fic: homebound (Dylan/Cole)
Title: Homebound
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Dylan/Cole
Rating: R
Word Count: ~5,000
Warnings: sexual situations?
Summary: Dylan and Cole go on a roadtrip.
Disclaimer: This is complete and utter fiction.
AN: This is--was, I should say, for vivid_moment's birthday. Sorry it's SO late! I mean, EXTREMELY late. The roadtrip!fic idea was all hers by way of this inspiration. I love you, bb. ♥
Dylan watches his brother, the curve of his mouth over the pen he keeps sticking between his lips, his gaze intent on the map in his hands, and his blond hair curling with sweat by his ears. It's hot and sticky outside, and it's not that much better inside here.
A waitress comes to ask them if they need refills. Dylan politely declines. It's early in the morning, and the diner is still fairly empty. One couple is seated a few tables over, one girl making wild gestures while the other guy listens, nodding every other second, poor guy looks like he's trying to keep up. There's a man reading a newspaper at a stool by the counter, he doesn't look like he'll order anything more than a coffee. Man, what a cheapskate.
"Stop being creepy."
"I’m not being creepy. I’m people watching," Dylan says, annoyed Cole caught him without even lifting his gaze from that stupid map.
"And then you complain about the paparazzi..."
Dylan could stare at his brother all day and not know what the hell he's thinking about, but he knows what he's feeling. He can feel Cole's emotions just as plainly as his own. Cole is agitated right now, and if Dylan could read his mind he'd know why, but he can’t, and sometimes he wishes he did. He wishes they did have that freaky twin thing, where they could read each other’s thoughts without even trying. Dylan doesn’t have clue what goes on in Cole’s head most of the time.
"Seriously, you’re being creepy."
"I’m bored,” Dylan whines, “I've been staring at you stare at that stupid map for the past twenty minutes."
"Well, excuse me for wanting to know where the heck we're going."
"I know where we're going.”
"Yeah, I'm sure. We go by you, and we'll probably end up back home."
"Whatever," he mutters. Dylan wouldn't mind going back home if it meant he could relax. He's so fucking tired, he could plant his face on the table and be lost to the world.
"We better get out of here," Cole says, suddenly wary. "Alice said to be careful, we shouldn't be sticking around one place for too long."
Dylan scoffs. If their agent isn't following them around with a black wig and sunglasses, Dylan would actually be surprised. The woman is a little too good at her job. Dylan isn't entirely convinced their mom and Alice would let them drive across the country by themselves, let alone without someone watching their every move.
Dylan looks around. "Yeah, I'm sure that old man over there loves watching the Suite Life."
"Let's go, Dyl," he says, already losing patience, not that he had much to begin with.
"You didn't even eat," Dylan says. Cole hasn’t touched his plate.
"I'm fine, let's just go."
.
.
Cole doesn't remember the last time he was alone.
There’s always Alice (their agent), or his mom and dad, or Dylan. Mostly, it’s always Dylan. It's completely fucked up when he thinks about it. How much he depends on Dylan, how even after years of desperately trying to be individuals, and years of creating a line that separates one from the other, he couldn’t even imagine a world without him.
They never talked about it. They didn’t have to, Cole realizes, Dylan knows it. They don’t know what it’s like to be completely alone. They never had to learn. The idea of his brother moving on without him, it’s incomprehensible, and he knows how crazy that sounds, how unpractical, how stupidly fucked up it all really is. He won’t think about it, he won’t let himself get near the thought.
But they're trapped in a car - that only seems to get smaller as time goes on - for three fucking weeks, there's not much to do except think. It's starting to drive Cole crazy.
Dylan is driving Cole crazy.
Dylan's touching the buttons and dials on the radio, clicking on the air conditioning, and opening and closing the windows. He's twitchy, and touchy, and annoying the crap out of him.
Cole ignores him for a few minutes until Dylan rolls the windows so far down the wind blows in and scatters all the wrappers and junk on the dashboard, and Cole's hair flies into his eyes. He snaps. “Dude, seriously? Seriously?”
“What?”
Cole catches Dylan’s wrist before he changes the radio station, again. His eyes don't leave the road. “Quit it.”
“This song blows.”
“Leave it,” Cole grits. “I swear to God, if I have to deal with this for the next 2000 miles, I will punch you in the face.”
Dylan sits back in his seat with a huff. “Fine.”
“Good.”
“Great,” Dylan says, wanting to get the last word. Cole lets him.
Dylan leans back, reclining his seat low enough that his shirt rises above his board shorts, his long legs crossed at the ankles.
There’s a long silent moment before a thundering roll of drums and electric guitars blasts through the speakers, followed by ear-piercing screams from some heavy metal band. Cole winces. For fucks sake...
He feels Dylan’s eyes on him. He knows there’s a stupid smirk on his face. He kind of wants to laugh, but instead he nods along with the pounding drums. “I love this song,” he yells over the screams.
Dylan starts snickering. Cole laughs, grabbing an empty soda bottle from the dashboard and throwing it somewhere in his direction. For the next mile, all he sees is Dylan holding his stomach, his legs flailing around beside him, and the soda bottle rolling around in the backseat from the rearview mirror.
.
.
Dylan.
Dylan.
“Dylan!”
Dylan stirs at the sound of his name, his shoulder shaken furiously before he blinks awake. He's not sure when he fell asleep but it's dark outside. Cole is hovering over him in excitement. “Wake up, come on, you gotta see this," he says.
“What?” Dylan grunts from curled up spot in the passenger seat. His neck is killing him, and why is Cole so damn happy? It's too early to be awake.
“The sun is rising,” He hears Cole's voice. He shifts enough to see the car door is open, he doesn't know how much time passed between one long blink and the next, but suddenly, Cole is sitting on the hood.
Dylan closes his eyes again. The warm blanket around him is tugging him back into sleep. “You wake me up for something that happens every day?”
He forces his eyes open when he doesn’t hear an answer back, and stares at Cole’s back through the windshield. “Fine,” Dylan mutters, not knowing how Cole is making him do this, or why he cares enough to leave the warmth of the semi-comfortable seat. He grabs the blanket and fumbles out of the car.
Cole seems surprised at the sight of him and Dylan eyes him back groggily. He climbs on the hood and presses up against Cole’s side.
Cole smiles, not looking at him, but still smiling that serene smile of his. Dylan looks over at the sky, sees nothing but an orange strip of light above an endless flat plane of land, the sky an eerie ocean blue.
