Malcolm Graves stood on one of the many bluffs overlooking Butcher's Bridge with a premium smoke perfuming the air around him. Today was his birthday, not like anyone knew, but that was just the way he wanted it. After all, he didn't see much point in celebrating with others, especially when he was a wanted man who was well past thirty.
He'd driven the butt of the cigar into the ground when he heard the loud clacking of heels on uneven stone. Questioning the choice of footwear, he lit another from the tin and took a glance over his shoulder.
"Hey there, Malcolm," the familiar redhead greeted from under the brim of her hat.
"Sarah," he replied, suspicions rising.
Her voice was dripping with sugar, "I heard it was your birthday."
His brow furrowed in confusion. "Who told you?"
"Fate. I hired him last week."
"Naturally," Graves rolled his eyes. "Did he say that you'd find me here, too?"
"No, I had to tip the owner of the smoke shop for that."
"Is that so," he deadpanned. She'd certainly gone out of her way to seek him out.
"Anyway, I got you a present! It's a really good one, I swear," she grinned, placing her hands on her hips. Graves paused for a moment. True, he hadn't wanted to celebrate, but the fact that Sarah had taken the time to get something was a pleasant surprise.
"Well, thanks then. I appreciate it," he managed a slight smile back at her.
"You'll like it more when you actually see it. Let's go!" She grabbed his arm, yanking him onto his feet so she could lead the way.
"You can't give it to me here?" the outlaw questioned as she dragged him in the direction of the commercial district.
Miss Fortune laughed, releasing him so he could catch his footing. "Not quite. It has to be somewhere else."
Graves followed with some uncertainty. He'd known Sarah for years and had worked with her multiple times. She was a skilled captain, a great shot, and drop-dead gorgeous. All wonderful traits to have in a woman, if you asked him.
—But there was also the part of Sarah that liked to manipulate others for her own benefit, which he'd experienced firsthand.
That was years ago though, and he'd (mostly) gotten over it. Besides, it was still awfully nice of her to get him a gift. One that was too big to carry with her apparently, as Graves found himself walking up the rickety stairs of a hotel up to her room.
He followed her in and closed the door behind them with a soft click. He placed Destiny in the corner before turning back to Sarah who, to his surprise, had thrown off her hat and was undoing the front knot of her top.
Graves felt the cigar drop from his mouth and a headache coming on. He really should have known.
"For fuck's sake, Sarah, what are you doing?" Just as she was about to shrug off her shirt, he went to hold it closed, barely able to keep the ends of fabric together with her size.
"Isn't it obvious? I'm the present!" She declared, looking far too proud of herself. Graves stared dumbfounded and unconsciously let go of her shirt, allowing it to part in the middle like an open curtain.
"You're what now?" was all the outlaw could muster as his eyes strayed to her exposed chest. She chuckled at the direction of his gaze as she kicked off her boots.
"See, I was thinking, I could get you a pack of smokes or a handle of something nice, but what's the fun in that, right?" she cooed, tracing his jawline with her fingers.
"...I'm not so sure about this," he muttered, finding the wall behind him as he withdrew from her touch.
"Am I not your type?" Miss Fortune asked, looking a bit disappointed. "Well, that's alright. I can always ask one of my girls to come over instead."
He blinked. "Come again?"
"Or guys, if that's what floats your boat." she shrugged. "Most of 'em agree you're a pretty tall glass of water for your age."
He could hardly believe this conversation was even happening. Leave it to Sarah Fortune to discuss his physical appearance with her entire crew.
"So what'll it be, birthday boy?" the redhead asked with a tilt of her head.
"I never said you weren't my type," Graves clarified, feeling a bit warm at the thought. He watched as her expression brightened immediately.
"Good, I was thinking you preferred gals with flatter chests there for a minute," she said with relief, throwing her top off entirely and pulling her trousers down over her hips.
Ah, he'd always reckoned she'd be a thong kinda gal.
Wait a second.
"Sarah-" he was cut off by her suddenly draping her arms around his neck and shoulders to lean against him heavily.
"We're friends, aren't we?" she asked him in a velvety tone. "I like you enough, Malcolm, and I want to do this, so what's the problem?"
There were probably a million reasons why they shouldn't be doing this, but with her draped against him in barely anything at all, it seemed like the part of his brain that should have come up with those reasons had become curiously absent.
He put his hands on her hips with a relenting sigh. So much for celebrating alone.
"I guess there isn't one," Sarah smirked before wasting no time and kissing him fully.