The Outlaw Blaine Anderson (6/14)
Title: The Outlaw Blaine Anderson
Author: mothergoddamn
Pairing/characters: Kurt/Blaine
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Kurt Hummel, lonely shop-keep filled with dreams of escape, meets a stranger in the midst of the Wild West. And then gets taken on an adventure - whether he likes it or not.
Previous 1/2/3/ 4/5
The Outlaw Blaine Anderson
Chapter 6
The soles of Kurt's feet ached and his lungs burned as he took shallow, shuddering breaths. His awareness faded from him as he ran, Blaine's voice soon becoming distant. He'd hidden behind a scattering of large rocks, his knees aching from the hard, dusty ground. Having crouched there until night had completely fallen, his bones ached with the night's chill; his stomach rumbled, and his hands trembled with nerves. He took little comfort in picturing his father's face in his mind because he couldn't remember a time in his life when he wanted to see it more.
He had always been meticulously careful. He had learned his lesson two summers ago when Finn had moved to town, misreading his kindness for something more. Kurt had to hide his ways; it was too dangerous not to. The world was too cruel, and so were the people in it. And now? He'd gone and shared his secret with a cutthroat who had his own wanted poster. Wiping at his face, he shook his head. He couldn't sit and wallow. What was done was done, and he had to get moving.
Kurt made his way down the hill, tentatively placing one foot in front of the other lest he trip in the dark. Dark, he thought, a flash of Blaine's eyes appearing in his mind. No. He couldn't be careless enough to think about the softness of Blaine's lips, or the feel of his chest, strong against his, or the scent that had surrounded him as he had pressed himself close. Of course, there was no point. Hopefully, he would never see Blaine again.
Squinting, he peered ahead, frowning to himself as he tried to make out the lay of the land. Then he smiled, feeling a flutter of excitement in his chest. He ignored the burn in his heels, and ran. There was a wagon trail! The road had to lead to somewhere, or at the very least, some travellers.
He rubbed his palms together as he wandered, the chill touching him all over. Again, he thought of his family, the looks he imagined on their faces spurring him on. Carole would no doubt cry and insist on feeding him his favourite meal and - he winced; this was not the time to think about food. Kurt imaged Finn, unable to hide his happiness. He would smile at him dopily, pressing him into a tight hug and his father -
Well. His father would never let him out of his sight. "Welcome home," he'd say; never a man of many words, but the comfort of a warm palm on Kurt's shoulder and the relief in his father's kind eyes would say it all. Home. Kurt had to cling to his memories of home. He had to ignore how his body ached. Push past the chill night air, and keep moving.
Easier said than done. As night settled in more cruelly, fatigue and cold overtook him. He fancied the chill started in his bones, made them feel leaden. He forced himself onward, singing one of his father's favourites under his breath.
He was just a lonely cowboy
With a heart so brave and true
And he learned to love a maiden
With eyes of Heaven's own blue
They learned to love each other
As they named their wedding day
When a quarrel came between them
And Jack, he rode away
He joined a band of cowboys
And tried to forget her name
And out on the lonely prairie
She waits for him the---
Wait! Kurt gasped as he came to a halt. There were shapes in the distance. Travellers, perhaps. Two, at least, on horseback. He was saved!
Don't be foolish, he thought to himself. It could be them. He squinted, making out two figures which were much bulkier than anyone in the gang. Pushing aside his paranoia, he walked briskly towards them, waving his hands over his head. He fixed his expression into a casual smile, but his heart hammered in his chest. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs; he could break into song at the very sight. But, he reflected as he exhaled deeply, he had to be careful. He looked again, scrutinising; they appeared friendly, and Kurt could hear a light rumble as they laughed to each other.
He felt vaguely ridiculous for a fleeting moment. He hoped he didn't look too desperate, or too scared. They laughed again, softly, and he held his head up high. He'd just escaped from a dangerous outlaw! Why be afraid?
"Howdy," said the nearest as Kurt approached. The voice was surprisingly warm, the man appearing not much older than Kurt himself. "You get thrown from your horse?"
