Flint's Discovery (M/m)

[tinyjames]

Better men than him had been turned into gibbering lunatics in this place. The endless loneliness, saddle sores and sun-scorched skin, the non-stop rounds of beans for dinner. Enough to twist the mind of anyone.

The horse shook her mane as Flint turned her loose. It had been a long day, the bounty hunter and his horse. She nickered happily as she began to sniff at the dead grass and he patted her skewbald flank, chapped lips curling into a smile. “There’s a good girl, Risky.” He muttered. The stocky man turned to cast his eyes across the desert, the fire of the sun having slipped away, leaving the cacti as hazy shadows.
A bottle of whisky was pulled from Risky’s pack, and he took a gulp of it, stepping back toward his slowly growing fire. He took a seat in the coarse dirt, feeling the dried sweat all over him, making him sticky.

A little far from the beaten track, Flint had taken a job hunting for a murderous son of a bitch, by the name of Tucker Murphy, and was determined to catch his man alive. However, three days following a trail was certainly taking its toll.

The night darkened and Flint let his weight rest on his elbows, allowing himself to relax for a moment. Only coyotes and rattlers to worry about. Nothing he couldn’t handle. Hand combing through his sandy hair, he lingered on his unshaven chin and deep scars, taking note of his rugged appearance. The thought that a certain farm boy back home would love to see him so dirty and hardened brought a chuckle to his throat.
The night was long. He slept lightly beside the fire, Risky listening while he snoozed, his hand on his six-shooter. She was much better than a guard dog.

The sky was tinged with orange when Risky began to fret, a startled whinny, and Flint immediately sat up, gun in hand. She was staring ahead with flattened ears, clearly not at all sure about something beyond a few rocks. Flint kept his gun close, expecting a snake at most.

So many people went crazy from the sun. Flint knew he wasn’t mad, but it’s hard to tell yourself that when you’re staring at an impossibility.

They were miniscule, barely three inches tall. A trio, dressed in clothes fashioned from mouse pelts and dried cactus leather. Two of the group held weapons, sharpened rocks and cactus spines. The one on the receiving end of what seemed like a mugging was the tallest of them, and stood between them and a dead scorpion. He had already begun to butcher his kill, and was pleading with words that made no sense at all.
Tiny men. Well didn’t that beat all?

As one of the tiny attackers lifted his weapon, Flint cleared his throat, prompting all eyes to lock onto him. Monstrous, colossal, a man who could destroy them instantly.

With panicked cries, the men turned to flee, the larger pausing for just a moment, bewildered. Then, he realised he absolutely had to have them.

Hat lifted high, Flint aimed for the little people, his dark eyes tracking them. With a reflex usually saved for a quickdraw, the hat was dropped upon the two attackers. His hand shot out, leaving a mark in the sand as he snatched up the last tiny man, a squeal making him chuckle slightly. As he lifted him close, chestnut eyes scanning him, he had a difficult time holding him in his gloved palm, his struggle to get away like holding soap in the bath. “Steady on there! Ain’t gonna hurt you, fella.”

Pinching him between two fingers, he leant closer. The tiny man stared with pure panic, as Flint scanned him. “Gosh, ain’t you somethin’?” He chuckled, holding him in a loose but secure fist as he turned his attention to his hat. With a swift movement, he flipped his hat over, scooping all the men into it. He stood quickly, looking at the cowering people with a smirk. “If you guys are real, this is the find of a lifetime. 'specially since you two are clearly bad seeds.” Sitting beside the fire, Flint raised the hat to his eyes, the smiling face blocking their view of the world. “Now, what could I do with ya? I usually just kill the scum I go after, but I don’t know, seems like a waste.”

There were many things a man needed in the old West. Company. Entertainment. Food. Terrible, awful thoughts came to Flint’s mind, and he chuckled quietly, lifting his hand to pick out one of the men. As if to make it worse for themselves, the criminals pushed the victim forwards, offering him up to the bounty hunter.
“Now, boys, you don’t need to pick who goes first. Quite sure I’m hungry enough for both of ya.”

