The Vitali's tires squeal before finding purchase on the marble and speeding out of the elevator into the atrium. The guards, unprepared, throw themselves out of the way like bowling pins. Employees flee the chaos, clearing a runway toward the doors. Zef braces himself for the impact, arms around his head. The glass entryway shatters into diamond dust, streaking the Vitali's perfect paint with a meteor shower of scratches.

Zef shrieks, watching between his fingers as Gray veers to avoid pedestrians. The Vitali tears around the road, spewing exhaust at Bionic Capital behind them.

Glancing at Zef, Gray scoffs and reaches across to buckle his seatbelt for him. "Safety first."

It's a fucking terrible joke, but as they pass another billboard where a man gives his anal beads a good tug, it's impossible not to laugh. It's a hysterical laugh. Hysterical in the macabre and vaguely misogynistic sense. Like, full on 'the yellow wallpaper' levels of manic laugh. It's wild and angry and cathartic.

They did it. Fuck Bionic Capital. Fuck the chains they put around Gray, around Zef. Fuck having to listen to some cyborg in a skin suit strip them of their autonomy, their identity, their bodies. They were taking it all back.

Zef's laughter bubbles into giggles. Beside him, Gray raises his eyebrows, a disbelieving smile cracking his own face. "Fuck, didn't break ya, did I?"

Between hasty, hyperventilating breaths, Zef says, "I think I've transcended any normal reactions. I just—" He takes a few deep breaths to calm himself. "We did it. You're free."

Gray looks briefly surprised, like the idea hadn't yet sunk in. "Not quite. But one step closer."

"Where to now?"

"Well, gotta dispose of this car, seeing as it's evidence, now. So..." An impish grin is the only clue he gives.

They race a circuitous route through the city towards the pier. Gray stops and leans across Zef to open his door. "You, out."

"What are you going to—?"

"Won't ruin the surprise. I'll be with you lickety split, promise."

Zef totters out of the car. Christ, he can't wait to get out of this dress and into some comfy clothes. Gray revs the engine, and only then does Zef realise it's a straight shot from where they stand into the 'Sippi bay.

His shout of "Gray, wait!" gets drowned out by the Vitali's roaring engine. The car spits towards the end of the pier. As it comes within yards of the edge, Zef's adrenaline consumes him in a fireball of panic. It would be so simple for Gray to simply drown with it—

Instead, he dives out the window seconds before the Vitali hurls herself into the sea with a tidal splash. Gray rolls, gets up, adjusts his skirt. Zef doesn't know whether to kiss him or kick him in the shins as he runs up and takes Zef's hand.

"Time to go, lover."

Of course, he would say the exact word that makes Zef forgive him instantly for the complimentary heart attack.

They flee. In heels, it's a quick strut so as not to look too conspicuous. Damo guides them on a circuitous route free of cameras. Through the streets, the subway system, to the vacant alley where they'd left a stash of clothes to change into and dumpsters to dispose of their disguises. While Zef gets dressed and scrapes away the makeup with a wipe, he can't help watching Gray strip out of his tights, then skirt. He's committed to the bit, wearing black panties underneath, the lacey pattern too delicate for his scraped knees. Zef still finds himself marvelling at the sweet contradiction of him. Hard, rough edges. Soft, fragile heart.

Maybe it's all the porn they kept passing on billboards. Maybe it's the adrenaline-high of victory. Zef heard about life or death scenarios where, instead of 'fight or flight,' some people settled on 'fuck.' In a, 'well, if it's the end of the world, one last chance to spread my genetic legacy,' kind of way.

It's not any of that which makes heat rise to Zef's face. It's just Gray. Beautiful and contradictory and sometimes confusing, but Zef feels like he knows him. Could recreate his fingerprints from memory just for having known the touch of them.

Gray straightens up, buckling his pants and shrugging into his usual jacket. He catches sight of Zef, frozen and staring.

He makes a soft huff of laughter, tasting the edge of his teeth. "Don't be lookin' at me like that if you ain't gonna do something about it, darlin'."

Zef grabs him by the jacket lapels and kisses him. A tasting kiss, tongue slipped past Gray's lips to draw him in. Or it starts that way. Then a stab of self-consciousness takes over, and Zef starts to step back.

"Sorry."

