It had been a long time since Flynn felt clean. When he was younger, when the thieving was good, he didn't mind his life. Flinch a few jewels here, a few coins there, plot to steal a couple of crowns. Life had been good. That was before the royals of Corona had put a lucrative price on his head and he had met Hans.
Now his body was covered in invisible burns from the Prince's mouth. And his hands bound by invisible chains.
Even if ran now, could he escape the hold that Hans had on him? Already he dreamt of the Prince, found his hands tracing the bruises on his body. He hated the desperation he felt when Hans wasn't there. The way his body yearned for his touch. The way his thoughts would turn to the Prince's fingers, or the heat of his mouth.
Flynn was beginning to wonder if he would ever feel clean again.
