Work Header

Like The Sky Fell On Me

Work Text:

Hoechlin was already shirtless when Dylan got there. Of course.

Dylan dropped his bag on the way in and made his way to the kitchenette, where Hoechlin was clearly waiting for the microwave to ding like a desperate man.

"Hungry, baby?" Dylan purred, slinking up to him and wrapping his arms around Hoechlin's middle, pretending to mouth at his shoulder, but really mostly drooling.

Hoechlin just laughed, the way he always did when Dylan was doing up the whole ‘we're totally doing it' routine, and Dylan felt the way the abs under his hands jumped, heard the tiny rumble of Hoechlin's giggles against his ear. He grinned and pulled away.

"So, what's for dinner?" he asked, jumping up on the counter. "Hey, you're au natural!"

Tyler rolled his eyes at him, still laughing, and slipped a hand down his torso. "Good to see you, too, dude. And yeah, no shirtless scenes for me for a while." They both solemnly looked at his chest, where hair ran from his pecs all the way down to his belly button, a treasure trail picking up below it, disappearing into the board shorts that were probably just a bit too low for propriety.

Dylan raised an eyebrow. "Do you own any shirts?" he asked, and Hoechlin smacked him on the knee.

"I own shirts and stools," he pointed out, poking Dylan in the knee, but Dylan just shrugged from his perch on the counter and grinned.

"How about beer?"

"Beer, we can do."

That was one of the many things Dylan appreciated about Hoechlin. He never made Dylan feel like a dumb kid. Dylan was a month away from being legal, but Hoechlin was a true friend who overlooked such pointless details.

The other thing Dylan appreciated about Hoechlin, he thought as he swigged his PBR, was that he totally bought the "pretend" part of Dylan's pretend-crush on him – hook, line, and heterosexual sinker.

It was nice when you could touch a beautiful man's naked skin and get away with some dignity intact.

Dylan had resigned to his sad fate a long time ago.


Posey greeted them with a broad and happy smile, in true Posey style, and Dylan jumped on him, too. It seemed only fair.

"Who's ready for a parrrr-tyyyyyyyy!" he crowed and squeezed his legs around Posey's middle, a universally accepted sign for "giddy-up, it's piggy-back ride time!" Posey knew it well, and soon, Dylan was being trotted out right onto the beach, both Tylers cracking up, Hoechlin following them and throwing sand at them both.

"So," Posey panted under Dylan's weight, "you weren't kidding about this being basically a couch on the beach." It was true – there wasn't much furniture, but there was an impressive set of barbells on the floor next to the TV stand. Open floor plan with a kitchen at one end, a couch in the living space, and a few sets of shelves thrown up against the walls.

When they reached the very edge of where the sand turned wet from the incoming tide, Dylan was dropped unceremoniously onto his ass, with Posey dropping down beside him and whacking him on the shin with his arm.


At least the sand was soft and hot. He closed his eyes and grinned. Even if this was just another weekend with the guys where everybody acted like he was the soul of heterosexuality, and he and his boner had to have some seriously gay times alone, it was going to rule. You couldn't have it all, right? At least he had Colton he could complain to, whenever he was getting here.

"Hey, at least it's extremely close to the beach, right?" Hoechlin replied, and Dylan turned his head to where the Tylers were reposing on the sand like they were filming the Teen Wolf version of the 90210 summer season. Show-offs.

"Hey, you have a roof over your head, indoor plumbing, and electricity," he pointed out. "And it's on the beach."

Hoechlin spreads his hands. "My point."

"I mean," Dylan went on, "we could basically sleep on the beach and not be run off by drunken assholes who, like, throw sand at you and mock you for reading Harry Potter by the moonlight."

"Not that that's ever happened to you, or anything," Hoechlin noted, grinning at him, all teeth.

Dylan sighed dramatically and turned away. "Of course not. I was speaking purely hypothetically."

Posey was just cracking up beside them, his feet already fully buried in the sand. Dylan wondered how long it would be before they could reasonably and politely ask him to produce his top-notch weed. Dylan was guessing that he'd probably have to wait until after dinner.


Colton got there just as Posey was patting down Dylan's sand-covered crotch.

"Heeeeey!" Dylan exclaimed happily, shielding his eyes from the setting sun behind Colton's head. He was sweating all over, his scalp itchy, and he rubbed his head against the sand, letting it tingle nicely all the way down his skin. He fucking loved the beach.

"Nice package, man," Colton said, looking pointedly at where Posey had sculpted an ode to Dylan's junk that was, he could admit, slightly more impressive than its real-life counterpart. "You come here often?"

"I'm glad you ca-ame!" Dylan sing-songed, despite being more of a One Direction guy, threw his arms up, and made what he was hoping an inviting face for Colton to get on down there and give him a hug already. Colton made a huge show out of having to, oh no, get down into the sand and get covered in it as Dylan squeezed him hard.

"How you doing, man?" Colton whispered when they were close enough together.

"Ugh," Dylan complained. "Look at him, I'm basically gonna have to kill myself here."

"Stay strong, Padawan," Colton replied sympathetically, then made a big show out of kissing him on the cheek and patting him on the shoulder. Dylan cracked up and let him go.

"Beer?" Colton asked Hoechlin, and Tyler groaned and threw aside his book.

"Here, I'll show you."

Dylan watched them walk off, dragging their feet, asses working overtime because sand was a bitch to walk on sometimes. Dylan kind of lost himself in the moment for a while, until -

"Oh, shit!" Posey smacked himself in the face, and Dylan turned back towards him, wincing in sympathy as sand went everywhere, including Tyler's eyes. What a goober.

"What? What? Did you ruin my dick? How many times do I have to tell you, the dick is sacred, you do not –"

"Ugh, no, I forgot…" Posey reached behind him and produced his sad, sand-covered iPhone. His lower lip protruded as he looked up at Dylan, all sad puppy eyes.

Dylan made a sad face back. "Dude, how many phones are you gonna ruin before you learn?"

Posey tapped the screen a few times and groaned. "Ugh, well, that's another one."

Dylan patted him in sympathy.


Posey did such a good job of working that sand, only Dylan's head was available for dinner.

He'd always been freaked out by gas grills, and Hoechlin had warned them that his was brand new and he hadn't even cracked the instructions. Dylan had announced that he was otherwise engaged, and let the three of them work their grilling magic, only wincing slightly when Hoechlin's face came perilously close to where a big explosion could have happened. Despite loving the crap out of those guys, Dylan was pretty happy to let them take the brunt of the grill work from a safe distance.

Luckily, nobody got blown up, and instead, within half an hour, just as the sun was setting on their soiree, Dylan was getting fed a hot dog by Colton.

"Absolutely nothing about this," Posey announced as he chewed his own dinner, "is homoerotic in any way."

Hoechlin's face was the picture of cynicism, while Colton was just snickering, watching Dylan with a too-knowing look in his eyes.

Dylan frowned and swallowed. "Listen, just because a dude has no use of his limbs doesn't mean it's gotta be gay, okay. What if I was an amputee from, like, Vietnam? What if I had lost my arms in ‘Nam, huh?" As he ranted, he spewed about half of this hotdog, which – well, it wasn't exactly what he would have chosen to do in Hoechlin's presence, but whatever, Hoechlin had seen worse from him, and besides – he had a point to make.

"Well… Born on the Fourth of July was kind of gay," Posey observed.

"What? No, it wasn't," Colton said, twisting around to give Posey the stink-eye, leaving Dylan with the hot dog just far enough away that he couldn't reach it. Ugh, it figured, really. "Now, Forrest Gump was kind of gay…"

"Oh, yeah!" Hoechlin took up. "I mean, Jenny who, right?"

Dylan was attempting to ignore them and snap his jaws forward enough to grab the hot dog. His eyes were crossing, and still – the wiener was out of reach. Story of his life.

"Lieutenant Dan!" Posey barked in his best Tom Hanks impression, which really wasn't all that great, then wheezed, doubling over.

Dylan sighed as the scene around him devolved into guffawing laughter. "Hey! Could the man with no limbs here get some wiener?"

Colton stuffed the rest of it in Dylan's mouth the next moment.

"'Ankhoo," he mumbled happily in reply.


"Dude, you're gonna be finding sand in your dick," Hoechlin remarked as Dylan began to excavate himself from his warm sand cocoon. He could probably have stayed like that all night, provided no trespassers stepped on his face in the dark, but nature called, and he didn't feel like answering it right where nature…was. So to speak.

"Ugh." Dylan shook his head as he finally managed to free himself and – Hoechlin was right. That shit was gonna stick. "Why does it betray me? Grainy traitor. Anyway," he announced, straightening up and digging in his ear. "I gotta see a man about a horse, I'll be back."

Hoechlin looked like he was considering not letting Dylan anywhere near his house, but then just rolled his eyes as Dylan passed.

For a second, Dylan fought an instinct to peer inside the closed door of Hoechlin's bedroom, just to see – did he close it because he, like, didn't want to make his bed, or did he close it because sex swing and whips and chains? He'd never had those when they were living together, but hey, maybe he'd just wanted privacy.

In the end, Dylan chickened out, and instead, left a sandy trail from the slider to the bathroom, where he perused Hoechlin's reading material (the man did know how to make Dylan swoon, and had somehow managed to stock up on three back issues of "Sports Illustrated"; either that, or he had a digestive problem) and contemplated just how and when he would be free of this ridiculous stupid crush he shared with thousands of other teenage girls and, like, Colton.


"Everything come out all right?" Posey grinned when Dylan made his way back. He kicked him in the shin and dropped into a chair.

At some point, Hoechlin had gotten a fire going, right there on the beach, and Dylan loved fires on the beach. He stretched out his legs and sighed, enjoying the sight.

The fire was really nice, and the way it threw shadows across Hoechlin's chest and abs, and made his eyes glow, was just a nice by-product, obviously. But Dylan appreciated Colton leaving that chair empty for him for the nice gesture that it was. Here, I know you can't have this hot guy we're all lusting after, but at least you get the view.

"Where's my beer?" Dylan demanded after spotting a can in everyone else's hands.

"The cooler's right there, dude," Colton pointed out.

Dylan sighed and went to rummage inside. PBR, Bud, PBR, Bud. He went with PBR.

