Archive of Our Own ^beta

As He Goes, So I Go

Over the past year or so, they'd settled into an easy comfortability. Their not-togetherness was still strange sometimes, and Dan still resented the vaguely threatening words uttered during that meeting with Mark, the brand consultant their management had temporarily hired. Something along the lines of: “Obviously I can’t tell you what to do in your private time, but I’m only speaking with your best interests in mind. The more the numbers grow, the more eyes are on you at every given moment. Mixing business and pleasure is always a dangerous combination. Maybe it’s worked so far for you two...but I’d give your situation some strong consideration. Your entire career hinges on the two of you continuing to get along.”

The man picked up his black coffee definitively, eyeing them over the rim of the cup as he took a long sip. He clearly thought there was nothing more to be said on the matter. As if the two of them were some casual fling. Phil nodded solemnly; Dan just replayed the way he’d said “your situation” over and over, practically spat the words at them.

Marianne smiled dimly at them as they left the conference room and made their way to the elevator. Dan noticed the sympathy behind her eyes, and he hated it. It made the back of his neck prickle. He felt suddenly and suffocatingly trapped, and he asked if Phil didn’t mind taking the stairs.

They were silent on the way down the seven flights and silent on the tube home. Silent walking up the stairs to their apartment and silent when Dan collapsed on the couch in a huff. Phil sat across from him and observed him patiently until Dan met his eyes.

“Fuck him.”

“He has a point.”

“I know he does, but fuck him, fuck his limitations, and fuck beating around the bush. Fuck our ‘situation.’ He knows the truth. If he’s gonna tell us how to live, he could at least do us the decency of being forthright about it, you know? Like coded language ever got anyone anywhere…” Dan pauses for a moment, hunched and bitter, his posture a protective and guarded curl as he picks away at his cuticles. When he feels the sharp prick of skin pulled too far and notices that he’s drawn blood from his thumb, he launches up. Pacing across the threshold of their cramped living room like a caged animal, he resumes his tirade.

“Him in his pressed trousers… I bet he irons his jeans. Seems like the type. In fact, I bet he makes his girlfriend iron his jeans, and I bet she does it happily because I bet he dates a girl he can treat like a doormat. And I bet he drinks cold juices with kale in them…”

Phil lets Dan rant, and he snorts occasionally, but mostly he feels rather resigned.

“...he is right though. We’re practically a time bomb...have been for years. It’s never been this crazy before,” Dan sighs.

It’s true. Most days they can’t even pop into the grocery in London without being seen. The number of mentions on Twitter, Tumblr messages, subscribers, comments, Instagram likes, and truly devoted fans is unprecedented for them. Fans cry when they see them nowadays. It’s all new and scary, and it happened gradually enough that they’ve been able to appreciate its magnitude, but quickly enough that it still feels constantly novel and strange. It is frightening.

Dan hates the way he sees Phil’s whole demeanor change — rigid like a metal rod’s been shoved down his spine — when they hear “Dan and Phil?” from an overzealous voice in public. And when he leaves the house, he hates the way his own eyes are constantly trained on any iPhone or camera lens, trying to track exactly which direction it’s pointed, exactly how bashful the camera holder looks. Tourist or stalker? is far from his favorite game to play, but it’s one he’s grown quite familiar with.

And it’s not like they’ve ever even let themselves act affectionately in public. It’s never been in their nature. Even before Phil met Dan, back when he’d had some flings with other men, he was clear on the fact that he never wanted to hold their hand in public, kiss them goodbye, brush a crumb off their mouth in a coffee shop. It had always felt too private for the public, and he’d hated the way strangers’ eyes lingered the few times he tested his boundaries. Even his close uni friends, the ones who certainly weren’t homophobic, had either tried too hard not to look at the point of contact between him and whoever he was dating, or they couldn’t help their gaze flitting between Phil’s eyes and his hands linked with another man’s whilst they chatted.

Furthermore, they both agreed that it seemed exhausting to consider how every time they stepped out in public and held hands, they’d essentially be making a political statement in many people’s eyes, ridiculous though that may be. They were private men whose height and unconventional attire already drew attention… The last thing they wanted was more eyes on them.

