"It'll be fun, Danforth, come on!"

Chad snickered. It was not a good idea, he knew. He might be lost to the world, as his snickering clearly showed, but that only strengthened his resolve to stay here. It wouldn't make his reputation any good if he were to be spotted drunk at some crash party, or worst, at some car crash.

God. He was too intoxicated to attempt word jokes.

"Number 22, are you or are you not part of this team?"

And that was Roberts' voice; Roberts, the team's captain and leader in and outside the court. Roberts, he who could crush Chad's starting career in a whim.

"I´m going, I'm going."

He ended in a sparkling new silver Camaro's back seat (nice car, leather seats, gleaming wax coat, purring engine), continually elbowed due to McLaren, Xian and Davidson's childish antics. But at least Montoya was the one driving, and Chad knew for sure the guy didn't drink.

They parked before he knew what was going on - and yet not soon enough, according to Chad's ribs. Monday's training was going to be hell, even if he devoted half of the already rolling Sunday to rest his hangover. Then he was on his feet before he managed to catch on what was going on, yet again.

The party was insane, even from the perspective of a guy who had had more than a healthy load of insane parties in the last five months. But then, he had never been this drunk before; maybe the party's apparent extra insanity came from his extra inebriated state - sensatory overload or something.

"Here, drink this!"

Roberts' words were both an order and a shout, as it was the way he usually communicated while smashed. But despite Chad's respect for the man's sport prowess, he didn't feel inclined to comply on this. He didn't know what the blue liquid was. Or what the milky substance in the glass' bottom was. Or where the hell he was.

Montoya arched an eyebrow at him, I don't like this place.

Chad shook his head in return, I don't like it either.

They only had these silent conversations when drunk; that is, when Chad was drunk, even if he never got as drunk as the others. Not as drunk as he currently was, anyway. Montoya usually appreciated that Chad knew his limits and tried to stay within them.

Not today, though.

"Now, that's a sight!"

So, there were some truths Chad had learned about his team partners. These team partners, anyway; Robert's closer group. He would never share these little bits of information, willingly or not - they were the best players among the whole team, the ones with a future, and therefore the ones with more to lose. One slip from Chad, a wrong word in the wrong ears, and he could destroy their careers.

They could destroy his career too, even if only with lies or exaggerating his minor mistakes. They, on the other hand, were a decadent bunch, each one in a particular style. Roberts was the worst when it came to alcohol and parties; still, he didn't do drugs - but then, that was Davidson's specialty. Xian was a more laid down guy, almost like Chad himself; although it had to be said that the man had an unfortunate gaming addiction, and most of his money went into keeping his creditors at bay. And Montoya might be the most responsible among them, but he also was the one Chad knew for sure used steroids.

And then there was McLaren. Ah, good ol' McLaren was a lecher. A satyr, Montoya had called him once. Not being one for metaphors, Chad preferred to think of him as the most sex-driven dude he had ever met. McLaren didn't care about little things like gender and age. The first meant Roberts had had to break his nose to stop him from molesting their team mates, or so the rumor said; the second meant the police would have locked him in jail years ago, were they to know how young some of his bed partners were.

Chad had no desire to discover who the guy's next victim would be (he was tired of keeping that particular secret) but still he followed McLaren's gaze. The man had an incredible good taste, after all - something Chad reluctantly acknowledged half of the time, as half of the time McLaren's trophies weren't of the fair gender.

Maybe Chad should change that last phrase: they weren't females. The individual McLaren was marking to be hunted had never been other than fairy, despite being male.

And Chad couldn't let him fall in his team mate's clutches.

"That one's mine," he declared, leaving their startled partners behind. It wasn't the brightest idea he had ever had, but under his current conditions he couldn't think of another excuse. He had to move fast, or kill himself to avoid witnessing how McLaren lured this one.

That he didn't pause to think his next words was not a problem - alcohol always made him babbly.

"Looking good," he said, taking the stool by the would-be-victim's right, and a little surprised at how slurred his voice sounded. Apparently Ryan Evans noticed it too, as his eyebrow arched questioningly. And boy, did he look good. McLaren was right: he was a sight. Eye-candy, if Chad had ever seen one.

The eyebrow was still arched when Chad's gaze returned to his ex-schoolmate's face.

"Buy me something?" Evans asked, already signaling the bartender, two of the same.

