Work Text:
The funny thing is that everybody’s making such a big deal out of it when nothing even happened at all. Like, okay, Dylan can admit the hysteria would have made sense if they had gone through with it – actually, no, it still wouldn’t have made any sense, but. It would have been less puzzling or something.
It’s just – it was a harmless joke, nothing more. No one could have predicted at that point how the fans would react to them and their portrayal of the characters and their mindless shenanigans, so there was no real purpose behind it other than their own amusement.
But now –
Now it’s all everyone seems to be talking about and – he wasn’t really expecting that? Or maybe he was but, like, to a lesser degree? He’d mentioned it before, felt comfortable enough to joke about it, and no one had freaked out and capsed on social media the way they are doing these days. Then again, now there’s actual, visual proof of it, so maybe he shouldn’t be surprised.
Twitter is getting a little weird again, but Twitter is at least a little weird on most days and he’s used to it. So, really, when another one of his followers points out that Thomas was actually going to do it OH MY GOD IM DYING, all he can do is shake his head and chuckle.
+
Looking up the video on Youtube seems like a good idea for half a second. Except two hours later, after having watched sixteen different versions of the exact same moment and his own stupid reaction, he’s still reading comments, torn between wanting to laugh out loud at some of them and wanting to crawl under the bed in embarrassment.
But. He can do this. If he can handle Twitter, then he most definitely can handle Youtube comments too. So he clicks on another video because the coloring looks different and really pretty and he can, objectively, appreciate beautiful editing. Then he scrolls down to read the comments, because apparently an unquenchable curiosity is the one thing he has in common with pretty much all the characters he plays.
+
He tells Thomas first because he can talk to him about it. It’s never been weird between them – not after, not ever. It was a game and it happened over a year ago, no need to get awkward about it now.
But he can’t quite bring himself to look Thomas in the eye when he shows him the tweets and his voice doesn’t really sound like it normally does when he says something along the lines of so crazy, amirite. He’s vaguely aware that he’s going to make an ass of himself if he doesn’t stop talking, but that’s never stopped him before. Besides, he acts like an idiot ninety-four percent of the time and Thomas is basically the coolest guy he knows, so it’s not like he ever really stood a chance. Embarrassing himself in front of Thomas is more or less second nature by now
Thomas laughs like he always does when he genuinely finds something funny, nose scrunching up and eyes going all squinty, which makes him look even younger than usual and Dylan desperately tries not to think aww, cute, but. He’s cute. In a sweet, endearing, completely innocent kind of way. And Dylan shouldn’t be impressed by that, considering that his best friend is the embodiment of a puppy and actual human sunshine all rolled into one, so he should be immune to cute boys. But. Maybe he is a little – affected.
He doesn’t know either, he has no qualms about calling Posey cute to his face, but the thought of calling Thomas that makes him burst into uncontrollable giggles.
+
“I mean, of course it looked like he was going to do it, that was, like, the whole point, you know. But it’s not like he would’ve actually –”
“He would’ve!” Kaya, Alex and Dexter exclaim in unison, sounding equal parts amused and exasperated, and Dylan can’t tell if the exasperated part has to do with them sitting in the make-up chair for hours or with the fact that he’s been bugging them for almost a week now.
To be fair, he’s been bugging all of his co-stars about the kiss that never was, but no, it’s not an obsession, no matter what Dexter says or how many times he makes fun of Dylan because of it.
He’s just – trying to prove something. To make a point.
“The point,” Kaya begins, pretty blue eyes sparkling in a way that Dylan has come to associate with trouble, “was to get you to chicken out. Which you did. Spectacularly. And then tried to cover up by laughing like a chocking horse.”
“Hey!” He gawks indignantly even if he isn’t entirely sure he understands what that’s supposed to mean, but it sure as hell did not sound like a compliment. “Why would a chocking horse be laughing?”
Alex blinks at him in disbelief. “You really need to get your priorities straight.”
Dylan agrees with that. Completely. Like, three thousand and one percent.
Next to him, Dexter snorts and claps him on the shoulder. “Seriously, man,” he says, voice cheerful as always, “I mean, it was funny, but no one laughed harder than you. And now you keep bringing it up. You having regrets or something? Wish you hadn’t backed out?”
Huffing, Dylan folds his arms over his chest. “Please,” he says, a little louder than necessary, “if I wanted to kiss him, I wouldn’t be here talking to you about it and wasting time. I’d just – do it.”
