Outlaw's Prayer (ch. 4)

[honestys_easy]

Title: Outlaw's Prayer (4/?)
Author: honestys_easy
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Skibmann, various others, both slash and het
Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own; never happened, never will.
Summary: For his entire life, Kyle Peek always longed for the thrill and adventure in the open lands of the wild West. He gets more than he ever bargained for when he joins up with the legendary outlaw gang known only as The Kings.
Notes: I have been working on this story for the past six months and I am SO excited to finally be posting it :D What started out as a fledgling idea grew to be a huge AU and I'm very grateful to share it with you. A ginormous thank you goes out to dreamerren, for her work as beta and practically as the story's second author. Title credit goes to Nick Gibson for his song "Outlaw's Prayer."

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3



"All my life I wanted to be a bank robber. Carry a gun and wear a mask. Now that it's happened I guess I'm just about the best bank robber they ever had. And I sure am happy." -- John Dillinger

One cowardly banker. Just one banker, already crouching in fear, trembling and too terrified to even let out a shriek. The rest of the building--rest of the town, to really be accurate--was completely empty, and the flashiest, most unsecured safe to ever make its way out of the smelt left right out in the open, with only a paltry combination between the bankroll and the open air.

David Cook wanted to laugh. They were making it too easy.

The bank was just as gaudy and ill-prepared for a break-in as Andy had described to them the night before: the glint off the poorly-used metals, combined with the early morning sunlight flooding the room and ricocheting from the glitz nearly blinded him, and David wondered how the lowly banker could even stand all that shine. He squinted, his eyes focusing on the cowering banker on the floor of the lobby, and suddenly the revolver in his hand and the Dr.'s show of force by knocking down the door seemed like overkill. He could have stormed this place with a slingshot and an evil eye if he had so wished.

But this was business, and in the Kings's line of work they could not afford to take such chances.

David took a step into the bank through the demolished door, noting that it hardly took any manpower, and no firepower at all, to break into the building. Usually there was at least a resistance from a sturdy front door, if not the bank employees. He glanced over to his left, where Joey stood solidly, his shotgun in hand, a trusted gunslinger with little hesitancy to use it. Despite his light, joking nature, David had immediately grown comfortable with the other man protecting his back during heists, knowing that, while some of the intricacies of the life of the Kings sailed over Joey's head, he was content with it all, and would fight to the death with stubborn resolve. David admired that in Joey, but at times he wondered if his friendliness and loyalty were aroused simply because he had no better place to be. With a short nod, David sent him off to his station at the front of the bank, Joey taking two large, stomping steps before planting himself firmly in position, gun at the ready.

The man at his right needed no such indications or orders from David; his role in these robberies, his action and execution established before David himself had arrived, his experience with a gun older than even he could remember. If he was assessing the situation and seeing how easily the bank would roll over and let them overtake it, Neal didn't show it; a cold, steely stare at the banker gave away nothing, his true talent as a man requiring few words revealing itself. The other two Kings present already knew this about the Dr.; David didn't know if banker Hicks would be around long enough to remember it.

They didn't wait for the dust to settle on the shards of wood and brass that used to be the front door. "The safe." David's voice was a low, dark growl, as if he captured his normal tone and rolled it around in the thousands of miles of desert gravel traveled underneath his heels. He always thought the action of a heist didn't affect him like the others, not the determined fervor Neal displayed or the restless anxiety to which Andy admitted; perhaps he was affected more than he imagined. "Open it."

Neither man could identify any longer if the instinct came from years of bank heists, a morbid sense of practice and routine, or if Neal had become so attuned to David's ministrations, his very mood, that what needed to be done came intuitively to him. The sharpshooter raised his gun at David's request, a heavy revolver balanced perfectly in his tattooed hand, the dyes and inks used by the Creek to grant him those tattoos so lasting and vivid, Taylor Hicks could see every detail of the "T" adorning the Dr.'s knuckle that settled on the gun's trigger. David was by far not a bad shot, especially at this range, but Neal was unequivocally the firepower of the gang and the entire West knew it; the man's aim could scare the fur off a mountain lion, and the unsuspecting banker was no mountain lion.

Hicks stared in horror at those tattooed knuckles and the gun within their grasp, could almost recognize the other miles of ink running up his forearms from the descriptions found in any newspaper, embellished by second- and third-hand accounts. The decorations that adorned the Dr.'s flesh were just as legendary as his deadly accuracy. Hicks knew now that he wasn't dealing with petty thieves or amateurs: his bank was being robbed by the Kings.

From what he had heard, he was lucky to still be alive.

The banker's grim fear caused him to hesitate, pause for just a moment, but it was a moment too long for David. He gritted his teeth and raised his own gun, two barrels bearing down on Hicks and one very perturbed outlaw he didn't want to cross. "Now," he commanded. They did, after all, have only three minutes until they needed to be outside and on their horses, halfway out of town. They had no time to waste on this man's fear.

Where one gun shocked Hicks into dumb stillness, two guns and a very stern order from David Cook jolted him into action--or, at least, as far as the banker concerned, what constituted action. "Don't shoot, don't shoot," he replied, his normally gravelly, soulful voice high-pitched and strained out of fear, hands up, defeated, to show he was unarmed. Even if David had the time to wax philosophical on this banker's existence, he wouldn't bother expending the effort. "I'll give you what you want, just please, don't shoot me..."

He hadn't been planning on shooting Hicks--he thought nothing of hurting him, he hadn't met a banker yet that didn't deserve a bit of roughing up--but if he kept up his begging like this, a simpering mass of cowardice in a linen suit, barely acting like a child much less a grown man about the situation, David might reverse his opinion. Nodding his head to the direction of the building's back wall--where, astoundingly enough, the bank's safe sat unguarded and on display--David made his request clear again. "I'm not going to say it twice," he menaced.

