Every year, Abuela organized a big celebration the day after Christmas. Barring any news-worthy emergencies, the station would still be shut down, and the whole ninth-floor studios turned into a winter wonderland according to whatever theme she'd picked out that year.
…are you bringing…
All of Ashton's family would be there — well, almost all — along with anyone Abuela considered worthy of an invite. Elliot Hart had shown up one year, straight from the recording studio on the third floor where he'd been working on his latest album. And Matthew Greene always made an appearance, in between his charity drives.
…to the party?
Abuela would be upset if Ashton tried coming alone. Tio Carlos still sat at the kid's table after he'd tried coming stag two years ago, much to the obvious chagrin of last year's date.
Who…?
There's that girl in my history class, or the brunette from Rho Rho Rho…
He wasn't sure his family would approve of any of the women Ashton usually dated, or —
Beneath him, Dylan shifted slightly before settling, setting Ashton's entire world on its end.
Because — for a moment there? Ashton'd had a crazy idea flash into his mind. An image, really, complete with a live band, and Christmas lights, and everything. Of strolling into the annual party he'd been going to since he was six; smiling as he greeted his family and their friends, all with Dylan on his arm.
God, I bet he'd lookgoodin a suit. Something sleek, with a classic cut. Old school, like Bond.
The mohawk would stay of course, as bright and unmistakable as the rest of him. He'd laugh, eyes flashing with mischief as Ashton pulled him to the dance floor; always decorated to the nines in the middle of the morning show set, and still not as brilliant as Dylan's grin while Ashton spun him around. And after?Oh, after — they'd go out on the town, right? Still too keyed up to sleep, maybe they'd hit up the bars. Or maybe back to a hotel room, a nice one. The city skyline sparkling behind him as Ashton lay back and spread his legs; as Dylan knelt on the bed between Ashton's thighs, shoving his knees up and —
"Hey, wher'you goin'?" Dylan slurred drowsily as Ashton moved to get up, tucking his phone away in his back pocket.
"I…gotta get back. To the, uh… the house," Ashton answered him lamely, unable to meet Dylan's eyes as he brushed himself off.
Dylan tilted his head, confusion pinching his face. "Think there's a chance we can do this again sometime?"
No. It can't happen again.
It should never have happened at all.
Ashton had been stupid to let himself forget that, even for a moment. He'd been curious, but curiosity killed the cat. Before, he hadn't known what he was missing.
But now?
"I'm not…gay," Ashton whispered, the half-truth getting half-stuck in his throat.
Dante snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, so you've said. What's that got to do with anything?"
Ashton barked a laugh so sharp it hurt his throat, but there was nothing like humor in it. "A lot, I'd think."
"Then maybe you think too much," Dylan snapped, his expression twisting into a scowl. "Be honest, Ashton: did you like it? Not just the blowjob or fingering or stuff anyone could do, but — jacking me off, holding my cock; all the things I said I'd want to do with you?"
Yes.
God help me, but…
Yes. Yes, I did.
And that's the problem.
"…Doesn't matter if I liked it," Ashton finally said, dragging his eyes up to meet Dylan's. "Ican't."
He wasn't like Dylan; able to live and fuck whoever and however he wanted, then go bragging about it to everyone he knew after. Ashton was a Navarro. His family's history was literally the stuff of legend, his future planned out for him almost as soon as he'd been born.
And sure, he couldn't say the perks weren't nice. That being able to drop his mother and grandfather's names didn't open doors for him to saunter through. Ashton wouldn't deny he had it pretty easy, but that didn't come without strings.