"Oh, no," Gray says, grabbing him by the back of the neck. "Don't say sorry when I'm askin' you for it."

Zef's pretty sure he's the colour of a traffic light, only his expression probably says 'go' not 'stop.' He cups Gray's jaw, thumbing his chin until his lips part. They sink into one another, kissing on the gust of shared laughter after their escape. Gray opens his mouth and makes a noise of desperate want. Once carefully controlled and contained, now unchecked.

Gray kept up such a guard. Tinted glass through which Zef only glimpsed the shadows of desire. He's letting it out, unwinding in Zef's arms.

Testing the theory, Zef grabs his waist, thumbs tracing the edge of a hipbone through far too much fabric. Then he spins them, pressing Gray's back to the wall, kissing with no pretence of purity or chasteness.

And Gray. Gray clutches Zef closer and lets the quietest whimper tumble from his mouth into Zef's. Nothing like the brashness of their first taste of each other in the mansion, but yieldingly vulnerable with need. It ignites like gunpowder in Zef's heart, heating him through. He tips Gray's head to kiss his throat with scraping teeth. A shiver travels the length of Gray's body, wild enough to feel every place they touch.

Zef traces a hand down his neck to the collar of his rumpled shirt. Experimentally, he pops the first button open. It kills him the tattoos are hidden beneath foundation. Kills him how naked this feels while fully clothed. They'd been naked together before, but not like this.

There's a question in the action. Is this too far? Is this what you want?

Gray gives a breathless nod.

It feels miraculous. Gray trusting him without reservation. Letting himself get lost in this. His hands seize fistfulls of Zef's ass. He parts his lips to suck in air between kisses. When he tilts his head their noses bump together. He tongues Zef's lower lip, draws it into his mouth and nips. Gentle. At least, for Gray. A flush of heat effuses through Zef's body, thronging most potently between his legs. Gray grinds closer, and Zef can't help it. He bucks against the pressure of Gray's thigh tucked between his own.

Zef undoes another button on Gray's shirt. Another. Tugs it over his shoulder to kiss the ink not covered in foundation. Hips arch. Gray's mouth parts on a phantom curse, cut short when he bites down on his lower lip. The irresistible need to make Gray loud, to make him scream, could bring Zef to his knees. There's no one around, but it still feels illicit.

He says, "Where can I touch you?"

Gray pulls back, teeth bared just a little with the breath of a laugh. "In an alley? For your first time?"

Zef noses the hinge of Gray's jaw. "If you object—"

"Weren't long ago you couldn't see a stripper without tensin' up. Am I corruptin' ya?"

"Yes." Unapologetic. He thinks about a knife slid smoothly into the belly of a man on a subway. Life never gave Gray the option to be pure, but maybe they can be twisted together. Braided and beautiful instead of crooked and broken.

Gray goes still. The heat simmers between them, shivering like summer heat on the tarmac. "I'd let you do anything to me right now, darlin'. But you sure you want—" Me. "This? Here?"

Zef gives that it's due. He leans forward and, with admirable restraint, kisses Gray soft and chaste with a promise of more. He pulls back enough to say, "I don't want a bed of roses, just you."

Gray doesn't breathe. Locked up. He licks his lips and the stroke of Zef's thumb against his cheek makes the held breath shiver out of him. Then he tips forward, both hands on the back of Zef's neck, in his hair, drawing him into an open-mouthed kiss that lingers and devours.

When he pulls back, he takes Zef's hand and brings it to his lips. Kisses the palm. The pads of each finger. Transfixed, Zef watches flushed lips with that hairline scar wrap around his index and middle fingers. Gray's tongue wraps around them, and his hooded eyes open to meet Zef's, and it all travels South like potent liquor.

A noise happens. A noise that is Zef and is disembodied from him. He didn't know he could whimper like that.

Gray's cheeks dimple with the hint of a smile, then hollow as he sucks Zef's fingers all the way into his mouth. With his other hand, he unbuckles his belt and pulls open the fly. Zef glimpses pale skin and the hatching of dark hair.

Then Gray's lips pull off his fingers with an obscene, wet pop and he guides Zef's hand into his pants.

