There's a short A/N at the bottom. Just FYI. Okay, read on fair reader.
The stadium was warm already, caused by the combination of lighting and spectator body heat. Dirt particles floated through the air, the smell of sweaty horse, manure, hay, and beer mingled in Kurt's nose with every breath that he took. He could feel the dull aching beginning in his thighs and calves, and he knew that with a little more time, the pain would continue up into his buttocks and lower back, climbing up his spine and into his shoulders and neck before the night was over. The announcer was explaining the next event, bronc busting, and Kurt knew that was his cue. He straightened in his saddle, patted his black felt Stetson down a little snugger on his head, and then nudged his horse's sides with his heels, urging his steed, Officer Krupke, forward towards the ring.
Blaine could feel his heart thudding solidly in his chest. He lived for this. The smell of horse and hay and people, the cheers of the crowds, the electricity that pulsed in a strong undercurrent through the entire stadium. He bounced a little on the balls of his feet, the supple leather of his boots yielding easily to the movement after years of wear, as he shoved his hands in his pockets and peered over the heads' of the crowd in front of him. He heard the announcer call the first contestant's name and a surge of adrenaline raced through him. Oh yes, this was what he was born to do.
The buzzer for eight seconds sounded and Kurt was off like lightning, Krup's powerful hind legs powering them both forward into the ring. He came up along the bronco's left side where the rider, Wade DeMoss, was still holding tight. Wade reached sideways and grabbed at the back of Kurt's vest, clutching tight and pulling curling his legs up out of the stirrups, as Kurt pulled a hard left on his horse, clearing the cowboy of the bronc. Kurt pushed himself upward and forward in the saddle, his heels pointing farther towards the ground, to prevent himself from toppling backwards with the added weight of the competitor. Wade let go and slid to the dirt, both fists pumping the air, as Kurt circled around to help Finn herd the bronco back to the stalls.
This was it. Blaine climbed the rails of the gate and straddled the topmost one, while the others readied the bronco, checking straps and buckles, getting him ready for Blaine's ride. He heard his name in the announcer's voice, followed by his vitals - 5'8'", 165 lbs, "one of our smallest cowboys," the announcer laughed, "but also one of the toughest" - and the bronc he was riding - "Dark Days! A stud horse with a kick harder than .50 caliber rifle!" He felt the customary clap on the shoulder , a signal that told him the horse was ready, so he took a deep breath and swung his other leg over the gate, falling easily into the saddle below him.
Blaine Anderson. Rider number 1109. Kurt had seen the number on a sheet of paper pinned to the back of a black western shirt embroidered with the brand "Ariat" in white down the left arm. The rider had been small, like the announcer said, but his shirt was fitted perfectly across the shoulders and down the arms, nipped in at the waist, followed the curvature of his musculature underneath the fabric, and allowed Kurt to determine that although he was small, he was all muscle. Dark curls had peeked out from under the black felt hat, probably Rodeo King Kurt had guessed, and a pair of worn Wranglers clung to his ass and thighs in ways that should have been illegal. The only thing Kurt still wondered about was the man's boots. The boots that a cowboy wore could say more about the man than the man himself.
Blaine tightened his grip on the rein in his hand, shifting some in the saddle, and glanced around one last time. He was focused. He was ready. It was just him and - who was that? Blaine caught a glimpse of someone in the corner of his eye. A rodeo hand. One of the guys responsible for getting the cowboy off the bronco and the bronco back to where it belongs. His brown hair, reddish in the stadium lighting, was mashed against his head by his hat and stuck there with the same sweat that shone across his forehead and upper lip. He was wearing a royal blue button up under the black vest that all cowboys wore at the rodeo, which made his eyes, even at the distance they were at, pop. The man had his horse's reins in his hand and was fidgeting in his saddle. He was probably sore. Blaine would be too if he'd spent all day riding like the other man did. Someone barked his name, which brought Blaine back around. The man could wait. The bronco couldn't.
Kurt did his best to pretend that he wasn't watching the cowboy. He adjusted his Wranglers - they were riding up after that last round - readjusted his hold on Krup's reins, watched the crowd as they milled and drank and cheered, but ultimately, his gaze came back to rest on the curly-headed man with his hat tipped down obscuring his face, who was focused intently on the animal under him. The men on the ground, manning the gate, suddenly snapped into action and Kurt knew this was it. It was go time.
Blaine didn't see the gate open. He didn't see the thumbs-up his pals Wesley and David gave him from a couple gates over as they readied their own broncs, and he didn't see the shine in the mysterious cowboy's eyes as he watched Blaine. All Blaine saw was the horse, all Blaine felt was the horse, and for eight solid seconds, he and the horse were one. Dark Days bucked hard, legs shooting out behind him high in the air in an attempt to throw his rider, but Blaine followed the motion, judged the horse's movements by the pull on the rein in his hand, and spurred hard, his feet urging the beast to kick higher, to kick harder, to really give Blaine everything he was capable of. He was flying, ten inches of oxygen and nitrogen between the jeans covering his ass and the leather of the saddle, with only the rein in his hand and pull of the stirrups around his boots anchoring him to the ground. And just like that, just as he was really starting to lose himself to the activity, the buzzer sounded and Blaine heard the pound of hooves on the packed dirt, signaling that it was time to come back down to earth.