When he dropped back down into his chair, Posey produced the baggie from his pockets in a very self-congratulatory way.

"Yesssssss!" Dylan could have kissed him. It had been way, way too long since he'd gotten stoned with the guys. Between all of their solo projects and re-locating places, he'd seriously missed this. He was so happy to be back in California.

The first toke was heaven on Earth. "This is heaven on Earth, man," Dylan said dreamily as he passed the bowl and lighter over to Colton.

Hoechlin and Posey both hummed simultaneously, stupid smiles spreading across their faces. Dylan snorted and took another swig of his beer. "Man," he said after a while, sinking deeper in his chair. "I cannot believe we get to do this. I cannot believe you own this, man."

Hoechlin grinned, his eyes slitting open, watching Dylan over the fire. "I know, right?"

"It's like you're an adult or some shit." Dylan shook his head. He wasn't an adult.

"It's not like it's a mansion or anything," Hoechlin said defensively, like it was a bad thing, being an adult.

"Dude, this is your beach," Posey pointed out.

"Well –"

"Or, at least, it's a private beach," Colton corrected. "Which is fucking sweet."

"Mmm," Posey agreed. "Just like this weed."

Everybody hummed in satisfaction. Dylan watched the bowl make its way around, watched the way Hoechlin's muscles stretched whenever he reached for it, the firelight throwing deep shadows and etch marks, like he was being done up in photoshop. It was ridiculous. Dylan basically was Emma Stone at this point.

Whatever. At least he was getting good and stoned, which was nice. It was relaxing. The whole point of the weekend had been to relax, after all. He was really good at this part.

"Man, the stars…" Posey began, then stopped, looking dreamy and completely out of it.

Colton snorted. "Dude, seriously?"


"The stars?"

"What! I like stars! They're awesome," Posey protested over the sound of Dylan losing his shit, because seriously, there was pot thinking, and then there was Posey, who had basically perfected being pot-dumb to an art form.

Dylan loved his friends so much.

Hoechlin was giggling across from him and attempting to drink beer at the same time, the result of which was a seriously unfortunate view of beer sloshing down his chest and spraying out of his mouth and nose. Weed was awesome.

"No, no, no, seriously – check this shit out, right?" Posey went on, waving his beer around for emphasis. "Those are, like, planets, right? And rocks. Giant, big fucking rocks!"

Dylan doubled over and whined, barely able to breathe form laughing.

"In space!"

Colton tumbled off his chair and right into the sand, beating the ground with his fist. Dylan was pretty sure he was actually crying, while Hoechlin was laughing up at the very stars in questions, his neck straining with it, his face all aglow. Dylan had no way of controlling himself at all, and between the laughter and the beer and the beautiful fucking dude, just out of his reach, he thought he could die of ecstasy.

When the thought came, so did the rolling laughter, just beating its way out of him, and he barely managed to figure out what the physical sensation was before he was running up to the water, yelping, and single-handedly opening up the fly on his shorts.

Behind him, he heard everyone else losing their shit.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh!" he let out as he peed into the ocean. "Ahhhhhhhh, this is fucking great!" He let go of his dick so he could go all Shawshank Redemption on them and spread out his arms, like he had found freedom, then quickly grabbed his dick before he could pee on his leg.

But he had found freedom. The freedom of peeing in the ocean out in the open. There was nothing better.



Dylan was lying on the ground very, very quietly, taking the occasional toke whenever the never-ending pot bowl was presented to him.

"You guys…what year is this?"

"Uh –"

"Hang on, I left my… watch…"

"Asshole, you don't have a watch."

"Well, then, I can't tell what year it is, can I?"

"Ohh," Dylan groaned. "Ohhh, I don't like this. Ohhhh my God, this is weird."

"What is?"

Someone's toe nudged his side and he whined. "The sky is falling."

There was a deep silence for a moment, before Posey's high-pitched giggle interrupted it. "Dude, the sky can't fall."

"It falls when it rains," Dylan argued, like, duh.

"That's different. That's, like. That's not the sky, you idiot. That's water."

"Ugh." Dylan had already lost track of this conversation. All he knew was that he was starving, unable to move, and somehow completely crystal-clear-headed. Apart from being stoned as fuck. There was always that point with weed where you just knew everything was right there in front of you, you just had to catch it. You just had to catch it, and then you'd have it, right there, in the palm of your hand.

"Dude, what are you doing?" Hoechlin asked, sounding far away, like he was in a tunnel. A tunnel of the ocean, with the waves crashing around their heads. Mmm, waves.

"I'm – I'm catching it," Dylan explained, grasping the air with his fingers. They looked like they were glowing in the moonlight, against the dying fire.

"Catching what?" Was Hoechlin laughing at him? Was he being funny?

"It. It, it, the, the – the reality." God, didn't Hoechlin get it? "Posey gets it, ask him."

"Posey's gone, dude." Now Hoechlin was definitely laughing at him. And, wait – what?

"What?" Dylan scrambled up and turned around. Three unoccupied chairs sat around the low fire, with a bunch of empties strewing the spaces in between, while Hoechlin lounged in his own chair, looking spacey as fuck, and completely blissed out. He was smiling at Dylan in a way that made Dylan want to curl up at his feet and go to sleep. It was cozy. It was warm.

It was really weird.

"When – when did they leave?" he asked. Hadn't they just been talking? "Weren't we just talking?"

Hoechlin cracked up, his shoulders shaking. "That was, like. A while ago, man."

"Oh." Dylan frowned. "Oh, man, that's weird." Now that he was up, or, well – sitting up, at least, he could tell that it had been a while. His back ached where it had settled against the sand and was now being forced to support him. It was like time that had slowed down like molasses had suddenly sped up, and it felt both like the night had just started, and had been happening his entire life.

It was nice. He wasn't in a rush.

"I'm not in a rush," he smiled and toppled sideways, so he was lying down again, but facing Hoechlin. God, he even had cute toes. Nobody had cute toes. Cute toes were not allowed. "Ugh," he sighed, from somewhere deep, deep down inside. "Ugh."

"What?" Hoechlin asked, and now his voice sounded quieter, like – like his inside voice, the voice that made Dylan lose his shit, whenever Tyler whispered ridiculous crap to him between takes. Dylan loved that voice. It left goose bumps all over his skin.

"You give me goose bumps," he complained, feeling very much outside of himself. He was kind of a rag now that someone had forgotten at the beach. "I hate that." He felt his mouth turning down in a sad face.

He was suddenly very, very tired. Hoechlin was completely silent, Dylan couldn't even hear him breathing. It was rather soothing, he decided.

"I'm going to sleep now," Dylan announced, and curled up, prepared to pass the fuck out right then. But then he was being forced upright, which was just wrong, because everything hurt. When he face-planted, it was against a warm chest that tickled his skin with soft hair, and a familiar arm and gait were making him walk, more or less upright, away from where the water splashed quietly in the dark.

"Did you – did you put out the fire?" he managed to ask. There. He could mentally relieve himself of all responsibility for the night.

"I did, baby," Heochlin's whisper reassured him, and something warm trickled all the way down to Dylan's soul, and he smiled the rest of the way to the house on the beach.

"We're going surfing tomorrow, right?" he mumbled before being deposited onto a softish something that could reasonably have been described as a mattress, and blew Hoechlin a kiss before passing out.


The only way to get rid of caked-on sand, Dylan decided, when he woke up at 5:30 in the morning bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, was to go right back in the water.

There were no shades or curtains in the room, and it was flooded with light. He could see last night's carnage surrounding him – empty Doritos packets, empty Ho-Ho packets, empty Snoball packets, and some things he'd rather not have paid too close attention to, like what looked like regurgitated Zebra cakes that he hoped just got smooshed by accident.

On the couch, Colton was snoring up a storm, and Dylan had a quick tug-of-war with himself as to whether or not it would be okay to both film and post to Youtube one of MTV's heartthrobs at his least sexy. But then he decided that it would have been too much trouble to find his phone amidst the wreckage, anyway.

He almost stepped on Posey's junk as he climbed over him on the mattress, but by the time he extricated himself and hit the outdoors, he was feeling amazing.

He vaguely remembered last night's shenanigans devolving in a way that only really good weed fostered, and gave a mighty stretch up at the skies, grinning.

It was grey, with this diffused beautiful light that promised excellent waves and deliciously cool water. He could have wriggled from pleasure.

He ran all the way down to the ocean, passing the blurs of their chairs and the wreck of a fire. He'd help Hoechlin clean it all up afterwards, when the water wasn't calling to him.

The waves crashed over his head as he dove in, and he swam in zero gravity for a deafening second before getting buoyed up and out of the water, screaming a warrior scream, goose bumps breaking out all across his skin.

He fucking loved the water.


The only mistake in his foolproof plan was forgetting to bring a fucking towel. Oh, well. After swimming for what felt like hours, but in reality was probably less than thirty minutes, he decided to dry out in the sun. It was peeking out from behind the overcast clouds, parting them fucking – majestically, like sunlight was king.

There was no one else around for miles; not even Hoechlin's surfer neighbors had come out yet, as far as he could tell. Making the split-second decision, Dylan climbed out of the water, and out of his shorts.

Oh, yeah. This was what nature had intended when it invented water and sand and sun and cool morning air. The wind was slightly unforgiveable on the genitals, but he decided it was a small price to pay for freedom.

He plopped down onto one of the chairs and shut his eyes for a moment. For a peaceful minute, all he could hear were the waves crashing and the seagulls flying overhead.

Then some kind of crash sounded just a few feet away from him and Dylan jumped, eyes flying open.

"Oh! Heeeey…Hoechlin!" Fucking hell. His hands flew to cover up his diminished manhood. "I thought you were all asleep!"

Before him, silhouetted against the ocean, the vision of a wet Tyler Hoechlin slowly came into full and incredibly clear view. He was in a wet suit, his surfboard lying forgotten at his feet, and by the looks of it, he'd already started to peel off the suit, because his chest was exposed and, like, glistening with water. He was just staring at Dylan. Dylan gulped. Jesus Christ.

"I've been awake for, like, an hour," Hoechlin told him, clearly completely uncertain as to whether or not he should actually have been looking at Dylan at all, and it took Dylan way too fucking long to remember that he had shorts around here somewhere he could theoretically put on. Jesus Christ.

