The One-Shots | D.O'B.

Bathroom Briefing* | Dylan

"Quick, in here—"

"What...Dylan, what are we—"

"In here. Come on, hurry. Shut the door. Shut the door."

With a distressed and confused huff, you push the bathroom door shut right as he reaches over your shoulder to flick the lock to the left.

Finally satisfied, he stands back, allowing you enough room to turn around and face him.

Which you do, eyebrow raised. "Baby...what are we doing in here?"

He hums, taking one, deliberate step toward you. Forcing you back against the closed door as he effortlessly cages you in.

"We're...taking a break," he says, hand coming up to guide a hair behind your ear as he looks down at you. "From the party."

"We are, are we?"

A singular nod as he brings himself even closer, his broad chest brushing yours, his lips only inches away. "We are. Is that a problem?"

Of course it's not a problem. It's never a problem with him, and he fucking knows it. Which is why you can already see the hint of a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth as he presses his palm to your cheek and guides your face up.

"Hm?" he murmurs when you don't reply, desperate just to make you say it.

Sadist.

"No," you answer, with as much nonchalant confidence you can muster. "No, not at all. I think it's sweet you wanna steal me away to chat."

His head cocks, tongue running over his teeth as he grins. "Wanna do more than chat, peach."

"Oh, yeah? What else? Wanna play some card games?"

His fingers move to your jaw, squeezing ever-so-slightly as he dips down and whispers, "No."

But he's smirking rather proudly, like he's almost amused with your teasing, and you feel your heart beat a little faster as you breathe him in.

He hasn't been more than twenty feet away from you all night.

But you've missed him. Missed having him this close to you.

And you especially missed his—

"Then what?" you ask innocently, lashes fluttering as the tip of his button nose brushes against yours.

He moves to the right, lips ghosting your cheek as he taunts you with a taste. "Come on, peach...you really gonna make me say it?"

You find his fancy dress shirt and tug. "You bet your fucking ass I am."

He hesitates for a moment, maybe contemplating a quippy retort (he always seems to have one) but eventually decides against it.

Instead...he kisses you.

And it's infinitely better than any remark he might have made because you've been needing a taste of this fucking man all goddamn night.

And he knows it. Knows that you haven't stopped yearning for him since the moment he rolled up the sleeves on his shirt. Knows you haven't stopped thinking about those hands of his since the moment he ran them through his hair just to mess it up.

Knows you haven't stopped squirming for him since the moment he sat down on the couch and placed you on his lap.

This isn't a new game for either of you. The majority of your relationship consists of teasing touches and playful games. You like to see who's gonna fold first. Who's gonna cave.