When the man stirred into wakefulness the next morning, the first thought that hit him was the stomach twisting fear that Flynn had changed his mind about letting the ex-lawman help him and disappeared in the night as he was so good at. However, as he slowly became aware of himself, Grant also became aware of the warm weight tucked into his side and the subtle smell of lemons and honey tickling his nose. The man’s eyes blinked blearily open to take in smudges of mahogany overrunning his vision, vague shapes that slowly took shaped into wild locks of Flynn’s hair. The strands were mussed and sticking up in ways Grant had never seen them before, defying gravity to sweep straight vertically in places and sticking flat to his head in others in a complete, disarrayed mess. One particular strand was conducting a valiant conquest for Grant’s left nostril.

The man couldn’t feel his right arm whatsoever, just a dull, numb fuzz of sensation pricking through his deprived nerves where there had one been a functional limb, but Grant was willing to give up the ability to feel his arm any day if it meant he got to wake up to this every morning. Flynn’s head lay atop his arm - which was still actually there, thankfully - and his face nuzzled in to press against the man’s broad chest, messy hair framing his sleeping features and flying up wildy in defiance of the laws of physics most normal people were usually willing to submit to.

Flynn’s long, dark lashes dusted against his pale cheeks and his pink lips parted in small, warm breaths Grant could feel barely ghost against his bare skin. The ugly bruises Gavin had dealt him still stained his moonlight skin, deep purple beginning to give way to green on the edges and a dark scab still sat on the edge of his lower lip, but his face was still as gorgeous as ever as if just to spite the cruel wounds. 

It was not the undeniable prettiness of the outlaw’s dainty features that had the man so enraptured, however, but the rare look of calm settled over his face. His eyes closed softly, with no hint of tiredness straining the edges, and his brows were smooth and uncreased. No worry lines marred his full cheeks and stress kept its hands off his bitten lips, no frown or worrying teeth tormenting the supple flesh.

Grant made it his mission in life to make Flynn look that peaceful awake too.

The fugitive's long legs tangled with the man’s and he slotted up against Grant’s side as if he were crafted to fit there, lithe body pressed tight into the man’s and held securely there by Grant’s large arm flopped across them both to wrap around the outlaw’s slim waist. Flynn’s hand rested against the ex-lawman’s chest, delicate fingers curled into the mess of thick, coarse hair growing there as if there had been some definite petting before he’d fallen asleep.

Grant couldn’t get over how vulnerable Flynn was like this, not a single defense to his name or a guard in place to protect him had the ex-lawman decided he wanted his old job back and knew how to get it. Seeing the fugitive's defenses completely down, especially when it was such a risk for the boy Grant knew had learned well to be mistrustful and wary of the world, sent a rising wave of something hot and protective flaming through him like wildfire catching on a dry field. The overwhelming trust nearly made the man queasy - The weight of it settling over his chest like a boulder.

Grant tried to twitch the fingers of his lost arm but motor control seemed to have been forgone long ago and they didn’t so much as move an inch. With a sigh, he abandoned the useless quest and let his tired eyelids slip closed again, drawing Flynn’s dainty body in close and hoping to whatever god was in charge of sleep that the boy didn’t open his open his eyes just yet. He wanted to preserve that rare peaceful look as long as possible.

Sadly, the gods were apparently not feeling so benevolent this morning and Flynn shifted against the man’s side not a moment later, an unintelligible sound of groggy protest groaning past his lips as he turned his face into Grant’s chest to escape the cruel light of dawn. The boy’s upturned nose buried in the man’s curling chest hair and a huffy little noise escaped him as if it tickled but he wiggled himself in deeper nevertheless, burrowing down with a tiny, digging nuzzle as Grant bought a large hand up to rest against his head.

The man stroked over the mussed strands, pressing the boy’s messy hair back under the smooth run of his hand and tangling his fingers through wild locks. Grant let his nails drag gently over the outlaw’s scalp as soft strands caught between his thick digits, earning a sleepy hum of pleasure from the man laying across his chest.

Flynn eventually shifted, bringing his nose up out of Grant’s chest to gaze lazily up at him, coffee eyes blinking slowly as a small smile played across his lips. “‘Could get used to this.” The fugitive admitted warmly, contentment dancing over his soft features as he leaned into Grant’s touch, honey orbs slipping closed once more and relaxed sigh breathing heavily out against the hair covering the ex-lawman’s chest. It kinda tickled.

“If I could feel my arm, I’m sure I would agree.” Grant seconded in a gruff chuckle, smiling down at the boy with something warm expanding in his chest, swelling up like a balloon until it pressed into his bones and sent a sepia dawnlight dripping through his veins.

Flynn gave an amused snort of a laugh and pushed himself up so his angled shoulder no longer blocked circulation, sending an explosive chill down the limb as blood rushed out to greet it, pricking nerves sparking back to life in a way that was anything but pleasant. “We should head out as soon as possible, I didn’t mean for us to sleep this late.” The outlaw decided, refocusing himself with a long stretch, slender arms pulled up over his head and back arching to create a smooth curve showing off every lean muscle of the boy’s tensed stomach until a loud pop could be heard and his face contorted into a twisted but oddly satisfied grimace.

“Alright.” Grant agreed easily, pushing himself up off the forest floor and wondering at how his back miraculously wasn’t screaming bloody murder after all it had been forced through. Then again, Flynn did still make him feel years younger than he had in ages, even when he wasn’t chasing him down. “Where to?” The man asked, as eager as his companion to hurry on their mission and put an end to all this. Flynn deserved a life where he didn't have to hide from every snapping twig and Grant was determined to make sure he got it.

“Your deputy’s house.” Flynn informed instantly, not a flicker of doubt in his blazing eyes.