Disclaimer: I don't own Maximum Ride.

Warning: Contains slash, smut, angst. Fang/Iggy. Dylan/Iggy. (Italics = Flashback)

Unrequited And Unnoticed

"Iggy!" yelled Dylan from the kitchen. Particularly known as Iggy's kitchen since he was the one to always participate in there other than the duties of eating.

"Yeah?" the strawberry-blonde answered, entering the kitchen casually and looking at Dylan's forehead directly on the creases.

"I wanted breakfast and um, what is this for?" He held some sort of metal contraption in his hands.

Iggy scowled. "How would I know? I'm blind!"

Dylan seemed stunned. "Oh! Sorry, I keep forgetting. Uh, the thing is sort of metallic and sharp and– Ow, it cut my fingers." He winced as he healed them.

The tall winged blonde smirked, and then laughed. "Are you serious, dude?"

The other boy frowned. "Yes."

"That's a fork! Let me see," Iggy said as he took the metal utensil from Dylan's hands and felt it. Sure enough, it was as sharp to cut, and he was glad to have found out before. He gently caressed the fork, wincing at the slightest contact between peaked danger and flesh. "Yep, a fork. What were you going to do with it?"

"I was hungry and wanted to make food," the dark-blonde answered.

Iggy raised an eyebrow. "You, make food? God, you remind me of Max. Let me take care of it," he said.

Dylan nodded, and then remembering that Iggy was blind and what the little kids and Jeb did when they forwarded actions to the boy, spoke, "Uh, I nodded."

Iggy rolled his sightless eyes. "Uh-huh. So, what do you want?"

Dylan blushed, glad Iggy couldn't see him, and answered, "Eggs, toast and bacon?"

"Sure thing. I'll make more for the sleeping birds. Hey, mind getting me a pan? It's circle-shaped, metal. And the spatula, too. It looks like a giant non-pointy fork," Iggy instructed, laughing to himself at the last description as Gazzy had once called it.

Dylan looked behind him and immediately spotted both items. He handed them to Iggy. And as his sly fingers made slight contact with pale ones, he shuddered a little. Iggy turned on the stove and put the pan over it, heating it up.

Dylan wondered in extreme curiosity how the avian-boy knew the right temperature. Then as Iggy whipped on his heels with the giant fork on his hand to face him, Dylan grew even more curious, yet bewildered. How did he know where he w–

"Dyl, get me eggs, a cup and the whole bag of bacon," Iggy said, putting on his 'Master Chef is Serious' face.

"Okay," he responded, seconds later putting the items on the counter where Iggy could feel them.

"Thanks," the strawberry-blonde answered as he poured oil on the pan, and started cooking the eggs and bacon.

Dylan fiddled with his fingers. "I'll…toast the bread."

"Sure. Make sure to toast more than fifteen slices," Iggy reminded.

After ten or so minutes of perfect and clumsy cooking (Dylan), the food was ready, and sleepy bird kids plus an adult all filled the kitchen table. Iggy sat in between Gazzy and Dylan, followed by Nudge, Jeb, and Angel. They all ate in silence, enjoying the breakfast both blonde boys had prepared.

It was not until Gazzy ripped one accidentally, and everyone groaned and moaned. Except for Dylan, who got up his chair and ran into the bathroom. Gagging sounds could be heard, making Nudge nauseous. Hearing this, Iggy automatically knew what was going on. He made a face, and just as he heard a chair move he tensed.

"No, I'll go," Iggy said, and Jeb sat back down.

Cautiously, he entered the bathroom and closed the door quietly behind him, listening to the retching sounds, which were getting louder by the second. Iggy crouched beside Dylan and rubbed his back.

"You have to get used to the smell first," he informed gently.

Dylan looked up; his face seemed paler than pale, his dark-blonde hair stuck to his face with sweat and his turquoise pupils were twice their size. Though of course, Iggy couldn't see this, and instead smiled reassuringly. Dylan took a deep breath and colour returned to his face. It took a while for him to speak.

"That was…repulsive." He breathed in the fresh, soap-scented bathroom air.