That, however, didn't stop Hicks from begging for his life at every turn, from backing his teary-eyed way to the safe as David's revolver stayed trained on him, his face contorted as if he would burst into fits of crying hysteria at any moment, to when he sank to his knees in front of the safe, a shaking hand on the combination lock seeming to be the only thing keeping him steady. David followed him to the back of the building to keep an eye on the banker, ensuring nothing sudden or particularly sneaky caught the Kings off-guard, though he doubted Hicks could ever formulate any kind of counterattack off the top of his head. Neal and Joey did not make a move, they did not have to; each man knew their roles, had performed them often, and wordy, eloquent David was always the negotiator.

The safe itself was a small, iron-based microcosm of Fox Canyon First National Bank: its exterior was covered in gilt and decoration and almost seemed to emit a light of its own from the glint of the morning sun. In all the years in his line of work, David had to say he never saw any other safe like it, and only a man so obsessed with style in lieu of substance like Taylor Hicks could have decided that safe was a sound idea. Beyond the gilt the safe was one of the shoddiest David had ever seen; he bet he could have looked at it the wrong way and it would have crumbled open. It would have saved him the effort of dealing with Hicks as it were.

Hicks's hands trembled as he fiddled with the combination lock, his hands and face dripping with a fearful sweat. David understood this was quite a stressful situation but time was of the essence; this wasn't the bank's typical withdrawal and he had no patience for Hicks's panic.

"Two minutes," Joey called out; one-third of their time gone, one-third of the heist until the three of them needed to meet Kyle with their horses and make a clean escape. Hicks was quietly praying to himself, realizing that he was getting no sympathy from the outlaw before him. The Kings had already demolished his beautiful front door and looked to clean out his safe; he only hoped if he relinquished the bank's riches they would leave the rest of his pristine building alone, and let him walk away with his bank and his life. If anything, Hicks's useless pleading made David wish to cause bodily harm even more; he'd experienced unfortunate, fearful bank owners and tellers before, none of whom were calm or pleased with being held up, but none in recent memory were as pathetic as this individual. His mind flashed back to the last banker he had encountered, the town's name or the man's face unimportant to anyone but himself and God, the only thing truly on David's mind being how his flash of panic felt hot, like a sudden and quick pocket of air blasting you in the summer, when that banker made a sudden move and David shot him in the head.

He didn't want to have to do that again--not when Hicks was cooperative and merely irritating, not when he didn't seem to be armed--but David was sure the banker knew it was a possibility.

Finally Hicks completed the combination, a quick, loud click resonating in the building followed by the unmistakable sound of metal swinging against metal, the heavy iron door opening to reveal its precious contents. The flashy and fake gilt that enveloped the bank, on its safe, the walls, even on its owner, paled in comparison to the genuine article, a small stock of silver and gold nuggets culled from the Nevada outskirts sitting atop stacks of crisp bank notes that complemented their value. Hearing that door swing open was like an angels' chorus to David's ears.

Paydirt.

***

Kyle wanted to do what David Cook had ordered him to do; really he did. He learned quickly enough over the past few days not to cross the outlaw lest he get on David's bad side; Kyle imagined there must have been many a skeleton buried in the dust of the West now that had gotten on David Cook's bad side. And while he wasn't participating in the robbery itself, the care and readiness of the Kings's horses was entrusted to him, a serious role that could make or break a getaway. Sugarfoot nudged Kyle's leg with her muzzle, affirming the thoughts in the young ranch hand's mind: there was nothing more precious to a man of the West than his horse, not even all the gold to be found in California, and David Cook entrusted his precious horse to Kyle's skilled, able hands. Why, Kyle could say that his was the most important job in the entire outfit: the outlaws could get away without the bank's riches and still escape with their lives, but without a speedy retreat aided by their horses they would certainly not get far.

And to do all that, Kyle had been instructed, he was to stay at the top of the canyon and come down only when three minutes had elapsed from the time Neal, Joey and David stormed through the bank's front doors. David had been firm with him and accepted no backtalk, and Kyle was left a mile out of town with four horses and a forlorn expression on his face. Tending to the horses might have been one of the more important tasks during the heist, but it definitely wasn't the most exciting.

He just wanted to see the action, really; he had gotten so close, he was actually riding with the Kings and gaining their trust, on his way to becoming one of them. There had to be nothing in the West more exciting than a bank robbery, and now he was close to it, but not close enough. A mile away and he could make out moving figures just fine in the town below, could see no one apparently around any part of that side of Fox Canyon as the wedding commenced at the church on the other end, with no one being the wiser of the heist taking place at the bank. But it wasn't nearly close enough for Kyle's liking, and he could only make out movement and figures, like ants traveling through a colony, and not discern true faces from that distance. What if a posse accosted the Kings before Kyle could bring them the horses, and the young Californian had no way of discerning from that distance who was friend, and who was foe?

Yes, he thought, that was the perfect reasoning for him to move the horses a little closer, get a better view of the action than from a clear mile away. It was not even in the back of his mind that David had also warned him not to interfere at all with their planning or execution of the heist. He wasn't looking for gold or glory, just to see them work a little more in detail, and if push came to shove and the Kings had their backs against the wall by some lawmen or an angry mob, wouldn't they want Kyle to help them out?

Of course, exactly how he would help them out if they needed it--he was a marginal shot with his pistols and his lithe frame and youth weren't the most intimidating factors in the world--nor the absurd idea that the notorious outlaw team would need help from someone like Kyle, who was green admittedly even to himself, was beyond him. But, as he led the small group of horses down into the canyon, confident no one would even notice his early departure, he had complete faith in himself, his duties, and the Kings, that this was indeed the best possible idea for all.

***

"One minute!"

David didn't need Joey's shout of alarm to maintain the time in his head; he didn't need to know the exact number of seconds they had to get out of there, only that they were quickly running low on them. He watched as Hicks painfully pulled the bank notes and gold out from the safe and into the outlaws' waiting sacks, literally handing over the lifeblood of his business. The banker was not only feeble and irritating to David, but he was horrifically slow in doling out the cash as well; David started to think that if he did shoot this man it would be a kind service to the rest of the inhabitants of Fox Canyon.

