Work Text:
midterm exams
“Just fuckin’ do it, Strome.” Mitch kicks at the legs of his chair. “Do it! Just do it!” Dylan is never letting Mitch on the internet again.
“Shut up,” Dylan hisses. “Shut up, shut up, oh my god.” He tries to kick back as stealthily as he can while the work study assistant rolls his cart behind their table and starts to shelve books. Mitch is flexing and mouthing just do it at him and he can’t - he can’t do this, not during the run up to finals week, not with Mitch gleefully staring at him ready to chirp him for his failure to ask Connor out.
For the third time. The third time this semester.
Dylan hasn’t been “turned down,” exactly. That would mean that he’d gotten around to the asking out part of asking Connor out. The problem, and it’s the lamest problem Dylan has ever encountered, is that Connor is so nice. Every time Dylan gets within orbit of the circulation desk Connor will turn his head and smile and Dylan completely flips out. He thinks about how he knows that Connor stress bakes cookies with his roommate and gives them away. Connor often brought in contraband ziploc bags of parchment paper covered cookies and after he learned Dylan and Mitch’s names he’d taken to marking them in big, looping print. (Dylan hoarded and rationed one white chocolate chip cookie a day during finals until they’d started to go stale and he’d let Mitch loose on them when he got high). Connor probably helps the elderly cross the street, and carries their grocery bags for them.
When he sees Connor smile as he pushes the cart full of books down the aisle, Dylan’s reminded of how he spent his own Sunday calling Mitchell Marner a little bitch, and when Dylan eventually lost the Mario Kart tournament, poured the rest of his beer over Mitch’s head.
So he’s a little afraid he’s not quite good enough for this mild mannered, awkward dude who smiles at him and waves when he comes into the library, no matter how disgusting Dylan looks at the time. Dylan has shown up during midterms with half a poptart hanging out of his mouth, stained sweats on and sandals. Connor waved from behind the desk and pointed at his own mouth before pointing at Dylan and wagging a finger. Dylan squinted at him, brain whirring, while he mindlessly chewed. Connor had been wearing one of his brighter button ups, light green, the cuffs rolled up his forearms. It was distracting, okay? Dylan finished his pop-tart with a scowl. Connor always looked so put together, even in the midst of midterms - Dylan knows he has a full course load, plus odd hours at the library.
He has to be a robot. Or a government plant.
He’s woefully thinking about how nice and put together Connor is when Connor’s cart jostles their table. “Oh, sorry!” Dylan squints up at him again, trying to see if he can hear any mechanical noises coming from Connor’s joints. He hasn’t shared this theory with Mitch.
“How’s studying going?” Connor asks, hip resting against the table. Dylan wonders what it would be like to be a stronger man as he lifts his gaze from Connor’s ass.
“Not great, McDavid,” Mitch says after a beat of Dylan trying to string letters together in his head and failing. “Not great.” Connor scrunches his face up in sympathy, tapping his fingertips on one of Dylan’s books.
“Sucks, dude.” Connor sighs, heavy. “I hope your exams go well, Dylan.” He pauses, tilts his head at Mitch. “Marner.” Dylan makes a noise he hopes conveys his sincerest reciprocity.
When Connor pushes his cart away from their table, Dylan watches him pick up abandoned coffee cups from a workstation and put them on the cart. He hopes Mitch didn’t see.
“Yeah, no, you’re definitely not good enough for him.” Mitch says, because Mitch is an asshole. “Also, you’re really stupid.”
Dylan despairs. He needs some sort of plan.
It’s the middle of the night, and Mitch is running late for their cram session. Dylan is bored. The library’s open 24 hours a day during exams and thank sweet baby Jesus. Dylan managed to scout out and procure the perfect table that can not only house his mountain of stats notes, but also has a spare corner for Mitch to study for his history of something stupid class.
He stares at the screen of his phone willing Mitch to show up with contraband french fries and milkshakes like he promised twenty minutes ago.
He taps through his apps without thinking. No new snaps, nothing interesting on facebook aside from finals doomsday posts.
Grindr loads quickly and he scrolls through the usual campus crowd, lax bros with snapbacks and abs on parade. He doesn’t really have time to hook up, not with a week of exams, but. It could help relieve stress? Or something. He doesn’t put much effort into the browsing, anyway.
There’s a flash of light hair and a smile and he’s clicking without thinking.
Connor
online 10 minutes ago
250 feet away
He drops his phone on the table with a too-loud clatter, looking around surreptitiously. There’s no one in this corner of the library, though he’d seen several design students possibly sobbing in the computer lab he’d passed through.
His phone chirps ominously.
hey! it’s connor from the library.
duh you prob knew that. sry ANYWAY i saw you were on and wanted to say hi. i’m almost done for the night hope you can get some sleep!! good luck!!!
