Outlaw's Prayer (ch. 15, part one)
Title: Outlaw's Prayer (15/22, part one)
Author: honestys_easy
Rating: NC/17
Pairing: Skibmann (Neal Tiemann/Andy Skib), Cookson (David Cook/Kelly Clarkson), Kradam (Kris Allen/Adam Lambert), 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: This chapter has been separated into two sections because it's so huge (twss) and I don't want to separate it into two distinct chapters because it'd ruin the flow of the story. Even with separating the chapter into 2 parts it's gigantic, lol. But I don't think many of you will mind. ;-) So, part 2 will be up in a little bit. ;-) 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
Chapter 4
Chapter 5, part one
Chapter 5, part two
Chapter 6
Chapter 7, part one
Chapter 7, part two
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
"I never felt such feelings on earth as now seemed to take possession of me. I lay and thought of all my past life, and never before did I realize my true condition." - Bill Longley, on falling in love
Kris had been unsure whether or not to accept the prisoner's offer, the proposition to allow Andy's friends to scare Danny Gokey out of town appearing less than sterling in the eyes of the law-abiding deputy. Adam had shook his head at Kris's indecision, claiming if the younger man got any more righteous he'd give Danny a run for his money, but in the end he agreed to whatever Kris decided, his strong convictions one of the elements about Kris that made Adam love him so. With but a few more curious townspeople he had to shoo away from the window and a short but irritating visit from Gokey to check on the condition of his ticket to fame, the deputy had the entire day to think about the offer and weigh his morals against his desires. As the traveler dryly reminded him, Andy wasn't going anywhere.
It was well into the night when he finally made his decision, when Adam had returned to the Lambert Inn to retrieve fresh bandages and Andy had slipped into a restless sleep, feigning unconsciousness when Danny had arrived earlier in the day and never quite returning to the energy levels he had previously. Hope's prisoner had given Kris a tempting proposition but it just wasn't something he could be a party to; he had qualms about releasing Andy as it were, and offering even more illegal dealings wasn't helping matters. Kris wanted to be rid of Danny Gokey, but at what price?
"They won't kill him," Andy had assured him before, the weariness in his voice masking his doubt that the Kings would be harmless if they ever crossed paths with the sheriff that nearly killed him. Kris made him promise, however, that if he did decide to take Andy up on the offer, that Danny would be left alive, albeit intimidated, and that Andy and his people understood if that word was broken Kris would be forced to bring swift justice upon them. Only because Kris had saved his life did Andy agree to such terms; the other outlaws would not be pleased to find out they couldn't make Danny disappear the old fashioned way.
"Your friends...your people." Kris joined his prisoner on the dirt floor, finding over the past few hours that it was more comfortable and amicable to converse on the same level, resulting in less of a strain on his neck. He could have used a good sleep, perhaps a long soak in Adam's bathtub to wash away the worries of the past twenty four hours, but he remained at his post, diligent as ever. He spoke once Andy roused himself from a fitful sleep, head barely moving, eyes opened to slits, the depression over injury and imprisonment sinking in. "You care about them, don't you."
Andy attempted a noncommittal groan in response, the muscles in his right arm seizing up from the rest, but too afraid of reopening the wound at his back should he try to exercise it. "It goes without saying," became his answer instead, hoping the conversation ended there. He held nothing against Kris but Andy wished he had not woken up to questions about his companions.
A strange smile played on Kris's face, as if he knew the answers before Andy even needed to respond. If Andy had been less groggy at that point--and if Kris the nursemaid had not taken away the bottle of gin--he would have found the line of questioning immediately suspicious. "There's someone special with them, isn't there," Kris suggested. "Someone you really want to get back to."
The question roused Andy's instincts, his eyes widening in response but his body and mind too exhausted to follow through. Instantly Kris apologized; whatever life this traveler lived, he did not like to be surprised. "In your sleep," he explained, seeking to apologize for listening as well, but when stuck inside a sheriff's office with only an injured prisoner's fever dreams as distraction, propriety on eavesdropping went out the window. "You were mumbling words; a name. Nell, or something." Oftentimes groups of settlers banded together to face the hazards of transcontinental migration, Kris assumed the traveler--once he had revealed he was not alone--had elected to come into town for supplies while the rest of the party waited, eager to return to their journey. The idea brought a soft smile to Kris's lips; it was such a normal kind of existence it was almost enviable. "Reckon I'd be looking to leave, too, if I had someone waiting for me."
The moment the words were said Andy couldn't get them out of his mind; his eyes drifted to the floor, his good arm wrapped around his waist, wishing it were someone else's. If he didn't return to the Kings soon he knew what would happen: though David might try to make a case for escape or desertion, he knew Neal would trample through the gates of Heaven or Hell to try and find him. There was no telling what could await an outlaw in Hope in a few days' time...by then Gokey's telegram would have surely reached Santa Fe, full of politicians and lawmen as opportunistic as the sheriff, or ambitious gunmen simply aiming to watch one of the notorious outlaws hang. The town could become swarming with men all out for a King's blood, and knowing Neal--stupid, stubborn, unstoppable Neal--he would ride right into the thick of it, revolver at the ready, to get Andy back.
He held back a sigh, closing his eyes, momentarily forgetting the other man in the building and thinking only of Neal, how Andy knew the actions the sharpshooter would take before he even made them. There would be no force to stop him from finding Andy or die trying; Andy knew this because he would do the exact headstrong, bull-headed thing for Neal.
"That fool's gonna get himself killed for me," he muttered under his breath.
But he had not said it softly enough, and the words still caught the ears of the deputy, his attentions suddenly piqued. "Him?" he asked, brows knit together, wondering if he had simply misheard the man. It could have just been a continuation of Andy's fevered mumblings, discerning no difference between sleep and wake; it could have been a misunderstanding on Kris's part, projecting something he felt himself. But curiosity got the better of Kris; something told him he hadn't really heard Andy call out the name Nell in his sleep, after all. "Did...you just say 'him'?"
***
David shivered, and it wasn't from the bitter, cold thunderstorm descending upon their camp, making all of New Mexico a muddy wasteland . The fire, though dampened and flickering from the moisture in the air, still blazed on, but David didn't dare get near it to savor its light and life-giving warmth. Instead he remained on the outskirts of the camp, watching the steam billow from the horses' muzzles and getting periodically assaulted by a cold burst of raindrops, courtesy of a gust of wayward wind his way.
Neal was seated at the fire, staring into its flame without seeing, his permanent perch for the rest of the night. David couldn't go by there now, not with Neal around; he couldn't face him quite yet.
The last words Neal spoke to him rang in David's ears, memories of the threat louder than the constant barrage of water upon sand all around them. If the Kings made one more misstep and allowed for Andy to die before they reached him...Neal knew exactly who he would blame. It was painful enough knowing one of his best friends was wounded and captured in the line of his duty towards the gang, without knowing his condition or even if Andy was still alive. Neal made it clear that if David didn't take the reins of this situation it would fall upon the sharpshooter to head an operation, most likely unorganized, foolhardy, and alone.
David already knew if he lost one best friend, he would lose them both.
It fell upon David's shoulders to formulate a plan for the Kings. He was the leader and knew the responsibility should rest on him, had always been aware of his duty to the other men, to keep them safe and deserve their trust in a wild, lawless land where both trust and safety were nearly nonexistent. They had survived for years together, facing whatever dangers lay in their path, protecting and trusting one another, and through all the hazards they came out the other end stronger, wiser, and alive. It was that trust, David concluded with a heavy conscience, that made Andy linger within the town limits of Hope; it was because he, their leader, thought the harmless town would be safe. Now, that trust and that lazy misjudgment could cost Andy his life.
His confidences in his own leadership abilities were already rocked by Joey's departure: though he would have never insisted the other outlaw stay where he felt unsafe or targeted, David's rationality took a backseat to Joey's own fears, allowing them to consume him and make him feel that fleeing was his only option. The five invincible men who had made every boomtown in the West their personal piggy banks were now down to four, and David was the one who had not worked hard enough to keep the Kings together.
He took in a deep breath, feeling the cold spray of the storm against his lips and enter his lungs, its sting comforting, penitential. The camp felt empty with only four, but with three it was downright deserted. David refused to let that be a permanent change.
But devising a plan meant more than just the difference between another body at the campsite, another portion of a heist's profits to split. Andy was a dear friend to David, and the three Kings had been through so much over the years. His emphatic adherence to the Kings's unofficial code--to never leave a man behind in a heist, no matter the circumstances--was not just for show; the other men had grown to be a second family to him, sharing his triumphs as well as his griefs. Abandonment wasn't, and never was, an option for him.
A quick glance towards the fire, to the unmoving silhouette of the Dr., back towards David and hunched as if carrying a heavy burden; David only prayed that some others felt the same way.
They had always gotten along amazingly well for their strong personalities: both David and Neal always had to be right, stubborn to the end even when regarding the time of day. Neither man would ever relent until Andy, the voice of reason, stepped in; but when it concerned serious matters of the Kings they knew to focus on what was best for the gang. During a heist or in the heat of a gunfight David knew Neal was as loyal as an attack dog and just as dangerous, and both gunslingers would hold each other's backs to the death.
But when Neal had approached him that evening with his ultimatum--come up with a plan to retrieve Andy by dawn, or all bets were off--David saw none of the loyalty Neal had always expressed for the leader of the Kings. All of his faith, all his emotion was wrapped up in Andy, in missing him and hurting for him; dying to get him back. Though he never spoke it to either of them David always knew if the choice had to one day be made, that Neal would always choose Andy, and Andy would always choose Neal; a twisted take on the decision of Solomon where David was the one sliced in two.
His loyalty for David and for the Kings was the reason Neal's spurs still dragged through dirt on the ground and not dug hastily into Sixx's flanks en route to Hope. But resentment flared behind the raw emotion in his blue eyes, contempt Neal could barely hide. If David failed to come up with a plan he knew Neal would try to rescue Andy on his own--and, whether his mission ended a success or in tragedy, they would never return.
He couldn't blame Neal for focusing his anger on him; David owned that blame, accepted it with a heavy heart and a lump in his throat the moment he had heard Ryan's dire news. He was their leader; he should have stopped this. If Andy died he knew Neal would never forgive him, but David would also never forgive himself. He had lost his family once before, the fates of his mother and little brother haunting him to his grave; if he could prevent losing this family, too, he would use everything in his power to do it.
He had let so many others down in his life: now, when the Kings counted upon him to come up with a plan to save Andy, to save them all, he couldn't bear to let them down.
Finally feeling the weight of the news on his limbs, David relinquished his vigil among the millions of droplets of rain, the water upon his face, dripping onto his clothes and hands, not washing away the responsibility or the guilt he held. He rested upon his bedroll, his mind far from sleep, focusing on nothing but strategies and plans. David looked once more towards the fire, his best friend's sullen face now in profile, eyes staring into the fire but thoughts filled with his own personal turmoil.
***
Eight years. Eight years and Neal thought he would have gotten sick of seeing anybody's face day in and day out, like an ever-present shadow stretched over the sun.
