CHAPTER 2
Fresa / Strawberry
1. (noun, literal) - strawberry
2. (noun, slang) - a snobby, superficial person who has lived an especially charmed life
"How does kissing a guy prove I'mNOTgay?!"
"If you're totally straight, then you've got nothing to fear — one kiss won't change anything. But we both know the truth, don't we, fresa?" Dylan checked the time on his phone. "You're scared you'll like it, and then you won't be able to keep lying to yourself any more."
"I'm not lying," Ashton spat.
"Then kiss me, and prove it."
"Fuck off."
"Such language, Ashton! You blow all the boys with that mouth?" Dylan smirked.
"Screw you."
"Naw. Maybe if you ask nicely. And only after you kiss me. Y'know. If you're so sure of yourself."
Ashton muttered something under his breath, and Dylan's smile widened at the frustrated tone.
"What was that?"
"Shut the fuck up," Ashton growled.
"Oh, that's real witty m— "
But before Dylan could say his piece, Ashton was grabbing clumsily at his shirt collar, hand striking like a snake slithering up Dylan's arm to his neck, and —
And Dylan's reflexes kicked in again, just as fast as before; protecting himself, defending himself. He grabbed at whatever openings his opponent was foolish enough to leave him — big fistfuls of shirt, hair — yanking hard on whatever he touched.
Logically, he didn't want to hurt the guy. Not to mention an assault charge would pretty much blow his entire life right out of the water. But it wasn't the logical part of his brain that had him shoving Ashton up hard against the closet wall so the bastard would back the fuck off, now was it?
No, that part was too busy trying to work out why Ashton's fingers had curved around thebackof Dylan's neck; why he was being pulled forward even closer; why Ashton's other hand had come up to hold Dylan's jaw; why, why,whyAshton's mouth was on his, hard and angry; all heat and aggression, teeth clacking, and noses bumping; his body —
His body relaxing against Dylan's,underDylan's; lips parting, giving, welcoming as Ashton pulled Dylan tighter still; pressed flush together, their breathing loud in the space; Ashton's hands grabbing Dylan's face, cupping his jaw, holding Dylan close.
It was dizzying. Dylan groaned into the kiss, leaning in just that little bit more so he could suck on Ashton's lower lip. To nip it, graze his teeth along the corner as if he could bite at that smirk, before returning to claim that damn spoiled, sweet mouth once more.
Ashton gasped, and Dylan used the opportunity to slide his tongue inside; wanting,needing,to see how far Ashton would let him push this, or if he'd meet this new challenge too.
One of the hands too-softly gripping his face slid along his cheek to curve up his head, threatening to try and thread through his hair or some shit. Ashton's fingers ghosted hesitantly over Dylan's cropped burr, halting abruptly when he met the stiff-gelled seam of Dylan’s mohawk.
Dylan smirked, nudging his knee between Ashton's thighs. And for a minute, it felt like Ashton would balk, as if he was thinking about challenging Dylan for control. That would be interesting. A really terrible idea, though Dylan couldn't claim he wasn't a little curious how that might play out too. But Dylan just thrust his tongue between those too-soft lips again, leaning his weight into Ashton's bigger frame all the harder, tightening his grip in Ashton's hair and shirt.
That was all it took before Ashton whined, arching into Dylan's touch, his mouth desperate and needy.
Dylan's hands tightened at Ashton's surrender, tugging the taller man's head down to an angle so he could press further; deepening the kiss, everything. God, Ashton was takingeverything. Melting under him, moaning, his tongue tangling, dancing with Dylan's. Hot and wet and firm and greedy and gasping and grasping; until Dylan's knees about went weak with Ashton's eager response to Dylan's claim.
It was all he could do not to slip his hand down and cup Ashton through his jeans; to pull him in closer by the hips, grinding against him. He was pretty sure Ashton wasn't ready for that yet, butMary, Mother of God.Dylan was fast approaching the point he'd need to dosomethingabout this coy little cocktease it seemed he'd stumbled on.
He was so fucking hard, his cock aching for the friction of Ashton's lean body. My God, he wanted to show this cocky straight boy all the ways Dylan could make Ashton eat his words. The only thing stopping him was the certainty that if he gave in, it would push Ashton over what already seemed a very shaky line. He'd break off and storm out, and then there'd go all of Dylan's fun.
Instead, he yanked Ashton's head back by the fist Dylan still had in his hair, raining closed-mouthed kisses down the column of that too-pretty throat. Fuck, but he'd love to suck his mark into Ashton's skin, if for no other reason than to witness his reaction when Dylan asked him about it in class tomorrow. But no, no. There was a Christmas party raging outside, wasn’t there?
