Outlaw's Prayer (ch. 15, part two)
Title: Outlaw's Prayer (15/22, 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. ;-) 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
Chapter 15, part one
"Mounted on my favorite horse, my...lariat near my hand, and my trusty guns in my belt...I felt I could defy the world." -- Nat Love in The Life and Adventures of Nat Love, 1907
"We're not killers, Neal."
Neal frowned as he looked back over his shoulder, his gaze on the man who had just given them the deadly proposition but his attentions fully on the partner at his side. Ever the spokesman for the both of them, Andy had excused them from the card table in the back of the Texan saloon, claiming they had to discuss the details before making such a big decision. But from the first words Andy spoke, it seemed he had already made up his mind.
"He never said we would be doing the killing," Neal countered. Normally the tables would have been turned: Neal was more suspicious of others by nature and wouldn't care to do a favor for an old spinster even if it saved his soul. Andy, while no longer naive, was more generous by far, usually willing to share the outlaws' time with another, particularly if the reward was worth the risk. This time, however, there was no telling what the payoff would be, but the risk was undeniable.
Andy sighed, his eyes rolling to the ceiling; he never liked to argue with Neal, rare as it was. "He said he needed help tracking this lawman down," he recalled the conversation they just shared with the man still seated at their table, his hazel eyes staring hard at them from underneath a wide-brimmed hat, gaging their discussion. It seemed this David Cook was indeed very serious about their final answer. "And we're shit trackers. It's obvious this guy wants some firepower on his side; if we agree to help him, we could be looking at a war."
It had all started earlier in the day in the tiny saloon outside of Austin, a kindhearted acquaintance of theirs by the name of Bryan Jewett meeting them for a drink or three. Expecting just good liquor and friendly conversation, Neal and Andy had been startled to find another man joining their trio at the table, his face stern behind a short, sculpted beard, the worn laugh lines on his face cracked from disuse. He had wasted no time introducing himself as David Cook, a man on a dark, mysterious mission--one he needed the two outlaws to help complete.
"Just one lawman," David had informed them, their hushed tones drowned out from anyone else's ears but their own. "He might have some other men with him, I found he hires whoever's desperate enough for the money in each town." His jaw was set, his face grim as he laid out his plans, the history of his own pursuit of the lawman leading him from a massacre in Missouri to the borders of Austin, Texas. David had planned to make this town the lawman's last stop. "I need to find this man...and make him pay for what he's done."
Andy was right; this held all of the trappings of a deadly war, a shootout the likes of which had only been seen in nickel stories. And it wasn't their fight, nothing personal or even advantageous to their own interests holding them to David Cook's proposition. But where Andy reflected on the rational side of the argument, Neal focused on the emotional, his mind nearly made up for him when he saw the pained look in David's eyes when he spoke of the lawman's deeds, like his entire world had been shattered because of his man. Andy had left his family; he didn't know what it was like to lose them.
Neal took in a deep breath, inhaling instinctually on the cigarette pursed between his lips. "He needs help...he needs our help." David's reputation didn't precede him; he wouldn't last a second in a gunfight with a seasoned lawman. Neal's legend, on the other hand, had erupted like a geyser in the past two years, his accuracy celebrated throughout the territories without yet ever having to lodge one of those accurate bullets inside a human body. "You heard his story, same as I did."
Responding with a nod, Andy's face paled slightly at the quick memory of David's tale. The two partners were no strangers to the atrocities of the West, knowing that a man's life was forefit the moment he stepped into the territories. They had even been the perpetrators of some of those villainous acts themselves, looting small stores blissfully and riding where they pleased, growing confident in their exploits as outlaws who could not be brought down. But never had they experienced something to the likes of what had happened to David, to his family. There had been a mix of sorrow and simmered rage in David's voice as he recalled it all, every horrifying detail he could bring to his lips. It would either convince Neal and Andy, through sympathy, guilt, and whatever sense of justice they had to join him, or it would scare them off, the crimes of the wayward lawman too gruesome for their blood.
But nothing short of a bull stampede had scared Neal Tiemann into running in his life. "He's going after this lawman, whether we're there to back him up or not. Which probably means he's gonna die out there if we don't help him." The burning embers on the end of his cigarette blazed with another breath, Neal learning long ago how to carry a full conversation without ever leaving the smoldering flame disturbed.
Andy took another look over his shoulder at the man: the resolve on David's face, his overwhelming need for revenge, would allow for only that outcome. He had to kill, or be killed; there was no other option for him. One way or another, when David Cook found his target, a man was going to die. It was up to Andy and Neal to decide whether that death would be justified or tragic.
He turned back to his partner, who waited with patient, even breaths for Andy's response; if Neal won his side of the discussion, there wouldn't be much time in the immediate future for easy, calm breathing. But if Andy argued against it, Neal would leave the vengeful man to his own devices without so much as a parting word. He believed they should help David in whatever fashion he needed, but Neal's own knee-jerk emotions weren't worth damaging his partnership with Andy.
Two fingers came reaching up towards Neal's mouth, gingerly plucking the cigarette from between his lips as the pads of Andy's fingers grazed against the sensitive flesh briefly, as casual as a handshake. But the desire flaring in Neal's gut from the touch inferred something quite different. Andy placed the cigarette between his own lips, Neal already knowing his taste lingered among the packed tobacco leaves, and took a shallow drag more for effect than purpose. Neal toyed with the thought of snatching it back from him, the hint of a smirk on Andy's face almost daring him to do it, but before he could the cigarette was removed, the smirk was replaced with a serious expression, a decision on David's request.
"Alright," he said breezily, as if agreeing to share a drink or confirming the time of day, not conceding to follow a man they hardly knew in a showdown to the death. Neal thought with a strange affection that Andy never ceased to surprise him. "Let's do this."
"You sure?" Neal asked.
He had assumed Andy would not sympathize with David's tragedy or his near obsessive resolve to avenge his family, but he was wrong. He may have never suffered the sudden loss of parents or siblings but he knew what the fear of losing someone close to him was like. And he also knew he wouldn't ever rest until he slaughtered the man responsible for hurting those he cared about.
"I don't know if this feels...right to me yet," he admitted, the uneasy feeling that they were hurling themselves into a grudge they didn't belong in still lingering in his veins. But he also didn't feel right turning down David's proposal and handing him a death sentence in the same breath. The spark of determination in David's eyes went far beyond his desire for revenge, proving to Neal and Andy that he would take on the world for anything of value in his life. There was intelligence and cunning behind his eyes that were easy to overlook in the face of his pain. David Cook had all the potential in the world beyond his obsession to destroy this lawman; he could lead them to grand places, do great things...they just had to agree to follow.
"But it feels right to you...right?" Andy addressed Neal, pointing at him with the dwindling cigarette, the blue smoke like a screen, enveloping them in the saloon.
Though his trigger finger itched for a worthy cause to put it to good use, Neal's typical restlessness was overruled by his sympathy and interest in justice; he wanted to see David receive his due revenge more than he wanted the pure exhilaration of a gunfight. Neal had never killed before, but his talents most certainly called for it; perhaps all he was waiting for in life was the right reason to use them. He nodded, though Andy could see the assent in his eyes; the gesture was more for the desperate man who watched them seal their fate. "I want to trust him."
"And I trust you," Andy's simple response penetrated deep into Neal's psyche, past this one discussion and would remain with him for years to come. It had been unspoken between them in the past two years, but now on the eve of their transition from petty crimes to vigilante justice, it felt important to make the sentiment known. Andy and Neal trusted each other in every way mankind had and had not examined, from ensuring each other's happiness and well-being to entrusting their very lives, their bodies, to one another. And if one was to follow David Cook to this bitter showdown, to whatever end they might find themselves, so would the other.
Neal couldn't stop the smile from peeking through his rough exterior, eyes shining, as Andy raised his hand once more to return the cigarette to its rightful owner, Neal confident without moving a muscle that Andy would never burn him. "You know," he mumbled his musings between his lips, teeth deftly keeping a firm grip on the nub. "Lotsa times I wish I was in a gang. Or even just a crew." The laughs that erupted from both men startled David, on edge; even though he assumed they had agreed to help him, he hadn't considered the rest of their lives to be quite the laughing matter.