Because of course Connor would send an inspirational message over Grindr. Of course. Dylan makes bad decisions pretty regularly, and accepts his fate as he types a response.
thx! bored waiting for mitch
u wanna get off after u get off?
After a second he blinks and stares down in horror at his phone. What has he done? Connor is probably sitting at the desk downstairs totally creeped out. He’ll never be able to come back to the library. Mitch will never let him live this down. Oh, god. How is he going to get books? He’ll have to pay someone to come in and check them out for him.
He fully blames Mitch because if Mitch had been on time Dylan would have never ordered that third americano and thought this was a good idea.
yeah hold on
He drops his phone again. Spends the next ten minutes anxiously packing up all of his shit, then unpacking it - he doesn’t want to, what, seem eager? He texts Mitch snooze you later loser and bounces his legs nervously. He does not look at his phone.
Connor appears from behind a bookshelf, bag slung over his shoulder. “Ready to go?” he asks around a yawn. His shirt and dress pants are a little rumpled, scuffed sneakers peeking out from the slightly too long hems.
“I can give you a ride, or whatever,” Connor says, bumping their shoulders together on the way out of the building.
“‘Kay,” Dylan says, clutching his books to his chest with sweaty hands.
Connor - Connor is anything but timid, once they’re both safe and warm in his car. He has a firm palm on the back of Dylan’s neck to pull him closer, trying to fit their bodies around the gear stick.
Dylan pushes his hand under the fabric covering Connor’s side to feel hot skin under his palm.
“Whoa, whoa, easy there.” Connor says, grinning. His hand creeps up Dylan’s thigh and squeezes. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“You want me to be a gentleman?” he pants against Connor’s mouth. “I can do that.”
Connor snorts, looking down at where Dylan’s other hand is cupping the line of his dick through his jeans. Right.
“I can totally do that.” Dylan has many flaws, but being a competitive dick is his specialty. He pulls back to take Connor in, streetlamps casting half of his face in shadow. He looks wrecked, mouth red and eyes half closed.
He presses a chaste kiss to Connor’s mouth, feels Connor’s slick lips part under his.
“Mmm-mm,” he hums into the kiss before nipping at his bottom lip, pulling away. “I’m being a gentleman. Three date rule, right?”
It’s dark in the car but he can see Connor pouting.
first date
Dylan’s a goddamned idiot.
Between exams and the general chaos of lives as students it becomes increasingly difficult to plan dates. They exchange numbers and in between Connor’s cute grumblings about his professors and Dylan’s complaining about Mitch they manage to find a time they can meet up for a movie.
They decide on a terrible reboot action movie that they can laugh about and pick apart plot holes over dinner.
He is counting to ten as Connor’s hand slides higher on his thigh. Connor’s hand shifts over his inseam as he reaches with his other hand to grab at the popcorn between them. He turns his head enough to see Connor’s innocent smile and the blush across his cheeks in the burst of light from an explosion on screen.
Connor is maybe, just maybe, not such a perfect robot.
second date
Bowling, as far as un-sexy dates go, goes well. Very well. Connor gets a strike and to celebrate tries to choreograph a chest bump. They end up pressed together in a lingering hug, the wind knocked out of Dylan. Some teenagers waiting for a clear lane start throwing french fries at them.
And then Connor walks him home, pins him firmly against the door to his and Mitch’s apartment and proceeds to demolish every last ounce of restraint Dylan is holding onto. His thighs are spread on either side of one of Dylan’s, rocking his hips.
“Fuck, fuck,” Connor chants, flushed cheek pressed to Dylan’s throat. “You wanted to wait, right? One more date.” He presses lightly at Dylan’s shoulder.
“One more date,” Connor mutters to himself. He rocks forward on his heels to press a kiss to Dylan’s lips. “One more. Better make it a good one, eh?”
third date
“This doesn’t count, Dylan,” Connor complains from where he’s sprawled on the couch in Dylan’s living room.
Dylan jumps over the back of the couch and lands next to him. He only squishes Connor’s feet a little. “It totally does. It’s in the name. Study date.” Connor blatantly ignores him in favor of reading his textbook. Dylan doesn’t whine but it’s close.
They’re whispering, voices hushed over the low noise of the television. Mitch had gone to bed with a lot of finger guns and blowjob mimicking over Connor's shoulder that thankfully only Dylan could see.
“C’mon, c’mon. We only have one more exam each.” He slides his palms up Connor’s legs, over the soft sweats he has on. “I want to touch you before winter break,” he says. Connor looks up and gives a half smile. “If you want to.”
Connor rolls his eyes and puts the book on the floor. He spreads his thighs and slouches down against the arm of the couch, hooking a calf around Dylan’s waist. “Go on, then.” He waves a hand magnanimously.
Dylan is usually smooth.
Usually.
His first instinct is to dive face first into Connor’s crotch. Instead he tugs on the waistband of his sweats as he raises up on his arms above Connor to kiss him. “Yeah? What do you want?” He gets Connor’s hands on his back pulling him closer.
