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Left, left, left. Oh, that’s scandalizing…right. Left, left, hmm.
Dan’s thought process while he swipes through Tinder may not be the most insightful, but it gets the job done. Dating apps can make him uncharacteristically shallow and indifferent, and he finds that when its two in the morning and the glow of the phone is giving him a headache, it’s hard for someone to catch his eye.
Being on a college campus means that sure, there’s boys willing to experiment, but they’re all in fraternities. They all have the same haircut and khaki shorts; they all have pictures of red solo cup nights and the kind of friends that would disown them if they ever figured out about their big gay hookups. Dan is the type of guy that attracts all those repressed boys, and frankly he has no interest in indulging in their curiosities. When he has in the past, it’s only led to him on his knees and then being quietly ushered out of a shitty frat house in the middle of the night with a withering erection and no ride home.
So, yeah. He kind of hates fraternities.
Tonight, he had been hoping to find someone different that could occupy his mind for a while. Finals and deadlines are fast approaching, and procrastination is the most fun when your fingers are sore from swiping.
Left, left, left. A lot of no’s tonight. And Dan’s not even picky, but it’s hard when every profile has the same pictures and bios. There’s a lot of boys on campus that can “outdrink him,” apparently.
He’s about to give up and check his email before bed, but a picture catches his eye as he’s closing the app. Stopping dead in his tracks, he starts to scroll through the four pictures on this guy’s profile. Only four, but they’re all interesting. Sweet, even. The profile name reads as Phil and the photos are all selfies, except the last one. The last one is of Phil standing next to this huge potted plant – he looks like rather lanky and the plant towers inches above his head, so this is why it’s so impressive to Dan, who apparently has a thing for boys that can keep plants alive. A basic task, sure, but the picture makes him smile. And Phil is smiling in it too, one where his head is tilted back, and his eyes are all scrunched up.
He scrolls down to the bio, hoping it doesn’t say something disappointing like ‘here to make friends!’ or ‘me and my girlfriend are looking for a threesome!’
Well, actually…no. Dan shakes his head with a snort. He doesn’t think he’s so attracted to the guy that he’d stoop as low as joining a fucking threesome. His bisexuality is mostly in theory. Realistically speaking, he hasn’t so much as kissed a girl since he was fifteen.
Anyways, back to the point. With a hopeful intake of breath, he reads the bio. His bare shoulders relax with each word his eyes quickly skim across, and he feels himself smiling in delight.
I’m completely out of my element on here! I just need someone to supervise me because I eat too much popcorn and I don’t want my headstone to say I died of asphyxiation while I was eating popcorn alone and choked because Chris Pratt was on my screen. Please send help.
It’s the perfect balance of funny and relatable, and Dan doesn’t think another second before hitting the blue star on his screen to give Phil a “super like.” He never does that but tonight he’s sleepy and giddy and wants to know more about the strange guy on his phone screen.
And then there’s an unsettling empty moment in the seconds that follow. He was hoping that he’d receive a notification that he and Phil had matched, but no. There’s nothing, and now he must play this blind waiting game to see if he ever gets liked back. There’s always the possibility that Phil has already swiped left on him, or even worse, has gotten a boyfriend and deleted the Tinder app entirely.
Dan grieves the loss for all of thirty seconds before he shrugs and shuts off his phone. There’s a heavy pull dragging his head towards his pillow and he has no right to struggle against it. He takes a minute to shimmy out of his pajama pants and toe his black socks off, making himself comfortable enough to doze off. Phil has left his mind entirely and has been replaced by the nagging thoughts of how he should be studying. That night he dreams about checking his grades and failing all his final exams, being forced to leave the university without even a suitcase to his name.
The week drags on, like dead week always does. The campus is dreadfully empty besides the library, and even it gives off the vibes of a post-apocalyptic universe, where everyone is either dead or a zombie. He stops by to turn in a book and the desk worker stares him down like he’s a well-known wanted criminal. He thinks he’s going to be scolded for bringing the book back late, but she simply narrows her eyes and studies him like he’s under a fucking microscope.
“Good luck on those finals,” she eventually says.
Dan isn’t sure what to make of the situation, so he nods -fearful for his life- and takes a step backwards.
“Uh, yeah,” he replies.
This is what he gets for going outside, he thinks bitterly. He’s out of the library doors before he can be interrogated or probed or whatever was about to go down in there. Outside, there’s a light rain and he doesn’t have an umbrella, so he throws on the hood of his windbreaker to save his hair. His backpack jostles along with him as he travels along the wet pavement towards his building, the heavy weight against his spine being a reminder of the crushing reality of approaching finals. His headphones are now nudged safely into his ears, a Spotify playlist of his favorite pianists becoming the background noise he needs.