"We haven't got all day," he grumbled as Hicks filled the last of the bags with the safe's stash, his hands trembling so fitfully they were threatening to drop the bags and cause him to start all over again. David snatched them from the banker as soon as they were offered, cinching them closed by their drawstrings before tossing one each to Neal and Joey, retaining one for himself to haul outside. It hadn't appeared to be a substantial bankroll, perhaps only a few thousand, but David wasn't expecting much from a new bank in a tiny frontier town; in fact, the small windfalls the Kings made at each one-horse town were their relatively risk-free livelihood.

Besides, for David at least, the heists weren't all about the money; that was only a pleasant fringe benefit.

His mood perked up considerably once the sacks of loot were in the Kings's hands, and nothing left them tethered to the bank besides a weeping, broken banker who hadn't a scratch on him, not even a tear in his gaudy suit. When the money passed hands Hicks scrambled into the corner of the bank, cowering away in fear; he didn't care much for the country yarns the townsfolk wove, but when there was talk of a recent robbery by the Kings that left the banker's brains splattered decoratively against the wall, Hicks listened.

When he felt a sharp tap against his temple--and oh, God, that was not the tap from a hand, that was cold gunmetal against his skin, and he was lucky he didn't fall into a dead faint right then and there--he wanted nothing more but to ignore it and hope the murderous outlaws would just cease to exist, but he raised his head anyway, assuming it sealed his fate.

The leader of the Kings towered over him, a shadow against the ever encroaching sun, tall and imposing in contrast to Hicks's crouching form. A smirk spread across the outlaw's face, cruel and menacing, and with his free hand he reached into the front pocket of his shirt. "I'd really like to thank you, sir," he said, the grit gone from his voice as he sounded light, almost cheerful, the smile never wavering and terrifying Hicks more than his scowl. "You've been most...accommodating this morning."

With no further flair or pomp to his actions, David pulled out what he had been searching for in his pocket, and tossed it onto the cowering Hicks. "Make sure this gets in the newspapers," he gave a parting order, and the three outlaws left the bank as abruptly as they came, leaving the banker with a lone playing card of the King of Spades.

***

The sun blinded the three Kings as they burst out onto the empty street, each with a sack of gold nuggets and cash in tow. As sure as Joey's countdown, they had only been inside the bank for three minutes, but their eyes had already acclimated to the sudden darkness of the bank's interior, and now they were paying for the sudden strain back to light. With his left hand gripping his gun, David raised his arm to shield out the sun's rays from his eyes, his gaze deep out into the distance, past the streets and crevices of Fox Canyon. He should have seen a welcome sight into the distance: Sugarfoot, and the other horses, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake as they were led into town by an enthusiastic yet obedient Kyle Peek. But all that came to his vision was the barren Nevada soil, curving up around the canyon as if it would swallow the three men whole.

Kyle may have been enthusiastic but it seemed that he was less than obedient.

"Damn that kid," David muttered under his breath, not knowing it could have been the last words he had ever spoken.

***

Andy breathed a sigh of relief when he watched the other three Kings leave the bank without incident, only admitting to himself then that he had been holding his breath warily since they entered. He had been dreading hearing shouts, or a gunshot, or anything that would indicate something had gone terribly off-plan in the bank and there was nothing he could do about it, like the last time. But there had only been silence since he counted down the minutes, a professional, glorious kind of silence Andy never thought he would enjoy hearing so much. Everything was going to plan, that silence indicated; everything was running smoothly, and the omens Andy had felt before had been for naught.

But indeed, something did seem off; Joey was searching around frantically, his shotgun at the ready, and David's eyes were on the far horizon with a frown on his face. Andy bit back a groan; it was that damn Kyle, the kid David had entrusted the getaway into his incapable hands. If the leader of the Kings held such a disappointed expression on his face it could have been only for Kyle's absence; it would mean his faith was misplaced as well as his horse. The three men looked at each other for their next move, contemplating if they should wait for the horses' arrival that may never come, or take the dangerous path of escaping Fox Canyon on foot. Andy knew each man was quite able-bodied and could make it to the top of the canyon with ease, but no man knew what kind of opposition the town could muster to lick at their bootheels on the way out.

A flicker of movement beyond the three men caught Andy's watchful eye, and he realized that Kyle Peek's whereabouts were the least of their troubles.

He recognized the man clear as day, though he was seeing him now in the bright morning sunlight and not underneath the dank lamp light of Fox Canyon's saloon. His short-cropped, sandy blond hair and stout, solid frame loomed in Andy's memory, as well as the dim expression on the man's face that told the outlaw not much was probably going on upstairs. His name was less memorable, though Andy was admittedly better at remembering faces than given names, but this time the circumstances stirred his memory, recalling the angry patrons of the saloon shouting the man's name, Sarver, and instructing him to get over his loss of the preacher's daughter.

The preacher's daughter. The heartbroken bartender. The sheriff's blockbuster wedding.

It was all making sense now, but it was too late.

Drunk and lovelorn, Michael Sarver wouldn't have gone within a half radius of the joyful wedding occurring at the church on the far end of town; why would he, when the only woman he cared for, the woman who rejected his affections and fell for the damned sheriff, was the one getting married? His melancholy brought him to a bottle of the saloon's cheapest, dirtiest gin, and with his pistol in hand he decided to make a spectacular end of himself on the other side of town, just as the object of his affections said "I do" to another man, or at least make enough of a racket to disrupt the happy little couple in their moment of bliss.

But then he saw the three men rush out of the bank as he stumbled out of the saloon, heavy sacks in their hands and looking for trouble. Maybe it wasn't quite time to write himself off yet; maybe this was his chance to win Miss Underwood's heart by doing what the sheriff cannot, and truly be a hero.

Everything felt in slow motion to Andy, like he was locked in a glass case full of water, able to watch what was about to happen but not to break out, not to act. If he shouted, caught the other Kings's attentions, it would leave him exposed to the rest of the town, and then to all of the West; the only way he could work as a shadow was by being an unknown, and revealing himself could forfeit his life or any one of the others. He tried to line up a clear shot but the other men were in the way, standing between him and Sarver, equally blocking their own salvation and doom. He watched in turmoil when the familiar glint of metal in the bartender's hand rose up as he took aim at the closest outlaw to him, still staring out into the distance beyond the town. Sarver conceitedly thought the man would be too distracted to even get his tattooed hand over to his hip to unholster his gun in time.