***
And join David Cook they did, discovering their hidden talents at intuition and teamwork immediately when cornering the lawman, who had seen the face of David's mother when he looked into his eyes, heard the screams of Andrew Cook in his memory when David spoke, reminding him of his grim deeds. Andy's assertion rang true that night, when they saw a man beg for mercy even when he knew he deserved none: he and Neal were not killers, not yet. In a rare case of justice well met in the wild West, David had brought his family's tormentor to his painful and messy end.
They were in it now, they supposed, and three well-thinking minds were better than two: when it was time to separate from David the moment simply never came, the three forming a fast bond as they fled the state and any friends of the lawman looking for retribution. David became a friend and a confidante, his easygoing charm and assertiveness making him a natural born leader of men. They rode through the West, avoiding the watchful eyes of sheriffs and homesteaders, living off the land and the small savings Neal and Andy still had from their storefront holdups.
Life was simple; life was good. And all three men knew it couldn't possibly last for long.
With an all-or-nothing attitude held only by men who had nothing more to lose, David made one more proposition to the pair once their cash stores had been depleted and the nature of how they obtained that cash came to light. There was an unsuspecting bank in the closest town by the Texan border, ripe for the picking; the banker was as green as they come and would be no different than the storekeepers Neal and Andy had robbed before. They had already skirted over the boundaries of the law, and they were no doubt wanted men from their work in Austin; now, David contended, it was time they earned their nefarious calling.
Every nerve in Neal's body was on edge the night before the bank heist, the first in a long, innumerable string that not even David could predict they'd accomplish. His muscles hummed with excitement as he paced around camp, the fire dying into embers and ash, leaving its memories of the three men's detailed plans to disappear into the night air. This was the thrill Neal had always sought, working his way to experiencing life rather than just passing through it on an ambling horse to nowhere. He knew the rush of adrenaline pumping in his ears and coursing through his legs, his trigger finger, when he held up unassuming general stores, finding the thrill more valuable than any of the hauls he and Andy pulled in the territory; he could only imagine what it would feel like to rob a bank.
But his energy was also fueled by nerves, the anxiety of stepping up to a new level of criminal finally getting to him on its eve. This could prove to be a big haul for them, truly showing the world what they were made of; or it could be the first and last bank heist they commit, losing their nerve or miscalculating and leaving themselves in a hail of gunfire. Neal didn't need to pick up a newspaper to know the stories of outlaw gangs and their bloody ends, stories relayed to young boys as deterrents. If there was one thing Neal wanted more than anything from this heist, it was to avoid being someone else's poor excuse for a cautionary tale.
Saving his own skin and not becoming another ill-fated legend of the West weren't the only things Neal was concerned about. Employing a new tactic David gleaned from their old operations on storekeepers, the three men would be separated for the actual heist, Andy becoming far more effective when he had no apparent connections to the muscle of the gang. But that meant the young outlaw was on his own in the town, barely eighteen and still a novice when it came to gunslinging, and he wouldn't reunite with the others until the heat and panic died town. In over two years of partnership Neal had never been away from Andy, not even for one night, and it left him uneasy, with the cold and simple explanation to himself that he just didn't want to see Andy get hurt.
He could never admit to himself that he was scared, for the morning, for Andy...for the both of them.
It was only in the small hours before dawn, the darkness engulfing them in their bedrolls while they awaited their fate, that either man willingly let their fears show. With David quietly dozing on the far end of the campfire, Neal stared at the dark space beside him, knowing without sight that Andy filled that void. He could hear from the steady, shallow breaths that Neal wasn't the only one awake at camp, the younger man most probably staring into the blackness of night back at him, both men lying atop their separate bedrolls though the charged air between them made them feel together somehow. A warm breeze passed by, caressing Neal's face; if he willed it enough he imagined it was Andy's breath against his skin, the other man closer to him than he had ever been, instead of merely within arm's reach.
And an arm's reach it truly was: nearly one second after the breeze kissed his flesh Neal felt the warm, familiar touch of long fingers dancing against his cheek, reaching up to brush the shell of his ear before coming to rest against the tattoo along his neck, palm instinctively finding its home among the hidden patterns. It was a relief beyond all words to feel Andy's touch there, to know that on this night before their lives would change forever the one constant of their companionship was still intact.
With the hand lingering along Neal's flesh he let it draw him in closer, off of his own bedroll and leaning in towards Andy. They had transcended the need for words to communicate long ago, being able now to tell each other everything in just one look, one search into the other man's eyes. Now they knew their partnership was even beyond sight, Neal sensing Andy's anxiety just in his touch. The slightest brush of movement on Neal's skin, Andy's thumb caressing the flesh, and the sound of his shifting weight on the bedroll carried their raw emotions, their voices and breaths deemed unnecessary.
Crossing the extra inch of space between them Neal pressed his lips to Andy's, finding him even in the dark, instinct and desire his guides instead of sight and sound. There was deep passion in the kiss but it rang of everything but the physical, their desire far from sexual, expecting no more contact than the warmth on their lips, the mingling of their breaths. Neal needed the contact, the assurance, more than any physical pleasure that usually came from kissing Andy Skib. He needed to be certain they would see each other again, that the new and dangerous plan would not keep them separate forever. He needed to know Andy would always be there.
Neal did not push the kiss further, nor did Andy, their lips remaining closed against one another, no sly tongues asking for entrance or seductive hands coaxing out a moan. When they parted, Andy's hand still caressing the skin on Neal's neck, their eyes were as open as they could muster in the dark, trying to will light into existence where there was none to get one lasting look at one another before dawn ushered them into a new world. Neal's intentions were clear, spoken with mouths and lips but not with words, something desperate and pleading that Andy prayed with every ounce of his being he could accomplish.
Be okay; I need you to be okay. Come back to me.
And just as quickly as it came, the moment passed, Neal returning to his bedroll, Andy's hand returning to his side, all the intimacy and care they held for each other stored, locked away in the memory of that split second. But Neal still held Andy's gaze in the darkness, unable to see even the outline of his face but knowing it was there all the same, feeling him there. He wanted to always feel Andy's presence beside him, whether as a shadow and elusive lookout during a bank heist or with him in a passionate embrace as a lover. Wherever their courses in life would take them, Neal couldn't bear to be parted with Andy, never.
***
"Man, Dave better be getting laid right now."
Andy laughed drowsily, letting his skin cool between the sheets as he propped up his head on an elbow, watching Neal drag deeply on a cigarette. He could have used one himself, he mused, but at that moment his joints screamed for relief and rest, his body too delightfully sore to move. "Didn't know you were so invested in our partner's sex life," he joked, receiving a playful scowl from Neal in response.
"I'm just saying," he contended, letting out a breath of smoke that mingled in the windowless room with the heady, moist smell of sex. Two of Neal's favorite scents. "He's spending a shitload of time with Kelly, he better be getting something more out of it than a tour around this two-bit town."
But it was more than just a fast and lustful attraction between David and the young woman who cleaned out their pockets at poker their first night in town. They had only been riding with David a few months but from their very first heist it was clear he wore his heart upon his sleeve, emotions that rarely affected his decisions but were evident all the same. From the quirks of his mouth to the shining light in his eyes when he smiled and meant it, David's face was an open book when he was around those he felt comfortable with, confided in. And Neal and Andy could tell from the moment they entered the Breakaway Saloon that David was hopelessly smitten with Kelly Clarkson.
Their poker game with the lady of Burleson was their first indication: David couldn't take his eyes off her and it wasn't to mark her weaknesses or tells. Their second was that David never returned to the room they booked for the three of them that night, or any night thereafter. And the third was the liveliness in his demeanor, the spring in his step when the pair did see him in town, as if God himself had bestowed luck on a man who had seen more tragic events in his life than good. David was content when he was with Neal and Andy, remaining true to their partnership as their riches and infamy grew, but in the past three days he seemed genuinely happy in the presence of Kelly. It was all well and good for the pair; Neal figured with a shrug that it was a boon to the entire gang if all three of them were sexually satisfied.
Andy's attentions perked up, his mind clearly on more than idle gossip about David and lounging in their afterglow. "Speaking of the town..." He lowered his voice to something conspirational, though the noise from the saloon's main parlor outside their door drowned out their words from any prying ears. Neal was only inches away from him--he could still feel the heat emanating from his flesh, recalling when that skin slid against his, slick with sweat and rough with the grainy Texas dust--but he wanted to keep his voice down, their plots of thieving and robbery as strangely intimate as lovers' pillow talk. "Took my own tour this morning. Found out some very useful information."