"I didn't see you!" He was still sitting dumbly in the chair, feeling like an utter tool. "How far out did you go?"

"I was over there," Hoechlin pointed to where there was a break of rocks in the water. "Why are you naked? Are you still high?" he asked suspiciously.

Dylan decided now was the moment to pull himself together. "I," he began primly, getting up off the chair and releasing his junk, "was enjoying my alone time."

Hoechlin slapped a hand over his eyes, a little belatedly, actually, from what Dylan could tell. It must have been a shock to the system. "Jerking off on my beach?" he asked incredulously, like he actually owned the sand and the water.

"No! Jesus, I was just – drying. I forgot my towel." He walked past Hoechlin to where he'd left his shorts, and slowly pulled them on. There was another mistake in the plan – there were few things grosser than pulling on wet sandy shorts that clung to all of your cracks and bits after they had already dried.

"Oh, well, I'm sorry to have interrupted!" Was that sarcasm? Dylan got one leg tangled in the fabric and couldn't tell from all the sand on his face.

By the time he straightened himself out, dusted off, and walked back, Hoechlin appeared to have regained his equilibrium and was just watching Dylan with a crooked smile. "Good morning, I guess," he laughed and pulled his zipper further down. "Since you can do it, I can too," he informed him and Dylan watched, gaping like a fish, as Hoechlin (slowly; laboriously) undressed right there in front of him.

And, okay.

They had lived together. There were times when they'd seen each other in the buff, kind of by accident, largely not intended, and they had gotten drunk and high together enough that nudity was not anything new.

But they weren't living together anymore, and it was just – it was different. Dylan tried and utterly failed at acting nonchalant when Hoechlin finally peeled off the last leg of the wetsuit, leaving an incredibly small amount of his impressively large body to the imagination, and threw it aside. Then he shook himself like a wet dog and ruffled his hair, all the while watching Dylan with a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

"You're right," he said, like this was totally normal to be wearing absolutely nothing in front of Dylan. "This is way nicer."

Dylan picked his jaw up off the floor and willed Little Dylan down as quickly as possible, shrugging all, Told ya. "Nice, right?"

"Want coffee?" Tyler asked, nodding towards the house. "I bought Starbucks."

Dylan grinned and peeled his eyes away from where water was dripping down Hoechlin's back. "Fuck yeah! Race you!"

But he really needed a shower first.


Hoechlin's shower was basically the size of a sleeping bag, and Dylan wondered just how the fuck Hoechlin managed to use it, but then he realized that was a completely counter-productive train of thought, and sniffed at all of his cleansing products, instead. Old Spice and Gillette and it was all just so dudely. Dylan had missed that smell. Posey usually smelled like vanilla, weirdly, and Dylan gravitated towards things that didn't actually smell all that much but got him clean as a whistle.

It took him a while to get rid of all the sand, but by the time he emerged, he was feeling cleaner than he'd had in his whole life, only with achy elbows from where he'd knocked them on the glass walls of the shower to get at all the cracks.

Unbelievably, Posey and Colton were still out, so he managed to by-pass them quietly enough to join Tyler by the coffee maker. Apparently, when he said he'd bought Starbucks, he meant the real shit, like. To make on your own.

"Fancy," Dylan remarked. Tyler just gave him a crooked grin and went to grab the cream from the fridge.

They both waited as the coffee brewed, Dylan contemplating how much he'd started enjoying coffee since all the night-time shoots had changed his entire prospective on what morning was, and also sneaking quick glances at Tyler, who was luckily dressed, but that didn't mean that he was covered up. Threadbare t-shirt that clung to him in a pretty obscene way, and low-slung board shorts. If Dylan were a betting man – and he probably was, but he was also protective of his newfound wealth, thank you very much – he would bet that nothing came between Hoechlin and his shorts.

He sighed and turned away.

Tyler raised an eyebrow at him. "You okay?"

Dylan nodded vigorously, the universal sign of haha, of course not, but I'm not discussing it with you, and gave him a thumbs up, just to seal the total lie. Hoechlin pursed his mouth in a knowing grin, and slipped an arm around his shoulder, bringing them close.

"C'mon," he said quietly. "Let's get this coffee, and you'll tell Tyler all about it."

Dylan rolled his eyes, but didn't extricate himself from the embrace, choosing instead to just sort of cuddle up and lay his head on Tyler's shoulder, feeling the soft t-shirt material under his cheek.

It was nice. Hoechlin really should have been used to the cuddling by now, at least.



Dylan agreed. It was still relatively cool out, so the hot coffee felt really good, out in the breeze. They sat in the chairs facing the water, and Dylan felt like he couldn't have possibly asked for anything more. Tomorrow night, he'd be going back to the real world with real responsibilities and real cameras and real paychecks and real emails that needed answering, but for now, he was going to enjoy this little bit of nirvana and not think about anything else.

He wasn't even that twitchy about not having his computer near so he could check on his Fantasy Baseball team.

"So, how long do we think they're gonna be out?" Tyler asked, turning his sun-eclipsing grin on Dylan, head nodding in the direction of the house.

Dylan squinted at him, and thought about it. Lately, Posey had been basically a dead man walking until about noon. He wasn't sure about Colton. "Split the difference," he said. "I bet it's gonna be at least two hours."

Hoechlin laughed and took another sip of his coffee. Why did he have a NASA mug? Weirdo. "I bet we could probably make some use of these waves, if you're up for it?"

"Ohh, yes, please!" Dylan grinned. He wasn't that great of a surfer, basically, at all. But Hoechlin had waxed so poetic about it before the weekend, Dylan was pretty stoked to give it another shot. At least he was a strong enough swimmer for when the waves inevitably knocked him on his ass. He just hoped the board wasn't going to hit him on the head too many times.


And his hopes came true – if you counted three as not too many times.

It was fucking amazing, though, riding the waves before they overtook you and crushed you beneath them. Under Hoechlin's rather detailed guidance, Dylan could almost stand up on the board over the rushing water, and he whooped and shouted before the expected happened.

Next to his ridiculous routine of wobbling-standing-leaping back down-falling under, Tyler obviously looked like a fucking god. It was ridiculous. When Dylan could actually see him through the water streaming down his face, all he could see was sheer concentration and skill. Like, the guy was good. Even with the waves rushing all around them, he could hear it whenever Tyler somehow lost control and managed to get submerged under gracefully, all the while laughing his ass off.

After the third time of getting hit on the head, Dylan decided it was time to give up his hopes of mastering surfing. He swam up to his board and threw himself onto it, allowing it to control where he went, instead.

It went where the waves went, and where the waves went, so did Hoechlin. Dylan rested his head on the board and just watched him. He figured that was a good enough excuse to let himself watch his fill, for once.

It was nice, letting himself just watch Tyler like this, watch him when he was at his happiest, it seemed, frolicking in the water like he was a puppy. A surfer puppy. A hot surfer puppy. Cheeks darkened by stubble, eyes crinkling against the power of the water, muscles straining with the waves, he was everything Dylan wanted. It was so fucking unfair.

He screwed up his eyes and paddled uselessly against the tide.

Back when it had just been a crush on, like, a veteran of teen TV, it was so easy to manage, so simple, somehow. Who didn't have a crush on this guy on set?

With a kick to his stomach, Dylan realized it hadn't just been that in a long fucking time. Not since seeing Tyler's face on set had become an imperative for him; not since a day on location without him somehow appeared to dim before Dylan's very eyes; not since he moved out.


Dylan yelped and almost swallowed water as he sputtered. Tyler appeared from under water right next to him, grinning at him like it was totally and completely okay for him to be all up in Dylan's business, a kissing distance away.

"Huh?" he replied smartly after he'd managed to take a normal breath.

"You're all –" Tyler shrugged, hands gripping Dylan's board. "Thoughtful. Were you watching me?" he asked curiously.

Dylan could feel his body betraying him as he blushed. "You're really good, dude," he managed. "I'm just kind of, you know." He shrugged.

"You wanna try again?" Tyler cocked his head, still not moving away. Dylan's gaze automatically dropped down to his mouth, where straight white teeth showed, hint of tongue behind them.

He raised his eyes back to Tyler's. "Nah, it's all right. Maybe later. This is just nice for now," he said, kind of quietly, because he didn't want to be shouting right in Tyler's face.

Tyler nodded slowly, watching him back. "That's cool. The waves are dying down, anyway." Then he bounced off Dylan's board, rocking it hard in the process, and swam out to grab his own before it escaped completely.

Dylan closed his eyes. He was so fucking fucked. He had to get a grip on himself. Wasn't falling in love with one of your co-stars the oldest Hollywood cliché in the book?

When Dylan opened his eyes again, Tyler was paddling up to him on his board, looking just as stupid as Dylan when he did that, which was a relief. Then they were both riding the calming waves together, side to side, the foot of the boards knocking occasionally.

"Mmm, this is nice," Tyler hummed, his shoulders glistening in the sun.

Dylan made a vague noise of agreement. He couldn't stop looking. It was getting completely away from him. "If I could live in the water," he managed, "I would."

"Maybe you'd grow gills," Tyler smiled.

"I don't think that's how evolution works," Dylan noted, adding, "But I bet you probably could, surfer boy." He poked Tyler in the shoulder without thinking about it.

Tyler laughed in response, the sound open and easy. "I wish!"

Dylan just smiled. He'd probably need a nap later. It felt like he'd been awake forever.

They swayed and rocked and didn't talk.


Dylan cuddled up to Colton. For once he didn't feel like kicking anyone's ass in Wii bowling, but it was fun watching Posey kick Hoechlin's ass. It happened incredibly rarely. Dylan, however, was too blissed out to join them. Also, he was pretty sure he had heat stroke.

It was sort of embarrassing. He was Jersey. He was California. If anyone should have been able to handle a full day of frolicking on the beach and in the waves, it was Dylan, but no. Instead, he was feeling vaguely queasy and completely exhausted.

"Ow, dude, careful," Colton mumbled as Dylan accidentally poked him with his cap while moving around. "Do you ever take that thing off?"

Dylan just mumbled something and slid further down on his chest, watching Colton play Angry Birds on his phone with a fierce concentration.

It was really soothing. In fact, he was really soothed. His eyes slipped shut, and then the grunting and Wii noises blended in with the bird noises, and then Dylan was asleep.


