I just cannot catch a break tonight, Kit thought as he bolted down the stairs - never risk getting caught in an elevator - away from the stranger chasing him.

He had dodged around the man's outstretched arm - his reflexes were fast, but Kit's were faster, and he could use his size to compensate the other's longer reach - and sprinted down the hallway, jumping down the flights of stairs.

His feet slammed into the stone steps, soles stinging, but he didn't feel it, focused on getting away.

He couldn't fight someone that size, trained and experienced, and expect to win.

Yeah, Kit had known some people might want to find him. He just didn't think they'd bother to go through all the trouble of searching properly.

Where in the world could he go? The police?

How was he even able to outrun this guy? But somehow he could - somehow he was faster, running, sprinting, he didn't know where, trying to think -

His feet carried him towards the busier streets, towards the stroke of restaurants, bars, and clubs without him thinking about it, trying to lose the man in the crowds, his hears pounding. 

But the guy just followed, still there. Block after block. And even if Kit lost him, this man knew where he lived now...the boy was running out of options.

Digging around in his pocket Kit whirled around, moving to the side of the crowded street, slowing down as a shoulder knocked into his, sending him sideways. 

At the same time a gloved hand caught him by the shoulder, slamming him into the wall between two bars, Kit pressed the button on his small alarm, letting it fall to the ground and reaching to unfold his pocket knife - 

The personal alarm went off like a siren, but instead of flinching the man cursed and hauled him further into the alleyway, next to a pair of huge metal containers there.

With practiced ease he blocked the teenagers clumsy attempt to stab him, trapping Kit's wrist against the concrete wall behind them.

He squeezed until Kit could feel bruises forming, twisting his wrist, but the wolf gritted his teeth and refused to drop the knife.

Someone must have heard the siren - there were people everywhere around. But with the loud music blasting, no-one came. Maybe they thought it was a car alarm, or something from a club. 

Damn it, Kit thought, staring up at the man who was looking even more pissed off now, glaring down at him.

"Kitty Callaghan," he said with grim satisfaction, his grip tightening further.

They were both breathing hard after the long sprint - with how little he exercised, Kit was surprised he'd been able to run all this way.

"She's dead, she can't pay you," he spat.

"That so? Well you're alive, aren't you, missy?"

His words reminded Kit that he was still crossdressing, and it was dark, and this guy thought he was a girl.

"You're pretty damn fast... And staying in that fancy place now? Why don't we go back and take a look what's inside it? Maybe you'll find something to pay us with - "

"I'm in foster care, I don't have any money or relatives. My mom took out that loan and she's dead - "

A punch in hit gut, less hard than it might have been, cut his words short. 

"Listen, kid," the man told him, looking both sweaty and annoyed, "Get me the money or the name of someone who will. Don't make this any harder for yourself."

As the man pressed him back, Kit felt that beastly fury well up inside him again, thought that maybe he shouldn't force it down anymore, maybe he should let it out - 

I think I've let enough assholes threaten me in one night.

Staring at the stranger that had chased and hit him, Kit embraced the feeling he'd found earlier, while facing himself in the bathroom mirror.

It rose at once and the werewolf welcomed it, felt the sharp electric current flooding his body, urging it on. 

At the full moon he'd resisted until the change overcame him. This sensation held the same painful edge, but it was slower, more simmering, a heat less like an explosion and more like a pot coming to boil, spreading through his limbs as they itched, beginning to hurt, his vision shifting - 

The man's scent flooding his nostrils as his gums stung, aching to bite, render, tear his throat out - 

Why should he let this guy manhandle him?

"Let go," Kit growled, low and predatory. He showed teeth, long curved wolf's canines, and the older man flinched.

He growled, snapping his jaws, vision sharp and monochrome.

"What the fu – " the man said, his grip on Kit tightening.

A crash sounded to their right and both of their heads snapped up. Three feet away, a painted steel door slammed open into the alley.

There stood Zach, gripping a huge black trash bag in each hand.

He was standing there, gripping the bags and watching them levelly. His eyes took in Kit, feet dangling in the air, and the other man gripping him.

"Hm," he said conversationally, with his usual lazy, drawn-out inflection. "I thought I heard a noise back here."

Kit took that moment to drive his knee up into the other man's crotch, slamming his forehead into his nose with a sickening 'crunch'.

The man just grunted and held onto him harder, but then he let go and Kit dropped, getting his balance back just in time to see Zach kick in the side of the guy's knee before landing a punch  below his ribs.

The young man's fingers closed on Kit's hoodie and he yanked the shorter boy in behind him, pulling out a small, black sidearm from underneath his apron and levelling it at the older man. 