When he gets back to his room he collapses onto his bed, glad that his roommate isn’t in. Occasionally he just needs these times, when Jack is gone visiting his family or girlfriend or whoever the fuck. It gives him the temporary freedom to walk around in his underwear and eat a lot of crisps without feeling judged. The only tasks he had for the day were to return that book and study for his exams, so now he has no real responsibility. Studying means staring at his laptop until his eyes tear up and praying that at least one sentence of information finds its way into his brain.
So that’s what he does. He opens some lecture videos and plays them unenthusiastically, but as soon as the talking starts he fishes his phone from his backpack and starts to go through his notifications. It’s counter-productive and self-sabotaging and horrible, but he immediately zones out. He has some Twitter messages and a couple of Facebook pokes, nothing too exciting.
But then there’s Tinder. He has three new matches and one of them he happens to remember: Phil.
The other two matches are cute, yeah, but he glances over their profiles again and they’re boring compared to Phil’s black hair and bright blue shirt with the fucking ice cream graphic on it. He opens their empty messages and tries to think of what to say. The snarky message from Tinder glares back at him with indifference, reading Conversations don’t write themselves.
He wants to get Phil’s attention, and it isn’t going to be grabbed by something as meaningless as hey or dtf? He wants to come across as witty and fun, but also like himself. It takes far too long, but eventually he settles on something.
Dan: are you a completely black outfit? Because I’d love to be inside you
Immediately it feels like a big mistake, but one that makes him laugh into his pillow like the smitten, naïve teenager he is, so he types out even more questionable pick-up lines.
Dan: sorry sorry I can do better
Dan: please sit on my face… so I can suffocate to death
By the time he sends those out, he realizes Phil probably isn’t going to reply right away (if at all). So, he shuts off his phone and crawls beneath his duvet, now properly trying to pay attention to the lecture video. It’s monotone and repetitive, but he thinks that if he just closes his eyes and tries to focus, he might get a better understanding of the subject. What he doesn’t expect is that once his eyes are closed, it’s ridiculously hard to open them again. The first lecture ends, and he needs to raise up and play another one, but he feels like his back has been glued to his too-firm mattress and he can stand one power nap, right? Surely, he’ll be refreshed later this evening and ready to work his ass off studying.
As one may have expected, it isn’t an ideal power nap.
He doesn’t roll over in half an hour ready to take over the world, in fact he doesn’t wake up that evening at all. He sleeps soundly, half naked with his laptop open until four in the morning. When he does come to, the first thing he notices is the pitch blackness of the room and how he feels like he’s been transported through time and space. He’s completely disoriented, but he still lets out an inaudible squeak when he looks around dazedly and finds Jack asleep on the other side of the room.
That means that Jack had returned at some point, only to find his weird gay roommate asleep in his underwear with his computer suspiciously open in front of him. It’s mortifying; Dan can’t help but wonder what Jack assumed about him. And now its four-a.m. and he’s wide awake with nothing to do. He reluctantly checks his phone and sees missed texts.
Jack: I’m on my way back. Do we need anything from the shops?
Jack: I’ll just get some detergent. We can go out tomorrow if we need to
They were sent at 9 pm. It feels like a slap to the face because he wasted so much of his day. He deletes the messages and checks Tinder, because there’s a red circle on the app showing he has one notification from there. He presses his lips together upon seeing Phil had replied, remembering his embarrassing openers. Opening the chat is both exciting and terrifying.
Phil: ha, those are pretty good! ^_^
Phil: your face is too pretty to sit on
Woah, woah. That’s certainly something.
Dan swears he feels his stomach swoop down in response, knocking all his other organs around like punching bags. He reaches up to cover his mouth with his hand, not wanting to wake his most likely traumatized housemate. He’s not the type to get caught up in anything but quick hook ups, but he oddly doesn’t feel like sending out a late-night thirst message to Phil. He wants to keep flirting of course, but there’s no pent-up desire to add him on snapchat and send him pictures of his dick from seven different angles.
Dan: i could say the same for you
Dan: but I’d be sad about missing out on such a great opportunity.
Or maybe Dan is just fooling himself into believing he’s not thinking with said sexual organ right now. He rolls over onto his stomach and huffs in frustration. There’s finally a hot guy flirting with him, wanting to talk to him, and he casually tells him that he’d very much like to sit on his face. Classy. What is he thinking? He goes to school with Phil, lives on the same campus as him even. What if they pass each other on the way to class? Is he supposed to walk up to a stranger and ask if he’s still up for some casual homosexual activities? No, he knows he would hide and probably try to transfer to another university and change his name.
He starts to nod off again when his phone dings loudly in the silence of the room. He switches the ringer off in annoyance.
Phil: Man, you’re way better at this flirting thing than me… I wish I knew how to top that
Oh, no, Dan thinks. He’s been set up for a line and he isn’t sure if he can ignore it. He feels like a thirteen-year-old who makes mum jokes any time he can. The pressure builds up and before he knows it, his fingers are flying across the keyboard with record speeds.
