I don't own anything. I'm on a Sky High Kick, and this plot bunny just came to me.

Undisclosed Desires

The sun had set, leaving the pair staring at the night sky. Her eyes fluttered closed as his hands gently brushed the hair away from her face. He hummed quietly, looking at her. She nuzzled her head into his shoulder. He stretched his legs out in front of him, curling his toes in the sand. Beige sand covered her feet and speckled her auburn hair.

"We should go," Warren said softly, glancing around at the almost deserted beach. A few stray sun-worshippers were gathering up the last of their belongings.

Layla nodded in agreement yet made no indication that she would move. Warren groaned when he realized how far away the car was. Curse them for walking. He stood up and took Layla's hand, lifting her to her feet.

She swayed tiredly, resting her head on his shoulder as they walked. He wrapped his arm around her while her hand clutched onto his waist. He could feel her drifting off into dream-land when he heard her breathing steady. He nudged her gently but got no response. He sighed and picked her up, carrying her the rest of the way to the car. Seriously, that girl couldn't stay awake even during their movie-marathons. By ten she would fall asleep. The only way she managed to stay awake on her eighteenth birthday was the copious amounts of coffee Warren had provided.

After what seemed like an eternity later, Warren reached the car. He opened the door and placed Layla in the passenger seat, careful not to wake her up. He sat in his seat, turning the key in the ignition. He panicked when the radio began to blare.

He hurriedly turned down the volume, glancing at Layla. She was still asleep, but had titled her head just slightly. He turned the volume back up, just a little.

Warren tapped his fingers on the steering wheel absentmindedly. It had become a habit. As he parked the car, Layla opened her eyes.

Warren smirked at her. He got out of the car, opening the door for Layla. She stood unsteadily.

"Did you carry me?" she asked as they walked into the hotel.

"No, you floated," he drawled, hitting the elevator button.

She raised a brow in amusement, "I don't recall having that power."

Once in their room, she immediately fell onto the bed.

"We're all sandy," Warren pointed out. Layla shook her head, watching grains of sand scatter onto the carpet.

Layla sighed and dragged herself into the bathroom. A few minutes later, a buzzing came from her purse. Warren reached for her phone, rolling his eyes at the caller ID.

"Hello?" he asked gruffly.

"Where's Layla?" Ms. Williams demanded.

"She's in the bathroom. I'll tell her to call you back," he answered as politely as he could.

"Why wasn't she answering her phone? I've called at least ten times!"

"We were at a few museums," he replied in a clipped tone.

He heard her mumble something unintelligble and she said goodbye before hanging up.

Layla exited the bathroom, running her hands through her wet hair. Warren tossed the phone to her, averting his gaze from the short, nearly transluscent nightgown that she preferred in the summer.

"Your mom called."

Layla made a face, "Sorry."

Warren stared at her with an expressionless face. She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself closer to him.

"I'm sorry you had to deal with her," she said, gazing up at him.

His features softened and he shrugged.

"Are you done in there?" he gestured to the bathroom, leaving her embrace. She nodded.

He ducked in quickly after taking his sweatpants from the chair. Layla sat on the bed, lost in thought. She heard the water turn on and closed her eyes, letting the sound soothe her. She had so much to think about. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. What was going on with her? Was it too much sun? Or being cramped in a tiny hotel room with him? Or was it something else? Whatever that something was, it made her want to touch him, and not in a platonic way. She blushed profusely, knowing he would think her insane. He'd grunt out a "hippie" and roll his eyes. She was his best friend, that was all. Layla let her eyes drift to a close, dozing off.

Minutes later, Warren walked into the room, running a towel through his growing hair. He spotted the snooring Layla and smiled. He pushed back the covers on one side of the bed before gently picking her up and setting her down, covering her with a sheet. He pushed the covers on the other side back, yawning as he slipped in next to her. She let out a small murmur. He could have sworn she said his name, but he figured he was imagining things.

Layla opened her eyes to see Warren leaning over her, a look of concern on his face.

"You're awake," relief washed over his features.

"What happened?" she asked, propping herself up on her elbow. She blew the wavy strands of hair out of her face.

"You tell me. I've been trying to wake you up for a half hour," he said dryly.

"What?"

"You pretty much passed out last night. By the time I was done with my shower you were sleeping like a baby," he offered a smirk.

"Oh," Layla said.

"I thought you were sick, turning red and everything," he said, leaning closer. He placed a hand on her forehead, but she didn't feel warm.

Layla blinked rapidly. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and she wondered why he never dared to kiss her lips.

"We better head out if we want to get to LA," Warren began, lifting himself off of the bed.

Layla sat up warily, eyeing Warren out of the corner of her eye. He pulled on a plain tee shirt and she found herself wishing that he hadn't bothered.