He woke up kind of disoriented.

First of all, why was he asleep.

Second of all, where the fuck was he?

He sat up and felt his hat falling off his head. His eyes slowly adjusted. It wasn't dark outside, but the room itself was dim, the curtains pulled shut. And he was on a bed – and he didn't know this room.

Oh my God. He twisted around and gaped. He was in Tyler's bedroom. He had to be. What the fuck, how did he get there? And now that he was here, did he ever have to leave?

It was tiny, but the bed was awesome. Dylan fell back into it and gazed at the ceiling. There was little else but the bed, just a nightstand and a dresser, but there was already a Mets poster on the left-hand wall. Dylan grinned. Damn straight there was.

He stretched and considered his position.

He was where he'd been wanting to be for, like, ever. Except he was there without Tyler.

It was relatively early in the night, but it was weirdly quiet in the house, which meant the guys must have been outside again.

He checked in with all the relevant body parts and decided that, yes. He could probably brave the outdoors again, except maybe without the largely naked part. And he'd leave his hat on.

As a last-minute decision, he pulled off his shirt and dropped it on the bed. That way, he decided boldly, he would have to come back in, and once he back in, surely Tyler wouldn't make him go back out onto the mattress next to snoring Colton again, right?

Maybe they could cuddle. Dylan was a really, really big fan of cuddling.


"It's aliiiiiive!" Posey crowed as Dylan waded through sand to get to them. Once again, there was a fire going, and a few empties had already accumulated around their feet.

"Fuckers, are you enjoying our last night here without me?" he gaped, feeling slightly wounded.

"Aww, sorry, dude – you were real out of it," Posey said, puppy face firmly in place. Dylan scowled, but allowed it, dropping down into his chair. Colton was just laughing at him openly, sipping his beer.

Tyler extended him the bowl and lighter. "Will this make up for it?" he asked in a throaty, just-took-a-good-hit voice. He was smiling at Dylan, and there was not a man alive, Dylan was pretty certain, who wouldn't respond in kind to a Hoechlin grin. Plus, weed.

Dylan accepted the offer for what it was and took a nice, long hit. He was feeling better already.

"What's for dinner?" he asked, after passing the bowl off to Posey.

"Hot dogs on a stick," Hoechlin informed him. "I didn't feel like grilling, sorry."

Dylan perked up. "Like, over the fire? Score, I love that shit! Oh, hey, can we make s'mores?"

Hoechlin lifted the cooler lid. "Way ahead of you, dude." This time, his grin was, like, feral.

Dylan crowed and pumped the air. "I love you, man!" He nearly upended his chair, partly in excitement, partly out of being an idiot. "I say, fuck the hot dogs, let's just have s'mores!"

There was an enthusiastic rumble from all involved, and Dylan decided he basically had the greatest friends. He went for the cooler face-first.


"Dude, dude, you've got, like, a – a runner – a runner of, like, white goo, all down your –"

"You've got a runner of white goo all down your," Dylan mumbled through a mouthful of s'more. Mmm, delicious, delicious s'more. He didn't think he'd ever had a s'more quite as delicious as the one that was in his mouth at that very moment. He didn't even care that he was covered in melted marshmallow and had graham cracker crumbles all around his mouth.

Posey just laughed at him, wheezing through the smoke. He appeared to have brought a never-ending supply of weed with him, which was the greatest super power known to man, as far as Dylan was concerned.

Colton had given up on toasting his marshmallows because he'd almost wound up in the fire head-first at one point, so he was just eating the chocolate part, looking relaxed and happy and completely covered in chocolate. Hoechlin, on the other hand, kept toasting his marshmallows perfectly, with a concentration Dylan had only ever witnessed from him either on set or when they'd goof off and have a round of baseball off-set. It was eerie.

"Dude," he squinted. "How do toast your marshmallows like that? I mean, that shit is art." It really was. It's was nicely browned on all sides and it wasn't singed at all. How? From his right, Posey snickered and made some sort of perfectly toasted, haha joke.

"Hmm?" Hoechlin broke away from the fire and pinned Dylan with an intense stare. His pupils were huge. "You wanna learn?" he asked, extending his marshmallow towards Dylan.

"I don't think I could do it, I'm way too hyperactive for that shit," Dylan decided, swallowing the last bit of his s'more. Then he licked all inside his mouth, because gross, melted marshmallow. "You're all – focused," he added.

Hoechlin threw him a lop-sided grin. "I could toast one for you, if you wanted."

"Really?" Dylan perked up, feeling stupidly warm.

"Sure," Heochlin shrugged and looked away, smiling a tiny smile.

When Dylan caught Colton's gaze what felt like ages later, Colton rolled his eyes at him and laughed. Posey just watched them all with a broad smile on his face, and shook from silent laughter.

Dylan ignored them and watched as Hoechlin pierced yet another marshmallow and got to work. Maybe he needed another beer. Another beer could only help.


"Colton – Colton, dude." Dylan kicked him in the shin for good measure, which finally did the trick – Colton shuddered awake. "Do we need to tuck you in?"

Posey had just announced that he while loved them and appreciated them as humans, but he needed to be lying down quietly in a dark room for a while or he would pass out standing up. Which was what he actually said to Dylan every night at home, so Dylan wasn't too concerned about him.

Colton had just passed out where he sat.


"Aww," Dylan remarked. "You drooled. You're adorable."

Colton frowned at him, still clearly completely out of it, and then turned his head. "Wait. Where are the guys?"

"Posey's passed out, Hoechlin's getting him and me more beer."

Colton raised an eyebrow at him.

Dylan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right, I wish. We're just both adults who can stay up past our bedtimes."

If he was totally honest with himself, he could have left Colton passed out in the chair while he and Hoechlin hung out, but he hadn't wanted to. If he could get Tyler all to himself by the fire, on this beach, it would at least earn him some ‘pseudo-romantic date' cred in his mind.

Somehow, that made it even more pathetic, but what could he do.

Colton staggered upright and saluted. "Well, God be with you, hope you get some, give me all the gory details, good night," he mumbled, then stretched, and slowly trudged toward the darkened house. Dylan sighed and closed his eyes. He was barely high anymore, just the smallest twinges of a pleasant bake left in him, but the beer was doing wonders for his sobriety. He wondered if drinking would get less fun when he became legal, but then decided that was just dumb. Of course not. Drinking was awesome.

A cold bottle nudged his leg and he yelped, his eyes flicking open. Hoechlin was grinning down at him, thrusting the beer somewhere between Dylan's knees. Dylan gave him the finger and accepted the beer, twisting it open with his shirt.

"Mmm, this is good," he managed after taking a cold, smooth sip. He turned the bottle until he could read the label. "Belgian?"

Hoechlin grinned, settling into the chair next to Dylan, so recently vacated by Colton. "Saved the best," he remarked, showing teeth.

"Haha," Dylan managed to smile back, knowing he sounded like an idiot, but uh, what the fuck did Tyler think he was doing to him, slowly trying to kill him? First toasting his marshmallows, and then saving the best beer for them? Ugh. Dylan's life sucked. It was the worst.

Tyler didn't appear to notice any of this. He simply leaned back and stretched out his long legs in front of him, hooking the ankles together. Dylan needed to drink more.

"This is nice, right?" Tyler asked after taking a sip of his own beer. Dylan was kind of transfixed by the way his Adam's apple bobbed with each swallow, but obviously, it would have just looked like he was watching Tyler's face, and it was only polite to look at the person speaking to you.

"Mmmhmm," he agreed a little belatedly. "This place is fucking nice," he added, nodding towards the house.

"It's a glorified trailer, but it's on the beach, you know? I've always wanted to own a beach house," Tyler smiled, lazily lolling his head in Dylan's direction. His eyes were just so mellow, Dylan thought. They were so nice.

Another moment passed before he realized he was supposed to have answered. "Uh, yeah. I bet. I mean, who doesn't, right?" He took another sip.

Tyler nodded, seriously, like Dylan had said something profound and not profoundly dumb. "Yeah, totally. What about you?"


"Is there anything you've thought of doing your whole life that you may get to do?"

Dylan realized a second too late that his beer exploded in the bottle. He watched, transfixed, as white foam ran up out of the rim and all down his hand, soaking him with it.

"Quick, get it, suck it, man!" Hoechlin yelled, throwing Dylan into obedient action. He wrapped his lips quickly around the bottle and giving it a good long suck to catch all the foam.

Oh, Jesus, he was such a tool. What a rookie fucking move. He winced as he pulled off the bottle and stuck his tongue out. "Ugh, head."

Tyler was watching him, sort of concerned, and sort of like he was waiting for something. Oh, right. "Sorry, what was the question?" Dylan asked, taking another – much more careful – sip to get rid of the bitter taste on his tongue.

"Uh," Tyler uttered, then paused. "I think – oh, right, uh, have you – you know, wanted something like a beach house that you can get, now that you're a money-making actor person?"

Dylan frowned. "What, me? Please, I'm still waiting to wake up," he confessed. "I'm not, like. I'm milking it for all it's worth, make no mistake, but," he added, "I'm just a passing blip." He blinked, adjusting his eyes because they were still a little watery from the whole beer-swallowing fiasco, and when he re-focused, Tyler was frowning at him. "What?" he asked, feeling stupid.

"You really – you really think that?" he asked, and, whoa, he was kind of –

"Dude, are you mad at me?" Dylan asked, wondering just how much of a 180 had to take place there for Hoechlin to be pissed at him.

"What? No! I just - you have no idea, do you?" Tyler asked, and he was now staring at Dylan so intensely, it actually scared him just a little. He was used to getting that look from Derek, when the cameras were rolling, but not Tyler.

"No idea about what?" The beer was writhing around Dylan's gut now like a traitor that, having lulled him in to a sense of security and molasses-sweet feeling, now kicked him from the inside out.

Tyler pursed his mouth, then rolled his eyes, and broke his gaze. "You are such an – ugh." He sounded impatient, but at least not pissed, and Dylan just sat there, waiting for more. "You're a natural talent, Dylan," Tyler finally said, much quieter. "You act circles around all of us, and you think you're a blip?"

