Work Text:
It's not like Tyler's never gotten a surprise blowjob before, it's just that everything about Dylan is kind of more surprising. Which, in all fairness, might be because Dylan is secretly a werewolf.
The first surprise blowjob was a drunken didn't-really-know-you-swung-that-way situation in a summer league, and the second one was a girlfriend wanting to do something nice for him, and that was actually all of them up until Dylan.
Dylan's done it, uh, a ton of times now and it's always clear that Dylan is really doing something nice for himself.
It's not that he doesn't care if Tyler's into it - he'll even pull back and go "You okay man?" once he notices a grunt of pain - it's more that his ability to remember the whole question of Tyler kinda kicks in on a 5-second delay or something, like his wolf parts take that long to allow words or thoughts through. The first five seconds are pure... werewolf instincts, or something.
Like a minute ago Tyler was about to sit down on Dylan and Posey's couch, and the next thing he knew he was tripping backwards over the arm of it, so surprised not to be landing on his ass on the floor that he didn't realize all of it was due to Dylan tackling him until his back was already against the wall, Dylan nuzzling up under his shirt and sort-of purring. (Dylan makes that noise a lot.)
Then Dylan dragged his teeth down over Tyler's stomach, still rumbling, and thoroughly licked his belly button, all before looking out from under the shirt, big eyes sleepy and sparkling, and saying vaguely, "It's sweatier there," and then, with a little wolfy-to-slightly-more-humany blink, "How was your day, dude?"
Tyler laughed a little, breathless, and watched the lopsided, sex-drunk curl of Dylan's smirk expand into his still mischievous but way more breathtaking open-mouthed grin. "What day?" He curled his hand around the nape of Dylan's neck, anchoring him, anchoring them both.
Dylan licked his lips and breathed "Good boy," maybe halfway joking, but it still made Tyler's stomach clench and a hot shiver claw agonizingly up his spine.
Dylan's delighted grin turned hot and dark and he basically dived back into Tyler's shorts and fucking swallowed his dick. (The best reason to change into basketball shorts before coming over here: easy access.) He pinned Tyler's hips to the wall, sank down and hollowed his cheeks until Tyler was gasping, hips stuttering against that hard grip even though he knows he can't break it just to feel Dylan push back against him.
Now he's got one leg around Dylan's neck and both hands on the wall trying to brace himself so he doesn't just shake apart, lube dripping out of him between Dylan's fingers.
"Yeah?" Dylan murmurs, sounding wrecked, and dips his head to dig his teeth into the meat of Tyler's groin muscle. Tyler chokes and he licks over the bite, fingers twisting deeper, basically just to torture him at this point.
All Tyler can manage is a faint Mmmm noise, but Dylan in wolfy-licking-and-smelling-and-fucking mode is an impatient guy so that's good enough for him. "Yeah," he interrupts more firmly, all gravelly. Then he's standing up and, oh, that's his hand under the leg that's been locked at the knee, lifting and easily pushing Tyler higher up the wall so hard he feels the drag of wallpaper burn on his back.
Oh, God, he's pinned like a butterfly, or more like a porn star except it's totally backwards, all Tyler's 181 pounds of hairy body-built muscle wrapped around Dylan, with his long pale neck and never-ending legs and his perfect, perfect mouth. Tyler doesn't even know he's making those desperate noises until Dylan shuts him up with a kiss and the sounds stop.
Kissing, kissing is always good, apparently even when he's only half undressed and waiting to get fucked against his teenaged werewolf's living room wall. That will definitely be a first for Tyler, the bottoming against the wall part, but he can't deny he's been thinking about it on and off since Dylan came out to him as furry and bisexual.
"Like this," Dylan mutters, rubbing a hand down Tyler's thigh soothingly in between kisses, and Tyler understands that it's a question - Dylan's ability to ask actual questions is significantly diminished during sex.
"Yeah, yeah, fuck," Tyler stutters, the opposite of smooth, and feels the flush simmering on his face and neck heating up, but - there it is, a soft growl rumbling in answer in Dylan's throat, because the only thing that seems to rev his motor more than begging is losing his cool painfully obviously while he's doing it, and if he can make Dylan rut against him and growl against his neck like that... it's more than worth it.
"Just," says Dylan, against the corner of his mouth, "-fuck, how can I still not undo a belt without looking?"
Tyler tugs at his neck impatiently, trying to get him closer, and Dylan chooses to take the hint, leaning in chest to chest, nuzzling at his shoulder.
"Next time we'll know," says Tyler, and then forgets to breathe because Dylan's hands are back under his thighs, one thumb stroking in little lines against the curve of his ass while he eases him up a little - Tyler curls his hips up obediently, hitching one leg higher - and lines his dick up. There's a firm nudge, the blunt pressure, the sweet, hot stretch of Dylan driving slowly into him as he whimpers and opens and takes him in. Amazing, it's like there's nothing around him because all he can feel is Dylan, under him and in him, Dylan's long fingers caging his wrist against the wall and Dylan panting against his neck when he slides home and Tyler feels the bony points of his hipbones digging into his ass.
They rest there for a moment, like a closed circuit. The thumb that was outlining the crease next to his ass is stroking over the pulse point on his wrist now in rhythm with a series of experimental flexes of Dylan's hips. Tyler tries to drag him closer with his legs, with his arms, one around Dylan's ribs and one around his shoulders, and his mouth ends up on Dylan's sweaty temple.