Dan: what a shame :-/ you look like a guy who knows how to top things
He’s officially the world’s worst person. But the satisfaction of his answer and the thought of Phil, amused and slightly scandalized, makes it worth it. He wishes he could tell what the man is thinking. Is it funny? Annoying? Too pervy? He hopes it’s just taken with a grain of salt, because it’s four in the morning and they’re both awake for some godawful reason. Phil is either an insomniac, drunk, or likes to stay up and sext boys on Tinder. Or all three.
Phil: dAn. You’re ruining my innocence. But really, I’m having a caffeine crash, I have to get in bed. You should too… can I talk to you in the morning?
Dan: sorry :o yeah, of course. If you don’t I’ll assume I scared you off haha. you seem cool phil. goodnight
Phil: Night!! Xx
As he’s falling asleep for the second time that night, Dan thinks about those X’s at the end of Phil’s message. He wants to believe that this means something more than a shameful blowjob at a frat house. He wants to be with someone who can look him in the eye after they’ve touched each other, someone who isn’t afraid of being with him. He wants to believe that Phil is brave, that he doesn’t care about what other people think about him. It’s just a vibe Dan receives from what little he knows, and it fills him with a weird sense of hope. He finds his pajamas from the bottom of the mattress and pulls them up his freezing legs- it’s what Jack deserves.
“Dan, wake up wanker. I’m going to class, so I can’t be your alarm clock today.”
It’s the first noise Dan hears that morning and he wants to absolutely sob because of it, rolling his head back and forth miserably. He tries to open his eyes but all he can see is an outline of Jack hovering over his bed, and he groans as the boy jostles his shoulder a bit too roughly.
“Try to get up, okay? You don’t need to miss another eight o’clock. You’ve got twenty minutes.”
What is he, my mum? Dan wonders, blinking slowly.
He nods his head to stop the incessant shoulder shaking and pulls his duvet over his body.
“I’m getting up. Promise,” he says.
Jack pats his head, probably getting an unwanted handful of oily curls as Dan hasn’t found the time to wash his hair in a few days. He should be embarrassed but he can’t find the energy to feel anything so strongly.
“Good lad,” Jack says.
Dan can hear his footsteps leading out of their tiny room and then the door slams, leaving him alone. He wants to shower so badly that it physically pains him knowing there’s no time. He promises himself he’ll come back straight away and do just that, but in the meantime all he can do is throw on some mostly clean clothes, an oversized hoodie, and his backpack. The hair situation is hopeless; he’ll have to deal with it until it’s washed.
Once he’s settled in his lecture he immediately pulls out his phone and scrolls through tumblr for a while. It takes his mind off his disheveled appearance and gives his hands something to do while his classmates chat amongst themselves or try not to doze off at their desks. He reblogs a couple of dog pictures and memes, chuckling softly to himself.
There’s still four minutes until the lecture starts so he opens tinder and swipes through some profiles. No one catches his interest in the least; it’s only natural that he finds himself going back to his messages with Phil. There’s no way he’s going to be desperate and message him a good morning, but he does read over their previous ones. Dan knows he’s been an utter twat, making immature jokes and trying to rile up a stranger, but he isn’t sure what else to do.
What does he want from Phil, anyway? His options seem to boil down to either sex or friendship, but he almost wants both. Friends with benefits, then? Maybe.
The sound of his professor’s voice calling attention to the room snaps him out of it; he reluctantly places his phone in his lap and opens his notebook. It’s filled with scribbles and illegible writing, his notes looking more like cryptic messages. The rest of the class is spent sketching out some trees on the margins of the pages, the familiar voice of his professor becoming background noise.
It’s midday by the time his phone chimes, buzzing in the back pocket of his jeans. He’s sat in the dining hall snacking on some chips with one of his mates, not fully engaged in the conversation. All he wants to do is crawl back into bed, but he’s stuck here listening to a guy from his sociology class ramble on about how many projects he has due this week. It’s exhausting to hear about.
Dan slides his phone out of his pocket and checks the screen beneath the table to seem less rude. Once he sees that it is Phil from Tinder he can hardly help the shit-eating grin that takes over his features, and thankfully he isn’t questioned about it.
Phil: I just woke up… I had a morning class.
Dan: o shit. was it important??
Phil: not really. I think the sleep was worth it. Whats up with you cutie? X
With a slightly fond - but mostly embarrassed - snort, Dan clicks his phone off and sets it on the table. Sociology guy is still talking, and he’s got grease from the chips on his chin. When he gets to the point of his anecdote Dan politely laughs along with him but makes a quick excuse about having to go nap before his brain absolutely powers off. It may be transparent that he wanted to leave, but it did the job.