Cole wraps the blanket around them, his arm resting around Dylan’s shoulders, pulling him closer. “When do we ever get to do this? Just sit here and watch the sun rise," Cole asks softly.
Dylan hums in agreement. He wonders what's so special about looking at the sun come up. He wonders why Cole would even care, but then he feels Cole, content and warm, next to him, and forgets about it. Every blink becomes heavier and heavier, and Dylan isn’t sure he has the strength to keep his eyes open, not with Cole holding him up, and the goosebumps flaring on his skin, and the sun nothing but a soft glow in the sky. He lets his head fall on Cole’s shoulder.
He doesn’t remember seeing the sun come up.
.
.
There’s this redheaded girl at the counter in the convenience store. Her hair is up in messy bun, and she has freckles on her nose. She’s really pretty, Cole thinks. She smiles at him when she catches him looking her.
“Is that all your getting?” She asks, when he gets to the counter. He could flirt with her; he could ask her if she wants to go out later on that night. Dylan wouldn’t mind if they stayed here a few extra days. Dylan would probably nudge him, embarrassingly inquiring if they needed to book separate rooms. He'd ask if she had a friend.
Cole glances through the window of the store, watches Dylan fill the car up with gas outside. Their gazes meet. Dylan’s eyebrow quirks up - what’s taking you so long?- and Cole rolls his eyes - I’ll take as long as I damn well please. Dylan shakes his head, lips curved up in a half-smile. Cole wonders if he’s the reason Dylan’s smiling like that, and then he decides he likes it when Dylan smiles.
“Is that it?” She asks, again.
Cole hesitates. “Yeah,” he nods. “That’s it.”
.
.
When they get a hotel room, they get a room with double beds but somehow end up wrapped up in each other by morning. Cole complains about the room being drafty, and Dylan claims he's too lazy to shove him off. Neither of them talks about it after that.
Dylan lies awake for a long time. Nothing but the soft weight of his brother draped over him, and the slow, steady beat of his heart keep him aware, alert. He counts back from one hundred to one, his back flat against the hard mattress, and the ceiling nothing but a grey void. Nothing feels right. He’s sweating, burning, and every time he closes his eyes, the warmth around him becomes too much.
He ignores the heat in his cheeks when Cole nuzzles his neck.
.
.
Cole steps inside the hotel room just after checking in with their mom on the phone.
He passes Dylan, who looks like he just stepped out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist, combing his hair in front of the mirror paned closet door.
“Mom says you should call her,” Cole says by way of greeting. Dylan ‘uh-huhs’ but he doesn’t sound like he’s listening.
Cole stretches out on the bed closest to the window. The room is tiny, and they could easily afford something fancier, a room with a big screen TV and a game console and maybe even mini fridge that could hold more than a couple of cans of soda, but what’s the point? They’ll be gone tomorrow.
Cole grabs a magazine from the bedside table. It’s early in the afternoon but it’s dim inside the room, the only light spills in from the bathroom doorway. Cole thinks about parting the thick curtains but he’s feeling lazy.
His attention flickers back and forth from Dylan combing his hair to the magazine. He never noticed Dylan has faint freckles on his back.
“We should go somewhere,” Dylan says.
Cole glances up, meets his gaze in his reflection. “Like where?”
Dylan pauses. “I don’t know, some place that isn’t inside the four walls of this hotel room would be nice.”
“You know we can’t do that,” Cole says, flipping the pages; he frowns at the sight of make-up tips.
“Why?”
“You know why,” Cole says impatiently.
Dylan’s eyebrows knit together in frustration, and Cole’s not sure if it’s because of what he said or his comb caught a small knot. “I thought the whole point of this roadtrip was to be ‘regular’ teenagers.”
Cole didn’t think that; he thought the whole point was to give them the only bit of freedom they might have before college.
“I don’t think we’ll ever be ‘regular’ teenagers,” Cole says dryly, “We stopped being normal when we were 8 months old, and mom signed us up to audition for a diaper commercial.”
He’d rather be inside anyway. Inside where it’s safe.
He expects an argument but nothing comes. Dylan gets dressed in the bathroom, and then suddenly he’s racing out, full of energy, and jumping into the bed next to him.
“What the fuck?” Cole bounces up, the weight of Dylan crashing into the bed knocks the pillows into him and off the bed.
“Hey, lighten up! Life’s not a funeral,” Dylan says, with so much cheerfulness, it makes Cole want to hit him with a pillow.
“God, you’re weird,” Cole mutters. Their backs are against the headboard, all the pillows tossed to the side.
Dylan smells stupidly good. Cole finds himself leaning in closer, his nose brushing against Dylan’s neck. Dylan doesn’t seem to notice; he’s flipping through the channels, his long fingers absently tracing over the ripples on Cole’s pants, on top of Cole’s thighs. Suddenly, the television is blaring, and Cole can’t even concentrate on what the hell he’s watching.
Dylan peers down, a huff of amusement ruffling Cole’s hair. “Are you reading ComsoGirl?”
.
.
One night, Cole turns to him, and asks, "Remember that pact we made when we were kids?"
The radio is playing low on the speakers. They're stretched out over the hood, shoulder to shoulder, staring out into the sky. Dylan feels weightless.
"We should've gone to a hotel, I feel like I'm sitting on a rock."
"Dylan..."
"We promised we'd always stick together, yeah, I remember, why the trip down memory lane all of a sudden?" He closes his eyes, remembers his brother’s familiar young face vividly; he thinks he knows it better than the back of his hand.
Cole's voice rumbles near his ear, smooth and warm. "I don't know..."
Dylan can feel Cole’s heart thumping in his chest, the tremor in his hands.
Normal boys would have done spit handshakes or pinky swears. Dylan wonders vaguely if Cole remembers how they sealed their deal. He opens his eyes, half turns, and suddenly, Cole is close, his face inches away. Dylan knows he remembers, he knows it right before Cole kisses him.
.
.
When Dylan drives, Cole sits at the passenger side, forehead pressed against the window, eyes unfocused on the glass.
It's beautiful outside. The sun is a bright spot in the sky, speeding beside them. Dylan has his window open, his sunglasses on, as the wind blows in and ruffles his hair. He feels good, Cole can sense it, even if he himself feels weighed down.
Cole can also feel Dylan's gaze flickering in his direction every so often.
"You okay?" Dylan asks, offhandedly. There's no infliction in his voice, no emotion. If Cole didn't know any better, he'd think Dylan didn't care. But Cole knows that's not the question he wants to ask. He's not sure if Dylan knows that himself.