“You,” he says. Looks up at Dylan with wide eyes and a flush across the bridge of his nose.
Dylan’s mouth is open on a moan, Connor’s thumb hooked in the spit slick corner of his mouth. After a series of unfortunate positions they’ve ended up with Dylan straddling Connor, calves tucked to Connor’s thighs.
Connor looks warily up at him and rubs the side of his own ribs. Dylan may have accidentally kneed him. Once or twice.
He knows Mitch is asleep just down the hall, and it would be against the heavily edited “ROOMMATE RULES” posted on the refrigerator to bang on the couch - but Connor’s pliant under him, dick hard and pressed to Dylan’s ass. He absently rubs the pad of his finger over the ridge of Dylan’s teeth.
“Shhh,” Connor shushes him, pushing his thumb to Dylan’s tongue. Dylan glares and rolls his hips, pants slipping further down. He watches Connor’s abs contract, the way his hips twist to get more friction. Connor whines when one of Dylan’s hand lands on his chest, runs up to loosely circle his hand around the base of Connor’s throat. He whines again, eyes fluttering closed.
“You shhh,” Dylan snarks back quietly, biting down gently where Connor’s placed his index and ring finger on Dylan’s lower lip. He presses the side of his thumb into the dip between Connor’s collarbones. Watches Connor’s chest rise and fall with his sucked in breath.
“Huh,” he says, putting a little more of his weight into his hand. “We,” he clears his throat and reluctantly moves his hand to press into the cushion behind Connor’s head. “We can come back to this.” Connor’s eyes are huge and he nods wordlessly, bucking his hips up.
They should go to Dylan's room. He could get Connor naked, spread out on his sheets. He's too distracted thumbing over Connor's nipples through his shirt, making him hiss.
Dylan’s slow to respond when Connor’s hands move to his ass, rocking him back and forth in his lap. He bends to tuck his elbows next to Connor’s head, easier to press their mouths together. The fabric of his boxers is getting damp where the head of his cock is pressed to it, sticking to his skin.
He rededicates himself to seeing how far down Connor's flush goes, pushing his shirt up and mouthing at the warm skin at the hollow of his throat. The fabric catches around Connor’s armpits and Dylan leaves it there, pressing kisses to the reddened skin. He’s seen Connor sunburnt, fresh off of vacation - a light dusting of freckles on red skin, he’d wanted to press Connor against the circulation desk and press his lips to his pink cheeks.
He draws his nose and lips over Connor’s chest, thinks about having Connor spread out like this mid-summer.
The couch starts to creak just as Dylan realizes he's sweating as he pushes back onto Connor's cock. Connor giggles, a stifled, cut off noise into the shoulder of Dylan's shirt. He's digging his knees into the plush cushions of the couch, hands gripping at Connors sides for purchase.
"C'mon, Dylan," Connor turns his head to breathe hot and low in Dylan's ear. "I'm so close." He feels Connor bring his knees up, tilts his hips up while his fingers tighten on Dylan's hips to drag him heavy against his cock.
"So close," Connor mutters into the curve of his neck. He mindlessly bites under Dyan’s ear, dragging his teeth over the sensitive skin. Dylan can hear himself, soft hiccuping whimpers escaping from his mouth. “So,” Connor groans, hands sliding under the waistband of Dylan’s boxers to grip at his ass, “close, fuck.”
Connor’s head twists restlessly on the arm of the couch. The sting of nails biting into Dylan’s skin makes him groan and fuck, fuck, he feels Connor’s dick throb before his whole body tenses, straining up into Dylan.
“Oh, my god,” Connor stares up at him. Dylan brushes the sweaty hair away from his face and grins. Connor’s arms are shaking where they’re clinging to Dylan’s sides, little tremors followed by small moans.
“Same,” he chokes out, sitting up and rearranging so he’s got one of Connor’s thick thighs between his. He palms his dick, pressing it into the meat of Connor’s thigh. “I’ve wanted this, want you, want - ” Connor slaps a gentle hand over his mouth.
Dylan’s mouth parts under his palm. Wrenches his eyes shut when Connor’s hand presses harder while he fucks down into Connor’s thigh. When he comes he bites desperately into Connor’s palm, hips jerking and head dropping forward.
“Fuck,” Connor pants. Dylan’s collapsed on top of him, one of his arms hanging over the side of the couch. He fumbles around and his fingers knock into a discarded notebook. He pushes it away and buries his face in Connor’s neck.
“Yeah,” Dylan says dreamily.
He wakes up overheated, boxers sticking to his dick with dried come. Connor’s pressed all along his side and murmuring quietly as he rubs his face into Dylan’s shoulder, and -
a shopping bag of shredded paper is dumped over the side of the couch.
“It’s the best I could do on such short notice!” Mitch yells as he runs down the hall.