Chapter Text
Dorian didn't know which divine figure he had pissed off to get to where he was at that moment, and he had to do many, many think-backs and double-takes in the little time he was given to breathe in order to remember how he got to where he was.
From what he could gather, it went a little bit like this:
Fearne and Orym desperately wanted to get out of the house, and Dorian had already organized a little self-care pow-wow for himself. And while Fearne and Orym weren't about to go do something wild, Dorian wasn't in the mood to dress up for the outside world. He had opted, then, to stay inside and do his own skincare, maybe light some incense, meditate (Orym's suggestion), and reflect on a few things that had been bothering him for the past couple of days.
Until suddenly, one of the things that were bothering him came knocking at his door.
Well, slamming would be a more appropriate way to describe the sound.
Now, what he could gather from Imogen, intel which she had gathered from Milo, is that Ashton had gone out to a bar all by themselves and... well.. the result was knocking on Dorian's door.
Dorian reluctantly opened the door and a completely drunk Ashton marched inside and unceremoniously tripped and fell right onto Dorian. Dorian struggled only a little to pull up Ashton, mostly because Ashton's center of gravity was completely screwed up currently due to all the alcohol in his system.
"Ashton! My good friend," Dorian managed, looking less than pleased, as he situated Ashton upright.
In response, he earned finger guns and a growl that could sound like a greeting, or at least acknowledgment.
"What brings you over to my humble abode?" he asked. Not sure that he was gonna earn a coherent response, but it was worth a shot.
Ashton mumbled something in response. "... Where's Fearne," they eventually blurted.
"Well, my friend, Fearne is out right now, and, probably won't be back for some time, so you'd probably best be on your way if that's what you came here for," Dorian explained. Ashton tried rolling their eyes, making their entire head roll back.
"SHIT," they yelled at the top of their lungs. "FFFUCK she said she'd be HERE," they complained.
"I'm sure she didn't say that. When are you supposed to meet her?" Dorian asked, trying to at least cover for Fearne. And for his hard efforts, Ashton burped in his face.
"She said," Ashton yelled. "And I QUOTE," he yelled louder, before Dorian calmly hushed him. "Oh shit, sorry, am I loud?" he asked.
"It's okay, Ashton, just," he pinched his fingers to motion to them to keep their tone in check.
"Oh well, she fuckin' SAID we'd get to meet on Friday to SMOKE and DRINK," Ashton yelled, throwing Dorian's plea right out the window. Oh, well. He did what he could.
"... Ashton, I completely understand your complaints, if not for one fatal flaw in your argument," Dorian explained. "It's Wednesday."
"... Oh." Ashton looked at Dorian right in the eyes, completely dumbfounded. "... Shit."
"Yeah, so, she actually had other plans today anyway, so I'm not sure what to recommend. Do you think you can take the subway back home?" Dorian said. He hadn't a clue about the methods of transportation the group used. He himself was never reliant on it - he was usually driven places by his own personal chauffeur, or, if push came to shove, he had the money to uber or call a taxi. All he knew about methods of transportation is that Ashton was the one to use the metro the most, while the others usually took the bus.
"... Yea," Ashton said in their drunken stupor.
"Well, that's great! Safe travels my friend, don't get into any fights while you..." Dorian trailed off. As much as he hated to admit...
Leaving Ashton drunk and unsupervised in a place full of people wasn't the best idea.
"... I don't have cash," Ashton suddenly remembered, and Dorian could slowly see the gears in their brain turn, as they were just now registering what Dorian had asked.
"... It's alright, you can just... hang out here until Milo can come pick you up!" Dorian suggested. "Do you know what time your friend gets out of work?"
"... Uhh," Ashton groaned. "No. Call 'em for me and check,'' Ashton slurred as they walked further into the apartment and took the phone out of their pocket, and threw it at Dorian, which, if he hadn't caught, would have gone flying down the third floor and straight onto the highway.
Oh yes, a vital piece of information for this recount: Dorian and Ashton were like water and potassium. That is to say, they didn't mix.
In Dorian's brain, as much as Dorian didn't want to toot his own horn for any reason, Ashton was at a level that was much less respectable than Dorian. Ashton always went to these tasteless clubs and got piss-drunk, they had an endless and ever-growing police record, they got high and smoked everything they could find, they stole things, their fashion sense was sloppily put together, just like their clothes, they had the worst potty-mouth Dorian had ever heard, they had no respect for themselves or the people around them, they were rude and crass, and they were just generally a handful and not pleasant to be around.