Cole wants to tell him to stop the car. The engine humming, the road passing, quick and easy, it makes Cole’s stomach clench. He wants to slow down. He wants to step outside in the middle of nowhere, and stay there forever.
Every mile they gain, every state they pass, they are that much closer to there. There scares him. Cole isn’t sure he wants to reach there yet. Not yet. He’s not ready.
Not yet.
"I'm fine," he says instead.
Dylan doesn't ask him anything else, even though Cole feels his gaze heavy on his skin.
.
.
Dylan stares at him while he sleeps. The shadows under the sweep of his lashes, the soft rise and fall of his chest, his lips parted, and his hands reaching for him. Dylan burrows under the covers, the sheets rustling around them, he puts his head on Cole’s chest, he lets Cole’s sleepy fingers wander around him. He listens to his heart beating.
.
.
Cole doesn’t know why they came here, or why he even thought this was a good idea. It’s hot, and his feet hurt, and the tour guide seems hell bent on torturing them with more amazing sights of Tennessee. So far the only amazing sight Cole wants to see is a bench, preferably in an air conditioned room. Or their hotel room.
He wants to say this to Dylan, but the crowd shifts and Dylan is too far. Cole tries to cut through the group of people, his heart hammering in his chest when Dylan makes no move to come back to him.
Dylan is distant. Not distant in the way where they don’t speak, or even meet gazes, but distant in the actual sense-space, literally, distance between them. Cole isn’t used to Dylan standing an arm’s length away. He wants Dylan near, reachable by just an inch of movement, a brush of hands, a touch of their arms. He’s only a foot away but it feels like he’s miles away.
When they get back to the hotel room, finally, Dylan still hasn't said a word, and it's only when Cole is ready to settle back on the bed and watch TV, that Dylan mutters, "I told you to stop taking my clothes."
Cole whips around, blinking in confusion. “Wait. Is that what this is about?”
Dylan disappears in the bathroom, and then comes out, throwing his toothbrush and soap in his duffel bag. Cole momentarily panics, thinking maybe Dylan is ditching him but Dylan shoves the bag in the corner of the room.
“I always take your shirts,” Cole says, and you always take mine he's about to say but doesn't, instead he bites his lip and watches Dylan search around the room for something, tossing aside his clothes on top of the bed.
“Well don’t,” Dylan says, he grabs his room key, eyes not meeting Cole's as he walks past him.
“Where are you going?”
"Nowhere. I just..I need space."
Cole stares at the door in confusion.
Later that night, Cole won’t admit he didn’t sleep until he heard the door click open. Cole stayed still in his bed, the covers bundled over him as he heard Dylan cross the room, the duffel bag unzipping as he changed into his pajamas and then the shuffling of bed sheets as he got into the other bed.
Cole won’t admit he curled into himself, clutching his pillow tight, wishing Dylan would have just gotten into the same bed with him.
.
.
When Dylan leaves the hotel he stands outside the sliding doors, almost helplessly. He's about to step back inside the lobby but he stops himself. He doesn't know where to go, or what to do.
He walks around the streets, his fingers rubbing along the side of the room key in his pocket. He stays close by, feeling like too much of a jackass to go back to the room, and knowing deep down they need this space, as small as it is.
A little girl walking with her dad manages to recognize him. He's a bit startled when she asks for his picture. He shakes out of it quickly. "Sure," he says, smiling down at her.
Suddenly, it feels like he's been ripped from the world he and Cole created for each other. Everything is too bright, too loud, too much. He strains a smile when he poses for the picture, and when they leave, Dylan feels lost.
He doesn't know what the fuck he's doing. He doesn't know where they're going.
Dylan runs his fingers through his hair, leans against the building, and the chatter of people passing by him on the sidewalk, the cars zipping by---he doesn't register any of it.
He's trying really hard not to freak out.
.
.
The car is silent except for the violent crash of rain against the car. The tension between them is putting Cole on the edge. He draws his knees up in the passenger seat, shivering from the chill in the air.
The roads are getting bad. The windshield wipers barely clear the droplets before the glass is overtaken by a splattering of fresh rain.
Dylan is driving like a manic. "Slow down," Cole mutters.
Dylan ignores him. Cole bites the inside of his cheek to stop from yelling at the other boy. Cole clutches at the side of the door as Dylan swerves into another lane, zipping past another car. "For fuck's sake, Dylan, you're going to get us killed."
"If I don't speed up, we're going to be stuck out here," he grits.
"I'd rather be stuck out here than die."
"We're not going to die."
"Slow down."
"No."
"Dylan--"
"I said, no."
"Then pull over," Cole yells. He can't take it anymore, being in this car, feeling the weight of silence on his chest, his heart clenches every time Dylan looks at him, it aches every time he thinks about him.
He glares at Dylan, and Dylan looks back at him incredulously. "You can't be fucking serious," he says.
The windows shake as the wind whorls against the glass. Thunder strikes, low and rumbling in the distance. "Pull over," Cole says.
"Fine," Dylan says. As soon as brings the car to the edge of the road--Cole wants out--he shoots out of the car.
He feels the water sink into his clothes as soon as he gets outside. He's completely drenched in two short steps. The only bit of light he sees is the spark of lightening dash across the sky. It's gone before he blinks.
"Cole!" He hears footsteps behind him.
Cole runs. The water soaks his jeans, and his sneakers catch on the wet grass, and his legs feel like he's sinking into the ground with each step he takes. He doesn't even know where he's going, there's nothing but trees and darkness on the edge of the road, but he keeps going until he feels fingers grip his shoulder.
He's tugged back, and suddenly, Dylan is there, hair wet and clinging to his face. Dylan pulls him until their chests bump together, and Dylan wraps his arms tight around him. He struggles out of his grip, but Dylan fights him into an embrace. And it feels good, Cole thinks, to hit him, to punch him. Dylan lets him. He holds him tight until Cole's chest is heaving, and he's out of breath.
Dylan's face is close, and it's only then that Cole realizes he's shaking, and slowly, he stops struggling, limp and shivering in Dylan's arms.
Dylan's fingers run through his hair. "Cole, come on, what are we doing?" he asks softly, breath coming out in harsh pants, he must have ran to catch up to him. He touches his forehead with Cole's.
Cole shuts his eyes, and shakes his head. "I wish I knew," he whispers.
Dylan tilts his head, bringing his face down, until his nose is against Cole's cheek. Cole can feel his lips on his jaw, wet and cold. Dylan presses a kiss there. Cole bites his lip, and closes his eyes--he wants this too much, he wants him too much---Dylan covers his mouth with his own, softly, sloppily.