"Hello, sir," Kurt answered, deciding to drop the act. They seemed friendly enough. He took a step closer and tipped his head up a little. "Yes, something like that. I would be mighty obliged if you could give me a ride to the nearest town?" Kurt raised onto tiptoe. "Please?" he said, then cursed inwardly as his voice sounded so young and plaintive to his own ears.
"A ride? Why sure, little stranger!" The man waved down at him happily. "Climb on up here. We'll get you to town before you can lick a palm and smooth down a curl. Won't we, Bud?"
"Really?" Kurt was nearly felled from the relief that spread across his chest. "Thank you so much, I-" he stopped short as the man twisted at the rein and turned the horse away from Kurt's reaching hand.
"Not so fast there, little stranger. We look like missionaries to you? You want to ride along with us, you have to pay the toll."
"Toll?" said Kurt hollowly. "But- I don't have any money." He patted at his pockets and tried to quell the panic and frustration gathering inside. "Oh! I could wire my father when we reach town. I am sure that he would be happy to pay you handsomely for your help!"
"So, an IOU?" Bud piped up. "A contract o' honour or some such?"
"Yes!" Kurt nodded. "Exactly."
"Ayuh, ayuh." Bub spat to the side, the tobacco landing sly of Kurt's boot. "See, thing is, we're simple folks and we don't hold much faith with contracts. Do we, Mac?"
"No, Sir. Can't say that we do. Can't say that we do, at all." Mac turned back to Kurt, his smile growing wider. "What if you were to take leave of our kind nature? Where would we be then?" He spread his hands emphatically. "A sorry state, that's what."
"And why'd you want to do that, stranger?" asked Bud. "Takin' advantage of two kindly folk like what we are."
"Young people these days. Got no respect for their betters. Crying shame is what it is."
"But--" Kurt's eyes darted back and forth between the two. "I told you, I have no money! I fell from my horse and-"
"And we fell outta our momma's loins yesterday, shit." Bud spat again and this time the tobacco hit its mark. He smirked as Kurt tried to wipe it off his boot with a dignified expression. "I reckon you be running. You reckon on that, Mac?"
"There might be a grain of truth in that. I'd wager so at least." Mac tilted his head. "Mayhap there'll be a reward?"
"Well, I'll be!" Bud exclaimed. "You could be onto something there!"
"I'm not running! And of course there isn't any reward!" snapped Kurt. "Do I look like a desperado?" He ran a hand through his hair, scowling. "Clearly, you gentlemen have no interest in helping me so you may as well be on your way." Kurt turned to leave, but Mac drew his horse across his path.
"Bud, I do believe this little stranger just gave us an order! Can you believe that, friend?"
"I believe I did, Mac. I believe that I did."
Kurt sighed. "Do you two talk like this all the time? Does it not get exhausting?"
"Got a bit of a lip on you, ain't you kid?" Mac snapped, humour dripping away from his words. "Mayhap we can work something out. Get you into that town in good stead."
"I'd rather take my chances out here, thanks." Kurt retorted, but his bravery was beginning to crack under the weight of their hostility. Something in the air had changed. Some dangerous change, which he would have to deal with carefully.
"Now let's just see what kinda varmint we have here," said Mac, dismounting his horse. He casually lit up a match and brought it close. "Let's just see."
Bud began to walk his horse in a circle round Kurt, as though wanting to trap him, a lazy smirk fixed on his face. "Fancy get-up you got on there," he said, gruffly. "Real respectable, like."
Mac's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Makes me wish I had me a shave and a clean set of pantaloons," he said, rubbing at his jaw. "Bet they cost you a pretty penny, didn't they?"
Kurt frowned."Well, I-- I tailored them myself actually." Normally, he would be beaming with pride that someone admired his obviously superior craftmanship. But right now all he wanted to do was turn tail and run.
"A man could really look the part if he had himself a pair of britches like that. I fancy you is just Bud's size, in fact."