Kurt was sure he was moving in the split seconds before the familiar buzz filled the air. Krup and Kurt raced out of their gate, aiming for where Blaine was still on the back of the bronco. The bucking had subsided somewhat as Kurt reached their left flank. Kurt could see the euphoria on Blaine's face as the cowboy reached across and wrapped his strong fingers around the armholes in Kurt's vest and tugged his boots out of the stirrups. Kurt tugged on his reins, directing Krup in the familiar circle that cleared the rider of his bronco, expecting Blaine to let go and slide off like the rest of the riders. Instead, Blaine grasped Kurt's vest tighter and pulled hard, hoisting himself up and swinging his leg over the back of Kurt's horse, and almost causing Kurt to fall.
Blaine laughed at the cowboy's cross between a grunt and a squeak as he settled behind the man's saddle on the horse's haunches. It was a beautiful animal, a Paint, with large swathes of white and brown, and gentle ride. "Sorry," Blaine chuckled, wrapping his arms around the man, over the thick vest. God, this man was gorgeous. Tall and broad shouldered, with impeccable posture, and - Blaine realized the crowd was cheering, so he lifted a hand and waved, and then tipped his hat to both sides of the arena.
"You could have killed me," Kurt snapped at the man behind him. He was resolutely trying to ignore the fact that Blaine was so close, that even through the thick material of his vest, he could feel the cowboy's forearms flex as he held on to Kurt's midsection.
Blaine laughed again at the other man's snappy reply. "I wouldn't let that happen."
They had reached the area where Kurt waited for his cue. He tried to ignore the fluttering in his stomach when Blaine had told him he "wouldn't let that happen." He also tried to ignore the shiver that raced down his spine when Blaine squeezed his shoulder briefly before sliding off of Krup's haunches and landing on his feet in the dirt.
Blaine tried to ignore the twisting in his stomach when he saw the almost-but-not-completely concealed smile on the cowboy's face and the hope swelling in his chest at the twinkle in his blue, almost green eyes.
"So I guess I'll see you around," Kurt grunted, feeling mildly sick. He took a deep breath and internally chastised himself. He was attractive, sure, but there would be others. Of course there would be. So why did he feel like the world as he knew it had just changed?
"I don't even get a name?" Blaine teased, flashing the man on his horse a smile. Blaine was suddenly mortified. He managed to keep the smile on his face, but he was mentally kicking himself. Stupid, stupid, don't even know if he's gay. Or available. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"Kurt," Kurt answered. "Kurt Hummel."
"Nice to meet you, Kurt," Blaine answered. "Thanks for getting my butt out of there. Dark Days could have really lived up to his name if you hadn't been there."
Kurt smiled despite himself. "Just doing my job."
"You do it well."
Kurt's face flamed at the innuendo that could have been implied. He really needed to get his mind out of the gutter. And away from the gorgeous cowboy in front of him with the hazel eyes and kind smile and sexy voice - "Thank you."
Blaine's ears felt like they were on fire when he realized what he had said and the way it could have been taken. He really needed to get his mind out of the gutter. And away from the gorgeous cowboy in front of him with the blue-green eyes that seemed to change color and the quirky smile and the voice like warm molasses - "You're welcome."
The announcer was listing the vitals of the next competitor - Wesley Montgomery, 5' 11", 187 lbs, seasoned vet - and Kurt realized he needed to get back to work.
Blaine heard Wes' name called and remembered that he'd promised to watch Wes and David ride. He also hadn't heard his score announced. He had no idea whether he'd made the finals or not.
"I have to get back -"
"I promised Wes I would -"
They both laughed nervously, unsure of exactly what was going on, but knowing that there was no way they could let it end there. They caught each others' eyes and then glanced away, both letting out airy chuckles. Electricity hummed between them, filling the air, causing both of their bodies to vibrate with it, even if they hadn't realized it. Finally, Kurt smiled once more and nodded at Blaine. Blaine returned the smile even brighter and nodded back. They went their separate ways, but there was an unspoken understanding between them; they would find each other later - after the crowds had dispersed, after meetings regarding the results of the rides, after the horses had been brushed and fed - and then they would see what happened. Things had changed; something about the world they lived in had shifted dramatically simply from this chance encounter, but neither could put their finger on exactly what had changed. It didn't matter though. All they knew was that they were drawn together, almost on an unconscious level as though tethered through fate, but that was enough. For now, that was enough for them.
It's rodeo season in Texas, so I've had rodeo on the brain for a while. It came together with Kurt and Blaine yesterday, so I cranked this thing out. Also, I'll put a link on my Tumblr for pics of what Kurt and Blaine are wearing for those that aren't familiar with western wear. Look for the link on my profile if you're interested.