((This is weird, but. I got bored of Calum, to put it bluntly.

-Mel))

Ashton crawls out of bed, walks past the covered mirror, and plops himself down on the bedroom floor, leaning against the door. There's a knock, followed by Luke's soft voice saying, "Ash? Dinners ready. Michael burned the food again, so we're having Chinese."

Ashton doesn't respond, so Luke tries the door. It hits Ashton's back, so he pushes against it in an attempt to keep it shut tightly.

Luke's quiet for a few seconds, before he gently knocks on the door again. "Ashton?"

Ashton clears his throat so it doesn't sound like shit when he speaks, but it does anyway. "I'm not hungry!" He calls, slouching against the door even more, just in case Luke tries to open it again. His voice is rough from lack of use, and sounds scratchy and... disgusting.

"Ashy, please?" Luke asks from the other side of the door. Ashton shakes his head, forgetting that Luke can't actually see him. Eventually, Luke sighs and walks away, leaving Ashton to be a puddle on his floor.

His stomach growls, but he ignores it. Maybe he is hungry. Either way, going to the kitchen to eat means seeing all three of his band mates at the same time, and he's not going to be able to hide it, then.

It's getting harder, and he doesn't understand. This isn't normal, this isn't what happens to people who are forcibly touched. He should be repulsed and scarred.

Instead, here he is, wanting Michael's hands and mouth on him.

He's so fucking confused, because he's had dreams of Michael whispering quiet praises against his skin, sucking marks all over, and he knows he wants that. He's never wanted to be touched more in his entire life, but the thought repulses him at the same time. It makes him gag to think about someone wanting to get fingers inside of him or a hand on his dick.

He groans in annoyance, getting up and crossing back over to the bed again, leaving the door unguarded. he takes to the internet, because that's what he did last time he didn't know what the fuck was wrong with him. All he really knows is that's he's sex repulsed, sometimes. Probably asexual. Or at least within the asexual spectrum.

He types that into the search bar on tumblr, pressing enter quickly and flicking his eyes up to the door nervously while the page loads. He's fidgeting, nervous that someone will find out what he's looking up. They might call him a liar for claiming he's asexual. He's so confused.

The page loads, so he starts scrolling, looking for something that fits. He knows he's not demisexual, because he's not sexually attracted to people he has a close bond with. Its only Michael, and it's only happened recently.

After scrolling through a few posts about asexuality and demisexuality, he stops and squints at the screen. Gray-ace, someone who occasionally feels sexual attraction.

He searches up gray-ace in the search bar, feeling his breath hitch at the first result. It's an ask, he doesn't really care to which blog, but it's the first few words of the question that draw him in.

"I'm a semi sex repulsed gray-asexual,"

Ashton stares at the words, feeling something click in the very back of his mind. Because, yeah. That's it. That makes sense. He stares at the message, because, holy shit. There's a name for it. There's people out there that feel like he does.

Before he can start searching anymore, the door clicks and flings open. Ashton slams his laptop shut and looks up frantically, just as Michael slams the door shut again loudly. He glances at Ashton before striding towards the bathroom with a purpose. Ashton frowns at him, then pouts when Michael disappears into the bathroom and starts banging around.

After a few seconds, he reappears in the doorway, raising his eyebrows and crossing his arms over his chest. "You're taking a shower," he announces. "You're starting to smell, and I want you to go outside."

Ashton shrinks back, glaring at Michael and pushing back into the blanket nest Luke had made him. "No," he mumbles.

Michael scoffs. "I wasn't asking! You're taking a shower, even if I have to drag you in there myself!"

Ashton's heart starts racing at the thought. He imagines Michael pushing him against the wall, sucking marks into his neck, pressing their bodies together under the hot water. His mouth goes dry, so his lips drop open a bit. He's gaping at Michael, without even realizing it.

"Yeah, you heard me," Michael says. He probably thinks Ashton's shocked, or something. Ashton scrambles out of bed and into the bathroom, edging past Michael so they don't touch. He slams the door behind him, almost catching Michael's hair, then leans against it and let's out a puff of breath.

