The Outlaw Blaine Anderson (4/14)
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
The Outlaw Blaine Anderson
Chapter 4
Kurt moaned as the pained lethargy receded, finally taking stock of his surroundings as the fog in his mind cleared.
The first thing that registered within him was the dull painful ache that spread across his head, spine and chest. Then came the steady thrum of another's heartbeat against his own, the deep panting of an animal and the crash of hooves upon dirt. He made to move his hands and realised quickly that they were bound tight behind his back, and that his legs were also tied. The memories hit him fast and he bit back a gasp of panic. They'd taken him. Oh, Lord. The Carmel Gang had him.
"-the whiskey was a no go, but Blaine had to go and take himself the most darling souvenir."
"Why, Jesse, it's just his size!" Another male voice, nearer this time, replied with a laugh. "Almost."
"Wipe your chin, the both of you," muttered the man whose horse he was flung across. "This was the last thing I wanted."
Beneath the panic, the fear, Kurt recognised something. He knew that voice. He knew it.
"Best thing all round," the one named Jesse said. "They are going to come after us no matter what, but at least with the kid along they'll be more gun-shy. Got ourselves a decent bargaining chip. At least until we clear the border."
"And then what?" the woman asked. "What do we do with him, then?"
"You know what, Rachel."
"Hmm, I suppose." Kurt could barely hear her over the horses galloping and the roar in his head. "But we need him alive until the border at least."
They were going to kill him. He squeezed his eyes tighter and tried not to see his father's face in his mind. Tried not to fill it with images of the how and the when. But they came anyway.
The horse whinnied as the man riding it pulled on the reins. "No."
"Really? What do you suppose?" Kurt guessed him to be Smythe. "We set him loose here? Now?
He'll lose his scalp before his feet touch the ground."
"Careful, Smythe," said Rachel severely.
"I'm saying that I'm still the head of this gang. And that we ain't killing him because you can't control that trigger finger of yours."
"And it was my plan that got the gang back together. Or did you forget that, fearless leader?"
"This is all truly fascinating," said Jesse. "But it appears Blaine's boy is awake."
Kurt didn't think, he simply reacted. Kicking his feet at the horse's chest, feeling a stab of regret at that, he threw himself backwards, bracing himself for the fall. He grunted in pain as his landed backwards and then was pitched to his side, unable to steady himself as his hands were tied together. The rope cut into his wrists and his hands hurt terribly as he struggled to right himself.
"Are you an idiot, boy?" Smythe drawled. "You're hogtied."
"Kurt!" At the sound of his name from that familiar voice, Kurt squinted up against the harsh light and...
Oh.
"Br-Brian?"
Brian stared down at him, his face sorrowful. He was all decked out in a big hat with its brim turned up, a red and navy neckerchief the size of a bib, and a bandolier chock full of cartridges hung across his chest from one shoulder. Around his waist, he wore a belt with holsters on each side and his dusty shirt was dark with sweat. He was a far cry from the dapper man that he had met in the town.
"It's Blaine," he said slowly. "Blaine Anderson."
"You-you lied to me?" Kurt said in a weak little voice that he loathed. He stared up at them all, feeling smaller and more frightened than he ever had in his life. "I thought you were my friend!"
"I thought you were my friend!" mimicked one of the gang. "The more he whines the closer that posse gets." He glared at Kurt and he recognised him to be the one that had dropped him in the shop. "If this is going to drag out, may I plug him now?"
"No," Brian - no - Blaine said. "I told you no. You mind me now." He looked back at Kurt. "This here is Smythe."
"Yes." Kurt gritted his teeth. "We've met."
"Rachel," the woman said, circling her horse around him. "And riding behind me here is Jesse St. James."
Still reeling from everything else that had happened this new revelation caused Kurt's jaw to drop. "The Jesse James?"
"Goddamnit!"
"Oh, now you've done it," Smythe muttered. "That's our subject picked for the rest of the trail."
"St! She said St! Are you deaf?"
"Calm down!"
"No, Smythe! Shut your big bazoo! I had this name first. Me! Back when that bumpkin Woodson was just a gleam in his inbred daddy's lazy eye!"
"Jesse, you're riling up the horses," murmured Rachel. "It's an easy mistake."
"I'm quicker on the draw than him, I can ride better and don't even get me started on the amateur, lacklustre quality of that Clay County ban-"
A single shot silenced him mid-rant and they all turned to the source. Blaine stared out impassively, six-gun raised into the air. "Settle down, Jesse."
Slowly, Blaine climbed down from his horse, dusting himself down as he walked towards a cowering Kurt. "I'm not going to hurt you."
