𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊 '𝐍 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕨𝕠

You could only gape at the space around you as he retreated back to his green leather sofa. It was the only thing in the room that hadn't been shattered, torn apart, or flipped over and it groaned under his ten-ton weight.

"Montgomery Gator!" you shrieked. You were the one person who could get within a ten-foot radius of him without triggering one of his rockstar meltdowns. You were the one person who could be inside of this room without leaving with some external injury. And you were absolutely the one they would send to clean this all up first thing tomorrow morning. "Corporate is going to eat you alive!"

"Let 'em try. They know what I can do," he said, looking up from his bass to flash you his steely razor-sharp teeth—freshly polished by yours truly. Two different medics had to be in the room while you did it (per company policy) and nearly everyone you worked with expected you to come out of it exactly like the last guy had...with a missing finger.

You stepped over a pile of broken glass toward the vanity, nearly gagging at the slice of what must've been a week-old pizza sitting right on top of it. "So what was that all about?" You asked as casually as possible, flicking the pizza slice off of the table and into the trash. "Your little display earlier, I mean."

Monty stopped tuning his bass but didn't look up to meet your eye. "Fucking kids are getting on my nerves."

"What? But they love you," you pouted.

"Oh yeah. Really feeling the love when a dozen toddlers are stepping on my tail all goddamn day."

"Monty—"

"—And would it kill those sticky little fuckers to—!" he halted himself mid-rant and discarded his bass behind him. He was quite literally fuming; chest rising and falling as he worked himself down from what could have easily been today's Alligator Attack part 2.

Rolling his shoulders, Monty relaxed into the sofa with one hand on his thigh. The other was lounging around the back of the couch. "C'mere."

Monty beckoned you closer with the curl of his clawed finger. Hot, perfumed smoke spun from his nostrils like a broken fog machine, making him look more like a dragon than an alligator. Only once you were standing directly in front of him did he lean forward over his knees and offer you his right hand.

At first, you were confused, but then you turned his hand over and saw that the claw of his middle finger had snapped off, leaving behind a jagged black shard. "Ouchie," you sympathized. 

Question answered: they can actually feel. Weird.

Monty looked away from you, feigning discomfort. But he didn't try to retract his massive hand from your grip. "Can't play bass without these bad boys," he grumbled.

"I can put a work order in first thing tomorrow morning."

He rolled his eyes and looked back at you with an unimpressed sneer. "Is that it?"

Your eyes narrowed. "What else do you want me to—" but you didn't even have to finish your own sentence before an idea struck you.

It took both of your arms and most of your energy to lift his hand to your face level. Without an ounce of hesitation, you pressed a quick kiss to his knuckle right at the base of his injured finger. Monty immediately stopped breathing. Or whatever it was he did that simulated breathing.

"There, I kissed it better. Now you can kindly stop whining."

Monty leaned over his knees without daring to break eye contact, careful not to spook you away and break the physical tie that ran between you; his hand in your own. It would be a couple of hours before you realized that it was the first time you touched him willingly. Not because you had to perform maintenance or because someone else blackmailed you into working with him on their behalf.