Kaya raises an eyebrow. “Alright. So what are you still doing here?”
“What are you implying?”
“M’not implying anything, I’m telling you. Go and kiss him. Get it out of your system and stop moping about it, Jesus Christ.”
He throws his arms up and splutters, “I’m not – I don’t – I don’t mope,” but the others are already laughing, quite obviously not giving a fuck about his hurt feelings. So he crosses his arms again and pouts.
+
He loves the days when Will has to be on set for too many reasons to count, but one of them is without a doubt the fact that Will is always the first to back him up whenever he randomly starts dancing. Dexter follows soon after, with a giant grin on his face and boundless energy that always proves to be contagious. Ki Hong looks severely unimpressed for about six seconds before he gives in and joins them, eyes turning into little half-moons as he laughs. It doesn’t take long for the rest to come running and join in, which is how they end up dancing like idiots after shooting for eighteen hours straight. Macarena requires a bit more of a choreo than Talk Dirty did, and they’re not better at it than they were the first time, but it’s just as fun, and they probably look even more ridiculous, too tired to care about synchronizing their movements or to act like adults.
The only one who isn’t dancing is Thomas, standing a few feet away with crossed arms and an amused grin that he tries – and fails – to hide.
“Not stopping till you join us, know that, right?” Ki Hong says with a laugh and Dylan turns to high-five him because, yeah, that’s the general idea.
Thomas shakes his head. “Still no.”
“Chicken,” Dylan calls out because, again, he’s exhausted as fuck; plus, his brain-to-mouth filter doesn’t really work properly even when he’s well-rested, but right now it’s a complete disaster. He realizes why it would have been better to keep his big mouth shut only when Thomas says, “Actually, I’m pretty sure that was you, Dyl.”
Which – okay, he deserved that.
He says this much, scuffing his shoe on the pavement, looking down with an embarrassed smile that threatens to take over his whole face.
But then Thomas nudges his shoulder, effectively making him look up, and – well. Thomas is smiling too, rubbing the back of his neck in that slightly awkward way of his, and Dylan will never understand how this boy, with his baby face and crinkly-eyed smile, is the same guy who looks like some kind of high-fashion model in every photoshoot, tall and slender and absolutely breathtaking.
Objectively speaking, of course.
+
It’s the fact that he backed out of a challenge that bothers him. That’s why he’s a little – fixated. He’s worked with some of the most beautiful people in the industry from the very beginning, so it’s not like he can’t handle having gorgeous co-stars. But this – this feels like unfinished business and it’s becoming a problem.
Which he knows he could solve easily.
If he had the guts.
Or he could spend some more time online while panicking internally, that works too.
+
It’s not his fault that he forgets his line. It is his fault that he doesn’t even try to improvise or turn the moment into a joke. The hug had been their suggestion – okay, Dylan’s suggestion, but Thomas said it was a good idea and Wes told them to go for it – so it’s not like he can say he didn’t see it coming.
It goes as planned at first, relieved smiles, arms wrapped around each other, Newt telling Thomas that he’s glad you’re not bloody dead, Tommy. But then they start to pull away and they either don’t let go when they should or Dylan turns his head too fast and – okay, Dylan can admit that he has a tendency to ignore personal space but this is a little too close even for his standards. And then there’s the fact that it kind of feels like déjà-vu. He can’t do anything but stare.
His eyes flick down to Thomas’s lips and he sees him mouthing say it, but he can’t for the life of him remember what he’s supposed to say, thoughts going back and forth between should I really and now or never. But before he can decide, someone, he can’t tell who, doesn’t recognize the voice, begins to laugh and Thomas’s lips twitch up and that’s all Dylan needs to start cackling. A second later, everyone on set bursts into laughter. He’s willing to bet anything that he knows exactly what they’re all remembering. But it’s fine. It’s cool. Not awkward at all.
When everybody goes back to their initial positions, Ki Hong elbows him in the ribs and asks amusedly, “Was that your idea of being subtle?”
Dylan shrugs uneasily, looking at Thomas who is now tilting his head from side to side, taking deep breaths, his eyes closed as he tries to get back in character. “Dude,” he says, a short, hysterical laugh escaping his lips, “I didn’t even know there was something I needed to be subtle about.”