Cole shudders, surprised. "Dylan--"
Dylan's hands are on his waist, bringing him closer, and suddenly, the kiss is searing. Cole's never kissed anyone like this before, never mind his own brother. Dylan's tongue is sliding against his, lips hot and hungry against his mouth. Cole groans, his whole body melts into him.
"The car," Dylan mumbles against his mouth. He intertwines their fingers, dragging him back to where they left the car. Cole follows numbly, his lips burning.
Soon Dylan has him backed up against the car door, not even waiting until they get inside to kiss him again, he's rough, and Cole feels his pants getting tight at the thought of what Dylan wants to do to him. Dylan's thigh presses between his legs, and Cole shivers underneath him, hips bucking up as Dylan kisses his neck.
Cole's fingers fumble for the door handle, and they tumble into the backseat.
Cole watches the flex of his muscles as Dylan pulls his shirt over his head. His hair is sticking up all over the place, and his jeans are wet and clinging to him so tight, Cole can see everything, and there's no denying how much Dylan wants this. His cheeks get hot as Dylan stares down at him, eyes dark.
The engine is still running, the heater turned on to full blast, but Cole still gets goosebumps when Dylan touches him. His fingers trail up his chest, and Cole looks up wide-eyed, wondering if he'll push him away at any moment, yell at him, and tell him this is gross, but Dylan doesn't stop until he's tugging at Cole's jeans, eager to get their bodies flush, touching.
Dylan groans when Cole's hand is on Dylan's dick, and it's strange and warm, and hard, and Cole's instinct is push him away, but his own dick twitches at the sound of Dylan's moan, low and rumbling by his ear.
"You like that?" Cole says, his voice breaks the shuttered silence; he doesn't think he's ever heard himself sound so wrecked.
Dylan looks at him in surprise. "Yeah," he breathes, "Yes, yes, yes."
Cole grins, feeling Dylan melt against him, forehead pressed against his neck. "This may be the first time we've agreed all week."
"Shut up," Dylan kisses him, dragging him on top of him, until Dylan is on his back and Cole is on his lap.
"Should I? I don't--" know what to do.
"I trust you," Dylan says, without hesitation. Dylan's hand slides up his thigh, and Cole kisses his neck, Dylan's hands running over his back.
His whole body tenses when Cole moves down. Cole kisses down his chest, and Dylan's thighs tremble when he kisses his stomach.
"God, Cole," he breaks off with a groan. He looks down at him, his lashes lowered. And Cole decides then, with Dylan's dick hard, and warm under his chin, he wants suck him off, he wants to make Dylan come. Cole mouths Dylan's dick, and Cole has to hold him down, almost choking when Dylan bucks up sharply.
"Oh, fuck," Dylan says, and Cole can taste the precome, he can feel Dylan tense, his breathing coming out in short, ragged, gasps. He comes so suddenly, Cole has to move back, not wanting to choke again. He rubs him off until Dylan rides out his orgasm.Cole swallows thickly, watching Dylan under him, writhing and moaning.
When Dylan finishes, still panting a little, he grins, lazy and content. "Your turn?" He asks, and Cole nods, his throat tight, he's not sure how his voice might come out if he tries to speak. Dylan must have noticed because now he's extremely amused.
"Don't be an ass," Cole mutters.
When Dylan's hand curls around his dick, Cole doesn't expect to hear a gasp come from his lips, his whole body tingles, as Dylan works him. Dylan's breath warm on his neck, his other hand rubbing his back, Cole is desperate to look at him, to bring him closer. He doesn't want this to end, he doesn't want Dylan to stop.
"Dylan," he groans, broken, helpless.
"This," Dylan kissing his ear, his hand picking up pace, "is forever," and Cole is almost blindsided with how hard he comes.
When he opens his eyes, Dylan is hovering over him, the lazy, content smile is replaced by something more thoughtful, and it makes Cole's chest tight.
He realizes Dylan's thumb is stroking slow circles on his wrist and the rain died down to nothing but light patters against the car. Dylan's gaze is hesitant, and fixated on Cole's lips. Cole brings his face closer, until their noses are touching, he looks straight into his eyes---It's okay, I promise---Dylan kisses him.
.
.
Every time they kiss, it's a promise.
.
.
They kiss often.
.
.
When Cole gets out of the shower, the towel wrapped loosely around his hips, Dylan pulls him close, not caring how his wet skin dampens Dylan’s shirt.
He smells different, still good, Dylan notices, nuzzling his shoulder, but different. His-their shampoo changed.
(Dylan thought it’d be funny to empty Cole’s shampoo bottles and fill it with shaving cream. Then he realized that they share the same shampoo bottles, and the next thing he knows Cole is laughing his ass off as they wait on line in the convenience store, a bottle of shampoo and conditioner in one arm. Dylan glares at him, muttering something about withholding blow jobs.
They’re pretty sure they scarred the old lady in line behind them.)
Cole traces his collar bone with his finger, and kisses the side of his neck, slowly, deliberately-Dylan presses him against the wall, his mouth muffling Cole’s complaints that he just took a shower, for the love god, Dylan!-
Dylan thinks this may be the best summer of his whole goddamn life.
.
.
“I was thinking of taking psychology,” Cole says. It’s first time he uttered the words ‘classes’ or ‘college’ or anything resembling life outside of L.A as a topic since they decided they were actually going to college this year.
“Yeah?” Dylan says. He’s flipping through a pamphlet ‘Top Five Vacation Attractions in Virgina’. “We should check out the theater department.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Dylan keeps his focus on the pamphlet, but Cole sees the twitch of a smirk at the corner of his lips.
.
.
Maybe it would have been better if they arrived in the airport. The sea of people bustling around them, and the urgent air surrounding them would have forced them to get moving, get their bags, and go to their new home quicker. They took the detour, the car slower than Dylan ever remembers it being as they drive through the bridge and enter New York.
There’s music blasting through the speakers. Cole knows all the words, and for the first time since they started this road trip, Dylan doesn’t mind, he’s singing along.
They drive through the crowded streets of New York City. The streets are narrow, winding and twisting as they head further downtown. They’re close. Cole turns to him, and he smiles. Dylan’s never seen him smile like that before-the wind ruffling his blonde bangs across his forehead, and his eyes bright. Dylan’s heart is pounding. He’s beautiful.
The car slows to a stop.
.
.
“We’re here,” Cole says, and 'there' is 'here' now, and that doesn't terrify him like he thought it would.