He shoulders his backpack and disposes of his dishes before leaving, unable to stop thinking about the word cutie for two consecutive seconds. He knows he’s gone red in the face but thankfully he doesn’t run into any acquaintances on the way back to his hall.
Shoving the key in the door and twisting it, he finds that it’s already unlocked. He heads to his bed immediately, sending a nod of greeting towards Jack. Jack gives him a tight smile but it’s easy to tell he’s buried in course work and has no time for pleasantries. Dan gets that.
His head hits the pillow with a soft thud and he opens Tinder absentmindedly, almost by second nature.
Dan: just escaped a social encounter for the warmth of my bed. and psshshsh don’t call me that
Phil: Whatever you say, angel (;
Dan: fuck you’re in a flirty mood huh?
Phil: Just having a good day is all. Talking to you is only making it better tbh
Dan: kfjvnlserj why are you this pure. we should text instead, y’know, this app drains my fuckn bttery
And that’s what they end up doing. For the following hours they text back and forth, getting to know each other and occasionally sending ironic memes to keep it light. Dan finds out that Phil is majoring in some sort of linguistics course, which seems strange but surely more interesting than his own sad program. When he’s not texting, Dan is scrolling through Twitter and anticipating the next time he gets to talk to Phil. It’s honestly a bit pathetic, nothing new though.
Dan seems to always pine after unattainable boys. The thing with Phil, though, is that he doesn’t seem out of reach. He’s present and entertaining and full of funny anecdotes and weird behavior. He’s attractive enough to be intimidating but strange enough to be a realistic match. It isn’t until Dan’s evening class that he realizes how quickly the time has flown, and a dreadful feeling tugging at his gut reminds him he hasn’t done the assigned reading for it. He wants to chuck himself out of the window.
Phil: Anyways yeah I think that’s why im so terrified of horses :o
Dan: I’ll have to psychoanalyze that later, I’m running late for my class. /facepalm
Dan: I really like talking to you phillll
Dan: you should come over some time and watch a movie with me. I promise there will be no horses.
After walking halfway across campus and settling into his seat in the classroom, he skims through the assigned reading like a man on a mission, eyes zipping across all eight pages in the desperate hope to absorb any amount of information. By the end, he has a vague understanding of the class discussion they’ll have tonight, and he has two proper minutes to spare to fuck around on his phone. He isn’t surprised this time to have some texts from perhaps the most interesting person in his life currently. He accepts the familiar warmth in his cheeks with little caution.
Phil: I don’t think there’s any horses in Kill Bill, so that seems like a safe choice
Dan: yesss uma is my mom tbh. How does this weekend sound?
Phil: im ready.
Saturday night rolls in faster than expected. This is fine, because Dan is more than excited to meet Phil in person, but it’s difficult to tell his brain that.
He spends his evening stress cleaning the dorm; by the time he’s finished there’s no dirty laundry, his pile of dishes is gone, his bed is made, and there’s no more faint smell of body spray that seems to linger after Jack leaves for the weekend. Dan wouldn’t admit it if accused, but he also took the liberty of shoving some of Jack’s things beneath his bed to make the room look neater. He even wanted to light a candle or some incense, but neither were allowed in the halls, so he liberally doused the place with lavender room spray. Finding it too overwhelming, he shoves his tiny window open while having a coughing fit. It’s what he gets for being extra, really.
Now he’s got precisely ten minutes before Phil arrives from the other side of campus. There’s no way to quote on quote ‘set the mood’ when your living space is comparable to a toilet stall, but he does turn the light off and turn the fairy lights strung around his half of the room on. It’s somewhere on the line between creepy and romantic, but it’s the best he can do.
Underneath his bed is a craftily hidden six pack of hard lemonade, two of which he grabs and sets out on his desk. The last thing to do is pull up Netflix on his TV and wait for Phil to text him. This brief intermission is when some of the anxiety kicks in, leaving him chewing on his lip and fiddling with the paper label on his lemonade bottle. By the time his text tone buzzes, he’s scratched through the paper with his fingernail and left an inch-long spot where the glass shows through it.
Phil: I’m outside the building! Currently making friends with a squirrel on the picnic table. Can he watch the movie with us?
Dan chuckles at the absurdity of the message before throwing his jacket on and grabbing his keys, leaving his phone on the bed as he catches the elevator outside. It takes him down all seven floors and once in the lobby, he practically jogs to the door to let Phil inside. He doesn’t even have time to say introduce himself because he has to check Phil in at the desk, which includes them sharing soft smiles while Dan’s stutters out that he’s checking in a guest. Once that’s finished, they catch the elevator again up to the seventh floor. Dan pushes the button with a shaky finger and leans back against the wall, studying Phil’s tall form in appreciation.
“Hey,” Phil says, breaking the silence between them.
