Title: Tease a Little More
Fandom: Teen Wolf RPS
Word Count: 3,762
Warnings/Promises: dirty talk, shower sex, intercrural
Disclaimer: I don’t know these people, I just make up enjoyable lies about them.
Summary: Dylan may have the pretty pink lips, but Tyler’s got the hottest mouth, hands down.
A/N: Because it was going to happen sooner or later. Vaguely inspired by this Tumblr post. Title from (::sigh::) “Pour Some Sugar on Me," because it was either that or something much worse from “Talk Dirty to Me.”
Skipping right past the part where Posey’s been hanging out with JR or Ian or possibly Holland too much (there’s no way he came up with that “assail my ears” bit on his own), Dylan mentally slaps himself on the forehead for even mentioning it. At work, no less, even though no one’s paying them a bit of attention. He just needed to tell somebody, and for some dumbass reason, he thought Posey would believe him. Still, though. “Why would I make that up?”
Posey shrugs. “To fuck with me. Though you could have at least tried something believable first.”
“Like what?” Dylan regrets the question as soon as it leaves his mouth.
“I dunno. Toys? Positions? Barry White music?”
Dylan groans, sinking lower in his chair. “I’m telling the truth.”
As if on cue, Hoechlin and Holland join them off set. Still in Lydia’s ridiculous shoes, Holland snags a spike heel on a taped-down cord, but Tyler catches her and rights her so fast she barely even has time to stumble.
“Ugh, thanks,” she says, keeping a hold of his hands while she kicks off each shoe. The Powers That Be get pissed if they catch anyone walking around barefoot, but they’d be even more pissed if Holland broke an ankle.
“No problem,” Tyler replies, not letting go until she’s got both feet firmly on the floor. The hint of a smile on his lips turns into a full-blown grin – complete with stupid, heart-stopping eye crinkles – when Tyler sees Dylan and Posey sitting there.
Specifically, when he sees Dylan.
“Got another late night tonight?” he asks, though he’s fully aware they do. Stiles gets to fall down a well. An actual (fake) well. He’s already in grungy clothes and heavy dirt makeup and gets to look forward to being sprayed down with a hose and standing in three feet of water for hours. At least there’s a Lassie joke in the script; it would be practically un-American not to make one, even if Little Timmy never did canonically find himself in that particular predicament. Dylan’s had that argument with Linden already.
“Very late,” Posey says earnestly. “And poor Dylan here has to spend the whole night dirty. I mean, absolutely soaked and filthy. You know how much he likes that.”
Dylan can feel himself turning hot, blushing all the way down to his toes, and he prays a lighting rig comes crashing down to put him out of his misery. No, scratch that, the rig should fall on Posey – it’ll save Dylan the trouble of having to kill him with his bare hands. Not like they didn’t all make jokes like that all the time before, but that was… before.
But Tyler just good-naturedly flips Posey off, easy smile still on his face. Then his eyes focus on Dylan and the whole world telescopes down until it’s just the two of them, no one else even exists, and Dylan’s mouth goes dry as his heart starts to pound.
Tyler’s tone is completely neutral and friendly when he says “See you later,” not a hint of innuendo. But he’s talking right to Dylan, and as he walks past, the very tips of his fingers brush the back of Dylan’s hand. It’s like a shock to his system, every hair on his body standing on end, and he has to fight a shiver. As it is, he can barely manage a nod as Tyler leaves.
When he’s gone, Dylan groans again, covering his face with his hands. He’s going to have to look at Posey eventually. He can’t outlast him; when it comes to mockery, Posey has the patience of a Zen master. He should start his own sarcasm dojo, make himself a fortune.
When Dylan finally builds up the courage to get it over with, sure enough, Posey’s gaze is steady and solemn. “I can see what you mean,” he says, eyes wide. “They ought to lock him up for public indecency. Won’t somebody please think of the children?”
Really, Dylan has no one to blame for this but himself. Doesn’t mean he has to admit it. “I hate so much about the things you choose to be,” he sighs.
This… thing Dylan has with Tyler, it’s new. “Fragile” wouldn’t be the right word, but it’s been a long time coming and Dylan’s desperate not to fuck it up. It’s just so good – they’re still in the ridiculous, hearts for eyes, light up whenever the other walks into the room phase, but Dylan has a feeling it’ll still be awesome even after that fades. Tyler just gets him, grounds him out and shows him how to graciously navigate the three-ring circus that is his life now. For all he makes Dylan feel breathless and off-kilter (in the best way) when they’re alone, Dylan feels so much more centered in everything else. It’s more than he thought he’d have before he’d even hit 23, and it scares him a little.
