The Rusted Anchor wasn't made for silence, but that's what it sank into after Kane and Grayson left. The jukebox kept humming low in the corner, neon buzzing faint against the walls, but the rest of the bar had thinned to a few regulars half-drunk and uninterested.
Jack was behind the counter, polishing glasses with the kind of mechanical focus that came from decades of doing the same thing over and over. He didn't even look up when the door swung open again.
Connor strolled in. Not in a rush, not storming, not the kind of entrance that rattled glass — just a steady, deliberate walk, as if he already knew the night belonged to him. His coat hung open, hands loose at his sides, expression cut from something between a grin and a threat.
"Jack." His voice carried easy, rolling across the quiet space like he owned it. "We need to chat."
Jack's eyes flicked up once. "Bar's closed."
Connor chuckled, sliding onto a stool like he hadn't heard a word. He leaned forward, elbows on the counter, smile sharp. "C'mon. You and I both know the Anchor doesn't close. Not really. Not for me."
Jack didn't stop wiping the glass. His silence was an answer in itself.
Connor tapped the bar with one finger, slow and steady. "A cop came sniffing at the club a few days ago. He didn't make it sadly." His tone never rose, but there was a curl of amusement at the edge, like he was enjoying the game. "Thing is, they don't sniff without a scent. And scents? They come from tongues."
Jack finally set the glass down. Met Connor's eyes. "If you've got something to accuse me of, say it. Otherwise, finish your drink somewhere else."
Connor's grin widened. "See, that's the problem. You think this is a request."
He reached across the counter, grabbed Jack by the front of his shirt, and yanked him forward hard enough to rattle bottles on the shelf. The rag dropped from Jack's hand, the glass skittered across the counter and cracked against the floor.
Connor leaned in, voice low and smooth, the grin never slipping. "I don't care what you told them. I care that you thought you could."
Jack's jaw flexed, but he didn't speak. He didn't push back either.
Connor studied him for a moment — the twitch at the corner of his eye, the tightness in his throat. He liked this part: the split second when a man decided whether to talk or choke on his silence.
"You're not stupid," Connor murmured, tightening his grip just enough that Jack's collar bit into his neck. "If you were, Kane would've buried you a long time ago. Which means you're holding out."
Jack stayed quiet.
Connor laughed softly, shook his head like he almost admired it. Then he slammed Jack back against the counter, the crack of wood sharp in the empty bar. "You bite your tongue all you want. But if I find out you gave even a whiff of our business to those pigs, I'll take it out of your hide. Piece. By. Piece."
Jack's teeth clenched. His breathing was steady, but his knuckles whitened against the counter. Still no words.
Connor leaned back finally, releasing him with a shove. "Good man," he said lightly, like they'd just sealed a deal. He smoothed the front of Jack's shirt with a mock-polite pat. "Keep it that way."
He slid off the stool, straightened his coat, and headed for the door. At the threshold, he glanced back, eyes glinting.
"Oh, and Jack?" His smile returned, wolfish this time. "If the cops show up again, don't bother biting your tongue. I'll cut it out for you."
Then he was gone, the echo of his boots on pavement fading into the night — leaving Jack behind the counter, rag on the floor, glass still shattered at his feet, jaw tight with whatever he hadn't said.
*******************
The elevator doors slid open, spilling Kane and Grayson into the penthouse. It was everything he'd expected and worse. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls showed the whole city stretched beneath them like a glittering map. Black leather, steel, glass. Not a speck of dust, not a hair out of place. Cold and perfect, just like the man who lived there.
Grayson still hadn't caught his breath. The city spread beneath the glass walls in glittering silence, but all he could feel was the echo of Kane's words back at the Anchor, and the way the man hadn't flinched once while Grayson came apart.
Kane moved ahead, calm as ever, his stride unhurried, jacket sliding from his shoulders as though nothing about the night had shifted the ground beneath them. Grayson lingered by the door, his pulse hammering, hands shoved deep in his pockets like he needed to hold himself together.
Grayson barked out a laugh, bitter. "You're a son of a bitch. You know that, right?"
"Careful."
"You dragged me in there knowing he might've recognised me." Grayson's voice cracked under the weight of his chest.