Dan laughs at his own awkwardness and slides a small step closer to the guy.
“Hi. You’re taller than I imagined.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. That picture with the plant made you seem tiny. But I guess the plant was just massive.”
“That plant could have eaten me alive if it had wanted to,” Phil says.
It’s funny because he’s got this theatric expression, like maybe that was a real concern he had. Dan’s trying to suppress an inappropriate comment about vore, but thankfully they arrive at his room at just the right time. As he’s unlocking his door, Phil leans against the wall next to it and purses his lips. Dan knows he shouldn’t be so thirsty already, but it makes him want to melt.
“I really did want to bring that huge bucket of popcorn tonight, but I have no self-control. It mysteriously vanished into my stomach.”
“Really? That thing was enormous, you popcorn fiend,” Dan scolds him playfully.
It takes a bit of effort and irritated doorknob shaking, but the old thing finally unlocks. When Phil strolls in, not saying a word about the ominous lighting or the most likely rancid lavender smell clinging to his bed and floors, Dan feels his shoulders slump in relief. Phil doesn’t complain at all; he perches himself on the edge of the mattress and runs his palms over the bleak comforter. It’s a few years old and tattered at the edges but it has sentimental value and Dan loves it regardless.
“Nice room. I like the fairy lights. I tried that once and they fell down every five minutes, so I gave up,” Phil comments.
He looks sweet under this lighting, and now that Dan can look at him for a prolonged time, he’s glad that the Tinder photos weren’t inaccurate in their beauty. Phil might even be prettier in person, which isn’t fair at all. Dan’s own photos are only of his good side and he knows he’s a little more rounded at the edges in real life.
“Yeah. It’s a bit shite not being allowed to use nails in the walls. I had to get creative.”
Now he’s standing uncomfortably in the middle of the room, even leaning a bit more towards Jack’s half, which is usually considered a crime punishable by death. There’s a boy in his bed and for all his cockiness and pride, he’s afraid to sit next to him. Instead he grabs his TV remote and searches for Kill Bill on Netflix. He selects volume one and pauses it before it can begin playing.
There’s no right move that he can pull right now. Part of him wants to stroll over confidently and straddle Phil’s lap, to channel his inner seductress and do what he normally does during Tinder dates. The other part of him just wants to lay his head on Phil’s broad chest and feel his steady breaths while watching Beatrix Kiddo slaughter her enemies. He must hesitate for too long, because then he hears Phil laugh softly at him.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m just thinking about all the shitty chat up lines I gave you and wondering why you haven’t ran for the hills yet,” Dan confesses.
Despite the vulnerability showing through in his voice he decides to go for it and sits down on the bed, the mattress pad beneath him contorting to his body easily. His legs are about three centimeters away from Phil’s and that’s enough to make him question his intentions for the night again. Phil has the most outrageous thighs, slender and soft under his dark wash jeans.
“I liked your chat up lines, they made me laugh,” He says.
“That’s relieving. I don’t want you to think I’m just trying to have a quick fuck or something. I’ve really liked talking to you this week.”
Dan dares to look up and meet Phil’s curious gaze, getting to see his eyes up close for the first time; it’s not a coincidence that his throat suddenly has a decently sized rock lodged in it.
“I know, mate. I’m not… trying to do that either. Not that I wouldn’t - I just – you know, I want to know you too.”
“Sweet, so we’re on the same page.”
They’re thirty minutes into the film and lying next to each other on the tiny twin mattress, not touching at all besides Phil’s shoe that’s nudged against Dan’s ankle. They’re both cradling their second hard lemonade and a bag of slightly burned microwave popcorn. Phil says that it doesn’t hold a torch to his “Big Night In” tub, but he’s such a popcorn fiend that he practically inhales it anyways.
On the screen, Kiddo had just gruesomely slammed a door into Buck’s head, but Dan can barely pay mind to it. He’s focused on the way he can see Phil from the corner of his vision; he can see his chest move up and down with steady breaths, and he can see the pale expanse of his neck that seems to stretch for miles. He takes a swig of his lemonade and a bit of it dribbles down his chin that he quickly swipes clean with his hand.
There’s an odd sort of tension twisting in his stomach that won’t settle, akin to fear. Afraid of missing out, maybe. There’s no guarantee that Phil will ever want to see him after tonight, especially when they’ve barely spoken to each other. Dan wants to make an impression and give Phil a reason to enjoy his company. The movie suddenly feels like a daft idea.
He sits his lemonade on the desk wedged next to his bed and tosses the now empty popcorn bag to the side. This seems to get Phil’s attention as he looks over and smiles softly. His skin looks translucent under the glow of the television and the fairy lights.
“I’m worried I’m boring you to death,” Dan admits.
“Not at all. I know one thing that could make this better though.”