As Neal's eyebrows raised in interest, the unattended ashes at the butt of his cigarette curling into grey stains on the bedlinens, Andy relayed what he had learned throughout the day, his honed instincts ringing true even when they weren't officially on a job. The bank, much like the town of Burleson itself, found its downfall in its blind, small-town trust: a mix of confidence and naivete, which a healthy portion of neglect, set up the perfect equation for a mismanaged bank, ripe for the picking.
Andy's face lit up as he described the building's weaknesses and the information he had gleaned. He had taken his role as informant to an entirely new level, reveling in his ability to hide among the townspeople in plain sight, a rustler in a rancher's saddle; a black wolf wading among the sheep, waiting for the right time for the slaughter. It was an excitement Neal rarely got to see from Andy anymore independent of David's presence, reminding him of the elation Andy felt as a teen when he passed through the Tulsa marketplace, undetected by everyone except Neal. He could have kissed that grinning mouth, stop the flow of words in lieu of breathy sighs and moans, but he decided against it, content just to watch Andy bask in his element, a slowly spreading smile on his face. They had all night for another round; there was no point in trading one pleasing moment for the other.
"You in?" he asked, the question rhetorical when it was directed towards Neal. He was always looking for a thrill, the next big reason his heartbeat thundered in his ears and his muscles moved with life-or-death urgency; when he came to bank heists Neal was always in. He flashed a grin, reaching over to ruffle a hand through Andy's hair, the benign and playful gesture melting into a softer touch, his hand lingering to smooth down the locks he had just disturbed.
"Always," Neal responded. "As long as Dave's in."
The smile on Andy's face turned down into a distressed frown. David had never said no to a heist before, but in Burleson Andy was having his doubts. "You think?"
"Of course." Neal's answer was automatic, the connection they shared with David leading him to believe his answer was a given; but the expression on Andy's face made him second-guess tradition. "Why...you reckon he wouldn't?"
It wasn't typical for any of the three outlaws to doubt one another. But, Andy reconsidered with a deep sigh, this wasn't the typical course of things; it wasn't in every town that David Cook seemed to be falling in love. "I don't know." He tried to concentrate on the business at hand and not on Neal's hand, which refused to remove itself from Andy's person, fingertips now playing along his jaw. "He sure seems to like it here...sure likes Kelly, anyway."
Neal gave a start. "He rides with us because we're his friends," he asserted, denying the question that had not been asked: if David's devotion to them was as strong as theirs was to him.
The tone in Neal's voice didn't faze Andy, nor did the smell of burned paper when Neal leaned over with his free hand and stubbed out the smoldering cigarette against the inn's shabby wallpaper. He knew intimately every one of Neal's moods, and more importantly, exactly how to quell them. "But he robs banks," he replied in a voice as peaceful as Neal's was defensive. "Because he's got nothing else left."
Swallowing a deep gulp of doubt that Andy could feel even from the other side of the bed, Neal asked the question he didn't want to admit, the atmosphere of the room turning very quickly from businesslike to something far more personal. "Well, what about us?" He watched the Adam's apple bob in Andy's throat as he stroked its length with a calloused thumb, Andy's eyes still closed, focusing on the pleasure of the warm touch despite himself. "Are we doing this 'cause we got nothing else?"
"No," Andy breathed, the answer automatic. The skin on his brow furrowed, the curves of his mouth turning down; he liked and respected David without any doubt, but what they had was nothing like his life at all. "We're different..."
Materially they had no more than David, the clothes strewn about the room and the money lining their pockets the only significant possessions to either man's name. All they had was each other, no sweethearts or loving hometowns to call their own. But despite it all, Neal never felt like he was left wanting; he felt he rather liked the arrangement.
With a surge of desire washing over him that simply couldn't be avoided, Neal leaned over towards Andy's side of the mattress, his breath lingering hotly against the shell of Andy's ear. "Tell me," he rasped, voice suddenly demanding and lustful, catching Andy delightfully off guard. The hand that worked at his jaw and neck swooped down over the planes of Andy's body, fingers grazing his ribcage like scales on a stringed fiddle, and putting itself to much better use in regions due south. A growl in the back of Neal's throat brought out a shuddering breath from Andy's lips, parted in the surprise of their sudden closeness.
Andy felt the brush of warm fingers against his flesh, running lower on his body until Neal's hand wrapped around his cock, bringing it to attention. He supposed they were ready for another round, after all. "He never wanted to be an outlaw," he explained, after a brief crisis of conscience over defying the request or facing the awkwardness of talking about David while Neal's hand was on his dick. Not the biggest turn-on for either of them. "He was thrown into this life. But we..." Neal gave a twist as he brought his hand in on the upstroke, thumb toying with the head like a tongue, lapping at Andy's precum. Quite a way to ruin his concentration; holding in a whimper, Andy's voice went low, his own hand reaching out towards Neal's chest, claiming a nipple between his fingers. "...We came willingly."
A soft nip on his earlobe punctuated the thought, the period on a parchment where the pen's nib dug too deep, leaving an imperfect and indelible scar. No one had ever forced the two men on the road and into general stores and bank vaults; no one jammed the guns in their hands and forced them to shoot. For David, falling head over heels for Kelly Clarkson could very well spell the end of his days wandering the open plain, but for Neal and Andy, the road was theirs; the road was always theirs.
Neal pulled back slightly, only enough to look Andy in the eyes, heads resting on the same pillow, lips nearly close enough to touch. His vision was filled with Andy's dark brown eyes, looking into Neal's and searching just as he was, the air between them suddenly very thick with more than just sexual desire. The movement of his hand slowed to a lazy stroke, more intent on watching Andy breathe shallow pants in and out with the rhythm of his wrist than making sure they both came willingly again.
"That's us, ain't it," he said with a smirk, watching the corners of Andy's crinkle pleasantly into a smile of his own. "Choosin' a life with no responsibilities, no regrets. Nothing to tie us down." The hand pressed against Neal's chest began to snake around his waist, Andy pulling their bodies in closer together, the tortuously slow pace on his cock making him ache for more contact. "Riding where we want, doing what we please..."
"I'd really like it if you do what I please a little faster," Andy muttered, his hips rolling up into Neal's touch.
Just to spite his eager bedfellow, Neal took an even slower pace, drawing out a low whine of protest from Andy's lips. He was quite ready for another round, his hips moving in time with Andy's, a slow grind that was teasing his own half-hard cock as much as Andy's; but he felt no rush, David's continued absence from the inn room emboldening them to take their time, unafraid of detection. Considering the string of looted banks they left in their wake, being found in the same bed together was the least of their troubles.
"This is what you want?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper, layered above the much louder sounds streaming in through the door. It was a question and a statement all at the same time, Neal too confident in their partnership to ask Andy outright, but not certain enough for his voice not to turn up at the end, like the ending flourish to a signature, the last, harmonizing chords of a sonata. There had been so much potential, so much more security in Andy's future than what he had opted for as a teen, a life of wealth and comfort instead of uncertainty and danger. It became clear now that David had found his Kelly, that he longed for a future of home-cooked meals and hearthstones, of family portraits on the mantle and babies in their bunting, reclaiming the sense of family he had lost. Neal knew his desires differed greatly from a white picket fence and a pot roast in the oven, but he couldn't in all certainly speak for Andy.
His teasingly slow ministrations, however, kept Andy's train of thought decidedly on a different track. "Want more," he beseeched, his hand gripping Neal's hipbone, knuckles white, daring him to do something about it. "But fuck you, Tiemann, if you expect me to beg..."
"I mean it," Neal insisted, eyes never wavering off of Andy's face, the strokes of his hand coming to a patient stop as Andy's playful disapproval simmered down to recognize the seriousness in his voice.
All was quiet in that one moment, the din of the crowd in the saloon falling away to a faint and distant buzz as Neal waited for his response. It was never asked of Andy before, not even by his own conscience, both men preferring to let their actions speak for themselves. He was here after all, wasn't he? David's fate with the outlaws, particularly this next heist in the hometown of the girl he fell in love with, was under question, but in nearly three years Andy's resolve never faltered, never even wavered. Not so long as he was with Neal.
