Fling (Bully Boys #2)

Chapter 1 - Cielo / Heaven

Cielo / Heaven

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 fucking side.

"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 hollow thump Ashton's body made against the wood.

"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 like you," 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 up around the school's computer lab, and generally keeping himself available for anyone who came by with a question.

But there were barely a handful of students in the computer lab this morning, and they'd all been quietly tapping away on their assignments. None of them were even sitting in the pervert corners, just to make Dylan's day that much less exciting.

Joey had been on shift too, nose buried in some book with dragons on the cover he kept telling everyone they should read.

So with nothing to do and another three hours on the clock before classes, Dylan didn't see why he couldn't multi-task as well.

Excuse him for trying to get ahead on his side hustle, the one that actually paid the bills.

No doubt neither the university nor Dylan's visa application agent would be happy about his ManyFanz account. And not just because, technically, Dylan wasn't supposed to have another income outside of what he made working in the lab.

Then either pay me more, or stop making rent and food and tuition and the damn textbooks so expensive. How's a guy expected to cover it all making minimum wage?

Of course, Mr. Strawberry had to go and ruin it by strutting up to complain about scheduling their MassComm assignment around his yoga lessons or whatever.

Dylan hadn't actually been listening. But, like, he was so fucking important and busy, right? He’d snapped at Dylan to put his phone down and listen to him, his voice carrying loud enough to catch Mr. Foye’s attention.

Dylan’s boss had come marching over to read him the riot act about his job; automatically assuming Dylan had been ignoring a student who legitimately had business in the lab besides being a pest.

Not as if he could argue that he hadn’t been slacking off playing games on his phone though, was it? Not when what he'd really been doing could’ve gotten him into so much more trouble. He’d been stupid, but stupid lucky, too.

Still didn’t make it any easier to keep his head down, nod, and accept his official reprimand while Ashton watched on smugly the whole time.

But what else could Dylan do? He needed his job in the lab.

The pay was shit and the hours were shittier, but working for the university made Dylan eligible for in-state tuition.

That, plus technically being staff, meant he could afford to take classes at the school; which meant he wasn't in violation of his visa; which meant not getting sent…

Back.

Feh. Why he came to this stupid party, he didn't know.

His roommates were forever trying to convince him to get out and socialize more, to enjoy what they kept calling 'the university experience'.

Dylan didn't have time for all that nonsense.

Vincent, sure — he was social king supreme.

But with so much of Alejo and Ian's hours being so wrapped up with their fútbol team, you'd expect they'd understand.

"I hate you," Ashton muttered again.

"?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?" Dylan shot back suspiciously.

"Oh come on," Ashton scoffed. "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. You've been watching me all night since I got here."

Dylan couldn't believe this guy. "Um, excuse you? You're the one who's spent the entire night staring at me like a dog drooling over a steak."

"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's that desperate. 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?"

"You are so full of shit, dude," Ashton finally hissed, his voice sounding strange. "I know the stories. Hell, I've seen you, with that big flashy pink mohawk of yours. Always too busy to work on our term project, but plenty of time to make out with half the guys hanging out on the quad, huh?"

"Not your 'duuude', asshole," Dylan fumed. "And I don't know what you think you've heard or who's been running their mouth, but you sound like a fool repeating it. A stupid, jealous fool who — "

And then it clicked.

"Oh," Dylan realized, his brain suddenly switching gears.

"Oh, you're trying to bait me. Didn't peg you for the type to play coy, but… Somehow you’ve gotten it into your twisted fat head that I’d go for a narrow-minded, bigoted, fresa like you.

But you want me to make the first move, don't you?

Shove your pathetic ass up against the wall and show you what a real seven minutes in heaven is like, Papi? "

"No!" Ashton protested like a little kid lying about who broke a window.

Fucking hell, he did not have time for this shit.

He knew what this was now. Just a heaping load of macho bullshit from a man who was either hilariously ignorant, or one still so deep in the closet he wasn't ready to admit it to himself, much less the world. The first was sad and kind of pathetic, but also not Dylan’s problem, no matter how much Ashton tried to make it one.

