Work Header

And... Action!

Work Text:



“And action!”


That was his cue. Dylan stepped forward and tried to remember where his mark was but, not finding it, he looked down and forced his feet to get to his position.


He couldn’t focus. His heart was beating fast against his chest and his palms were sweating. There was no acting required on his part in this scene. For all instances, he was exactly in Stiles’ shoes.


“Why did you leave?”


His heart jumped as he heard Tyler’s voice to his left. He’d completely forgotten about the other man, which was completely foolish considering all he’d been thinking about was him. For a second, Dylan panicked, not remembering his lines until he lifted his head and stared at Tyler.


He was in so much trouble.


“And cut! Dylan, do you need a second to read through the script again?”


Dylan’s head snapped away from where he was staring at Tyler’s confused face. He nodded and turned around, footsteps quick against the loft’s hardwood floor. He walked towards his chair, ignoring the sound of Tyler’s own footsteps behind him until he couldn’t ignore him anymore as the man sat in the chair beside him.


Frowning, he picked up his script and pretended to look at his lines. He didn’t need the refresher. He knew his lines. He’d just gotten distracted. Distracted by his own thoughts and his traitorous heart. He didn’t understand why he was so freaked by this scene. It wasn’t a big deal. Okay, that was a lie. It was probably one of the most expected scenes from the season, possibly the whole show itself. Maybe that’s what was up. Maybe he was so worried to disappoint the fans after years of their constant support. Yeah, that must be it.

“Hey, are you okay?” He heard to his right and turned towards Tyler who was looking at him with concern, eyebrows frowning.


Dylan shrugged and gave him a timid smile, “ Yeah, man, I’m just tired is all. I don’t know what happened. Sorry about that.”


Tyler smiled at him and shrugged, eyes bright. “Don’t worry about it.” He licked his lips and added, “...listen, are you sure you’re okay with it because I can talk to…”


Dylan started shaking his head to deny Tyler’s proposition and was interrupted from replying by the director calling to them.

“I’m fine.” He said quickly and stood up from his chair, putting his forgotten script down on the chair. They walked side by side in silence until they reached the middle of the room.


The lights were standing to their right, illuminating the part of the set that was used as Derek’s new place. They’d let go of the previous loft the previous season as Derek grew out of his grieving stage and became closer to the group of friends and family. He’d become a part of the pack, and Dylan was glad because there were only so much angsty messages he could take. He understood the complaints. Hell, he thought the whole thing was getting old himself, even if he joked about it. Tyler had confided to him how frustrated he was with the way his character was treated and how he wanted to talk to the writers about it because he felt that he was stuck in a rut. Dylan admired Tyler’s commitment to his character. It always amazed him how connected to his character the man was. They had spent many nights reading their scripts in his trailer, talking about the way their characters were developing, about the way the relationship between Stiles and Derek was evolving. He loved those nights. They often ended in them crashing on his bed of his couch and being woken up by the staff knocking on the door of his trailer the next day.


Maybe that’s what made this scene so important to him. They were both very connected to their characters, and this scene being a turning point for them meant that they couldn’t mess it up. He couldn’t mess it up. Taking a deep breath, Dylan nodded to the director and went back into position, his hands on the kitchen counter, on Derek’s kitchen counter and waited, his back turned to Tyler for him to start.


“And action!”


He heard him shuffling his feet and then his voice rang out through the room, “Why did you leave?”


Dylan raised his head and turned his body towards him for the second time that day, fingers rubbing against his palms as he held them in fists. “What do you mean?” He asked, surprised at the way his voice shook. He needed to get a hold of himself before they had to start up the scene again. This was the easy part. There was no reason to be nervous.


Walking closer to him with his arms crossed and the perpetual Derek frown in place, Tyler stopped in front of him and raised an eyebrow, “Earlier. At the preserve.”


Taking a shaky breath in, Dylan set his shoulders, remembering that the script was calling for Stiles to be defensive. In all honesty, the acting was the hard part. He was feeling ragged, nervous and defensive himself. Remembering that he was acting was the hard part. “What about the preserve?” He bit, his own hands coming up to cross over his chest.


