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“My dance.”
Kaya smiled, winking at Dylan, “Of course.”
And with that she pushed a still spinning Thomas into Dylan’s arms, chuckling softly and moving on to dance with Dexter.
“My dance,” Dylan said again, the words a mere whisper in Thomas’s ear this time. Thomas sagged against him tiredly, before stiffening slightly and pulling away.
“You’re not serious,” Thomas said, his eyes wide as he shook his head, smiling.
“Like hell I am,” Dylan said, pulling Thomas towards him so that their bodies were pressed together and so that Thomas’s chin rested on Dylan’s shoulders.
“This might look a little strange, though, considering we are at a movie promotion party,” Thomas argued half-heartedly, before straightening up and pulling Dylan even impossibly closer to him by the man’s waist, “Maybe you should be dancing with Rosa, give the paps some nice shots.”
“Don’t you want to dance with me?” Dylan pouted, his tone was joking but the sobriety in his eyes was a giveaway for how he was actually feeling.
Of course, the lights were too dim for Thomas to notice.
“Oh, I thought you’d never ask,” Thomas rolled his eyes, running his hands up and down Dylan’s back in what he believed was a platonic enough gesture.
The way his fingers blazed like fire under every inch of Dylan his skin touched, though, was anything but.
Of course, Dylan’s clothes were too thick for him to notice.
Dylan huffed a laugh into Thomas’s shoulder.
“Do you wanna maybe get out of here?” Dylan asked quietly, after a while, frustrated with the constantly flashing lights of cameras snapping at the pair of them.
“Sure,” Thomas said, tracing shapes onto Dylan’s back, now. There’s not much you can do with your hands, he realized, when you are slow dancing with your best friend, “Where are we going?”
“For a drive.”
--
“I always wanted to take a long night drive through California,” Thomas said, thankful that Dexter had somehow bribed the paparazzi into not following them here, too.
“Then your wish is granted,” Dylan smiled, a blush on his face, for reasons other than the fact the he was absolutely freezing. He pointed at a shiny black car proudly, and walked towards it, gesturing at Thomas to follow. The car looked like the ones owned by posh middle-aged men with three kids and a receding hairline, but it was gorgeous still. “Don’t ask me how I’ve managed to keep that babe a secret.”
“I don’t recall ever asking you about any of your secret babes.”
Dylan smacked Thomas across the head playfully.
“You’re such an asshole!” he whined, laughing and getting into his car, “Why am I friends with you again?”
Thomas didn’t reply until they were both safely seated in the car and pulling out of the hotel and onto a rather empty road – hey, it was midnight, “Because you love me,” Thomas said, winking - there seemed to be a lot of winking going on today, “You said it in that interview, remember?”
That shut Dylan up; he cursed himself inwardly for always being such a coward and for always giving himself away like this for no good reason.
“I… do,” Dylan answered eventually, almost inaudibly.
Thomas looked pensive in response, and he didn’t say anything.
“That’s Tyler’s favorite restaurant,” Dylan eventually broke the silence – it seemed like whenever they were alone together, they lost their words - pointing at a small stall-like place with a dully glowing red signboard, “The guy makes amazing Chinese.”
“Oh, don’t talk about Chinese,” Thomas said, grabbing his stomach; it was still grumbling with all the noodles he had eaten that night.
Dylan laughed.
“Dork.”
“How dare you! Respect you elders, Dyl.”
“Okay, grandad.”
“Ew. I don’t want to be your grandad.”
“Because you are secretly and hopelessly in love with me?”
Thomas’s blush radiated through his skin, but surely enough, Dylan didn’t notice.
“No, because you’d be one nightmare of a grandchild to have, you berk.”
“I’m offended,” Dylan pouted.
“Boo-hoo.”
“Fine. I won’t talk to you now.”
“Alright then,” Thomas grinned like he didn’t believe a word of it, and looked out the window - breathing in the beautiful California night properly for the first time. It was a strange and unknown place, but it was breathtaking all the same.
“…”
“…”
“Thomas!”
“Aha.”
“Shush. I’m gonna need some sort of amusement here, okay? Or else I’m gonna fall asleep right on top of this steering wheel and get us both chucked through the window and into a fucking tree.”
“You suggested this.”
“Thomas!”
“What!”
“Entertain me,” Dylan pleaded.
Thomas wiggled his eyebrows, smirking. “How?”
Dylan, after taking one glance at Thomas’s gleeful face that seemed to glow with mischief, groaned.
“You didn’t,” he said.
“Like hell I did.”
“Fine. Entertain me by blowing me right here and now, if you’re so bold and teasing, huh.”
“Give me a minute,” Thomas said, his voice a mere wheeze because he was laughing so hard, “I'll give you more.”
