Archive of Our Own ^beta

A rush of cold air poured into the mostly empty bar alongside Electro, his boots hitting the stairs with heavy thumps. Quiet grumbles came from the handful of sad sack patrons still hanging around at nearly 4:00 am on a Wednesday, at least one of whom was unconscious.

Electro shook off the thin layer of snow that had begun to build up and tossed his overcoat onto the end of the bar. He collapsed onto a barstool with a dramatic groan, “God, never let me go out when it's like this again.”

Montana stood behind the bar, cleaning glasses. The total of two employees who were scheduled had clocked out hours ago. He raised an eyebrow, only glancing briefly at Electro, and chuckled, “I woulda’ thought you couldn't feel the cold anymore."

“Yeah, you'd think,” Electro retracted his mask. He rubbed his hands together, “This thing's great at keeping the electricity in but kinda shit at keeping the cold out. Not as bad as before all this,” he gestured generally to himself, “but, still sucks.”

“I bet,” he dropped a lowball glass in front of Electro.

“What's this?”

Montana looked at him blankly. “Whiskey,” he replied, bluntly, “One of my better ones too so you damn well better enjoy it. Warms the blood.” He tossed the towel over his shoulder and grabbed one of the glasses he'd just finished cleaning. “Your usual?”

Electro shrugged, picking up the glass, “Eh, don't care,” he took a sip, “surprise me.”

“Ya feelin’ like regretting this tomorrow?”

“I got nothing ‘till 6:00 and I don't wanna wake up before 3:00.”

Montana barked a laugh, “Shit, that bad of a day, huh?” He looked at the clock across from the bar, “Well, with how late it is…” he shrugged and reached for a bottle of Southern Comfort, working as they spoke.

He scoffed, “Yeah, yeah. Not all of us can survive on four hours of sleep.” He finished his drink and pushed the glass away from him.

“Ever consider you sleep too much?” he smirked. He hit the lid onto the cocktail shaker, shaking with one hand, and retrieved a highball glass with the other. He scooped ice into the glass.

“Pft, coming from anyone else I'd immediately say you're fucking with me. But you might actually be serious about that.”

“Hey,” he strained the drink into the glass, “I'm one of the best at what I do.” He garnished the glass with an orange wedge and set it in front of Electro, leaning in and letting his hand linger on the drink as he said, “Might do ya some good if you listened to me for once.” He winked, teasing.

Montana pulled back and took the empty tumbler with him. Electro smiled and raised his eyebrows in a playfully questioning manner. Montana started on mixing his own drink.

“Not gonna tell me what I'm drinking?” Electro asked.

“That, partner, is an Alabama Slammer. Thought it'd be a good start to your mornin’.”

“Morning? What, are you planning on keeping me up all night?” He tried his drink and hummed in approval.

“You got three hours ‘till the damn sun rises. And you slept, what, night before last? Knowing you, you've got another day at least before you can finally hit the hay again.” Montana topped his drink with a shot and put the Joven Tequila bottle back on the shelves behind the bar. “You've got more juice left in your battery yet.”

“Fuck, man, don't remind me,” Electro laughed. He then looked at Montana’s drink, then up to him, a question on his face.

“Forgot the name ages ago, Star something, maybe,” he answered, “First drink someone bought me in New York, ya know.” He raised his glass slightly and Electro mirrored him. They clinked their glasses as Electro responded, “Oh?”

“Mhm. Bit of a seedy place ‘round the East Village. Was my third week in the city, maybe? I'd finished a job, went for a drink and that was the first place I found. I didn't exactly know the area so I didn't know what kind of bar it was, y'know?”

Electro choked on his drink and Montana smirked at him.

“Took me ‘till I got the drink to figure it out,” he continued. “Fella wasn't bad lookin’,” he shrugged a shoulder and met Electro’s gaze, “Looked a bit like you, actually.”

Electro choked on his drink again and felt heat rush to his face. “He, uh- you-?” He cleared his throat and tried, unsuccessfully, to calm the hell down.

Montana snorted, “Yeah, me. Kinda thought you'd figured it out already,” he leaned in, close enough for Electro to feel Montana’s breath on his face, “But it's nice to know I can get you all flustered like this.”

Electro paused, blinked, then got ahold of himself again. He leaned back and smiled, “Oh, fuck you!” He finished his drink and put the glass down with more force than intended, “Alright, Cowboy, get me something new.”

He obliged and started on the next cocktail, “Feelin’ adventurous tonight, huh?”

“I'd call it more, uh, experimental,” he winked, looking oh so proud of himself.

“Experimental?” Montana asked, the corner of his mouth quirked up like he was trying his best to put on a semi-serious face, “Not much experience then? With, uh, “mixed drinks”?” There was a light-hearted but mocking tone to his voice.

“I-” Electro sputtered then laughed, “Shit! No, I- That's not what I- I have plenty-” he cut himself off with more laughter, “Oh, I am so bad at this!”

“Here,” he placed a vivid red drink on the bar, “Baltimore Zoo. Drink this and shut that mouth of yours so you don't say anythin’ else stupid, pretty boy.” With that, Montana finished his own drink and set his glass into a plastic bin below the bar.

Electro wasn't quite sure he even could blush anymore, but he was certain he'd be blushing if it was possible.

It was possible, Montana found out. The crackling electricity surrounding his face taking on a hint of blue.

Electro cleared his throat needlessly, “You, uh, gonna join me for another drink?”

“Hm. I could be convinced.” He swiped a pack of cigarettes from the corner of the bar, dragging the ash tray next to it over at the same time. He put a cigarette between his teeth and held the box up to Electro while taking a lighter from his pocket—a golden Zippo with some engraving on it that Electro couldn't make out.

Electro shook his head, “I'm good. Are you… allowed to smoke in here?”

“I own the damn place. And what,” he gestured to the remaining patrons, “you think any of these jackasses are gonna complain?” He lit the cigarette.

“Guess not.” Electro eyed the pack of cigarettes, eventually caving, he took one and holding it in his lips asked, “Would you?”

Montana lit Electro’s cigarette for him, both of them well aware that Electro could've easily done it himself, lighter or no. But it let Montana get close to him again. This time Electro breathed in the scent of Montana’s cologne, faded from the hours of wear, mixing with the smoke and the faintest hint of sweat. The bar tended to get a bit too hot for comfort during the winter, admittedly.

Checking the clock, Montana huffed, “Really outta start thinkin’ ‘bout headin’ home, huh?”

Electro groaned, “Do I need to? Shit, man, don't make me go back out there this soon.”

“I mean, I've got a couch in the back room of you'd rather crash here?”

“Wh- really?”

He shrugged, “Why not? I trust you not to rob the place. ‘Sides, even if you did, I know where you live.”

“That'd be great. Would you-”

“Oh, nah, I'm heading home. Like hell I'm gonna sleep in this shit hole ‘less I'm dying or actually snowed in. ‘Course,” he took a drag from his cigarette, letting the moment stand, “My place is a whole hell of a lot closer to here than yours is. Could sleep somewhere nicer than on that piece of crap we've got here if you're willing to brave a couple of blocks.”

And Electro couldn't quite decide if he was hoping that his interpretation of that offer was right or not. Though, a large part of him desperately hoped so.

“I guess I could deal for a few minutes,” he finally responded.

“Good, now grab your coat while I kick these assholes out,” he nodded his head towards the now three people remaining.

Electro stood, “Once we're back at your place, you think I could, uh, tempt you with that second drink?”

“Hm,” Montana smirked, “I reckon you could tempt me alright.”