No. Andy's mouth went dry. Please, no.

***

Well, now this was a better view.

Kyle felt rather proud of himself for his decision to move from where David had ordered him to stay; this was a much better vantage point, hidden behind one of the buildings to the side of the bank, and the Kings would never know that he had snuck from his position to get a closer look. He patted Gangles's neck out of excitement, quickly giving the horse a silent compliment for not making a sound since they arrived at this new spot. He suspected the other horses, far more seasoned at being instruments of the getaway than his dear Gangles, had more experience with staying quiet.

Nearly eye-level and barely one hundred feet from the bank's facade, Kyle grinned to himself as he watched the three men run through the gaping hole they had made in the building's shoddy entrance, their loot in hand and their guns in tow. It was just like the newspapers described, like reading a gunslinger dime novel but this was real, this was right in front of him, and he was about to be a part of it.

David's eyes were trained on the horizon, back to the entrance of the canyon where he had instructed Kyle to remain with the horses; Kyle's hopes were dashed, his high spirits sunk into his boots as he watched the frown cross over the outlaw's face. Perhaps he should have stayed where he was told; he had already determined it wasn't a good idea to question or undermine the decisions of the Kings's leader. For all he knew, Kyle might have just blown his chance at winning over the rest of the Kings; hell, he might have even angered David enough to retract his faith in the kid. A deep pit formed in his stomach at the thought; he prayed he hadn't ruined his chances of becoming a true member of the Kings for just one quick glance at a real bank robbery.

But there was something else that caught Kyle's eye, the movement of a body that was not supposed to be there, that should have been accounted for at the wedding across town. The other men concentrated on the horizon line, searching for the greenhorn kid and the horses that should have been riding down the canyon, and didn't notice the glint of metal in the stranger's hand as he raised it towards them, aiming for Neal.

Kyle's eyes widened, watching as the heavyset man took aim, knowing the Kings were in danger but not having a clue how to stop it. What could a ranch hand with barely any experience in even accomplishing that do to save a legendary outlaw gang? The sinking feeling in his stomach turned to steel as his hands tightened on Gangles's reins, the leather digging deep into his palms.

That's when it struck him. The horses.

Without a second thought, Kyle kicked his heels against Gangles's sides, digging the spurs in and promising to apologize to the kind horse later. Rearing up with a great whinny, the horse broke into a gallop away from their hiding place, a dead run towards the bank and towards the doomed outlaws. Kyle could hear the rapid, dull thuds of more hooves than Gangles's four quickly following into step; the Kings's horses, already accustomed to letting Kyle take the lead, followed suit and ran along with the young rider to whatever end he desired. As to what that entailed, Kyle had no earthly idea; he just knew he had to stop whatever danger was about to befall the Kings, and he couldn't very well do that by standing still.

In a blur of desert dust, animal muscle and pure power, the horses blazed through the town at Kyle's beckoning, quickly advancing on Sarver and startling him out of his plans. He turned quickly to see what the sudden commotion was and immediately regretted it: four horses, three of which were riderless, came galloping towards him with a ferocity and intent never seen in Fox Canyon before. The mighty animals strode past him on the main avenue, their hooves clipping so close to his boots it caused him to lose his balance, his drunken body pitching backwards and he fell, arms windmilling futily, his head making contact with the hard-packed ground and rendering him unconscious.

They rode on past the bank, Kyle's blind determination and drive giving way to the more automatic, instinctual movements of his horse, allowing his body not to guide and control the animal but to work along with its boundless energy and power. A sharp pull of the reins on his right side swerved Gangles to the right, spitting up dust and pebbles in his wake as they turned, forming an arc in the center of town with the precision of a barrel racer without losing any of his momentum. Racing back to the edge of town with the other horses quickly following suit, Kyle returned to the bank, the wind and dust kicked into his clothes and hair, adrenaline coursing through every vein of his body, blood pumping in his ears.

This was the excitement he had hoped to find in the open West, with the Kings; this was the action and the life that he craved.

Skidding to a halt in front of the three outlaws, Kyle had barely enough time to take in a fresh gulp of breath before they reached out to their horses, regaining control. The disappointed look on David's face flashed in Kyle's memory; he hoped now that he had delivered the horses back to their owners, David would no longer be angry.

But that disapproving frown was nowhere to be found on David's face as Kyle approached, a bright, beaming smile replacing it, like the one that graced the outlaw's face when evaluating the caring work Kyle had done with the Kings's horses. He took Sugarfoot's reins, giving the mare an affectionate pat on the neck, her appearance with the young man so welcome he felt he could kiss her.

"Took you long enough," was his greeting to Kyle as he quickly hoisted himself into the saddle.

Joey had been staring blankly at the fallen man when Kyle had made the turn, shocked that all three men had been so preoccupied they hadn't noticed the bartender until Kyle's stampede knocked him off his feet. Neal had already drawn his gun at the first sound of hoofsteps and the cracking of Kyle's reins against Gangles's hide, holding it now on Sarver in case he regained consciousness, his readiness overcompensating for their previous misstep. If a bumbling, drunken mess of a man like Michael Sarver had been able to get one over on one of the most notorious outlaw gangs of the West, it would have been downright humiliating.

With a swift command from David to his horse, the four men were off like a shot, speeding past the bank and leaving the sleepy wooden buildings and humble people of Fox Canyon behind in their trail of dust. Kyle wanted to look back, wanted to imprint on his memory the sensation of escaping at top speed from a bank robbery, but he worried that if he turned his head it would be met with angry fire from a quickly-forming mob; better to keep his eyes on the plain in front of him, he thought, and direct Gangles to where they were headed instead of taking that risk.