Kurt let his breath go in burst. "Are you crazy? Do you have any idea how delicate this material is? How fine the stitching? He'd never get into this!"
"Did he just call me fat?" Bud demanded. "You calling me fat, kid?"
"Well," Kurt said before he could stop himself, "If that horse was straining any nearer the ground it would be a pony." Inwardly, he was flailing his arms in order to quieten himself but it was no use. Years of school room taunts had taught him to be quick on his feet and sharp with his tongue.
"You is quickly becoming a tired amusement boy," said Mac, stepping closer, his face twisted and mean.
"Yeah, real tired."
"I'm --" Kurt's eyes darted for something, anything, but his eyes found nothing but several small rocks and it wasn't as though he could reach for one. Much better to see if he could talk his way through this. He took a step back and held up his hands placatingly. "I'm sorry. Just let me go on by and that will be that."
"You insulted us," said Burt. "You hurt our feelings. Debt like that should be paid. Fancy type like you should be obliging with your apology. You think you're somethin' else because you talk proper, like you ain't needin' to respect a decent man like me." Kurt caught a glimpse of yellowing teeth as the he opened his mouth wide and let out a harsh chuckle. "We was gonna be nice and let you hand them over yonder. But now I reckon we'll be taking them now. The shirt, too. It's a nice shade."
"Bring out your eyes," Mac called back.
"Why, thank you kindly!" Bud tapped at the rim of his hat.
"I'm not going to- to ride on the back of your horse in--" Kurt spluttered, his face heating furiously. "It's not decent!"
"Don't see that being any problem." Mac's gaze was hard and narrowed. "You see we've, ah, rescinded our offer. Learned that one offa my lawyer." He turned to Bud who had a bushy brow raised. "Court appointed," he explained.
"I can't-- I'll freeze out here!" Kurt said slowly, unable to hide his nerves now, his voice wavering, merely a whisper. "I'll die."
A voice echoed in his head. It belonged to Blaine, and it mocked him. "No harm will come to you," Kurt imagined him saying again. "Not when you're with me." He imagined what Blaine would do. Well, nobody would ever tell Blaine they liked his breeches just fine so hand them over, would they? And if they did? Well. Blaine would be prepared to defend himself and would do far more than debate picking up a pathetic rock.
"You oughta hope that's all you die of. And not a swift haircut or the buzzards. Fancy town boy, you're easy pickings." Mac crept closer. His stale breath wafted over Kurt's face, an invisible cloud. "Know what I mean? Now, how about you play it square and shed those duds, little stranger. And be thankful that that's all we want." His hand hovered over his gun as Kurt could do nothing but stare back, eyes wide with shock, fist curling at his side and ready to fly at the first advance. "Now!" Mac said, raising his own hand slightly as all the breath in Kurt's body halted. "I ain't foolin'."
"I've got me a better idea, gentleman," a loud voice called from the darkness. "Fill your hands."
All three turned to the source of the voice, and Kurt gasped, hearing the trot of a familiar horse coming into view under the still-flickering light of Mac's match.
"And who the hell are you?"
"US Marshall." The voice was cold and raw, imbued with something that only spoke of danger. It chilled Kurt to hear it. "And that there is my prisoner. I'd suggest you two ride on." There was a pause, as the two men didn't seem to be heeding his advice. "I'd suggest you do that now." The click of a gun sounded from the shadows and watched the two men's expressions shift as they glanced at each other, their faces uneasy.
"Sure, mister. We was just having a joke," Mac said, stepping away from Kurt and mounting his horse quickly. He tossed his match on the floor with his shaking hand. "Don't go and do nothin' foolish now."
The two horses moved past Kurt, their heads bowed. They moved slowly at first, neither one of them glancing back. Once at a safe distance, they put spurs to their horses as they hightailed it out of there.
Kurt clenched his teeth, his hands forming fists as the horse trotted towards him. The last thing he wanted to do was look at the man atop it, but his head paid him no mind and raised up anyway.
"Kurt," said Blaine blandly. "There you are. I've been looking for you forever."