"Who do you work for?" he asked.

Kit could only stare at him. Zach, with a gun? A bartender and college student? How come he had a concealed weapon and knew - what, martial arts? Street fighting?

"Ask the girl," the man replied, eyes flickering between the two of them. "Are you going to shoot me here?"

"Hah, maybe if you give me enough reason. If I do, I know who to call."

"Ah." The man's eyes narrowed, flicking between Zach and the firearm. So you're old Devereux's - "

"Don't come back here."

"I won't." Then he nodded to Kit. "But I'll see you around, little miss."

And then he was gone, stepping away and melting back into the crowd.

"What the fuck - "

"Come inside. I'm just closing up."

Kit followed just inside the door, to a crowded storeroom, watching him straighten a stack of boxes and stop by the extra kegs as if he hadn't just pulled a gun on someone.

"I'll say it again," he said slowly, articulating every word. "What the fu - "

"I do some fighting when I'm not working here or studying. Helps with...aggressions. You in trouble? Who was that?"

Kit ignored his questions. "How come I didn't know you were packing?"

"I have a permit, it's all legal. But I'm rarely armed at work. Payday weekends can bring a rough crowd though - you've never come by on one, before."

They stared at each other.

"You're cheeks are awful red, doc."

"It's called rouge. Never leave home without it - compliments my complexion."

"It's shaped like a handprint."

"Clearly you've not kept in touch with current fashions. This is all the rage."

"Sure it is. Nice shirt, by the way."

"Oh, you like it? I think I just stole it."

He glanced down at the pink long-sleeved tee he was wearing, with it's big, white, stylised kitten on the front. 

"Come on," Zach said, tucking the handgun away. "Wait at the bar while I finish closing. You probably shouldn't be alone right now."

He shrugged as if he didn't really care either way, and motioned for Kit to follow him. There were only a couple of late patrons left, on their way out.

A bouncer stuck his head in to wave them out, and Kit recognized him as the same guy that had called him 'little girl' the first time he came here, so he blew him a kiss and winked when his mouth fell open. 

"Where are you from, sweetheart? What are you doing in a place like this?" one of the customers stopped to ask Kit, glancing over his body on his way out. 

"Nowhere, nothing, fuck off," Kit replied without affording him a glance, making the man startle and decide to keep moving, shooting them a dirty look.

"People ask me where I'm from all the time too," Zach told him, taking the towel off his shoulder and dropping it onto the bar, quirking one eyebrow at Kit, smirking.

"I imagine you can't give them the same answer. Since you're working."

"Yeah, I just say 'here'. And when them don't believe me I tell them I'm Japanese. Or Scandinavian." He dragged a hand through his short dreadlocks, a wicked lazy grin playing on his full lips.

"If they don't believe me then, I can call them racists and toss 'em out - but they usually just stare at me."

Kit laughed. It felt good to do so, adrenaline still pumping through his veins, giving him an elated feeling, a rush of recklessness.

"But now I'm almost finished working. So I can say what I want."

"And what do you want?"

"Hm." He looked at Kit meaningfully. "Real question is, what are you doing here, all alone, so late? Come to see me sweat?"

"You don't work hard enough to break a sweat."

"I can work hard, little miss, if I have the right incentive. Very hard."

Kit grinned, forgetting his grim mood for a moment, leaning against a table in a way that showed off every inch of skin exposed by the stupid skirt he was still wearing.

"Did Charlie come back here? After I left?"

"Why? You lost him or something?"

"Just answer me."

Zach looked down again, facing away as he gathered up the glasses left on the bartop and began arranging them in a yellow plastic tray for the dishwasher, beer, whiskey, highball, shot, and cocktail glasses separately. 

"Blondie might've been by. Think I saw him leave with my boss. You want a drink?"

He picked up a bottle of tequila with a pourer, setting it down on the counter between them. Above him, rows of clean wineglasses hung from their stems, glinting in the low light. 

"You sure? He's with Mr. Devereux?" Kit pressed him. He ignored the liquor, even though it was the first time Zach had offered him anything but soda. 

The bartender looked up and met his eyes, expression bland. 

"Yes," he answered, holding his gaze, "He's with Amos."

So Charlie is fine then? He's...safe. 

Suddenly, it all came crashing down upon Kit, this whole night, everything that had happened, hitting him like a pile of rocks and making him stagger.  

When he called, he was just worried about me.

His uncle's tear-streaked face. His mother's voice as she begged him for help and her cold, dry hand in his. His classmates' hungry, malicious expressions, crowding around him - Oliver's betrayal, his threats - and heavy footsteps chasing him, running with nowhere to go, slammed against an alley wall and then his own desire to lunge and snap and kill - 

Help me...

