A whole crowd to see what he’d let me do to him…
No. Dylan could be good. He could keep his hands where they were, holding onto the last shreds of Dylan's self-control in their gold-knuckled grip, satisfying himself with leaving his claim on Ashton's mouth again.
And fuck Ashton to hell and back for turning out to be a good kisser. Areallygood kisser. Dylan groaned, unable to contain himself when Ashton tongued so greedily at his bottom lip; slipping into the space Dylan granted him and moaning, begging Dylan for more.
Too bad the moment had to end. He could hear the whispering coming from the other side of the door. Their time was almost up.
Ashton's sweet whine was the purest of highs when Dylan broke their kiss.
"Clean yourself up, you look like shit," Dylan told him, putting his own clothes back in shape. He wondered how long it'd takeAshton to realize it was too dark for Dylan to see anything in here, that he was being punked. But the only sound Ashton made was a very heavy, uneven breathing.
Oh, my little strawberry. Just had your world rocked and now you don't know what to do about it, do you?
Did this man even understand how flattering Dylan found that? How fuckingpowerfulit made him feel?
Dylan couldn't resist leaning up quickly to whisper in the stunned man’s ear. "See you in your dreams, asshole.”
Smoothing his hands down the front of Ashton's shirt as if to tidy it, he was unable to turn down the opportunity to give Ashton's nipples a pinch first, just to listen to him gasp and squirm.
Delicious.
Still —
"Ashton,” he hissed, adjusting himself in his now too-tight pants. “C'mon, idiota – they're gonna open the door on us any second. Get your shit together, straight boy."
It seemed to galvanize Ashton into action. Either that, or the burst of laughter close by, chased quickly by the quick sounds of shuffling as Ashton adjusted his own clothing.
The light was blinding when they wrenched open the door, and for a second Dylan completely forgot where he was; transported momentarily to another time, another too-small space. But no, this was a party. Some stupid thing thrown by people whose biggest worries were where their next drink was coming from, or maybe if they got a B instead of a B+ on a quiz.
"Hey, lovebirds!" someone shouted. "Time's up. Come on out."
"¡Qué, cabrón!" Dylan shouted, recovering fast as he could to strut out like a cockerel into his yard; keeping everyone focused onhim,and giving Ashton a chance to compose himself. "You all really just sit in there and say Hail Marys the whole time? Lame! Thought you said this game was exciting. Mi abuela gets more action on Sundays, may she rest in peace."
Yeah, that got him some chuckles and even a whoop or two; walking that thin line between humor and belligerence that'd saved Dylan's neck more than once. He'd spent his entire life dealing with thugs and bigots. Sometimes the only way to shut that kind of mockery down, was to shut it downhard.
"So who blew who?" jeered some guy in the back of the crowd.
"You know I'm saving this load for that pretty ass of yours," Dylan snapped at him just as quickly, cupping his junk and throwing a wink in the jerk's general direction. "Now kiss your girlfriend goodbye, and be ready for me upstairs in ten minutes, princess. Daddy's on a schedule."
And that bought him even more laughter, covering Dylan's trail as he booked it out of the living room. Getting himself far away from that foolish game and the kind of people who'd think it was funny. He'd need to keep an eye out for that guy who'd mouthed off, or any of his friends. One of them might prove stupid enough to decide Dylan needed to pay for those jokes.
Heh. Just let them try it.
Compared to some of the people Dylan had dealt with in his life? Those guys were nothing. And they'd learn their mistake quickly if they tried to back Dylan into a corner again.
Holyshitcould he use a beer. Unfortunately, Ashton was right on his heels when Dylan ducked into the kitchen, because of fucking course that was his luck tonight.
"Dude!" Ashton snarled as Dylan snagged a beer from the stack of twelve-packs on the kitchen table and popped the top. "What the hell was that?"
"You tell me,dude." Dylan rolled his eyes over the edge of the can, nodding his head at the couple making out in the corner. "You really wanna do this here?"
Ashton opened his mouth, and for a second Dylan thought he might, actually. But then he snapped it shut, just as a big guy leaned in the doorway.
"Hey, Ashton," called the walking wall of muscles. "You seen Oz?"
"What?" Ashton blinked in confusion at the newcomer. "Uh, no? Maybe check the porch?"
"Alright, thanks," the guy said absently. His eyes darted quickly from Dylan's fluorescent pink mohawk to his face, his studded black leather jacket, down to his skinny jeans — interesting — and then, like everyone else, back to Dylan's hair; just as intended. "Do I know you?"