So he’s still trying to work out the line between respecting Tyler’s privacy and needing to talk to his friends about his amazing boyfriend. To share, to ask advice, to occasionally brag a tiny little itty-bit. Stuff that would be normal if they were just two random guys but is decidedly more complicated since they’re both semi-famous, still growing their careers, and – most importantly – not out yet. Which means he probably shouldn’t be discussing Tyler’s sexual proclivities with just anyone. Not that Posey is “just anyone” or believed it anyway.
Dylan wouldn’t have believed it either. Not when he and Tyler first met. Not when were they awkwardly circling each other for so long, each waiting for the other to make a move. Definitely not when Tyler began taking him on actual dates, even if filming schedules meant “dates” were freezer lasagna and a Tim Burton movie on Tyler’s couch. Dylan had already fallen hard by the time they started sleeping together.
Not that it would have bothered him to know. In fact, the first time Tyler rolled Dylan on his back, pinned his hands above his head, and whispered “I’m going to fuck your sweet little ass so hard you won’t be able to sit down for a week,” Dylan nearly lost it right there and then.
It’s not about dominance or roughness, because Tyler can do both tender and playful very, very well. It’s not even about topping, though Dylan never lasts very long when he fucks Tyler.
It’s Tyler Hoechlin’s fucking mouth.
He swears in everyday life, maybe a little less than most people, maybe a little more when he’s tired. And while he’s not always the perfect gentleman – he can be downright bitchy in the mornings and has a bad habit of swiping other people’s food – he’s the closest Dylan’s met to an actual saint. So when they get to bed (or the couch, or the dining room table, or once on an empty set) and the sweetest filth starts pouring out of Tyler’s mouth, it sounds almost like poetry, like something special only Dylan gets to hear.
Dylan may have the pretty pink dick-sucking lips, but Tyler’s got the hottest mouth, hands down.
Dylan returns to his trailer sweaty, grimy, and soaked from the waist down. Wells are stupid. Even fake wells are stupid. Why would Beacon Hills even have an open well in the middle of the forest, miles away from anything? This isn’t Little House on the Goddamn Prairie. He loves his job, he reminds himself. He loves it and he’s good at it and it’s brought some amazing people into his life: Posey, Crystal, Linden…
And Tyler, who is out cold on the couch in Dylan’s trailer. It looks like he tried to wait up for Dylan, but reluctantly slumped into sleep with his mouth flopped open like a fish. Dylan feels obligated to take a picture with his phone, but he doesn’t send it to anyone. This one’s just for him.
He doesn’t have the heart to wake Tyler, and he’s in desperate need of a shower anyway, so he lets his clothes fall in a pile by his feet and goes into the unit’s small bathroom.
When he steps under the hot water for the first time, he groans lasciviously. They hadn’t bothered to heat the water in that godforsaken fake well, and so despite the fact that it’s late summer, he’d been fucking freezing down there. Ironically, in last year’s tub-dunking scenes, they’d at least made the water tepid and put in fake ice cubes so none of their hearts actually stopped, but waist-high water that, yes, covered Dylan’s junk, obviously didn’t merit the same consideration.
He’s so lost in thought and focused on the pounding water – tiny as they are, at least these showers have awesome water pressure – that he doesn’t hear the bathroom door open and shut. He does, however, notice when the shower door opens and a naked, thickly-muscled body comes in to press up against Dylan’s back.
He lets himself relax back into the arms that slip around him. “Mmm,” he sighs. “Hey, Max. Or is it Charlie?”
“Not funny,” Tyler grumbles, his voice still deliciously rough from sleep, but Dylan can feel a smile pressed against the juncture of his neck and shoulder just before Tyler sinks his teeth lightly into the same spot. Dylan doesn’t have to remind him not to leave marks – they’re both very careful about that – and Tyler’s never struck him as the marking, possessive type, anyway.
Big hands reach around Dylan to grab the shower gel off the small shelf in the corner, then work up a lather against Dylan’s chest, up to his collarbones and down to his bellybutton, up and down, slow and rhythmic with the occasional flick at a nipple to shake things up. Neither of them is exactly small, so Dylan ends up flush against Tyler from their shoulders all the way down their legs, with Tyler’s feet bracketing Dylan’s own on the small square of tiles.
If he let his head drop back onto Tyler’s shoulder, Dylan could probably fall asleep like this. But he’s too turned on by the feel of so much skin, not to mention that it’s probably too early in the relationship for Dylan to be conking out on Tyler during incipient sex. Because it’s hard to imagine this not ending in sex, what with the growing hardness pressing against the small of Dylan’s back. And it’s all new enough that just the idea is exciting: they’ve fooled around in the shower before, but not in either of their trailers.
But Tyler seems to want to do a thorough job of soaping Dylan up first, because he takes Dylan by the hips and turns him, hands stroking up and down Dylan’s back with the same slow, measured rhythm. Though that may be entirely incidental to the kissing, which is wet and open-mouthed and shiver-inducing, with just enough teeth to make Dylan dig his fingers into the meat of Tyler’s shoulders. Even without all the “alpha” bulk, Tyler’s body is perfection. Dylan actually prefers him like this – not least because Tyler doesn’t have to spend every spare minute in the gym, and occasionally Dylan even gets to watch him eat a slice of pizza like it’s a religious experience.