"It's Gazzy. He has…digestive problems."

Dylan nodded weakly. "Oh."

Feeling Iggy's sensitive fingers continue to rub his back and wings through the thin cloth of his shirt, Dylan felt better and queerly, warmer. He looked at Iggy's face, whom was looking at his left cheek with the same smile. He couldn't help but stare—glad once again that the strawberry-blonde couldn't see—at the pale skin, fleshy pink cheeks; it was a collage of colliding colours. His reddish-blonde hair, tips streaked with black, stood out and he actually noticed something odd.

There was a thin wire hoop hanging from Iggy's ear. It made him look…sexy. Dylan's face turned cherry-red as he thought this, and his eyes trailed down, landing on Iggy's lips. They looked pinkish like his flawless cheeks, and soft.

Knock knock.

Iggy spoke, "That's probably Jeb, w–"

Dylan's mouth collided with Iggy's in a rough kiss. Their lips brushed against each other, enough to create bruises. Mostly it was the dark-blonde who was doing all the work, and the other boy just sat there, huge amounts of perplexity spreading through his mind. Slowly, Dylan pushed the older boy to the floor, keeping their lips locked firmly.

Another knock. Iggy's forehead began to produce cold sweat. He couldn't reach for the door knob since the other boy had them pinned securely to the floor. He never knew Dylan could be so…strong. The door knob rattled, and then a voice was heard.

"Dylan? Iggy, is he okay?" Jeb called from outside.

But he couldn't answer since Dylan had slammed him hard against a wall, covering his only mouth with his. Iggy struggled, but not for long. A minute ago, he had been comforting the boy, and then next, he was kissing back, being pushed jaggedly against the cold floor.

Masochistically, it felt good, like, heaven? The door was knocked on again and he still wasn't let go of. That is, until Iggy could feel his oxygen depleting and he kicked Dylan—on the private spot. Dylan gasped and he stood up, clutching himself. The door opened.

"Are you boys okay?" asked Jeb, stepping in.

He saw Dylan on the floor, clutching himself into a ball, and Iggy leaning casually on a wall.

The strawberry-blonde turned his head toward Jeb's direction. "He's passing through it. I'll take him to my room."

"Okay," answered Jeb as Iggy draped Dylan over his shoulder, and headed towards his room.

As he entered, he felt a presence. Gazzy.

"Iggy! I made this th– What's wrong with him?"

"You," Iggy acknowledged, rolling his blue eyes.

"Ha, ha!" Gazzy laughed. "Okay. I'll explain this to you later. You can tend to your boyfriend right now, I'll leave you two alone," said Gazzy as he headed out, and closed the door behind him.

"He's not my boyfriend!" Iggy cried, throwing Dylan on the bed.

The dark-blonde sat up, groaning. "I'm not?" he questioned simply.

Iggy blushed crimson. "N–"

"I'm just kidding with you." Dylan snickered.

Iggy blushed deeper. "W-why did you kiss me, dammit."

"Because you're cute."

"I'm what?" Iggy scowled, offended by the compliment.

"You heard me. You're pretty cute, Iggy," Dylan repeated.

The strawberry-blonde felt his throat go dry. He remembered, a long time ago—okay, not really, just two years ago—when…Fang had said the exact same words.

Max and the little ones were watching television; Iggy was cooking…and Fang—hell knew where he was. Iggy calmly wafted the rich smell of steak, soufflé and strawberry shortcake—which Angel had sweetly requested. As he took out the pink cake from the oven, he felt a familiar rush of invisible wind.

Iggy ignored it, putting the cake on the table, beginning to add frosting to it. Licking his lips, he scooped up a finger-full of frosting from the cake and put it in his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the sugar-coated finger, savouring the sweet flavour.

"You have a little frosting on your lip," said Fang's voice.

Iggy nodded, though before he could lick it off, Fang's hand had attached itself to the back of his head and their lips connected. Iggy's eyes went enourmously wide. They parted.

"Sweet, I like it. You're pretty cute, Iggy," Fang's voice faded as he left the kitchen.

