It had been awhile since Grant had tried to play anything, life demanding too much of his time and leaving him few in the ways of moments like this where could simply relax with a guitar. His chords were off at first, a few plucked strings that sounded more like a cat orgy then a soothing song but Flynn watched his fingers strum over the wires with such genuine interest that the man couldn't help but carry on. After awhile, he started to slip back into it, pick of some of his old tunes and his notes didn’t quite pierce the ears so harshly.

Grant let his calloused fingers roll over the strings until he fell into a solid tune, a song he vaguely remembered knowing how to play once and some part of his mind still stored away in a dusty back corner somewhere. The slow, deep chords familiar. Something about love and the stars. He didn’t even know the words anymore, just the tune and the bittersweet story behind it.

“And if I could give you the stars…” Grant hummed the one or two lyrics he knew softly under the music of the strings, fingers working on memory alone and the song spilling from something deeper than he could recall.

“Then darlin’ I’d use them to decorate my heart so I could give them all to you…” Flynn hummed along softly, smiling softly into the embers of the dying fire so that his bruised face was the only thing Grant could clearly make out in the blurred edges of the oncoming dusk.

“You know it?” Grant asked, watching the boy across from him curiously. Something soft had come over his expression, a small sort of smile that held genuine warmth, but it carried a sadness to it too, illuminated faintly in the flickering touch of the flames

“Yeah, my mother used to sing it to me when I couldn’t sleep.” Flynn answered quietly, voice a gentle whisp like smoke circling carefully up to the sky from the fire.

Grant didn’t know what to say so he focused his attention back on his own hands, strumming the chords in slow succession and humming to a forgotten tune playing in the back of his mind.

“But, baby the stars burn out.” The boy continued in a drawing hum, voice dipping to something low as he turned his head so that his hat cast deep shadows over of soft features. “My love will linger as long as the stars do shine but, baby, the stars burn ouuttt.” Flynn hummed gently, lilting voice rising and falling perfectly with the gentle chords as if carried on a breeze, sweet and melodious as the song itself and just as haunting in the burning sorrow hidden just beneath the words. The outlaw’s tones dipped softly with the last words of the song, drawing the sound out as his voice fell to something small and fragile that would shatter the moment the cord broke; but when Grant strummed the last lingering note, the boy was still whole.

“Grant,” Flynn began after a quiet moment, voice soft and careful and honey eyes fixed to the dying embers so that their burning glow reflected in his orbs.

“Yeah?” The man encouraged easily, placing the guitar aside and leaning forward to hear what the fugitive had to say. He seemed so… small like this, drawn up so his head rested on his knees and he arms curled over his legs to keep them close. It sparked something inside Grant that wanted to draw the boy into his arms and keep him there, close and safe from the world that wanted to see him sway.

“I didn’t kill my mother.” Flynn whispered to the fire, long fingers clenching into fists against his pants legs and eyes refusing to rise from the dust.

Grant let the words wash over him, feeling them sink into his skin and rest over his chest like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “I know.” He replied simply. And he meant it. He’d known for some time…

“You believe me?” Flynn balked sharply, eyes snapping up from the dirt to fix on Grant, wide and boring into him like the outlaw was trying to see the man’s soul through his skin.

“Yes.” Grant answered with a slow, steady nod. It was the only thing that made sense. It was the only thing he could believe.

“You believe me.” Flynn breathed shakily and this time it wasn’t a question. The fugitive’s caramel eyes were wide and wild, like Grant’s words had broken him open and left everything to spill out all over the forest floor. His hands visibly shook even from where Grant sat a little ways away and a slow, shuddering sigh escaped his busted lips that seemed to do anything but steady him.

Grant only hesitated a moment, then pushed himself up off the ground with the butts of his hands to cross the small distance between them. The man sunk back to the floor in front of the fugitive and tentatively reached out to take his shaking hands in his own, giving the boy time to pull away before curling his large fingers tight over the outlaw’s trembling palms. “I believe you, Flynn.” Grant repeated, a solemn promise.

A choked sort of noise strangled free from the back of the fugitive's throat, his caramel eyes searching over Grant’s face as if seeking a lie only to meet the man’s steady gaze with utter disbelief spilling forth from deep within. “You believe me.” The boy whispered softly, as if he said it too loud the world might hear and come to rip it away again. He let himself slump forward so his forehead pressed into Grant’s and another shuddering sigh escaped him, blowing gently into the ex-lawman’s face. “Oh my god, you believe me.” Flynn breathed heavily, relief ringing clearly through his gentle tones like the song of a captive bird who’d just felt the wind under its feathers for the first time in its life. It was more beautiful than anything Grant could ever hope to play.