On the other hand, Dorian took care of himself greatly, he only went to social gatherings and parties that were much less "wild" and completely more toned down, he took pride in his minimal-to-non-existent make-up skills, he had a refined taste in fashion, his track record was completely clean, and he had never gotten in trouble, ever. You get the idea.
Whenever they were in any space together, it felt like Ashton was trying to antagonize him on purpose. To rile him up, to get a reaction out of him. And Dorian could admit that he was too proud to back down and not feed into Ashton's desire. Usually, however, Imogen, Fearne and Orym were there and could separate the beast from the fighter before things could get ugly.
Now, though, not only were the beast and the fighter alone, but the beast had rabies - or whatever the equivalent of alcohol was to a wild animal.
He didn't quite want to leave Ashton unattended, but in his heart of hearts, he wanted Ashton to leave as soon as possible. His only solution at the moment would be to text Imogen to text Milo about when and how they could pick up Ashton - or he could just ask for a direct line of communication to Milo so the trio didn't have to play broken telephone.
He shot Imogen a quick text about Milo's social media credentials and turned to face the wild beast that had taken refuge on his and his roommates' pristine couch.
"... so, Ashton, how much have you had to drink?" he asked.
Ashton just groaned in response as the gears in their brain began turning anew. "... Gotta be like... a bottle at least..." they muttered.
"A whole bottle of beer? Dear god, friend, no wonder you are wasted!" Dorian humored them. He hadn't expected anything less from Ashton, but really, he didn't know how else to react.
"Nooo," Ashton responded. " Vodka . Not beer," they clarified.
... Okay, nevermind. Dorian was at least a little impressed.
"... and the bar was... where?" Dorian asked, because now he had to know how they had managed to get to Dorian's apartment in one piece.
"Likeee..." Ashton slurred. "I don't remember," they finished. Of course.
"Mister Stoorm," Ashton cooed. Dorian felt a blood vessel pop when he heard that. Regardless, he wouldn't stoop to Ashton's level, if it meant he had to pray to the gods for patience a thousand times over.
"Yes, Ashton?" Dorian replied sweetly.
"I'm bored," Ashton said.
"... and what am I expected to do about that, Ashton?" he asked.
"... Do you have any- II KNOWW," Ashton yelled, placing emphasis on the last two words like a drunk white girl - one adjective of which they were. "Do you have any makeup ," they said and slammed their hands on the couch.
"... I'm not very heavily into makeup, no," Dorian tried to rile them down as best he could. And now he was thankful he had never gotten into makeup, although he had wanted to plenty of times. Every time his parents gave him a stern talking-to about makeup, he now realized it was to protect him from dangers such as Ashton.
Ashton blew a raspberry right into his face. "... Ok, fuckin'... do you have stickers," they asked. And Dorian suddenly had an idea about how to keep Ashton occupied until he could make arrangements with Milo.
"As a matter of fact, my friend, I do!" Dorian exclaimed. "You sit right here while I bring out the good stuff, eh?" he tried to coax.
"'kay, "Ashton plainly responded as they fell back into the couch and began staring at the ceiling, laying their arms across their chest.
Dorian ran into his room and searched his shelves for whatever stickers he could find, and also a notebook and a pen - and given how well organized his shelves were, it only took him a matter of seconds before he found what he was looking for. Ashton had the attention span of a toddler. A few stickers and funny colors were bound to keep them occupied for the better part of a few hours. After this revelation, Dorian made his way back into the living room where he found Ashton doing karate kicks at the empty space above them.
"As you requested, my friend, my sticker supply! And, of course, the proper tools to let your muse go wild," he said as he hurriedly shoved the supplies towards Ashton. Ashton swung up, going a little lower than Dorian guessed they would've wanted, as the alcohol was making them dance.
Dorian now had the space to text Milo freely - and Imogen had provided. He quickly followed Milo and shot them a DM.
"Hey! Sorry to intrude, but your friend has made their way over into my apartment. When, at the earliest, do you leave work? And, could you possibly come pick them up? They're extremely drunk and in no position to return home by their lonesome. Here's the address." Dorian plainly sent, with a second text containing the exact address.
And as he looked up from his phone, Ashton had finished fumbling with the stickers and they had successfully taken them out of the package. And now they were crawling towards Dorian.
"...Um, hello?" Dorian asked.
"Move fuckin' over," Ashton slurred as they pushed the phone out of Dorian's hand and made themselves comfortable on his lap.
Uh, what.
"Ashton, what are you doing?" Dorian questioned. He didn't wanna push Ashton out of the way, because that was a sure-fire way of getting them injured. On top of their already debilitating injury.