"Are you going to sit there all day?" Warren quirked his brow.

Layla stifled a chuckle and slid off of the bed. Warren crossed the room to her, running his hands down her arms gingerly.

"You scared me, you know," he said softly.

"I didn't mean to," her breath hitched in her throat as his hands travelled to her hips. He rubbed the thin cotton between his fingers, tickling her.

Warren pulled her closer to him, enveloping her in a warm hug. Layla rested her head on his chest.

"Your mom would have killed me if you were sick," he joked.

"We should get going soon," she sighed. Leave it to him to mention her mother just when she was about to muster up some courage.

She moved out of his grasp and leaned over to pick out clothes from her luggage, effectively ending the little moment, whatever it was.

The AC died, just as it tended to. Layla sat in the passanger seat, sweating like a pig. She stretched her legs out in front of her as far as she could. Warren glared at the road ahead of them, attempting to not set the stalled cars in front of them on fire. The 101 had to be one of the levels in hell.

Layla set her book down, not being able to focus with all the honking going on around her. The wind coming through the open windows made the pages of the book flutter about.

"Can we close the windows?"

"And overheat to death?" Warren asked. It didn't matter to him, he was a pyro. He just wanted to keep heatstroke away from his friend.

Layla nodded and rolled up her window, leaving it a crack open. She turned back to her book, and began reading outloud from The Stark Munro Letters by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle: " You know how easily and suddenly these things happen, beginning in playful teasing and ending in something a little warmer than friendship. You squeeze the slender arm which is passed through yours, you venture to take the little gloved hand, you say good night at absurd length in the shadow of the door. It is innocent and very interesting, love trying his wings in a first little flutter."

Warren glanced at her, a look in his eyes she had never seen before. But as soon as the flash of longing- or was it hurt?-occurred, it was gone. His face was stoic once more as he focused on the road. Layla gulped audibly, continuing on with the book, blinking back tears. She stopped reading outloud, for she was poring over the same little sentences over and over again. Doyle sure knew what he was writing about.

Warren exited on Hollywood Boulevard, scouring for a hotel to check into. Once again, they found themselves at a Best Western which looked identical to the one they stayed in in San Diego. They checked in and Layla smirked at the sight of a queen sized bed. She flopped onto it, boucing lightly. Warren watched her, shaking his head. He dropped his bag onto the ground, crossing his arms.

"The mattress is nice," she decided.

Warren snorted, "It's going to have to take a lot more movement than that," he teased.

Layla panicked inwardly. Either he had caught onto her dirty fantasies, or he was trying to mess with her. She bit her lip. She decided to busy herself and once again rummaged through her luggage to find sunblock.

"Where to?" he asked, suddenly realizing his joke rang a bit too true in his head. He couldn't deny that Layla was pretty, beautiful even. She was kind, compassionate, and smarter than anyone else he knew. But he was her friend, and nothing more. He was starting to think this impromptu road trip was a mistake, and that Ms. Williams's worries weren't for nothing. If it was up to him, he'd love nothing more than to "corrupt" Layla. But he couldn't, and wouldn't. She was too dear to him, and to ruin a friendship with sex would be the dumbest thing he'd ever done (and he had done many dumb things).

She bit her lip thoughtfully. Hollywood Walk of Fame, downtown LA, the Nokia Theater, the Kodak Theatre, there was too much to see. And she'd be seeing it with him.

"Walk of Fame?" she suggested.

"As you wish," he smirked.

Gregory Peck, Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers. Layla was soaking up the sights and pointing out every star of an actor or musician she admired. Warren suddenly stopped, laughing at one. Layla snorted.

"Ryan Seacrest?" she asked in surprise.

"Apparently, yes," Warren chuckled.

"Huh. Moving on," Layla grabbed Warren's hand, dragging him forward.

They walked east on Hollywood Boulevard towards the Hollywood and Highland Center where the Kodak Theatre was located, blending in with the other tourists. The walked in, automatically debating where to go.

"I'm starving," Warren grumbled.

"Want to go to the Pizza Kitchen?" Layla asked. She knew she could get a veggie pizza there.

"Let's go," Warren glanced about. Which way were they supposed to go? The Center was huge.

"We'll find it eventually," she said as if reading his thoughts.

They set off straight ahead at a leisurely pace. Layla's hand found Warren's and he glanced down at her. He tried to control the heat rising to his cheeks and was afraid he might burn her hand. That was the last thing he wanted. He relaxed and he held tighter onto her hand, trying not to notice how small and delicate it was in his larger one, and how right it felt.

Sorry for the long wait. Life caught up with me, as did an idea for a Doctor Who fic that wouldn't leave me alone. Check it out, if you're a fan of the show. It's called "Bridging the Gap".

Please review.