Chapter Text
"You know, Monty beat the shit out of me once."
"Why?"
"It's complicated."
***
"What's he doing here?"
With a lazy groan Bryce turned his head, stretching his neck, looking over the backrest of the couch he was sitting on, following Montgomery's gaze to the foosball table behind him. Monty clenched his jaw, lips pressed into a thin line, as he looked at the platinum blond boy standing at the table opposite Foley. The latter was shaking with laughter and obviously talking to the skinnier boy, who was chuckling, no, giggling, his whole posture slightly bent forward, his shoulders raised, his head down, looking up at Justin with that look of insecurity and shyness and wonder Monty had observed many times on the blond boy's face. He couldn't hear what they were talking about or why they were laughing. The mixture of bass-heavy music, laughter, chatting and the shooting sounds from the videogame on the giant flat screen were drowning anything from that conversation.
"Alex Standall? He's Zachy's friend."
Bryce lifted himself up from the couch, patting Monty's knee in that movement, and met his eyes.
"Don't bother about him," he said and gave his friend one of his complacent smiles.
Monty didn't say anything, he didn't point out that that fag wasn't part of the team and this was supposed to be a party for the team. The team only. The team licking their wounds after that disastrous defeat against those suckers at Westwood.
He remained seated, watched how Bryce crossed the room, walking in his confident stride as if he owned the place. Well, he did own the place, after all it was his family's pool house. Bryce passed Foley, said something to him, which made Justin punch him playfully but hard into the shoulder and shake his head, chuckling. Bryce raised his hands as if in defeat, his lips forming an "Oh," his eyes widening in that ironic gesture, staggering backwards, closer to that blond boy. Alex Standall. Alex Standall, who was holding onto the rods of the foosball table the whole time, clenching his tiny hands around them, like they were some fucking lifeline. Bryce walked behind him slowly, coming very close, casually placing a hand on the scrawny boy's shoulder, squeezing it. His index finger touching the bare skin at his collar. Standall flinched, just a bit, and he drew his shoulders even further up, but he smiled, he smiled that strange shy smile, not even daring to look at Bryce's face, it seemed.
Monty's hands balled into fists.
He turned his head and noticed Scott and Nate standing nearby. He got up, walking over, then suddenly turning into a sprint in which he grabbed Scott's plastic cup out of his hand and ran off with it, laughing.
"Fuck you!" Scott yelled, pursuing Monty to get his drink back. They chased each other round the room, around the furniture, around people, with Scott almost catching up, but Monty always being ahead of him, always avoiding being caught. Laughing and mocking at Scott he was unstoppable - until he crashed into something. Something so light and offering hardly any resistance, not really stopping his motion. It just gave way and made him stumble and fall to the ground. Not the ground exactly. He found himself on top of Alex Standall's flimsy body, chest to chest.
Monty looked into the boy's eyes, bright blue eyes widened in shock. Staring at him. Then they narrowed. A frown appeared on the boy's brow, but that couldn't really distort those too soft features.
Monty's mouth was open, he could feel his own breathing accelerate, he could feel how it was reflected from Alex's face; he was panting from the little sprint.
"Get off me! Asshole!" Alex cried out, his voice almost breaking, tiny hands trying to shove Monty's massive body away. In vain. Monty didn't move, crushing the tiny body with his weight.
Seconds later, hands grabbed around Monty's chest and pulled him up.
"Fuck! Jesus, Montgomery." The tall dark-haired boy looked at him with a grim expression on his face, then he turned and helped Standall get up, literally picking him up and putting him back on his feet.
"You okay, Alex?" Zach asked, bending down, coddling the boy like he was some baby.
"Fuck! My shirt's all soaked. I'm gonna reek of that shit. My dad's gonna kill me when he finds out about the drinking!"
Alex had stepped back from Zach, looking down at his body. His slender hands pointing at the mess. The wet shirt clinging to his body, sticking to his flat chest and tummy. Dark stains were on his jeans too.
Monty looked down at his own body, raising his eyebrows when seeing that his shirt was wet too, but it wasn't as soaked as Standall's. He noticed the empty cup lying on the floor, spilling its remains.
"You can wash it off," Zach said. And Monty looked up again, seeing how Zach extended a hand and cautiously stepped closer to the boy who looked even tinier when standing in front of Dempsey.
"Yeah, well, thanks," Alex mumbled and walked off, leaving Zach standing there with his hand still raised. He caught Monty's eyes, frowned and walked into a different direction.
Monty hadn't moved an inch since Zach had pulled him to his feet. He'd been watching the scene like some unaffected bystander. Only now did he realize that Justin was doubling over with laughter the whole time. Monty's lips curled up into a smirk.
"What a fucking baby." He half-rolled his eyes.
He joined Scott, who was getting himself another drink. He made a half-hearted attempt at snatching it yet again, but didn't really try to. Scott quickly pulled away. They both chuckled.
Monty grabbed a handful of chips from a bag he found lying on the counter. Munching them, he headed for the bathroom.
When he pushed the door open, he heard an annoyed voice saying, "I'm busy in here!"
He nevertheless got in and closed the door behind himself.
"I need to piss," he said to Alex who was standing at the sink, frantically scrubbing his shirt under the running water, wearing nothing but his skinny dark jeans.
"Whatever." The boy hadn't even looked up for more than a second, then he was completely focused on his task again.