Dylan presses in tighter with a groan and worms a hand down between their bodies to adjust his cock until it fits against the slick cut of Tyler’s hip. There’s not room to jerk them both together since Dylan doesn’t really want to give up the sensation of wet skin on wet skin from his shoulders all the way down. He drops his hands to Tyler’s firm, gorgeous ass to try to get some leverage to thrust, but it turns out there’s not even quite enough room for that without knocking them both off balance.
He has to settle for a rocking, grinding motion that earns him a fuck, yeah from Tyler, who does the best he can to move his own hips in counterpoint. The stuttering friction is good, but only for so long – after a few minutes, it becomes nothing but an unbearable tease. Dylan pulls reluctantly away from Tyler’s mouth to suggest that they move this elsewhere as quickly as possible, but before he can get a word out, Tyler’s turning him again, and Dylan’s too breathless and keyed up to resist even if he wanted to.
So when Tyler hauls Dylan back against him with a hand spread across his chest and whispers “I think I wanna get you off right here, just like this,” all Dylan can do is close his eyes against the water pounding down over his head and choke back a shout when Tyler gets a slick, soapy hand around Dylan’s cock.
He can’t stay quiet for long, though, not when it’s been such a long day and Tyler’s hand is so strong and sure and it’s so good Dylan could cry. It’s just a hand job in the shower, but fuck, Tyler’s started murmuring in his ear in that same surprisingly soft voice that Dylan hears on set nearly every day, except now Tyler’s saying things like “your cock is perfect, so fucking thick, love it when you put me on my knees and choke me with it” and “yeah, that’s right, fuck my fist” even though Tyler’s holding him so close that Dylan can barely rock his hips.
Tyler’s laugh, when he rubs the pad over his thumb under the head of Dylan’s cock, is low and husky in a way that makes Dylan’s hips jerk, a drop of precum blurting its way out of the tip amid the water and soap suds already there. That just makes Tyler stroke him a little tighter, whisper, “Fuck, you’d be so wet for me even if you weren’t in the shower, wouldn’t you? Look at you, you’re practically dripping, just from my hand on you. Were you thinking about me today?”
“Yes,” Dylan gasps. Well, not during the part where he’d been up to his nuts in cold water, but before that? These days, when he’s not actively working, he’s pretty much thinking about Tyler all the time. Not just about the sex, but… yeah, a lot about the sex. About the sound Tyler made two nights ago when Dylan had three fingers in him, pressing hard against his prostate. About the desk on the classroom set that’s just the right height for Tyler to bend Dylan over. About the way Tyler’s eyelashes flutter just a little when he comes.
And since the hot water camouflages a blush that Tyler probably couldn’t see anyway, Dylan says it all out loud (well, except the bit about the eyelashes – that’s something Dylan wants to keep for himself for now). Unlike when Tyler talks like this, Dylan’s words come out haltingly, his speech broken by the gasps and moans that Tyler wrings out of him with deft twists of his wrist.
Tyler makes a dirty, pleased sound and Dylan’s heart leaps in his chest at the base note of pure want he hears in it. “Want me to tell you want I’ve been thinking about?” Tyler asks, a little breathlessly, and Dylan nods so fast he nearly knocks their heads together.
Tyler’s chuckle is warm as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to the tender spot just behind Dylan’s ear. With that, he lets go of Dylan’s cock and a whimper escapes Dylan’s lips before he can stop it. But then Tyler is getting more shower gel on his hands, slicking up the insides of Dylan’s thighs and then nudging Dylan’s feet together and pressing on his upper back until Dylan’s hands are braced on the wall in front of him, the water now pouring down over his back.
It’s not until Tyler spreads his own feet as wide as he can in the tiny shower that Dylan’s sex-addled brain catches up to what Tyler’s doing. He groans even before he feels Tyler’s cock push between his thighs and he shoves his ass back as much as he can. Tyler grips Dylan by the hips as he starts to thrust, and Dylan can’t get a hand on his own cock and stay balanced at the same time, but it doesn’t matter because Tyler is talking.
Well, whispering, barely audible above the rushing of the water, but somehow that makes it even hotter.
“Been thinking about this all day,” Tyler murmurs, leaning farther over Dylan’s back. “Getting you naked and wet.”
“Achievement unlocked,” Dylan breathes, and he can feel Tyler’s body shake with laughter.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” Tyler says, drawing back to rub his dick up between Dylan’s ass cheeks. Dylan gasps as the head catches briefly against his hole and he clenches down, drawing another breathless laugh out of Tyler. “Mmm, yeah, so desperate for my cock.”
