned to you to check you were okay, and to his surprise you were standing with your head tucked, your fingers fidgeting anxiously with your dress.

“I’m sorry,” you said meekly. “I’m too simple for guns, I shouldn’t have tried —”

“Hey, hey, shh!”

Elliott cupped your face in his hands and forced you to look at him.

“Hey, come on, now. You’re nothing of the sort. You forgot in the excitement, that’s all. You’ll remember next time, won’t you?”

You nodded, and Elliott thought he might just melt at the sight of your doe eyes, so sweet and innocent, looking up at him as if you were frightened of him. Had he ever given the impression you had anything to fear from him if you did something wrong?

No, he thought as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and held you tight, murmuring soothing words against your skin as he littered soft kisses over the top of your head. He’d never done anything to make you fear his anger - but he was willing to bet your husband had. You’d been so timid in Melbourne, so frightened of disobeying William that you’d even agreed to warm a stranger’s bed because you had no choice but to obey your husband.

And simple? In what world were you simple? Or was that just an insult your husband used to keep you believing you weren’t good enough to be anything more than his obedient wife?

“I think you’re brilliant, [Y/n],” Elliott said, pulling back from the embrace to look at you. “You hear me? I…”

He faltered. He’d nearly slipped and said what he should never say to another man’s wife, what he couldn’t say, not here, not now.

You knew, surely? Could he make it any more plain without saying it?

“Why don’t we work on your draw, huh?” Elliott said, ignoring the thoughts swirling inside his head, willing himself to draw his attention away from your beautiful doe eyes. “It’s all well and good aiming, but if you’re too late to draw, you won’t have chance to aim.”

You nodded, and Elliott kissed your forehead warmly.

“Come on. Bet you can draw faster than half the men here.”

(You could.)

#elliott marston #elliott marston x reader #quigley down under #alan rickman #the eternal summer

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