Kurt couldn't resist a snort of derision at that, but it turned into a moan when Blaine removed a slim knife from his belt.
"Don't," he whispered as Blaine crouched next to him. "I won't tell. I won't."
"Shh, don't go wakin' snakes," he said in a soothing voice. "I'm just getting rid of these ties, that's all."
The blade cut through the rope easily. Blaine grasped Kurt's wrist tightly.
"What exactly is your plan here, Blaine?" Smythe asked as Blaine cut through the binds around Kurt's feet. "His voice is giving me hives."
"Let it go, Smythe," warned Rachel. "Can't you see the poor boy is shaking out of his skin?"
Smythe smiled crookedly. "Jesse, quiet your squaw."
"You can get away with that once, Smythe." Rachel's hand hovered over her holster, fingers twitching. "And only once."
"Rachel was raised by the Commanche," explained Blaine, his own smile waning at Kurt's angry glare. "Come on." He pulled on Kurt's arm raising him to his feet. Kurt's legs were shaky from the long period he had spent on the horse, and a wave of dizziness felled him. Blaine's hands reached out, gripping him by the waist and Kurt hung on tight to his shoulders until it had passed. Blaine's breath fanned out against his cheek, and their eyes met. Kurt searched them for a trace of the desperado that would rob, kidnap and kill. He saw only regret and something else he couldn't decipher.
Stepping away, Blaine mounted up, then reached down a hand for Kurt. He stared at the hand with wide eyes, his fists clutching into the material of his shirt.
"We forgot to pick up the sidesaddle, lovely."
"Damnit, Smythe. Quiet your tongue," snapped Blaine. "Come on, Kurt."
Kurt grabbed hold, and Blaine hauled him up behind him. He hung on tight as the horse moved into a trot. He had saddlebags under him. They were leather, and hot from the sun, he could feel their heat burning through the thinness of his trousers.
He didn't mind the discomfort; he could bear it. Kurt gave some thought to going for Blaine's guns. They were in easy reach . If he was quick enough, he might be able to disarm him. Make him climb down and take his horse full speed back to pa.
But no, they were wary of him now. They were expecting him to flee. He needed to gain their trust, make them drop their guard.
Arms tight around Blaine, he gritted his teeth as they moved into a gallop. As the gang bantered back and forth, Kurt was planning how and when he would make his move.
Starting with killing that no-good four-flusher, Blaine Anderson.
Chapter 5
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
The Outlaw Blaine Anderson
Chapter 4
Kurt moaned as the pained lethargy receded, finally taking stock of his surroundings as the fog in his mind cleared.
The first thing that registered within him was the dull painful ache that spread across his head, spine and chest. Then came the steady thrum of another's heartbeat against his own, the deep panting of an animal and the crash of hooves upon dirt. He made to move his hands and realised quickly that they were bound tight behind his back, and that his legs were also tied. The memories hit him fast and he bit back a gasp of panic. They'd taken him. Oh, Lord. The Carmel Gang had him.
"-the whiskey was a no go, but Blaine had to go and take himself the most darling souvenir."
"Why, Jesse, it's just his size!" Another male voice, nearer this time, replied with a laugh. "Almost."
"Wipe your chin, the both of you," muttered the man whose horse he was flung across. "This was the last thing I wanted."
Beneath the panic, the fear, Kurt recognised something. He knew that voice. He knew it.
"Best thing all round," the one named Jesse said. "They are going to come after us no matter what, but at least with the kid along they'll be more gun-shy. Got ourselves a decent bargaining chip. At least until we clear the border."
"And then what?" the woman asked. "What do we do with him, then?"
"You know what, Rachel."
"Hmm, I suppose." Kurt could barely hear her over the horses galloping and the roar in his head. "But we need him alive until the border at least."
They were going to kill him. He squeezed his eyes tighter and tried not to see his father's face in his mind. Tried not to fill it with images of the how and the when. But they came anyway.
The horse whinnied as the man riding it pulled on the reins. "No."
"Really? What do you suppose?" Kurt guessed him to be Smythe. "We set him loose here? Now?
He'll lose his scalp before his feet touch the ground."
"Careful, Smythe," said Rachel severely.
"I'm saying that I'm still the head of this gang. And that we ain't killing him because you can't control that trigger finger of yours."
"And it was my plan that got the gang back together. Or did you forget that, fearless leader?"
"This is all truly fascinating," said Jesse. "But it appears Blaine's boy is awake."
Kurt didn't think, he simply reacted. Kicking his feet at the horse's chest, feeling a stab of regret at that, he threw himself backwards, bracing himself for the fall. He grunted in pain as his landed backwards and then was pitched to his side, unable to steady himself as his hands were tied together. The rope cut into his wrists and his hands hurt terribly as he struggled to right himself.