So it had been years since Dan last had to smother the instinct to place a hand on Phil’s back to guide him somewhere or stroke his pinky against Phil’s thigh on the tube, because he simply no longer had that adolescent instinct. Those touches were theirs. Not for anyone else. And for them, the risk was just too great.

The risk... That ball of swirling fear deep in the pit of his chest that made his fingers tremble when he thought about it for too long. The fear that Dan felt ashamed to even hold; that sick, squirming, self-directed terror that both made absolutely no sense and all the sense in the world. And beyond his fear of exposure, of being reduced to just another gay Youtuber making gay content, of being seen, known, laid bare for the public’s scrutinizing gaze, of overzealous fans becoming even more overzealous... above all of that, the risk of losing Phil to the pressure of it all, of everything they’d built if he and Phil broke up, that fear trumped everything.

Now that Stupid-Mark-the-Brand-Consultant had nurtured that seed of doubt and fear in Dan, he couldn’t get it out of his head. Dan and Phil were acutely aware of the pressures they had burdened their romantic relationship with. Intertwining each element of their lives; work, home, romance, friendship; taking on way more than they were prepared for, orchestrating multiple projects and a large-spanning tour that, frankly, was already stretching their budget and emotional energy to its outer limits… They were a teetering balancing act on the cusp of structural collapse.

So, sure, the idea of losing Phil as a romantic partner was awful. But the thought of losing Phil entirely was so much worse. Their home, their bond, their shared careers, their audience, their mutual friends, Phil’s family who was now Dan’s family, everything they were still building — the book, the tour, all of it. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing it all. He couldn’t even begin to fathom his life with Phil carved out of it. It would just be a void. In those terms, the decision seemed glaringly obvious. Cut the potentially catastrophic romantic side out of his relationship with Phil, and voila, everything else can be preserved.

And honestly, if you pressed him on it, Dan was feeling a bit suffocated. Not by Phil, no. Phil’s uncanny ability to intuit Dan’s boundaries was and always had been impeccable. No, it was more like he felt as though his future was closing in around him. He saw it all laid out, just like this, him and Phil and their cozy, strange, little life. It all felt too easy, and maybe he needed something to change, something drastic, to snap him out of it. In the daylight hours, he knew those thoughts were slightly ridiculous, but the worry still nagged at him from time to time.

***

So later that evening, they eat and curl up on the couch to watch an episode of American Horror Story. After Dan’s fingers have skimmed Phil’s upper thigh one too many times, and the warm weight of his hand becomes too heavy, they wordlessly move to Dan’s bedroom.

It’s dim, just the hallway lights on, when Dan’s nails scratch down Phil’s back. They know this well, so they move fluidly. Phil grunts, always quieter in bed, while Dan gasps and chokes out Phil’s name. When Phil feels a foreign wetness brush his cheek, he knows it’s not sweat. He pulls away from his safe burrowing into Dan’s neck. His hips don’t still, but Dan’s hands do. They stop their scratching and just linger on the small of Phil’s back, clutching.

He blinks wetly and meets the other man’s gaze. Dan’s eyes are wide and dark, and the faint light illuminates tear tracks on each side of his face, falling jaggedly down his cheekbones. Phil leans in, kisses just the right side, and then collapses down again. He cages Dan’s body with his own so they are chest-to-chest, his arms wrapping around to press between Dan’s back and the sheets, linked and enveloping this man, this love of his life.

He buries his face between Dan’s neck and shoulder as he continues to press his hips firmly in and out with small but thorough thrusts, filling Dan completely as he imagines their bodies creating a perfect seal, an impenetrable and self-contained system. Just the two of them together, safe from the world. Phil can barely breathe with his face so buried in the crook of Dan’s neck as he mindlessly sucks and licks at his skin, but that’s alright. That’s how this should be. He should feel breathless right now.

They both know that this could be the last time.

Dan’s fingers tighten, press in, and hold Phil’s hips down as his press upwards for a moment of stillness. They revel in the closeness, the sound of just their breaths in this pause. Then they fall back into their rhythm with snuffles and sighs and sticky skin.