.
.
-end
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Dylan/Cole
Rating: R
Word Count: ~5,000
Warnings: sexual situations?
Summary: Dylan and Cole go on a roadtrip.
Disclaimer: This is complete and utter fiction.
AN: This is--was, I should say, for vivid_moment's birthday. Sorry it's SO late! I mean, EXTREMELY late. The roadtrip!fic idea was all hers by way of this inspiration. I love you, bb. ♥
Dylan watches his brother, the curve of his mouth over the pen he keeps sticking between his lips, his gaze intent on the map in his hands, and his blond hair curling with sweat by his ears. It's hot and sticky outside, and it's not that much better inside here.
A waitress comes to ask them if they need refills. Dylan politely declines. It's early in the morning, and the diner is still fairly empty. One couple is seated a few tables over, one girl making wild gestures while the other guy listens, nodding every other second, poor guy looks like he's trying to keep up. There's a man reading a newspaper at a stool by the counter, he doesn't look like he'll order anything more than a coffee. Man, what a cheapskate.
"Stop being creepy."
"I’m not being creepy. I’m people watching," Dylan says, annoyed Cole caught him without even lifting his gaze from that stupid map.
"And then you complain about the paparazzi..."
Dylan could stare at his brother all day and not know what the hell he's thinking about, but he knows what he's feeling. He can feel Cole's emotions just as plainly as his own. Cole is agitated right now, and if Dylan could read his mind he'd know why, but he can’t, and sometimes he wishes he did. He wishes they did have that freaky twin thing, where they could read each other’s thoughts without even trying. Dylan doesn’t have clue what goes on in Cole’s head most of the time.
"Seriously, you’re being creepy."
"I’m bored,” Dylan whines, “I've been staring at you stare at that stupid map for the past twenty minutes."
"Well, excuse me for wanting to know where the heck we're going."
"I know where we're going.”
"Yeah, I'm sure. We go by you, and we'll probably end up back home."
"Whatever," he mutters. Dylan wouldn't mind going back home if it meant he could relax. He's so fucking tired, he could plant his face on the table and be lost to the world.
"We better get out of here," Cole says, suddenly wary. "Alice said to be careful, we shouldn't be sticking around one place for too long."
Dylan scoffs. If their agent isn't following them around with a black wig and sunglasses, Dylan would actually be surprised. The woman is a little too good at her job. Dylan isn't entirely convinced their mom and Alice would let them drive across the country by themselves, let alone without someone watching their every move.
Dylan looks around. "Yeah, I'm sure that old man over there loves watching the Suite Life."
"Let's go, Dyl," he says, already losing patience, not that he had much to begin with.
"You didn't even eat," Dylan says. Cole hasn’t touched his plate.
"I'm fine, let's just go."
.
.
Cole doesn't remember the last time he was alone.
There’s always Alice (their agent), or his mom and dad, or Dylan. Mostly, it’s always Dylan. It's completely fucked up when he thinks about it. How much he depends on Dylan, how even after years of desperately trying to be individuals, and years of creating a line that separates one from the other, he couldn’t even imagine a world without him.
They never talked about it. They didn’t have to, Cole realizes, Dylan knows it. They don’t know what it’s like to be completely alone. They never had to learn. The idea of his brother moving on without him, it’s incomprehensible, and he knows how crazy that sounds, how unpractical, how stupidly fucked up it all really is. He won’t think about it, he won’t let himself get near the thought.
But they're trapped in a car - that only seems to get smaller as time goes on - for three fucking weeks, there's not much to do except think. It's starting to drive Cole crazy.
Dylan is driving Cole crazy.
Dylan's touching the buttons and dials on the radio, clicking on the air conditioning, and opening and closing the windows. He's twitchy, and touchy, and annoying the crap out of him.
Cole ignores him for a few minutes until Dylan rolls the windows so far down the wind blows in and scatters all the wrappers and junk on the dashboard, and Cole's hair flies into his eyes. He snaps. “Dude, seriously? Seriously?”
“What?”
Cole catches Dylan’s wrist before he changes the radio station, again. His eyes don't leave the road. “Quit it.”
“This song blows.”
“Leave it,” Cole grits. “I swear to God, if I have to deal with this for the next 2000 miles, I will punch you in the face.”
Dylan sits back in his seat with a huff. “Fine.”
“Good.”
“Great,” Dylan says, wanting to get the last word. Cole lets him.
Dylan leans back, reclining his seat low enough that his shirt rises above his board shorts, his long legs crossed at the ankles.
There’s a long silent moment before a thundering roll of drums and electric guitars blasts through the speakers, followed by ear-piercing screams from some heavy metal band. Cole winces. For fucks sake...
He feels Dylan’s eyes on him. He knows there’s a stupid smirk on his face. He kind of wants to laugh, but instead he nods along with the pounding drums. “I love this song,” he yells over the screams.
Dylan starts snickering. Cole laughs, grabbing an empty soda bottle from the dashboard and throwing it somewhere in his direction. For the next mile, all he sees is Dylan holding his stomach, his legs flailing around beside him, and the soda bottle rolling around in the backseat from the rearview mirror.
.
.
Dylan.
Dylan.
“Dylan!”
Dylan stirs at the sound of his name, his shoulder shaken furiously before he blinks awake. He's not sure when he fell asleep but it's dark outside. Cole is hovering over him in excitement. “Wake up, come on, you gotta see this," he says.
“What?” Dylan grunts from curled up spot in the passenger seat. His neck is killing him, and why is Cole so damn happy? It's too early to be awake.
“The sun is rising,” He hears Cole's voice. He shifts enough to see the car door is open, he doesn't know how much time passed between one long blink and the next, but suddenly, Cole is sitting on the hood.
Dylan closes his eyes again. The warm blanket around him is tugging him back into sleep. “You wake me up for something that happens every day?”
He forces his eyes open when he doesn’t hear an answer back, and stares at Cole’s back through the windshield. “Fine,” Dylan mutters, not knowing how Cole is making him do this, or why he cares enough to leave the warmth of the semi-comfortable seat. He grabs the blanket and fumbles out of the car.
Cole seems surprised at the sight of him and Dylan eyes him back groggily. He climbs on the hood and presses up against Cole’s side.
Cole smiles, not looking at him, but still smiling that serene smile of his. Dylan looks over at the sky, sees nothing but an orange strip of light above an endless flat plane of land, the sky an eerie ocean blue.