"Letting my wild muse out, or whatever the fuck," they slurred as they picked at a sticker. Before Dorian could react further, Ashton managed to stick it on his right cheek, giving him a few slaps for good measure and reinforced stick-ability.
"What are you doing?! I gave you a perfectly good notebook to use!" It was now Dorian's turn to yell. No way he was going to sit there and take the abuse. He wouldn't waste hundreds of dollars' worth of skincare products to have some tacky, dollar store sticker glue break him out. Moreover, because some guy he despised wasn't sober enough to tell the difference between a living person and a notebook.
"I wanted the stickers, not the notebook, dumbass," Ashton slurred, getting uncomfortably close to Dorian - more so than they already were. Dorian got an unpleasant wave of alcohol breath, as Ashton picked out another sticker and almost stabbed Dorian in the eye with their knuckle as they tried to position their hand in order to place the sticker wherever they wanted on Dorian's poor cheek.
Now he had to live with this situation.
"Look, Ashton, I love and I appreciate you-"
"Buuullshiiit," Ashton cut him off before he could finish.
"Okay, fine, I don't, but you're making it even harder when you're sticking things on my face without my express permission!" Dorian stressed.
"I thought your smart assy artsy pantsy self would- fuckin’ come off, " Ashton yelled at the sticker paper, as they unstuck another sticker and assaulted Dorian's face with it. "I thought you'd appreciate some good, fucking... artism, artisanism," they muttered.
"I do when it's not on my face," Dorian stressed again. "Ashton, can we just keep an appropriate distance?" he urged, giving Ashton a little nudge to push them away from him.
"Nooooo," Ashton swung forward, uncomfortably close to Dorian once again. " I need to ART," they yelled. “Your-” they burped in Dorian’s face “your fuckin’ conformism and buurning hatred for me isn’t gonna…” they paused for a second, trying to remember what they were saying. “... it’s not gonna rain on MY parade,” they finally finished, ending the tirade by sticking another sticker onto Dorian’s cheek.
“Why me, Ashton,” Dorian asked, letting monotony take control of his voice. It was more of a plea to make them reconsider and get off of him, but he knew that last wish was futile.
“‘Cuz you’re gonna ffffucking look great, okay?” Ashton slurred. “Andd… you look like a fuckin’ naked molerat every time you-” they were interrupted by their hiccups. “You go outside, not wearin’ any fuckin’ makeup, so… we’re doin’ this now,” they explained.
Dorian didn’t know if he should be flattered by Ashton’s compliment or offended by their insult first, but he figured that didn’t matter much.
“... Why’d’you hate me anyway?” Ashton asked. Dorian shifted uncomfortably on the couch where he was sitting.
Because your manners are akin to that of a dog. You’re insufferable and annoying. You don’t care for yourself or anybody else, and it shows, and it’s grossly unflattering.
But the way they were trying to stick stickers on Dorian’s face betrayed that they weren’t trying to hurt him. They were just trying to make him relate to their own sense of fashion. The fact that they called him pretty in their own way proved that they didn’t really hate him. And now that they were closer, Dorian could see that, despite the fact that their makeup was smudged, there was a method to their madness. There was a reason why that shade of blue went there, why that shade of yellow went there, where everything fit in context with each other. Why that belt was there, why that ring stuck out, why that sock was different than the other one. Maybe Dorian’s hatred towards them was a little bit unwarranted. He at least allowed himself to come to that conclusion without beating himself up over changing his mind. But a wound doesn’t close in a night.
“... I suppose we’re just… different. Like- we just don’t match. And maybe we’re not meant to, and that’s okay!” Dorian explained.
“Bullshit,” Ashton slurred again. “Everything goes together if you do it well enough.” For how drunk they were, they were surprisingly sophisticated about their wording.
Dorian was good to keep going, however - he was good to continue not having a good relationship with Ashton. So while the niceness was appreciated, Dorian couldn't find himself appreciating Ashton's insistence on being friends. Not yet, anyway.
"Look, Ashton - you're drunk, and right now you're trying to put stickers on my face. Maybe this conversation should happen when... like... you're not those things?" Dorian suggested.
"Fine, have it your way, mister prince," Ashton slurred, quieter this time. Maybe yelling so loud had tired them out. But judging from the fact that they went right back into picking up a new sticker to place, they weren't ready to leave their artistic endeavors behind just yet.
"... Why stickers?" Dorian couldn't help but be curious at the choice. Wouldn't a better choice be sharpie? He was thankful that it wasn't, but makeup could be substituted by markers and sharpie, as taught to him by Fearne. The horror he felt when Fearne pulled out a micron drawing pen in the school bathroom and began fixing her eyeliner was ingrained in his mind.