The second — especially given how they were in an actual, literal closet? Ridiculous.

Either way, Ashton was fast identifying himself as someone in need of a good, hard, swinging dose of shut the fuck up.

"Like you could," Ashton muttered. "I'd stop you before you could even try it."

Dylan chuckled, shaking his head. "Pretty sure I just proved you can't — or won't — stop shit.

Or is that it? You gave up and let me win, hoping to get a piece of this?

Wishing the villainous homo would have his wicked way with your sorry ass?

Hard pass. I'm not here to seduce you, no matter how bad you want me to. "

"I'm not gay!" Ashton sputtered.

"Yeah, you'd like everyone to believe that, wouldn't you?" Dylan scoffed, feeling pretty damn entertained now. "But we know the truth, don't we, Asssss-shton?"

"Fuck you," Ashton said, his voice low and defensive.

"Oh look! You can use your words after all," Dylan cooed, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the wall. "But again, no. I'm not interested in helping you pull your head, or anything else, out of your sorry ass. Your homophobia's just too exhausting."

"I'm not homophobic!"

Maybe not. But you are hilariously easy to wind up.

Dylan smirked, knowing he had Ashton on the ropes now.

But glancing at his phone again, his smile dropped to see — oh my Goddddddd — hardly another minute and a half had ticked by.

He debated the wisdom of prodding at the objectively larger man he was currently trapped with, but as his only source of entertainment in here…

Ah, fuck it.

"Yeah, sure," Dylan taunted. "You walk into a closet with everyone and start in on how much you don't want to fuck them? Fuck off."

"You fuck off," Ashton muttered, though it was more of a knee-jerk response than anything with actual heat.

Tipping his head back against the patch of wall behind him, Dylan just chuckled. "Told you, you're not my type."

Ashton snorted. "Got a dick, don't I?"

"Eh…" Dylan made a maybe, maybe-not hand waggle, forgetting Ashton wouldn't be able to see it. "Got one, are one, sucks one; I don't fucking care man. Just keep it the hell away from me."

Ashton was silent for all of three seconds, which must be a new kind of record for him.

"Fine, I'll prove I'm not homophobic: If you're so picky, then tell me what is your type."

"Tall," Dylan replied before his brain could catch hold of his mouth, because apparently Ashton's chatty germs were spreading. "Athletic. Shoulders I can hang off of. Massive swinging cock, and he knows how to use it."

"Thought you said I wasn't your type?"

And oh, that bastard sounded so smug Dylan could have slapped the shit out of him just then.

"Intelligent, which immediately rules you out," Dylan gritted out pointedly. "Brave; not afraid to stand up for people, no matter the consequences to himself. Oh — and doesn't hate me. That one's pretty important."

"Yeah, well," Ashton grumbled. "Makes you a bit of a hypocrite, then, doesn't it? Pretty sure I saw you in the bathroom by the science labs, blowing the guy who keeps getting chased off the quad for passing out bible tracts."

"Blew him, changed his religion, and the world is now a better place for it.

Why, you looking to chat with God too?" Dylan said, rolling his eyes.

"You can't seriously be giving me shit for this.

Weren't you in the computer lab bragging to your friends about all the women you've dated?

In fact, pretty sure it was right before I gave you a warning for the noise, then banned you from the lab when you called me a 'fucking cocksucker'. "

"So?" Ashton huffed. "It's true, isn't it?"

"?A la verga! Eres un idiota," Dylan snapped at him. "Un idiota homofóbico."

Ashton grunted. "I told you, I am not homophobic. I once hooked up with two chicks on the same date!"

Dylan legit bashed his head on something in the dark, howling with laughter.

"Look, I'll — Fine," Ashton sputtered, because for real — this fucker could not go a minute without listening to himself talk, could he? "You tell me how I'm supposed to prove it then."

"You wanna prove it?" Dylan grinned. "Easy: kiss me."