A slow, warm smile spread across his face, peeking at the corners at first and then widening. Neal just needed to hear it, he recognized; he needed to be assured that he wasn't alone in his life-long quest to make the whole West his home. And he wasn't alone. But if the sharpshooter was going to play games tonight, so was he. "I go where my horse goes," he compromised, eyes brightening along with his smile as he watched the smirk on Neal's face, anticipating his answer. "And she seems to take a shine to you. So...I guess you're stuck with me."
Neal couldn't help but laugh, breaking their stare and the atmosphere in the room that had grown from intimate to tense and back again. Much to Andy's satisfaction he began moving his hand again, stroking with a new vigor along the shaft and twisting at the head, causing Andy's hips to squirm. "Reckon I am," he said, shifting his weight until he situated himself over Andy's frame, hovering over like a promise, the smirk going sly. "Guess we'll just have to make the most of that situation, then."
***
"It's fine."
Neal took another bite of the salted pork, chewing the sizable chunk animatedly in his mouth, hoping it would indicate to Andy that he wasn't aiming to talk. No such luck.
"It'll be fine, Neal," he repeated, ignoring the feigned indifference Neal attempted to show in the shrug of his shoulders. He had known him far too long not to realize when Neal was hiding things. Andy clenched his jaw when he met silence, the older man staring straight ahead towards the blazing light of the fire. If David were around to watch the scene unfold he would have said that they bicker like an old married couple.
But David wasn't awake, and neither were Kyle or Joey, the outlaws well aware they had a bank to rob the next morning that would require all their rest and concentration. Neal should have joined them, the others depending tomorrow on his quick draw and infallible aim; Andy should have left the camp ages ago, returning to his rented room at the Lambert Inn and his own role, playing the part and maintaining his alibi. But instead here they both were, reluctant to leave the warm comfort of the campfire; reluctant to leave each other.
But returning to town was sounding better with each passing moment; Andy was quickly losing patience with the Dr.'s stubbornness. "You're the one who brought it up, don't act like I started this--"
"Well you were the one who mentioned the damn gangbusters law in town," Neal shot back, the malice in his voice not intended for Andy but it had felt that way all the same. Andy mentioned it during their planning session earlier in the night, an egocentric sheriff and his overeager deputy a potential obstacle between the Kings and their cash. The outlaws had dealt with men of the law before, but Andy described them in his observations to be a dangerous liability. Two against five were no odds at all; but Neal didn't feel comfortable allowing Andy to make those odds two against one.
Heaving a deep sigh, Andy rested his hands on his hips, watching Neal self-consciously kick an errant ember back into the fire, uneasy with admitting his doubts even to the other man. "I don't think they'll be a real problem," Andy contended; he had caught sight of the deputy during his stay in Hope and saw his resolve overstepped his abilities. He was sure if it came down to a gunfight, his bark would be worse than his bite. But Andy had no problem taking the lawman down, ability or not, if the situation got dicey for the Kings. "And if they are...I'll take care of them."
"But what if they take care of you?" Vulnerability wasn't something Neal revealed often, the legend of the fearless, confident Dr. preceding him. But his tone wavered, his impenetrable front faltered; he was worried for Andy, and it was only to Andy that he could show it.
Where Neal displayed concern, however, Andy saw as a challenge, a doubt in his own skills. His left hand balled into a fist in frustration, the right itching to retrieve the gun in his holster and show Neal there was no doubt in his gunfighting acumen--the skills that the sharpshooter himself had taught him. "I might not knock down bank doors and shove guns in people's faces," he said on impulse, the inferred remark inflaming his resentment. His job might have been different from Neal's but it was just as vital, dammit, and he wasn't going to allow Neal to treat him so green. "But I'm more than able to handle myself. You, out of everyone, should know that."
Eight years of holding his own in the Kings, getting into his fair share of gunfights and always ready when there was trouble; Andy had earned the respected title of being a formidable gunman. Neal knew he was no pushover, bearing witness to nearly every shot of Andy's that reached its home, every body the shadow of the Kings had put into the ground. But this wasn't about his skill with a revolver: this, Andy realized as Neal met his gaze, the flickering firelight illuminating the worry in his ice blue eyes, had very little to do with what Andy was able to do at all.
"I'm just sayin'," Neal repeated glumly, a pessimistic attitude he never showed to the others, only to Andy, who understood his doubts best; it took him a moment of reflection sometimes, but Andy always understood him. "Just...watch your ass, alright? I don't like this town; something doesn't feel right."
He shook his head to ward away the doubts, breaking eye contact with Andy, his gaze instinctively returning to the blaze of the fire. He was being stupid, he supposed, worrying over just a thought and a feeling, when all the odds proved to Neal the Kings were stronger than ever. And if he was worried about anyone's ass it should have been his own, his role leaving him far more open to danger than Andy. His instincts were rarely wrong but even Neal understood his rational judgments were biased when it came to Andy Skib's well-being.
A hand reached out towards Neal, fingers just grazing his wrist, making the light hairs on his entire forearm stand on end. Andy's skin was cold as it touched Neal's, but placed together they warmed each other, at their most effective when working together. It caught Neal's breath in his throat and brought his eyes back up to Andy's, a sympathetic smile on the other man's face that warmed him far faster than the touch. It didn't reassure Neal completely, but the gesture, and a touch they would only allow themselves when no one else was around, was certainly appreciated.
"It's going to be fine, Neal," he repeated. "There's nothing here we haven't faced before. Believe me, Hope is just another town; it'll go down like all the others."
***
That was the last time he had seen Andy; more than two days ago now, and Neal felt every moment like it was an eternity.
All his memories came rushing back, assaulting him, wounding him with such emotion Neal nearly doubled over from it, clutching his gut, like it was he who had been shot. It had been hours since he had first settled in front of the fire, barely moving, the glowing embers of the blaze left to dwindle and die now overshadowed by the ever-brightening hues of dawn. Neal had stayed there all night, battling and embracing his memories all at once, wanting to hold them to his chest and cherish them like intangible gold, while at the same time wanting to push them away, hide from them and escape the glaring truth he had been blind to for too, too long.
With his own trembling hand he touched his wrist, fingers feathering against the same skin Andy had caressed two nights ago; the last time they had touched. Neal closed his eyes, wishing it was his touch instead, wanting more than anything to have that night back, that moment, before Andy left for Hope and his world fell apart.
Eight years and he had never considered it, the bond between them known without thinking, kisses and touches enjoyed but never evaluated. What he and Andy shared simply was, and it had never been discussed, lest they ruin it altogether; but now Neal realized just leaving it at that wasn't nearly enough. Not to fill the emptiness growing in his chest; not to dissolve the lump in his throat making it hard to breathe.
He was in love with Andy; deep and desperate, loved him more than anything he could shoot or steal. And now, it may have been too late.
Neal didn't know how long he had felt this way and never acknowledged it, when stolen kisses and heated encounters of skin upon skin became more than a mutual need for physical release; he didn't know how long he had tried to fool himself into thinking he never cared. But fool himself he did, his hands now realizing the value of the cherished flesh they had caressed, the body that had lain next to his for so long. The deep-set, expressive brown eyes that always saw the true man behind the intimidating tabloid legends; the smile, subtle and genuine, spread across Andy's face that Neal could never fail to reflect on his own. Every moment of Neal's past he wanted to remember held Andy at its core, and he wanted every moment of his future with him as well.
The storm had ceased its murderous downpour over the New Mexican desert sometime in the night but the ominous clouds still lingered, casting a dark, sinister gray sky over the horizon; the skies simply had no more rain to shed. There was no sun to be seen but it was still undeniably dawn, an entire night spent staring, ruminating and waiting; now it was time for action. He had no idea what David's plan would be but Neal resolved he would follow it to its end, to their end, if it was their best chance of bringing Andy back alive.
He couldn't lose him now, Neal thought, his grip on his arm tightening, trying in vain to focus his pain on anything else but his heart. Not when he just realized how much he had to lose.
"I have to get him back," he whispered to himself, his closed eyes blind to the outlaw who witnessed his turmoil, David making a promise to himself on the spot that he would do everything in one man's power to bring them together again.