But Neal spent nearly every day of the past eight years waking up to Andy Skib's face, and he knew in his heart an eternity still wouldn't be enough.
After presenting David with an ultimatum that could end their outlaw history--as well as their friendship--forever, he had found his rest beside the fire, though to call it a rest was to say the raging storm around them was a pleasant break from the desert heat. His eyes stared without seeing into the flame, far too focused on the thoughts inside his head to watch the flickering light, fighting to stay alive in the face of an all-encompassing storm. Even when the others bedded down for the night and he was left with only the cold winds as bitter company, Neal remained still, too engrossed in thought and emotion to move, to barely breathe.
His reaction to Ryan's news--that there was a shooting and arrest in Hope, the rumor trail saying one of the Kings had been the target--was startling to no one at the camp but himself; Neal was prone to bursts of rash emotion, always desiring to act and do something, but never that strong, that intense before. There were many times when the Kings had been in danger, stepping out into the blinding desert sun from the dark interior of a looted bank only to meet a firefight on the other side of the door, and Neal always acted accordingly, his instincts kicking in under pressure. He realized Andy meant a lot to him, in more ways than he could count, but he couldn't understand why he felt so strongly about it, to react in the way that he had, to feel as if he wanted to tear the world apart to find him. He hadn't ever reacted that way when David or Kyle were in danger, and he doubted he ever would.
What the two men shared was not something they commonly spoke about--Neal wasn't much of a talker to begin with and hell, if something ain't broke they shouldn't bother trying to fix it. They worked together like two halves of the same body, the intuition and companionship they developed over the years fitting them together like gears within a pocketwatch, running smoothly, flawlessly. It was unique but neither man thought anything significant about it, just another facet to the intricate, criss-crossing path of their partnership: they would rob and shoot under the leadership of David Cook, they would band together with the likes of Joey Clement and Kyle Peek to become the infamous Kings, but at the heart of it all, they would always have each other.
When they were younger Neal brushed off their physical contact as a necessity of the lonely life of an outlaw, the realities of riding alone and evading capture for their crimes leaving them with little company but each other. But as years progressed that unspoken excuse became brittle, crumbling with little effort against simple logic, and by the time they had agreed to join with David it was nonexistent, leaving them with their sex, their affection, without the rationalization. There was no defining what Andy and Neal had together and it hadn't bothered Neal in the least; it simply was, and that was good enough for him.
Now with a riderless horse at their camp and an empty patch of dirt where Andy's bedroll should have lain, Neal realized what a fool those excuses made him.
The swelling pain in his chest would not subside; the lump in his throat, which took residence there ever since Vera's shadow graced their camp, wouldn't go away no matter how hard he tried. He always worried about Andy never returning from a mission, his eyes glued to the horizon for the familiar rider whether it was his turn to stand guard or not. But he had never been prepared for how it would feel should it ever happen, like his heart was being torn from his body, ripping away from every tendon, every vein.
He remained at camp only out of respect for David's promise, allowing his loyalty and friendship with the outlaw to guide his decision to stay. But his body seized up in protest, shutting down movement entirely in retaliation for Neal not moving fast enough, not staying stubborn and strong enough to venture out on his own, to find Andy and raze the town in the process. He knew that if he stopped moving, stopped running at full speed towards his goal he would have to stop and think on what had happened, how this ripped him apart and what it all meant to him. Now it all came washing over him at once, pelting waves of memory and emotion like the endless storm. Eight years full of reasons why Andy meant more to him than anyone else; why the fear of never being with him again, never looking into those eyes or pressing those lips to his, made it impossible to breathe.
Eight years of the outlaw life, of heists and adventures, of their triumphs and their dangers. Eight years of uncensored smiles, of deep brown eyes that always knew a friend; of desperate touches and stolen midnight kisses, bullets and banks and boys galloping towards manhood with only each other as a guide. Eight years of Neal knowing that, even if the continents crumbled and the sun ceased to shine, Andy would always be by his side.
And it only took one night, one bullet, to make it all come undone.
***
"Your sister's kinda hot."
Neal took a large, lazy bite into the pear stolen from one of the landscaped trees surrounding the Skib homestead, watching with amusement as Andy's face blanched, mouth frowning as if he were about to be sick.
"Please don't say that ever again," he muttered, taking a glance himself at the manor house he had just escaped from, infinitely preferring to spend the September day with Neal than sequestered inside the house, neglected and bored. His sister Alexis stood before a window facing the pear tree grove, a despondent look on her face as seamstresses flitted around her like mayflies, molding and constructing her wedding dress around her frame. Her gaze looked out towards the endless horizon but Andy was sure she had seen him dart across the lawn towards Neal, envying her little brother and his ability to sneak away from the societal confines of their home, if only for one day.
"Why?" Neal asked between chews, leaning his weight against the supple trunk; there was a striking resemblance between the siblings, though Andy's face was leaner, his eyes larger, the better with which to see the world. If Andy grew his hair out to his chin and donned a petticoat, Neal smirked as his mind wandered, he doubted even his keen eyes could tell them apart. "'Cause she's gonna be a married lady soon?"
Andy didn't answer; he simply continued to stare at the window, neither confirming nor denying to his new friend that was the reason he never wanted to hear those words from him again.
The entire homestead was brimming with activity, preparing every square inch of the Skib home for a wedding, from white bunting along the rafters to unearthing the finest vintages in the wine cellar. It had been an advantage to Andy's escape that day, overlooked in lieu of the hectic preparations. Even his lessons were cancelled for the day, though it had admittedly been years since Andy actually learned anything from his ancient piano tutor. The bustle of the manor, buzzing as if the house itself were alive, was unsettling to Neal who preferred few, trusted people around him than many strangers, but to Andy it was oddly comforting, the one time in his young life when he was not the center of attention in the house, subject to scrutiny by the public and overbearing ambition from his parents. For that day, it was his sister's lucrative bethrothal in the spotlight, and not the talent in his hands.
"It's some steel heir from out East," he explained to Neal; no one in his family had seen or met the man, nearly double Alexis's age, but his parents had sure seen his social stature and his bankroll, and that was the true love connection they sought. "Pittsburgh, I think. Lexi's not too thrilled about it--" Neal looked up at the girl's window again, the tears Alexis wished to shed clearly not ones of joy. Andy shrugged; both brother and sister Skib knew the paths their parents had chosen for them. "--but it'll get my parents' names in good with high society, I guess. Always looking to be on the up."
After losing a family and a home he had never known as an infant, and then raised within a culture that held no concept of voraciously acquiring wealth or owning land, much less people, Andy's parents confounded Neal, only slightly more than they infuriated him. He wasn't unfamiliar with arranged marriages, he just wasn't happy with them. "They got some marriage plans for you, too?" he questioned, picturing Andy looking equally as miserable as his sister while being primed for a privileged socialite back East.
He couldn't decide which he hated more: the thought of marriage or the fact that it was Neal broaching the subject. "Marriage...isn't really my thing," he said, eyes to the ground, hoping the shade from the pear tree's leafy boughs hid the reddening of his cheeks. "Their plans for me, apparently, are all about these." He held out his hands, fingers that had mastered the keys of a piano; palms that gripped the handle of a revolver now that Neal was teaching him to shoot. "There's a school in New York...a music school." When his parents mentioned it, scheduled visits with representatives and listening parties, it was a blessing and an opportunity; when he thought about it, especially in Neal's presence, the young man with no obligations or ambitions put upon him by others, it was an exile. "That's what's in my future."
"Is that what you want?"
Andy would always remember that rare moment in his young life when someone actually cared about what he wanted for himself. Neal knew the silence was his answer; Andy gave a longing glance towards the holster at Neal's side, then to the distance beyond the two, through the Skibs' pear grove and out towards the empty frontier. With blue eyes glinting with understanding, Neal nodded his head towards the clearing and away from the busy house, granting Andy the opportunity to escape that world, if only for a day.
***
There was nothing else left for him in Tulsa.
Neal scaled the wall of the Skib house, the decorative shingles along the exterior finally discovering their practical use. His belongings lay bundled in a horse blanket along with his horse below the second-story window in the manor house, Sixx as dutiful as the day he was foaled. There was no point in waiting until the morning; there was no time like the dead of night to embark on the rest of his life. He only hoped Andy would even speak to him once he reached the top.
The argument had been nearly a week ago but Neal could not get it out of his mind, the sad, defeatist look on Andy's face as he told Neal his fate had finally come to its due; the music school in New York was waiting for him. Neal raged enough for the both of them, frustrated with Andy's subdued surrender, demanding to know why he had not rebelled against his parents, fought to stay with him in Tulsa just a little longer. Andy had turned away from him in silence, unsure of how to react, what to reveal to Neal; and though he regretted it a split second later and had ever since, Neal felt that betrayal justified turning his own back on the younger man and riding away in anger.
It was Neal's damn pride that kept him from going back, though there wasn't one point in the past four days when that feeling of regret lapsed, when he feared the last words they would ever speak to one another would be an argument. The fourth night came, only hours before Andy was set to leave the territory for God knew how long, and Neal couldn't have that fight hanging over their heads for the rest of their lives.
Reaching the sill with some effort, Neal peered inside, a lone oil lamp in the far corner of the room casting dim, gauzy shadows along its walls. A trunk lay open and half-filled on a canopy bed, its owner packing for a journey quite different from Neal's. Andy stood in the middle of the room, surprised by Neal's appearance but never showing it on his face; he had been working on masking his reactions in front of strangers, but both men knew Neal was no stranger.
When his eyes locked with Andy's in the dim light, Neal knew he would be the only thing he'd miss about Tulsa. The only thing.
"I'm heading out," he announced once Andy helped him into the room, the windowsill not the proper place to hold such a conversation.
"You just got here." Andy tried to keep the tone light but there was no room for that between them, not tonight.
He answered in a hushed voice, reasoning to himself it was only not to wake the rest of the house; not because of emotions of his own. "I mean out; out of Tulsa. I've...I've had it with those old Indians." It was the Creek tribe that had it with Neal, deciding upon his coming-of-age to eject him from the reservation, claiming they now harbored a full-grown white man and an enemy to their people, Neal no longer the defenseless orphan they raised. If that's how they wanted to play it, then Neal was game: if after all these years they could still only see his blue eyes and blond hair, still consider the only red about him were the freckles on his skin, then they could starve for all he cared.
And if Andy was finally heading to the music school in New York that he loathed and his parents adored, well, there was no reason for Neal to stick around any longer. "I just..." He turned his eyes to the floor, ashamed of his cowardice. He feared his fate in the treacherous West if he couldn't even muster up the gall to say goodbye to his best--his only--friend. "I just came to say..."
But when he raised them again, Andy was staring back at him, eyes wide and just as fearful of the words as Neal. It touched him so intensely that he found an instant hatred of the word goodbye, and wouldn't even let it pass his lips. Neal left with a single, hasty nod of his head towards the younger man, making his way through the window and down towards his horse. He was halfway to mounting his saddle and riding off when he took one last look up at the window, forcing himself not to wonder if he would ever see Andy again.