Iggy had been left speechless. Frozen. And his lips began craving Fang's warm ones.

Dylan stared at the other boy. Iggy was probably thinking about something since his face showed…well, deep in thought-ness. Taking advantage of the moment, he stood up swiftly and pinned Iggy to a wall, kissing him with a lustful hunger. He couldn't avoid it. Literally.

He had been designed to be Max's 'other perfect half', yet he didn't feel that way. Whenever he tried to get close, she would push him away and snap out hurtful insults. It was conspicuous that he wasn't accepted in Her Book. Then he'd tried Fang. But that didn't last long. The boy unquestioningly despised him.

It wasn't until a few days ago when the night was bright with stars and there was an astonishing meteor shower. They had talked for quite a while. Dylan had liked it. Iggy hadn't pushed him away and called him names, nor glare intense daggers at him. It had been a smooth, intimate conversation with jokes added. Iggy was different, and in the few days that they had hung out, he felt closer to him than anybody else. And more.

Dylan continued to kiss him, glad when Iggy had ceased his struggling and began kissing him back. He parted his mouth from his and began nipping at the boy's neck. He breathed in the scent—mild peppermint with chocolate. Iggy moaned, one that he tried to suppress but failed. Dylan began ravishing his neck, leaving dark blue-coloured hickeys everywhere.

"Ah, that feels good…" Iggy blurted out subconsciously.

Dylan blushed. He actually made him say that out loud. Which fairly pleased him. He smiled and cupped the strawberry-blonde's face in his hands. Even though Iggy couldn't see him, the blue eyes looked straight into his.

"I'm smiling," Dylan said. Iggy furrowed his eyebrows. "And, I think I like you."

That was it. Those very words tore his heart—again. Iggy couldn't bear them. Even when Fang had said them a year ago.

His eyelids felt heavy as the noise downstairs increased. Max was trying to make lunch, though all the kids disagreed, and Iggy was too sore to even fly to the kitchen. Earlier, he and Fang had had a huge argument leading to a fight. He didn't even remember how it got started. Iggy sighed as he heard his room door open and then close.

"What do you want?" he asked acidly.

"I wanted to apologize," said Fang in his simplistic tone of voice.

"Yeah, like you would be one to. What was the whole fight about anyway?" Iggy asked, sitting up on the bed and feeling Fang sit next to him.

"I don't remember."


"Iggy?" Fang questioned.


Complete silence.

"Never mind."

Iggy scowled. "What? Tell me!"

Fang breathed, "I think I like you."

The blonde didn't have time to respond because Fang had already jumped out the window. It was as if those words hadn't been spoken.

Tears streamed down pale cheeks. Iggy sniffled. One thing he hated the most in the world besides being told he's liked then silently rejected was crying. In front of a boy. He choked back tears and hadn't noticed—well, couldn't, really—that Dylan was looking at him with concern.

"Iggy? Are you alright?"

Iggy hiccupped. He didn't want to be seen like this. Yet he didn't give a freaking damn. He shook his head and abruptly threw himself on Dylan, snaking his arms around his neck and placing his lips on his in an emotion-filled kiss. He began pouring his heart out—and nothing could stop him now. Dylan could feel his heart beat faster and lifted Iggy up, pushing him gingerly onto the bed. He sighed to himself in satisfaction. Iggy had begun crying out of nowhere and now he was throwing himself at him like a ragdoll in need of stitches. There was no sympathy involved, nonetheless. Only a mysterious feeling that they both felt contemporaneously.

They kissed again and fumbled with each other's clothing until T-shirts and jeans were sprawled all over the floor, leaving skin and delicate feathers vulnerable. The dark-blonde breathed on the white cheek, while his hand massaged Iggy's thigh, making him moan. Dylan pursed his lips and shakingly lowered the hem of the boy's boxers.

Iggy stopped him, grabbing his hands and putting them to his lips. "Don't be a chicken. Don't you know what to do next?"

Dylan bit his lip and spoke in a whisper, "Honestly, I…I-I don't know."