Cole wraps the blanket around them, his arm resting around Dylan’s shoulders, pulling him closer. “When do we ever get to do this? Just sit here and watch the sun rise," Cole asks softly.
Dylan hums in agreement. He wonders what's so special about looking at the sun come up. He wonders why Cole would even care, but then he feels Cole, content and warm, next to him, and forgets about it. Every blink becomes heavier and heavier, and Dylan isn’t sure he has the strength to keep his eyes open, not with Cole holding him up, and the goosebumps flaring on his skin, and the sun nothing but a soft glow in the sky. He lets his head fall on Cole’s shoulder.
He doesn’t remember seeing the sun come up.
.
.
There’s this redheaded girl at the counter in the convenience store. Her hair is up in messy bun, and she has freckles on her nose. She’s really pretty, Cole thinks. She smiles at him when she catches him looking her.
“Is that all your getting?” She asks, when he gets to the counter. He could flirt with her; he could ask her if she wants to go out later on that night. Dylan wouldn’t mind if they stayed here a few extra days. Dylan would probably nudge him, embarrassingly inquiring if they needed to book separate rooms. He'd ask if she had a friend.
Cole glances through the window of the store, watches Dylan fill the car up with gas outside. Their gazes meet. Dylan’s eyebrow quirks up - what’s taking you so long?- and Cole rolls his eyes - I’ll take as long as I damn well please. Dylan shakes his head, lips curved up in a half-smile. Cole wonders if he’s the reason Dylan’s smiling like that, and then he decides he likes it when Dylan smiles.
“Is that it?” She asks, again.
Cole hesitates. “Yeah,” he nods. “That’s it.”
.
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When they get a hotel room, they get a room with double beds but somehow end up wrapped up in each other by morning. Cole complains about the room being drafty, and Dylan claims he's too lazy to shove him off. Neither of them talks about it after that.
Dylan lies awake for a long time. Nothing but the soft weight of his brother draped over him, and the slow, steady beat of his heart keep him aware, alert. He counts back from one hundred to one, his back flat against the hard mattress, and the ceiling nothing but a grey void. Nothing feels right. He’s sweating, burning, and every time he closes his eyes, the warmth around him becomes too much.
He ignores the heat in his cheeks when Cole nuzzles his neck.
.
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Cole steps inside the hotel room just after checking in with their mom on the phone.
He passes Dylan, who looks like he just stepped out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist, combing his hair in front of the mirror paned closet door.
“Mom says you should call her,” Cole says by way of greeting. Dylan ‘uh-huhs’ but he doesn’t sound like he’s listening.
Cole stretches out on the bed closest to the window. The room is tiny, and they could easily afford something fancier, a room with a big screen TV and a game console and maybe even mini fridge that could hold more than a couple of cans of soda, but what’s the point? They’ll be gone tomorrow.
Cole grabs a magazine from the bedside table. It’s early in the afternoon but it’s dim inside the room, the only light spills in from the bathroom doorway. Cole thinks about parting the thick curtains but he’s feeling lazy.
His attention flickers back and forth from Dylan combing his hair to the magazine. He never noticed Dylan has faint freckles on his back.
“We should go somewhere,” Dylan says.
Cole glances up, meets his gaze in his reflection. “Like where?”
Dylan pauses. “I don’t know, some place that isn’t inside the four walls of this hotel room would be nice.”
“You know we can’t do that,” Cole says, flipping the pages; he frowns at the sight of make-up tips.
“Why?”
“You know why,” Cole says impatiently.
Dylan’s eyebrows knit together in frustration, and Cole’s not sure if it’s because of what he said or his comb caught a small knot. “I thought the whole point of this roadtrip was to be ‘regular’ teenagers.”
Cole didn’t think that; he thought the whole point was to give them the only bit of freedom they might have before college.
“I don’t think we’ll ever be ‘regular’ teenagers,” Cole says dryly, “We stopped being normal when we were 8 months old, and mom signed us up to audition for a diaper commercial.”
He’d rather be inside anyway. Inside where it’s safe.
He expects an argument but nothing comes. Dylan gets dressed in the bathroom, and then suddenly he’s racing out, full of energy, and jumping into the bed next to him.
“What the fuck?” Cole bounces up, the weight of Dylan crashing into the bed knocks the pillows into him and off the bed.
“Hey, lighten up! Life’s not a funeral,” Dylan says, with so much cheerfulness, it makes Cole want to hit him with a pillow.
“God, you’re weird,” Cole mutters. Their backs are against the headboard, all the pillows tossed to the side.
Dylan smells stupidly good. Cole finds himself leaning in closer, his nose brushing against Dylan’s neck. Dylan doesn’t seem to notice; he’s flipping through the channels, his long fingers absently tracing over the ripples on Cole’s pants, on top of Cole’s thighs. Suddenly, the television is blaring, and Cole can’t even concentrate on what the hell he’s watching.
Dylan peers down, a huff of amusement ruffling Cole’s hair. “Are you reading ComsoGirl?”
.
.
One night, Cole turns to him, and asks, "Remember that pact we made when we were kids?"
The radio is playing low on the speakers. They're stretched out over the hood, shoulder to shoulder, staring out into the sky. Dylan feels weightless.
"We should've gone to a hotel, I feel like I'm sitting on a rock."
"Dylan..."
"We promised we'd always stick together, yeah, I remember, why the trip down memory lane all of a sudden?" He closes his eyes, remembers his brother’s familiar young face vividly; he thinks he knows it better than the back of his hand.
Cole's voice rumbles near his ear, smooth and warm. "I don't know..."
Dylan can feel Cole’s heart thumping in his chest, the tremor in his hands.
Normal boys would have done spit handshakes or pinky swears. Dylan wonders vaguely if Cole remembers how they sealed their deal. He opens his eyes, half turns, and suddenly, Cole is close, his face inches away. Dylan knows he remembers, he knows it right before Cole kisses him.
.
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When Dylan drives, Cole sits at the passenger side, forehead pressed against the window, eyes unfocused on the glass.
It's beautiful outside. The sun is a bright spot in the sky, speeding beside them. Dylan has his window open, his sunglasses on, as the wind blows in and ruffles his hair. He feels good, Cole can sense it, even if he himself feels weighed down.
Cole can also feel Dylan's gaze flickering in his direction every so often.
"You okay?" Dylan asks, offhandedly. There's no infliction in his voice, no emotion. If Cole didn't know any better, he'd think Dylan didn't care. But Cole knows that's not the question he wants to ask. He's not sure if Dylan knows that himself.
