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Monty was going to be the death of him.
He was horrible enough in their flat anyway, practicing poses for shoots and trying on different outfits and just being him. Percy had thought that was the worst it could get for him, pining after his best friend from childhood and now roommate. He thought he couldn’t fall any further for him.
Of course, he had been bloody wrong.
Because Monty was draped across a couch a few yards from him, smiling that devilish smile for the cameras. He looked so good Percy was going to die .
His friend had been begging him to come to one of his shoots for weeks, ever since he had been hired by a modelling agency, and he had refused each time. He was busy, after all. But this time, he knew he had the day off, so he had dragged him here. Where he was dressed in outfits that hugged his body and where he posed for the camera.
Percy had to work hard not to blush, not to stare too hard or get too aroused. He had always known how attractive Monty was, especially in the last few years, but he had never seen him here. In his element.
He wore black skinny jeans that highlighted his arse wonderfully, and a blood red button up. Over that was a leather jacket. His hair had been tousled to perfection, and he looked like sex on legs.
Monty looked like he was glowing.
“Yes Monty,” the director (he thought, he didn’t know the specific jobs of all the people on set) said enthusiastically. “Move your arm up a little bit-yes! You are stunning!”
God, he wanted to be able to make those comments about him.
“Move to the chair,” the camerawoman said, moving her camera to point at it. Monty nodded, throwing himself into the chair.
“How do you want me?” he asked, his tone flirtatious, like it always was. He raised an eyebrow at the woman behind the camera, and she giggled. He felt a quick stab of jealousy, but shook it off. He flirted with everyone. She wasn’t special, and neither was he.
“Legs open,” the director answered, somehow saying it was a straight face. “Elbows on the armrests, but your hands dangling in your lap. Take off the leather jacket, and sling it over the side of the chair. Try to look like a villain. Smug, smirky, confident. Sexy.”
He could look sexy without even trying. Percy knew that.
“Got it,” Monty said. He followed the instructions to a T, legs spreading slightly, his pretty hands hovering over his lap. He smirked for the cameras, the ends of his lips sharp as knives.
Oh god.
The director stared at him, eyebrows narrowed, until his eyes lit up with an idea. “Undo the first couple buttons on your shirt, so we can see some of your chest.”
He did as he said, exposing some of that fair skin, before returning to smirking at the cameras. The director was good at what he did, because that was the icing on the cake to the cause of Percy’s death.
The little bit of skin made all the difference, made him less handsome and more sexy, more striking, more, more, more. He physically ached to get his lips on Monty’s, to pull him in by that button-up and get his hands on his biceps, his waist, his-
His hands wanted, his lips wanted. Percy wanted.
The camerawoman started to snap pictures, and Percy balled his fists in his lap so tight he could feel the bite of his nails breaking the skin. If he didn’t do that, he wasn’t sure what he would do. If he would be able to control himself.
He had been controlling himself for years, he had controlled himself here for an hour, he could keep going for another few minutes. The shoot was supposed to be over soon anyway. Then he could go back to regular life.
“Run a hand through your hair,” the director said, and Percy’s breath caught in his throat as he did just that. Fuck. “Great. Amazing!”
It was. It was amazing. It was the sweetest torture he could think of.
After what felt like an eternity, the camera finally stopped snapping photos and Monty stopped posing. Percy relaxed his hands, sighing in relief.
The director walked up to him, patting him on the back. “Good job, kid. Come in this time, tomorrow. You’ll be doing a shoot with Johanna.”
“Got it,” Monty said. He sounded tired, but happy. “I’ll see you then.”
He strolled over to Percy, grinning at him. His heart stuttered in his chest at the sight of him, glorious and beautiful.
He slung an arm across his shoulders. He really was trying to kill him. “Hey Percy.”
“Hey,” he said, trying very very hard to make sure his voice was still steady. “The shoot was interesting.”
“I’m glad. I didn’t want you to get bored. You looked a little strange, were you alright?”
Percy nodded. “Yeah. Just making sure I saw everything. You looked great.”
He said the last part with as much control as he could muster, to keep his voice even and his face straight (unlike the rest of him).
“Thanks, mate!” Monty said. “I gotta get changed, but I’ll be out soon and then we can go to lunch.”
He casually clapped him on the back and skipped into one of the changing rooms, humming. He was in a good mood. He had been for a while, ever since he got this job. And since he got out of his dad’s house.
Like Percy had thought. Sweet torture.
He knew that Monty was bisexual, you’d have to be blind, deaf, and dumb not to notice, so he technically had a chance. But they were best friends, they had been for years and years. He wasn’t going to risk messing that up by blurting out his stupid feelings for him.
A few moments later, he exited the changing room. He wore the same thing he did before the shoot, jeans and a green t-shirt. He looked stunning in both outfits, which was horribly unfair to Percy and the rest of the population.