"Oh." Dylan's mouth kind of sagged open a bit, but he couldn't help it. He – had not been expecting that. What felt like fear just seconds ago turned into a hot pleasure inside his belly, and he grinned the next moment. "Aww, dude,thanks." He could feel the blush running up his traitorous chest and neck, spilling out into his cheeks. He raised his gaze to Tyler's, and got caught there, Tyler's smile transforming before his eyes.

"I mean it, dude. So, like. Plan big, okay?" Tyler said, then huffed out a breath, and broke their gaze, taking a long pull of his beer.

Dylan shut his eyes for a second, just to get his stupid heart under control, and settled back into the chair, watching the waves splashing a dozen feet away. "Thanks," he repeated.

"No problem," Tyler echoed quietly.

"I guess I can plan to buy the Mets now in a few years," Dylan mused. He could never buy into the hype, but hearing Tyler say that, hearing Tyler praise him like it was the most natural thing in the world – well. Well, it made a guy feel good. It gave him a spring in his step, you could even say.

Tyler laughed and raised his bottle. "Dream big, dude. Cheers."

Dylan laughed and they clinked bottles. That was way more satisfying than clinking cans. "Cheers," he grinned.

His beer was almost done, but he didn't think he wanted another one. He wasn't tired, he was just riding the tipsy wave nicely, and he didn't want to upset the balance. For a moment he wondered if he wanted another toke, but no. He was good where he was.

"You want another?" Tyler asked, as if reading his mind. "Or are you good?"

Dylan turned his head to face him and grinned. "Nah, I'm good. This is a good state, I like this."

Tyler grinned and raised his bottle in another salute. "Right there with you." When he took another sip, he didn't break his gaze, and Dylan couldn't tear his own away.

Tyler was just watching him as he sucked on the bottle, Adam's apple working overtime, cheeks hollowed out. For a moment, Dylan felt like his hands and feet were buzzing, a weird lightness happening all across his skin. It was completely quiet, apart from the crash of the waves, and the moment separated itself from space and time. It lasted forever, and then it was over, Tyler lowering the bottle and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He loosened his fingers and the bottle dropped down to the sand, rolling for a moment before encountering a mound it couldn't overcome. Dylan watched it dumbly until it settled, then raised his eyes back to Tyler.

Who was still watching him.

Dylan's stomach bottomed out. What –

If this had been a date, Dylan would have had several options at hand. If this had been a date, he was pretty sure they would have been sitting on a single towel, and not two separate chairs, which would have allowed for greater maneuverability. Also, if it had been a date, he would have known it was a date, and he would have known what to do.

But it wasn't a date at all, and it wasn't just a random person he was watching. It was fucking Tyler. Dylan did the only thing he could do, and sat there, completely immobile, and waited.

Which also took a while, because Tyler first looked weirdly resolute, and then he looked like a guy on the edge of a cliff, and then he sighed and dropped his gaze.

Dylan's heart sank, but really, he was still pretty buzzed. He had probably imagined the whole thing, anyway.

"Dylan –"

"Yeah?" Whoa, eager kid, hold your fucking horses. Jesus, he was easy.

"Are you –"

When Dylan looked back at Tyler, Tyler was wrinkling his nose and scratching his back, looking just about as uncomfortable as a person could. Dylan squeezed his toes together and felt his shoulder muscles bunching up into boulders at his back.

"Yeah?" he asked, because he could never help himself, ever.

Tyler squeezed his shut, sighed, and then dropped his hand so it just kind of hung loosely over the side of the chair. "This is stupid, I know it's stupid, but, like – is it just me? Here?"

Dylan, struck completely dumb, slowly shook his head. "I'm…here…too?" He looked around, just in case.

"Ugh, no," Tyler rolled his eyes. "I meant – I mean, like –"

Dylan was pretty sure he wasn't blinking. Because blinking would have meant missing things like the way Tyler's ridiculous eyebrows rose in an unspoken question, the way Tyler's entire body sort of stilled for a moment.

There was just no way, though. There was no way in hell.

Yeah, okay, so they both joked around on set or hammed it up for interviews, but that all been a joke on Tyler's part, right? He was just indulging Dylan, indulging the fans, not fucking - flirting with him. Right?

"Uh, never mind," Tyler finally said, sagging, when Dylan failed to produce a single human reaction beyond staring like Bambi, and Dylan's mouth once again motored over his brain and got there first.

"Wait, no – I mean, like – you don't. You don't, right? I mean – no, that'd be ridiculous, what the fuck, like, that would just be too – do you want another hit? We can pack a bowl. Beer? You should have another beer. Do I want another beer? I don't think I do, though, and I don't really wanna get more baked, either, so –"

"Dylan." He registered Tyler just staring at him like he was crazy.

"So, I'm just gonna – I'm just gonna sit here? Like, or. Oh God, why am I still talking? Can I stop talking please?" His palms itched so bad. He wiped them on his thighs.

It was the fucking chairs, that was the problem. If Dylan were allowed to go on instinct here, he'd have been in Tyler's lap in basically a hot second, but he was pretty sure if he were to attempt that right that moment, he'd wind up half-sprawled out on the ground with sand all over his face. He really, really didn't want that at all.

Another problem was his mouth.

Because when he finally snapped it shut, Tyler was looking at him like Dylan was certifiable, and then he started laughing, with these uncontrollable giggles shaking his body that Dylan just fucking hated. Because he loved them so much, because he absolutely loved that Tyler was a giggler.

"Okay!" he announced. Before he could think twice, he was up off the fucking chair. Then he kicked at it, hoping for a nice slide away to give him some room, but obviously wound up knocking it over onto its side, instead. He had no idea what he was doing. He was pretty sure his hands were shaking.

Tyler's giggles ceased abruptly and he watched Dylan with wide, expectant eyes. Dylan thought, fuck this, and took a step until his toes were lined up with Tyler's. "Fuck this," he said and reached out his hand.

Tyler had said Dylan was a good actor, right? If this failed, he could totally turn it into a joke. He could totally act normal until it was time to leave in the morning. He could totally hold it together until the next time he saw Tyler again.

Dylan's heart beat so hard inside his chest, he was pretty sure even his spleen was vibrating.

Tyler's hand was warm and a little sweaty when he gripped Dylan's back, and then Dylan had to dig his feet into the sand for leverage, because Tyler used their grip to lever himself up to his feet, a tiny smile playing on his lips the entire time. Somehow Dylan managed to hold his own and not allow Tyler's bulk to over-balance and tip him into the fire.

When Tyler drew to his full height, they were nearly eye to eye. Dylan's throat went dry; their hands were still in a grip.

"So not just me?" Tyler whispered, eyelashes fluttering, and drew Dylan in closer by the hand.

Dylan was pretty sure he was going to pass out from a lack of oxygen. He definitely wasn't going to make any words happen anytime soon, so he bit his lip and shook his head. They were – were they? His ears were about to pop from tension.

"Cool," Tyler nodded, and leaned in to kiss him.

Ohhhhh, fuck. Dylan's knees nearly went out from under him at the first touch. The shock of his bare chest connecting with Tyler's t-shirt uncoiled adrenaline all through his system, his heart re-starting at the touch.

He couldn't help the tiny sound escaping him basically at all.

The first kiss was firm, but chaste, like Tyler was testing the waters, and Dylan drew enough brain power to surge forward when Tyler pulled away, and kissed him back, for real this time. Their touching hands went from a grip to a slide, and then their fingers intertwined, caught between their chests. Dylan's breath was coming in pants. He could feel a hammering of a syncopated heart right across from his own. Tyler was kissing him back.

Oh, fuck, was he ever. He was opening his mouth up to Dylan, tasting of beer and salt, and sliding his tongue against Dylan's in a way that felt like a real goddamn porno, or something; it was sex, it was the promise of sex, at the very least. Dylan groaned and opened his mouth up wider, letting Tyler all the way in, just – just as much as he wanted to go, gave himself up.

And then Tyler was sliding his hand out of Dylan's, and wrapping it around his waist, fuck, his arms, while the other knocked Dylan's hat off and buried itself in Dylan's hair. He was so fucking glad he'd grown it out after filming wrapped. He gasped and this time, his knees really did go out from under him.

Tyler broke the kiss off first, his breathing harsh, uneven, and Dylan tried to subtly hang onto him until his legs steadied.

"Oh, thank God," Tyler rasped, and Dylan felt the tension between them like it was a live thing, could only breathe in gulps.

"I," he croaked, then licked his lips. "Jesus, why didn't you say something sooner?" he asked, letting his hands wander all up and down Tyler's back, which was hard as a fucking rock, Jesus Christ. Dylan couldn't wait to get his hands all over his skin.

"Why didn't I say something?" Tyler's voice suddenly went up an entire octave into indignant, and his eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "Dude, I've been, like, bending over backwards to let you know, I've – I stripped for you!"

Now Dylan was the one gaping. "What?" He blinked. "That was – no, nuh-uh, that is so not fair!" He jabbed a finger at Tyler's chest. "You get naked at the drop of a hat!" he accused. "How am I supposed to know?"

"Well, you got naked first!" Tyler countered.

They were still so close, they were basically yelling in each other's faces, and Dylan was so messed up, he didn't know whether the next thing to come out of him would be laughter or tears, so he made words happen, instead. "That wasn't – that wasn't a seduction!"

Tyler's eyebrows flew up again.

"It wasn't! I was drying myself out, how was I supposed to know you were gonna be out there?"

"I called you baby!" Tyler went on, like Dylan hadn't made a valid point.


"Last night, when I had to practically carry you inside!"

"Well – oh." Dylan frowned. Oh. He'd been fairly well-baked by that point, and everything was a bit muddled, but. "You did." His voice went quiet, and then he felt a smile slowly creep back into his face. "You totally did, you called me baby." He couldn't help the way his heart clenched at that. Nobody ever had to know.

Tyler's own grin was crooked and just a tad self-deprecating. "Yeah," he nodded, looking somewhere around Dylan's chest. "I did."

Dylan grinned wider. "And you stocked your bathroom with reading material for me," he realized out loud. Dylan had always been the one to do that back in their place, never Tyler. "And the coffee!"

"Well, yeah," Tyler rolled his eyes. "You were coming, I had to – do something."

Dylan would have fist-pumped if his hands weren't busy bunching up Tyler's shirt. "Posey and Colton were coming, too," he said.