Chapter 16
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. ;-) 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
Chapter 15, part one
"Mounted on my favorite horse, my...lariat near my hand, and my trusty guns in my belt...I felt I could defy the world." -- Nat Love in The Life and Adventures of Nat Love, 1907
"We're not killers, Neal."
Neal frowned as he looked back over his shoulder, his gaze on the man who had just given them the deadly proposition but his attentions fully on the partner at his side. Ever the spokesman for the both of them, Andy had excused them from the card table in the back of the Texan saloon, claiming they had to discuss the details before making such a big decision. But from the first words Andy spoke, it seemed he had already made up his mind.
"He never said we would be doing the killing," Neal countered. Normally the tables would have been turned: Neal was more suspicious of others by nature and wouldn't care to do a favor for an old spinster even if it saved his soul. Andy, while no longer naive, was more generous by far, usually willing to share the outlaws' time with another, particularly if the reward was worth the risk. This time, however, there was no telling what the payoff would be, but the risk was undeniable.
Andy sighed, his eyes rolling to the ceiling; he never liked to argue with Neal, rare as it was. "He said he needed help tracking this lawman down," he recalled the conversation they just shared with the man still seated at their table, his hazel eyes staring hard at them from underneath a wide-brimmed hat, gaging their discussion. It seemed this David Cook was indeed very serious about their final answer. "And we're shit trackers. It's obvious this guy wants some firepower on his side; if we agree to help him, we could be looking at a war."
It had all started earlier in the day in the tiny saloon outside of Austin, a kindhearted acquaintance of theirs by the name of Bryan Jewett meeting them for a drink or three. Expecting just good liquor and friendly conversation, Neal and Andy had been startled to find another man joining their trio at the table, his face stern behind a short, sculpted beard, the worn laugh lines on his face cracked from disuse. He had wasted no time introducing himself as David Cook, a man on a dark, mysterious mission--one he needed the two outlaws to help complete.
"Just one lawman," David had informed them, their hushed tones drowned out from anyone else's ears but their own. "He might have some other men with him, I found he hires whoever's desperate enough for the money in each town." His jaw was set, his face grim as he laid out his plans, the history of his own pursuit of the lawman leading him from a massacre in Missouri to the borders of Austin, Texas. David had planned to make this town the lawman's last stop. "I need to find this man...and make him pay for what he's done."
Andy was right; this held all of the trappings of a deadly war, a shootout the likes of which had only been seen in nickel stories. And it wasn't their fight, nothing personal or even advantageous to their own interests holding them to David Cook's proposition. But where Andy reflected on the rational side of the argument, Neal focused on the emotional, his mind nearly made up for him when he saw the pained look in David's eyes when he spoke of the lawman's deeds, like his entire world had been shattered because of his man. Andy had left his family; he didn't know what it was like to lose them.
Neal took in a deep breath, inhaling instinctually on the cigarette pursed between his lips. "He needs help...he needs our help." David's reputation didn't precede him; he wouldn't last a second in a gunfight with a seasoned lawman. Neal's legend, on the other hand, had erupted like a geyser in the past two years, his accuracy celebrated throughout the territories without yet ever having to lodge one of those accurate bullets inside a human body. "You heard his story, same as I did."
Responding with a nod, Andy's face paled slightly at the quick memory of David's tale. The two partners were no strangers to the atrocities of the West, knowing that a man's life was forefit the moment he stepped into the territories. They had even been the perpetrators of some of those villainous acts themselves, looting small stores blissfully and riding where they pleased, growing confident in their exploits as outlaws who could not be brought down. But never had they experienced something to the likes of what had happened to David, to his family. There had been a mix of sorrow and simmered rage in David's voice as he recalled it all, every horrifying detail he could bring to his lips. It would either convince Neal and Andy, through sympathy, guilt, and whatever sense of justice they had to join him, or it would scare them off, the crimes of the wayward lawman too gruesome for their blood.
But nothing short of a bull stampede had scared Neal Tiemann into running in his life. "He's going after this lawman, whether we're there to back him up or not. Which probably means he's gonna die out there if we don't help him." The burning embers on the end of his cigarette blazed with another breath, Neal learning long ago how to carry a full conversation without ever leaving the smoldering flame disturbed.
Andy took another look over his shoulder at the man: the resolve on David's face, his overwhelming need for revenge, would allow for only that outcome. He had to kill, or be killed; there was no other option for him. One way or another, when David Cook found his target, a man was going to die. It was up to Andy and Neal to decide whether that death would be justified or tragic.
He turned back to his partner, who waited with patient, even breaths for Andy's response; if Neal won his side of the discussion, there wouldn't be much time in the immediate future for easy, calm breathing. But if Andy argued against it, Neal would leave the vengeful man to his own devices without so much as a parting word. He believed they should help David in whatever fashion he needed, but Neal's own knee-jerk emotions weren't worth damaging his partnership with Andy.
Two fingers came reaching up towards Neal's mouth, gingerly plucking the cigarette from between his lips as the pads of Andy's fingers grazed against the sensitive flesh briefly, as casual as a handshake. But the desire flaring in Neal's gut from the touch inferred something quite different. Andy placed the cigarette between his own lips, Neal already knowing his taste lingered among the packed tobacco leaves, and took a shallow drag more for effect than purpose. Neal toyed with the thought of snatching it back from him, the hint of a smirk on Andy's face almost daring him to do it, but before he could the cigarette was removed, the smirk was replaced with a serious expression, a decision on David's request.
"Alright," he said breezily, as if agreeing to share a drink or confirming the time of day, not conceding to follow a man they hardly knew in a showdown to the death. Neal thought with a strange affection that Andy never ceased to surprise him. "Let's do this."
"You sure?" Neal asked.
He had assumed Andy would not sympathize with David's tragedy or his near obsessive resolve to avenge his family, but he was wrong. He may have never suffered the sudden loss of parents or siblings but he knew what the fear of losing someone close to him was like. And he also knew he wouldn't ever rest until he slaughtered the man responsible for hurting those he cared about.
"I don't know if this feels...right to me yet," he admitted, the uneasy feeling that they were hurling themselves into a grudge they didn't belong in still lingering in his veins. But he also didn't feel right turning down David's proposal and handing him a death sentence in the same breath. The spark of determination in David's eyes went far beyond his desire for revenge, proving to Neal and Andy that he would take on the world for anything of value in his life. There was intelligence and cunning behind his eyes that were easy to overlook in the face of his pain. David Cook had all the potential in the world beyond his obsession to destroy this lawman; he could lead them to grand places, do great things...they just had to agree to follow.
"But it feels right to you...right?" Andy addressed Neal, pointing at him with the dwindling cigarette, the blue smoke like a screen, enveloping them in the saloon.
Though his trigger finger itched for a worthy cause to put it to good use, Neal's typical restlessness was overruled by his sympathy and interest in justice; he wanted to see David receive his due revenge more than he wanted the pure exhilaration of a gunfight. Neal had never killed before, but his talents most certainly called for it; perhaps all he was waiting for in life was the right reason to use them. He nodded, though Andy could see the assent in his eyes; the gesture was more for the desperate man who watched them seal their fate. "I want to trust him."
"And I trust you," Andy's simple response penetrated deep into Neal's psyche, past this one discussion and would remain with him for years to come. It had been unspoken between them in the past two years, but now on the eve of their transition from petty crimes to vigilante justice, it felt important to make the sentiment known. Andy and Neal trusted each other in every way mankind had and had not examined, from ensuring each other's happiness and well-being to entrusting their very lives, their bodies, to one another. And if one was to follow David Cook to this bitter showdown, to whatever end they might find themselves, so would the other.
Neal couldn't stop the smile from peeking through his rough exterior, eyes shining, as Andy raised his hand once more to return the cigarette to its rightful owner, Neal confident without moving a muscle that Andy would never burn him. "You know," he mumbled his musings between his lips, teeth deftly keeping a firm grip on the nub. "Lotsa times I wish I was in a gang. Or even just a crew." The laughs that erupted from both men startled David, on edge; even though he assumed they had agreed to help him, he hadn't considered the rest of their lives to be quite the laughing matter.