"Cuz stickers look nice," Ashton explained. "And like... they look nice for photos and shit," they continued.
"Oh, are we gonna take photos of this?" Dorian asked.
"Fuckin' of course we are! You- listen," Ashton pulled Dorian close by the hood of his sweater. "You always, always take photos of your fuckin outfits, okay?"
"Okay," Dorian nodded, an awkward and fearful smile making its way across his mouth.
"Cuz you might look back on it, and really fuckin' like it, or get a new idea and fix that shit up, okay?" they asked again.
"Okay," Dorian conceded once more. He hated to admit it, but Ashton actually gave really good advice. "Soo, how's the whole sticker situation going? Are you like... done with my cheek, or," he asked.
"Yeah," Ashton plainly replied, sticking the next sticker on the bridge of Dorian's nose. Dorian was left to guess from the context clues that they indeed were done working on his cheek and had moved on.
Dorian felt weird about this whole situation he had found himself in. He was sitting on his couch, in his living room, when just a few minutes prior he had lit a few candles and was preparing to meditate and figure out solutions to a few things that were bothering him. But now, he had ended up with one of his most hated acquaintances sitting on his lap and putting stickers on his face.
That was a weird situation to be put in, right? Especially when he didn't like the guy, at all.
Eventually, Ashton stopped bothering Dorian's nose and moved onto his other cheek. And Dorian would kill for the awkward silence to just disappear, but he didn't really know if he wanted to waste brain cells trying to communicate with someone who was way too drunk for human contact. But if he wanted the silence to go away, he had no other choice.
"... So, were you having fun at the bar?" Dorian asked.
"Yah," Ashton plainly replied. "I think I lost my wallet," they added.
... This is what he didn't like about Ashton.
"... That sounds like a real doozy, I hope at least you didn't have a lot of cash on hand and you can cancel your credit cards?" Dorian asked.
"We're not all fuckin' rich, I don't have fuckin' credit cards," Ashton explained, sticking one sticker in a particularly harsher fashion than Dorian thought necessary. Dorian did his usual faux-chuckle.
"My apologies, friend, did you at least lose like... a little bit of cash instead of a lot of cash?" he asked. Ashton sat back for a second, looking at the ceiling as if to try and remember.
"... You know, I'm not sure. Think I blew it all on booze anyway so it doesn't fuckin’... matter," they slurred.
"... How much did you blow on booze, exactly?" Dorian asked.
"Likee... 50 bucks I think," Ashton explained. Well, there went Ashton's weekly savings.
"... Money well spent?" he asked. Ashton began chuckling.
"HELL yeah! I'm havin' a fuckin blast," they explained, slapping another sticker on Dorian's face. Dorian flinched, gritting his teeth a little bit. For how much he was putting up with, being slapped repeatedly began getting old quickly.
"... That's great, Ashton," Dorian responded, not caring to check his tone that much this time around.
"Fuck," Ashton looked at the sticker paper. "... Do you have smaller ones," they asked.
"I actually think that's the only sticker paper I have," Dorian explained, shrugging a bit.
"... Fuck. Oh well, 'ss fine we'll make do," Ashton continued, taking a sticker and tearing it into smaller chunks.
"... Are you sure that that's gonna look good?" Dorian asked.
"Nope," Ashton explained. "Most likely's gonna look like shit, but that'ss why stickers areee...." they placed it on Dorian's face. "Un-stickable," they muttered.
"... Right, of course," Dorian conceded, before Ashton got uncomfortably close once more and stuck the other half of the sticker on the cheek he was positive was already too crowded.
"You're doin' great, Dory," Ashton comforted.
"Really?" Dorian asked, not sure if he preferred Dory to Mister Storm.
"Yeah," Ashton said. They paused and looked at Dorian like a dead fish, before they tenderly patted Dorian on the top of his head.
"Why thank you, Ashton, that's very reassuring to hear," he replied, trying to unceremoniously dodge Ashton's probably grimy and crusty hand.
“Ok, we’re almost done,” Ashton said after their hand was slapped away enough times to where they got the hint, and went back to picking out stickers, before abruptly stopping.
“... Hey.”
“What is it, Ashton?”
“Do you know where Fearne hides her shit?”
Dorian got whiplash from that question alone. What… “shit” did they mean exactly? Fearne was a hoarder. “Shit” could mean a ton of different things.
“Like… her drugs…?” Dorian hesitated.
“ No , dumbass, her makeup ,” Ashton clarified, and Dorian felt the weight release from his chest and his stomach untighten at the clarification. “Plus, we got plans for those drugs!” they added.