Zef's mind goes blissfully quiet and loud, over-stuffed and blank. Anxiety that he's never done this briefly crowds out the confidence, but he moves instinctually, comforted by the familiarity of Gray's body to his own. He slides two fingers between Gray's lips, and Gray sags back against the wall. Zef goes with him, leaving little space between, only enough for his arm. He gently parts Gray's pussy with his fingers and rubs over his hardened clit.

The noise Gray makes is a sin. Would, on its own, get him a pornographic film rating even though it's full of mathematical poetry. Something universally, intimately true.

Zef rubs in a circular motion, fingers slippery with Gray's spit. Gray goes boneless and shivery, held up barely by an arm flung around Zef's shoulders and Zef sandwiching him against the wall.

Gray bucks his hips. "C'mon, darlin'."

Zef flushes hot with those words. The soft lace of Gray's underwear hugs Zef's wrist as he sinks his hand deeper, pressing his fingers until Gray wetly yields around them. Gray's back arches, the bower of his ribs cleaved to Zef's body.

He begs silently. Zef wants it less silent.

He nips Gray's exposed throat and sinks his fingers in deep, hips moving with them, taking up a rhythm matching the bright bursts of Gray's heady breathing.

Gray clutches a fistful of Zef's hair. His hips move. Urging. "More."

"More?"

"More."

Zef's mouth waters. He slides his ring finger in to join the others, the slick tightness of Gray's pussy clenching around them. Zef pulls upward, letting gravity work in his favour, and Gray— he sinks into it on a bitten off moan, hands grasping Zef with the frantic need to hold on, teeth catching his bottom lip hard enough to bruise.

"F-fuck."

Zef interprets that as a command and moves. Not just his fingers. He moves bodily, fucking Gray up against the wall, revelling in the way Gray spreads his thighs to let Zef in. His palm cups Gray's clit, fingers hooking inside.

"Zef."

Zef likes that sound. The sound of Gray gasping his name. The quiet, slick rhythm of his fingers fucking him. The thump of his ass hitting the wall with every quickening push of Zef's hand. He'd imagined what Gray felt like, but now he thinks about that moment they nearly kissed on the piano, and what kind of music they'd have made if he'd been less a coward. Had the kind of guts Gray did.

Can't bring himself to regret it with Gray clinging onto him, one leg trying to hook around Zef's hips, face buried in Zef's neck while his hot breath huffs against Zef's sensitive skin.

He feels that breath whisper against his ear as Gray turns his head and moans, "Fuck, Zef. I'm— Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Zef curls his fingers hard, presses his palm over Gray's clit, feeling the quake of Gray's body from wrist to elbow. He goes silent as he cums. Nothing but a bitten off grunt, dredged up from between clenched teeth. His hips give two aborted thrusts onto Zef's fingers, held tight within. Finally, he starts to loosen. His leg, shaking, lowers from Zef's hips, foot searching for solid ground. He sags against the wall. Zef goes with him, holding him up with one arm while he slips his sticky fingers free.

Gray recovers admirably quick. He does up his pants, tucking in his shirt. His tongue darts over his bitten lips.

Nervously, thinking it's over, afraid of what conversation will follow, Zef says, "We should get back to—"

Gray seizes him by the back of the neck and kisses him. "Shut up."

Then he gets to his knees and tugs Zef forward by the belt.

"Woah, you don't have to!"

Gray already has the belt undone. "I want to. C'mere."

The sight of Gray on his knees nearly makes Zef's buckle. Gray looks up at him with eyes framed with doe-like lashes, pupils blown wide. He licks his lips, which, on his knees, looks different. Makes heat bloom in a part of Zef's body he often ignores.

Gray senses the source of his hesitation. His hands bracket Zef's hips, holding him in place, framing a part of his body that craves pleasure even as he feels uncertain of it.

Gray says, "Would it feel good if I sucked you off?"

The wording is a lace untied. Any knotted hesitation Zef had comes undone. "Yeah. Yes. Mhm, that sounds— yeah, please."

Gray smiles. Undoes Zef's fly one handed, the other circling to Zef's lower back, a comforting weight guiding him closer. Gray kneels nearly between Zef's legs. He tugs Zef's pants down, hot breath touching him where he rarely touches himself.

He takes one of Zef's hands. Somehow charming and chivalrous and gentle while guiding it to his head, encouraging him to hold onto his hair.

Gray looks up. Says, "Yeah?"