There was no recognition in his demeanor, something that made Chad frown. He hadn't change that much in those few years, had he? Sure, his hair was shorter, and he was now a full grown man, and he had a goatee. But nothing of it would prevent an old acquaintance from recognizing him.

"Do you know who I am?" he said, dropping a bill on the counter and taking a sip. "This is water!" he sputtered almost immediately.

"Seltzer water," Evans declared with a grin, toasting in his direction before drinking. "And yes, I know who you are: Chad Danforth, a NBA's rising start … and one who shouldn't be found in a place like this."

There was something in his tone. Worry? A warning? Chad couldn't say. Still, Evan's face hadn't showed any of it - there was a mischievous half-grin in his mouth, an alluring glint in his eyes. A promise in the way he slightly tipped his head to the left.

"Peter Parker, by the way," he suddenly said, extending his right hand for Chad to shake.

"What?" Chad chuckled. What game was Evans playing?

"I know, I know," the blonde rolled his eyes. "I have heard enough Spiderman's jokes to last me a lifetime. Just call me Pete, okay?"

Chad frowned again, his brain fuzzy.

"But that's not-"

A hand pulled his shirt, and Chad suddenly found himself standing in front of a still seated Ryan Evans, the blonde's mouth really close to Chad's ear.

"My name is Pete and you've never seen me before," Evans whispered frantically. "Not if you wish to leave this place in one piece."

Chad could have said something, anything, but in that moment two heavy hands landed on his shoulders and roughly increased the distance between Evans and himself. The black dressed gorilla who had attacked them kept Chad's biceps in a painful grip, the obvious purpose to keep him from running away. And there was a second man, younger and lither than Gorilla Man - although that guy's victim wasn't Chad, as his attention was single-mindedly focused somewhere else.

When the man finally released his prey, Chad couldn't keep from noticing Evans' mouth, pinkish and wet, or his flushed state. The only reason he finally took his eyes from the enticing image was the man's glare, one that made the guy look as dangerous as his monster of a bodyguard; more, even. His voice was definitely laced in venom.

"Was he bothering you, baby?"

Evans' laughter was not the one Chad remembered. It was throaty and slightly naughty; a little condescending as well. It suited the blonde's change in demeanor, Chad decided, as he suddenly looked … predatory.

"I'm not your baby, Oscar," he said, sliding gracefully from the stool and pressing himself to the man's front. "And no, he wasn't bothering me. I was bothering him."

Evans lingering gaze set Chad on fire, even after the blonde chuckled derogatorily at him and turned to leisurely kiss the man again.

"You little slut," the man stated with a lazy smile when the kiss ended, both of his hands firmly placed on Evans's lower back. "One day you're going to get someone killed with that teasing of yours."

Evans' pout made his lips even more desirable, in Chad's opinion - not that anybody was asking for it. In fact, the only one paying attention to him seemed to be Gorilla Man. The other two only had eyes for each other, the blonde's fingers playing with the man's buttons.

"You don't want me to have fun?" he moped. Chad really didn't want to witness this.

"I'm all the fun you need," was said with a tone that made it sound almost as a death threat.

Evans remained nonplused. "But you haven't been around," he stated, his hands disappearing inside of the man's jacket. "I've grown restless."

Chad could say the man was reluctant to shred Evans off him, but he did it when a second group (two bodyguards, one big fish, if you went with movies' clichés) approached them. The man acknowledged their presence with a nod before addressing Evans again.

"I can help with that once this is settled."

"Of course, work," Evans took a step back, rolling his eyes. "I'll better go home; these things take hours and are boring as hell."

Chad should be panicking at being abandoned in the middle of these dangerous looking men, but Evans took his wrist while leaving. The bodyguard didn't let go, thought, and the blonde turned to frown at who was apparently his sugar daddy. The man glared back, but nodded once, sharply, and Chad was free again.

"Pete." It was a warning, a second death threat.

"Have I ever betrayed you?" Evans shouted back with a dazzling smile, never stopping, pulling a speechless Chad with him across the throngs of dancers, drinkers, chatters, almost reaching the main doors when

hell broke loose

In the following mayhem, Chad found himself brusquely shoved to the floor, pushed, pulled, kicked and covered in glass and dust. Screams and gunfire made it impossible to discern what was being said, except for three words.

"Police! Don't move!"