"Yeeees," Tyler nodded. "But you were coming first." This time he was looking right at Dylan.

Dylan bit his tongue on the very obvious retort, and grinned wider instead. "So, this was basically all an elaborate seduction plan?"

Tyler scrunched up his nose. "Not a very good one, though, apparently."

"Bullshit!" Dylan crowed. "You courted me, Hoechlin. You wanted this."

"I did," Tyler replied immediately, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I wanted this." His arm grew tighter around Dylan's waist.

Dylan swallowed. "I wanted it, too." Unnecessary, but he wanted to say it out loud. It felt so good to say it out loud.

Tyler kissed him again.

Their kisses slowed, grew languid and sweet and sure. Randomly, Dylan thought how weird it was that you could show your intentions through kissing, like talking, only clearer. It made sense, using tongues and all that –

Oh, God. Dylan's brain grew into total mush as Tyler moaned against him and clutched him harder, so hard, it almost hurt. Fuck, he was strong. Dylan clung to him and attempted not to swoon like a maiden, but it was hard going.

And then Tyler's hands slid down and he stepped between Dylan's thighs, and Dylan gasped when Tyler's hard dick pressed against his own, fuck. Dylan became instantly aware of just how throbbingly-hard he really was, and –

"Fuck, fuck," he managed, ripping his mouth away and panting against Tyler's scruffy cheek. "We have to, uh," he managed, "uhm, get away from the -"

"Fire, right, mmm," Tyler picked up, but didn't make a single move backwards. Dylan's back and thighs felt like they were burning up, and the fire was low, but the air was hot and thick around them. He was really hoping to get away intact and not have any possibilities ruined by first-degree burns and boner-killing visits to the ER.

But it was so fucking hard to move when Tyler was busy kissing the juncture of Dylan's shoulder and neck, sending shiver after shiver after shiver all down Dylan's body. They'd barely gotten started, and Dylan was already close to losing his mind.

"Ty – Tyler, c'mon, I wanna –" He tugged on Tyler's shirt and managed to propel himself forward, and press Tyler back and back until they were within a safer zone of the fire.

"What – what do you want?" Tyler panted against, and Dylan pulled back, watching his face in the low light.

"A lot," he admitted, swallowing. "Can we, like, move this somewhere where I can touch you? A lot?"

Tyler, instead of laughing at him, just nodded for a while, his eyes sort of glazed-over and unfocused. "Uh, yeah. Let me just…" Dylan watched as Tyler leaned back in, paused, then closed the distance between them with a soft, lingering kiss. Dylan felt his eyes slipping shut again, the ground under his feet shifting. Sand surrounded his toes, grated his skin. He didn't care.

It took a while to break apart, and then Tyler made like the manliest man ever and got the fire out within the blink of an eye, and then they were stumbling towards the house in complete darkness, everything blue and swimming before Dylan's eyes, and Tyler's hand gripping his, like a promise.


Thank God both Posey and Colton were deep sleepers. In the complete darkness of the house, their eyes not yet adjusted, Dylan and Tyler nearly over-balanced and fell down in a heap twice, once over the edge of the mattress on the floor containing Posey, the second, when Tyler's mega-weights managed to jump out of nowhere and trip Dylan.

"Ow, motherfucker," he groaned, hopping on one foot, eyes squeezed shut in agony.

"Shit, are you okay?" Tyler whispered, catching him by the elbow.

Dylan moaned as quietly as he could and nodded, hopping in the general direction of Tyler's bedroom. Not even blinding-white pain could stop him from reaching his goal tonight. "I'm fine," he gritted out, then tested the throbbing foot. It wasn't broken, he didn't think, but he definitely needed a distraction. "C'mon," he whispered, and grabbed Tyler's hand once more.

They fell through the doorway, Tyler kicked it shut, and then it was just two halting backward steps until the bed could receive them. Good thing the a/c had already kicked in. Dylan had hopes of this getting loud.

"Wait," Tyler whispered right as Dylan was about to fall into backwards. "Wait, hang on –" and slipped out of his shirt. The next second, he was dropping his shorts and going for Dylan's in the same breath. Dylan's breath caught as he dropped his gaze.

"Is – is this okay?" Tyler asked, his fingers already hooked around the elastic of Dylan's shorts. The only thing preventing them from sliding down was Dylan's incredibly obvious dick.

"Uh –" Yes? Yes, oh my God. Dylan didn't even bother to answer, just hooked his fingers over the band and eased the shorts down over his hard-on.

Then he went right back at looking Tyler's.

Holy Jesus Christ. He was unreal. Like. The guy was absolutely unreal, standing in front of Dylan. Cut, built, glowing, with a dick that was entirely proportionate to his body, and leaning just a little to the right. His mouth watered.

Dylan met Tyler's gaze the next second, and Tyler didn't even bother to say anything, just grabbed Dylan's hips and propelled him backwards right onto the bed.

Dylan grinned and laughed up at the ceiling.


"What do you want?" he asked when Tyler clambered up on the bed next to him, and pulled him in. It might have been a dumb question, but they were new at this here. He wanted a hint. Tyler didn't answer for a while, though, just let his hands wander all down Dylan's skin, managing to catch nearly every single square inch of him with those big hands of his. Dylan panted and waited, his dick throbbing.

It was kind of the hottest thing in the world, Tyler being completely mute as he rolled them over and just explored Dylan, like Dylan was something worth exploring. It was a completely ridiculous thought, because this was Tyler, who was basically a god among humans, but Dylan bit his lip and let the pleasure of it uncoil in his belly.

After a while, when Tyler appeared to have touched absolutely every single part of Dylan apart from his dick, though, Dylan grabbed his hands and pulled him in. It was a little awkward, but Tyler absolutely let him, looking even more unfocused than before. Dylan kissed him, then grabbed his hair and pulled, leaning back enough to look him in the eye. "Tyler," he said. "What do you want?" So he sounded a bit desperate. Who could blame him.

Tyler swallowed, then squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't know."

"What do you mean?" Dylan didn't mean to ask it quite like that, but he, for one, knew exactly what it was he wanted, and he simply was waiting out the etiquette until such a time when he could make it happen.

Tyler didn't quite meet his eyes when he shrugged, still firmly in Dylan's grip, and said, "I haven't – I haven't exactly done this a lot."

What. "What?"

"Dude –"

"No, I just – wait. Sex?" Tyler managed to give him a seriously dirty look. Oh. "You mean guys?"

Tyler nodded, biting his lip, then shrugged again. Dylan dropped his hand and pulled back, leaning on one elbow, just watching him. "Seriously?" How was that even possible?

Tyler, to his credit, didn't punch Dylan in the face. Instead, he rolled onto his back and slowly took Dylan's hand, guiding him until Dylan got what Tyler wanted and straddled him, legs stretching in a really satisfying way around Tyler's narrow hips. They both gasped a little at the feel of it, skin on skin, so fucking close. Dylan knew he had to concentrate on talking, just for a little bit, and not let the feel of Tyler hard dick against his ass drive him to insanity.

He still couldn't stop himself from running his hands up Tyler's torso, feeling all the hard bumps and contours of his abs and chest, feeling the ribs beneath his hands rise and fall with every stuttered breath Tyler took, feeling all the hair that had been allowed to grow back tickle his palms and fingers. It was fucking insane. Just that, just touching Tyler, felt incredible. Everything about Tyler seemed absolutely designed for sex, like, all the time. Dylan could only pant as he allowed his hands to travel down to where his thighs met with the cut of Tyler's hips, slowing to explore the twin dips he found there.

"F-fuck -"

Dylan's gaze flew up to Tyler's face. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he was biting his lip. The veins under Dylan's fingers fluttered. Dylan thought he could have come just from that.

"How – am I your first guy?" he asked, suddenly needing to know what he had gotten himself into.

Tyler opened his eyes, but didn't look at Dylan. Even in the relative dark, it was obvious he was kind of embarrassed. "I, uhm. I tried once, when I was seventeen," he admitted, looking somewhere beyond Dylan's shoulder. "On the 7th Heaven set, actually."

Dylan had to bite his lips from saying a word.

"But I freaked out and ran away, instead," he said all in a rush.

"Wow. Huh."

It just – it was not possible that Dylan was the one with more experience here. It wasn't. And yet.

"Yeah." Tyler shrugged, like it was no big deal, which was a lie, and they both knew it. "What about you?"

Dylan attempted to keep his answer as neutral as possible. "You're, uh. Not my first guy."

Tyler's hands gripped Dylan's thighs harder. "No?"

Dylan shook his head. "Kind of not by a lot," he confessed.

Tyler's grip increased. For a moment, Dylan wondered if that grip was the grip of a pissed-off man, and thought, hey, that is so not fair. "That is seriously hot," Tyler breathed, and Dylan's shoulders sagged in relief.

"Yeah?" he quirked a smile.

"Uh, yeah," Tyler replied, looking up Dylan with a very clear duh expression on his face.

Dylan grinned harder and ran a very deliberate hand from Tyler's hip up his own thigh and, throwing shame out the window, slipped it around the base of his own dick and stroked it. Fuck. He closed his eyes for a moment, just enjoying the sensation, then squeezed and slipped off.

When he opened his eyes again, Tyler was basically staring at him with his mouth sagging open, and the next second, Dylan was being bent over Tyler's torso, and Tyler was kissing him – devouring him, tongue and lips and teeth, one hand gripping Dylan's head, the other sliding down to his ass. Dylan couldn't breathe; his dick was trapped between their bellies, and when he moved his hips to get some sort of friction, his ass slipped against Tyler's dick. They both broke off and sucked in a breath.

"Okay, okay," Dylan panted, attempted to get a grip on himself. Tyler looked like he was freaked out and turned on in equal measure, and if Dylan had to lead this show, he would fucking lead this show. He pressed both hands against Tyler's chest and pushed himself back up into sitting position. "Let's start off slow, all right?"

Tyler, breathing hard and rapid beneath him, nodded his agreement.

"Okay," Dylan whispered, attempting to get his own breathing under control. The feel of Tyler's torso under him, his thighs against Dylan's shins, was driving him to distraction. "Okay."

The question was, how slow? Had Tyler gotten to dick that one time? Or was this his first time hanging another dude's junk with intent? Would this freak him out? What if it freaked him out. Oh, God, Dylan didn't think he could handle the humiliation. He didn't think his dick could handle the humiliation.