***

When they wake the next morning, Phil rolls into the line of Dan’s back and kisses his neck until Dan’s humming, gently rocking backward, reaching behind himself to clasp Phil’s hand. He then scrabbles around towards Phil’s ass, urging him closer until Phil’s cock is lined up. Dan’s still wet, lazy as they were last night with clean-up, and it’s still relatively easy for Phil to slide in. Slowly, slowly, because he knows it still burns. He doesn’t think Dan minds. Everything feels hazy and not quite reality yet, and Dan’s body is so warm. But Phil knows that now, now is the last time, so he links their ankles, doesn’t release Dan’s fingers, and kisses all the skin he can reach as he rocks in and out.

***

And so it goes. They live together, they watch their morning anime together, they film and edit side by side, they travel together, and most of their lives stay the same. They just stop having sex, they stop the easy private touches, and Dan no longer categorizes Phil as “boyfriend.” He’s just “friend” now, although both of those words have always felt too simple and flimsy for what they have. It all feels a bit disingenuous, like they’re lying to themselves about some grand sacrifice they’ve made, because how much has really changed? It does make public appearances easier, though, and it certainly eases the knot of tension that seemed to live between Dan’s shoulders every time they’d stepped outside together for years.

They have their moments of weakness, of course. Like how sometimes in the morning when Dan pads out of his bedroom, his feet want to pad the three feet to Phil’s door, barge in like he always had, and just nestle his way into the empty space next to Phil in bed. He trains himself not to though. Instead, he strolls into the kitchen and puts on a pot of coffee. It isn’t so odd to go to their separate bedrooms at night. Even when they were together, they would often choose to sleep in their own beds. Sometimes you just need to spread eagle and sleep an uninterrupted ten hours without another 6 foot 3 man snuffling away next to you.

Sometimes on the tube, perhaps heading back from the BBC or the cinema, the two men are forced to cram in extra close to one another. Dan’s habits have him leaning into Phil’s side so that he can give whoever is next to him an extra inch of room. The proper protocol in those kinds of situations is now murky, though. How close is too close? Which parts are okay for Dan’s body to touch? Are knees acceptable? Ribs? He clenches his hands in his lap, taps his feet, picks at his cuticles, looks at his phone even though they both know he’s lost service in the underground. Those moments are the hardest for him, when his body is reminded of what Phil’s comfort and warmth can feel like. That kind of close is often too close.

***

It turns out Dan knew nothing of too close. It turns out that living in an apartment with somebody for five years does not prepare you for touring with them, without even a bus to spread out on. The month of Dan and Phil’s traveling for The Amazing Tour is Not On Fire in the UK was four weeks of constant enclosed spaces — cars, hotels, dressing rooms, trains. Dan could always smell Phil’s aftershave, he was always pressed up against him in all of their vehicles, he always felt the steam from Phil’s shower when it drifted into their shared bedroom — always shared, their budget wasn’t huge and, honestly, they preferred it that way anyway. They always changed in the same 20x10 foot dressing spaces each night, chilly, bashful, and buzzing with energy before the show, and then sweaty, flushed, a bit more careless afterwards.

Dan had caught Phil’s eyes lingering more than once while he toweled off his sweat-damp hair, or when he tossed that night’s eclipse t-shirt into their shared laundry bag before using the same towel to pat down the sheen on his flushed, patchy chest. Not too long ago, a version of him might have raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips, maybe acted scandalized, admonished Phil teasingly, bumped his hip, flicked his nipple. Or, if they’d had some time, maybe he would've smirked, stage adrenaline still pumping through him, and stepped right into Phil’s space, daring him to make the first move. Now, he just ducks his head to hide his blush, folding his towel uselessly, reaching for his phone to have something to do.

***

The tour continues to expand, stretching onwards, simultaneously draining them and refueling them. It also begins to pull the two men even more tightly towards one another—their magnetism becoming something renewed.