Later, Kyle discovered from Andy that there was no angry mob, no formation of a vigilante group intent on bringing the Kings to their knees. The wedding quickly migrated to the other end of town once the commotion of the escape had been heard, but there were no witnesses to the direction in which the outlaws escaped. The newly-married sheriff wasn't planning to risk his life or those of his deputies to seek justice for the sniveling bank owner, who vowed to return to the civilized East once he found his voice, or for the bartender, who had been no help in interrogation when he awoke, only humbly asking if he had missed something.

They stopped a straight hour or so after pushing their horses at a dead gallop, relinquishing their usual desire for stealth over the need to get as many miles in between them and Fox Canyon as possible. The one downside to Kyle's heroic stampede was the strain it put on the horses to continue at such a run without gradually gaining the speed; Gangles was never used to racing for his and Kyle's life and it took him nearly an hour for his restless breaths to come in steadily and return to normal. Kyle, who was also not accustomed to racing for his life, required only a few minutes for his heart to stop thundering in his ears once they slowed, but his mind kept racing ahead, his thoughts an excited, jumbled mess.

It took a slap on the back to knock him back into his senses, to remind himself that he was still breathing, still all parts whole, and had just pulled off the riskiest escape of his life--perhaps even riskier than pleading with the Kings to join two nights ago.

"Hot damn!" Joey's horse cantered over to Kyle, Gilbert letting out a snort and a celebratory swing of his head as his owner's palm made contact with Kyle's back, forcing a weary laugh from the young man. "Can you ride, kid!"

"Like a fuckin' animal," said another voice happily, and Kyle turned to see Neal flanking his other side, contributing a thankful nod and, to Kyle's amazement, an actual smile. It was the first time Neal had shown any emotion short of violent hostility towards Kyle, and the kid had earned it in spades; there were very few ways to win over the Dr. once he had made his mind up, but saving his life was certainly one of them. Kyle had been sure that he would never gain acceptance from Neal Tiemann, who only this morning considered the young man's efforts not worth the Kings's time; he was sure his denial by Neal, and by Andy, would ultimately seal his fate with the outlaw gang, that he would never truly become one of them. Perhaps when David had said Kyle was to prove himself competent and worthy, he was considering a much larger scale than cleaning up camp and saddling horses.

Now, Kyle thought as he beamed back at Neal, no longer able to control his giddy, satisfied smile, he really did have a chance at becoming a King.

David urged the four of them on, traveling slowly now and with care, camouflaging their tracks and making sure Fox Canyon's lawmen were not on their trail. Kyle could never tell how David noticed anything in that desert, how he could look past the heat and his own weariness to look out into the distance and search with a scout's eyes for any movements more threatening than a buzzard's shadow. It was hours before they stopped to establish camp for the night, the sun having made its journey from one end of the sky to the other, the Kings's ever-present and cruel guardian on their flight. They only stopped on Kyle's request, reminding David that he was working the horses in a harsh, unyielding heat, and that they would need to rest with a good draught of water if he didn't expect them to crumple beneath the outlaws' legs and die. Kyle also wanted to point out that he himself was exhausted and needed water and rest if he expected not to die, but he felt that, despite his newfound popularity among the Kings, it would be less of a compelling argument.

"Hey, Kid."

Kyle was leading the horses back from a leisurely walk to a desert stream the Kings had passed on their journey earlier in the day, a tributary that served as little more than a ditch for algae and desert flowers, but did its job well in rehydrating the horses. He had just been thinking what a pity it had been there wasn't enough water in the stream to wade in, he could have used a dip to wash off the settled dust he had kicked up in his rescue, when David approached him, the first time the leader of the Kings spoke to him since they left Fox Canyon.

He waited for the reprimand, a stern tone and disappointed expression like he received before the heist. He expected to hear David's even and expressionless voice, one Kyle was quickly determining was a tone he didn't want to get used to, reminding him how his hot-headed rush into the town didn't negate the fact that he had disobeyed David's direct orders to stay away from the canyon. Kyle prepared himself for the saddened yet resolute decision of David's that, while he was a good kid, they just couldn't take him on as a liability, and he'd have to find his outlaw adventure in the great West somewhere else.

But he received nothing of the sort: Kyle was quite surprised to see the calm, almost relieved expression on David's face greeting him. It was a look of gratitude: yes, Kyle had disobeyed him, and had things gone according to plan, it could have caused them vital seconds in retrieving their horses and getting out of town safely. But the brutal truth of it, as was the truth of many of their heists as of late, was that the robbery had not gone to plan, and though unbeknown to Kyle, his desire to get up close and personal with a bank robbery probably saved their lives. Kyle wasn't in danger of being thrown out of the Kings; honestly, David would be foolish to let him go.

"You did good today, Kyle," he said, the simple compliment and the use of his real name--the first time David Cook had called him something other than "kid"--hitting home.

Kyle's grin was brighter than it ever had been, the approval of the outlaw meaning more than his thankless years at the ranch, more than the surge of will that brought him out to the desert, following the Kings's trail; more than anything. With a quick nod of appreciation, David left Kyle to the rest of his duties around camp, eager to pore through the purloined sacks of gold and cash and determine if the spoils of this heist justified the hassle. The exact words were never spoken between them, but it was enough; Kyle had earned his place with the other four men, not with the skills he delivered, but with his instincts and the will to work courageously, and dangerously, in order to keep the Kings alive.

The one value David cherished above everything--cash, gold, all the riches the West had to offer them--was loyalty, and he expressed that in every action, every thought, down to the one rule of the Kings he upheld above all others: never leave a man behind.

"I think we're gonna do just fine here, Gangles," Kyle said, patting his horse's flank and getting an affectionate nuzzle in return.

***

Neal hated the waiting.

It wasn't his lack of patience that always bothered him; he had heard the old adage that patience was a virtue, knew when and where to hold his breath and expect something to come of it. He was adept at hunting particularly for this skill: when their stockpiles ran low and there were no trading posts for days, and all the other Kings routinely gave up on finding anything to shoot, Neal waited for the right moments, studying the landscape carefully until a coney or prairie chicken crossed his path. It didn't hurt at all, either, that he could shoot the flame off a cigarette from five hundred feet, but that seemed to be a skill that served Neal well in a number of different fields.