He was surprised to see the lamp light, dim as it was, now completely extinguished, its warm glow gone from Andy's window. In a swift moment, however, it was replaced with the sight of Andy's slender frame as he hoisted himself over the sill, taking the distance between the window and the ground in one dangerous jump. In the pale moonlight their eyes met, and Andy did not need to speak for Neal to know his intentions. If he couldn't bring himself to say goodbye, Neal thought as the pair raided the Skibs' stable, Neal snatching a saddle while Andy led out the chestnut mare he cared for since childhood, then...then it wasn't really goodbye.
Leaving Andy's half-filled trunk and his train ticket to New York abandoned in the bedroom, the two rode off beyond the Tulsa borders, with Neal taking one look back at his childhood home, and Andy taking none.
***
It had been Andy's idea to rob the store.
He blamed himself for leaving his valuable belongings behind in their haste to flee Tulsa, the pair running low on cash and provisions before they even reached the territory line. Instead of having goods to trade to make their way, he suggested they use their talents instead, subjecting the outlying trading post to Andy's infiltration and Neal's quick draw. The owner never knew what kind of trouble blew into his store until it was too late, thinking only to grab his shotgun after the pair were long gone, riding fast as the wind with their hearts pumping and their pockets lined with bills.
They only stopped when their horses begged for it, finding themselves miles outside of Ada in a wooded hunting glen. Neal couldn't get his heart to stop racing and Andy didn't dare wipe the grin from his face--it had been terrifying but at the same time thrilling, staring danger in the face and coming out the victors. And they had done it together: they were outlaws now, no longer living by the rules of their parents, or tribe members--of anyone.
The exhilaration coursed through their veins as they dismounted, both men feeling the weight of the haul in their pockets. Neal let out a whoop, almost an animalistic howl at the sky as Andy laughed, his open mouth wide and cheerful, the smile reaching up to his eyes. They wanted to shout upon the highest peaks of the world of their success; they wanted to run their energy down into the ground, until their legs were sacks of flour and they did it all over again to reach that high once more.
In a quick burst of energy they embraced, still laughing, their grips tight upon each other's shoulders as they congratulated themselves on a heist well done. But it was when the laughter faded that they realized how close they were, Andy's head buried in the crook of Neal's shoulder, Neal's palm at the back of Andy's neck. They remained in each other's arms for a moment, Andy realizing that he had never been so close to another person before, save for being birthed, Neal pondering how the warmth of Andy's body was so different from that of the sun beating down on them, yet comforting all the same.
Neither man knew which one breathed out that short sigh between them, the tiniest of moans escaping with the breath--but there it was, the catalyst to what the pair hadn't even known they waited for. Their energy changed from erratic and pent-up to pleasantly expelled, hands roaming along each other's bodies, feeling flesh, muscle and bone underneath heavy cotton and leather. Neal worked a tentative roll of his hips against Andy's, erections brushing against one another through the fabric, and was rewarded with an instinctive bite against his collarbone, the moan muffled into his skin now undeniably Andy's.
Before he knew it Andy was exploring expanses of skin he never expected to wander, one palm cupping Neal's ass through his pants, holding their bodies flush together, the other snaking its way past the waistband, fingers brushing along the length of his cock, unwittingly teasing it as it jumped and Neal gasped. One quick movement of his own hands and Andy's pants were open, held up by sweat and luck, his cock securely in Neal's grasp as his pants soon followed. He grabbed them both in one fist, pumping in rhythm to the thrusts of Andy's hips against him, his mind focused on little more than the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears and the dull throb of Andy's pulse in his cock, increasing in speed alongside Neal's.
It was over almost before it began, the adrenaline running fast and hot in their blood ending its course in a matter of minutes, before either man had any time to realize or care how far they had gone. Andy came first with a shiver, biting back a shout of pleasure as he buried his face in the collar of Neal's shirt, hands gripping like vices into Neal's flesh, cock spurting onto the both of them. Neal's mind was overcome with sensation, sending him toppling over the edge, experiencing the shock and shudder of Andy's aftershocks as if they were his own. He shot his load into an already moist palm, using the lubrication on both of their crowns, his oversensitive head twitching, his back arching into the touch. Holding them in a sure grip, Neal was reluctant to let go, waiting until they both grew soft in his hand, the pair's embrace as tight as ever.
He could feel their heartbeats slowing, the rhythms matching, melding to one; Andy's breath still came in shallow, panting spurts, hot against Neal's neck, then trailing along the shell of his ear, dancing upon his cheek, as Andy's head rose from its position. Their eyes locked, startled, heavy stares upon one another, trying to unravel the jumble of sensation they had just endured, searching within each other for the answers to unspoken questions: why did they just do that? Had it truly happened, or was it some adrenaline-fueled illusion, some dream? And by any dear God in heaven, could they do it again?
The second question held a clear and simple answer, so stark and obvious from the deep, satisfied weight in Neal's gut and the spent seed of the both of them coating his fingers. The first question was far from being as clear-cut as that, and with a confused, undefined sadness Neal thought it would never be answered. This was a strange and sudden, if not overwhelmingly pleasurable, reaction to the success of their first heist, of spitting in the face of rules and conventions; their encounter was merely an offshoot of that, nothing more, Neal convinced himself. Their lives were filled with worries of surviving in the unmerciful West, Andy the only man Neal trusted with his life, with anything. That's what he had to focus on, not any hidden, subtle meaning behind what they just did.
They disentangled from their embrace, albeit a bit reluctantly, their energies spent and their desperate need fulfilled. Without uttering a word they cleaned themselves up and remounted, the haul from their first robbery hopefully enough to last them for a while, unsure if they would ever rob again, or if they even should. But the spark of recognition Neal saw in Andy's stare gave him the answer to the third question without ever speaking it; Andy hadn't been prepared for their encounter but he liked it, as did Neal, and with all the power and will the two men could gather they would make sure it happened again.
***
They tore through the Indian Territory on their way to the Texas border, spending months meandering through hill and valley, living as they pleased with nothing but the daily weather and their own personal whims guiding them. Finding it was easier to liberate trading posts of their cash stores instead of finding honest work, they set about perfecting their skills and mastering their new trade. Andy was always welcomed but never noticed, discovering that open eyes and attentive ears made shopkeepers nearly beg for his attention. They provided him with the vital knowledge about their stores that he passed on nightly to Neal, robbing each store at gunpoint, their owners never deducing how he knew their weak points. And after each heist they reunited outside of town, away from luckless posses and spying eyes, and celebrated in their own unique way.
Their encounters had been perfected as well, molded and shaped through necessity and desire alike, their bodies inevitably finding each other again and again after each heist, like migrating birds always returning home. It only happened after their robberies, the thrill of escaping faultless, blameless, and rich building such an energy within them that could only be satisfied with physical release. Andy raised the stakes the night after their robbery in Coalgate, laying Neal down in the dark folds of the woods to wrap his mouth around Neal's cock, Neal nearly bucking his hips down Andy's throat and moaning loud enough to wake up half a reservation. Neal had brought it to a new level after they lifted a stagecoach of its earnings outside Kingston when he kissed Andy, slow and deliberate, after coming inside him for the first time, the silver rings threaded into his lower lip making dual impressions upon Andy's, marking him. They never spoke about what brought them to each encounter, or why it felt so good to be in each other's embrace, giving the other man this pleasure, far better than any of the saloon girls they had along their route. But Neal sometimes had a feeling they didn't excel in their life of crime just for the money or the thrill.
The onslaught of a summer thunderstorm kept them indoors for the evening and away from any jobs they had planned to pull in Custer City, but the rain had no effect on their desire for action, their canceled heist only making their bodies itch for exhilaration. Finding shelter in the town's inn, they set to bed down for the night, a warm, dry room that, though expensive, was far preferable to spending the night cuddled up to oneself in a rain puddle. While Neal stabled the horses, Andy slipped the innkeeper an extra dollar to ensure the pair's privacy; they never knew who could be searching for the outlaws, and an innkeeper in their moneypurse was a much better friend to them than one in the sheriff's.
"Man, you should see it out there!" Andy held the oil lamp up to their window, marveling at the water coming down in sheets, patches of earth usually cracked and dry from the summer heat more resembling bogs. Neal watched his breath fog against the glass as he laughed, both men grateful they did not have to spend the evening in that dismal downpour. "Never seen any rain as bad as this in Tulsa."
"That's 'cause you never had the threat of sleeping out in it," Neal reminded him, his soggy clothes sticking to his skin in the warm room and forming a messy pool of water by his feet. They had been lucky enough to find the room at the inn, but only after the skies opened up on them, soaking everything they owned. He peeled off his shirt and vest, with red leather boots and pants soon to follow, eager to rid himself of the wet clothing. Their crime streak through the Indian Territory was slowly making Neal accept the fact he would probably die young, but he'd prefer it to be in a courageous, glorious shootout than by catching his death of cold.
Frowning at Andy's own wet clothes, sticking to his slender frame and dripping onto the bed linens as he leaned towards the windowframe, Neal lobbed his discarded shirt in the other man's direction, laughing as it made an arc in the air and landed squarely on Andy's head. "Watch it!" Andy ducked but not in time, the shirt draping over his face and hair, covering his grin. "Don't make me drop the lamp, or we'll have more problems than just a storm." He held up the oil lamp in his hand by the thin wire handle, four smoky, well-used panes of glass letting the light through, flickering and shaky from Andy's startled grip. It cast the room in a greasy yellow glow as he gingerly set it down on the bedside table, the only source of light sending deep shadows scattering across the wooden floorboards and along the walls, the atmosphere hauntingly intimate. Through the soaking wet veil on his head Andy made out his companion's silhouette bending over to remove the last of his muddy vestments, tossing them all into a corner.
"Then get off the bed!" was Neal's quick retort, looking to aim a sock at the younger man next. "We gotta sleep on that, you know."
Andy's wit was sharper; he moved away from the bed and set to work on his own sopping clothes, pausing only momentarily to launch a choice hand gesture in Neal's direction. "I call the dry side, then."
"You're an ass," Neal said, the toothy smile spreading to the wrinkles of his eyes telling quite a different story of his amusement. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed like this, chuckling to himself as Andy hopped around the small room, wrenching the swollen leather boots from his feet with Neal's shirt still shielding his vision; Neal couldn't remember if he had ever laughed like this, felt so secure in life, so alive. The irony was not lost on him that it took becoming an outlaw, he and Andy risking their lives in holdups and running from lawmen, for Neal to feel anywhere close to safe.
"But I'll be a dry ass," Andy reminded him, blind to Neal's suspiciously devious smile as he undressed, thankful to soon be enjoying the comfort of a real bed that evening, a luxury he never thought he would miss so much. He supposed there were a few things about his childhood that weren't so terrible, but only a few. He hadn't noticed Neal approach until the soaked shirt was pulled from his head, revealing the other man in the full light of the oil lamp, his grin positively infectious. Andy couldn't help but join in with a smile, a chuckle, then an outright laugh, neither man quite sure why they were in such high spirits but far too pleased to ruin the moment now.