Soft lips were pressed against his before Grant could even think of a reply, gentle and sweet like every bit of gratitude and hope that existed in this world had been bottled up and poured over Flynn’s lips. The rough scab of the bust just barely beginning to heal scratched against Grant’s lower lip, rough and coarse against the feather light brush of the outlaw’s mouth, an impossible contrast that only seemed to make the whole experience that much more real and tangible. It was so, unbelievably, different from the rough and rushed kiss Flynn had stolen from him in Shady Belle yet so familiar in all the right ways.

Flynn retreated the smallest hint of an inch, breathing a heavy breath of air against Grant’s mouth and opening caramel eyes to gaze at the man through long lashes, small smile just beginning to touch his lips.

“How could Gavin ever punch anything so pretty?” Grant asked the boy wonderingly, releasing his grip on one of Flynn’s hand to move his calloused fingers up the the outlaw’s neck, pressing his palm against the fugitive's pulse point to feel it flutter beneath his fingertips.

“I’m afraid my charm only works on you, Sheriff.” Flynn purred leaning into the man’s touch until Grant drew him back in for another kiss, a little more bite to it this time.

Grant wasn’t a sheriff anymore, his companion knew that as well as he did, but he would be lying if he said the authoritative title on the boy’s sinful lips didn’t do something for him. So instead of correcting the misuse of the word, Grant focused on pressing his lips into the outlaw’s, using his grip on the fugitive to press his thumb against Flynn’s jaw and tip his head back for a better angle.

A soft little moan escaped the fugitive at the sudden shift, the small noise vibrating against where Grant’s hand yet pressed against the outlaw’s throat and against his lips. The tiny sound drew a pleased growl for the man and, feeling encouraged, he gave a small nip to the fugitive's lower lip to try and draw it again, careful to avoid the tender scab for fear of hurting the boy.

Success was Grant’s to be had as his gentle bite drew a shuddering gasp from Flynn, and more than that as the outlaw took the action as direction and compliantly parted his lips for the man. Eagerly taking the opportunity, Grant swallowed up the delicious little noise from the boy’s mouth and took what he’d been offered, sliding his tongue past the entrance of the fugitive’s teeth and relishing the pleased groan he received for his efforts.

Flynn’s hand had found its way to Grant’s sleeve at some point and tightened in the fabric now, delicate fingers twisting in the cotton to keep the man close even as Grant pulled back for air. “Well, you’ve caught me, Sheriff.” The boy purred breathlessly, gorgeous eyes half lidded and kiss flushed lips parted ever so sweetly. “Whatcha gonna do? Hogtie me?” The outlaw teased, pressing in close so his delicate little body pressed flush against Grant’s larger frame and his cunning fingers crawled their way up the man’s chest to tug encouragingly at the top button of the thing.

“You know, I just might.” Grant growled, voice graveling in the back of his throat as his large hands found their way to Flynn’s slender hips to keep him close against him. The man revelled in the feeling of the fugitive he’d been after for so long held tight against him like this, long legs pressing around Grant’s heavy thighs and sweet little waist under his hands. He’d never really realized how much bigger he was than Flynn until he felt him under his fingers like this. The boy would be too easy to move; exactly how Grant wanted him…

But oh dear lord, he was so delicate Grant was absolutely terrified he would snap under his hands if he wasn’t careful. The man had never felt such an overwhelming mix of protectiveness and arousal in his life. It was dizzying.

“Ropes are in the saddle bag.” Flynn offered with a sinful smirk dripping from his lips, trailing his arms up around the man’s neck and grinding his sweet little hips down against the man in a way that was absolutely maddening. Grant should’ve gotten a medal for not flipping the boy over and having him then and there, really.

“Gonna be a little hard to get with you in my lap.” Grant pointed out breathlessly, words rasping in his throat as his chest heaved under Flynn’s feather soft finger tips.

God, if anyone had told him he’d be begging a horny, squirming wet dream of a fugitive to stop grinding on him a week ago, he would’ve laughed them out of town.

But hey, here he was.