Neon Rush {M/M} ❀

Ch. 11.2 Trans Man in Exquisite Repose

Careful, slow, like he's approaching a wild animal, Zef raises his hand to brush his fingers feather-light against the arch of a cheekbone. Gray's skin is pale, easily bruised, and sure enough a blossom of colour is coming to the socket of his eye where he got punched tonight. Zef takes care to be gentle. Gray tilts his head by a tiny measure. An invitation. So Zef cups his cheek with his open palm.

It's not being naked that feels vulnerable, now. It's the way Gray's looking at him like he's afraid but doesn't wanna be.

"Okay?" Asks Zef.

Gray closes his eyes. "Yeah."

"Can I ask? Why is this— Why don't you like it? Normally, I mean, not now. Unless you don't like it. Now. I can stop." He's babbling. "Sorry. You don't have to answer—"

"It's how they controlled me," Gray says. His breath comes out a shiver, lower lip caught in his teeth. "If they wanted to...to override my tech controls, make me do things I didn't want to— All they had to do was touch me and I just became a ghost in my own body."

He opens his eyes to meet Zef's and gazes at him, not speaking for what feels like a very long time.

Zef had guessed at the reason, and he'd been right, but it's harder hearing it out loud. A protective urge overcomes him. He suppresses the need to cradle the back of Gray's head and draw him in. That feels like more than Gray permitted. But the thought of someone— anyone— having that degree of control over Gray?

That photo of him in the factory feels tragic instead of terrifying. Gray, young and doe-eyed and only gaining control of his body back when he'd already ripped other humans apart with his bare hands.

It makes Zef sick.

And you wanted to hand him back over to people like that.

The sick feeling intensifies. Only now, he's sick with himself. He'd thought Gray capable of ruthlessness. In some ways, he is. Zef had also thought Gray was ruthless enough to kill him and leave his corpse between a couple of vending machines, though.

With painful certainty, he knows Gray wouldn't.

He traces the hairline scar on Gray's upper lip with his thumb. Rubs the place where it ends on his chin. "Did they do this to you, too?"

Gray gives a tiny shake of his head. A movement slight enough it doesn't dislodge Zef's hand. "Got that following their orders. Sometimes my mark fought back. Not for long." He wets his lips. His tongue nearly touches Zef's thumb. The dip in his chest just below his collarbones inflates with a swiftly drawn breath. "Sometimes I think it was a good thing I wasn't in control, 'cause if I had been, I'd just let 'em..."

"Let 'em?"

"Kill me."

Zef can't help it this time. His hand moves, sliding to the hinge of Gray's jaw, holding him there. Fingers carded in his shorn hair. Protective bordering on a possessiveness he doesn't deserve to feel, but it flips a switch in him.

"No," Zef says, not sure what he's denying. "You can't think like that."

A wry smile. "You the thought police?"

"If it comes to it? Haven't finished that implant yet, so I'll just have to remind you myself. You didn't deserve all that. You—" Zef brushes the scar on Gray's lip again. "I'm bad at words."

"Maybe situation's like this don't need words."

Does Zef imagine that Gray's eyelashes dip over his eyes because he's looking at Zef's mouth? If not words, does he mean actions? Actions like kissing?