“... As a matter of fact, I think I do know where Fearne’s makeup is,” Dorian said as he sat and thought about it for a little bit. Fearne’s shelf was the only one in the bathroom that was grossly unorganized. Dorian knew exactly which shelves were unorganized, so he could steer clear of them, lest he gave himself heart palpitations.
“... where is it,” Ashton asked.
“I can go get it for you,” Dorian suggested, and Ashton scoffed loudly.
“I doubt you’d fuckin’ know what I’m even talking about,” Ashton said. “‘S it in the bathroom?” they asked as they got off of Dorian and stood up straight on the floor, swinging a little from side to side.
“Yeah, it’s in the bathroom- please only take what you need from Fearne and don’t… don’t go snooping around, okay?” Dorian pleaded. He wouldn’t hear the other end of it if Ashton found something they weren’t supposed to.
“‘Kayy,” they chimed as they struggled to make it to the bathroom in one piece.
Dorian just sat on the couch, lifting up his hand to feel around the stickers on his face. The temptation was strong. But stronger was the urge to wait for the surprise to be unveiled when Ashton was done, and also the want to never see what was done to his poor face. He heard a crash from the bathroom and took a deep sigh. Soon enough, though, he realized the situation wouldn’t get any better unless Ashton got less drunk.
He got up and took his phone, going into the open kitchen of the apartment. As he opened the fridge, he checked the message he had sent Milo.
They had left him on seen.
Dorian clicked his tongue. Rude much.
After getting a bottle of water from the fridge and then a glass from the cupboard, a voice broke through the apartment.
“Dorian, you lying little shit, you do have makeup!” Ashton yelled drunkenly, slurring every word at the top of their lungs.
Oh no. They had gone snooping around.
Dorian made a dash for the bathroom to find Ashton holding a few things in their hands, with not only Fearne’s, but all of the bathroom drawers open.
“I told you not to go snooping around!” Dorian yelled at them.
“Howwas I fuckin’ supposed to fuckin’ guess where her shit was?!” Ashton slurred.
“I thought you knew!” Dorian yelled.
“I fuckin’ asked!” Ashton yelled back.
Dorian let out a frustrated sob as he walked the walk of shame back onto the living room couch, where they both should have stayed. But despite the whole yelling match that had preceded, Ashton sat on Dorian’s lap again as if no words were exchanged.
“‘Kay… close your eyes,” they ordered as they took one of the things that they were holding. They popped the lid off what Dorian recognized to be eyeliner.
“Okay, yeah, no, we’re not doing this Ashton,” Dorian pushed Ashton’s hand away, to which Ashton responded by flinging their arm in the air. “You are drunk and I don’t want to end up with a sty or worse because your arm is wobbly!”
“‘Ss fine, Dorian, ‘ss supposed to go on skin anyway!” Ashton complained. “You’ll be fineee, are you made of fuckin’ sugar or something?!”
“First of all, that’s not where that metaphor goes, second, it is quite a big deal, Ashton!” Dorian countered. “I don’t want to deal with the aftermath of getting eyeliner inside my eyeballs!”
Ashton rolled their eyes and fell back once again, but they snagged Dorian by the collar of his hood and managed to pull themselves forward again “I’ll be gentle, sugar boy! Nothin’ ya can’t handle, promise!” they insisted.
Dorian sighed. He had had it up to here with Ashton and their antics. He really contemplated just kicking them out right then and there. But he knew he wasn’t like that, and he was getting irrationally angry. He took a deep breath, as Ashton stared at him and swung back and forth on his lap.
“... You know what? Fine,” Dorian conceded. Ashton raised the eyeliner as if raising a weapon, before Dorian put his index finger in front of them. “Ah-ah-ah! Fine, IF,” he lowered his finger “... you drink a glass of water first.”
Ashton groaned. “Really?”
“It’s either that, or you’re getting off of me,” Dorian responded. Ashton groaned again.
“Fuckin’ fine… where’s yer stupid water,” they asked. Dorian tried bending forward to grab the glass and bottle that he’d brought in the living room, before he felt Ashton slide off his thigh, as they let out a quiet “oh shit”. Almost instinctively, Ashton wrapped their arms around Dorian and Dorian hugged Ashton with one arm to keep them from falling.
He sort of really hated the idea of how natural hugging Ashton felt, but he couldn’t risk them getting injured.
He fell back on the couch and got comfortable, letting go of Ashton to fill the glass with water. And as he sat back, he couldn’t help but feel plain weird about the hug he had just gotten out of. Because he didn’t wanna hug Ashton. Why Ashton, of all people? But he could easily write it off as a way to protect Ashton from falling down.