He then pulled out a condom from his pocket, and Dylan almost really drove into a tree now.
“Why the fuck do you have that with you?” Dylan asked in mock outrage. (And maybe a little dread and jealousy.)
“Because I’m a young man with sexual desires? Groundbreaking.”
“No, you know what I mean. Why the fuck are you carrying a condom around at a promotional party?”
“Sometimes I stumble upon some hot gu-girls in events like these,” Thomas shrugged, hoping Dylan hadn’t noticed the almost deadly slip of his tongue.
Dylan hadn’t noticed.
“Oh,” Dylan said, trying his hardest not to sound like a deflating balloon. Disappointment had now rained almost all ovet his excitement about dancing and then being driving around California alone at midnight with his... Friend.
Thomas didn’t notice.
“So. Do you want that fellatio or no?”
“THOMAS! OH MY GOD!” Dylan squeaked, trying to veil his rising temperature and arousal, amongst other things, with exaggerated surprise and laughter, “You need to wash that mouth out with holy water.”
“Are you sure you want me to stop, though?” Thomas said in an overdramatically seductive voice, his eyes lingering for just a little bit at Dylan’s tightening pants, and then meeting his eyes themselves, so as to make his implication clearer.
Dylan didn’t notice.
“Yes, please,” Dylan said, his voice cracking just a little. His face was about to explode with heat, “Please let's just play interviewer and interviewee again.”
Thomas laughed, and decided to spare Dylan.
“Alright,” he said, squeezing Dylan’s hand for a fraction of a second do to let the man know he really was being serious now, “I'lol be the interviewer.”
“OKay,” Dylan said, heaving in a breath to get into character, “Hello, guys, I’m Dylan O’Brien, and I'm playing Thomas in The Death Cure.”
“Hello, I’m Lisa," a breathless chuckle, "and I’ll be asking you a few questions provided by your fans today.”
Dylan nodded his head vigorously, pretending to be earnest and intrigued.
“If you could take one celebrity with you into the m-”
Dylan burst out laughing, so hard their car almost skidded, this was the very reaction Thomas had expected. He knew exactly how Dylan felt about this question, it was almost their own inside joke.
“Well? Mr. O’brien, the fans are waiting!” Thomas said, mimicking the fake-posh British accent of interviewers with an immaculate accuracy.
“Hm…” Dylan acted lost in thought, “Tyler Posey.”
“What? Not that cute blond co-star of yours? The one who plays Newt?” Thomas’s fake interviewers’ accent maybe held the smallest twinge of bitterness now.
“Nah, Tyler’s my bro,” Dylan said, beaming, “ He goes where I go.”
Thomas was embarrassed to realize that he’d let out a negligible sigh of utmost relief at the words.
Dylan didn't notice.
“Question number 2: Whom, from your Teen Wolf co-stars, would you like to snog?”
“Tyler Hoechlin, 100%. Or Colton Haynes. Maybe even Cody Christian.”
“Oooooh, snogging guys, are we?” Thomas teased, though his heart seemed to almost be beating out of his chest in curiosity and an inexplicable excitement, “Th- Third Question.”
“Yes?”
“Which celebrity would you want to swap faces with?" Thomas asked, "...that came out wrong, but let’s keep it.”
“Hm… Holland Roden. Or maybe Kaya Scodelario. Or Aml.”
“Whom do you ship Ki Hong Lee with?”
“Will Poulter," Dylan nodded like he'd been waiting for this question his entire life, "Don’t tell his wife I said that, though.”
“Who can you see yourself marrying one day?
“Selena Gomez.”
Thomas twitched.
“Who is your favorite actor in the world?”
“Morgan Freeman.”
“What celebrity do you hate with a seething passion?”
“Chris Brown.”
“Who do you hope to film with one day?”
“Colin Firth.”
“Who can you see playing Thomas, if not you?”
“Tarun Nijjer.”
“Who would you kiss in your car at midnight, after playing interviewer-interviewee with them?”
Dylan looked up at him then, a gaze that caused sharp pains in Thomas’s chest, and this time Dylan somehow did notice.
“Thomas Brodie-Sangster.”
Aand then Dylan kissed him, and Thomas had been fantasizing about this happening for so long now that he almost wasn’t even surprised. Or he was, but his body was busy feeling other more powerful and dominant things at the moment. His hands went to Dylan’s hair almost instinctively, both of their bodies were ignited and concupiscent with the passion and longing that had built up within them over the course of three years, and only god knew when Dylan had stopped driving. They were pressed so tightly against each other that Dylan felt his soul might seep from his body and into Thomas’s.
And they kissed, and kissed, and kissed, like the characters they played could never.
Somewhere, at some hour that night, California had maybe started to feel like home.