Please Kit, I need you to -

- Help me - 

I hate you!

And then there was Zach, possessing a gun, looking and sounding like someone very different from the laid-back bartender Kit had gotten to know over the last few months. 

The werewolf looked up slowly, eyes brimming with self-loathing, and met the older boy's eyes. 

Zach was watching him with that annoying, lazy, detached look on his face. That stupid curl of his lip as if he found Kit vaguely amusing. 

He was only two years older and yet he had a job, was getting an education, was independent, had a weapon and didn't seem to give a flying fuck whether most people in the world lived or died. 

A wave of jealousy hit the wolf, and right then, a thought crystallised in his mind.

I want to ruin that indifference. I want to make it crack. 

"Remember when I said I'd like to see you angry, Zach?" he murmured.

"And now you've changed your mind?"

"No."

Kit pushed away from the door, peeling himself away from it, stalking slowly forward to where Zach was standing.

He had no way of finding Charlie until he called him back, and it was already very late or very early, depending on how you looked at things. The idea of going back alone, spending the night with only his memories and nightmares did not appeal to Kit.

Besides, he wanted to stop thinking, and he was feeling reckless, and itching to have someone's body pressed up against his...

Zach, smiling, teasing, daring him... Kit didn't want to think, only wanted to feel corporal pleasure. This cocksure young man just might be offering it to him.

He let his gaze wander over him, slowly, openly. That apron wrapped around those hips and that tapered waist, black shirt over strong shoulders, moving, working, leaning over the bar with his sleeves rolled up, damp from water.

A bit of hair over his forehead, light brown hands flexing, handling kitchen knives and cocktail shakers with easy, smooth nonchalance. And then, when his dark gaze turned up to snag Kit's, catching him staring and flashing white teeth in a lazy, predatory grin - his stomach flipped over.

They were both mixed-raced with deadbeat dads and Zach had one thing Kit really envied - he didn't seem to care deeply about anything or any one.

"You, breaking a sweat? Maybe you should show me. Otherwise I'm not sure I can believe you."

During how many weeks had Kit been watching Zach's hands, the sinewy muscles under his black apron?

And how many times had the bartender playfully invited him to stay behind after closing, leave Charlie to get home by himself?

Now here they were. Alone. After closing.

"Want me to show you?" Zach's voice dropped, lower, eyes darker, roaming over him. Kit preened under his gaze, capturing it.

"Mhm. Show me a good time."

"Oh, doc. You don't know what you're asking me."

Kit stretched slowly, languidly, and started walking towards him. For the first time, he continued around the bar, crossing over that physical and metaphorical barrier between them.

"I think I do. Show me what you got, Zachary."

Zach let out a long breath and moved forward just as slowly, a dance where they regarded each other, snake and snake charmer, impossible to tell who played which part.

He slowly placed his hands on either side of Kit, crowding his body against the counter without touching him, heat radiating between their bodies.

Kit looked up at the young man in front of him - toned, lean, not tall but broad-shouldered, his torso forming a v-shape that led down to his slim hips, facing Kit's, inches away from touching.

Though he was only a couple of years older, Zach had the body of a young man, not a boy.

He smelled like cigarettes and sticky alcohol and soap and sweat and Kit wanted to taste his skin - lick the sweat off the collarbone peeking out over the top of his black tee -

It was like gravity pulling them together when Zach leaned down and kissed him, slow, unhurried, like they had all the time in the world.

Lazy bastard.

Kit pressed his body forward, until he finally hard Zach's firm body pressed against his through their clothes, opening his mouth to suck on the older boy's lower lip.

Zach hummed, pressing him closer, trapping him between the counter and his body, almost uncomfortably.

Then he pulled back to grin down at the younger boy, stroking his thumb along his jaw with a look of triumph, as if he finally had him precisely where he wanted him.

"You're going to be a tease, aren't you?" Kit grumbled, but he was already growing short of breath from the feeling of being pinned like this, something digging into his back.

"Oh, you've no idea. But you will..." he murmured back, fingers tangling into Kit's unruly curls, yanking his head back to look up at him.

Zach was average height, but he still loomed over the little werewolf.

Looking up into his dark, hungry eyes Kit felt a thrill off excitement and anticipation run through him.

Let's see what it takes...for you to lose that cool. 

He raised his arm and swept the entire tray of glasses Zach had been arranging down onto the floor, shattering each one on the tiles at their feet. 

"Looks like you're not done cleaning up," he said, holding the older boy's gaze.