Come to think of it, all he had been doing that night was pretty much protecting Ashton and making sure they were safe. And it gave Dorian the most visceral heebie-jeebies, thinking about this. Until Milo responded, though, what could he do? He was basically the one taking care of Ashton for the next few hours, until Milo came to take over, or until Ashton was sober again. He didn’t know which would come quicker.
“Here.” Dorian offered Ashton the glass of water, and they just stared at it with a thousand yard’s stare. After a brief pause, Dorian offered them the glass of water once again, bringing it closer to their person. It was only then that Ashton snapped out of their trance and held the glass of water like an oversized shot-glass, taking a couple of swigs from it. They shook their head.
“‘Kay can I draw on you now,” they muttered. Dorian sighed and rubbed his eyes, careful, however, of the stickers on his face.
“Just… be careful, okay?” he asked.
“Sure, whatever,” Ashton slurred as they situated themselves better. “Close your eyes n’ keep your…” they paused. “Your head steady,” they finished as they gently pushed Dorian’s head back. Dorian gulped as he laid his head back on the couch and closed his eyes, lying in wait for the inevitable painful experience he was putting himself through.
He felt Ashton's one arm on his shoulder, and the knuckle of the other against his cheekbone, and then the unmistakable pressure of the eyeliner tip against the corner of his eye. Ashton began drawing on Dorian's eye in an upwards motion, and then slowly towards the inner part of his eye. For a second, they took their hand away, before Dorian heard them go "Wait that looks like shit, hold on,", feeling Ashton's hand once more - this time wiping harshly at the skin of his eye, possibly trying to fix the eyeliner. They weren't gentle about it either, which Dorian knew to expect, but it hurt regardless. But after Ashton continued, he was thankful that Ashton didn't accidentally offshoot and stab his eyeball with the liner and cause an infection of sorts. He was excited, too, that the other eye followed a similar process, with not as many hiccups along the way.
"... 'kay, I'm done,” they slurred and Dorian heard the click of the eyeliner cap being put back in its place. He gently opened his eyes, and as they didn't water, he knew Ashton had done a pretty decent job.
"You didn't hafta be so untrusting," Ashton muttered, as they left the eyeliner aside.
Dorian chuckled uncomfortably. "Right... my apologies, friend," he answered. "... If you could drink another sip of water, though, that'd be great," he said. Ashton rolled their eyes, but despite their annoyance, and to their credit, took the glass and drank from it without much resistance.
Dorian didn't want to question where the sudden cease of protesting came from. He figured he shouldn't jinx it.
After Ashton let the glass down, they opened the highlighter compact which Dorian recognized as being the only highlighter he had in his own supply of makeup. Ashton took a generous swipe at the product with his finger, coating it in a blinding and blinging silver.
"So where is this going?" Dorian asked, before flinching as Ashton casually booped him on the nose.
"There," Ashton replied as they closed the compact and threw it aside, wiping the remaining highlighter on their pant leg, reaching over to drink another swig of water. As they gulped and sighed it down, they looked expectantly at Dorian, whom in turn, froze.
"... You're... being very good about the water situation," Dorian reluctantly congratulated them. Ashton smiled, still drunk as all hell.
"I know," they responded. Dorian suddenly regretted praising them.
"... Now things're gonna get testy, so don't fuckin'... kick up a fuss," they said, and Dorian got scared. Were they gonna tweeze his eyebrows or something? Where was this going? Until Ashton pulled out a liquid lipstick from their pocket, one which he recognized as the lipstick Fearne had left the house wearing.
"Oh," he called. "That's fine, I've used Fearne's lipsticks plenty of times." And for a brief second, Ashton paused and stared at him, before they shook their head and scooted closer to Dorian's face.
They opened the compact and took a generous amount of product on the lipstick wand, using their other hand, which was still holding the compact, to lift his chin up gently. When they got his face where they wanted to, they gently pulled down Dorian's bottom lip with their thumb.
And,
oh.
They were right, in the end, things were gonna get testy .
Dorian's stomach suddenly started doing backflips and he felt his heart going so fast that the electric pulses it was creating could power a whole city. Somehow, he found it hard to ignore Ashton's face and hands as they applied the lipstick on his lips with the utmost care and gentleness. He wasn't quite sure what this feeling was, and he wasn't sure if he liked it.
Moreover, he wasn't sure if he liked the fact that Ashton was the cause of that heart rate.