Tyler sighed and shifted his weight onto his other foot, “Stiles.” He said, exasperated as he stared at him.


Dylan looked away, gaze sweeping over the faux kitchen décor. The new loft was nice. Not too big, not too small. The kitchen itself was his favorite part. He loved the way the light coming from the French doors reflected on the light blue walls. It gave a warmth to the room. They often stayed on set after they finished filming, crashing on the couch until they got thrown out by the second crew coming to film open plan shots. Turning his gaze back towards Tyler, he blinked. The harsh lights were making his eyes water and he hoped it wasn’t too noticeable. He didn’t want to have to stop filming again. There was no way he’d be able to contain his nerves if they had to start the scene all over again.  


“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said slowly, gaze shifting once again to his feet. He watched as Tyler’s black shoes stepped into his vision and gulped, his nervous excitement growing bigger as he walked closer still. He was forced to look up again as Tyler growled. Shivering, he pushed himself to look him in the eyes, face blank as he tried to hide the uneasy feeling that was coursing through him. This was probably the hardest and easiest scene he’d had to film so far. He refrained from giving in to the strong need to run that was overtaking him.


Sighing, he shrugged and moved around Tyler, walking closer to the brown leather-clad couch in the middle of the room.


“I don’t know what you want me to say.” He sat down on the far left corner of the couch, his head down and his clasped hands hanging between his knees. “Is that why you called me? To talk about this?” He asked, annoyed.


He heard footsteps coming closer and smiled wryly. They were playing a game of cat and mouse and he couldn’t remember whether that was actually in the script or not. Either way, the director didn’t seem inclined to stop them so they might as well go with their guts. That’s how it went for most of their scenes. They’d get their scripts, go over it and then change things they thought would sound or look better another way. He couldn’t tell you the number of times he’d ad-libbed during his scenes with Tyler. They just couldn't seem to stick to the scripts. The characters had a mind of their own and maybe that’s what people loved so much. That and their chemistry. Yes, he was extremely well-aware of their physical compatibility. Especially now as he felt his body thrumming with nervous energy as Tyler crouched down in front of him.


“Stiles.” Tyler said simply and waited until Dylan had raised his head to look at him before continuing, “What happened?”


“Nothing.” He snapped back at him as he was supposed to as he lifted his hands to run them through his own hair in frustration.


Sighing, Tyler shook his head and stared at him, judging. “You’re lying.” He tilted his head towards Dylan’s chest.

Dylan wanted to laugh. If Tyler really were a werewolf and not only portraying one, he’d have probably ran away from him a long time ago.


“Stupid werewolves.” He grumbled as he shrugged again and looked at his partner, trying to convey how on edge and frail Stiles was feeling at that particular moment. “I wasn’t needed anymore so I left. I don’t see what the big deal is. You guys managed just fine without so I don’t see why you’re being so obtuse about this.” He finally said, fingers gripping each other tightly as he averted his gaze from him.




“Yes, that’s my name. I got that about 20 years ago, no need to remind me. ” No, that wasn’t in the script either but he’d felt like Stiles, in his current disposition would have resorted to his usual sarcasm. It always came to him easily. Stiles came to him easily. He’d put so much of himself into his character that he often forgot it wasn’t supposed to be this easy.


Not missing a bit, Tyler didn’t react to the add-on and kept on playing out the scene, adapting to Dylan’s changes. “Don’t be an asshole.”


“That’s rich coming from you.” And there he went again. This was definitely not going the way it was supposed to. He winced internally as he waited for the director to yell “cut!” but was surprised when instead, all he heard was silence.


He raised his head and stared at Tyler, trying to convey how sorry he was and silently asking him if it was okay. It was. What wasn’t was the hurt look he got in response. Yeah, he was fucked.


“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, looking down as he raised his hands to grip at his hair.


