[Er... I'll throw a link to the last chapter here when it gets posted over on Wattpad because it blows Tapas' content regulations out of the water]

He lay on his side, still shaking as he gazed over at the fugitive and Flynn shifted over to gaze back at him soon after, soft smile playing across a bruised yet beautiful face. Grant lifted a hand to gently trace the outlaw’s gorgeous features, crooking his fingers to brush his knuckles against the boy’s cheek bone and run the pad of his thumb over the corner of his busted lip.

Something strong swelled inside Grant as he gazed at the boy and he’d never meant anything more in his life than when he opened his mouth and declared, “I’m gonna prove you’re innocent.”

“Gra-What?” Flynn startled, jolting upright only to flop heavily back to the ground as his body remembered it was bound. “Get me outta these so I can knock some sense across your handsome face!” The outlaw insisted sharply, squirming onto his stomach so Grant could reach his hands, flushed cheek smooshing into the dirt to slur his words in the process.

Grant floundered for a moment, glancing around the disturbed ground for anything in the smudged dust until the lingering afterglow haze slowing his thoughts to a warm drawl began to evaporated into the cool night air and he recalled a pocket knife jammed in his pant’s pocket. The man fished around for a moment before wrapping his hands around the cold handle of the thing and he drew it out, bringing the blade up to the rope and carefully fitting the pointed tip under a loop. The ex-lawman drug the sharp edge along the thick cords in a slow saw, always cautious not to let the gleaming metal cut into the boy under the ropes, until the knot gave way under the blade.

Brushing the separated edges aside, Grant was easily able to unwind the remaining loops until Flynn’s pale skin met the moonlight and the limp strands fell away to leave him free. Harsh lines drug through the soft flesh where the unforgiving ropes had left their mark, red and angry as they ridged across the boy’s delicate wrists in tight paths. As much as he’d enjoyed the outlaw writhing against the cords - Grant decidedly did not like the ropes on the boy in the end.

Flynn flexed his unbound arms, twisting in the ways he couldn’t before with newfound freedom before pushing himself up to sit facing the ex-lawman, eyes blazing with fierce determination. “Listen here, Sheriff,“ He began sharply, crossing his lean arms defiantly over his exposed chest. “This has been real fun - But you need to get out of here before the mobs show up.” The boy demanded, pulling up a hand to jab a slender finger pointedly into the man’s chest.

“What?” Grant balked incredulously, face contorting into a confused grimace. “Flynn, I’m not going anywhere.” The man insisted determinedly, voice firm and unyielding as he reached a slow hand up to capture the delicate hand prodding his chest. He brushed the pad of his thumb carefully over the angry lines running across the fugitive's delicate wrists, trying to put his words into the soft touch so Flynn could hear them.

“Grant…” The outlaw began slowly, caramel eyes fixed to his wrists under the man’s gentle touch. “You can’t. This life, it’s not nice.” The boy denied softly, busted lips turned downwards in the ghost of a frown. “They’ll kill you if they find you here.” Flynn whispered solemnly, drawing his eyes up from their hands to meet Grant’s gaze, honey orbs sad but certain.

Grant’s grip of the boy’s captured wrist tightened, drawing him closer as he brought his other hand up to press a heavy palm against the outlaw’s neck. “Which is why we’re going to prove you didn’t do this.” The man insisted, determination hardening his voice. “I’m not letting you hang.” He promised softly, dropping his tones to a tense whisper as he pulled Flynn towards him with the guiding hand against his neck, large thumb pressing into the boy’s jaw.

Flynn’s lower lip drew between his teeth, the gnawed flesh rolling under his dull fangs. He stared at the man, expression unreadable and body language tense, muscles taunt and drawn under Grant’s fingers and slender digits of his free hand clenched tight against his leg. “I can’t change your mind?” He finally asked slowly, finally letting himself sink into the caress to be drawn forward, lips meeting Grant’s in a small, soft brush.

The ex-lawman shook his head adamantly, trying to push as much certainty as he could into the reassuring peck. This wasn’t something he would be swayed on: He was going to get Flynn out of this.

“Okay.” Flynn breathed hesitantly, voice nothing more than a gentle touch of air against Grant’s lips. “Okay, let’s go.” The outlaw restated, taking Grant by surprise as he pulled back to press his pale hands into dirt and began push his body off the floor.

“What? Right now?” Grant balked incredulously, leaning up on a hand as he watched the outlaw, roiling disbelief written all over face. Not only was it ass o’clock at night and dark as Silver out here, but Grant, for one, couldn’t feel his fucking legs.

“Yes, right now!” Flynn shot back, wavering to an unsteady stand. However, his long legs didn’t quite seem in touch with the rest of lithe body, refusing to cooperate and visibly shaking under his weight. The fugitive took one, unsteady step forward - and Grant was almost impressed - but he didn’t make it a second before his left leg promptly gave out, sending him flailing unoothly until he hit the ground with muffled “oomph.”

“What say we get some rest and go tomorrow?” Grant suggested in a warm chuckle, smirking over at the outlaw who pulled up off the ground with a leaf stuck to his cheek and an indignant glare blazing across his face. Even when he was pouting and prissy, he was still fucking cute.

“You and your fuckin’ big dick.” Flynn groaned spitefully, flicking the persistent scrap of nature with a miffed snort, but the light smile pricking at the very corner of his lip assured the man there was no actual malice behind it. Despite his sharp words, the outlaw shifted over to flop down at Grant’s side with an overexaggerated huff, his angular shoulders just brushing the ex-lawman’s as he crooked an arm behind his head and let his gaze shift up to the sky, dying moonlight playing softly over his pale cheeks.

“The stars are out.” Flynn hummed in a pleased voice, soft smile brushing over his lips as his small hand found Grant’s on the ground and he interlocked their fingers with a warm squeeze, delicate digits soft and breakable under Grant’s large hand.

“They are.” Grant agreed, turning to watch the bright shine of happiness spark through Flynn’s honey eyes.