"Are you an idiot, boy?" Smythe drawled. "You're hogtied."
"Kurt!" At the sound of his name from that familiar voice, Kurt squinted up against the harsh light and...
Oh.
"Br-Brian?"
Brian stared down at him, his face sorrowful. He was all decked out in a big hat with its brim turned up, a red and navy neckerchief the size of a bib, and a bandolier chock full of cartridges hung across his chest from one shoulder. Around his waist, he wore a belt with holsters on each side and his dusty shirt was dark with sweat. He was a far cry from the dapper man that he had met in the town.
"It's Blaine," he said slowly. "Blaine Anderson."
"You-you lied to me?" Kurt said in a weak little voice that he loathed. He stared up at them all, feeling smaller and more frightened than he ever had in his life. "I thought you were my friend!"
"I thought you were my friend!" mimicked one of the gang. "The more he whines the closer that posse gets." He glared at Kurt and he recognised him to be the one that had dropped him in the shop. "If this is going to drag out, may I plug him now?"
"No," Brian - no - Blaine said. "I told you no. You mind me now." He looked back at Kurt. "This here is Smythe."
"Yes." Kurt gritted his teeth. "We've met."
"Rachel," the woman said, circling her horse around him. "And riding behind me here is Jesse St. James."
Still reeling from everything else that had happened this new revelation caused Kurt's jaw to drop. "The Jesse James?"
"Goddamnit!"
"Oh, now you've done it," Smythe muttered. "That's our subject picked for the rest of the trail."
"St! She said St! Are you deaf?"
"Calm down!"
"No, Smythe! Shut your big bazoo! I had this name first. Me! Back when that bumpkin Woodson was just a gleam in his inbred daddy's lazy eye!"
"Jesse, you're riling up the horses," murmured Rachel. "It's an easy mistake."
"I'm quicker on the draw than him, I can ride better and don't even get me started on the amateur, lacklustre quality of that Clay County ban-"
A single shot silenced him mid-rant and they all turned to the source. Blaine stared out impassively, six-gun raised into the air. "Settle down, Jesse."
Slowly, Blaine climbed down from his horse, dusting himself down as he walked towards a cowering Kurt. "I'm not going to hurt you."
Kurt couldn't resist a snort of derision at that, but it turned into a moan when Blaine removed a slim knife from his belt.
"Don't," he whispered as Blaine crouched next to him. "I won't tell. I won't."
"Shh, don't go wakin' snakes," he said in a soothing voice. "I'm just getting rid of these ties, that's all."
The blade cut through the rope easily. Blaine grasped Kurt's wrist tightly.
"What exactly is your plan here, Blaine?" Smythe asked as Blaine cut through the binds around Kurt's feet. "His voice is giving me hives."
"Let it go, Smythe," warned Rachel. "Can't you see the poor boy is shaking out of his skin?"
Smythe smiled crookedly. "Jesse, quiet your squaw."
"You can get away with that once, Smythe." Rachel's hand hovered over her holster, fingers twitching. "And only once."
"Rachel was raised by the Commanche," explained Blaine, his own smile waning at Kurt's angry glare. "Come on." He pulled on Kurt's arm raising him to his feet. Kurt's legs were shaky from the long period he had spent on the horse, and a wave of dizziness felled him. Blaine's hands reached out, gripping him by the waist and Kurt hung on tight to his shoulders until it had passed. Blaine's breath fanned out against his cheek, and their eyes met. Kurt searched them for a trace of the desperado that would rob, kidnap and kill. He saw only regret and something else he couldn't decipher.
Stepping away, Blaine mounted up, then reached down a hand for Kurt. He stared at the hand with wide eyes, his fists clutching into the material of his shirt.
"We forgot to pick up the sidesaddle, lovely."
"Damnit, Smythe. Quiet your tongue," snapped Blaine. "Come on, Kurt."
Kurt grabbed hold, and Blaine hauled him up behind him. He hung on tight as the horse moved into a trot. He had saddlebags under him. They were leather, and hot from the sun, he could feel their heat burning through the thinness of his trousers.
He didn't mind the discomfort; he could bear it. Kurt gave some thought to going for Blaine's guns. They were in easy reach . If he was quick enough, he might be able to disarm him. Make him climb down and take his horse full speed back to pa.
But no, they were wary of him now. They were expecting him to flee. He needed to gain their trust, make them drop their guard.
Arms tight around Blaine, he gritted his teeth as they moved into a gallop. As the gang bantered back and forth, Kurt was planning how and when he would make his move.
Starting with killing that no-good four-flusher, Blaine Anderson.
Chapter 5