Michael's set a towel and some new clothes on top of the toilet. Ashton couldn't think of a better person to have a stupid crush on, honestly.

When he gets out of the shower, kind of flustered, kind of pissed off that Michael's treating him like a little kid, he scowls and glares at Michael. He's sitting on the bed, tapping away on his phone like nothing, and Ashton fucking hates him.

"I fucking hate you," Ashton announces.

"Good," Michael responds quickly. "Get over here, I want to brush your hair, Rapunzel." Ashton wants to tell him to fuck off, thinking he's joking, but then he notices Michael's actually holding a plastic comb expectantly.

He couldn't deny Michael anything, honestly. He crawls back into the bed dejectedly, sitting in the middle and pouting a little. Michael moves so he's got Ashton in between his legs, then presses his lips to the back of Ashton's neck. Ashton tenses up, shoulder awkward and boxy, while pressing his teeth together tightly.

"Calm down," Michael whispers, reaching up and pressing the edge of the comb to Ashton's hairline. Ashton frowns, trying to figure out what he did in a past life to deserve this hell of Michael wanting to be close to him. He probably doesn't know Ashton's thinking about his dick, and only his dick.

He runs the brush through Ashton's hair a few times, then starts messing around with it, twisting it around and pulling at it lightly. Ashton can't find it in him to whine. It does feel nice, though, Michael's fingers running through his hair. Ashton can see the appeal to this.

After a few minutes of silence, Michael pats the side of his head and says, "Done!"

Ashton tries to fight his smile, but Michael just sound so excited about whatever he's just done, its hard. Ashton pulls out his phone, because he's afraid Michael will leave if he moves out from between his legs. He holds the camera app up, lips pursing at the screen, then let's out a tiny giggle.

It has Michael grinning behind him, so Ashton snaps a picture, then opens up Twitter.

"You braided my hair," he says in an accusatory tone, tilting his head to get a better view of the two braids running down the back of his head.

"French braided," Michael corrects. "It's different, duh."

"Duh," Ashton echoes, still giggling with his nose scrunched up in delight. Michael smiles at him fondly, like he's the most precious thing in the world, and Ashton feels like crying a little. He tweets the picture out with the caption "Guess who French braided my hair?", then twists until he's facing Michael.

He likes this position. He's sitting between Michael's knees on the center of the bed, legs crossed and hands resting on his ankles lightly. Michael had been leaning back with his palms on the pillows, but he sits forward when Ashton turns around.

"You look pretty," Michael says quietly.

Ashton flushes bright pink, flicking his eyes down and hiding a smile. "Um, thank you," he mumbles.

Michael eyes his blush curiously. "Am I allowed to kiss you, then? Seeing as you're in the poly thing, now?"

Ashton starts to stutter his way through an agreement, but he gets over excited and ends up making a startled noise, followed by a few broken words and phrases. Eventually, he just nods- probably a little too frantically- and leans forward.

"You're sure?" Michael asks. "I'm not going to be breaking any rules or anything, right? You're totally fine with this? I don't want you to be uncomfortable, or anything-"

Ashton really fucking likes Michael's constant need for consent. He's rambling, though, and Ashton just wants a kiss, so he darts forward and connects their lips quickly. Michael makes a sort of "hmph!" noise when his voice gets cut off, but quickly melts into the kiss.

Ashton thinks he's probably in too fucking deep, but he really can't help it.

((YOOOOO, So, y'all should check out the story agender by delicatetrash!! It's super ducking cool and talks about stuff that I haven't even gotten to yet!!!

Also, my essay was supposed to be 250-500 words and mine was 1300 whoOPS UM.

Question: favorite Michael hair color?

Answer: I thought he'd look a lot better with the black, but he looks like a dork (IS LOSVE HISM SO DMEUCJ), so I'm going to have to stick with that dark red shit.

-M(uk)e (is a) l(ie)