"Don't you wanna wash your jeans too? You look like you've pissed yourself."
Alex didn't even reply to that with more than an annoyed sigh and probably a "fuck you" muttered under his breath.
Monty strode through the room, lifted the toilet lid.
Looking sideways, he could see Alex. He was bent forward. His back curving. The white skin seemed almost translucent. He was so scrawny you could easily spot the ribs. And his arms, you could wrap your whole hand around his skinny arms. They looked fragile, like you could snap them, just like a twig.
"Your dad's really gonna kill you if he finds out you been drinking?" Monty's voice echoed in the bathroom.
"As if you'd care," Alex snapped, not looking up from his hands.
"Yeah, I don't."
Having finished, Monty flushed the toilet, turned and pulled up the zipper of his pants.
When he passed Alex, the boy stepped aside from the sink, taking the dripping wet shirt with him.
Monty stopped, looking at him, dumbfounded.
Alex looked back.
None of them moved.
"Don't you wanna wash your hands?"
Monty let out a laugh. "What?"
"Your hands." Alex pointed at them with the wet piece of clothing he was holding in both his hands.
As Monty only kept on laughing and didn't move, Alex rolled his eyes and was about to resume his task, when Monty decided to step closer.
"Oh, you find that disgusting," he mocked the weird boy.
"I don't give a shit, just - hey!"
In a sudden movement, Monty had covered the distance between them and was now directly in front of the scrawny boy. His hand reached out, touching the naked chest. He placed a large palm on the pale skin. Moving it, he felt the ribs expand as Standall drew in air in surprise.
The boy moved back, dropping the wet shirt to use both his small hands to push Monty away.
"Stop that! God! Stop!"
Monty stepped forward in that same movement and was even closer now. Both his hands on Standall's body, moving them on the naked skin, while the smaller boy tried to shove him away, hit him even.
The more Alex fought, the more Monty laughed, and his hands touched and grabbed and squeezed and pinched the boy wherever they could reach: his chest, his shoulders, his arms, his neck, his hipbones, his belly, his collarbones, his fingers, his hair, his face.
"Oh, oh, are you afraid of my dirty dick hands, Standall?"
He felt a rush of heat going through his body, his breathing had accelerated. Alex had retreated so far that the wall was now at his back, he was pressing against it, and he couldn't escape any further.
"Stop! Stop! You're gross!" There was a wild expression in the tiny boy's face, determined like he would never stop fighting, even though he was literally cornered now. Those tiny hands pushed harder, but still in vain. Monty's body pressed up against Alex's, their hips meeting. His hands were touching and touching, feeling that soft skin which seemed a bit cold. Monty was no longer laughing, not even smirking, his lips parted, as he pressed his large hand onto the boy's face. The heel of his hand on the lips, muffling his angry cries. He felt those wet lips move under his touch. He inhaled sharply. The blue eyes widened, the pupils dilating, eating that pale blue. Monty had come so close, his chest pressed against Alex's upper body, harder with each sharp breath he took. His other hand touched his neck, long fingers feeling the pulse racing under the skin. He exhaled and felt the warm breath coming back at his own face after blowing over those too soft features.
A rustling sound behind him made him spin his head around suddenly. Bryce was standing in the open door. - For how long?
Something snapped inside Monty, he tensed up. In the same split second, he smacked Standall's head against the wall. The face hit the tiles with a thud.
Monty stepped back, laughing, strained. His eyes on Bryce who hadn't moved as much as an eyebrow.
"Whiny bitch." He once more turned towards Alex who was covering his face with both his hands now. He couldn't see if the boy was really whining, but he probably was. That blow must have hurt.
Bryce didn't say a word, didn't even blink when he looked at him with a stern expression on his face. He pushed Monty aside, who automatically stepped back even further, and rushed past him towards little Alex.
Monty left the bathroom. Outside he pressed his back against the wall, next to the door in the hallway. His heart was racing. It was beating so fucking loudly and hard, he felt like it would burst through his throat. His hands balled into fists, he pressed his eyes shut and tried to calm his breathing.
When he opened them again and turned his head, he could see through the crack of the door into the bathroom. He could see the reflection of Bryce and Alex in the mirror, standing close to each other. Bryce touched the younger boy's face, carefully cupping it, tilting it, examining it. A thumb brushed over the cheekbone, the skin red. Alex flinched, but didn't pull away. A bruise was forming. Monty very well knew how those looked like. He could see that Bryce was saying something, hearing his familiar voice, but it was too low to catch a single word. The noises of the guys celebrating their defeat coming from the other room were drowning every syllable. Alex's lips moved in a quick reply. And whatever he said, it made Bryce laugh whole-heartedly and pat the boy's shoulder. Once, twice, three times. Then he squeezed it. Left his hand there when he handed something to Alex, something dark blue. A T-shirt. Bryce had brought one of his own shirts for the younger boy to wear. It would be too big on that tiny body. It would look ridiculous.
Monty froze. He hadn't noticed how Bryce had moved and opened the bathroom door. He just stared into his team captain's face when he was suddenly next to him.
Monty opened his mouth. Bryce just walked past him, not saying a single word, but looking at him with those eyes, making Monty shut his lips again, pressing them into a thin line, clenching his jaws and lowering his gaze. A strange feeling crept up his spine. As if he was being rebuked without even a single word.