Dorian doesn’t like to talk badly about people. Or to even think badly about them. It usually makes him feel guilty—at least if the person in question is just a regular person and not a terrible human being who likes to torture people for the fun of it.
But—and there is no nice way to put it—Ashton makes Dorian go completely insane. He’s so loud, the language they use is can’t be described as anything other than foul, he keeps getting into bar fights just for the heck of it and he keeps making fun of Dorian. All the damn time.
He laughs about Dorian’s clothes. About the way he speaks. About the way he walks. About how “sensitive” he is. About how Dorian is supposedly a “rich boy” and “smells like money”.
Dorian has been assured by Fresh Cut Grass that this is simply how “they show affection”, but Dorian doesn’t care for it one tiny bit.
He’s annoyed, to say the least and he tries to avoid Ashton as best as he can.
Which doesn’t work.
It seems as if Ashton can sense Dorian’s annoyance—as if Dorian’s constant attempts to get as far away from Ashton as possible pull them closer, like a moth to the flame.
Dorian knows that Imogen can sense his ever growing annoyance. She’s been trying to hide a smile all day whenever she looks at Dorian and Ashton. It makes Dorian wonder what she can fathom from Ashton’s mind.
Probably not much.
Dorian feels guilty for a second after thinking it, but then he does his best to swat the guilt away like a fly. If Ashton insists on being a dick, Dorian has every right to be mean to them. Inside his head. At least a little bit.
It’s not as if he has to stoop as low as Ashton and say those mean things out loud. Dorian is above that. He would never.
He’s perfectly well mannered and—
“Oi, rich boy, do you want another drink or are you off to bed already?”
Dorian can feel his eyebrow twitch as he turns his head around to face Ashton. Ashton has a wide, shit-eating grin on his face and they’re leaning close to Dorian—way too close for Dorian’s comfort.
Dorian leans back, which doesn’t seem to dissuade Ashton at all.
“How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not a rich boy”, he says. Ashton’s grin grows even wider.
“Maybe not right now, but some of that rich boy stench stays even if you left most of your money behind.”
“If I smell so bad maybe it would help if you keep your distance from me”, Dorian answers, his tone definitely on edge now. He tries his best not to get distracted by the cracked side of Ashton’s skull, the opalescent, shimmering surface of his head that glitters in all sorts of different colors in the candlelight of the bar they’re in.
“Aw, don’t get your panties twisted, I’m just messing with you.”
“Maybe you can go mess with somebody else?”
Ashton looks at him, still grinning and with their head cocked to the side as they regard Dorian’s expression and body language. Finally he leans back on his bar stool and raises his hand to signal to the bartender.
“Two more for me and my little princeling over here”, they shout.
Dorian can’t help it. The words are out of his mouth before he can do anything to stop them.
“You live to annoy me, don’t you?”
Ashton laughs full of delight, throwing their head back and hitting their thigh with an open palm.
“What can I say, I like the attention”, he says, still grinning and nodding to the bartender as two drinks are placed in front of them.
Dorian takes his glass and knocks it back, sure that he won’t be able to make it through this evening without a certain amount of alcohol in his system. It’s only then that his brain catches up to what Ashton said before.
“My little princeling.”
Heat rises into his cheeks and he sputters for a second, grabbing his empty glass tighter than he has to. Dorian thinks about Imogen’s amused smiles and Ashton’s constant need to be close to Dorian just to get on his nerves, about Fresh Cut Grass’ remarks about something they heard before called “pulling pigtails”.
“Look at you, you can drink like a regular person, huh?”, Ashton says. Dorian turns around to face them again, to test his newest, completely ridiculous theory.
“You know, I can hold my breath indefinitely”, Dorian blurts out, staring right into Ashton’s eyes. He wonders if it makes sense for them to have a difficult relationship with each other, being related to beings made of earth and air respectively. He also wonders if it’s possible to die from embarrassment after implying something as crude as he just did.
But all his doubts are scattered in the wind when Dorian watches Ashton’s face change. The grin slowly drops as his eyes go wide, his mouth opens slightly as if to say something but then failing to find the words.
Dorian can’t remember the last time he felt this smug and victorious.
He turns back towards the bartender and gestures for more drinks, pretending to be unaffected by the situation he’s in.
It’s not like he would ever actually do anything with Ashton. Certainly not. He has taste. And Ashton is entirely distasteful. But now that the thoughts have entered his mind, there doesn’t seem to be a way to get rid of them.
Dorian thinks about how easy it would be to shut Ashton up if he could just grab his terrible, grinning face and—
Fuck.
“Well, that’s… interesting to know”, Ashton says. Dorian could swear that his voice sounds a little hoarse. Maybe it’s just his imagination.
“So just remember, if I want to drown you in a ditch somewhere, you have no chance to survive.”
Ashton laughs at that, loud and delighted about Dorian’s threat, about his change of direction in this absurd conversation. Dorian doesn’t want to take satisfaction from Ashton’s approval, but it spreads through him like warm water soaking a dry sponge as he lets Ashton’s laughter wash over him.
“Don’t underestimate my stamina”, Ashton says.
Dorian almost chokes on his newly arrived drink.
Holy shit.
Are they… flirting?
Is this what’s happening?
Dorian has never been good at flirting or to recognize people’s intentions towards him unless they’re being made clear in a terribly obvious manner. He still wants to bites himself in the butt for not recognizing Gilmore’s attempts to flirt with him.
Ashton is probably just like this.
Annoying. Annoying, annoying, annoying.
Dorian clears his throat and glances over at Ashton who is grinning again—the same reckless grin that keeps driving Dorian insane.
“You’re still sitting here”, Ashton says.
“I am. What of it?”
“Despite being annoyed by me.”
“You shouldn’t underestimate my stamina, either.”
The satisfaction is back when Ashton chokes on his drink. This victory makes him feel reckless for a change.
“Well, whenever you feel like being less annoying, you know where I am.”
He gets up from his barstool and knocks back the rest of his drink before leaving Ashton behind, resisting the urge to turn back to look at them.
Dorian might regret this tomorrow, but right now it makes him feel as if he’s standing on top of the world.