One of the ruffians squealed as Flint picked him up, the cactus prick rapier being far too small to get through the thick leather of his glove. With one flick, it was discarded, and Flint pulled off one of his gloves with his teeth, leaving a sheen of drool on the finger. Hand now bare and much more dexterous, he began to inspect the tiny man, removing his spiny cactus jacket, probably to ward off predators. The thought of him being a predator made him chuckle softly as he regarded the wriggling man’s protection. The way it felt gave him pause, and he studied them with a silent appreciation, almost hesitant. He wished he had one for himself, but still, no use fretting over the presentation of his meal. Flint lifted the morsel above his face, opening his jaws wide.

The tiny man stared down at the gaping maw with terror. His doom was framed by a row of teeth, reflecting the dental hygiene of the 1800s. A huge pink tongue undulated between the walls of not-so-pearly whites. At the back of the chasm was a deep, black opening. His screams echoed as the tongue rose up, glistening with drool in the light of the campfire. Flint smiled with glee as he pressed the tip of his tongue against the tiny man, immediately tasting sweat and fear and blood, mouth watering. The tiny man yelped with fright as saliva sprayed him liberally, prompting a chuckle. Even a gleek was enough to frighten this tiny bastard.

“Not too bad. Might even have room for all three of ya.” said Flint as he opened his jaws again. The tiny man wailed, beating his fists against the fingers holding him captive. As if any pathetic attempt could sway him. His grip loosened fractionally, until the frightened little man fell face first into the dark, slick flesh of Flint’s tongue. He moved just in time to watch the light be cut off forever, feeling the roof of Flint’s mouth at his back.

The bounty hunter groaned softly, turning his snack over in his maw, tasting him. Almost like salted pork rind, only so much more pleasurable. Incredible, how the slicked up little man thrashed and wailed. Then the tongue began to move. Now completely drenched with saliva, there was nothing to stop the little man from succumbing to his fate. His hands clawed at the colossal tongue in vain as Flint tipped his head back, swallowing hard. He felt the slight ache of swallowing something slightly too big, and another gulp helped. For the little man, it was horrific. Hot, dark, stinking, crushing pressure on all sides as he slid further down, eventually coming to rest somewhere that hurt his skin, burned his eyes, choked him.

Flint let a hand come to rest on his stomach, burping and smiling to himself. “Ah… That was nice.” He looked down to the remaining two, their faces a picture of fear. They trembled in the hat, unable to escape, cowering like mice. “Kinda got me full right now, but I’ll tell you what…” Nimble fingers untied his bandana, and Flint picked up the second ruffian. He happily dropped him in the handkerchief, his cries muffled by the fabric as it was tied and Flint pocketed it.

“Now…Don’t suppose you speak English, do you?” Flint asked the little man he’d saved, having no intention of harming him. “Or…¿Hablas Español?” Still no answer. “Ah, shit…okay, how’s about this…” Flint placed a hand on his chest. “Flint.” He then motioned to the tiny man, repeating to try and at least gain his name.

A blink and a look of understanding dawned on the little man. He nodded, placing a palm on his own chest, speaking very hesitantly. “…Nakai.”

Flint’s smile was a mile wide. “Pleased to meet you, Nakai.” He reached up to tip his hat, but realised with a tsk that he was holding it. “If you don’t care too mightily, I think I’m gonna keep you.” Flint reached for a glass, pulling it close. He tipped Nakai out of his hat and onto the dust, trapping him beneath the glass, placing a rock on top for good measure.
“Shan’t leave you there too long.” He mumbled as he laid back on his bed roll. “Nighty night, lil’ friend.” He muttered, rubbing his stomach, the tiny man in his stomach struggling as he slipped into a light sleep, unbothered by the tink of glass as Nakai tried to escape.