Chapter 7
Author: mothergoddamn
Pairing/characters: Kurt/Blaine
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Kurt Hummel, lonely shop-keep filled with dreams of escape, meets a stranger in the midst of the Wild West. And then gets taken on an adventure - whether he likes it or not.
Previous 1/2/3/ 4/5
The Outlaw Blaine Anderson
Chapter 6
The soles of Kurt's feet ached and his lungs burned as he took shallow, shuddering breaths. His awareness faded from him as he ran, Blaine's voice soon becoming distant. He'd hidden behind a scattering of large rocks, his knees aching from the hard, dusty ground. Having crouched there until night had completely fallen, his bones ached with the night's chill; his stomach rumbled, and his hands trembled with nerves. He took little comfort in picturing his father's face in his mind because he couldn't remember a time in his life when he wanted to see it more.
He had always been meticulously careful. He had learned his lesson two summers ago when Finn had moved to town, misreading his kindness for something more. Kurt had to hide his ways; it was too dangerous not to. The world was too cruel, and so were the people in it. And now? He'd gone and shared his secret with a cutthroat who had his own wanted poster. Wiping at his face, he shook his head. He couldn't sit and wallow. What was done was done, and he had to get moving.
Kurt made his way down the hill, tentatively placing one foot in front of the other lest he trip in the dark. Dark, he thought, a flash of Blaine's eyes appearing in his mind. No. He couldn't be careless enough to think about the softness of Blaine's lips, or the feel of his chest, strong against his, or the scent that had surrounded him as he had pressed himself close. Of course, there was no point. Hopefully, he would never see Blaine again.
Squinting, he peered ahead, frowning to himself as he tried to make out the lay of the land. Then he smiled, feeling a flutter of excitement in his chest. He ignored the burn in his heels, and ran. There was a wagon trail! The road had to lead to somewhere, or at the very least, some travellers.
He rubbed his palms together as he wandered, the chill touching him all over. Again, he thought of his family, the looks he imagined on their faces spurring him on. Carole would no doubt cry and insist on feeding him his favourite meal and - he winced; this was not the time to think about food. Kurt imaged Finn, unable to hide his happiness. He would smile at him dopily, pressing him into a tight hug and his father -
Well. His father would never let him out of his sight. "Welcome home," he'd say; never a man of many words, but the comfort of a warm palm on Kurt's shoulder and the relief in his father's kind eyes would say it all. Home. Kurt had to cling to his memories of home. He had to ignore how his body ached. Push past the chill night air, and keep moving.
Easier said than done. As night settled in more cruelly, fatigue and cold overtook him. He fancied the chill started in his bones, made them feel leaden. He forced himself onward, singing one of his father's favourites under his breath.
He was just a lonely cowboy
With a heart so brave and true
And he learned to love a maiden
With eyes of Heaven's own blue
They learned to love each other
As they named their wedding day
When a quarrel came between them
And Jack, he rode away
He joined a band of cowboys
And tried to forget her name
And out on the lonely prairie
She waits for him the---
Wait! Kurt gasped as he came to a halt. There were shapes in the distance. Travellers, perhaps. Two, at least, on horseback. He was saved!
Don't be foolish, he thought to himself. It could be them. He squinted, making out two figures which were much bulkier than anyone in the gang. Pushing aside his paranoia, he walked briskly towards them, waving his hands over his head. He fixed his expression into a casual smile, but his heart hammered in his chest. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs; he could break into song at the very sight. But, he reflected as he exhaled deeply, he had to be careful. He looked again, scrutinising; they appeared friendly, and Kurt could hear a light rumble as they laughed to each other.
He felt vaguely ridiculous for a fleeting moment. He hoped he didn't look too desperate, or too scared. They laughed again, softly, and he held his head up high. He'd just escaped from a dangerous outlaw! Why be afraid?
"Howdy," said the nearest as Kurt approached. The voice was surprisingly warm, the man appearing not much older than Kurt himself. "You get thrown from your horse?"
