#brien-odylan

Coming out of the shower in such a hot afternoon felt refreshing, although you would have wanted to stay underneath the shower for a lot longer than you actually were. Dylan and you had an appointment to go that you couldn’t be late. Or at least that was what he told you. Not that he looked very concerned about the time considering that he was sprawled on the bed, still wearing the blue briefs he slept on.

His eyes were tuned to the TV, where an old movie was playing. If something, that was a taste of his that you couldn’t understand. Old movies. Personally you found them very boring.

Sighing, you shrugged it off and went to the closet, collecting some undergarments, a cotton flowery dress and bow sandals. It looked casual enough while still being refreshing in the blazing sun that should be out there. You had to remember to apply some sunblock before leaving.  

Back in the bedroom, Dylan had switched channels, MTV blasting with the newest tunes while he buttoned up the red and black plaid shirt he was wearing the day before. Ugh. No matter how much you told him, you couldn’t bend Dylan into having a shower before going out.

“What is it?” A snicker pulls his lips up. He knows what you’re thinking. “I promise I will shower when I get home.”

“You make it sound like I’m parenting you.” Laughing, you put down your clothes on the bed. “But what makes you think that what I was on about? I could’ve been staring at your ass, ya’ know?”

“Why would you be staring at my ass?” He acts oblivious, spinning on his heel to pick up the pants over the chair.

“You’ve got a cute butt.”

It’s his turn to laugh, his back still facing you as he slips into the pair the flattering pants he had in his hands. God. It wasn’t fair how well they suited him. It felt as if they had been designed to make his ass squishy and round. You had to refrain the urge to pinch those adorable cheeks.

“Not polite to stare, miss.”

“You look pretty hot in plaid, what can I do? I have to look.” Standing in front of you, he snoops an arm around your waist, pulling you to him, your drenched hair wetting his shirt. Dylan didn’t seem to mind. “What are you doing?“

There’s a known tune coming from the TV. You melt into his embrace, feeling warm inside that he actually remembers the song you danced to the first time you kissed, in a rainy night of November. The soft tickle of the teardrops falling onto your skin, your clothes dampening and his arms, warm and welcoming as he squeezed you into his hug, lips greedy for yours. In the background, that song was faint, nearly imperceptible.

“Dyl…” Purring you try move, gripping onto the towel that was still wrapped around your body. “I just got out of the shower, I can’t dance. What if my towel falls off?”

He kisses the tip of your nose, leaning in to suck on the crook of your neck. It’s inevitable to break down, clinging onto him, letting him engulf you in a warm embrace, arms wrapped around your lower back.

“You’re adorable.”

“Dylan, we’ll be late…” It comes out in a strangled moan. “Isn’t it important?”

“It is.” He keeps kissing your neck, trailing up with his nose until his lips nib at your earlobe. “We’ll be late either way.”

You laugh.