Embarrassment colours Zef's cheeks. Abruptly, he becomes aware of the way Gray's ass fits against him. He's had the privilege of seeing that ass painted in denim and stark naked by moonlight. It's heart-shaped and you could bounce quarters off it and it stars in every fantasy Zef rarely lets himself indulge.

Difficult not to think about it now.

He'd told Damo he wanted bottom surgery, but that desire turns desperate when Gray arches his beautiful ass against Zef and lets out a hopelessly breathless noise of want.

Yep. That noise is going to be a problem. It is going to replay in his memory at inappropriate times, he just knows it.

Not now. Now, Zef needs to find a way to extricate himself from this without waking Gray and causing embarrassment. Not that they didn't spend last night playing tongue twisters in the literal sense, but this is different. Unconscious. Involuntary. Just a dream, and Gray doesn't need any more distress around sleep than he already has.

Zef tries to gently pull away. It wakes Gray, because of course it does. His breathy noises stop abruptly. His shoulders stiffen.

Hoping to save him from embarrassment, Zef says, "Were you having another nightmare?"

Gray looks over his shoulder, cheeks blooming with colour. "Uh, yeah."

Zef tries to go along with it, he does, but as he gives Gray's back a comforting rub, electricity still crackles between them.

An awkward silence to end all awkward silences follows.

Zef tempts fate. "You're, uh, really tense? We have time before we need to get ready. I could give you a massage?"

Gray holds his breath. By now, Zef is coming to recognize the patterns in Gray's behaviour. The hot and cold storm of his desire for closeness warring with the fear it won't last. Zef waits quietly for Gray to land on either side of that fence.

The word 'yeah,' comes out of him so light it breaks apart like dandelion seeds in the wind.

Zef untangles himself from Gray and the sheets to get the massage oil. He warms it in his hands. Gray sits on the edge of the bed since he can't lie on his stomach without suffocating in the pillows or straining his neck. Not ideal, but Zef sits behind him and smears the oil in big, soothing circles over the ram skull, snakes and peonies curling over Gray's back.

Gray relaxes a fraction. Leans into it. But the awkward silence lingers. Zef works at the knots with gentle pressure, but Gray never uncoils completely.

"You nervous about today?" Zef asks.

"No," Gray lies.

"You're really tense."

"Always tense."

"More than usual. Here, lie down."

Zef shuffles back, sitting cross-legged so Gray can lay with his head in his lap. Gray's brow knits together then unstitches as Zef slides his hands along the taut muscles in his neck. Over his shoulders and chest. A little breath of relief huffs out of him. Neck and head massages seemed to do wonders for calming him. Zef wonders when his body became a prison, and what a relief it would be for it to feel good. Like a vessel for comfort and pleasure instead of pain. And a selfish part of him is glad to be the one to nudge him towards the former.

Another part of him can't stop staring at the blissed out expression melting across Gray's features. His eyes are closed so Zef can study every detail unobserved. The slight dimples either side of his mouth. The deep ridge where his brow meets the bridge of his nose. The scarred lips he kissed last night. Thin lines of gold run from his eyebrow up his temple and into his hairline, but his face is otherwise free of gild.

Gray opens his eyes. Half-lidded, he catches Zef staring.

"You're good with your hands," he says in a throaty rumble.

Zef's heartbeat tap dances against his sternum. He doesn't mean it like that. "You seem more relaxed."

Gray's eyelids flutter as Zef's fingers work the tightness at the base of his skull. "Giving me more feelings 'n just 'relaxed,' darlin'."

Or maybe he does mean it like that. "O-oh?"

Gray meets his eyes. "C'mon. Don't play dumb. You know it weren't no nightmare I was having."

Zef isn't playing dumb; he is dumb. Didn't think for a second Gray would talk about it, but— "Oh. So, um. What did you dream about?"

Gray's hands, folded on his belly, unlace and shift lower. Zef freezes mid-massage, the motion of Gray's knees cocking apart drawing his eyes.

Gray fingers the elastic of his boxer briefs.