He jumped as cold fingers covered his own. Tyler tilted his head up and woah, he was closer than he’d thought. Dylan stared blankly at him until he remembered that this was it. Now that was in the script. His heart started beating really fast, his eyes widened and his fingers would be trembling if they weren’t currently being held by Tyler’s. He took a deep breath and waited for his cue only it didn’t come. Where Tyler was supposed to go into a rant about how Stiles was valuable to the pack, how they all needed him and so on and then they’d get to the kissing, Dylan was surprised as he felt Tyler’s lips on his own. He made a small sound, confused for a few seconds before he decided that he didn’t care. He didn’t care if he was supposed to be the one initiating the kiss. He didn’t care if they weren’t following the script. He didn’t care if they cared. He just didn’t care.


Letting his hands slide down, he untangled them from Tyler’s to grab at the dark-haired man’s hair, tugging him forward so he’d fit between his legs. Yes, better. Dylan thought as he closed his eyes and kissed him, parting Tyler’s lips with his tongue to deepen the kiss. Tyler kissed him back, surprisingly or maybe not so surprisingly. He was a good actor and, even though the particular setting wasn’t exactly going according to plan, the ending was the same.  Dylan surprised himself as he tugged Tyler up, still locked in their kiss, and brought him closer so he was practically lying on top of him. He pushed at him until the man was lying down on the cushion, Dylan leaning over him, his elbows holding his weight from their position on either side of Tyler’s arms. Yeah, this was definitely not in the script. They were supposed to kiss for a few seconds and withdraw from each other before Stiles was supposed to run away from him. Surely they would be stopped anytime soon, or had they already been called out? He had no idea. He was lost in the feeling of Tyler’s warm body underneath his, reacting to every touch of his lips, of the feeling of their tongues battling for dominance, of Tyler’s hands sliding over his bare hips where his shirt had ridden up. The set could be on fire and he wouldn’t notice.


He broke the kiss, panting heavy breaths as he tilted his down to mouth at Tyler’s jawline, lips following an invisible line down the side of his neck to his collarbone. Why did they always make him wear V-necks. He couldn’t handle those. Didn’t the costume department know how incredibly distracting they were? Okay, maybe Dylan had a tiny crush on his current scene partner. Just a bit. It wasn’t a big deal. Except it was.


He froze as he realized he was grinding his hips down on Tyler, his hard-on pressing rubbing against the other man’s thigh. Scrambling to back away from him, Dylan stumbled, nearly falling down off the couch as he repeated over and over, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…” He backed away from Tyler who was looking at him completely baffled as Dylan stepped behind the kitchen counter, considering how cowardly it would be of him to hide inside the cabinets.


“And cut!”


Dylan startled, his gaze snapping away from Tyler’s own wide eyes to the grinning director’s face.  “Great work guys, loved what you did there. Take a break and we’ll work on close-ups after.”






He heard someone laughing and turned his head towards the left to see Holland grinning at him with both eyebrows raised. He glared at her and started walking at a fast pace towards his trailer, seeing Tyler talking to one of the crew to his left. There was no way he was gonna go sit next to Tyler in his chair after what had happened.


What had he been thinking? He’d basically rubbed one on him and they’d let him. Now he was gonna have to remember his mistake every time he’d watch the show and...The fans were going to freak.


Dylan groaned as he tore open the door to his trailer and slammed it shut behind him. This was going to suck. He could already see the headlines and the interviews. Oh god.


He threw himself on top of his bed, face down as he kicked at the mattress in frustration. He’d fucked up and now he was gonna have to go face Tyler and apologize for getting sucked into the scene, for overstepping his boundaries.


His fingers tightened around the duvet as he remembered the feeling of Tyler under him, the salty-sweet taste of his mouth, the strength he’d felt as his hands had ran over his muscles, the feeling of his hair between his fingers as he tugged on them. Dylan groaned as he felt himself get excited again. No matter how embarrassed about it he was, it seemed as if his dick had no shame. He turned around and onto his back, staring down at his dick in betrayal. He jumped as he heard a knock on his door and looked down at his hand, which was fisted around the corner of the blanket. Maybe he could hide under the covers. There was no way he’d be able to go back to set. Maybe he could pretend he felt sick. Except no. That would be rude and what if Tyler thought it was him, thought he was disgusted or… No. He was gonna have to put his big boy shoes on, think of dead cats, and face the cast and crew once again.