"Mmmh," Dylan says, "oh my God, can I just...." he does something, shifting his weight on his feet, that lets gravity take over for a second, driving his cock deeper and changing the angle just a little.
"For fuck's sake, Dylan," Tyler grits. "Go."
"Hey, haven't done this before!" Dylan protests, "...With a dude," but he's already pulling out slightly and rocking back in as he says it.
All Tyler manages in response is a moan, and Dylan grunts a growly, wolfy laugh against his shoulder and thrusts in again, harder this time.
"Yeah, I think I've got the hang of it. It's um -"
"Easier than it looks?"
"No, man, I'm pretty sure that's just cause of, you know. Superstrength."
Tyler laughs and then clutches at Dylan's shoulders as he really finds his rhythm, firm, hard, rolling strokes that go just slow enough to lingeringly drag along every nerve in his ass, pushing into the soft center of him until it feels like all the oxygen's been punched out of his chest. Every time it always feels new, like the burn of stretching a new muscle, like he's never had a cock in him before. But it's even sharper somehow like this, more defenseless, leaves him clawing at Dylan's shoulders when he thrusts deep and gasping, suspended in air, with each slow withdrawal.
He already knew Dylan had the strength to do this really, but it isn't something you can imagine. He can move, and he does, dragging Dylan's mouth up, biting into a kiss, and he has the ordinary, gym-derived thigh muscles to hitch himself higher and completely destroy Dylan's rhythm, so that he makes a soft broken noise and fucks in harder, shoving Tyler against the wall with the force of the thrust. But still, it's all up to Dylan, and if he wanted to slow down instead of digging his teeth into the corner of Tyler's jaw and snapping his hips in, sharp and shallow and hard, there's nothing Tyler could do except hang on for the ride.
It's not even that, though, it's Dylan's hands all over him and Dylan's narrow bony hips digging bruises into his ass, and Dylan's mouth on his neck and his werewolfy superstrength holding him up - no pillows, no sheet or sofa cushions or bed. It's like the wall isn't even there either, just Tyler and Dylan holding him, holding him up and holding him still and holding him in place and dragging him closer. And when Dylan finally finishes, bruising Tyler's hips with his hands, grinding into him and coming deep inside, he wraps his arm around Tyler's waist, gentle, just holding him while he leans back to get his other hand between them and jerk Tyler off.
Tyler comes like that, curling forward in Dylan's embrace, like a shiver dragging itself loose from his bones. He feels it all over, his toes curling behind Dylan's back, his neck and shoulders loosening as Dylan strokes it out of him, murmuring wolfy sounds that aren't exactly words into his shoulder.
A few minutes later they're on the floor instead of the wall, no longer half-dressed, but Dylan still hasn't exactly gone back to words yet.
Tyler isn't sure if he can't or just doesn't want to, because he's yawning like a sleepy kitten - puppy? - and seems happy enough to hook his bony knee over Tyler's thigh, bury his nose in the hollow of Tyler's shoulder and go to sleep completely naked and smeared with come.
"We're on the floor, naked," Tyler points out, sliding his palm over Dylan's hip and cupping his ass.
"Mmmyeah," Dylan agrees, sleepily good-natured.
"Are you going to sleep?" Tyler tries not to be judgmental about people's choices or wolf-related character traits, but it's possible that he sounds a little disbelieving.
Dylan doesn't answer right away. His toes wiggle against Tyler's leg and he tightens his hold around Tyler's waist. The tip of his nose, which is the only part of his face Tyler can actually see, twitches a little and then he says "Mmm - no?" It's unusually adorable, even for Dylan. Tyler thinks he would melt a little, but he hasn't recovered enough yet.
"That's probably good," he says mildly. "I think I should borrow your shower - if that doesn't interfere with your plans too much," he adds, because Dylan has kind of buried his head in Tyler's armpit and is apparently smelling it. It's probably a good thing that Teen Wolf is portraying the sexy werewolf because he's pretty sure he wouldn't enjoy filming a lot of sniffing scenes.
"Plans? Mrgh," says Dylan. "Are Doritos a plan?"
"Sure, taunt me with your Doritos while I drink my protein shake."
"Hey, I did all the work that time," Dylan protests, lifting his head up to look Tyler in the eye. "You didn't burn off any proteins. Let yourself go, eat a Dorito."
"One Dorito," Tyler repeats, raising an eyebrow, but he can't keep it up looking at Dylan's sated sex face, flushed and heavy-lidded, and ends up grinning stupidly. "You're spoiling me. Maybe you should do all the work more often."
Dylan gets that sly sparkle in his eye that twists Tyler's lungs upside-down in his ribcage and says, "Maybe you should get in bed and forget all about your protein shake, and if you lose your job over it you can crash here. You can even bring your surfboards. As long as you buy the booze you've got a home at the Posey-O'Brien pad, man." He blinks, chin digging into Tyler's chest. "I can't promise to fuck you against the wall every day or anything, though. I'm lazy."
He can't help laughing a little, even though, suddenly, his throat feels tight, like he's swallowed something too big for him instead of realizing that even though Dylan was joking, he'd be perfectly happy to take it as an invitation, and it's not just that he'd be happy to stay, he's also going to be unhappy to go. Today is just full of surprises.
"That's okay," Tyler says, and reaches up to scratch his nails through the soft fuzz at the back of Dylan's neck until he rumbles. And surprisingly it kind of is.