+
He finds Tumblr links in the description of some of the videos he’s rewatching. And he knows better than to click on them, really, he does. He learned that lesson the hard way, a long time ago. He knows it’s a terrible idea. But – he clicks anyway.
And that’s when it all goes to shit.
+
Dylan knows he does this thing where he’s really touchy-feely with the people he likes. And that he sometimes goes overboard with it – mostly with Posey and Hoechlin and sometimes Holland, but that’s fine because they’ve been friends for almost five years now and they accept his weirdness without batting an eye. But he could have sworn he was only doing it with his Teen Wolf co-stars. Turns out he couldn’t have been more wrong and now he’s painfully aware of things he’d been blissfully oblivious to before Tumblr pointed them out.
So, he touches Thomas a lot during interviews. Puts a hand on his arm, on his back. Knocks their shoulders together. He also smiles at him, like, constantly. And somehow his arm always ends up around Thomas’s waist when they take pictures. And he holds him really close, protectively, almost, and no, he had no idea he was doing that, was definitely not doing it deliberately.
He understands that it looks like flirting, but holy shit, that’s so not what he was doing.
Actually, he doesn’t even know what he was doing.
+
“Dude, you’re panicking. Stop panicking.”
“I’m not panicking,” he argues and proceeds to pace the room, his steps heavy and his heart racing like it’s trying to win a marathon. He’s clutching the phone like a lifeline, pressing it close to his ear like that could magically help him teleport to Cali this instant. But it’s cool. He’s cool. Totally not freaking out. “I just – dude, do I really look at him like that?”
“Uh. Do you want me to tell you that you don’t?” He can basically hear Posey frowning. “Cause I could, but you said you’ve seen the pics, man. It’s not a big deal, that’s how you look at everyone you like.”
“Wait, really?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Huh. And by everyone I like, you mean – my friends, right?”
“…Yeah.”
Dylan plops onto the bed with a groan. He lets himself fall on his back and throws an arm over his eyes. This is so bad.
“Dude, this is so bad,” he whines. He sounds absolutely pathetic and he couldn’t care less. “What if he noticed? What if I make him uncomfortable but he won’t tell me cause he’s so fucking nice and –”
“Dude, how does your brain even work? Like, how could you make him uncomfortable when everybody’s talking about how he was willing to kiss you –”
“A year and a half ago, Pose! That was one whole fucking year and a half ago.”
“Yeah, and you still haven’t told me why you backed out. And don’t you dare say it was a joke. You wouldn’t be having a nervous breakdown at four in the morning over a joke.”
“M’not having a nervous breakdown, man, shut up.” He sighs deeply, frowning up at the ceiling and pouting unhappily when he doesn’t find a solution written there in bold, black letters.
The thing is – it was supposed to be a joke. One of them was supposed to back out and, secretly, Dylan had known all along it would be him. Because Thomas – yeah, he’s pretty quiet and a little shy most of the time, but he’s also confident in a way Dylan never really understood or was able to master. And it shows in the way he carries himself, in his ability to portray any character so convincingly, to fully become someone else for a month or two or six and not let that fuck with his head. He has such a solid sense of identity that Dylan can’t help but to admire and be a little jealous of. Thomas was willing to go through with it because he knows that a silly game and a silly kiss can’t change a thing about who he is. And that’s the kind of confidence Dylan finds absolutely overwhelming, intimidating, paralyzing. So he took the easy way out and pulled away.
“You didn’t have an existential crisis after you kissed me, should I be offended?” Posey asks jokingly, but Dylan knows him too well not to recognize the concern in his voice.
He lets out a soft laugh. “It’s different with you and me, you dick, you know that. Like, I could be making out with you and ten minutes later I’d tell you I have to bury a body and you’d offer to help. Like. I know we’d be okay.”
Posey doesn’t say anything at first. From experience, Dylan knows he could either tease him and call him a giant sap or come up with an even sappier reply. Chances are fifty-fifty.
“But isn’t that kinda irresponsible? Making out when there’s a body to be buried?”
Dylan needs a second to catch up with that line of thought. When he finally does, he bursts out laughing. “Oh, man.”
Posey continues, seemingly unperturbed. “Like, shouldn’t we take care of the body first? And we shouldn’t bury it, we should burn it. Get rid of all the evidence, you know.”
“Okay, bro,” he agrees, chuckling still. “We’re gonna burn the body.”