He stood up from his bed with difficulty, groaning as he dragged his feet to the door and yelled out as he opened it, “I’m ready, I’m read-”


He stuttered as he saw Tyler standing on the other side of the door, a door that struck shut five seconds later and only let Dylan see Tyler’s widened eyes for a second before the door closed. Dylan winced and tugged at his hair with his free hand, the other still holding the door closed. The door. The one he’d just closed in Tyler’s face. He jumped at another knock sounded on said door, and he stood frozen on the other side of it, undecided as to whether he could fit through the trailer window and get out undetected. Baffled by his cowardly tendencies that day and remembering his own inner pep talk a few minutes prior to the current disaster, Dylan re-opened the door, apology ready on his lips but Tyler didn’t let him talk.


“What the fuck, Dylan?” His voice raised as he pushed past him and stepped into the trailer. Dylan shivered as their shoulders bumped into each other. He bit down hard on his bottom lip and closed the door slowly, trying to, once again stop himself from running away.


“Sorry. My body’s not really being co-operative today.” He chuckled bitterly, feet shuffling as he leaned back against the door. From his position, he could see Tyler’s face falling, going from a bewildered to an upset expression on his face. Dylan thought over what he’d just said and gasped. “I didn’t mean...I mean...ugh.” He buried his head in his hands and groaned, thumping his head back against the door. “I’m sorry, man. I’m all over the place.”


“It’s fine.” The quiet response only made him feel worse.


He shook his head and looked at him through the space between his fingers before dragging said fingers down his face harshly as he breathed heavily and tried to explain himself. “What I meant is...I don’t know what happened back there. I’ve been...nervous...about this scene and, I guess it got to me. There’s so much riding on this and I pretty much fucked it up back there. I’m lucky Russell liked it or I’d be in for a talk.” He sighed and, looking at Tyler with an apologetic look in his eyes, he continued. “What I want to say is...I’m sorry. That was completely unprofessional and so inappropriate and I’m really sorry about that. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable or something. I’m sorry, dude.”


He closed his eyes and breathed in through his mouth, heart thumping wildly against his chest as he waited for Tyler to scream at him. Maybe not scream at him. He was too nice for that. No, he’d just give him this...disappointed stare and god, that was probably worse than him screaming.  He squeezed his eyes shut more firmly as he heard him coming closer until he had no choice but to open his eyes again as he felt Tyler’s breath on his face.


“Dude, your eyes are so unfair.” He blurted out and then blushed as he realized what he’d said. Great job, Dylan. He berated himself, wanting to melt with the metal of the trailer door. What was up with him today?


Tyler chuckled, his smile making the corners of his eyes crinkle as usual. He opened his mouth to talk but it abruptly closed as somebody knocked on the door of the trailer making Dylan curse out loud and bit out a reply, “WHAT?!”


“We’re ready for you,” came the timid voice from behind the door.


He raked his hand through his hair and stepped back, his back bumping into Tyler’s chest. “Sorry.” He mumbled as he stepped away and looked at him.


They stared at each other, the silence filling up his body with tension. How was he expected to go and kiss him again and again and again now? He felt as if his body was burning up, his fingers constantly trying to grab at the man, his body shivering at his mere proximity.




Tyler’s voice broke him out his thoughts and, as the man’s hand came up to rest on his shoulder, Dylan jumped and cleared his throat, his index finger coming up to point at the door. “We have to go.”


Tyler sighed and nodded as he sidestepped around him to open the door.


Just as Dylan was about to walk past him, he grabbed his hand and said in a quiet voice, “Don’t worry about it. We’re fine.”


Dylan nodded and gave him a timid smile before he walked out of his trailer and started in the direction of the set, Tyler at his side.


And if their fingers brushed while they walked or they stayed pressed close long after the director yelled cut, well, they didn’t need to talk about it. At least not today.