Zef's throat feels thicker than when he first started testosterone. Mouth suddenly full of spit. Desire unspools stiffly from within after long years of neglect. "Do you want me to—?" Touch you.

The fine bones of Gray's hands are like the delicate ivory of piano keys played in glissando as he palms himself over fabric. Rubbing with the same circular motion of his fingers that Zef had been rubbing into his temples. Zef forces himself to look away, back to Gray's face.

Gray smirks, but there's a flicker of something nervously vulnerable there, too. Like he isn't sure how this seduction game is played, but he wants badly to win.

"You keep doing what you're doing 'n watch," he says, voice husky and breathless. "I'll tell you just what I dream about."

His legs fall apart. One hand holds open the elastic of his boxer briefs. The other slides over the line of dark hair. Two fingers sink out of sight. His head tips back, lips parted on a sigh.

It's too hot. Zef is going to explode. He cannot sit here and massage Gray while he fingers himself. He will lose his mind. Already forgotten how to breathe.

Smugness tugs at the corner of Gray's lips. His eyes don't waver from Zef's face, clearly enjoying the compulsive power he holds. "Watch," he commands.

Zef does. Can't tear his eyes away, now. Morning sunlight pours in through the window, catching in the divot of Gray's navel, glowing on the curve of a rib, the deep lines of his hips as they arch. His body shakes on a shuddery breath.

"When you were in the shower last night," Gray whispers, "did you think about me like this?"

Still with Gray's head cradled in his hands, Zef leans forward and buries his face in Gray's shoulder. As good as a confession. "You're supposed to be telling me about your dreams, not mine."

Gray turns his head. His nose brushes the shell of Zef's ear. Words fan against his neck in a hot, breathless gust. "I told you to watch."

Zef obeys. He looks down the length of Gray's body. Underwear shimmied down his hips, Gray's bony wrist bends, hand tucked between his legs, moving subtly with the unseen curl of Gray's fingers inside himself. Gray licks his lips. His tongue grazes Zef's jaw.

"Fuck." Zef's curse comes out in a rush like it's him Gray's touching.

"Fallin' down on your massage duties, darlin'?"

A groan, but Zef picks himself up enough to resume kneading his fingers through Gray's hair. Chewing his lip, he holds back words he wants to say. To ask. Afraid to break whatever spell has Gray comfortably uninhibited.

Gray's movements stutter, hips rocking, getting a little faster. Fast enough to hear the wet slide of his fingers. "I was dreaming about you."

The admission would have brought Zef to his knees had he not been seated already.

"Dreamt about your hands. Bigger 'n mine. Long fingers. Had a good look while you played piano for me, remember?" He quickens his pace. Zef can't choose whether to watch Gray touching himself or his face, open in a way it never is. "Dreamt about you takin' me in that bathroom stall after you flushed that fucker's number. Thought about grabbing you by that scraggly mullet o' yours and—" Gray's mouth falls open a little in the shape of 'almost.' "Thought about your tongue in more 'n just my mouth." His eyes slip shut. "When I close my eyes, I can—"

Zef kisses him. Upside down, the sandpaper stubble of Gray's chin grazes his nose, his own chin angled against Gray's cheek. Doesn't matter if it's a little awkward, 'cause Gray tongues deep into Zef's mouth and moans as he comes. The bed shakes a little beneath them. Legs shivering. Zef comes up for air enough to nip the tip of Gray's nose. Kiss the edge of his jaw. Then Gray gets up. His legs shake a little as he lowers himself into Zef's lap, takes his face in hand, and kisses him properly. Zef feels the wetness on his cheek, smells the ocean on Gray's fingers, and promptly loses all restraint. He wraps both arms around Gray's waist, dragging him in close to crushing. Kissing him the way he'd like to fuck him. Slow, sensual, plundering. Take each other apart, all the rusted screws and broken pieces, fit new ones back together.

Gray shoves him down onto the mattress by the shoulders. Zef bounces, looking up at the tattooed god straddling his hips who says, "Your turn."

Zef flushes. "Wha?"

Gray leans back. Starts peeling Zef's underwear lower for him, waiting for an objection that never comes. He prowls on top, hovering on elbows and knees. "What are you waiting for?"