No, Neal thought as he paced in the moonlit dark, taking the routine first watch for the camp while Joey, David, and the kid celebrated a successful heist with sleep; it was the stillness of it all that killed him. Neal Tiemann was a man of action, a man who forgave the moments of calm in his life so long as they led to a dynamic conclusion; he could lie still all day so long as it guaranteed a fresh-caught morsel for dinner, could ride from one end of the desert to the other if the reward at the end of the journey was to his taste. He tolerated planning each heist because he knew it was a necessary evil, a pathway to the actual robbery the Kings must walk down to find its end. And hell, some things didn't even need an end to be worth his while; no one would have to convince him to travel the country, aimless and free, with no mind to get anywhere in particular so long as the gettin' was good.

But the nights after a heist were the worst: the action cooled and the bounty collected, the getaway faced without a flaw, all the preparation and planning for three minutes of exhilaration, and it was all over. There was no next town, no further plans to placate him, not yet; the Kings still had to wait for Andy to return, the lurker among them that remained in Fox Canyon when the others dramatically blew out of town. To keep his guise as a lone traveler, his identity far from that of the outlaws, Andy always stayed in a town until fears and suspicions died down, keeping an attentive eye out for rumors and whispers he could bend to the Kings's advantage in the future. There would be no point in forcing Andy to find a moving target; once the Kings escaped a respectable distance, they tucked in for the wait, each man knowing that, while it could take more than one day of a town's panic to allow Andy to slip away and back to camp, eventually he always returned.

The energy from the heist was still simmering in Neal's veins, his adrenaline tapped with no place to go. There was more than one thing he hated about the waiting.

He turned on his heel when his boots hit the large boulder a ways from camp, marking the border of his nighttime patrol; guarding the camp at night was always a quiet endeavor, hardly a sound out in the vast West save for a coyote's wail, or the majestic sound of a desert owl's wings cutting through the air as she swooped down for her prey. Even this made Neal restless as he watched the black horizon, circling the lightless camp and using only the moonlight and his own keen eyesight to catch sight of any different kinds of predators than owls.

But when he turned, facing the far end of that boulder, he knew there was still one person that could get past his remarkable vision.

"That didn't take long," he noted, a smile curving onto his face and an electric kind of energy building in his fingers quite different from the restlessness he had been feeling a moment ago. Andy just smirked, leaning casually against the boulder, his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his pants, observing; doing what he did best. Neal had no idea when the younger man arrived, didn't hear the sound of Vera's hooves or even of the horse breathing, but he had the feeling Andy had been watching him for a while.

"They were kinda busy," he deadpanned, keeping their voices low. In Andy's mind the time he spent in Fox Canyon couldn't have been short enough; he had seen a drunken Sarver lift his gun and aim at the Kings, aim at Neal, and he couldn't do anything about it without revealing himself to the town. Keeping himself an aloof, unknowing stranger in town while his head buzzed with the worry, thundered with terrible thoughts of what could have been had that headstrong kid, Kyle, not taken the reins. He left a little hastily but no one paid him any mind, half the town too busy focusing on the robbery and the other half occupied with that morning's wedding. "Heard their bank got robbed this morning. Crazy stuff."

A coyote howled in the distance, alone and mournful, a call to its missing pack. "You know," Neal said, kicking pebbles in the dust as he stepped closer. "You never show up when it's Joey or Dave's turn to take watch."

The glint in Andy's eyes was but a brief flash, but to Neal it was unmistakable; there was very little about Andy Skib the sharpshooter did not notice. "That's because Joey and Dave don't welcome me back like this," he said, closing the gap between them and pulling Neal in for a kiss.

***

Maybe it had been the wind, blowing like a teasing child in his ear, or maybe it had just been the excitement of the day's events still pumping through his blood, forging him into a whole new man, but for the damn life of him Kyle couldn't sleep.

He was sure he had watch duty any time now, David easily slipping in a rotation for him into their schedule after Neal, sealing his fate as the newest member of the Kings. David assured him that the two-hour shifts were never eventful and merely an exercise in losing sleep, but Joey reminded him of that one time the Dr. had shot a stalking lawman in complete darkness and an instance where David caught a bumbling bounty hunter attempting to hide his rustling in the prairie grass as a rabbit. It did nothing to allay Kyle's fears and excitement over the watch. He couldn't successfully run a stampede of horses at every threat the Kings faced.

But if he just kept his eyes and ears open to the night, David advised, he'd get the hang of it soon enough, especially on nights when the moon was looming large and undisturbed overhead, making their jobs a bit easier. Kyle was cautious but the prospect of proving himself to the Kings once again, showing that his dramatic rescue and escape wasn't just a fluke, was in the forefront of his mind. He tossed restlessly for two hours, his very bones knowing their serious task and refusing to let him rest because of it. Finally he could keep up the pretense no longer, standing up and batting the weariness out of his chest. It had been a long, exhilarating day, but his body simply wasn't ready to let it be over yet.

David had instructed him not to relieve Neal of his watch duties, that if the kid insisted on the earliest guard time the others would allow him, he had to wait for the Dr. to come to him. Kyle believed this rule David relayed to him was only to protect the young man from the brooding irritation he had seen in Neal the previous day, the cold silence that made Kyle keep his distance before the heist. That seemed to have dissipated almost entirely since that morning, the daring escape in Fox Canyon thawing Neal's frosty reception of the young greenhorn and reconsidering that he may not have been as green as he looked. He had even agreed to show Kyle a few of the basics in shooting, so he would not be forced to cause a stampede every time he needed to wriggle his way out of trouble. Perhaps David was being overly cautious about Neal; he didn't seem to have much of a problem with Kyle now at all.

Concluding that the leader of the Kings was merely overreacting, Kyle set out to the edge of their encampment, confident that relieving Neal early wasn't going to bring the sharpshooter's ire against him. On the contrary, perhaps this would give them extra time to talk, allow Kyle to form stronger bonds with the Kings based on friendliness and partnership rather than pure practicality.