Giddily retaliating, Andy shook his head vigorously in Neal's direction, water droplets from the shaggy head of hair he had been growing out spraying everywhere, predominantly falling upon Neal. With a great laugh Neal gave his own head a shake, though not nearly as effective as Andy's, whose hair had absorbed the moisture from the shirt upon his head like desert soil; he stilled the younger man's movements by placing a palm on either side of Andy's head, holding him there. He had grown too satisfied and happy in their fortune for the night to care about modesty, any apprehensions with Andy melting away as he felt hands rise to the sides of his own head in turn, Andy running his fingers through blond hair and leaning in, grinning. And when Neal finally bridged the space between them, bringing his lips down against Andy's, his naked frame pressed against his, he was still grinning, too lost in a moment of bliss to ever stop and contemplate why he felt so good.
Perhaps it would have been wise to stop then, their attraction raw and unprecedented by a successful heist as they always were before; perhaps they should have discussed these feelings instead of giving in to them without question, reacting with instinct and not reason. But then a tongue licked its way along Neal's lips, Andy gingerly asking for entrance, and with a needy, hungry growl Neal granted it to him, discarding any hesitation in the process. His hands moved downward, set to explore the planes of Andy's bare skin, wet from the rain and cool to the touch, as Andy's grip tightened on Neal's hair, aroused by the sensation.
Andy gasped into Neal's mouth as their bodies moved flush against one another, the slide of rough, tattooed hands down his back and palming his ass sending shivers through him, though the room was quite warm. A brief moment of disentanglement, a gulp of fresh air Neal had to take into his lungs, and the pair locked eyes, panting, their urges no longer a necessity but a desire, an entirely different kind of need.
They knew there was no stopping after that.
Soon they found themselves atop the small bed, Andy's head against the sheets he had dampened before but no longer giving a damn if they were even on fire. Neal settled himself on top of Andy's frame, nestling his hips between Andy's legs as he spread them obligingly, eager to return to kissing Neal, touching him. They acted on pure instinct now, learning through the months what caresses felt good to them, what they could do to give their partner the most pleasure; but never before did they have the luxury of a bed to explore each other in, a private room to lay undisturbed, spending all the time they wanted on those sensations they couldn't get enough of.
Neal's tongue prodded greedily into Andy's mouth, claiming his lips with a passionate bite, Andy responding to the kiss in more ways than one. There was possession and power in that kiss but also something deeper Neal had never felt before, the desire to make this last as long as possible with Andy, to savor every moment of their night. But Andy had much different motivations for the evening, his insistent erection pressing against Neal's belly, the tip wet with precum and rainwater, his hands slowly yet firmly pushing on Neal's shoulders, urging him downward. Whatever Andy silently requested, Neal always fulfilled, trailing a line of kisses and bites down the his chest until he reached his cock, running his lips teasingly along the shaft, his silver rings working like flint, sending sparks up Andy's spine. Neal kept his eyes on Andy's face as he took him into his mouth, licking down inch by inch, past all his typical reflexes, until the wiry, soft hairs at the base of Andy's groin tickled his lips. He wished Andy had been watching him, too, hoped to catch his stare once more, but Andy was far too busy holding back a yelp of pleasure at Neal's ministrations, arching his back and biting his lip enough to draw blood.
The deep, heady scent of Andy filled Neal's senses as he sucked, pulling away only long enough to tease the head with his tongue, forcing out a low whine from Andy's lips before plunging back down again, grunting in surprise at how his actions were making his own cock throb. He rolled his hips into the mattress, against Andy's thigh; anything to get some sort of contact, some touch. Detaching himself momentarily, his sudden halt sending Andy stuttering, his hips bucking into the air, Neal took only enough time to spit into his palm, coating his fingers before he resumed his station, this time with an index finger hovering over Andy's ass, silently asking.
"Oh fucking God," Andy moaned, throwing his head back against the mattress as Neal slowly worked his finger inside him, then two, curving them just so, in time with the bobbing of his head onto Andy's cock. He couldn't decide whether to tangle his fingers in the bedlinens or in Neal's hair, his hands moving everywhere as stars filled his vision, growing dangerously close to the edge. He didn't want that, and neither did Neal; Andy observed through heavy eyelids the way the light from the oil lamp, flickering but warm and true, played upon Neal's features, the determined resolve on his face, his hollowed cheeks. A wave of emotion foreign to Andy washed over him, yearning to caress Neal, experience every sensation imaginable with him...his gut coiled up into knots, threatening release, and God if he didn't get himself together soon...
A choked cry came from his mouth that Andy hadn't even been aware he was making, his eyes clenching shut, head thrown to the side. "Neal--" he breathed, the urgency in his voice making it clear Neal had to stop what he was doing, they both did, before their night ended much earlier than they desired.
That one needy, breathy sigh from Andy's lips was all Neal needed to hear, arousal surging in him like the flow of ocean tides, reaching his ears like a plea for more instead of an entreaty to stop. He removed himself from all contact with Andy's flesh in one swift motion, fingers retreating, palm brushing against the sensitive skin of his balls, head lifting as he rose to capture Andy's lips once more. "Andy..." he answered his lover's call, voice heavy with lust, all other thoughts besides pure want erased from his mind. As they kissed, Andy's mouth opening instinctively to invite Neal inside, their breaths mingling together in the warm room, Neal positioned himself against Andy's hole, prepared and waiting. There was no hesitation between them, no barriers to their passion, as Neal entered him, the pair muffling each other's moans only barely enough not to wake up the entire inn.
Fueled by instinct rather than experience, Andy's legs wrapped around Neal's frame, one thigh securely pressed against his side, the other aided by a sure grip up over Neal's shoulder, granting his lover full access to him, silently begging for more. And indeed, more he received, the heady, uncomfortable feeling of Neal's cock filling him giving way quickly to more pleasurable sensations, the uncontrollable pulsing of Neal's hips into his, making Andy shudder with desire. They remained still for a moment, both men taking in the power of that feeling, of being so close to each other in every way possible, Neal buried deep inside Andy, their mouths pressed against each other without moving; it was almost too beautiful, too perfect a moment to lose, the fleeting wish they could stay entangled like this forever passing between them, illuminated by lamplight.
But with one thrust, one sharp gasp of breath, the moment passed, and the room was full of kinetic movement once again. Their position allowed Neal to drive himself deep into Andy with each thrust, the tight walls around his cock urging him to move faster, harder...just keep moving. He settled into a pace that sent the minds of both men reeling, Neal emitting a low groan deep in his throat, Andy throwing his head back until the muscles in his neck were pulled taut, like the tense strings of barbed wire threaded throughout the open plain. Everything about Andy felt so amazing to Neal at that moment, from the tight heat all around him to the legs around his frame pulling him in deeper to Andy's body, to the short pants of hot breath against Neal's face, urging him on, demanding more. He didn't want to ever stop experiencing the sensations Andy was giving him, letting out an uncontrolled, pained sigh just at the thought. He wanted to feel this way forever.
Even then, when all that mattered to him in the world was in that room, lying underneath him, surrounding him and flooding all his senses, Neal felt with a desperate, sinking doubt that all this good couldn't last.
A sharp tug at his scalp brought him back to his senses, Andy once again threading his hands through Neal's hair, jolting him to attention. But instead of arching his head back, Andy held Neal's head still though the rest of his body moved with the power and determination of a steam engine, forcing Neal to hold his stare. The single lamp on the bedside table cast deep shadows across Andy's face, one side bathed in warm light, the other shrouded in darkness; beads of sweat on his brow mixed with remaining rainwater as they dripped in hot, salty droplets down to the sheets, Neal's own body covered in a sheen of sweat well-earned. But he couldn't tear his gaze away from Andy's eyes, one in the light illuminating the lustful spark usually hidden among the swaths of brown, one in darkness set deep with emotion that dared to venture past lust, beyond mere passion, to thoughts he only allowed himself in the dark.
They stared into each other's eyes, dark and mysterious brown meeting with cold, jaded blue, neither man making a sound, barely breathing, as Neal's hips rolled into Andy's, pushing himself in at a harrowing speed, causing the bed, if not the entire room, to shake. He felt the tension coiling in his gut, the now familiar feeling of coming close to his end at hand, but still Neal made no sound, didn't dare to tear his eyes away from Andy's. He wanted to lick every drop of sweat from Andy's brow, tasting the salt on his tongue and savoring the taste of Andy underneath it; he wanted to trace the small "o" of Andy's lips with his thumb, his mouth, the head of his cock, desiring everything from Andy, to touch him everywhere. He wanted to bathe in the soft lamplight until they burned; he wanted to be inside Andy, be with him, until the downpour carried them away, drowned them both together in an epic flood.
He wanted...oh, God, he wanted this.
Neal came with a silent moan upon his lips, his frame trembling as he emptied himself into Andy, the wetness and warmth of his own cum only deepening the orgasm, strengthening its magnitude as it ripped through his body. He could barely move, barely breathe as his arms held up his weight, feeling like weighted sacks of lead, shaking as they desperately kept him from collapsing ungracefully atop his lover's frame. Every sense was heightened as he felt Andy's body tighten around his sensitive cock, felt Andy's own dick jerk in between their bodies, coating their bellies slick with cum, the other man's orgasm as silent and spectacular as his own.
No words needed to be said, nor could they even if either man had wanted to speak them. Something had changed, a feeling far different than the quick, desperate sexual satisfaction they usually found with one another; something neither of them dared to define with words, an entire conversation passing between their eyes. Neal scanned the familiar features of Andy's face, cheeks flushed and damp with perspiration now instead of rain, lips softly parted to pant shallow breaths of air; but his eyes were ever alert, reading Neal's face just as Neal was reading his, battling fatigue to decipher what he saw. For the first time in over a year since they had known each other, from that one serendipitous moment in the Tulsa marketplace that brought their paths together to this place, this bed, Neal couldn't tell what Andy was thinking, and Andy the same for Neal.
It was disquieting, to say the least, and as he slipped out of Andy his instincts reverted, refusing to acknowledge this had been any different than the other moments they spent in each other's embrace. He moved quickly to separate himself from Andy, observing their common custom to move away from each other as soon as the encounter was over, an assertion that their coupling was merely for physical gratification. Neal shifted his weight to one side, claiming a corner of the bed, but before he could depart a firm hand secured itself around his wrist, holding him there, making sure he did not leave.
He could never say what prompted the change, and Andy could never tell, but they had both felt it undeniably, the deep, satisfied fullness in their bones caused only by each other. Without a sound Andy pulled Neal back towards him, refusing to allow the other man to separate them for even one second. Their bodies collided once more into a tangle of sated limbs and slowing heartbeats, finally settling themselves in each other's arms side by side on the mattress, Andy's head tucked into the crook of Neal's neck, Neal's cheek gently pressed against Andy's brow.
It was a mess of positions, their bodies sticky from spunk and sweat, heated skin given barely enough time to recuperate before falling into the embrace. A peculiar, serene feeling swept over Neal then, his tired muscles relaxing into the mattress with Andy by his side, his lover's heartbeat replacing the lullaby he never heard as a child. As the oil lamp burned dimly yet true throughout the night, its flame lighting their window like a beacon against the never-ending storm, Neal fell soundly asleep, his own heart slowing to beat in time with Andy's, their deep sighs in tandem as if they breathed as one.