"Yes."

Then Gray nuzzles his nose into the thatch of hair and tongues over Zef's cock. Heat engulfs him. Deletes his ability to speak. Makes his brain bluescreen.

Fuck, it feels good.

Gray's arm tightens around his hips. Trapping Zef against his mouth. Gray has to tilt his head back to get the right angle, but his head gives the minutest bob, and when Zef looks down it really is like he's getting blown rather than eaten out, and he doesn't know why that should matter— He'd eat Gray out for three square meals a day if he could. But it matters that it's different for him, and that Gray gets it, and that he doesn't hesitate to gulp and suck while Zef's legs turn to Jell-O.

He catches himself against the wall with a hand. The brick bites into his palm. Grounds him in a way his fingers tangled in Gray's hair do not. In a way the pleasure snaking up his spine, coiling like conductive copper through every nerve, could never. His hips jerk a little. He wants to move. Curl close and get under Gray's skin. Gray hums in encouragement, the noise felt in vibrations that make it hard to keep standing.

"Gray, I can't— stand. Gonna."

Gray licks with the flat of his tongue up Zef's dick and responds, "Shut up and fuck my face, darlin'."

If Zef was a cartoon character, he'd have spouted a fantastic nosebleed. Gray can't just say something like that and expect Zef to get on with his day.

He looks up at Zef all breathless and gently commanding with too-shiny lips, and he must see the storm of lust in Zef's expression, 'cause he smirks and licks those lips with the taste of Zef on them, then goes back to sucking Zef's cock. Dives in. Nose scrunched adorably. A hot tongue the only thing Zef can feel.

He holds Gray's head steady. Really? he thinks. Is this allowed? But he thrusts experimentally against Gray's mouth and has to stifle a moan at the pleasure smouldering through him, building in intensity. A lustful engine stoked without coolant. Seconds to meltdown. His grip on restraint slips, and it terrifies him. Leaning against the wall, legs spread with Gray between them. Eyelashes dipped in ink and combed over flushed cheeks. Focused and somehow endearingly, tenderly innocent. Attentive. Unguarded. An angel on his knees in an alleyway.

A picture tattooed indelibly to Zef's memory.

He surrenders. Gasps and thrusts against Gray's mouth. Gray encourages him with a clap to his ass like he's a stallion set loose. So Zef does it. Sets himself loose. Rolling his hips while Gray sucks. Dizzyingly free from restraint.

He cums while engulfed in the paradise of Gray's mouth, and for the blinding flash of seconds while his bones lose their ability to hold him, whatever dysphoria he had about that part of his body fades like an overexposed photograph.

Gray doesn't pull away from him until he's done and trembling. With gentlemanly calm, Gray clothes him, pulling up his pants and zipping the fly. Buckling his belt. Standing to tuck his shirt.

His mouth is still glossy and wet. With the back of a wrist, he wipes it. A motion familiar because the last time he'd done it, it had been to wipe blood off his face. Zef wishes he understood the way his mind braids the violent Gray with the gently intimate one before him.

"Good to go, darlin'?" He looks almost shy.

Zef cups his cheeks and kisses him. A tender thing laced with gratitude.

Gray melts into it a little, but pulls back too soon. "Shucks. I'll take that as a compliment."

He heads towards the mouth of the alley, dressed in his usual clothes and his usual guard. An old, familiar outfit.

That's okay, Zef thinks. That was all— a lot. And hot. Hot and a lot. It's okay if Gray needs to pull back a little. Adjust. Zef's flying too high to take it personally.

But as they make their way home, as Damo greets them with congratulations and freshly baked banana bread, as they shower and climb into bed and curl up around each other, it becomes harder and harder to ignore the thing Zef put from his mind from the start.

The only thing left to do is kill Rylan.

Gray falls asleep before he does. The peaceful, angelic repose of him contradicts the bloodthirsty image he'd once portrayed. He'd once said he could kill his mother in a heartbeat.

For the first time, Zef has to acknowledge the real reason that scares him. Not because 'there must be another way.' There wasn't. She'd forfeited any benefit of the doubt he could give. It's not because he's afraid for their mortal souls, either.

It's because Gray is so much softer than he pretends to be, and Rylan is his mother.

Will it really take as little as a heartbeat to kill her?