Zef's lungs do something really embarrassing. Inhaling too sharp and exhaling too slow. "Hold your horses. I— Like you did? Like this?" Feeling like he's on fire, he hovers a hand between his legs. "With you— like that?"

Gray's dark eyes hold his. "Mhm. 'N you can tell me what you thought about in the shower."

"You," Zef answers earnestly.

A breathy laugh. "I meant in more detail, darlin'."

Zef never thought he'd be one for dirty talk, but he didn't think he'd be one for bar fights or high risk heists. Once upon a time, he wouldn't have been able to say the words without slipping into a mire of shame.

Not with Gray.

He rubs his fingers between his legs, bracing for the spike of pleasure. Trying not to fall apart from the hungry way Gray looks at him while brushing a thumb over Zef's bruised lips. On a stiff inhale, Zef can practically taste Gray's pussy on his fingers.

"Tell me," Gray commands.

Zef musters his higher faculties enough to speak. "R-remember when you rode that mechanical bull?"

Gray nods.

"Way you moved your hips, I was thinking how I wanted you to ride my face."

A low hum of pleasure resonates in Gray's chest. "Keep going."

Zef rubs himself harder. "At the mansion, playing piano— I wish I'd kissed you. I wish I knew what that piano sounded like— hmm! If we'd fucked on it."

Gray's eyes glitter. He leans in for a wet, hungry kiss. "Don't hold back, now."

This is all going to be over embarrassingly quick, Zef knows, but watching Gray already got him halfway there, and now? "Wanted to pin you to the bed last night and— nnghh."

"And?"

Zef shivers. "Fuck."

"Fuck?"

"Gray, godammit, making me sound like a porno— I'm—" Gasping. Whimpering. "I'm going to—"

Gray's words brush Zef's ear. "I got a confession to make."

Pleasure burns like a brand between his legs. "Y-yeah?"

"Back at the mansion." Usually, all references to the place came with a certain solemnity. A miasma of regret. Not this time. Now, Gray's voice sizzles with heat. "I wasn't playing with you." All his b's and p's pop like his mouth is too wet. "Even if you stabbed me in the back, I thought it might be my last night on earth, and if I could go out under you? Fuck, well. Worth it."

"Gray!"

Zef's voice hits a keening note, pleasure bursting white hot and shuddering through him. He cums while Gray watches with lust-dark eyes, transfixed, kiss-wet lips whispering, "That's it," in a satisfied purr.

The aftershocks ripple over him, waves lapping at the shore of relief. He can't find his voice. Gray rolls onto his side, propped on an elbow and touching a ticklish line down Zef's belly hair.

"S-stop. Don't get me going again," Zef murmurs.

"Could I?"

Zef groans, but he feels a weird burst of pride. Pride in Gray, who finds intimacy and heartfelt confessions and sex hard. It feels like a privilege to see him this way. Recognizing the humbling power he holds over Zef and wielding it towards mind-blowing orgasms. Maybe mutual masturbation isn't the most traditional sex in the world, but hell, maybe it should be if it feels like this.

Just like before, a little of the confidence in Gray's smile wanes as self-consciousness creeps in. His brows fold.

But the teeter-totter of his mind now makes sense to Zef. They're in uncharted territory. Power and pleasure, bright and ecstatic as they are in the moment, look scary to someone who's never known a healthy relationship to either. So Zef reaches up and smooths the furrowed line between Gray's brows.

"Stop that."

"What?"

"I think Sami calls it 'catastrophizing,' but that's a fancy word for thinking too much." He lets his fingers drift down Gray's cheek, tracing the corner of his jaw. "You deserve to feel smug a little longer."

Gray snorts. "Jury's out on whether I deserve any o' this."

"You deserve more." You do deserve love, Zef thinks. And God help me if I can't give you all of mine.

"Zef, I'm not a good guy."

"You should be kissing me with that mouth, not lying with it."

There's a moment. A quiet pause while Gray digests that. Lands on the unbelievable conclusion Zef means it. Gratitude shines in Gray's expression when he leans in for that kiss.