“Are you being cheeky?”
“Only a little bit. I only meant some PG, innocent hand-holding. If that’s okay?”
Dan presses his lips together to repress a grin that would reveal just how much he wants that. He nods and offers up his hand to Phil, who takes it and presses their palms together, slowly curling their fingers inwards. Phil takes their hands and rests the pair on his broad chest, in the middle of his sternum. The shallow breathing there is comforting, and Dan watches with vague fascination at how his own giant hand wraps around Phil’s daintier one. Their palms are only slightly clammy.
“Can I scoot closer to you?” He asks.
“Are you trying to have a cuddle, Danny?”
“Not now that you’ve called me that,” Dan replies.
Despite his words, he inches closer until his head is settled carefully upon Phil’s shoulder. The bone feels as if it’s jutting into him sharply, but it doesn’t deter him. Phil’s other arm slips beneath his back and supports some of his weight, relieving it from the dagger-like elbow. Their proximity is a nice contrast to the gore and blood on the screen. Before the two hours are up, Dan’s eyelids become heavy. He can’t let himself fall asleep on Phil like this, so he forces himself away from the warmth of his body and sits up.
It helps that the final scene is on, the most interesting one in the whole movie. He gives Phil’s hand a squeeze when Kiddo’s sword slashes through O-Ren Ishii’s head.
“It’s getting late. Am I holding you hostage?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Phil laughs.
“Did you need me to go?”
“No, you don’t have to go. I’m just getting sleepy,” Dan replies.
Right on cue, he yawns so intensely that it makes his jaw pop, leaving him to rub at it to relieve the discomfort. The thought of Phil staying overnight is kind of overwhelming. Should he offer him Jack’s bed for the night? Is that breaking an unspoken roommate code? Probably.
He awkwardly hovers on the edge of the mattress while the credits scroll. His rational decision-making is being tainted by the way Phil’s soft fingers are tracing his knuckles with care.
“I know we just met.”
“Yeah?”
“Would it be batshit crazy if I wanted you to stay the night? I know I stuffed our date up by choosing a film when I wanted to get to know you. But if you stay over I swear we can go get Starbucks or somethin’ tomorrow.”
Phil stops his sweet knuckle rubbing and Dan waits for the rejection. At least it would be a nice rejection, though, as Phil is the politest person in the world. He could probably tell Dan he’s a rat and still sound pure while doing it.
“In your bed?”
“That’s up to you.”
It ends up happening, after some mild back and forth about the bed situation. Dan says he wouldn’t want to intrude on Jack’s space, and Phil agrees a little too eagerly. So that’s how Dan awakes the next morning with arms wrapped firmly around his torso and a slender leg slung over his knees. The thing that’s most concerning, though, is the hot breath on the nape of his neck.
It’s making him feel paralyzed, apart from his toes which curl up tightly in appreciation. If he were a brave person, he would turn around to be able to feel that hot breath against his lips, in the least creepy way possible. Instead he only brings a hand up to his face to chew on his fingernails, hoping to occupy himself.
Not long after, however, there’s some stirring behind him and then a gravelly voice against his ear.
“Morning Danny.”
“Stop calling me that,” Dan whines.
“Make me,” Phil laughs, rearranging their legs so that his foot is wedged between Dan’s ankles.
He’s the only one feeling relaxed and giddy though; the boy in his arms couldn’t even crack a smile after that.
Make me. The words do something to Dan, giving him the impulse to turn around and follow through on the request. It’s been a long time since he’s woken up in someone’s embrace, and the effect isn’t lost on him.
“Phil.”
“Hm?”
“You gotta stop being tempting long enough for me to go shower, mate.”
“I’m not doing anything,” Phil says indignantly, though his quiet giggles betray him.
A pair of soft lips touch the back of Dan’s neck and he yelps, jolting forwards towards the edge of the bed. The shock nearly sends him to the ground, but Phil has ahold of him, not letting him fall.
“Sorry, too much?” He asks sheepishly.
Dan does turn around now, trying to look stern or disappointed. All he can manage is a forced pout, narrowing his eyes at Phil’s pleased expression.
“Fuck you.”
“Thought you weren’t looking for that,” Phil says. He looks remarkably good in the morning, hair pushed back off his forehead.
“Yeah, and then you wake up next to me looking like a fucking snack. Now, are you going to let me shower or are you going to keep being a tease?”
Phil rubs his foot slowly up and down Dan’s calf, never losing eye contact. He seems to be seriously debating the question, pink lower lip caught between his teeth. Eventually he sighs and buries his face into Dan’s shoulder.
“Could just tease you in the shower.”