He couldn't focus at all anymore, and could only focus on the hand that pulled his lip down. Before he knew it, Ashton was working on his upper lip, and what felt like both hours and seconds later, they pulled back and observed their work. They hummed and wiped the side of Dorian's lip, and he only snapped out of his sudden daze when Ashton suddenly got completely off the couch.
What even was that?
Ashton took a good look at him, up and down.
"... Ho-ly shit," they muttered to themselves. "Dorian," they bent over. "You should be doing this all the time, you look fuckin' amazing."
Dorian felt a modest amount of blood rush up to his cheeks. "Oh, you think so?" he asked. It occurred to him, though, that Ashton was still completely shit-faced, and could either lack the proper brain function to judge things properly, or they were just proud of their work, no matter how good or bad the result was objectively.
"Yea, no fuckin' kidding," Ashton insisted. "Go look at yourself, come on," they said as they tried to lift Dorian up, arms flabby from the alcohol.
Dorian knew he could just turn on his phone's camera and look at himself there, but he also knew it just wasn't the same in front of the mirror. There was also probably a scientific reason for that feeling, but Dorian didn't care enough to explain it away. It felt right to him.
"Wait, actually," Ashton grabbed him by the arm.
"What?" Dorian asked, and Ashton gently peeled one of the stickers from Dorian's cheek. It hurt slightly, which wasn't a good sign for when the time to take them off would come, but his cheek could breathe a little more now.
"... I'm a fucking ARTISTE," Ashton yelled. "Less get ya to the bathroom, come on," they urged, almost pushing them to the bathroom. Good to see a like-minded person.
Wait...
Dorian shook his head and jogged to the bathroom, turning the lights on. The shelves were a mess, but what also caught his attention was his face in the mirror.
And gods be damned, he looked fucking good . Ashton was right, he looked great. The stickers weren't quite the right pick for a face, is what he thought originally, but when he took a closer look at the whole ensemble, he could see the vision. The vision was there. He understood. The eyeliner was, although pointy and nicely shaped, jagged and uneven, and the nose highlight was way too bright and not blended in properly. Even Dorian could tell those things with his minimal knowledge. And he was wearing joggers and a simple gray hoodie - decidedly-not Dorian attire. But maybe, he felt, that the gray hoodie, and the amateur method that was used pulled the whole ensemble together.
"... Wow," he said, mostly to himself, as he couldn't hold back the big smile that painted its way across his face. "Ashton, I think you're kinda right!"
"Of course I fuckin' am!" they slurred right besides him. "You look fuckin' gorgeous! I don't fuckin' care how uptight you wanna act, we're takin' pictures right this instant," they grabbed Dorian by the hand once more, who only had a few seconds of reaction time to close the light as they dragged him out of the bathroom.
“Where are we taking pictures?” Dorian asked.
“Wherever there’s a mirror,” Ashton explained, suddenly standing still in the middle of the hallway, scouting to obviously find zero mirrors out there.
Dorian didn’t like what he was about to do, but he knew one place that had a good, clean mirror and a nice background.
“Oh, well, in that case, there’s a good candidate for that in my room!” he suggested, being the one to pull Ashton this time, away from the hallway and into his quaint little room.
The room now stank from the burning candle that Dorian hadn’t had the chance to blow out before.
“It smells like a bakery farted in here,” Ashton commented, as Dorian went over and placed the lid on the candle, making the flame go out eventually.
“Your sudden visit disrupted my activities,” Dorian explained.
“... My bad,” Ashton responded, before they closed the light. “... Where’s my phone?”
“It’s fine, we’ll just use mine,” Dorian suggested.
“‘Kay, turn on flash,” they instructed as they went next to Dorian, who opted instead to turn the flashlight on first, so they both could see where they were going.
Ashton sat Dorian down in front of the mirror.
“Now get comfortable, strike a pose, make a face, n’ make sure flash is on,” they instructed once more, and Dorian did as told.
Ashton themselves would strike poses and make faces next to Dorian. They spent the better part of the next half hour taking pictures in the mirror with the flash on, until Ashton took over and started taking pictures of Dorian solo. Ashton taught Dorian new poses they liked doing, and they really pushed him to try more relaxed and “out-there” poses than what Dorian was normally used to. Dorian knew a couple of things when it came to photography, but they seemed to be in stark contrast with what Ashton knew.
Dorian scrolled through the dozens of new added pictures in his gallery. The majority of the ones Ashton took were blurry, but it added a new level of charm to the image. Dorian could see himself getting used to taking pictures in that style every now and again. He tried picking out a few ones to edit, before he felt Ashton's head fall on his shoulder. Dorian looked over to see Ashton struggling to stay awake.
Oh, great.
He gave Ashton a nudge with the shoulder they were laying their head on.