“Okay. Cool. And Dyl?”
He takes a deep breath that does absolutely nothing to calm him down. Oh God, here it comes.
“Just talk to him, man. Because, unless we’re talking about a different Thomas, that guy you brought to the set last summer? He was, like, the coolest dude on the planet. He won’t stop being your friend if you tell him you want to kiss him.”
+
Wanting to do it was never part of the equation. Not really. Like, even if Thomas was willing to kiss him, it never meant that he actually wanted to, and Dylan – he was just trying to have a laugh?
But now. Now he wants to.
It’s like an itch he just can’t scratch, a constant buzz nagging at the back of his mind, and he wants to do it so that he can stop thinking about it and move on already, god fucking damn it. Kaya was right. He needs to get it out of his system.
+
“This is gonna be awkward.”
Thomas cocks an eyebrow questioningly, but one of the corners of his mouth turns up. “Sounds comforting.”
“Dude, not helping,” Dylan deadpans.
He may have overestimated his ability to stay composed under pressure. In his defense, when he texted Thomas to come to his room he didn’t think there would be any kind of pressure to mess with his head.
He knows he’s overreacting. Now he’s the one making a big deal out of nothing, and he wishes he could stop panicking because, rationally, he knows he has no reason to. He can talk to Thomas without worrying about being judged, that was never the issue. Thomas always keeps the secrets Dylan shares with him like cigarettes, the ones about giant bb guns hidden under beds, as well as the ones about insecurities he tries to mask by talking too much and laughing too loud and never staying still. They’re friends. And he won’t die of a broken heart if Thomas rejects his proposition. Actually, that’d be okay, too, because what Dylan wants is some sense of closure, which a no would most definitely provide. So yeah, it would be fine. But kissing would be fine too.
With a sheepish grin and shaky hands he begins to explain what he’s been thinking about lately, and yeah, it’s as awkward as he thought it would be – at least until Thomas, smiling like he always does when Dylan is being an idiot, tells him to stop and motions for him to come closer.
Dylan blinks at him, confused and a little hopeful. “Uhm. What?”
“C’mere,” Thomas repeats, still smiling. He licks his lips and – oh, wow, okay.
So. Kissing. Kissing is going to happen. Okay. Cool. Dylan is not starting to panic again. Nope, absolutely not. Not panicking at all.
Thomas puts a hand on the back of his neck, his fingers a little cold against Dylan’s heated skin, and just leaves it there, like he’s waiting for Dylan to make the next move.
So Dylan closes the distance between them, because he’s allowed to, because he’s waited long enough, pressing their lips together in a close-mouthed kiss. And he’s pretty sure he was aiming for chaste, that they both were, but he lets the kiss linger, lips starting to move slowly when Thomas’s hand slides up into the hair at Dylan’s nape, pressing him just a little closer. It’s not exactly what he was expecting, and that’s on what he’s going the blame the tiny gasp he can’t hold in, on being taken by surprise. In retaliation, he kisses back harder, lips parted and insistent. Demanding.
It isn’t a competition, he knows. But he can’t help feeling like he’s one step behind even if Thomas lets him control the kiss now, so he takes Thomas’s lower lip between his and starts to suck on it gently, heart rate going up-up-up when he feels fingers tightening in his hair. The noise Thomas lets out sounds like an undeniable encouragement to his ears, making him feel lightheaded and giddy in the best possible way. And he doesn’t really know what he should do next, or even what he wants to do, but Thomas pulls away and Dylan’s heart drops to his stomach.
“Too much?” he asks, panting, but he still has enough self-control to pull himself together and plaster an overconfident grin on his face. When in doubt, make a joke. It works more often than not.
Thomas nods. “Something like that,” he agrees, smiling sheepishly with his tongue pressed against the back of his teeth, nose scrunching up again.
He’s adorable and Dylan is a little overwhelmed. So overwhelmed that he realizes he’s saying it out loud only when the last syllable leaves his lips.
Thomas's eyes widen just a fraction and for a terrifying second Dylan worries that this is what’s going to fuck things up between them for good – the fact that he called him adorable.
But then they both burst out laughing at the same time, Thomas yelping helplessly and grabbing Dylan’s arm as he falls backwards onto the carpet. Letting out another carefree laugh, Dylan realizes that he’s really glad they don’t have an audience this time.