The words send a rush down Dan’s spine. He feels the adrenaline right down to his toes, sparked by the vibrations of Phil’s vocal cords. There’s also a rush somewhere else, warmth flooding his lower stomach in the form of sleepy arousal. He’s conflicted about taking up the offer; he doesn’t want to destroy whatever chemistry they have with a meaningless hookup, but he’s also young and horny and irresponsible. He wants to cross his legs to ward off his oncoming erection, but Phil’s leg is still in the way. He covers his eyes with a hand and sighs dramatically.
“I hate you. But I really want to see you naked.”
In the next ten minutes Dan has the water running and a lot less clothing between the two of them. They’re stood in the bathroom in their pants and the steam from the water is already making the mirror foggy before they’ve even stepped into the shower. Dan’s hands are rested on full hips, his fingertips digging into the flesh every time he feels a graze of teeth against his tongue or lips. His entire mouth feels raw and abused, but in the best way.
When Phil starts to slow down, the kisses becoming more muted and soft, he takes the opportunity to slide his hands down to push at Phil’s underwear.
“Off?”
Phil nods and helps him undress them both fully. Dan can’t help but to marvel at the man stood in front of him, taking in the freckles dotted onto his skin and the hair abundant in all the right places. He knows that he’s practically hairless in comparison, but he doesn’t let himself feel bad about it. How could he, when Phil is looking at him like that?
“Shower,” Phil says, voice wrecked.
So, they clamber in like a couple of lanky dorks, except Phil pinches Dan’s bum on the way and makes him yelp like an injured cat. The noise probably makes his neighbors hate him even more than they already do.
Once they’re safely in there and the curtain is drawn back, their mouths are instantly reattached. The water is hotter than Dan had expected, but it adds to the electric sensation. He nips lightly at Phil’s lip and pulls back.
“I do actually need to get clean.”
“Let me help?”
Dan nods, more than okay with that. He grabs his loofah and his body wash, trying to get it sudsy while Phil’s hands wander over his body. Eventually he manages to get it ready, the scent of apricot filling his nostrils.
Phil takes the loofah and scrubs Dan’s chest with it in a surprisingly gentle manner. He cleans his arms and back too, lingering at his lower back for an incriminating amount of time.
“Stop staring at my ass, perv,” Dan laughs.
Phil giggles as well and crouches down, rubbing the loofah over his legs and all the way down to his feet. He skips over all the fun parts, which really solidifies his promise of being a tease. When he’s satisfied with the job, he stands back up and Dan watches as his legs muscles move fluidly beneath the stream of water. It’s tortuous.
“I think you missed a spot,” he tries, looking hopeful.
Phil doesn’t say anything, but he does let his gaze travel down to Dan’s crotch where he’s sporting an unmistakable hard-on. He’s not alone in that, however. Phil swallows as he grabs a bar of soap and rubs it between his hands for a few seconds. Dan is confused at first, but then Phil puts the soap away and his palms are slick and yeah, okay.
“Can I touch you?”
“Ha. Shut up. Yes,” Dan mutters.
His brain is short-circuiting when it comes to speech. He tries not to be too eager when Phil wraps a steady hand around his cock, slick and tight and just enough pressure. He closes his eyes and exhales, stepping closer to Phil to lean on him for support. Phil is pulling at him in all the right ways, and his other hand is squeezing at his arse. It’s heaven.
“Shit,” Dan winces, unable to stop himself from jutting his hips forward.
It’s all too good to pretend otherwise; he only keeps a semblance of sanity by biting into Phil’s shoulder. His own hands are back on the man’s waist, amazed at the roundness of his hips and the unique curves of his form.
“You’re so pretty,” Phil says.
He says this as he twists his wrist in a way that’s downright sinful, making Dan gasp audibly. His head is spinning. He isn’t sure what else he could ask for, but he shoves his face into Phil’s neck and whimpers out a series of “please, please, please,” begging for an unnamed thing. Phil’s neck smells sweet and homely; Dan doesn’t hesitate to suck a mark or two into his skin.
“Feels good,” Phil huffs, speeding his hand up substantially.
He’s not messing around now – Dan’s legs are properly weak, trembling beneath him. There’s no bargaining with the fact that he’s not going to last much longer. He likes the idea of making Phil feel good, so he doesn’t stop giving his neck little nips and bites.
“You’re gonna cum hard for me, aren’t you Danny?”
“Stop calling me that!” Dan whines.
Phil laughs breathily, but he squeezes the base of Dan’s cock, sending a jolt of pleasure through him.
“Aren’t you, though?” He asks again.
The hand on his bum moves, inconspicuously at first, but then there’s a firm pressure rubbing at Dan’s taint and he almost chokes then and there. Phil has two fingers rubbing him there so surely, so deliberately.
“Yes, yes. Fuck,” Dan answers.
Not a minute more passes before he finds himself doing just that – moaning almost obscenely as Phil finishes him off. It’s so euphoric that he has to grab Phil’s chin and kiss him square on the mouth.