Cole wants to tell him to stop the car. The engine humming, the road passing, quick and easy, it makes Cole’s stomach clench. He wants to slow down. He wants to step outside in the middle of nowhere, and stay there forever.
Every mile they gain, every state they pass, they are that much closer to there. There scares him. Cole isn’t sure he wants to reach there yet. Not yet. He’s not ready.
Not yet.
"I'm fine," he says instead.
Dylan doesn't ask him anything else, even though Cole feels his gaze heavy on his skin.
.
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Dylan stares at him while he sleeps. The shadows under the sweep of his lashes, the soft rise and fall of his chest, his lips parted, and his hands reaching for him. Dylan burrows under the covers, the sheets rustling around them, he puts his head on Cole’s chest, he lets Cole’s sleepy fingers wander around him. He listens to his heart beating.
.
.
Cole doesn’t know why they came here, or why he even thought this was a good idea. It’s hot, and his feet hurt, and the tour guide seems hell bent on torturing them with more amazing sights of Tennessee. So far the only amazing sight Cole wants to see is a bench, preferably in an air conditioned room. Or their hotel room.
He wants to say this to Dylan, but the crowd shifts and Dylan is too far. Cole tries to cut through the group of people, his heart hammering in his chest when Dylan makes no move to come back to him.
Dylan is distant. Not distant in the way where they don’t speak, or even meet gazes, but distant in the actual sense-space, literally, distance between them. Cole isn’t used to Dylan standing an arm’s length away. He wants Dylan near, reachable by just an inch of movement, a brush of hands, a touch of their arms. He’s only a foot away but it feels like he’s miles away.
When they get back to the hotel room, finally, Dylan still hasn't said a word, and it's only when Cole is ready to settle back on the bed and watch TV, that Dylan mutters, "I told you to stop taking my clothes."
Cole whips around, blinking in confusion. “Wait. Is that what this is about?”
Dylan disappears in the bathroom, and then comes out, throwing his toothbrush and soap in his duffel bag. Cole momentarily panics, thinking maybe Dylan is ditching him but Dylan shoves the bag in the corner of the room.
“I always take your shirts,” Cole says, and you always take mine he's about to say but doesn't, instead he bites his lip and watches Dylan search around the room for something, tossing aside his clothes on top of the bed.
“Well don’t,” Dylan says, he grabs his room key, eyes not meeting Cole's as he walks past him.
“Where are you going?”
"Nowhere. I just..I need space."
Cole stares at the door in confusion.
Later that night, Cole won’t admit he didn’t sleep until he heard the door click open. Cole stayed still in his bed, the covers bundled over him as he heard Dylan cross the room, the duffel bag unzipping as he changed into his pajamas and then the shuffling of bed sheets as he got into the other bed.
Cole won’t admit he curled into himself, clutching his pillow tight, wishing Dylan would have just gotten into the same bed with him.
.
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When Dylan leaves the hotel he stands outside the sliding doors, almost helplessly. He's about to step back inside the lobby but he stops himself. He doesn't know where to go, or what to do.
He walks around the streets, his fingers rubbing along the side of the room key in his pocket. He stays close by, feeling like too much of a jackass to go back to the room, and knowing deep down they need this space, as small as it is.
A little girl walking with her dad manages to recognize him. He's a bit startled when she asks for his picture. He shakes out of it quickly. "Sure," he says, smiling down at her.
Suddenly, it feels like he's been ripped from the world he and Cole created for each other. Everything is too bright, too loud, too much. He strains a smile when he poses for the picture, and when they leave, Dylan feels lost.
He doesn't know what the fuck he's doing. He doesn't know where they're going.
Dylan runs his fingers through his hair, leans against the building, and the chatter of people passing by him on the sidewalk, the cars zipping by---he doesn't register any of it.
He's trying really hard not to freak out.
.
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The car is silent except for the violent crash of rain against the car. The tension between them is putting Cole on the edge. He draws his knees up in the passenger seat, shivering from the chill in the air.
The roads are getting bad. The windshield wipers barely clear the droplets before the glass is overtaken by a splattering of fresh rain.
Dylan is driving like a manic. "Slow down," Cole mutters.
Dylan ignores him. Cole bites the inside of his cheek to stop from yelling at the other boy. Cole clutches at the side of the door as Dylan swerves into another lane, zipping past another car. "For fuck's sake, Dylan, you're going to get us killed."
"If I don't speed up, we're going to be stuck out here," he grits.
"I'd rather be stuck out here than die."
"We're not going to die."
"Slow down."
"No."
"Dylan--"
"I said, no."
"Then pull over," Cole yells. He can't take it anymore, being in this car, feeling the weight of silence on his chest, his heart clenches every time Dylan looks at him, it aches every time he thinks about him.
He glares at Dylan, and Dylan looks back at him incredulously. "You can't be fucking serious," he says.
The windows shake as the wind whorls against the glass. Thunder strikes, low and rumbling in the distance. "Pull over," Cole says.
"Fine," Dylan says. As soon as brings the car to the edge of the road--Cole wants out--he shoots out of the car.
He feels the water sink into his clothes as soon as he gets outside. He's completely drenched in two short steps. The only bit of light he sees is the spark of lightening dash across the sky. It's gone before he blinks.
"Cole!" He hears footsteps behind him.
Cole runs. The water soaks his jeans, and his sneakers catch on the wet grass, and his legs feel like he's sinking into the ground with each step he takes. He doesn't even know where he's going, there's nothing but trees and darkness on the edge of the road, but he keeps going until he feels fingers grip his shoulder.
He's tugged back, and suddenly, Dylan is there, hair wet and clinging to his face. Dylan pulls him until their chests bump together, and Dylan wraps his arms tight around him. He struggles out of his grip, but Dylan fights him into an embrace. And it feels good, Cole thinks, to hit him, to punch him. Dylan lets him. He holds him tight until Cole's chest is heaving, and he's out of breath.
Dylan's face is close, and it's only then that Cole realizes he's shaking, and slowly, he stops struggling, limp and shivering in Dylan's arms.
Dylan's fingers run through his hair. "Cole, come on, what are we doing?" he asks softly, breath coming out in harsh pants, he must have ran to catch up to him. He touches his forehead with Cole's.
Cole shuts his eyes, and shakes his head. "I wish I knew," he whispers.
Dylan tilts his head, bringing his face down, until his nose is against Cole's cheek. Cole can feel his lips on his jaw, wet and cold. Dylan presses a kiss there. Cole bites his lip, and closes his eyes--he wants this too much, he wants him too much---Dylan covers his mouth with his own, softly, sloppily.