"Dylan –"

"Yeah?" Dylan swallowd.

"I don't know, I just- I really, really need something right now," Tyler said, his voice coming out kind of rigid and incredibly tightly-controlled. "So, like. If you could –"

Oh, thank God. Message received. Dylan propped himself up over Tyler's shoulders and slid down until he was straddling his knees, instead. Had he gauged right? Throwing a quick look Tyler's way, he lowered his head and buried his face in Tyler's abs, breathing so loudly, he was pretty sure even the guys outside could hear it in their sleep. Thank God for the a/c in the living room.

Then, in the complete silence of their room, Dylan slipped down further, and further still, all the while panting open-mouthed against Tyler's skin and making it twitch under his touch, until his nose trailed down the line of hair leading directly to Tyler's dick.

From up close, it was hot as hell, and just as intimidating.

Dylan closed his eyes and licked a stripe up one of the veins that he had possibly fantasized about more than once, the ones that seemed to scream look at where I originate! every time he saw them, and slipped down to the origin point.

Tyler gasped above him and Dylan felt, with his entire body, the tension seizing him.

Thinking crazily to himself, you are about to suck Tyler's dick!, he raised his head, gripped the base of it with one hand, and went down.

Oh, fuck, of fuck, oh fuck.

He went cautiously, just a bit at a time, because if he went too fast, he knew he'd lose complete control. Fuck.

Tyler's taste exploded in his mouth, salt and skin and pure guy, and above him, Tyler gasped and went completely rigid. Dylan moaned, his hum reverberating over Tyler's cock, and slid down and down, down until his mouth was completely stretched out by dick, down until his lips met his fist, and then he got to work.

Dylan wasn't a prude – he loved sucking cock. At first, it had been a weird rebellious thing, like, fuck all of you, if I'm gonna be a cocksucker, I'm gonna be a cocksucker, but then he just got good at it; he loved it. He loved eating pussy, too, he was just that kind of guy.

And what he loved most about it, he was getting from it right now. Tyler was losing his mind. Every time Dylan went down, Tyler would gasp, sounding more and more desperate with each pull, thrashing above him, and clearly being just on the edge of control; he never thrust up into Dylan's mouth, and Dylan took a moment to appreciate the fact that Tyler was even capable of that, before he sank his fingers into the hard surface of Tyler's abs and pulled off.

"You can fuck my mouth," he informed him, looking straight into Tyler's wide, blown-out eyes, then maneuvered himself off of Tyler's lap and, taking advantage of the shocked state Tyler appeared to be in, spread open Tyler's thighs and got in between them. "Like that," he panted, looking up at Tyler's slack-jawed face. "Yeah?"

He didn't wait for an answer, just went straight back to working Tyler's dick like it was a lollipop. Tyler groaned – the first sound he'd made since Dylan had pulled off; it was incredibly gratifying – and when Dylan sped up the rhythm, Tyler lost all control.

Dylan let it happen. He fucking loved this part, loved someone coming apart under him, realizing he could do this, make this happen. Tyler was clearly trying to be quiet, but every sound he made went directly to Dylan's own aching dick, shooting sparks off in his belly. Yeah, yeah, do it, he thought.

He was rutting against the sheets now, his mind scattered, as his mouth bruised and watering, Tyler's hips jutting forward in tight thrusts, just enough that it was clearly getting him off, but not enough to choke Dylan. It was fucking hot as well. Dylan made sure that Tyler knew that, too. He held his thighs in a tight trip, just strong enough that Tyler could fuck his mouth with impunity and know Dylan was good.

Dylan was good, absolutely loving the down of hair under his hand, feeling the hard-rock muscle underneath, and then let go of Tyler's dick and spread his thighs more, gave him room.

Tyler grabbed his head and moaned, his voice high and broken, and then he pulled Dylan off, just like that. Dylan went, because damn, if that alone wasn't almost enough to make him come.

"Are you –" he panted, but Tyler shook his head, breathing hard enough that his chest fell and rose in quick succession.

"Don't – don't want it to be over yet," Tyler ground out and Dylan watched with a kind of awe as Tyler actually held off his own orgasm, wrapping two fingers around the base of his dick and squeezing.

Dylan swore and then covered Tyler's body with his own, giving him the dirtiest, most grateful kiss he could manage. Tyler groaned into his mouth and clutched him tightly. Dylan fucking loved him.

"What," he panted after they broke off. "What do you want – what can I do –"

Tyler just shook his head, grinning. "I think that's a question for you, actually." It was gratifying to hear that his breathing, at least, Tyler hadn't quite gotten under control. He sounded halting, stuttering, and Dylan couldn't help the jerk of his own hips up against him, he wanted it so bad.

"I – I don' t care, whatever you wanna do," he admitted, because it was the total truth. He was wound up tight, he was completely and utterly out of control now. He was pretty sure that not even a freight train could stop his dick from going off, if Tyler touched him. "Please –"

Tyler cut him off with a kiss, and suddenly, Dylan was on his back, and Tyler's hand was on his dick.

"Fuck!" Dylan slapped a hand over his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut. Fuck, fuck, fuck, that had been way too loud, but he was just – he just needed – "Yes, yes, please, fuck, fuck, fuck," he chanted from behind his hand. He threw his head back against the pillows and went completely slack-jawed as Tyler began to pump him, slow, slow and steady, with a tiny little flick of his thumb over the head. Dylan clutched the sheets and bit his lip.

"Like – like that?" Tyler asked, and his breath ghosted over Dylan's shoulder, hot and wet. Dylan groaned. Like that was probably the best thing at the moment, slow, slow, just enough to pull him back from the edge. He nodded frantically, then somehow wound up clutching Tyler's head, fingers gripping his hair, needing him close.

"Yes," he gritted out. "Yes, just like that – please –"

Tyler sank his teeth into Dylan's shoulder and Dylan felt a fucking sob building up in his throat. It was just a handjob, how was it the hottest thing to ever happen to him? He tried to swallow, to get some kind of control here, but wound up curling up into Tyler's body, instead, his foot dug into the sheets his only anchor.

"Jesus, Dylan," Tyler breathed. "Fuck, you are so goddamn hot…" His rhythm faltered for a minute, and Dylan was almost glad, because fucking hell, but then Tyler let go, shifted on the bed and slid down. Dylan could only gape as Tyler leaned over his dick and gave him a quick glance. "All right, so I'm gonna try this, don't laugh, okay?"

Dylan was pretty sure laughing at Tyler giving him head would have been the last reaction he could come up with. Accidentally shooting a load into his face before he got there seemed much more likely. He nodded mutely, gaping like a fish, and barely managed to hold himself up on his elbow to see Tyler go down.

Then he floated out into oblivion, he was pretty sure. Tyler wasn't an expert – every now and then, his teeth was graze the skin of Dylan's dick, and he couldn't quite get a rhythm going, and he didn't go down as far as Dylan had, but his mouth was hot, and it was wet, and Dylan was grateful for all the imperfections, because it meant that he could last.

He so badly wanted this to last.

Then Tyler managed to find a rhythm, and pull his lips over his teeth, and Dylan hit the headboard. "Fuck." Fuck, fuck, fuck, this was heaven, he was pretty sure. He was barely conscious of Tyler's hand over belly, even though he felt it as a warm point of contact, loving the feel of it over his skin – everything that wasn't Tyler's mouth on his dick was just a dim observation, forced into the back of his brain, because Tyler's mouth on his dick, oh God, he was going to – he was gonna –

"Shhhhhhit," he hissed and grabbed Tyler's head. "Ty- Tyler, I'm gonna – you gotta –"

Tyler pulled off almost reluctantly, and Dylan swore again at the sight of his bruised, wet lips in the dark. "Dylan –"

Dylan groaned and, keeping one hand in Tyler's hair, slapped the other hand over his dick, jerking off fast and tight. He couldn't – he could not wait anymore. His eyes squeezed shut. "I just –"

"Fuck," Tyler breathed, still pinned in place by Dylan's death grip. "Yeah, yeah – do it, shit, you're – fuck –"

Dylan heard his own voice pitch high like it was a stranger and everything in him tightened, his belly, his thighs, his arms, his balls, and then he was coming, shuddering and gasping and fucking writhing, shooting out onto his own belly; coming so hard, some hit his chest.

The world spun, and when it was done spinning, he went completely and entirely limp.

"Motherfucker," Tyler breathed, then slipped out of Dylan's slackened grasp and slid up the bed, kissing the rest of Dylan's breath away. "That was seriously fucking hot," he whispered when they pulled off.

Dylan's limbs were still vaguely numb, but he managed a smile, slitting his eyes open. Tyler was watching him like he was steak or something, and Dylan felt the pleasure of it kick-start in his belly. He hummed, then slowly floated back up to the surface. "Shit, I'm sorry – that was kind of fast."

Tyler raised his eyebrows, looking at him like he was crazy. "It was fucking hot," he said.

Dylan was not going to blush; he wasn't. He grinned and turned slowly onto his side, facing Tyler, not even caring about the come splattered all over him. "But you still haven't come," he said, feeling a bit bad about that, but also kind of awesome – more fucking, bring it.

Tyler ground his hips up against Dylan in response, eyes sliding shut. He didn't say anything, but Dylan was a smart boy. He rolled over onto his back, bringing Tyler with him a second later, and spread his legs. Tyler wrinkled his nose at the feel of Dylan's come squishing between them, but Dylan had more important matters to attend to.

"C'mon," he whispered, and thrust up against Tyler. "C'mon."

Tyler groaned and climbed fully aboard the O'Brien Love Boat, forcing Dylan down into the mattress with his weight. Fuck, Dylan loved big guys. He gasped and felt something like the beginnings of another hard-on stir. Fuck yeah; he started building more of a rhythm between them. He let Tyler ride him, their thighs intertwined, Tyler's hard dick slicking against his hip, Tyler's ragged breath against his neck, his moans soaking into Dylan's skin.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Dylan gripped Tyler's back and held on as Tyler sped up, bearing down on him, stealing all of his breath.

