"Posey, seriously, this is disgusting."
Dylan doesn't mean to act like Tyler's mom or anything, but he literally had to ram his shoulder against the door to shove all the garbage and dirty laundry out of the way. There's sharing an apartment with a twenty-one-year-old dude and then there's sharing an apartment with a pig who's taught himself to walk on two legs, and Posey is straddling that line. There must be at least twelve bags from In 'N Out alone and god only knows how far they date back. Like, this is really hardcore gross.
Tyler makes a grunting noise and pulls his comforter over his head. Dylan sits on the edge of the bed and pats Tyler's ankle through the blanket. "Is this a cry for help? Do you need me to stage an intervention? I bet MTV will film it for tumblr and everything."
"Shut up," comes the muffled answer from under Tyler's blanket. "I'm just on vacation."
"A vacation from showering?" Dylan asks.
"Yes. Now go away."
"'Fraid I can't do that, bud. Don't know if you know this or not, but I'm contractually obligated to make sure you don't get head lice. You've got a weird jaw and couldn't pull off my buzzcut."
Tyler finally sits up in bed. He's shirtless, naturally, and his hair is sticking in at least twelve different directions. It's stupid attractive. Or maybe Dylan's just stupid for being attracted to his slob of a roommate. But, whatever, it's not like Tyler complains about it. The only one complaining right now is Dylan, and that's only because he wants to jump Tyler's bones, but he also reeks and Dylan has some standards. A few standards. Okay, one standard: "Fucking take a shower," Dylan says, and pulls Tyler out of bed.
It takes a few seconds of Tyler grumbling, but Dylan grabs him by the wrist and lifts his arm all the way up so he can smell his own armpit. "Jesus fuck," Tyler says and jumps back, like he's trying to escape his own stench. Then it's no problem pushing him down the hall and into the bathroom. Dylan's even a nice guy about it, testing the water temperature and pushing Tyler's pajama pants down for him. Tyler shoots him a grin while Dylan's down on his knees, but Dylan shakes his head firmly and shoves Tyler under the shower. He doesn't bother pulling the shower curtain over, since what's the point of this if he can't see what Tyler's doing?
"Soap first, Posey," Dylan says, throwing scented body wash crap that Tyler loves at him. Tyler catches it neatly. "Sex after."
"Promise?" Tyler asks.
"Obviously." Dylan jumps up on the sink and crosses his arms over his chest to watch the show. And Tyler totally puts on a show, tipping his head back to let the water spray all over his face and down his body. He soaps up generously, not bothering to use a washcloth because, let's face it, if Tyler even owns any washcloths, they're in the pile on his bedroom floor, not hanging in the tub. Tyler pays special attention to his biceps and chest, all the highlights from any 'we're filming another scene in the locker room' episode of Teen Wolf playing out two feet from Dylan's face. When he gets down to his dick, Tyler soaps up for so long that Dylan thinks he's about to finish without him and what's the fun in that?
Dylan clears his throat. "Need any help there?"
"Oh, you're still here?" Tyler cracks himself up, which is good because it's not like anyone else would find that funny. He doesn't stop jerking off.
Dylan rolls his eyes and jumps off the sink, splashing into the puddle of water Tyler's open shower is making. He climbs into the shower fully clothed and makes a grab for Tyler's cock.
"Whoa, whoa," Tyler says, pushing Dylan's wet t-shirt off his head. "I don't know if you think you're at work or something, but you're wearing a fuckton of clothes." He pulls open the button on Dylan's jeans. "The first rule of shower sex is any shirts, any pants, no service."
Dylan laughs and pushes down his jeans and boxer shorts, which really were a bad idea with this whole shower thing. But Tyler jerking himself off in front of him kind of made Dylan's brain go all stupid. As did Tyler's wet hand wrapped around his cock, which is what is happening now. Dylan has to lean against the wall to steady himself.
"Am I up to your standards yet?" Tyler asks, leaning in to bite down on Dylan's bottom lip. Dylan doesn't bother answering, instead pushing up into Tyler's hand while getting his own hand around Tyler's dick, too, squeezing it just this side of painful, the way Tyler likes. "Jesus," Tyler says, kissing Dylan hard. Then the only noises he makes are breathy little whines and these low-pitched moans that make Dylan's brain completely fuzz out. Between the slick water, the noises, and oh yeah, Tyler's hand around his dick, it doesn't take long before Dylan is coming with Tyler following right after, the evidence washed down the drain moments later.
"Mergh," Dylan says, sliding down the wall and onto the tub floor. His knees have stopped working right. Tyler laughs and shuts off the water again. Their bathroom floor looks like Noah and his arc will be sailing through any minute. Dylan makes a mental note: next time get in when Tyler does and pull the fucking shower curtain.
Tyler wraps a towel around his waist -- Dylan's, naturally, the only clean one available -- and steps out of the bathtub. He gives an exagerrated yawn. "I'm going back to bed," he announces and leaves.
"I fucking hate you," Dylan yells after Tyler's butt. He doesn't, though, even if he knows he's going to have to get up soon and take care of the flood because it's not like Tyler's going to doing anything if Dylan dies in this spot. It's just one more mess to clean up.