***
And join David Cook they did, discovering their hidden talents at intuition and teamwork immediately when cornering the lawman, who had seen the face of David's mother when he looked into his eyes, heard the screams of Andrew Cook in his memory when David spoke, reminding him of his grim deeds. Andy's assertion rang true that night, when they saw a man beg for mercy even when he knew he deserved none: he and Neal were not killers, not yet. In a rare case of justice well met in the wild West, David had brought his family's tormentor to his painful and messy end.
They were in it now, they supposed, and three well-thinking minds were better than two: when it was time to separate from David the moment simply never came, the three forming a fast bond as they fled the state and any friends of the lawman looking for retribution. David became a friend and a confidante, his easygoing charm and assertiveness making him a natural born leader of men. They rode through the West, avoiding the watchful eyes of sheriffs and homesteaders, living off the land and the small savings Neal and Andy still had from their storefront holdups.
Life was simple; life was good. And all three men knew it couldn't possibly last for long.
With an all-or-nothing attitude held only by men who had nothing more to lose, David made one more proposition to the pair once their cash stores had been depleted and the nature of how they obtained that cash came to light. There was an unsuspecting bank in the closest town by the Texan border, ripe for the picking; the banker was as green as they come and would be no different than the storekeepers Neal and Andy had robbed before. They had already skirted over the boundaries of the law, and they were no doubt wanted men from their work in Austin; now, David contended, it was time they earned their nefarious calling.
Every nerve in Neal's body was on edge the night before the bank heist, the first in a long, innumerable string that not even David could predict they'd accomplish. His muscles hummed with excitement as he paced around camp, the fire dying into embers and ash, leaving its memories of the three men's detailed plans to disappear into the night air. This was the thrill Neal had always sought, working his way to experiencing life rather than just passing through it on an ambling horse to nowhere. He knew the rush of adrenaline pumping in his ears and coursing through his legs, his trigger finger, when he held up unassuming general stores, finding the thrill more valuable than any of the hauls he and Andy pulled in the territory; he could only imagine what it would feel like to rob a bank.
But his energy was also fueled by nerves, the anxiety of stepping up to a new level of criminal finally getting to him on its eve. This could prove to be a big haul for them, truly showing the world what they were made of; or it could be the first and last bank heist they commit, losing their nerve or miscalculating and leaving themselves in a hail of gunfire. Neal didn't need to pick up a newspaper to know the stories of outlaw gangs and their bloody ends, stories relayed to young boys as deterrents. If there was one thing Neal wanted more than anything from this heist, it was to avoid being someone else's poor excuse for a cautionary tale.
Saving his own skin and not becoming another ill-fated legend of the West weren't the only things Neal was concerned about. Employing a new tactic David gleaned from their old operations on storekeepers, the three men would be separated for the actual heist, Andy becoming far more effective when he had no apparent connections to the muscle of the gang. But that meant the young outlaw was on his own in the town, barely eighteen and still a novice when it came to gunslinging, and he wouldn't reunite with the others until the heat and panic died town. In over two years of partnership Neal had never been away from Andy, not even for one night, and it left him uneasy, with the cold and simple explanation to himself that he just didn't want to see Andy get hurt.
He could never admit to himself that he was scared, for the morning, for Andy...for the both of them.
It was only in the small hours before dawn, the darkness engulfing them in their bedrolls while they awaited their fate, that either man willingly let their fears show. With David quietly dozing on the far end of the campfire, Neal stared at the dark space beside him, knowing without sight that Andy filled that void. He could hear from the steady, shallow breaths that Neal wasn't the only one awake at camp, the younger man most probably staring into the blackness of night back at him, both men lying atop their separate bedrolls though the charged air between them made them feel together somehow. A warm breeze passed by, caressing Neal's face; if he willed it enough he imagined it was Andy's breath against his skin, the other man closer to him than he had ever been, instead of merely within arm's reach.
And an arm's reach it truly was: nearly one second after the breeze kissed his flesh Neal felt the warm, familiar touch of long fingers dancing against his cheek, reaching up to brush the shell of his ear before coming to rest against the tattoo along his neck, palm instinctively finding its home among the hidden patterns. It was a relief beyond all words to feel Andy's touch there, to know that on this night before their lives would change forever the one constant of their companionship was still intact.
With the hand lingering along Neal's flesh he let it draw him in closer, off of his own bedroll and leaning in towards Andy. They had transcended the need for words to communicate long ago, being able now to tell each other everything in just one look, one search into the other man's eyes. Now they knew their partnership was even beyond sight, Neal sensing Andy's anxiety just in his touch. The slightest brush of movement on Neal's skin, Andy's thumb caressing the flesh, and the sound of his shifting weight on the bedroll carried their raw emotions, their voices and breaths deemed unnecessary.
Crossing the extra inch of space between them Neal pressed his lips to Andy's, finding him even in the dark, instinct and desire his guides instead of sight and sound. There was deep passion in the kiss but it rang of everything but the physical, their desire far from sexual, expecting no more contact than the warmth on their lips, the mingling of their breaths. Neal needed the contact, the assurance, more than any physical pleasure that usually came from kissing Andy Skib. He needed to be certain they would see each other again, that the new and dangerous plan would not keep them separate forever. He needed to know Andy would always be there.
Neal did not push the kiss further, nor did Andy, their lips remaining closed against one another, no sly tongues asking for entrance or seductive hands coaxing out a moan. When they parted, Andy's hand still caressing the skin on Neal's neck, their eyes were as open as they could muster in the dark, trying to will light into existence where there was none to get one lasting look at one another before dawn ushered them into a new world. Neal's intentions were clear, spoken with mouths and lips but not with words, something desperate and pleading that Andy prayed with every ounce of his being he could accomplish.
Be okay; I need you to be okay. Come back to me.
And just as quickly as it came, the moment passed, Neal returning to his bedroll, Andy's hand returning to his side, all the intimacy and care they held for each other stored, locked away in the memory of that split second. But Neal still held Andy's gaze in the darkness, unable to see even the outline of his face but knowing it was there all the same, feeling him there. He wanted to always feel Andy's presence beside him, whether as a shadow and elusive lookout during a bank heist or with him in a passionate embrace as a lover. Wherever their courses in life would take them, Neal couldn't bear to be parted with Andy, never.
***
"Man, Dave better be getting laid right now."
Andy laughed drowsily, letting his skin cool between the sheets as he propped up his head on an elbow, watching Neal drag deeply on a cigarette. He could have used one himself, he mused, but at that moment his joints screamed for relief and rest, his body too delightfully sore to move. "Didn't know you were so invested in our partner's sex life," he joked, receiving a playful scowl from Neal in response.
"I'm just saying," he contended, letting out a breath of smoke that mingled in the windowless room with the heady, moist smell of sex. Two of Neal's favorite scents. "He's spending a shitload of time with Kelly, he better be getting something more out of it than a tour around this two-bit town."
But it was more than just a fast and lustful attraction between David and the young woman who cleaned out their pockets at poker their first night in town. They had only been riding with David a few months but from their very first heist it was clear he wore his heart upon his sleeve, emotions that rarely affected his decisions but were evident all the same. From the quirks of his mouth to the shining light in his eyes when he smiled and meant it, David's face was an open book when he was around those he felt comfortable with, confided in. And Neal and Andy could tell from the moment they entered the Breakaway Saloon that David was hopelessly smitten with Kelly Clarkson.
Their poker game with the lady of Burleson was their first indication: David couldn't take his eyes off her and it wasn't to mark her weaknesses or tells. Their second was that David never returned to the room they booked for the three of them that night, or any night thereafter. And the third was the liveliness in his demeanor, the spring in his step when the pair did see him in town, as if God himself had bestowed luck on a man who had seen more tragic events in his life than good. David was content when he was with Neal and Andy, remaining true to their partnership as their riches and infamy grew, but in the past three days he seemed genuinely happy in the presence of Kelly. It was all well and good for the pair; Neal figured with a shrug that it was a boon to the entire gang if all three of them were sexually satisfied.
Andy's attentions perked up, his mind clearly on more than idle gossip about David and lounging in their afterglow. "Speaking of the town..." He lowered his voice to something conspirational, though the noise from the saloon's main parlor outside their door drowned out their words from any prying ears. Neal was only inches away from him--he could still feel the heat emanating from his flesh, recalling when that skin slid against his, slick with sweat and rough with the grainy Texas dust--but he wanted to keep his voice down, their plots of thieving and robbery as strangely intimate as lovers' pillow talk. "Took my own tour this morning. Found out some very useful information."
