CHAPTER 1
Cielo / Heaven
1. (noun, literal) - the sky
2. (noun, figurative) - the home of gods / God
3. (noun, figurative) - a 'good' afterlife
4. (noun, slang) - Sweetheart, Dear, Darling
Dylan did not have time for this nonsense.
He licked his lips, trying to ignore the other man pressed in way too close beside him. Trying to ignore the stuffy little closet, and all the bad memories that being in a cramped space like this brought with it. Trying to ignore the sounds of the Christmas party still raging on outside the cheap door; the spoiled rich kids all having a good time on the other side; the constant fidgeting from this pendejo he was stuck in here with who couldn't seem to stay on his fuckingside.
"Either back off or lube up, Papi," Dylan muttered, shoving the bigger guy off him.Again.
"Fuck off," Ashton snapped, shoving back.
Yeah,no. Despite the difference in their sizes, it took all of about half a second before Dylan had him up against the closet door; his forearm pressed against that oh-so-crushable windpipe and screw whatever the people on the other side thought of the hollowthumpAshton's body made against thewood.
"Don't. Fucking. Touch. Me." Dylan hissed, leaning just a little more of his weight into the arm he held against Ashton's throat.
"K! A'ght! Sssthhp!" Ashton choked out, tapping the outside of the forearm currently interfering with his ability to breathe.
With a loud "T'che!" Dylan released him, returning to his side of the space and checking his phone to see that — oh joy, only three minutes of their allotted sentence had passed.
Ashton glared at him, rubbing his throat in the glow cast by the phone screen before Dylan cut the light off and pocketed it.
"What's your problem?" Ashton muttered in the darkness, the rasp to his voice bringing a smirk to Dylan's lips.
And oh, Dylan was well aware his problems could fill a book. None of them were anything a pampered, preppy prince like Ashton Navarro would understand, even if Dylan had been in a sharing mood.
"Don't like assholes," Dylan replied instead.
"Really?" Ashton said. "Not what I'd heard."
Dylan scowled. Ah, so that explained it.
"Then I guess I just don't likeyou," Dylan responded, trying to put more distance between them.
It wasn't easy. Ashton was tall and lithe, but muscular. Plus, it was a pretty small closet.
Not for the first or the last time, Dylan cursed the rat-faced blond girl outside. The one that, when the bottle had landed on her, thought it'd be oh-so-fucking-hilarious to declare Ashton and Dylan the next ones to spend this 'seven minutes in heaven' together.
And fuck Dylan for agreeing, too; his curiosity caught after hearing the mysterious game mentioned in so many American movies and shows he'd watched growing up in Mexico City. He'd figured — hey, why not? One round couldn't hurt, right?
Seven minutes in hell, was more like it.
It was hot and smelled of old boots. Made his nose itch. And Ashton kept elbowing his ribs, except when he was stomping on Dylan's toes instead.
For a moment, Dylan let himself imagine the situation differently; it was a good porno setup, for sure. It could have been the fodder for any number of fantasies Dylan's gay little heart could devise — if only Ashton hadn't gone and ruined it by being in here in the dark with him too.
Dylan didn't do well in small spaces, and the one potential saving grace of this entire ordeal was lost with the lack of lights. Never in his life would he ever admit it out loud — the guy already had an ego the size of an elephant, no reason to puff it up any more — but… Ashton wasn't terrible to look at, as long as he kept his mouth shut. The problem was that Ashton knew it. What's more, he wanted to make sure everyone else knew it too. He was a snobby, arrogant, prissy, entitled, fragile little strawberry Dylan wouldn't touch even if they were the last two men on earth.
Dylan knew for a fact that Ashton hated his guts, if only because Ashton had directly told him so that morning. And when he'd arrived at the house party thrown by a friend of a friend of one of Dylan's roommates. And again, just now, in case Dylan had forgotten.
Fuck him for almost getting Dylan fired today, too. Sure, Dylan knew he wasn't supposed to work his other jobs when he was on shift. Ideally, he should be fixing things or tidying uparound the school's computer lab, and generally keeping himself available for anyone who came by with a question.