When he reached the end of the camp, a sudden noise caused him to freeze in his tracks. He hadn't been paying close attention to the dim sights and sounds around him, focusing his attentions more on finding Neal in the darkness, and only now when he could tell whatever was making noises were close upon him did he notice. It could have been some harmless night animal, scurrying back to its home after scrounging around their camp for scraps; or, Kyle thought with a chill, it could have been a lawman from Fox Canyon or any one of the towns the Kings had hit throughout the West, following their trail since the morning and waiting for the right moment to strike. Perhaps the reason he hadn't met with Neal yet on his path around the camp was that the Dr. had already encountered this threat--or worse.

Kyle wasn't sure at all if he was ready for this level of action in his life as an outlaw, but he supposed he had to gather the courage one of these days. His hands fell to his hips, hands clasping onto the handles of his twin pistols, palms already wet with nervous sweat. The noises were getting louder now, closer as he inched towards the large boulder on the edge of camp, the only place in the desolate horizon an intruder could hide. When he turned the corner, guts mustered and ready as he'd ever be in his young life, he was greeted with a sight that was very much not the ruthless, vengeance-fueled lawman he had concocted in his head.

He had certainly found Neal, all right, but not in a way Kyle ever imagined in his life he would find him, nor in such a position. The waxing moon's light shone down on two figures, illuminating the arch of Neal's back and the thin sheen of sweat that ran along his frame. Tattooed arms with taut, working muscles braced himself against the boulder, one arm shooting out against the rock to give him leverage while the other gripped roughly onto Andy's hip in front of him, fingers digging into the skin deep enough to bruise. They coupled close together, Andy's back pressed close against Neal's chest, their bodies moving hard as one and the dim moonlight barely delineating where one man ended and the other began. Neal was thrusting up against Andy's backside, into him, as he buried his head in the crook of Andy's neck, mouth working shallow little bites into the skin that Andy's black shirt collar would hide the next morning. Andy threw his head back, shaggy hair shielding his eyes from view as Neal pushed himself in deeper, one arm reaching back to thread into the tangle of hair at the base of Neal's neck while the other pushed his body off the surface of the boulder, their hands pressing together, their fingers entwining.

It was then that Kyle discovered the source of the noise, and realized why David directly told him not to go wandering at camp before Neal's shift was fully over.

His hands never worked so fast at returning his pistols to their holsters; his feet never moved so quickly back to his own bedroll, slamming himself back down with urgency, and his mind never worked so hard to erase the images he had seen of the two outlaws bathed in moonlight, engrossed in each other, from the depths of his memory.

***

Andy knew they had to keep quiet. He wasn't a fool and they weren't amateurs at this; they were in the open desert, with lawmen and bounty hunters possibly on their tracks that very moment. They had to keep quiet.

But that was a task easier said than done when Neal's hands were all over him, his grip as strong as a steel safe on Andy's skin, Neal's mouth pressing heated kisses against the nape of his neck, body hot and willing all around him. Neal's cock pressed deep inside him, their bodies fitting together like a well-worn glove, like they had been created for this, molded for the express purpose of coming together exactly like this. If Andy's mind had the wherewithal to think at the moment, he would think that they would have learned how to do this perfectly silent over the years; no such luck.

There was absolutely nothing like the thrill and excitement of pulling off a heist, of bursting out of a town after looting the place, escaping by just the hairs on your horse's backside, the adrenaline rush buzzing in your ears and pounding in your heart. But when the dust underneath a mount's hooves settled and it was easy to call a victory by outlaw, the energy did not escape along with the threat; it buzzed in your very bones, keeping you awake, agitated, until something had to be done to blow off that steam.

Neal buried his face into the crook of Andy's neck, muffling a groan that turned into the airiest of sighs carried upon the desert wind, and Andy felt Neal's heart beat faster, blood pumping that energy through his veins from deep in his chest, pressed so close against Andy's back he could swear their heartbeats were one. And they had found a way to relieve that energy for years, ever since their first dimestore holdup left them close to jumping with exhilaration. There was nothing like the passion and excitement over a successful heist, but, Andy argued as he felt the vibrations of Neal's moan tremble through his body, there was also nothing quite like this.

A momentary lull in their movements, a shifting of weight from one foot to the other, and the angles had suddenly changed, Neal's cock working deeper, brushing against a place within Andy that made him feel each thrust in every inch of his body, a sharp, glorious sensation that reverberated in the tips of his fingers, down to his toes. He arched his back, pressing himself ever closer to Neal's body, desperate for more touch, more contact. As his head rolled back and his eyes along with it their need to be silent emptied from his mind, an uncontrolled moan escaping his mouth, lifting up into the night. He tried to curb himself, tried to hold back his pleasure before it passed his lips but the attempt was futile; he could never hold himself back when he was with Neal, not like this.

Andy's arm shot out in front of him to regain balance, all the blood drained from his brain and down to his own cock, hard and grossly untended, causing him to feel lightheaded and faint. He expected his hand to come into contact with hard, unyielding rock, the large boulder the two outlaws were using for cover against dusty winds and to give them and their fellow Kings a shred of privacy, of perceived secrecy behind this stone veil. But his palm met with flesh, the skin and ink as familiar to Andy's touch as breathing by now, and almost at once Neal's fingers curled around his, holding him, joining each other in more ways than one.

"Oh, God," he whispered, his face hot and vision useless to him to see nothing but billowing heat and stars, a tiny explosion of color beneath his eyelids every time Neal thrust in deep. Andy's other arm laid limp at his side, not knowing whether to grip in front of him or behind, to pull his own neglected cock into his fist and bring his body the pleasure it craved or reach for Neal, any part of Neal, to bring him closer. A rough growl in Andy's ear and the graze of twin silver piercings along the tender flesh there made up his mind for him; he gasped, hips rolling on instinct into Neal, and his arm reached up over his head and behind, finding purchase in the blond hairs along the nape of Neal's neck. He tangled his fingers in the thick hair, slicked down with sweat, sharp tugs accented with the rolls of his hips garnering another, less controlled growl from the older man, sounding desperately close to his name on Neal's lips.