They both feel the pull between them and the crowd each time they perform — the thrumming, pulsing, magnetic energy that hovers and hums in the space between stage and seats. It was a call and response, a synergistic synchronicity with a strength unlike anything either of them had ever felt before. The sheer intensity of it all while they are up on stage is completely indescribable. It’s heady, exhilarating; it makes Dan feel both terrified and thrilled. His fingers are always trembling with nerves before he steps on stage, and then shaking with adrenaline when he steps off. The roar of the crowd stuffs his ears with cotton, and even if he could hear properly, he's always too excited to stop shouting.

That energy, the intense tug between them and the audience, Dan and Phil start to feel that tenfold between the two of them. The crowds, the interviews, the traveling, it all seems to magnify the togetherness of what they’re doing, how much they have created, and how neither of them could have built this on their own. Sure, they’d have been successful in their own rights, but the magnitude of what they’ve built, the numbers, the extensive US tour they’re planning… The fans are showing up because of what happens between Dan and Phil; that inexplicable, magical way that they play off of each other.

And as the weeks pass, Dan begins to feel like there’s a thread wound around his rib cage, binding him to Phil. Phil’s presence, the comfort of his sheer existence, the predictable nature of Phil’s body movements, that safety becomes a requirement for his day to day functioning. But the feeling in Dan’s gut becomes even more about a need for constant physical proximity, like there’s some actual magnetic field merging him and Phil together.

At first, Dan thinks that he’s the only one feeling this. Perhaps he’s imagining it. But he’s noticed the way Phil has been looking around a bit more urgently when Dan is out of sight. He’s seen it before: at YouTube parties when they’re separated and whoever Phil’s been chatting with wanders off, or at the cinema when Dan ducks off to the bathroom while Phil waits for popcorn. He knows the tilt of Phil’s neck, the way he tries to covertly scope out his periphery for a Dan-shaped figure. Over the past few weeks, those movements have been less subtle, a bit more frantic, and far more frequent. Whenever Dan wanders over to talk to one of the crew-members or finds a particularly secluded corner to sit and absently scroll through Reddit in, he notices Phil’s head swiveling around to locate him.

And he’s seen the way Phil’s fingers are digging a bit more firmly into his front pockets when he’s standing near Dan. His claw fingers are nothing new, but Dan considers himself extremely well versed in Phil Lester’s body language. He knows roughly the kind of situation which results in the claw-pocket, as well as the exact amount of finger submerged in said pocket. (Up to the first knuckle: An unfamiliar setting, conversing with a stranger or vague acquaintance, or the awareness of extra eyes on him, either in the form of a camera crew or just curious passersby). But these days, Phil is shoving his hands in his pockets all the time.

Dan could be misinterpreting…but his own hands have been twitching to just reach out and touch Phil whenever he’s close. He’d spent so long training himself to keep his hands and limbs to himself when around Phil in public, and then in private too, but now suddenly his fingertips feel electrified again. He feels possessed, adolescent, love dumb; the need to hold Phil has become powerful and muddling. And so each time he watches Phil bury his hands in his pockets, he senses an echo of his own supressed urges.

Sharing cars, trains, a stage, and a bedroom was frustrating at times, the closeness practically unbearable. And yet, at the end of a show, when they’d wiped the sweat, chugged the waters, thanked the crew, and finally closed the hotel door behind them; each and every time, Dan was grateful to have Phil there. There was no way to communicate what they were doing and how they felt after a show — the madness of it all and the headiness felt beyond words, even to people like Martyn, Cornelia, and Marianne, who all saw it firsthand. When alone together, they didn’t have to talk about it, explain it, label it; they both just knew. And Dan’s fingers still twitched, because maybe if they communicated through touch, they could make some sense of it all.

***

The UK leg of the tour finishes, and Dan feels positively invincible. The post-show adrenaline has his pulse thrumming. He’s shivering with a sense of pride for what he and Phil have built together from the ground-up and feeling loose with gratitude for all of the friends and peers who attended the show, screaming and cheering from the far back during the final bows. He didn’t expect them to understand the show, but cutting through the slight embarrassment, he is mostly just glad that they got to see and feel this swirling mass of quirky young fans. He knows that he and Phil have something special; something warm and supportive and spectacularly alive. He’s glad some of the people he cares about got to be swept up in it firsthand.