"Hello, sir," Kurt answered, deciding to drop the act. They seemed friendly enough. He took a step closer and tipped his head up a little. "Yes, something like that. I would be mighty obliged if you could give me a ride to the nearest town?" Kurt raised onto tiptoe. "Please?" he said, then cursed inwardly as his voice sounded so young and plaintive to his own ears.
"A ride? Why sure, little stranger!" The man waved down at him happily. "Climb on up here. We'll get you to town before you can lick a palm and smooth down a curl. Won't we, Bud?"
"Really?" Kurt was nearly felled from the relief that spread across his chest. "Thank you so much, I-" he stopped short as the man twisted at the rein and turned the horse away from Kurt's reaching hand.
"Not so fast there, little stranger. We look like missionaries to you? You want to ride along with us, you have to pay the toll."
"Toll?" said Kurt hollowly. "But- I don't have any money." He patted at his pockets and tried to quell the panic and frustration gathering inside. "Oh! I could wire my father when we reach town. I am sure that he would be happy to pay you handsomely for your help!"
"So, an IOU?" Bud piped up. "A contract o' honour or some such?"
"Yes!" Kurt nodded. "Exactly."
"Ayuh, ayuh." Bub spat to the side, the tobacco landing sly of Kurt's boot. "See, thing is, we're simple folks and we don't hold much faith with contracts. Do we, Mac?"
"No, Sir. Can't say that we do. Can't say that we do, at all." Mac turned back to Kurt, his smile growing wider. "What if you were to take leave of our kind nature? Where would we be then?" He spread his hands emphatically. "A sorry state, that's what."
"And why'd you want to do that, stranger?" asked Bud. "Takin' advantage of two kindly folk like what we are."
"Young people these days. Got no respect for their betters. Crying shame is what it is."
"But--" Kurt's eyes darted back and forth between the two. "I told you, I have no money! I fell from my horse and-"
"And we fell outta our momma's loins yesterday, shit." Bud spat again and this time the tobacco hit its mark. He smirked as Kurt tried to wipe it off his boot with a dignified expression. "I reckon you be running. You reckon on that, Mac?"
"There might be a grain of truth in that. I'd wager so at least." Mac tilted his head. "Mayhap there'll be a reward?"
"Well, I'll be!" Bud exclaimed. "You could be onto something there!"
"I'm not running! And of course there isn't any reward!" snapped Kurt. "Do I look like a desperado?" He ran a hand through his hair, scowling. "Clearly, you gentlemen have no interest in helping me so you may as well be on your way." Kurt turned to leave, but Mac drew his horse across his path.
"Bud, I do believe this little stranger just gave us an order! Can you believe that, friend?"
"I believe I did, Mac. I believe that I did."
Kurt sighed. "Do you two talk like this all the time? Does it not get exhausting?"
"Got a bit of a lip on you, ain't you kid?" Mac snapped, humour dripping away from his words. "Mayhap we can work something out. Get you into that town in good stead."
"I'd rather take my chances out here, thanks." Kurt retorted, but his bravery was beginning to crack under the weight of their hostility. Something in the air had changed. Some dangerous change, which he would have to deal with carefully.
"Now let's just see what kinda varmint we have here," said Mac, dismounting his horse. He casually lit up a match and brought it close. "Let's just see."
Bud began to walk his horse in a circle round Kurt, as though wanting to trap him, a lazy smirk fixed on his face. "Fancy get-up you got on there," he said, gruffly. "Real respectable, like."
Mac's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Makes me wish I had me a shave and a clean set of pantaloons," he said, rubbing at his jaw. "Bet they cost you a pretty penny, didn't they?"
Kurt frowned."Well, I-- I tailored them myself actually." Normally, he would be beaming with pride that someone admired his obviously superior craftmanship. But right now all he wanted to do was turn tail and run.
"A man could really look the part if he had himself a pair of britches like that. I fancy you is just Bud's size, in fact."