That whisper, those words from Andy's open mouth--a deliciously witty, irresistible mouth, a mouth Neal had to remind himself he couldn't claim any hour of the day he felt the desire--stirred the devilish streak in Neal, stoking the fires of the man who loved the thrill of a challenge. He felt Andy's hair brush against his face as the younger man's head rolled back, neck exposed and vulnerable to Neal's mouth, his teeth, begging to be marked in all the places he knew Andy loved. A languorous lick up the slopes of Andy's throat with the tip of his tongue brought out a sigh; an unexpected, ravenous bite against the tender flesh, the silver rings threaded in Neal's lower lip making marks of their own as he sucked caused Andy to shiver, his eyes closed, his teeth clenched against a throaty moan.

The sound alone caused Neal's own cock to throb, the coiling tension in his gut mounting ever since he slid into Andy, the man's body like a return home to Neal, like every time. He was close but he'd never admit it; never admit just the expression on Andy's face, outlined in the dim moonlight, a mix of rapture and danger, of familiar sensuality, could send him so close to the edge alone. His arm bracing himself against the boulder locked at the elbow, fingers holding tight against Andy's as he leaned them both forward, his cock buried into Andy's body as he increased his pace. He was panting, breath hot and wet against Andy's neck, but their breathing was drowned out by the sound of skin slapping against skin, the sweat rolling down their bodies, soaking themselves as if caught in a deluge.

Andy could barely take it anymore, his entire body trembling, aching for release. The hand securing his hip, Neal's hand, shifted and slid along the slick planes of Andy's flesh, running a ragged trail underneath the fabric of his shirt along his stomach, up his chest and then swooping down again, following the path of dark, wiry hairs along Andy's body down to his crotch, finally paying the younger man's cock some attention. It was all it took, a firm grip along the shaft, stroking to the rhythm of Neal's thrusts and Andy was gone, mouth choking on all of the words he wanted to scream out as he spilled onto Neal's hand. His eyes screwed so tightly shut he could have gone blind from the effort and never noticed or cared; he felt the shudders course through his body in waves, his cock jerking in Neal's sure grasp. All the world and everything in it--revenge-seeking lawmen, frontier banks waiting to be pillaged, even their fellow Kings--ceased to matter at that moment, Andy's mind a land full of sensation and emotion, focusing on the pleasures only Neal was able to give.

Fighting back moans of his own and biting down on his lip hard enough to pierce through the skin, Neal felt Andy's orgasm in more ways than one: the hot, slick spurts of cum coating his fingers, the walls of Andy's body tightening around Neal's cock, the vise-like grip of their entwined hands feeling desperate, like Andy would fall off the edge of Earth if he didn't hold on. Neal felt himself reach the point of no return, disregarding any pretense of silence and moaning Andy's name into his shoulder blades as he came, emptying himself into Andy in staggered, uneasy thrusts. All of this sensation, this dizzying, rolling high that made the rest of the Earth disappear but for this moment and these two...Neal wouldn't have traded it for all the thrill of robbing Fort Knox.

They lingered like this for as long as their limbs could maintain them, holding onto the aftershocks and reserving them in their memory, taking inventory of every touch, every sensation. The only sound now on the Nevada plain was their own breaths falling heavily into the air, pulses trying to return to normal while refusing to relinquish that which caused it to race in the first place. Neal felt Andy's body shiver against him but he couldn't tell if it was from the cold desert winds they were suddenly aware of once again, or a reaction to Neal pulling out of him, limp yet sated, weary and oversensitive like the rest of him. He pulled his arm around Andy's waist, keeping their bodies flush together, his hand sticky against Andy's stomach but neither man could give a damn.

The hand that had held onto Neal's hair throughout their encounter slackened, trailing down through sheer exhaustion to his cheek, caressing the skin there. Andy had a habit of running his fingers through hair during sex, typically Neal's hair, and enjoyed the feeling when it was reciprocated; Neal had to make sure the younger man didn't make him bald one of these days. Neal unconsciously hummed in satisfaction, brushing kisses against Andy's flesh much gentler than before, the urgency of their coupling draining from their bodies, their energy dutifully and thoroughly spent.

It only took three kisses to his neck, tender and mild, missing the lust-driven fierceness they held before, for Andy to twist himself around, resituating his lanky frame in Neal's arms, and kiss the other man properly. The difference in their natures before and after sex were as different as night and day, the rough, desperate touches and grasps giving way after their release to softer sides, gentle kisses and caresses neither man could or would ever explain. Their intimacy went far beyond that of mere partners in crime, beyond even lovers, to a dependence and trust upon each other that neither Neal or Andy could admit, even to themselves. Andy's arms went around Neal's shoulders lazily, easing into the kiss, never thinking about what these kisses or more could mean in his heart but focusing instead on the here and now, the way Neal's arms around him and Neal's lips upon his felt: familiar and safe.

Both men knew it wasn't prudent for them to stand around, pants pooled to their ankles, basking in their afterglow, but it was difficult to resist that temptation, the desert winds cooling their bodies save for the skin that touched one another, refusing to fully separate. Neal pulled away from the kiss and garnered a protesting moan from the back of Andy's throat but couldn't bring himself to let go of him yet, his tattooed arms running smoothly up and down the planes of Andy's back, fingertips pressing into shoulder blades at the top, thumbs dipping tantalyzingly into the cleft of his ass at the bottom. There was something deep and eternal in Andy's eyes, a grand, dark brown as mysterious as his position with the Kings, and though Neal had seen those eyes for eight years now--seen their laughter and their tears, their subtle smiles and their mad, red-hot anger--he didn't think he could ever see enough of them.

With a hint of a smirk on his lips and a spark in his own eyes, Neal reached up to Andy's face, dragging a thumb along the younger man's cheek as he had done the night before, with much more levity between them and more people watching than now. It was still a rather clean shave, the barber at Fox Canyon's skill shining through, but just the hints of stubble pricked at Neal's finger, their sharpness unseen in the moonlight. Andy scrunched up his nose once again, feigning displeasure, the smile upon his lips giving away his true feelings, and the two men shared a hushed laugh between them as the waxing Nevada moon loomed over them.

Chapter 5, part one