Kane didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. He just let the corner of his mouth tick, slow and deliberate. "Maybe I wanted to see what you'd do."
Grayson's fists tightened against his knees. His throat burned. "You should've—fuck—you should've done something. Said something. You could've fixed it."
Kane tilted his head, considering him like a puzzle. "What kind of man do you think I am, Grayson?"
Grayson barked out a laugh, bitter. "You made that cop disappear."
That earned the smallest shift in Kane's expression, not guilt, not even denial. Just a flicker of steel tightening in his jaw. "That," Kane said evenly, "was different."
"Bullshit."
Then Kane stepped in, slow but inevitable, his eyes sharp as glass. "Listen carefully. I'm not going to make this vanish for you. This is yours to deal with. Yours to carry. Whatever choice you make—" His hand slid up, caught the back of Grayson's neck, fingers firm until Grayson's breath hitched. "—I'll stand behind you. But I won't do it for you."
Grayson's chest heaved, torn between fury and panic. "You think I can just live with this?"
"You'll do more than live with it," Kane murmured. "You'll own it."
The silence stretched. The view glittered in the glass behind Kane.
"Look," Grayson said finally, his reflection tight in the window, "what happened today…can't happen again."
Kane didn't move. Didn't react. Just let the words hang there, heavy in the silence.
Grayson turned, throat tight. "I don't—fuck—I don't even know what I want. I've never—" He swallowed hard. "I'm not like that."
Still nothing from Kane. No smirk, no retort. Just that unreadable stillness.
Grayson's hands curled into fists. "Say something."
Finally, Kane moved, slow. He walked toward him, each step soft against the polished floor but heavy enough that Grayson's pulse climbed.
"You're right," Kane said at last. "You're not like that."
Grayson froze.
Kane's eyes locked on his. "Neither am I."
The words landed like a stone in water.
"I've had women. Many." Kane's voice was even, matter-of-fact. "But you…" He paused in front of him, close enough that Grayson could feel his body heat. "…you're different."
Grayson's chest tightened. He hated how his body reacted first, the twist low in his stomach, the burn in his skin.
Kane's hand came up, brushing along his jaw with the kind of assurance that said he already knew how this would end. "You think this is about labels?" he asked softly. "Gay. Straight. All the tidy little boxes that let men pretend they're in control." His thumb dragged lightly across Grayson's cheek. "Do you think I care?"
Grayson's breath came sharp, shallow. "Then what the fuck is it?"
"What I see," Kane murmured, "is a man choking on shame. A man who wants and hates himself for wanting. You're confused because you've spent your life thinking want needs a label."
Grayson's throat worked, but no sound came out.
"You shouldn't be ashamed," Kane said, voice low enough to make it feel private, intimate. "Not with me."
The city lights glowed behind Kane like a halo turned inside out, and for a long moment Grayson could only stare at him — at the calm in his face, at the quiet certainty, at the way he made everything else feel inevitable.
"You don't know what the fuck I want," Grayson muttered finally, but his voice lacked bite.
Kane leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. "I know you want me."
Grayson's body betrayed him with the shudder that went through him.
Kane smiled against his skin. "Face it."
Before Grayson could argue, Kane's mouth was on his — rough, claiming, no space for hesitation. Teeth, heat, tongue. It wasn't coaxing; it was taking. Grayson's body betrayed him, answering before his head could catch up, his fists knotting in Kane's shirt like he couldn't decide if he wanted to push him off or drag him closer.
Kane steered him back, relentless, until Grayson's shoulders hit the glass wall. Cold bit through his shirt. Kane pressed into him, hips grinding forward, hard against hard.
Grayson broke the kiss with a ragged gasp, chest heaving. "Kane—fuck—this is—"
Another kiss cut him off. Deeper. Rougher. Kane's hand slid down, palming him through his jeans. Grayson groaned, head tipping back against the pane.
"Tell me to stop," Kane rasped against his mouth, voice dark as smoke.
Grayson's throat bobbed. He couldn't.
"Don't," he whispered instead.
Kane's smirk curved cruel at the sound of Grayson's whisper. "Good boy," he murmured, his hand already sliding lower, tugging at the button of his jeans until it popped free.