Iggy raised an eyebrow. "Oh. Let me…show you, then." His cheeks turned a frosty pink.

Carefully, Iggy pulled down his boxers down to his ankles; Dylan then helped taking it fully off, throwing it on the floor. His turquoise eyes widened as he took a long look at Iggy's crotch—which had some creamy-coloured liquid coming out of the tip. He took a deep breath. He didn't need to be told what he had to do next.

Dylan licked his lips and bowed his head. Sensually, he licked the dripping tip, making Iggy squeak. Then in a flash, he had the whole mouthful of flesh-in-a-stick in his mouth. With every lick and suck, Iggy would instinctively jerk up, pleasure revolving all around him. Then a thick, milky-white liquid shot into Dylan's mouth and he choked, drinking most of it. Iggy's head dropped tiredly on a pillow, panting, his face flushed.

Dylan wiped his mouth with his arm. "Wow. You look lewd."

"That's because I am," Iggy admitted. "The next thing to do is…" He spread his legs revealing the whole set of private parts. Dylan blushed heavily. "Put your fingers in this hole."

As in demonstration, he licked his fingers thoroughly, and entered one in his hole. Iggy grunted and began pushing them in, then out. He mewled and took them out.

His face turned to Dylan's direction. "Make sure you do…the scissor motion…like this." Another demonstration. "So when you enter me…it won't hurt."

Hearing Iggy talk like that made Dylan's face burn, and oddly, he felt something throbbing pleasingly in his boxer shorts. He had no clue what that last sentence meant, so instead he replied with a firm 'okay'. Shockingly, he shoved his own fingers into Iggy's mouth instead of his.

As the disturbance of the sudden action faded, the pale boy's warm tongue teasingly swirled around Dylan's fingers, which made the relentless tingling in his boxers grow all the more. Once they were completely wet, he took them out and slowly slid one in Iggy's entrance, doing what Iggy had done previously with his own fingers. After a while, frustration began building up inside the blind boy.

"Hurry the freaking up, and put in the other one!" Iggy deplored, greatly distressed.

"Okay, okay…"

Hesitantly, Dylan put in the other finger, and started doing the scissoring movement that Iggy had taught him. A trickle of drool came out of the strawberry-blonde's mouth as he moved, trying to get the fingers in deeper. Then Iggy screamed, causing for Dylan's spirit to jump out of his body. Not literally, but almost.

"D-did I do something wrong?" Dylan panicked.

"No…" Iggy croaked. "You hit…my good spot. It felt…awesome. Um, I want you to put it in now…"

The dark-blonde looked momentarily confused. "Put it in?"

Iggy's head turned towards a wall, hiding his red face. "Uh…your, um. You know! Ugh, your dick! Put it in my hole, the one just you just stretched!" He closed his eyes in embarrassment as if that would make him disappear.

Iggy waited. Waited for Dylan's perfect laughter to fill his reddened ears and tell him what a pervert he was. Iggy knew he was a pervert already, but the other boy would surely mean it as an insult. And that was the last thing he needed, next to the over-sensitive Max calling him a sexist-pig. He hated that.

"Ah…" Dylan's voice. Iggy winced. "Alright then."

And right there and then he heard the scrabbling of soft clothing, Dylan spit and a few seconds after something touched his entrance. Then he realized–

"Ow! Dyl, stop– S-stop! You have to let me get used to it, stupid!" Iggy snapped, trying his hardest to not beat the crap out of him.

Dylan slowed his pace until he came to a full stop. He looked at Iggy, who looked worn out. Suddenly, he felt his ankles being pulled, and in a flash Iggy was on top of him. The lying-flat-on-his-back position wasn't one position that Iggy did not accommodate with and his wings agreed.

"Uh, Ig–"

"Shh. I'm trying to concentrate…"

Fixated in the process, Iggy slowly aligned Dylan's member to his entrance and pushed down. Then he lifted himself up and pushed down again. Iggy groaned. Dylan withheld a moan. Then Iggy went faster; the tenth time his sweet spot was hit, and he screamed.