Kurt let his breath go in burst. "Are you crazy? Do you have any idea how delicate this material is? How fine the stitching? He'd never get into this!"
"Did he just call me fat?" Bud demanded. "You calling me fat, kid?"
"Well," Kurt said before he could stop himself, "If that horse was straining any nearer the ground it would be a pony." Inwardly, he was flailing his arms in order to quieten himself but it was no use. Years of school room taunts had taught him to be quick on his feet and sharp with his tongue.
"You is quickly becoming a tired amusement boy," said Mac, stepping closer, his face twisted and mean.
"Yeah, real tired."
"I'm --" Kurt's eyes darted for something, anything, but his eyes found nothing but several small rocks and it wasn't as though he could reach for one. Much better to see if he could talk his way through this. He took a step back and held up his hands placatingly. "I'm sorry. Just let me go on by and that will be that."
"You insulted us," said Burt. "You hurt our feelings. Debt like that should be paid. Fancy type like you should be obliging with your apology. You think you're somethin' else because you talk proper, like you ain't needin' to respect a decent man like me." Kurt caught a glimpse of yellowing teeth as the he opened his mouth wide and let out a harsh chuckle. "We was gonna be nice and let you hand them over yonder. But now I reckon we'll be taking them now. The shirt, too. It's a nice shade."
"Bring out your eyes," Mac called back.
"Why, thank you kindly!" Bud tapped at the rim of his hat.
"I'm not going to- to ride on the back of your horse in--" Kurt spluttered, his face heating furiously. "It's not decent!"
"Don't see that being any problem." Mac's gaze was hard and narrowed. "You see we've, ah, rescinded our offer. Learned that one offa my lawyer." He turned to Bud who had a bushy brow raised. "Court appointed," he explained.
"I can't-- I'll freeze out here!" Kurt said slowly, unable to hide his nerves now, his voice wavering, merely a whisper. "I'll die."
A voice echoed in his head. It belonged to Blaine, and it mocked him. "No harm will come to you," Kurt imagined him saying again. "Not when you're with me." He imagined what Blaine would do. Well, nobody would ever tell Blaine they liked his breeches just fine so hand them over, would they? And if they did? Well. Blaine would be prepared to defend himself and would do far more than debate picking up a pathetic rock.
"You oughta hope that's all you die of. And not a swift haircut or the buzzards. Fancy town boy, you're easy pickings." Mac crept closer. His stale breath wafted over Kurt's face, an invisible cloud. "Know what I mean? Now, how about you play it square and shed those duds, little stranger. And be thankful that that's all we want." His hand hovered over his gun as Kurt could do nothing but stare back, eyes wide with shock, fist curling at his side and ready to fly at the first advance. "Now!" Mac said, raising his own hand slightly as all the breath in Kurt's body halted. "I ain't foolin'."
"I've got me a better idea, gentleman," a loud voice called from the darkness. "Fill your hands."
All three turned to the source of the voice, and Kurt gasped, hearing the trot of a familiar horse coming into view under the still-flickering light of Mac's match.
"And who the hell are you?"
"US Marshall." The voice was cold and raw, imbued with something that only spoke of danger. It chilled Kurt to hear it. "And that there is my prisoner. I'd suggest you two ride on." There was a pause, as the two men didn't seem to be heeding his advice. "I'd suggest you do that now." The click of a gun sounded from the shadows and watched the two men's expressions shift as they glanced at each other, their faces uneasy.
"Sure, mister. We was just having a joke," Mac said, stepping away from Kurt and mounting his horse quickly. He tossed his match on the floor with his shaking hand. "Don't go and do nothin' foolish now."
The two horses moved past Kurt, their heads bowed. They moved slowly at first, neither one of them glancing back. Once at a safe distance, they put spurs to their horses as they hightailed it out of there.
Kurt clenched his teeth, his hands forming fists as the horse trotted towards him. The last thing he wanted to do was look at the man atop it, but his head paid him no mind and raised up anyway.
"Kurt," said Blaine blandly. "There you are. I've been looking for you forever."
Chapter 7