The bed creaked beneath them, and began to thump in rhythm against the wall. This isn't exactly subtle, he thought, but couldn't make himself care. He was too gone on Tyler, too gone on how fucking good he felt, losing his mind over Dylan, biting down on the crook of Dylan's shoulder, completely failing to suppress the noises being ripped out of him. Dylan panted and felt his dick harden between them, Jesus Christ, seriously?

He threw his head back and let it happen, let it build and build and build, until Tyler twitched above him, then froze, gripping Dylan's shoulder, and groaned – one long, devastatingly delicious sound, going right into Dylan's ear and melting him whole. Dylan shuddered and came, gasping, again, Jesus fucking Christ on a pogo stick. Hot come spilled out between them and Tyler sank down the next second, driving home the point that, holy shit, he really had been holding himself back before, because now he was positively crushing Dylan's chest.

Tyler slurred something against Dylan's shoulder, but Dylan really, really needed to breathe, so he patted Tyler on the back and somehow managed to move enough to dislodge most of Tyler's bulk off of him. Even with that, he knew that when he looked down at him, boneless on the bed next to Dylan, Dylan's eyes probably looked star-shaped.

Tyler hummed, his eyes closed, and slapped an arm over Dylan's waist. "We're so gross," he said with a stupid smile on his face. "Fuck, that was amazing."

Dylan really, really agreed. He hummed and smiled stupidly back, slipping his own eyes shut. "Fuck yeah."

Tyler slid close enough for a kiss. The taste of both their dicks mingled on their tongues; Dylan fucking loved the taste of dicks. "That was better than the threeway I had once," he mumbled, barely aware of what his mouth was saying.

"Uh – what?" Tyler's voice was a lot less slurred, and a lot more alert, all of a sudden.

Dylan thought back to a second ago. "Oh, yeah – I had this threeway with my ex once." It had been fucking awesome. "That doesn't weird you out, does it?" he asked belatedly, cracking an eye open.

"Uh, no," Tyler replied very carefully. "That – does not weird me out."

"Good," Dylan smiled, sinking even further down onto the bed. The pillows smelled like Tyler's hair product. He loved that smell.

"But you might need to elucidate on it," Tyler added, managing to use a two-dollar word when Dylan's brain had basically turned to mush. "Because, damn."

Dylan stretched and smiled. "I will. But I gotta pass out now, ‘kay?" He was pretty much halfway there already.

"Shouldn't we get cleaned up?" Tyler asked, a little dubiously.

"Nah," Dylan slurred, bringing him closer. "We're dudes, we'll deal with it in the morning. Love you, bye," he mumbled.

Then he passed out.


He woke up with a need to piss sometime in the night. A little blearily, his brain slowly clicked together – Tyler's bed, Tyler's chest pressed up against his back, Tyler's dick resting between his thighs. He hated having to extricate himself from such a nice arrangement, but he'd messed up Tyler's sheets enough, he figured.

It dawned on him only after he managed to slip out of bed that he wasn't gross. In fact – he ran a hand down his belly – he was perfectly clean. He turned back to the bed, where Tyler lay, now sprawled into Dylan's side, frowning in his sleep. Awww. Tyler had cleaned them up.

Dylan smiled down at him fondly, then slowly made his way around the bed. He really, really didn't want to encounter either Posey or Colton on his way to the can, so when his eyes landed on the empty Sprite bottle on Tyler's bedside table, it wasn't even a choice at all.

He tried to shush the stream as it hit the bottle, but it wouldn't hush. He looked over at Tyler carefully, wincing a bit at how loud it sounded in the dark, but Tyler looked pretty much dead asleep. Still, Dylan was pretty happy when he was done peeing, then screwed the bottle shut, and threw it in the trash. He was kind of the worst, he knew.

When he climbed back into bed, he managed to maneuver Tyler onto his own side, then wiggled under his arm again, sighing happily. He didn't wake up again until the morning.


The light spilling through the curtains was weak, but definitely present. It was enough to illuminate the room, and when Dylan slowly turned over, he encountered Tyler's sleeping face drooling onto the pillow, his cheeks already darker than they'd been last night. Seriously, that was some good casting, he thought. Dude was basically a wolf in real life.

Dylan peered over Tyler's shoulder at the clock on the bedside table, and decided that six in the morning was basically the best time for morning sex.

He woke him up slowly, with his mouth on Tyler's shoulder, and his hand on Tyler's (magnificent; incredible) ass. He wished he could have taken a picture of him, sprawled out on the bed in the morning light, all muscle and hair and sleeping strength. As it was, he wanted to memorize it for himself, know that it really happened.

By the time Tyler stirred and cracked open his eyes, Dylan's morning wood was beyond ready for some action. Without saying a word, he rolled Tyler onto his back and slipped their mouths together.

Then he put his hands over all of the skin he encountered, ruffling every metaphorical feather, driving Tyler to the edge with every move he knew. He forced gasps from his mouth and groans from his throat, and he moved, and moved, and moved, until they were both silently gasping and clutching each other and coming, hard and shuddering and so, so right.


"Hoechlin… " Knock-knock-knock. "Hoechlin…" Knock-knock-knock. "Hoechlin…" Knock-knock-knock.

Dylan screwed his shut and groaned. Posey was pulling his Sheldon move on them. He grumbled and buried himself under the covers when Tyler slowly got out of bed, rolling his eyes, and went to open the door. Naked. "What."

"Hoechlin – oh!" Posey's voice stuttered for a second. Ha. "Heeeeeeeeeey, man, we were just wondering, like, what the fuck happened to Dylan, but –"

"Yes!" Colton's voice joined in, from further away. "I knew it! Hook-up of the motherfucking year!"

Dylan groaned and slapped a hand over his face, even though no one could see him. He could feel Posey's spreading smile from a layer of blanket and sheet.

"Way to go, baby boy!" Colton continued, like he was a (seriously perverted) uncle or something. "Finally!"

When Dylan emerged from under the covers, both Posey and Colton were crowding the doorway, equally shit-eating grins firmly in place. Tyler had one hand slapped over his dick, the other his face.

Dylan threw them a look. "Would you two shits please let us get dressed before barging in?"

"Nope!" Posey answered immediately, with Colton echoing him with a "No way!"

Dylan threw a pillow at them, carefully trying to avoid the view of gorgeous man just standing there like the most humiliated Greek statue in the world, but they just laughed at him as Colton threw it back.

"We knew it was only a matter of time before you total girls got your shit together!" Colton said, with that same ridiculous grin on his face.

"Uh, what now?" Dylan asked, his gaze switching directly to Tyler, who was now only managing to hide his junk, while his face kind of glowed pink under the seven o'clock shadow.

"Oh, come on, Hoechlin was just being a giant pussy," Posey grinned, punching Tyler in the shoulder. Tyler groaned and threw his head back.

Dylan just gaped. "You knew? Wait. You knew what?"

"Oh my God, you are such an idiot!" Posey crowed, while Colton just made faces at Dylan over his shoulder. "Hoechlin's been trying to go after you for, like, months and months and months, the pussy."

"All right, everybody out!" Tyler announced and pushed on the door until it closed in front of Posey and Colton's shit-eating faces. Dylan assumed the ‘everybody' did not include him, but even if it had, he wouldn't have moved, anyway. He was kind of frozen to the bed.

"They knew?!" he yelped as soon as they were alone, and Tyler was just watching from the doorway, completely red in the face. "They knew and didn't say anything?"

"I told them –"

"Colton knew?" The bastard! He never said a word. "I'm gonna kill him -"

"I wanted to let you both get there on your own!" Colton's voice rang through the closed doorway. "You can't rush this shit, man!"

"Go away!" Tyler barked, then made his way back to the bed, where Dylan was still staring at him accusingly.

Then he poked him in the chest. "Why didn't I know?" he asked.

"Because you're an idiot," Tyler said, kind of fondly. "Everybody knew, Dylan."

Dylan wondered if that ‘everybody' included not just the cast, but the crew, the craft service people, or even his own mom. It probably did. "Why didn't you say something sooner?" he asked, thinking about how now they're going to be in different states when he went back to Atlanta, and Tyler stayed right here, where Dylan left him.

"I assumed you just weren't interested," Tyler shrugged. "You're an oblivious asshole, apparently."

Dylan couldn't argue with that. He really was. "I really am," he nodded, then shrugged and leaned in close enough for a kiss. Tyler smiled into it, and they kept it chaste, light, and even still, it kind of made Dylan's toes tingle with pleasure.

"So, what now?" he asked when they slowly broke apart.

"I don't know – do I give you my letterman jacket?" Tyler asked, eyebrow raised.

Dylan punched him in the shoulder. "Fuck you. How do you know it wouldn't be me pinning you, huh?"

Tyler laughed in response, then his face kind of transformed into something a little more serious. "Well, do you – do you want this?"

"Wha- huh? Of course I do!" What kind of a question was that?

"I mean, you know – as a thing. Not just a one-time thing, but a – together thing."

Dylan just looked at him, because Tyler was clearly the stupid one in this relationship. "Yes," he finally answered, just to make sure that Tyler got it. "Obviously. I really, really do."

"Good," Tyler smiled. His whole body appeared to sort of relax before Dylan's very eyes.

Dylan bit his lip. "I gotta fly back today."

"I know." Tyler scrunched up his nose. "I have the next weekend free, though, I could –"


"Yes," Tyler answered immediately, running a hand down Dylan's hip. "Totally."

"Good." Dylan grinned, then a thought hit him. "Can we, like, Skype sex during the week? I've never gotten to do that. I feel deprived."

Tyler rolled his eyes, but when he licked his lips and looked at Dylan, it was clear the answer was yes. "You're such a pervert," he said, almost in wonder. "A threeway, and now Skype sex?"

"That," Dylan said, poking him in the chest, "is not perversion, my friend. That is a healthy sex drive of a healthy sexually driven boy."


"Oh, yeah. Just wait until I rim you," Dylan added, watching Tyler's eyes widen. "Then you'll talk."

But Tyler didn't talk. Instead, he buried Dylan beneath him and kissed him until they were both out of breath.

Somewhere in his periphery, Dylan thought he heard the click of a camera shutter, but surely his friends weren't such enormous assholes, right?

Whatever. He slapped a hand over the wall behind him and thrust up against Tyler, laughing. He just hoped they had enough sense not to tweet the picture; otherwise, he was keeping it forever and ever, amen.