“So, where do you wanna go?” he asked, this time looping his arm through Percy’s elbow and leading them to the elevator. “I dragged you here, so it’s only fair if you choose.”
“Hmmm,” he said. “Maybe Eleftheria? Scipio will probably give us a discount if you beg.”
“Good idea, as always. What do I do without you? Now, what did you think of the shoot. Tell me everything.”
I thought it was wonderful, Percy wanted to say. I thought you looked beautiful and your smile lights up my world and you looked like you belonged there.
You looked so happy, he wanted to say. You looked happy and I wanted to kiss you. I’ve always wanted to kiss you, even when I didn’t know what kissing felt like.
I love you, he wanted to say.
“It was cool,” was what Percy actually said, swallowing down the words so they sat in his belly, a graveyard of confessions. “I liked the director. He knew what he was doing.”
“Oh, yeah! He really does. You should’ve seen the last photo shoot, he had this beach idea for summer and it was really good . . .”
Monty continued talking about the last photo shoot all the way to their favorite cafe, describing it and what he wore in detail. He hung on to every word.
“But enough about me,” he said, sitting down across from him at their table. “What about you? You had your orchestra rehearsal the other day. How did that go?”
He shrugged. “It went well. Same as always. We got a new piece of music though.”
“This late into the year? How are they expecting you to learn it in time?”
Percy was surprisingly touched by how well Monty remembered his little facts about the orchestra he was in. “I have no idea.”
“Your concert’s just in a few weeks. Your director must be crazy.”
“She’s not that bad. And you remember the date of my concert?”
Before Monty could answer, Scipio came up to their table. He was the owner and chef of the cafe, Monty’s father figure, and just a kind guy in general. He was the one who taught Monty how to defend himself.
“I knew it wouldn’t be too long since you little arseholes came back,” he said.
“It never is,” Monty said cheerily.
“How’s the new job?”
“Amazing, actually. Can we get our regular?”
Scipio nodded, picking up their menus and walking off with them. “Yeah. But you have a new job, so I’m not giving you the discount.”
“But Scippppp,” he groaned dramatically. The man flipped them off from behind. “Ugh. Guess we’ll have to actually pay this time. But back to what you were saying. Of course I remember the date of your concert! I’m your best mate, and my birth-givers can’t stop me from going now.”
“Good point,” Percy said.
“Besides, I love hearing you play. You always sound beautiful.”
He choked on his water, hacking into his glass.
Monty’s eyes widened. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” he gasped, setting down his glass. His cheeks burned with embarrassment and happiness. “But you hear me play all the time at home.”
His best friend rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but it’s not the same. You sound different onstage. Not better, but different.”
Oh.
That was nice to hear.
Scipio brought over their food, pasta for Monty and spicy curry for Percy. He was gone the next second, probably to keep cooking. His cafe was popular.
He took a bite of his food, focussing on the heat of the spices instead of how beautiful Monty looked across from him. He was usually better at controlling his feelings, but that photo shoot had knocked something loose inside him. Something vital.
“Are your hands okay?” Monty asked spontaneously.
His eyebrows furrowed. “What? Yeah, they’re fine. Why?”
“There’s blood on them.” He reached across the table, grabbing Percy’s hands before he could yank them back and studying his palms.
That’s when he remembered.
Digging his nails into his palms. Of course.
“What happened?” Monty looked so concerned it hurt to see. “You didn’t have these earlier. Are you okay?”
How was he supposed to explain this?
That wasn’t much of a question, actually. There was only one way to explain the marks on his palms.
“You,” Percy started, then stopped. He needed to keep some level of composure here. If he was going to reveal his deepest secret, he would do it with dignity. “You looked so beautiful.”
Monty’s eyes shot up from his palms to his dark eyes, shocked and soft. He was still holding his hands.
“You looked so beautiful, he repeated. “You always do. And I couldn’t stand it. It took everything in me to just sit there and watch you be beautiful, and not do anything about it, because I love you. I love you, Monty-”
He never got to finish that sentence.
Because Monty was kissing him.
One of his hands was in his shirt and the other was fisted in his curls, and his lips were pressed against Percy’s. They were softer then he had imagined them to be, Monty was softer then he had imagined him to be. It felt like a soft explosion, tearing him apart and putting him back together again.
They broke apart, still staring at each other.
“I’ve been waiting for that kiss,” Monty said, his voice husky. “For years.”
“Oh.”
“I love you too.”
His eyes widened at the words, the words he hadn’t dared let himself imagine. “ Oh. ”
“Is that . . . okay?” Monty asked.
“Is that okay? Of course it’s bloody okay,” Percy said. Finally, he let his hands reach for Monty, let his hands cup his cheek and lace his fingers in his. Finally let his lips find their way to Monty’s.
Finally let himself find his way home.