As Neal's eyebrows raised in interest, the unattended ashes at the butt of his cigarette curling into grey stains on the bedlinens, Andy relayed what he had learned throughout the day, his honed instincts ringing true even when they weren't officially on a job. The bank, much like the town of Burleson itself, found its downfall in its blind, small-town trust: a mix of confidence and naivete, which a healthy portion of neglect, set up the perfect equation for a mismanaged bank, ripe for the picking.
Andy's face lit up as he described the building's weaknesses and the information he had gleaned. He had taken his role as informant to an entirely new level, reveling in his ability to hide among the townspeople in plain sight, a rustler in a rancher's saddle; a black wolf wading among the sheep, waiting for the right time for the slaughter. It was an excitement Neal rarely got to see from Andy anymore independent of David's presence, reminding him of the elation Andy felt as a teen when he passed through the Tulsa marketplace, undetected by everyone except Neal. He could have kissed that grinning mouth, stop the flow of words in lieu of breathy sighs and moans, but he decided against it, content just to watch Andy bask in his element, a slowly spreading smile on his face. They had all night for another round; there was no point in trading one pleasing moment for the other.
"You in?" he asked, the question rhetorical when it was directed towards Neal. He was always looking for a thrill, the next big reason his heartbeat thundered in his ears and his muscles moved with life-or-death urgency; when he came to bank heists Neal was always in. He flashed a grin, reaching over to ruffle a hand through Andy's hair, the benign and playful gesture melting into a softer touch, his hand lingering to smooth down the locks he had just disturbed.
"Always," Neal responded. "As long as Dave's in."
The smile on Andy's face turned down into a distressed frown. David had never said no to a heist before, but in Burleson Andy was having his doubts. "You think?"
"Of course." Neal's answer was automatic, the connection they shared with David leading him to believe his answer was a given; but the expression on Andy's face made him second-guess tradition. "Why...you reckon he wouldn't?"
It wasn't typical for any of the three outlaws to doubt one another. But, Andy reconsidered with a deep sigh, this wasn't the typical course of things; it wasn't in every town that David Cook seemed to be falling in love. "I don't know." He tried to concentrate on the business at hand and not on Neal's hand, which refused to remove itself from Andy's person, fingertips now playing along his jaw. "He sure seems to like it here...sure likes Kelly, anyway."
Neal gave a start. "He rides with us because we're his friends," he asserted, denying the question that had not been asked: if David's devotion to them was as strong as theirs was to him.
The tone in Neal's voice didn't faze Andy, nor did the smell of burned paper when Neal leaned over with his free hand and stubbed out the smoldering cigarette against the inn's shabby wallpaper. He knew intimately every one of Neal's moods, and more importantly, exactly how to quell them. "But he robs banks," he replied in a voice as peaceful as Neal's was defensive. "Because he's got nothing else left."
Swallowing a deep gulp of doubt that Andy could feel even from the other side of the bed, Neal asked the question he didn't want to admit, the atmosphere of the room turning very quickly from businesslike to something far more personal. "Well, what about us?" He watched the Adam's apple bob in Andy's throat as he stroked its length with a calloused thumb, Andy's eyes still closed, focusing on the pleasure of the warm touch despite himself. "Are we doing this 'cause we got nothing else?"
"No," Andy breathed, the answer automatic. The skin on his brow furrowed, the curves of his mouth turning down; he liked and respected David without any doubt, but what they had was nothing like his life at all. "We're different..."
Materially they had no more than David, the clothes strewn about the room and the money lining their pockets the only significant possessions to either man's name. All they had was each other, no sweethearts or loving hometowns to call their own. But despite it all, Neal never felt like he was left wanting; he felt he rather liked the arrangement.
With a surge of desire washing over him that simply couldn't be avoided, Neal leaned over towards Andy's side of the mattress, his breath lingering hotly against the shell of Andy's ear. "Tell me," he rasped, voice suddenly demanding and lustful, catching Andy delightfully off guard. The hand that worked at his jaw and neck swooped down over the planes of Andy's body, fingers grazing his ribcage like scales on a stringed fiddle, and putting itself to much better use in regions due south. A growl in the back of Neal's throat brought out a shuddering breath from Andy's lips, parted in the surprise of their sudden closeness.
Andy felt the brush of warm fingers against his flesh, running lower on his body until Neal's hand wrapped around his cock, bringing it to attention. He supposed they were ready for another round, after all. "He never wanted to be an outlaw," he explained, after a brief crisis of conscience over defying the request or facing the awkwardness of talking about David while Neal's hand was on his dick. Not the biggest turn-on for either of them. "He was thrown into this life. But we..." Neal gave a twist as he brought his hand in on the upstroke, thumb toying with the head like a tongue, lapping at Andy's precum. Quite a way to ruin his concentration; holding in a whimper, Andy's voice went low, his own hand reaching out towards Neal's chest, claiming a nipple between his fingers. "...We came willingly."
A soft nip on his earlobe punctuated the thought, the period on a parchment where the pen's nib dug too deep, leaving an imperfect and indelible scar. No one had ever forced the two men on the road and into general stores and bank vaults; no one jammed the guns in their hands and forced them to shoot. For David, falling head over heels for Kelly Clarkson could very well spell the end of his days wandering the open plain, but for Neal and Andy, the road was theirs; the road was always theirs.
Neal pulled back slightly, only enough to look Andy in the eyes, heads resting on the same pillow, lips nearly close enough to touch. His vision was filled with Andy's dark brown eyes, looking into Neal's and searching just as he was, the air between them suddenly very thick with more than just sexual desire. The movement of his hand slowed to a lazy stroke, more intent on watching Andy breathe shallow pants in and out with the rhythm of his wrist than making sure they both came willingly again.
"That's us, ain't it," he said with a smirk, watching the corners of Andy's crinkle pleasantly into a smile of his own. "Choosin' a life with no responsibilities, no regrets. Nothing to tie us down." The hand pressed against Neal's chest began to snake around his waist, Andy pulling their bodies in closer together, the tortuously slow pace on his cock making him ache for more contact. "Riding where we want, doing what we please..."
"I'd really like it if you do what I please a little faster," Andy muttered, his hips rolling up into Neal's touch.
Just to spite his eager bedfellow, Neal took an even slower pace, drawing out a low whine of protest from Andy's lips. He was quite ready for another round, his hips moving in time with Andy's, a slow grind that was teasing his own half-hard cock as much as Andy's; but he felt no rush, David's continued absence from the inn room emboldening them to take their time, unafraid of detection. Considering the string of looted banks they left in their wake, being found in the same bed together was the least of their troubles.
"This is what you want?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper, layered above the much louder sounds streaming in through the door. It was a question and a statement all at the same time, Neal too confident in their partnership to ask Andy outright, but not certain enough for his voice not to turn up at the end, like the ending flourish to a signature, the last, harmonizing chords of a sonata. There had been so much potential, so much more security in Andy's future than what he had opted for as a teen, a life of wealth and comfort instead of uncertainty and danger. It became clear now that David had found his Kelly, that he longed for a future of home-cooked meals and hearthstones, of family portraits on the mantle and babies in their bunting, reclaiming the sense of family he had lost. Neal knew his desires differed greatly from a white picket fence and a pot roast in the oven, but he couldn't in all certainly speak for Andy.
His teasingly slow ministrations, however, kept Andy's train of thought decidedly on a different track. "Want more," he beseeched, his hand gripping Neal's hipbone, knuckles white, daring him to do something about it. "But fuck you, Tiemann, if you expect me to beg..."
"I mean it," Neal insisted, eyes never wavering off of Andy's face, the strokes of his hand coming to a patient stop as Andy's playful disapproval simmered down to recognize the seriousness in his voice.
All was quiet in that one moment, the din of the crowd in the saloon falling away to a faint and distant buzz as Neal waited for his response. It was never asked of Andy before, not even by his own conscience, both men preferring to let their actions speak for themselves. He was here after all, wasn't he? David's fate with the outlaws, particularly this next heist in the hometown of the girl he fell in love with, was under question, but in nearly three years Andy's resolve never faltered, never even wavered. Not so long as he was with Neal.