Chapter 15, part two
Author: honestys_easy
Rating: NC/17
Pairing: Skibmann (Neal Tiemann/Andy Skib), Cookson (David Cook/Kelly Clarkson), Kradam (Kris Allen/Adam Lambert), 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: This chapter has been separated into two sections because it's so huge (twss) and I don't want to separate it into two distinct chapters because it'd ruin the flow of the story. Even with separating the chapter into 2 parts it's gigantic, lol. But I don't think many of you will mind. ;-) So, part 2 will be up in a little bit. ;-) 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
Chapter 4
Chapter 5, part one
Chapter 5, part two
Chapter 6
Chapter 7, part one
Chapter 7, part two
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
"I never felt such feelings on earth as now seemed to take possession of me. I lay and thought of all my past life, and never before did I realize my true condition." - Bill Longley, on falling in love
Kris had been unsure whether or not to accept the prisoner's offer, the proposition to allow Andy's friends to scare Danny Gokey out of town appearing less than sterling in the eyes of the law-abiding deputy. Adam had shook his head at Kris's indecision, claiming if the younger man got any more righteous he'd give Danny a run for his money, but in the end he agreed to whatever Kris decided, his strong convictions one of the elements about Kris that made Adam love him so. With but a few more curious townspeople he had to shoo away from the window and a short but irritating visit from Gokey to check on the condition of his ticket to fame, the deputy had the entire day to think about the offer and weigh his morals against his desires. As the traveler dryly reminded him, Andy wasn't going anywhere.
It was well into the night when he finally made his decision, when Adam had returned to the Lambert Inn to retrieve fresh bandages and Andy had slipped into a restless sleep, feigning unconsciousness when Danny had arrived earlier in the day and never quite returning to the energy levels he had previously. Hope's prisoner had given Kris a tempting proposition but it just wasn't something he could be a party to; he had qualms about releasing Andy as it were, and offering even more illegal dealings wasn't helping matters. Kris wanted to be rid of Danny Gokey, but at what price?
"They won't kill him," Andy had assured him before, the weariness in his voice masking his doubt that the Kings would be harmless if they ever crossed paths with the sheriff that nearly killed him. Kris made him promise, however, that if he did decide to take Andy up on the offer, that Danny would be left alive, albeit intimidated, and that Andy and his people understood if that word was broken Kris would be forced to bring swift justice upon them. Only because Kris had saved his life did Andy agree to such terms; the other outlaws would not be pleased to find out they couldn't make Danny disappear the old fashioned way.
"Your friends...your people." Kris joined his prisoner on the dirt floor, finding over the past few hours that it was more comfortable and amicable to converse on the same level, resulting in less of a strain on his neck. He could have used a good sleep, perhaps a long soak in Adam's bathtub to wash away the worries of the past twenty four hours, but he remained at his post, diligent as ever. He spoke once Andy roused himself from a fitful sleep, head barely moving, eyes opened to slits, the depression over injury and imprisonment sinking in. "You care about them, don't you."
Andy attempted a noncommittal groan in response, the muscles in his right arm seizing up from the rest, but too afraid of reopening the wound at his back should he try to exercise it. "It goes without saying," became his answer instead, hoping the conversation ended there. He held nothing against Kris but Andy wished he had not woken up to questions about his companions.
A strange smile played on Kris's face, as if he knew the answers before Andy even needed to respond. If Andy had been less groggy at that point--and if Kris the nursemaid had not taken away the bottle of gin--he would have found the line of questioning immediately suspicious. "There's someone special with them, isn't there," Kris suggested. "Someone you really want to get back to."
The question roused Andy's instincts, his eyes widening in response but his body and mind too exhausted to follow through. Instantly Kris apologized; whatever life this traveler lived, he did not like to be surprised. "In your sleep," he explained, seeking to apologize for listening as well, but when stuck inside a sheriff's office with only an injured prisoner's fever dreams as distraction, propriety on eavesdropping went out the window. "You were mumbling words; a name. Nell, or something." Oftentimes groups of settlers banded together to face the hazards of transcontinental migration, Kris assumed the traveler--once he had revealed he was not alone--had elected to come into town for supplies while the rest of the party waited, eager to return to their journey. The idea brought a soft smile to Kris's lips; it was such a normal kind of existence it was almost enviable. "Reckon I'd be looking to leave, too, if I had someone waiting for me."
The moment the words were said Andy couldn't get them out of his mind; his eyes drifted to the floor, his good arm wrapped around his waist, wishing it were someone else's. If he didn't return to the Kings soon he knew what would happen: though David might try to make a case for escape or desertion, he knew Neal would trample through the gates of Heaven or Hell to try and find him. There was no telling what could await an outlaw in Hope in a few days' time...by then Gokey's telegram would have surely reached Santa Fe, full of politicians and lawmen as opportunistic as the sheriff, or ambitious gunmen simply aiming to watch one of the notorious outlaws hang. The town could become swarming with men all out for a King's blood, and knowing Neal--stupid, stubborn, unstoppable Neal--he would ride right into the thick of it, revolver at the ready, to get Andy back.
He held back a sigh, closing his eyes, momentarily forgetting the other man in the building and thinking only of Neal, how Andy knew the actions the sharpshooter would take before he even made them. There would be no force to stop him from finding Andy or die trying; Andy knew this because he would do the exact headstrong, bull-headed thing for Neal.
"That fool's gonna get himself killed for me," he muttered under his breath.
But he had not said it softly enough, and the words still caught the ears of the deputy, his attentions suddenly piqued. "Him?" he asked, brows knit together, wondering if he had simply misheard the man. It could have just been a continuation of Andy's fevered mumblings, discerning no difference between sleep and wake; it could have been a misunderstanding on Kris's part, projecting something he felt himself. But curiosity got the better of Kris; something told him he hadn't really heard Andy call out the name Nell in his sleep, after all. "Did...you just say 'him'?"
***
David shivered, and it wasn't from the bitter, cold thunderstorm descending upon their camp, making all of New Mexico a muddy wasteland . The fire, though dampened and flickering from the moisture in the air, still blazed on, but David didn't dare get near it to savor its light and life-giving warmth. Instead he remained on the outskirts of the camp, watching the steam billow from the horses' muzzles and getting periodically assaulted by a cold burst of raindrops, courtesy of a gust of wayward wind his way.
Neal was seated at the fire, staring into its flame without seeing, his permanent perch for the rest of the night. David couldn't go by there now, not with Neal around; he couldn't face him quite yet.
The last words Neal spoke to him rang in David's ears, memories of the threat louder than the constant barrage of water upon sand all around them. If the Kings made one more misstep and allowed for Andy to die before they reached him...Neal knew exactly who he would blame. It was painful enough knowing one of his best friends was wounded and captured in the line of his duty towards the gang, without knowing his condition or even if Andy was still alive. Neal made it clear that if David didn't take the reins of this situation it would fall upon the sharpshooter to head an operation, most likely unorganized, foolhardy, and alone.
David already knew if he lost one best friend, he would lose them both.
It fell upon David's shoulders to formulate a plan for the Kings. He was the leader and knew the responsibility should rest on him, had always been aware of his duty to the other men, to keep them safe and deserve their trust in a wild, lawless land where both trust and safety were nearly nonexistent. They had survived for years together, facing whatever dangers lay in their path, protecting and trusting one another, and through all the hazards they came out the other end stronger, wiser, and alive. It was that trust, David concluded with a heavy conscience, that made Andy linger within the town limits of Hope; it was because he, their leader, thought the harmless town would be safe. Now, that trust and that lazy misjudgment could cost Andy his life.
His confidences in his own leadership abilities were already rocked by Joey's departure: though he would have never insisted the other outlaw stay where he felt unsafe or targeted, David's rationality took a backseat to Joey's own fears, allowing them to consume him and make him feel that fleeing was his only option. The five invincible men who had made every boomtown in the West their personal piggy banks were now down to four, and David was the one who had not worked hard enough to keep the Kings together.
He took in a deep breath, feeling the cold spray of the storm against his lips and enter his lungs, its sting comforting, penitential. The camp felt empty with only four, but with three it was downright deserted. David refused to let that be a permanent change.
But devising a plan meant more than just the difference between another body at the campsite, another portion of a heist's profits to split. Andy was a dear friend to David, and the three Kings had been through so much over the years. His emphatic adherence to the Kings's unofficial code--to never leave a man behind in a heist, no matter the circumstances--was not just for show; the other men had grown to be a second family to him, sharing his triumphs as well as his griefs. Abandonment wasn't, and never was, an option for him.
A quick glance towards the fire, to the unmoving silhouette of the Dr., back towards David and hunched as if carrying a heavy burden; David only prayed that some others felt the same way.
They had always gotten along amazingly well for their strong personalities: both David and Neal always had to be right, stubborn to the end even when regarding the time of day. Neither man would ever relent until Andy, the voice of reason, stepped in; but when it concerned serious matters of the Kings they knew to focus on what was best for the gang. During a heist or in the heat of a gunfight David knew Neal was as loyal as an attack dog and just as dangerous, and both gunslingers would hold each other's backs to the death.
But when Neal had approached him that evening with his ultimatum--come up with a plan to retrieve Andy by dawn, or all bets were off--David saw none of the loyalty Neal had always expressed for the leader of the Kings. All of his faith, all his emotion was wrapped up in Andy, in missing him and hurting for him; dying to get him back. Though he never spoke it to either of them David always knew if the choice had to one day be made, that Neal would always choose Andy, and Andy would always choose Neal; a twisted take on the decision of Solomon where David was the one sliced in two.
His loyalty for David and for the Kings was the reason Neal's spurs still dragged through dirt on the ground and not dug hastily into Sixx's flanks en route to Hope. But resentment flared behind the raw emotion in his blue eyes, contempt Neal could barely hide. If David failed to come up with a plan he knew Neal would try to rescue Andy on his own--and, whether his mission ended a success or in tragedy, they would never return.
He couldn't blame Neal for focusing his anger on him; David owned that blame, accepted it with a heavy heart and a lump in his throat the moment he had heard Ryan's dire news. He was their leader; he should have stopped this. If Andy died he knew Neal would never forgive him, but David would also never forgive himself. He had lost his family once before, the fates of his mother and little brother haunting him to his grave; if he could prevent losing this family, too, he would use everything in his power to do it.
He had let so many others down in his life: now, when the Kings counted upon him to come up with a plan to save Andy, to save them all, he couldn't bear to let them down.
Finally feeling the weight of the news on his limbs, David relinquished his vigil among the millions of droplets of rain, the water upon his face, dripping onto his clothes and hands, not washing away the responsibility or the guilt he held. He rested upon his bedroll, his mind far from sleep, focusing on nothing but strategies and plans. David looked once more towards the fire, his best friend's sullen face now in profile, eyes staring into the fire but thoughts filled with his own personal turmoil.
***
Eight years. Eight years and Neal thought he would have gotten sick of seeing anybody's face day in and day out, like an ever-present shadow stretched over the sun.
But Neal spent nearly every day of the past eight years waking up to Andy Skib's face, and he knew in his heart an eternity still wouldn't be enough.