Grayson's breath hitched as Kane shoved the denim down just enough to free him. The cold air hit his cock, already hard, leaking against his stomach. Kane's fingers wrapped around him, firm, deliberate.
Grayson groaned, his forehead pressing to the glass behind him, but Kane didn't let him hide. His other hand fisted in his hair, yanking his head back until their reflections locked eyes.
"Look at yourself," Kane said. "Look at the way you beg without saying a word."
Grayson's chest heaved, his lips parting on another ragged sound. Kane's strokes were steady, calculated, dragging pleasure out of him at a pace that was maddening.
"Pathetic," Kane whispered against his ear, though his voice dripped with hunger. "You walk around pretending you've got control, and then one touch—" His grip squeezed, sharp enough to make Grayson choke on a gasp. "—and you're already dripping for me."
"Kane—fuck—"
"That's it," Kane rasped. "Say my name. Louder. Let the whole city hear who's got you."
Grayson's moan broke free, torn from somewhere deep. His reflection stared back at him, flushed, ruined, his cock straining in Kane's grip.
Kane released him suddenly. Grayson's whole body jerked with the loss.
"Hands on the glass," Kane ordered.
Grayson hesitated, chest rising and falling fast. Kane's hand tightened in his hair. "Now."
He obeyed, palms flat against the cool pane, his breath fogging the city lights beneath them. Kane kicked his legs apart with a firm shove of his knee, then pressed in behind him, the hard line of his cock grinding against his ass through fine fabric.
"You remember how it felt," Kane murmured darkly, teeth scraping Grayson's jaw. "Me inside you. Stretching you open. Making you mine."
Grayson's eyes fluttered shut. "Yeah—"
"Open your eyes." Kane's voice cut like a blade. "Watch."
Grayson obeyed. His reflection was there — wide-eyed, lips parted, body trembling against the glass. Kane stood behind him, immaculate, composed, except for the tent in his trousers.
Kane freed himself, stroking once, twice, slow and slick before pressing the head against Grayson's rim.
"Please," Grayson rasped, shame and want blurring together.
Kane smirked in the reflection, his hand curling cruelly around Grayson's throat. "Begging already. Good boy."
Then he pushed in — no hesitation, one steady thrust until he was buried to the hilt. Grayson cried out, raw and broken, his nails scraping hard against the glass.
"Fuck—"
Kane groaned low against his ear, hips grinding in deeper. "Tight as the first time," he growled. "Like your body's still fighting me even when your cock's dripping all over the glass."
Grayson gasped, voice cracking. "Kane—"
"That's it," Kane snapped, his thrusts sharp now, relentless. "Say it. Say my name while I fuck you against this window."
"Kane—fuck—Kane—"
Kane's smirk turned vicious. His hand stroked Grayson's cock in brutal time with each snap of his hips, pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain.
"You're mine," Kane growled. "In this room. In this city. Against this glass. Mine."
Grayson's head tipped back, mouth open, moans spilling uncontrollably. He hated how much he needed it. Hated how right it felt.
"Say it," Kane demanded, his thrusts harder, faster.
"I'm yours," Grayson choked, voice breaking. "Fuck—I'm yours."
"Good boy." Kane's teeth grazed his ear, his free hand squeezing his throat just enough to make every breath shallow. "Come for me. Make a mess all over my window while I ruin you from the inside."
It was too much. Grayson came with a strangled cry, hot streaks painting the glass, his whole body shaking. Kane didn't stop. He fucked him through it, his own groans turning guttural as he buried himself deeper, spilling hot inside him with one last brutal thrust.
The city glittered blurred beneath the glass, a backdrop to the wreckage of their bodies.
Kane pulled out slow, kissing the back of Grayson's neck almost lazily before tucking himself back into his trousers. He watched Grayson sag against the pane, chest heaving, cum smeared across the glass.
"Stay here tonight," Kane murmured, his voice calm, cruelly certain. "My bed. My sheets. You'll wake up sore and marked, exactly how I want you."
Grayson couldn't move. Couldn't answer. But he didn't leave the glass either. And Kane, satisfied, crossed the room to strip off his shirt, already knowing the decision had been made.