A slow, warm smile spread across his face, peeking at the corners at first and then widening. Neal just needed to hear it, he recognized; he needed to be assured that he wasn't alone in his life-long quest to make the whole West his home. And he wasn't alone. But if the sharpshooter was going to play games tonight, so was he. "I go where my horse goes," he compromised, eyes brightening along with his smile as he watched the smirk on Neal's face, anticipating his answer. "And she seems to take a shine to you. So...I guess you're stuck with me."
Neal couldn't help but laugh, breaking their stare and the atmosphere in the room that had grown from intimate to tense and back again. Much to Andy's satisfaction he began moving his hand again, stroking with a new vigor along the shaft and twisting at the head, causing Andy's hips to squirm. "Reckon I am," he said, shifting his weight until he situated himself over Andy's frame, hovering over like a promise, the smirk going sly. "Guess we'll just have to make the most of that situation, then."
***
"It's fine."
Neal took another bite of the salted pork, chewing the sizable chunk animatedly in his mouth, hoping it would indicate to Andy that he wasn't aiming to talk. No such luck.
"It'll be fine, Neal," he repeated, ignoring the feigned indifference Neal attempted to show in the shrug of his shoulders. He had known him far too long not to realize when Neal was hiding things. Andy clenched his jaw when he met silence, the older man staring straight ahead towards the blazing light of the fire. If David were around to watch the scene unfold he would have said that they bicker like an old married couple.
But David wasn't awake, and neither were Kyle or Joey, the outlaws well aware they had a bank to rob the next morning that would require all their rest and concentration. Neal should have joined them, the others depending tomorrow on his quick draw and infallible aim; Andy should have left the camp ages ago, returning to his rented room at the Lambert Inn and his own role, playing the part and maintaining his alibi. But instead here they both were, reluctant to leave the warm comfort of the campfire; reluctant to leave each other.
But returning to town was sounding better with each passing moment; Andy was quickly losing patience with the Dr.'s stubbornness. "You're the one who brought it up, don't act like I started this--"
"Well you were the one who mentioned the damn gangbusters law in town," Neal shot back, the malice in his voice not intended for Andy but it had felt that way all the same. Andy mentioned it during their planning session earlier in the night, an egocentric sheriff and his overeager deputy a potential obstacle between the Kings and their cash. The outlaws had dealt with men of the law before, but Andy described them in his observations to be a dangerous liability. Two against five were no odds at all; but Neal didn't feel comfortable allowing Andy to make those odds two against one.
Heaving a deep sigh, Andy rested his hands on his hips, watching Neal self-consciously kick an errant ember back into the fire, uneasy with admitting his doubts even to the other man. "I don't think they'll be a real problem," Andy contended; he had caught sight of the deputy during his stay in Hope and saw his resolve overstepped his abilities. He was sure if it came down to a gunfight, his bark would be worse than his bite. But Andy had no problem taking the lawman down, ability or not, if the situation got dicey for the Kings. "And if they are...I'll take care of them."
"But what if they take care of you?" Vulnerability wasn't something Neal revealed often, the legend of the fearless, confident Dr. preceding him. But his tone wavered, his impenetrable front faltered; he was worried for Andy, and it was only to Andy that he could show it.
Where Neal displayed concern, however, Andy saw as a challenge, a doubt in his own skills. His left hand balled into a fist in frustration, the right itching to retrieve the gun in his holster and show Neal there was no doubt in his gunfighting acumen--the skills that the sharpshooter himself had taught him. "I might not knock down bank doors and shove guns in people's faces," he said on impulse, the inferred remark inflaming his resentment. His job might have been different from Neal's but it was just as vital, dammit, and he wasn't going to allow Neal to treat him so green. "But I'm more than able to handle myself. You, out of everyone, should know that."
Eight years of holding his own in the Kings, getting into his fair share of gunfights and always ready when there was trouble; Andy had earned the respected title of being a formidable gunman. Neal knew he was no pushover, bearing witness to nearly every shot of Andy's that reached its home, every body the shadow of the Kings had put into the ground. But this wasn't about his skill with a revolver: this, Andy realized as Neal met his gaze, the flickering firelight illuminating the worry in his ice blue eyes, had very little to do with what Andy was able to do at all.
"I'm just sayin'," Neal repeated glumly, a pessimistic attitude he never showed to the others, only to Andy, who understood his doubts best; it took him a moment of reflection sometimes, but Andy always understood him. "Just...watch your ass, alright? I don't like this town; something doesn't feel right."
He shook his head to ward away the doubts, breaking eye contact with Andy, his gaze instinctively returning to the blaze of the fire. He was being stupid, he supposed, worrying over just a thought and a feeling, when all the odds proved to Neal the Kings were stronger than ever. And if he was worried about anyone's ass it should have been his own, his role leaving him far more open to danger than Andy. His instincts were rarely wrong but even Neal understood his rational judgments were biased when it came to Andy Skib's well-being.
A hand reached out towards Neal, fingers just grazing his wrist, making the light hairs on his entire forearm stand on end. Andy's skin was cold as it touched Neal's, but placed together they warmed each other, at their most effective when working together. It caught Neal's breath in his throat and brought his eyes back up to Andy's, a sympathetic smile on the other man's face that warmed him far faster than the touch. It didn't reassure Neal completely, but the gesture, and a touch they would only allow themselves when no one else was around, was certainly appreciated.
"It's going to be fine, Neal," he repeated. "There's nothing here we haven't faced before. Believe me, Hope is just another town; it'll go down like all the others."
***
That was the last time he had seen Andy; more than two days ago now, and Neal felt every moment like it was an eternity.
All his memories came rushing back, assaulting him, wounding him with such emotion Neal nearly doubled over from it, clutching his gut, like it was he who had been shot. It had been hours since he had first settled in front of the fire, barely moving, the glowing embers of the blaze left to dwindle and die now overshadowed by the ever-brightening hues of dawn. Neal had stayed there all night, battling and embracing his memories all at once, wanting to hold them to his chest and cherish them like intangible gold, while at the same time wanting to push them away, hide from them and escape the glaring truth he had been blind to for too, too long.
With his own trembling hand he touched his wrist, fingers feathering against the same skin Andy had caressed two nights ago; the last time they had touched. Neal closed his eyes, wishing it was his touch instead, wanting more than anything to have that night back, that moment, before Andy left for Hope and his world fell apart.
Eight years and he had never considered it, the bond between them known without thinking, kisses and touches enjoyed but never evaluated. What he and Andy shared simply was, and it had never been discussed, lest they ruin it altogether; but now Neal realized just leaving it at that wasn't nearly enough. Not to fill the emptiness growing in his chest; not to dissolve the lump in his throat making it hard to breathe.
He was in love with Andy; deep and desperate, loved him more than anything he could shoot or steal. And now, it may have been too late.
Neal didn't know how long he had felt this way and never acknowledged it, when stolen kisses and heated encounters of skin upon skin became more than a mutual need for physical release; he didn't know how long he had tried to fool himself into thinking he never cared. But fool himself he did, his hands now realizing the value of the cherished flesh they had caressed, the body that had lain next to his for so long. The deep-set, expressive brown eyes that always saw the true man behind the intimidating tabloid legends; the smile, subtle and genuine, spread across Andy's face that Neal could never fail to reflect on his own. Every moment of Neal's past he wanted to remember held Andy at its core, and he wanted every moment of his future with him as well.
The storm had ceased its murderous downpour over the New Mexican desert sometime in the night but the ominous clouds still lingered, casting a dark, sinister gray sky over the horizon; the skies simply had no more rain to shed. There was no sun to be seen but it was still undeniably dawn, an entire night spent staring, ruminating and waiting; now it was time for action. He had no idea what David's plan would be but Neal resolved he would follow it to its end, to their end, if it was their best chance of bringing Andy back alive.
He couldn't lose him now, Neal thought, his grip on his arm tightening, trying in vain to focus his pain on anything else but his heart. Not when he just realized how much he had to lose.
"I have to get him back," he whispered to himself, his closed eyes blind to the outlaw who witnessed his turmoil, David making a promise to himself on the spot that he would do everything in one man's power to bring them together again.
Chapter 16