After presenting David with an ultimatum that could end their outlaw history--as well as their friendship--forever, he had found his rest beside the fire, though to call it a rest was to say the raging storm around them was a pleasant break from the desert heat. His eyes stared without seeing into the flame, far too focused on the thoughts inside his head to watch the flickering light, fighting to stay alive in the face of an all-encompassing storm. Even when the others bedded down for the night and he was left with only the cold winds as bitter company, Neal remained still, too engrossed in thought and emotion to move, to barely breathe.
His reaction to Ryan's news--that there was a shooting and arrest in Hope, the rumor trail saying one of the Kings had been the target--was startling to no one at the camp but himself; Neal was prone to bursts of rash emotion, always desiring to act and do something, but never that strong, that intense before. There were many times when the Kings had been in danger, stepping out into the blinding desert sun from the dark interior of a looted bank only to meet a firefight on the other side of the door, and Neal always acted accordingly, his instincts kicking in under pressure. He realized Andy meant a lot to him, in more ways than he could count, but he couldn't understand why he felt so strongly about it, to react in the way that he had, to feel as if he wanted to tear the world apart to find him. He hadn't ever reacted that way when David or Kyle were in danger, and he doubted he ever would.
What the two men shared was not something they commonly spoke about--Neal wasn't much of a talker to begin with and hell, if something ain't broke they shouldn't bother trying to fix it. They worked together like two halves of the same body, the intuition and companionship they developed over the years fitting them together like gears within a pocketwatch, running smoothly, flawlessly. It was unique but neither man thought anything significant about it, just another facet to the intricate, criss-crossing path of their partnership: they would rob and shoot under the leadership of David Cook, they would band together with the likes of Joey Clement and Kyle Peek to become the infamous Kings, but at the heart of it all, they would always have each other.
When they were younger Neal brushed off their physical contact as a necessity of the lonely life of an outlaw, the realities of riding alone and evading capture for their crimes leaving them with little company but each other. But as years progressed that unspoken excuse became brittle, crumbling with little effort against simple logic, and by the time they had agreed to join with David it was nonexistent, leaving them with their sex, their affection, without the rationalization. There was no defining what Andy and Neal had together and it hadn't bothered Neal in the least; it simply was, and that was good enough for him.
Now with a riderless horse at their camp and an empty patch of dirt where Andy's bedroll should have lain, Neal realized what a fool those excuses made him.
The swelling pain in his chest would not subside; the lump in his throat, which took residence there ever since Vera's shadow graced their camp, wouldn't go away no matter how hard he tried. He always worried about Andy never returning from a mission, his eyes glued to the horizon for the familiar rider whether it was his turn to stand guard or not. But he had never been prepared for how it would feel should it ever happen, like his heart was being torn from his body, ripping away from every tendon, every vein.
He remained at camp only out of respect for David's promise, allowing his loyalty and friendship with the outlaw to guide his decision to stay. But his body seized up in protest, shutting down movement entirely in retaliation for Neal not moving fast enough, not staying stubborn and strong enough to venture out on his own, to find Andy and raze the town in the process. He knew that if he stopped moving, stopped running at full speed towards his goal he would have to stop and think on what had happened, how this ripped him apart and what it all meant to him. Now it all came washing over him at once, pelting waves of memory and emotion like the endless storm. Eight years full of reasons why Andy meant more to him than anyone else; why the fear of never being with him again, never looking into those eyes or pressing those lips to his, made it impossible to breathe.
Eight years of the outlaw life, of heists and adventures, of their triumphs and their dangers. Eight years of uncensored smiles, of deep brown eyes that always knew a friend; of desperate touches and stolen midnight kisses, bullets and banks and boys galloping towards manhood with only each other as a guide. Eight years of Neal knowing that, even if the continents crumbled and the sun ceased to shine, Andy would always be by his side.
And it only took one night, one bullet, to make it all come undone.
***
"Your sister's kinda hot."
Neal took a large, lazy bite into the pear stolen from one of the landscaped trees surrounding the Skib homestead, watching with amusement as Andy's face blanched, mouth frowning as if he were about to be sick.
"Please don't say that ever again," he muttered, taking a glance himself at the manor house he had just escaped from, infinitely preferring to spend the September day with Neal than sequestered inside the house, neglected and bored. His sister Alexis stood before a window facing the pear tree grove, a despondent look on her face as seamstresses flitted around her like mayflies, molding and constructing her wedding dress around her frame. Her gaze looked out towards the endless horizon but Andy was sure she had seen him dart across the lawn towards Neal, envying her little brother and his ability to sneak away from the societal confines of their home, if only for one day.
"Why?" Neal asked between chews, leaning his weight against the supple trunk; there was a striking resemblance between the siblings, though Andy's face was leaner, his eyes larger, the better with which to see the world. If Andy grew his hair out to his chin and donned a petticoat, Neal smirked as his mind wandered, he doubted even his keen eyes could tell them apart. "'Cause she's gonna be a married lady soon?"
Andy didn't answer; he simply continued to stare at the window, neither confirming nor denying to his new friend that was the reason he never wanted to hear those words from him again.
The entire homestead was brimming with activity, preparing every square inch of the Skib home for a wedding, from white bunting along the rafters to unearthing the finest vintages in the wine cellar. It had been an advantage to Andy's escape that day, overlooked in lieu of the hectic preparations. Even his lessons were cancelled for the day, though it had admittedly been years since Andy actually learned anything from his ancient piano tutor. The bustle of the manor, buzzing as if the house itself were alive, was unsettling to Neal who preferred few, trusted people around him than many strangers, but to Andy it was oddly comforting, the one time in his young life when he was not the center of attention in the house, subject to scrutiny by the public and overbearing ambition from his parents. For that day, it was his sister's lucrative bethrothal in the spotlight, and not the talent in his hands.
"It's some steel heir from out East," he explained to Neal; no one in his family had seen or met the man, nearly double Alexis's age, but his parents had sure seen his social stature and his bankroll, and that was the true love connection they sought. "Pittsburgh, I think. Lexi's not too thrilled about it--" Neal looked up at the girl's window again, the tears Alexis wished to shed clearly not ones of joy. Andy shrugged; both brother and sister Skib knew the paths their parents had chosen for them. "--but it'll get my parents' names in good with high society, I guess. Always looking to be on the up."
After losing a family and a home he had never known as an infant, and then raised within a culture that held no concept of voraciously acquiring wealth or owning land, much less people, Andy's parents confounded Neal, only slightly more than they infuriated him. He wasn't unfamiliar with arranged marriages, he just wasn't happy with them. "They got some marriage plans for you, too?" he questioned, picturing Andy looking equally as miserable as his sister while being primed for a privileged socialite back East.
He couldn't decide which he hated more: the thought of marriage or the fact that it was Neal broaching the subject. "Marriage...isn't really my thing," he said, eyes to the ground, hoping the shade from the pear tree's leafy boughs hid the reddening of his cheeks. "Their plans for me, apparently, are all about these." He held out his hands, fingers that had mastered the keys of a piano; palms that gripped the handle of a revolver now that Neal was teaching him to shoot. "There's a school in New York...a music school." When his parents mentioned it, scheduled visits with representatives and listening parties, it was a blessing and an opportunity; when he thought about it, especially in Neal's presence, the young man with no obligations or ambitions put upon him by others, it was an exile. "That's what's in my future."
"Is that what you want?"
Andy would always remember that rare moment in his young life when someone actually cared about what he wanted for himself. Neal knew the silence was his answer; Andy gave a longing glance towards the holster at Neal's side, then to the distance beyond the two, through the Skibs' pear grove and out towards the empty frontier. With blue eyes glinting with understanding, Neal nodded his head towards the clearing and away from the busy house, granting Andy the opportunity to escape that world, if only for a day.
***
There was nothing else left for him in Tulsa.
Neal scaled the wall of the Skib house, the decorative shingles along the exterior finally discovering their practical use. His belongings lay bundled in a horse blanket along with his horse below the second-story window in the manor house, Sixx as dutiful as the day he was foaled. There was no point in waiting until the morning; there was no time like the dead of night to embark on the rest of his life. He only hoped Andy would even speak to him once he reached the top.
The argument had been nearly a week ago but Neal could not get it out of his mind, the sad, defeatist look on Andy's face as he told Neal his fate had finally come to its due; the music school in New York was waiting for him. Neal raged enough for the both of them, frustrated with Andy's subdued surrender, demanding to know why he had not rebelled against his parents, fought to stay with him in Tulsa just a little longer. Andy had turned away from him in silence, unsure of how to react, what to reveal to Neal; and though he regretted it a split second later and had ever since, Neal felt that betrayal justified turning his own back on the younger man and riding away in anger.
It was Neal's damn pride that kept him from going back, though there wasn't one point in the past four days when that feeling of regret lapsed, when he feared the last words they would ever speak to one another would be an argument. The fourth night came, only hours before Andy was set to leave the territory for God knew how long, and Neal couldn't have that fight hanging over their heads for the rest of their lives.
Reaching the sill with some effort, Neal peered inside, a lone oil lamp in the far corner of the room casting dim, gauzy shadows along its walls. A trunk lay open and half-filled on a canopy bed, its owner packing for a journey quite different from Neal's. Andy stood in the middle of the room, surprised by Neal's appearance but never showing it on his face; he had been working on masking his reactions in front of strangers, but both men knew Neal was no stranger.
When his eyes locked with Andy's in the dim light, Neal knew he would be the only thing he'd miss about Tulsa. The only thing.
"I'm heading out," he announced once Andy helped him into the room, the windowsill not the proper place to hold such a conversation.
"You just got here." Andy tried to keep the tone light but there was no room for that between them, not tonight.
He answered in a hushed voice, reasoning to himself it was only not to wake the rest of the house; not because of emotions of his own. "I mean out; out of Tulsa. I've...I've had it with those old Indians." It was the Creek tribe that had it with Neal, deciding upon his coming-of-age to eject him from the reservation, claiming they now harbored a full-grown white man and an enemy to their people, Neal no longer the defenseless orphan they raised. If that's how they wanted to play it, then Neal was game: if after all these years they could still only see his blue eyes and blond hair, still consider the only red about him were the freckles on his skin, then they could starve for all he cared.
And if Andy was finally heading to the music school in New York that he loathed and his parents adored, well, there was no reason for Neal to stick around any longer. "I just..." He turned his eyes to the floor, ashamed of his cowardice. He feared his fate in the treacherous West if he couldn't even muster up the gall to say goodbye to his best--his only--friend. "I just came to say..."
But when he raised them again, Andy was staring back at him, eyes wide and just as fearful of the words as Neal. It touched him so intensely that he found an instant hatred of the word goodbye, and wouldn't even let it pass his lips. Neal left with a single, hasty nod of his head towards the younger man, making his way through the window and down towards his horse. He was halfway to mounting his saddle and riding off when he took one last look up at the window, forcing himself not to wonder if he would ever see Andy again.