“Let me suck you off.”
Phil nods with widened eyes, very on board with that idea. They kiss for a few moments to allow Dan to recover, but then he’s sinking to his knees with focused intent. He knows this. He’s good at this. Best of all, though, Phil isn’t some frat boy that’s going to fuck his mouth and then be embarrassed about it. They’ll probably get coffee afterwards and talk and maybe kiss some more. The thought makes his stomach swoop.
The way that Dan is kneeling in the shower has him out of the direct spray, fortunately. He takes hold of Phil’s cock and presses his mouth to the side of it, feeling it twitch in interest. His lips part and he allows his flattened tongue to slide against the shaft effortlessly, getting used to the taste. Phil is big, but Dan is confident in the sheer size of his mouth. He doesn’t feel like teasing, so he goes straight to work, taking half of Phil’s length into his mouth in one go. It’s heavy and solid on his tongue, and he hollows his cheeks with practiced precision.
Phil grunts above him, and he looks up to see his head tilted back in pleasure. It’s a pretty sight; the water droplets dripping down his chest and hips make everything more titillating. It’s a distraction, though, and Dan has a job to do. He closes his eyes and slowly pulls back until only the head of Phil’s cock is in his mouth and laps at the tip with his tongue. Phil is making all sorts of delicious noises from above, and it makes warmth spread throughout Dan’s body. He goes back to taking in as much as he can, allowing his head to bob freely.
He’s starting to build up a respectable rhythm when he feels hands in his hair. It’s nice, admittedly, but it isn’t the normal petting or pulling he’s come to expect while on his knees. It’s more of a massage, Phil’s slender fingers are massaging his scalp. The sensation of that alone makes him moan softly around the cock in his mouth, just trying to show his appreciation.
It must work because Phil gasps in response, tightening his hands around Dan’s curls. Once the wave passes, however, the petting and massaging continues. Dan doesn’t think anything of it until something falls onto his forehead. He reaches a hand up to swipe at it and looks at his fingers to find soap on them.
Confused, he pulls back and wanks Phil off instead in the meantime.
“Are you… washing my hair?” He asks, blinking owlishly.
“You said, mm, you said that- that you really needed to wash off. Wanted to help.”
“You’re so strange,” Dan mumbles, unable to hide his fondness.
“Is that okay?”
“Just don’t blind me with soap, please,” he says.
Once the matter is settled he goes back to his activity, taking pride in the way Phil’s hands shake as he rubs shampoo through his curls. Soon enough he’s being halfheartedly pushed back as Phil tells him he’s close. Determined, he only sinks down further and nuzzles his nose into Phil’s pelvis bone, listening to him grunt and moan. All it takes is a firm squeeze with his hand at the base and Phil is gripping tight at his hair and releasing into his mouth.
It’s hot and satisfying and everything he wants, but as soon as it’s over a glob of soap slides down his forehead and into his eye. Dan shuffles back on his knees and whimpers quietly, covering his eye with his hands. It’s stinging something awful and he suddenly doesn’t find the semen in his mouth so appealing. He spits towards the drain and tries to stand with one eye open.
Phil grabs his elbow and helps him up, and he’s apologizing so profusely that all the words run together in a garbled mess. He tilts Dan’s head back under the water and gets the shampoo rinsed out of his hair, and then gently splashes some water against his shut eyelid.
Everything had been so sweet and perfect – why is the universe punishing him now?
“It’s okay, I’m fine. You haven’t blinded me, Phil,” he says.
Funnily enough it’s Phil that needs the comforting. Dan forces his other eye open and it still hurts, but he can see out of it fine. A bit blurry from the tears, but it’s going to go away in minutes probably.
“I’m so sorry, you literally gave me one rule.”
“An unrealistic rule. Stop apologizing, I’m perfectly okay you loon.”
“Your eye looks irritated though, we need to get out so I can look at it better.”
Dan doesn’t want to argue so he reluctantly gets out of the shower to get them both a towel. They dry off in silence and by the time they’re done, Dan’s eye is practically back to normal.
“Are you sure you’re not hurting?”
“I’m sure. You’re being silly. Will you come lay in my bed with me?”
Phil nods with hesitance but follows Dan dutifully. They cuddle up on the bed in only their towels, hair still dripping wet, and Dan wraps Phil up in his arms. It might be crossing a boundary or being too clingy, but he wants to show him that everything is fine between them. He traces the hickeys on Phil’s neck with a curious finger and laughs when Phil cringes away, too ticklish to let it continue.
“I’m sorry if that was underwhelming for you. Maybe blowjob-hair-washing was a bad idea,” Phil mumbles.
His cheeks have gone pink and he isn’t meeting Dan’s eyes anymore.
“It was sweet. Maybe when we get back from Starbucks I can try again.”
“Promise?”