Cole shudders, surprised. "Dylan--"
Dylan's hands are on his waist, bringing him closer, and suddenly, the kiss is searing. Cole's never kissed anyone like this before, never mind his own brother. Dylan's tongue is sliding against his, lips hot and hungry against his mouth. Cole groans, his whole body melts into him.
"The car," Dylan mumbles against his mouth. He intertwines their fingers, dragging him back to where they left the car. Cole follows numbly, his lips burning.
Soon Dylan has him backed up against the car door, not even waiting until they get inside to kiss him again, he's rough, and Cole feels his pants getting tight at the thought of what Dylan wants to do to him. Dylan's thigh presses between his legs, and Cole shivers underneath him, hips bucking up as Dylan kisses his neck.
Cole's fingers fumble for the door handle, and they tumble into the backseat.
Cole watches the flex of his muscles as Dylan pulls his shirt over his head. His hair is sticking up all over the place, and his jeans are wet and clinging to him so tight, Cole can see everything, and there's no denying how much Dylan wants this. His cheeks get hot as Dylan stares down at him, eyes dark.
The engine is still running, the heater turned on to full blast, but Cole still gets goosebumps when Dylan touches him. His fingers trail up his chest, and Cole looks up wide-eyed, wondering if he'll push him away at any moment, yell at him, and tell him this is gross, but Dylan doesn't stop until he's tugging at Cole's jeans, eager to get their bodies flush, touching.
Dylan groans when Cole's hand is on Dylan's dick, and it's strange and warm, and hard, and Cole's instinct is push him away, but his own dick twitches at the sound of Dylan's moan, low and rumbling by his ear.
"You like that?" Cole says, his voice breaks the shuttered silence; he doesn't think he's ever heard himself sound so wrecked.
Dylan looks at him in surprise. "Yeah," he breathes, "Yes, yes, yes."
Cole grins, feeling Dylan melt against him, forehead pressed against his neck. "This may be the first time we've agreed all week."
"Shut up," Dylan kisses him, dragging him on top of him, until Dylan is on his back and Cole is on his lap.
"Should I? I don't--" know what to do.
"I trust you," Dylan says, without hesitation. Dylan's hand slides up his thigh, and Cole kisses his neck, Dylan's hands running over his back.
His whole body tenses when Cole moves down. Cole kisses down his chest, and Dylan's thighs tremble when he kisses his stomach.
"God, Cole," he breaks off with a groan. He looks down at him, his lashes lowered. And Cole decides then, with Dylan's dick hard, and warm under his chin, he wants suck him off, he wants to make Dylan come. Cole mouths Dylan's dick, and Cole has to hold him down, almost choking when Dylan bucks up sharply.
"Oh, fuck," Dylan says, and Cole can taste the precome, he can feel Dylan tense, his breathing coming out in short, ragged, gasps. He comes so suddenly, Cole has to move back, not wanting to choke again. He rubs him off until Dylan rides out his orgasm.Cole swallows thickly, watching Dylan under him, writhing and moaning.
When Dylan finishes, still panting a little, he grins, lazy and content. "Your turn?" He asks, and Cole nods, his throat tight, he's not sure how his voice might come out if he tries to speak. Dylan must have noticed because now he's extremely amused.
"Don't be an ass," Cole mutters.
When Dylan's hand curls around his dick, Cole doesn't expect to hear a gasp come from his lips, his whole body tingles, as Dylan works him. Dylan's breath warm on his neck, his other hand rubbing his back, Cole is desperate to look at him, to bring him closer. He doesn't want this to end, he doesn't want Dylan to stop.
"Dylan," he groans, broken, helpless.
"This," Dylan kissing his ear, his hand picking up pace, "is forever," and Cole is almost blindsided with how hard he comes.
When he opens his eyes, Dylan is hovering over him, the lazy, content smile is replaced by something more thoughtful, and it makes Cole's chest tight.
He realizes Dylan's thumb is stroking slow circles on his wrist and the rain died down to nothing but light patters against the car. Dylan's gaze is hesitant, and fixated on Cole's lips. Cole brings his face closer, until their noses are touching, he looks straight into his eyes---It's okay, I promise---Dylan kisses him.
.
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Every time they kiss, it's a promise.
.
.
They kiss often.
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.
When Cole gets out of the shower, the towel wrapped loosely around his hips, Dylan pulls him close, not caring how his wet skin dampens Dylan’s shirt.
He smells different, still good, Dylan notices, nuzzling his shoulder, but different. His-their shampoo changed.
(Dylan thought it’d be funny to empty Cole’s shampoo bottles and fill it with shaving cream. Then he realized that they share the same shampoo bottles, and the next thing he knows Cole is laughing his ass off as they wait on line in the convenience store, a bottle of shampoo and conditioner in one arm. Dylan glares at him, muttering something about withholding blow jobs.
They’re pretty sure they scarred the old lady in line behind them.)
Cole traces his collar bone with his finger, and kisses the side of his neck, slowly, deliberately-Dylan presses him against the wall, his mouth muffling Cole’s complaints that he just took a shower, for the love god, Dylan!-
Dylan thinks this may be the best summer of his whole goddamn life.
.
.
“I was thinking of taking psychology,” Cole says. It’s first time he uttered the words ‘classes’ or ‘college’ or anything resembling life outside of L.A as a topic since they decided they were actually going to college this year.
“Yeah?” Dylan says. He’s flipping through a pamphlet ‘Top Five Vacation Attractions in Virgina’. “We should check out the theater department.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Dylan keeps his focus on the pamphlet, but Cole sees the twitch of a smirk at the corner of his lips.
.
.
Maybe it would have been better if they arrived in the airport. The sea of people bustling around them, and the urgent air surrounding them would have forced them to get moving, get their bags, and go to their new home quicker. They took the detour, the car slower than Dylan ever remembers it being as they drive through the bridge and enter New York.
There’s music blasting through the speakers. Cole knows all the words, and for the first time since they started this road trip, Dylan doesn’t mind, he’s singing along.
They drive through the crowded streets of New York City. The streets are narrow, winding and twisting as they head further downtown. They’re close. Cole turns to him, and he smiles. Dylan’s never seen him smile like that before-the wind ruffling his blonde bangs across his forehead, and his eyes bright. Dylan’s heart is pounding. He’s beautiful.
The car slows to a stop.
.
.
“We’re here,” Cole says, and 'there' is 'here' now, and that doesn't terrify him like he thought it would.
.
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-end