Ashton tried similarly to turn and head back for the safety of the kitchen, but he found his way blocked, a sea of bodies and hands herding him, pulling him toward the depths of the closet instead. He caught flashes of a pink mohawk as well, a yelp and snatches of"¡Ay, get your hands off me, cabrón!"before he was shoved into a small space padded with coats and another body, and then the world disappeared.
"Aw, let's give our new happy couple a hand!" the blond yelled from the other side of the door amid a mocking round of applause and shouting. "Start the timer!"
Just fuckinggreat.
"I fuckinghateyou," Ashton hissed into the darkness.
"Aw, really?" Dylan snapped back at him. "Because I was over here writing sonnets about your eyes, pendejo."
Crossing his arms over his chest, Ashton blew out a deep breath. He tried leaning back against something, but the springy wall of coats offered no support, swaying under him on their hangers. The shelf just above hit his chin, forcing him to either curl up uncomfortably or shuffle closer to the door and, hrm. Maybe lean against the frame? Sorta like —
"Either back off or lube up, Papi," Dylan muttered, hands shoving Ashton roughly.
"Fuck off," Ashton snapped at him, shoving back.
And, okay. He'd like to think it was because of the surprise factor, or the darkness, or the difference in their heights giving the guy some weird kind of leverage, or… something.
Whatever it was, before Ashton knew it, Dylan had him up against the closet door; one thick arm pressed painfully hard against his windpipe as the hollowthumpofAshton's body rang in his own ears.
"Don't. Fucking. Touch. Me." Dylan hissed, pressing hard enough to turn breathing fromuncomfortabletoquestionable.
"K! A'ght! Sssthhp!" Ashton choked out, slapping at the forearm currently interfering with his ability to breathe.
With a loud "T'che!" he was released, stumbling, sucking air back into his lungs as Dylan moved away, returning to his side of the space. With a sharp hiss, Ashton flinched away from a bright flare of light as Dylan checked his phone, before making another disgusted noise at whatever he saw. Glaring at him, Ashton rubbed his throat in the glow cast by the phone screen before Dylan noticed, and cut off the light.
"What's your problem?" Ashton muttered in the darkness, his voice unusually raspy.
"Don't like assholes," came the answer, as ifAshtonwas the one being a problem here.
Ashton scowled bitterly. "Really?" he spat. "Not what I'd heard."
"Then I guess I just don't likeyou," Dylan responded.
There was a shuffling sound. Ashton braced himself, ready if Dylan tried anything again.
He didn't.
Yet.
Ashton waited, hating the darkness, the silence, the utterboredom thatwas all this game ever brought.
Half of Rho Rho Rho is here. Why did it have to behim?
"I hate you," Ashton muttered.
"¡Ay! the fuck you think I care?" Dylan exploded. "Not exactly thrilled to be in here with you either, asshole."
Ashton snorted. "Yeah, right."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh come on," Ashton scoffed at him. "You were practically panting to be shoved in here with me. Don't think I didn't notice the way you've been checking me out in class. Bet you've been watching me all night since I got here."
"Um, excuse you? You're the one who's spent the entire night staring at me like a dog drooling over a steak."
Ashton couldn't believe this guy. "Please. Don't try to act as if you haven't been thinking about me jumping your bones in here."
"Are you fucking kidding me?!' Dylan sputtered. "No one'sthatdesperate. Wake up, cabrón — you ain't God's gift. What makes you think I'd let you even this close if I wasn't tricked in here by that stupid game?"
