Ezra would’ve kissed Ashcroft, cigarette and all. And really, it could’ve been a perfect opportunity to taunt Ezra even more: You think you can kiss me whenever you want, well I won’t stop you from getting burned. But the boy managed to whip the cigarette out just as Ezra was on him, which Ezra interpreted as willingness, desire, lust. Good things, things Ezra could work with in Ashcroft Sterling. And god - Ashcroft’s lips still burned from his drag, and ashy tobacco smoke never tasted so good than when it was pulled from the rich kid’s mouth.
Ezra expected Ashcroft to respond - the kid couldn’t take anything sitting back (unless he was bouncing on someone’s lap of course, full of cock and spitting insults even then). And Ashcroft delivered, his mouth as hot and vicious as Ezra’s own, igniting that passion between them - fast-burning and destructive. God, but Ashcroft didn’t stop there. His thin fingers gripped Ezra’s hair, his hips rolled like sweet molten sugar against Ezra which made the older man return with a definitive, promising thrust. And the final move - one lithe leg curled against Ezra’s thigh, knee hooking with an almost delicate desire. The friction between them was like kindling, hard and demanding on both ends.
But of course Ezra shouldn’t have decided the battle was already won. He should’ve realized that if Ashcroft hadn’t burned him yet, he would. He had to - that was the boy’s way. Ashcroft wouldn’t make it that easy on him; the boy never did. And although Ezra thought he was acquiescing, pulling the cigarette away from his mouth at the last minute was just bait in the boy’s trap.
He felt the pain before he realized what was even happening - and Ezra’s groan tore out of his throat, stamped onto Ashcroft’s mouth. Ezra bit down - out of instinct to retaliate, slicing the boy’s lip open with his teeth before he tried to stagger back. But Ashcroft’s leg kept them pinned, even if it was the Asset with his back against the wall. Pinned, together, and Ezra hating how much he loved it.
He clapped one hand on his jaw, the other exploding against Ashcroft’s high cheekbone in a brutal backhand. Or at least it could have been way, way worse - but it was more reactionary than anything else (and besides, Ezra didn’t want to mess up that mean little prettyboy face…too much. Not that he’d ever admit that).
“I thought you liked my ham fists,” Ezra growled, dragging Ashcroft’s face back to look at him. Ezra pat at his own jaw and looked at his fingers, but the cigarette was more of a stab than a steady burn. A dark singe and a stinging pain. “Try something like that again, sweetheart and I’ll shove a hamfist right up your pretty little ass.”
Well…well. Despite their recent animosity, there hadn’t been much Ashcroft said no to, during their time in that hotel room. The boy was wild; unpredictable and up for anything. And even if Ashcroft said no to a good fisting, there were plenty of other ways Ezra could take it out on his hide. He leveled a dark look at Ashcroft: go on, please. Try something else.
The hot sizzle of a cigarette on Ezra's burning flesh, or the radiation of heat from an exploded car. It didn't really matter, the medium of the explosion, of the damage Ashcroft was capable of. It was always just beneath the surface. Ash got what he wanted, and when he didn't, well, there were fucking consequences, now weren't there? And the fact that Ezra had turned him into basically a goddamned slave.. that hadn't really changed that. Ashcroft still managed to saunter around the tower with every idea that he was superior. And really, he was, at least in his mind. The guards and the majority of the fucking associates could pretend they were better than him, but they were goddamned idiots. Easily wrapped around his finger. When Ashcroft wanted a fuck, he got fucked. When he wanted to be spoiled, rented, fed, he got it. Sure, there were Associates that were almost as smart as him, ones that couldn't be so easily manipulated by his smile and good looks and deliberately sleazy words.. movements. But they were in short fucking supply. And even by the cigarette between his fingers.. Ezra wasn't an exception to that. At least.. not yet. And right now? He wanted Ezra to suffer for putting him here. On a goddamned leash.
He could have kept the cigarette in his mouth, but he wanted Ezra hooked just as much as he was. He wanted to control the burn. Ashcroft always fucking controlled the burn. Ezra.. arrogant bastard, he thought he'd won, with the way his mouth closed over Ash's own in a way that left Ash hard against his jeans and hungry to get pinned and fucked just like he'd been in that hotel room. Ezra thought he had the upper hand, and Ash had been willing to let him think that with the flick of his tongue. The arc of his back.. it was so much better that way. It would hurt even more when Ash ripped it away. And rip it away he fucking did.
God it was clorious, the groan of pain ripped from Ezra's throat, the mark he'd left. But he barely had time to register the victory before pain flared in his lower lip, then his head slammed hard into the wall and rebounded from the impact of the backhand. It was so hard that it left Ashcroft dazed as he tried to decipher the stars that flew around in his vision, before he felt the hand on his jaw wrenching him to face Ezra once more. And this time, it wasn't haughty defiance or deliberate spite in his eyes. It was blatant, unabashed hatred burning there. It wasn't the pain that he hated.. in fact.. he'd realized in his time here that his body reacted to pain in a way that was.. distinctly different than what he was accustomed to. It made him harder even harder in his jeans, left him flushed, breathless. But the fact that Ezra had actually struck him, it left him just as furious.
Teeth gritting and grinding, lip bleeding from the bite and a slight split in his now bruised cheek, he glared daggers at Ezra, not even listening to the man talk. As he could hear the low baritone of Ezra's voice, his gaze shot here and there, until he found it. An escape. It was the other's last bit of words that brought his gaze back to Ezra's own challenging one. He wanted to challenge Ash? Fucking fine.
With a heavy of effort, Ash ripped his face from Ezra's grip in a way that left his chin bruised as he seemed to literally fucking claw-climb his way up Ezra's body. Hands wrenching in the man's hair to pull him up and fancy fucking sneakers imprinting first on Ezra's chest, then with a leap, stepping directly on Ezra's face and head as he jumped up high enough to push the maintenance door of the elevator's roof open and pull himself into the top rafters. And he made it. For about ten seconds. Then the failsafe went off.
An alarm, flashes of red began blaring as he seemed to pass some sort of sensor, then the absolute worse fucking thing. Fucking sprinklers went off, everywhere. Drenching Ash and overloading his senses as he gave a sharp cry and instantly jerked back, losing his footing and falling through the square opening directly onto the man he'd just literally fucking climbed up to get away from.
