Perfect; that's what Jackson ‘Montana’ Brice has been surrounded by his whole life. A perfect Catholic town, a perfect Catholic mother, two perfect sisters, a perfect legacy, a perfect track record. Perfect weapons. Perfect technique. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect, and he would have been the perfect boy, too. There was only one minor issue.
Perfect boys don't like other boys.
Especially if those boys happened to be a certain electric coworker for whom he's fallen head. Over. Heels. He could never be perfect, no matter how hard he tried to stamp the feelings out like the dying ashes of a smoldering campfire. Even as he stepped out of his bar for a smoke, the lick of the flame against calloused hands was just a taste of the eternal hell he no doubt would be facing; the weight of his sin was never fully lifted; the coals kept reigniting the wood of his heart.
He had everything in his favor to be perfect, all the dominos perfectly placed. Maybe that was the issue. Maybe it was his fault; he put a domino just too far from the next. Maybe it was the boots that trampled his chain reaction. Those yellow-laced boots and an electric smile sent a shiver down his spine, starkly contrasting the order and rules he was raised to follow.
Electro was like that. He didn't like order or rules. He was chaotic, a force of nature. Beautiful in every single way, yet so far from perfect, it almost looped around, unapologetically himself all times of the day, never once backing down from a challenge.
The energy in the room changed with Electro. Bright blue eyes casting more emotion than Montana even thought possible. Perfect men didn’t think about how their best friend's eyes glowed dangerous and angry, didn't think about how the fluorescent lights over linoleum floors buzzed when he was excited, or didn't think about the sound of his static laugh bouncing around the empty bar.
Perfect men didn’t imagine how it would be to be the one that makes his eyes light up every day; imagine how it would feel to hold his hand, to hold him close, to love him so completely. To run away from here, to meet the folks, to wake up next to him every morning and go to sleep with him every night.
A better man, a stronger, perfect man, would have smothered the growing fluttering in his chest, swallowed the lump in his throat, and digested the butterflies.
Montana was not a better man, and he was acutely aware of it.
He was selfish, selfish to continue being around Electro even after the thumping in his veins and skip in his pulse became a daily– no, hourly occurrence. By growing attached to Electro, he is selfish in risking his work. He was making stupid mistakes as often as he was making good decisions. At first, he couldn’t care less for the ‘Sinister Six’ hell. He had even initially found Electro annoying. Cocky, boisterous, arrogant. But something about Electro irked him in a way he couldn’t describe. His love for coffee and sports, his distaste for talks of the past, his pretty smile and wonderful voice. The way he would stay up with Montana when the insomnia got bad was the way they would talk about everything but nothing at all. The way Electro would rock back in his chair and clasp a hand over his mouth to quiet small giggles after Montana told an idiotic joke.
It was wrong to feel this way.
For Christ's sake, he was a leader, a professional, an assassin. Electro shouldn't have buried himself under Montana's skin, opened his ribcage wide, and wrapped himself and his electric love around Montana’s heart as easily as he did.
If Electro asked him to jump, he would ask off what bridge; if Electro asked him to run away from here to Colorado without a second thought, he wouldn’t even pack a bag. He was so at Electro’s mercy, and he doubted Electro even knew.
Loving Electro was as easy as flicking the lighter against the butt of his second cigarette. Loving Electro was as hard as quitting the sweet draw of nicotine. Electro was the satisfaction in the back of his throat just below his tonsils; Electro was the smoke pouring out of his nose and mouth; Electro was the second draw of the cigarette against his lips.
Electro was his sin, the stone against a glass house, the thorn in his side, and the song in his heart. Electro was the reason he could never be perfect.
Electro was the reason he almost didn't want to be perfect.