“If we weren’t in the shower…” Dylan groans.
“Yeah,” says Tyler, slipping back between Dylan’s thighs with a hard thrust that prods the sweet spot behind Dylan’s balls. “I’d spread you out and lick every drop of water off your blushing skin. Flip you over and suck on the backs of your knees until you beg me to put my mouth higher.”
Dylan groans, caught blissfully between the scenario Tyler is painting in his mind’s eye and the heat of Tyler’s hard body all along his back, between his thighs.
“Want me to rim you?” Tyler asks, and Dylan can hear the grin in his voice. “See how long you can take it?” Tyler’s stubble is just long enough now to burn against Dylan’s most sensitive skin if Tyler eats him out too enthusiastically – which of course he does until Dylan’s nearly in tears. “Maybe I’ll be nice. Spread you wide open with my hands. Just use the tip of my tongue on your tight little hole.”
“Fingers,” Dylan gasps. His cock is so hard it’s nearly curved up to his belly, but he’s not getting any stimulation and he’s not sure if he’s asking Tyler to talk about fingering him or use his fingers now.
“Yeah, I could finger you for hours, you know, the way you squirm and beg. Watch your cock leak all over your belly until it looks like you’ve already come.” Tyler’s hips still, his cock buried between Dylan’s thighs. “Or is this what you meant?”
He lets go of Dylan’s hips and suddenly Dylan’s being pulled to stand upright again by a strong arm around his chest, and he cries out when a slick hand closes around his cock. Tyler can only manage short, rocking thrusts with Dylan plastered against the front of his body, but he can pump Dylan’s cock with hard, fast strokes that tighten the pleasure quickly coiling in Dylan’s gut.
It’s a terrible angle for a kiss, even with Dylan craning his neck as far as he can, but Dylan needs to feel the brush of Tyler’s lips against his own. Tyler lets out a soft little sob at the contact and jerks Dylan harder, like he’s not already a hairsbreadth away from coming. All it takes is Tyler whispering “C’mon, Dylan, come for me” and he’s gone, letting his climax burn clean through him as Tyler wrings every last spasm out of his shaking body.
He comes back to himself with Tyler kissing the side of his throat, still hard where he’s pressed between Dylan’s legs. As soon as Dylan’s sure he can stand on his own again, he turns his head to nuzzle lazily against Tyler’s cheek and tugs at Tyler’s arm around his chest until the other man lets go. Dylan leans forward, assuming his previous position with his arms braced against the wall so Tyler can thrust as hard as he wants.
Gratifyingly – since Dylan’s not sure his brain could take any more, let alone his body – it seems that Tyler’s beyond words as he takes Dylan by the hips and fucks hard into the tight space between Dylan’s thighs. Dylan’s too sex-drunk and confined by the shower to participate much, but he thoroughly enjoys the way Tyler’s wordless sounds become breathier as he gets closer to the edge. When he comes, he hardly makes any sound at all, just a strangled kind of exhale and a shudder that sends warmth blooming through Dylan’s chest.
As much as Dylan loves getting it on in the shower – the clean-up is super-easy – it’s a terrible place for the afterglow, particularly when the water probably started losing heat about five minutes ago. After a quick rinse, he shuts off the water and whines a little at the loss of the heat of Tyler’s body behind him. But it turns out Tyler’s just reaching out into the tiny bathroom for the one and only towel Dylan keeps in his trailer. Balls. He’s totally unprepared for shower buddies.
He turns around, ready for a round of rock-paper-scissors when Tyler drapes the towel over Dylan’s head and starts scrubbing roughly at his hair. Dylan squawks and flails manfully, but Tyler just takes up so much room in the miniscule shower that Dylan’s hands can’t find purchase anywhere. After a few embarrassing moments of this, Tyler chuckles and stills Dylan’s arms, and Dylan feels him press a kiss to the towel over Dylan’s forehead.
Dylan sighs and rolls his eyes as Tyler proceeds to dry the rest of his body off for him, but he can’t hide the flush spreading across his cheeks. Only when he’s finished with Dylan does Tyler dry himself the best he can with the damp towel.
As they stumble naked out of the bathroom, Dylan trying valiantly to look like he’s not clinging to Tyler for support, he wonders how Tyler’s even real. He definitely doesn’t mean to say it out loud, though.
“Getting existential on me?” Tyler asks, crashing down on the couch where the blanket is still spread out from his earlier nap before pulling Dylan down on top of him.
“Hnnngh,” Dylan says into Tyler’s chest by way of answer. After a moment, though, he manages “We probably shoun’t fall ‘sleep here.”
Tyler’s arm comes up, heavy and comforting, around his waist. “No. Should prob’ly go home.”
“Inna minute, though,” Dylan mumbles.
They fall asleep within seconds of each other.