He was surprised to see the lamp light, dim as it was, now completely extinguished, its warm glow gone from Andy's window. In a swift moment, however, it was replaced with the sight of Andy's slender frame as he hoisted himself over the sill, taking the distance between the window and the ground in one dangerous jump. In the pale moonlight their eyes met, and Andy did not need to speak for Neal to know his intentions. If he couldn't bring himself to say goodbye, Neal thought as the pair raided the Skibs' stable, Neal snatching a saddle while Andy led out the chestnut mare he cared for since childhood, then...then it wasn't really goodbye.
Leaving Andy's half-filled trunk and his train ticket to New York abandoned in the bedroom, the two rode off beyond the Tulsa borders, with Neal taking one look back at his childhood home, and Andy taking none.
***
It had been Andy's idea to rob the store.
He blamed himself for leaving his valuable belongings behind in their haste to flee Tulsa, the pair running low on cash and provisions before they even reached the territory line. Instead of having goods to trade to make their way, he suggested they use their talents instead, subjecting the outlying trading post to Andy's infiltration and Neal's quick draw. The owner never knew what kind of trouble blew into his store until it was too late, thinking only to grab his shotgun after the pair were long gone, riding fast as the wind with their hearts pumping and their pockets lined with bills.
They only stopped when their horses begged for it, finding themselves miles outside of Ada in a wooded hunting glen. Neal couldn't get his heart to stop racing and Andy didn't dare wipe the grin from his face--it had been terrifying but at the same time thrilling, staring danger in the face and coming out the victors. And they had done it together: they were outlaws now, no longer living by the rules of their parents, or tribe members--of anyone.
The exhilaration coursed through their veins as they dismounted, both men feeling the weight of the haul in their pockets. Neal let out a whoop, almost an animalistic howl at the sky as Andy laughed, his open mouth wide and cheerful, the smile reaching up to his eyes. They wanted to shout upon the highest peaks of the world of their success; they wanted to run their energy down into the ground, until their legs were sacks of flour and they did it all over again to reach that high once more.
In a quick burst of energy they embraced, still laughing, their grips tight upon each other's shoulders as they congratulated themselves on a heist well done. But it was when the laughter faded that they realized how close they were, Andy's head buried in the crook of Neal's shoulder, Neal's palm at the back of Andy's neck. They remained in each other's arms for a moment, Andy realizing that he had never been so close to another person before, save for being birthed, Neal pondering how the warmth of Andy's body was so different from that of the sun beating down on them, yet comforting all the same.
Neither man knew which one breathed out that short sigh between them, the tiniest of moans escaping with the breath--but there it was, the catalyst to what the pair hadn't even known they waited for. Their energy changed from erratic and pent-up to pleasantly expelled, hands roaming along each other's bodies, feeling flesh, muscle and bone underneath heavy cotton and leather. Neal worked a tentative roll of his hips against Andy's, erections brushing against one another through the fabric, and was rewarded with an instinctive bite against his collarbone, the moan muffled into his skin now undeniably Andy's.
Before he knew it Andy was exploring expanses of skin he never expected to wander, one palm cupping Neal's ass through his pants, holding their bodies flush together, the other snaking its way past the waistband, fingers brushing along the length of his cock, unwittingly teasing it as it jumped and Neal gasped. One quick movement of his own hands and Andy's pants were open, held up by sweat and luck, his cock securely in Neal's grasp as his pants soon followed. He grabbed them both in one fist, pumping in rhythm to the thrusts of Andy's hips against him, his mind focused on little more than the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears and the dull throb of Andy's pulse in his cock, increasing in speed alongside Neal's.
It was over almost before it began, the adrenaline running fast and hot in their blood ending its course in a matter of minutes, before either man had any time to realize or care how far they had gone. Andy came first with a shiver, biting back a shout of pleasure as he buried his face in the collar of Neal's shirt, hands gripping like vices into Neal's flesh, cock spurting onto the both of them. Neal's mind was overcome with sensation, sending him toppling over the edge, experiencing the shock and shudder of Andy's aftershocks as if they were his own. He shot his load into an already moist palm, using the lubrication on both of their crowns, his oversensitive head twitching, his back arching into the touch. Holding them in a sure grip, Neal was reluctant to let go, waiting until they both grew soft in his hand, the pair's embrace as tight as ever.
He could feel their heartbeats slowing, the rhythms matching, melding to one; Andy's breath still came in shallow, panting spurts, hot against Neal's neck, then trailing along the shell of his ear, dancing upon his cheek, as Andy's head rose from its position. Their eyes locked, startled, heavy stares upon one another, trying to unravel the jumble of sensation they had just endured, searching within each other for the answers to unspoken questions: why did they just do that? Had it truly happened, or was it some adrenaline-fueled illusion, some dream? And by any dear God in heaven, could they do it again?
The second question held a clear and simple answer, so stark and obvious from the deep, satisfied weight in Neal's gut and the spent seed of the both of them coating his fingers. The first question was far from being as clear-cut as that, and with a confused, undefined sadness Neal thought it would never be answered. This was a strange and sudden, if not overwhelmingly pleasurable, reaction to the success of their first heist, of spitting in the face of rules and conventions; their encounter was merely an offshoot of that, nothing more, Neal convinced himself. Their lives were filled with worries of surviving in the unmerciful West, Andy the only man Neal trusted with his life, with anything. That's what he had to focus on, not any hidden, subtle meaning behind what they just did.
They disentangled from their embrace, albeit a bit reluctantly, their energies spent and their desperate need fulfilled. Without uttering a word they cleaned themselves up and remounted, the haul from their first robbery hopefully enough to last them for a while, unsure if they would ever rob again, or if they even should. But the spark of recognition Neal saw in Andy's stare gave him the answer to the third question without ever speaking it; Andy hadn't been prepared for their encounter but he liked it, as did Neal, and with all the power and will the two men could gather they would make sure it happened again.
***
They tore through the Indian Territory on their way to the Texas border, spending months meandering through hill and valley, living as they pleased with nothing but the daily weather and their own personal whims guiding them. Finding it was easier to liberate trading posts of their cash stores instead of finding honest work, they set about perfecting their skills and mastering their new trade. Andy was always welcomed but never noticed, discovering that open eyes and attentive ears made shopkeepers nearly beg for his attention. They provided him with the vital knowledge about their stores that he passed on nightly to Neal, robbing each store at gunpoint, their owners never deducing how he knew their weak points. And after each heist they reunited outside of town, away from luckless posses and spying eyes, and celebrated in their own unique way.
Their encounters had been perfected as well, molded and shaped through necessity and desire alike, their bodies inevitably finding each other again and again after each heist, like migrating birds always returning home. It only happened after their robberies, the thrill of escaping faultless, blameless, and rich building such an energy within them that could only be satisfied with physical release. Andy raised the stakes the night after their robbery in Coalgate, laying Neal down in the dark folds of the woods to wrap his mouth around Neal's cock, Neal nearly bucking his hips down Andy's throat and moaning loud enough to wake up half a reservation. Neal had brought it to a new level after they lifted a stagecoach of its earnings outside Kingston when he kissed Andy, slow and deliberate, after coming inside him for the first time, the silver rings threaded into his lower lip making dual impressions upon Andy's, marking him. They never spoke about what brought them to each encounter, or why it felt so good to be in each other's embrace, giving the other man this pleasure, far better than any of the saloon girls they had along their route. But Neal sometimes had a feeling they didn't excel in their life of crime just for the money or the thrill.
The onslaught of a summer thunderstorm kept them indoors for the evening and away from any jobs they had planned to pull in Custer City, but the rain had no effect on their desire for action, their canceled heist only making their bodies itch for exhilaration. Finding shelter in the town's inn, they set to bed down for the night, a warm, dry room that, though expensive, was far preferable to spending the night cuddled up to oneself in a rain puddle. While Neal stabled the horses, Andy slipped the innkeeper an extra dollar to ensure the pair's privacy; they never knew who could be searching for the outlaws, and an innkeeper in their moneypurse was a much better friend to them than one in the sheriff's.
"Man, you should see it out there!" Andy held the oil lamp up to their window, marveling at the water coming down in sheets, patches of earth usually cracked and dry from the summer heat more resembling bogs. Neal watched his breath fog against the glass as he laughed, both men grateful they did not have to spend the evening in that dismal downpour. "Never seen any rain as bad as this in Tulsa."
"That's 'cause you never had the threat of sleeping out in it," Neal reminded him, his soggy clothes sticking to his skin in the warm room and forming a messy pool of water by his feet. They had been lucky enough to find the room at the inn, but only after the skies opened up on them, soaking everything they owned. He peeled off his shirt and vest, with red leather boots and pants soon to follow, eager to rid himself of the wet clothing. Their crime streak through the Indian Territory was slowly making Neal accept the fact he would probably die young, but he'd prefer it to be in a courageous, glorious shootout than by catching his death of cold.
Frowning at Andy's own wet clothes, sticking to his slender frame and dripping onto the bed linens as he leaned towards the windowframe, Neal lobbed his discarded shirt in the other man's direction, laughing as it made an arc in the air and landed squarely on Andy's head. "Watch it!" Andy ducked but not in time, the shirt draping over his face and hair, covering his grin. "Don't make me drop the lamp, or we'll have more problems than just a storm." He held up the oil lamp in his hand by the thin wire handle, four smoky, well-used panes of glass letting the light through, flickering and shaky from Andy's startled grip. It cast the room in a greasy yellow glow as he gingerly set it down on the bedside table, the only source of light sending deep shadows scattering across the wooden floorboards and along the walls, the atmosphere hauntingly intimate. Through the soaking wet veil on his head Andy made out his companion's silhouette bending over to remove the last of his muddy vestments, tossing them all into a corner.
"Then get off the bed!" was Neal's quick retort, looking to aim a sock at the younger man next. "We gotta sleep on that, you know."
Andy's wit was sharper; he moved away from the bed and set to work on his own sopping clothes, pausing only momentarily to launch a choice hand gesture in Neal's direction. "I call the dry side, then."
"You're an ass," Neal said, the toothy smile spreading to the wrinkles of his eyes telling quite a different story of his amusement. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed like this, chuckling to himself as Andy hopped around the small room, wrenching the swollen leather boots from his feet with Neal's shirt still shielding his vision; Neal couldn't remember if he had ever laughed like this, felt so secure in life, so alive. The irony was not lost on him that it took becoming an outlaw, he and Andy risking their lives in holdups and running from lawmen, for Neal to feel anywhere close to safe.
"But I'll be a dry ass," Andy reminded him, blind to Neal's suspiciously devious smile as he undressed, thankful to soon be enjoying the comfort of a real bed that evening, a luxury he never thought he would miss so much. He supposed there were a few things about his childhood that weren't so terrible, but only a few. He hadn't noticed Neal approach until the soaked shirt was pulled from his head, revealing the other man in the full light of the oil lamp, his grin positively infectious. Andy couldn't help but join in with a smile, a chuckle, then an outright laugh, neither man quite sure why they were in such high spirits but far too pleased to ruin the moment now.