"Wake up, sleepy-head," he urged. Ashton shot up and looked around, albeit confused and disoriented suddenly. "What's wrong, are you tired?"
Ashton groaned. "... Nnno."
Dorian couldn't help but smile at how obviously they were trying to tough the tiredness out.
"Let's get you to the couch, you can take a nap until Milo comes to pick you up," Dorian said and grabbed Ashton by the arm, trying to coax them to get up.
"But pictures..." Ashton muttered, slurred from both the alcohol and them mumbling due to tiredness taking over this time around.
"We've taken enough pictures, Ashton, I'll have to sort through these and find the best ones anyway," Dorian urged.
Ashton seemed convinced at this argument and followed Dorian's lead to the couch, sometimes stealing the chance to lay their head on Dorian's shoulder again. Dorian, despite this, led them to the couch and sat them down, trying to push them into a lying position. He was met with a sudden wave of resistance, however.
"What's up?"
"... Yer warm..." Ashton mumbled.
"... What's that supposed to entail?" Dorian asked.
"... I want you to warm me up," Ashton requested. Dorian blinked.
"You want me to what, Ashton?"
"Cuddle meee," they groaned as they stubbornly rested their head across Dorian's back, not letting go of him.
... Dorian was putting up with way too much.
“... I’ll cuddle you for 10 minutes, and then you have to sleep on your own,” Dorian said. He didn’t know if Ashton would sleep otherwise, and the quicker they got him to sleep, the better.
Ashton basically pushed him into the couch and then got on top of him, resting their head on Dorian’s chest before closing their eyes. He began scrolling through the pictures anew, this time more meticulously than before - choosing the ones where they both had their eyes open, ones that weren’t too horribly blurry, and next time he looked down, Ashton was asleep. Rather quick if he had something to say about it, but it suited him well.
With the only drawback being that now Dorian was trapped and couldn’t get up. But he still had a ton of things to do with the pictures to kill time.
From the 75 pictures that were taken that night, around 54 of them ended up in the trash can. Dorian was surprised that from the ones chosen, a lot of them had Ashton in them. They were…. Surprisingly photogenic. And their smeared and wild makeup matched the look they had going for Dorian. They were good at posing, too.
A ding almost startled Dorian out of the couch, but Ashton remained unfazed as always. It was a message from Milo. A string of them, actually.
“Hey! Sorry, I saw ur message but I was working”
“I have the night shift 2nite, so i get off at 4 am”
“Ill swing by then”
Dorian just looked down at Ashton. They seemed to be sleeping quite deeply, as their back lifted up and down while they breathed in and out of their mouth.
If they remained asleep for the rest of the night and until Milo could come pick them up, then Dorian supposed it would be fine.
… And maybe closing his eyes for a few minutes wouldn’t hurt, either.
That was his last thought before he felt a sharp pain on his face. He woke up with a yell and moved to smack away whatever was hurting him.
Instead, he was met with the tall figure of Fearne over him, almost smothering him, as she was peeling one of the stickers off his face.
“What the hell, Fearne?!” Dorian said as he held the spot the sticker was torn from. It took him a few seconds to register that the apartment was bathed in sunlight. And that he had fallen asleep on the couch with the stickers and makeup still there. With Ashton gone, and Fearne and Orym back in the apartment.
Well, shit .
“So… a lot happened, yeah?” Orym asked, looking over at Dorian, who now realized he was not only asleep on the couch, but carefully tucked in still in sweater and jogger combo.
“I’m sorry, I just…” Fearne muttered as she held the sticker between her fingers. “I couldn’t resist.” She gave that innocent but nefarious smile Dorian had come to know her for.
“It’s fine, it’s, uhm…” Dorian groaned as he thought back. “... a lot did happen, yeah, uh, Ashton came over,” Dorian explained.
“We heard,” Orym explained. “They texted us themselves about the whole thing. Good to see you two didn’t end up in the hospital killing each other,” he continued, as Dorian hissed, trying to tear off another sticker.
“Yeah, it actually went pretty well if not for the uh, whole…”
Ashton gently pulling Dorian’s bottom lip. Ashton calling Dorian gorgeous. Ashton taking sooo many pictures of Dorian.
“... the whole them being drunk thing,” Dorian muttered quietly as the memories of the whole night came rushing back to him.
Ashton sitting on his lap, asking why he hated them, doing Dorian’s makeup, sticking stickers on his face, taking pictures, cuddling him on the couch…
Only one phrase Dorian had picked up from the aforementioned drunken “friend” of his could summarize Dorian’s question all in one.
What the fuck was up with that?!