The rapturous, pulsing feeling had increased in Dylan and he vise-versa'd their positions. Iggy lay under him as he thrust in and hit his sweet spot once again. The older boy bit his lip, enjoying the full pleasure that was being injected into him; this was way better than heaven. This time the horrible back-flat position was an exception.

"Ungh…more, more! Go deeper!" he screeched, bucking his hips.

Dylan seemed happy to oblige. He thrust himself into the warm abyss, breathing heavy every time Iggy's entrance seamlessly contracted, squeezing him tightly. His pants increased by the minute, and soon his whole body started to quiver. Dylan squeezed his eyes shut, continuously striking the other boy's sweet spot and enjoying the sounds he managed to expel from him. He was also fond of the noise every time their bodies would clash against each other—a mixture of slaps covered with sweat.

Though, it sure made his heart pound when he opened his eyes and gazed at Iggy's face as lecherous bliss spread like butter all over it. Iggy groaned, feeling Dylan's hard member ram boisterously against his prostate. And just for a second Fang's voice popped into his head. He could hear it, but the words spoken sounded fuzzy.

"Fang…?" Iggy gasped in a whisper.

"Huh?" Dylan looked down at the boy below him and his lips crinkled into a frown.

Iggy didn't answer, too focused on his body that had started to inexplicably tremble. Dylan felt his tremble too as he dismissed the boy's quiet outburst as an inconsequential mutter of Iggy's arbitrary thoughts.

They both simultaneously screamed. After seconds of unforeseen spasms, Dylan saw that there was white, sticky fluid all over the bed sheets, on Iggy's stomach and on his. He looked at the boy's exhausted face, and felt his body become hot. No, not the erotic way, it was all something else. Dylan deliberately recognized this feeling, one he didn't have for Max. Sluggishly, he encircled his arms around Iggy, and they both fell asleep, even though it was barely ten in the morning.


Iggy woke up, feeling his backside instantly pound with pain. Then he remembered what had happened about an hour ago. Abruptly, Iggy dwelled upon an important, yet left out detail. They had been so damn loud. How come no one came up and checked up on them?

Carefully, he slipped out of Dylan's hold, wrapped himself in a small blanket and stepped outside. He walked into the kitchen, the living room, the bedrooms, even the bathrooms. There were no sounds of talking, walking or even breathing. It was eerily quiet. Iggy thought. The flock wasn't in the safe house at the moment, and so, were they kidnapped? But he would have been aware of even the slightest noise, knowing his keen sense of hearing never failed him. He wrapped the blanket tighter around his body as his hand shakily searched for the front door doorknob, finding it later without a single error.

"Iggy? Where are you going?"

"Ah, Jeb!" Iggy turned around, bumping against the man's body. He heard Jeb sigh. "I-I thought you guys were outside and I wanted to check, s–"

"Outside? No, all the kids are in the game room, by Angel's and Nudge's room. They said they heard sounds coming from your room, and we didn't want to disturb you since you might have been aiding Dylan, so I sent them over there. We're currently playing a suspenseful round of Monopoly: Sky Edition."

Iggy couldn't answer at what Jeb had just said. Because the only words filling his head as Dylan came downstairs and greeted Jeb were, "We have a game room?"

His mind had begun erupting into mindless and hyperactive flames as he rushed past the two, wounding his way through rooms and reaching the game room.

Dylan could only choke in his breath, staring as Iggy ran. Butt-naked. He picked up the blanket that had fallen on his sneakers and yelled while chasing after the tall boy, "Iggy! Your blanket! Oh, my God! Your wings, hide yourself with your wings, dammit! Come back here! Nudge, Gazzy, Angel—cover your eyes!"

Jeb just shook his head and sighed, smiling.

A/N: Okay, I know most of you people out there hate Dylan, but I quite like him, lol. By the way, this one-shot is based upon when Max and Fang are in their 'vacation' and Dylan is staying with the other half of the flock in the safe house. So…yeah.

Did you guys enjoy it? (:

P.S. – I felt so ashamed writing this. XD