Giddily retaliating, Andy shook his head vigorously in Neal's direction, water droplets from the shaggy head of hair he had been growing out spraying everywhere, predominantly falling upon Neal. With a great laugh Neal gave his own head a shake, though not nearly as effective as Andy's, whose hair had absorbed the moisture from the shirt upon his head like desert soil; he stilled the younger man's movements by placing a palm on either side of Andy's head, holding him there. He had grown too satisfied and happy in their fortune for the night to care about modesty, any apprehensions with Andy melting away as he felt hands rise to the sides of his own head in turn, Andy running his fingers through blond hair and leaning in, grinning. And when Neal finally bridged the space between them, bringing his lips down against Andy's, his naked frame pressed against his, he was still grinning, too lost in a moment of bliss to ever stop and contemplate why he felt so good.
Perhaps it would have been wise to stop then, their attraction raw and unprecedented by a successful heist as they always were before; perhaps they should have discussed these feelings instead of giving in to them without question, reacting with instinct and not reason. But then a tongue licked its way along Neal's lips, Andy gingerly asking for entrance, and with a needy, hungry growl Neal granted it to him, discarding any hesitation in the process. His hands moved downward, set to explore the planes of Andy's bare skin, wet from the rain and cool to the touch, as Andy's grip tightened on Neal's hair, aroused by the sensation.
Andy gasped into Neal's mouth as their bodies moved flush against one another, the slide of rough, tattooed hands down his back and palming his ass sending shivers through him, though the room was quite warm. A brief moment of disentanglement, a gulp of fresh air Neal had to take into his lungs, and the pair locked eyes, panting, their urges no longer a necessity but a desire, an entirely different kind of need.
They knew there was no stopping after that.
Soon they found themselves atop the small bed, Andy's head against the sheets he had dampened before but no longer giving a damn if they were even on fire. Neal settled himself on top of Andy's frame, nestling his hips between Andy's legs as he spread them obligingly, eager to return to kissing Neal, touching him. They acted on pure instinct now, learning through the months what caresses felt good to them, what they could do to give their partner the most pleasure; but never before did they have the luxury of a bed to explore each other in, a private room to lay undisturbed, spending all the time they wanted on those sensations they couldn't get enough of.
Neal's tongue prodded greedily into Andy's mouth, claiming his lips with a passionate bite, Andy responding to the kiss in more ways than one. There was possession and power in that kiss but also something deeper Neal had never felt before, the desire to make this last as long as possible with Andy, to savor every moment of their night. But Andy had much different motivations for the evening, his insistent erection pressing against Neal's belly, the tip wet with precum and rainwater, his hands slowly yet firmly pushing on Neal's shoulders, urging him downward. Whatever Andy silently requested, Neal always fulfilled, trailing a line of kisses and bites down the his chest until he reached his cock, running his lips teasingly along the shaft, his silver rings working like flint, sending sparks up Andy's spine. Neal kept his eyes on Andy's face as he took him into his mouth, licking down inch by inch, past all his typical reflexes, until the wiry, soft hairs at the base of Andy's groin tickled his lips. He wished Andy had been watching him, too, hoped to catch his stare once more, but Andy was far too busy holding back a yelp of pleasure at Neal's ministrations, arching his back and biting his lip enough to draw blood.
The deep, heady scent of Andy filled Neal's senses as he sucked, pulling away only long enough to tease the head with his tongue, forcing out a low whine from Andy's lips before plunging back down again, grunting in surprise at how his actions were making his own cock throb. He rolled his hips into the mattress, against Andy's thigh; anything to get some sort of contact, some touch. Detaching himself momentarily, his sudden halt sending Andy stuttering, his hips bucking into the air, Neal took only enough time to spit into his palm, coating his fingers before he resumed his station, this time with an index finger hovering over Andy's ass, silently asking.
"Oh fucking God," Andy moaned, throwing his head back against the mattress as Neal slowly worked his finger inside him, then two, curving them just so, in time with the bobbing of his head onto Andy's cock. He couldn't decide whether to tangle his fingers in the bedlinens or in Neal's hair, his hands moving everywhere as stars filled his vision, growing dangerously close to the edge. He didn't want that, and neither did Neal; Andy observed through heavy eyelids the way the light from the oil lamp, flickering but warm and true, played upon Neal's features, the determined resolve on his face, his hollowed cheeks. A wave of emotion foreign to Andy washed over him, yearning to caress Neal, experience every sensation imaginable with him...his gut coiled up into knots, threatening release, and God if he didn't get himself together soon...
A choked cry came from his mouth that Andy hadn't even been aware he was making, his eyes clenching shut, head thrown to the side. "Neal--" he breathed, the urgency in his voice making it clear Neal had to stop what he was doing, they both did, before their night ended much earlier than they desired.
That one needy, breathy sigh from Andy's lips was all Neal needed to hear, arousal surging in him like the flow of ocean tides, reaching his ears like a plea for more instead of an entreaty to stop. He removed himself from all contact with Andy's flesh in one swift motion, fingers retreating, palm brushing against the sensitive skin of his balls, head lifting as he rose to capture Andy's lips once more. "Andy..." he answered his lover's call, voice heavy with lust, all other thoughts besides pure want erased from his mind. As they kissed, Andy's mouth opening instinctively to invite Neal inside, their breaths mingling together in the warm room, Neal positioned himself against Andy's hole, prepared and waiting. There was no hesitation between them, no barriers to their passion, as Neal entered him, the pair muffling each other's moans only barely enough not to wake up the entire inn.
Fueled by instinct rather than experience, Andy's legs wrapped around Neal's frame, one thigh securely pressed against his side, the other aided by a sure grip up over Neal's shoulder, granting his lover full access to him, silently begging for more. And indeed, more he received, the heady, uncomfortable feeling of Neal's cock filling him giving way quickly to more pleasurable sensations, the uncontrollable pulsing of Neal's hips into his, making Andy shudder with desire. They remained still for a moment, both men taking in the power of that feeling, of being so close to each other in every way possible, Neal buried deep inside Andy, their mouths pressed against each other without moving; it was almost too beautiful, too perfect a moment to lose, the fleeting wish they could stay entangled like this forever passing between them, illuminated by lamplight.
But with one thrust, one sharp gasp of breath, the moment passed, and the room was full of kinetic movement once again. Their position allowed Neal to drive himself deep into Andy with each thrust, the tight walls around his cock urging him to move faster, harder...just keep moving. He settled into a pace that sent the minds of both men reeling, Neal emitting a low groan deep in his throat, Andy throwing his head back until the muscles in his neck were pulled taut, like the tense strings of barbed wire threaded throughout the open plain. Everything about Andy felt so amazing to Neal at that moment, from the tight heat all around him to the legs around his frame pulling him in deeper to Andy's body, to the short pants of hot breath against Neal's face, urging him on, demanding more. He didn't want to ever stop experiencing the sensations Andy was giving him, letting out an uncontrolled, pained sigh just at the thought. He wanted to feel this way forever.
Even then, when all that mattered to him in the world was in that room, lying underneath him, surrounding him and flooding all his senses, Neal felt with a desperate, sinking doubt that all this good couldn't last.
A sharp tug at his scalp brought him back to his senses, Andy once again threading his hands through Neal's hair, jolting him to attention. But instead of arching his head back, Andy held Neal's head still though the rest of his body moved with the power and determination of a steam engine, forcing Neal to hold his stare. The single lamp on the bedside table cast deep shadows across Andy's face, one side bathed in warm light, the other shrouded in darkness; beads of sweat on his brow mixed with remaining rainwater as they dripped in hot, salty droplets down to the sheets, Neal's own body covered in a sheen of sweat well-earned. But he couldn't tear his gaze away from Andy's eyes, one in the light illuminating the lustful spark usually hidden among the swaths of brown, one in darkness set deep with emotion that dared to venture past lust, beyond mere passion, to thoughts he only allowed himself in the dark.
They stared into each other's eyes, dark and mysterious brown meeting with cold, jaded blue, neither man making a sound, barely breathing, as Neal's hips rolled into Andy's, pushing himself in at a harrowing speed, causing the bed, if not the entire room, to shake. He felt the tension coiling in his gut, the now familiar feeling of coming close to his end at hand, but still Neal made no sound, didn't dare to tear his eyes away from Andy's. He wanted to lick every drop of sweat from Andy's brow, tasting the salt on his tongue and savoring the taste of Andy underneath it; he wanted to trace the small "o" of Andy's lips with his thumb, his mouth, the head of his cock, desiring everything from Andy, to touch him everywhere. He wanted to bathe in the soft lamplight until they burned; he wanted to be inside Andy, be with him, until the downpour carried them away, drowned them both together in an epic flood.
He wanted...oh, God, he wanted this.
Neal came with a silent moan upon his lips, his frame trembling as he emptied himself into Andy, the wetness and warmth of his own cum only deepening the orgasm, strengthening its magnitude as it ripped through his body. He could barely move, barely breathe as his arms held up his weight, feeling like weighted sacks of lead, shaking as they desperately kept him from collapsing ungracefully atop his lover's frame. Every sense was heightened as he felt Andy's body tighten around his sensitive cock, felt Andy's own dick jerk in between their bodies, coating their bellies slick with cum, the other man's orgasm as silent and spectacular as his own.
No words needed to be said, nor could they even if either man had wanted to speak them. Something had changed, a feeling far different than the quick, desperate sexual satisfaction they usually found with one another; something neither of them dared to define with words, an entire conversation passing between their eyes. Neal scanned the familiar features of Andy's face, cheeks flushed and damp with perspiration now instead of rain, lips softly parted to pant shallow breaths of air; but his eyes were ever alert, reading Neal's face just as Neal was reading his, battling fatigue to decipher what he saw. For the first time in over a year since they had known each other, from that one serendipitous moment in the Tulsa marketplace that brought their paths together to this place, this bed, Neal couldn't tell what Andy was thinking, and Andy the same for Neal.
It was disquieting, to say the least, and as he slipped out of Andy his instincts reverted, refusing to acknowledge this had been any different than the other moments they spent in each other's embrace. He moved quickly to separate himself from Andy, observing their common custom to move away from each other as soon as the encounter was over, an assertion that their coupling was merely for physical gratification. Neal shifted his weight to one side, claiming a corner of the bed, but before he could depart a firm hand secured itself around his wrist, holding him there, making sure he did not leave.
He could never say what prompted the change, and Andy could never tell, but they had both felt it undeniably, the deep, satisfied fullness in their bones caused only by each other. Without a sound Andy pulled Neal back towards him, refusing to allow the other man to separate them for even one second. Their bodies collided once more into a tangle of sated limbs and slowing heartbeats, finally settling themselves in each other's arms side by side on the mattress, Andy's head tucked into the crook of Neal's neck, Neal's cheek gently pressed against Andy's brow.
It was a mess of positions, their bodies sticky from spunk and sweat, heated skin given barely enough time to recuperate before falling into the embrace. A peculiar, serene feeling swept over Neal then, his tired muscles relaxing into the mattress with Andy by his side, his lover's heartbeat replacing the lullaby he never heard as a child. As the oil lamp burned dimly yet true throughout the night, its flame lighting their window like a beacon against the never-ending storm, Neal fell soundly asleep, his own heart slowing to beat in time with Andy's, their deep sighs in tandem as if they breathed as one.
Chapter 15, part two