Now, at the afterparty, he’s on his third drink. He’s had two of his personal drinks, savoring the bitterness on his tongue before finally succumbing to Phil’s pleas to try one of his sweet, bright blue drinks. And though it pains him to admit it, the contrast of icy sugar is surprisingly satisfying. He takes another sip and continues to shake his head at PJ’s requests for possession of the giant Dil head.

“Not even just for one video?”

“Nah mate, I’m sorry! Unless you want DC to slam us and you with copyright infringement… We had to ask special permission to make that head. Two emails from higher-ups and one desperate phone call from Phil.”

“Yeah alright, I get it. No help for us small guppies in the Youtube pond these days…” PJ’s eyes glint as he speaks, lips quirked, and Dan just rolls his eyes.

“Hey, I’m sure you’ve heard this a few times, but you both were really astounding up there. I had no idea what to expect, but, really. The show was fantastic.”

PJ is soft spoken as always, but he speaks the compliment so firmly and his eyes are so warm and open. Dan just pauses and grins.

“Thanks. It honestly means a lot to us that you and Sophie came. Glad we could make the long haul from Brighton worth it,” and there it is again… Dan always catching himself speaking for him and Phil as a “we,” even when he’s on his own. Speaking of…

“Hey, have you seen—” and before he can even complete his sentence, PJ’s head nods to the left. Dan follows his gaze to the bar and is surprised when his eyes immediately meet Phil’s, who looks even more surprised to have been caught, blinking himself out of a daze and giving Dan a small smile that Dan easily returns. Dan turns back to PJ to drag him over to the bar, but PJ’s just backing away towards a group of fellow Brighton YouTubers. He’s got a smirking look on his face, eyebrows raised as he shakes his head at Dan before glancing back over at Phil and then finally turning around to strike up a new conversation.

Dan knows it means something. He knows PJ and reads facial cues well enough to know PJ is saying something pointed, loud and clear. But because it's PJ, who actually does know bits of their complicated history, Dan shakes it off when in other cases, he might bristle. His tipsy self thinks, let them look, let them all wonder, as he turns back to see Phil still watching him. As Dan makes his way over, he absently ponders how long they've been separated at this party, when that happened, and why.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“PJ loved it,” Dan nods his head towards PJ, now facing away from them. Phil just grins in response.

“Flipside’s really taking full advantage of the open bar,” Phil gestures to the small circle of younger Youtubers under their management. They're about three notches louder than anyone else at the party, laughing hysterically, and Tom has already spilled what looks like a “Dan” cocktail down his button-down.

“Bets on who will projectile first? I've got my eye on anyone sticking to your drinks…the amount of sugar masking that amount of alcohol is a bad combination.”

“Hey! Don't bad vibe my beverage! It's just a test of who can handle their liquor under a fruity guise.”

“Right. Do you reckon I should get another?” Dan asked, looking down at his recently emptied glass.

“I mean, it is our party. Let's both get one more and cheers each other? It's only fair, right? Must be some kind of rule or something. All newly completed, wildly successful stage shows must be celebrated with a cheers by its two dashing leads,” Phil says giddily. His eyes are bright, hair a bit messier than he'd typically allow, and he’s gesticulating even more than usual. Dan always adores Phil when he’s tipsy, and he’s incapable of doing anything other than humoring him. So he rolls his eyes and turns towards the bar to order two more of their respective drinks.

As he leans into the bar, hands braced flat in front of him, he notices Phil do the same in his periphery. He thinks nothing of it as he requests their drinks from the bartender, but his gaze darts down at the feel of Phil’s hand along the side of Dan’s.

His mind is a bit fuzzy, but it zeroes in on the precise sensation of physical contact, pressing deliberate, warm, and firm. Phil then hooks his pinky over Dan’s and Dan’s breath catches. It's such a simple, tiny move. No one from behind would even notice; their bodies are close enough to shield their hands. But it’s a touch, and a touch that intimate means more than Dan is capable of processing at the moment. He doesn’t move his hand, doesn’t even look at Phil. He just chances another glance down, watches Phil’s pinky give his own a gentle stroke, and feels like someone has kicked him in the back of the knees. He’s glad for the bar he leans on to mask how unsteady a fucking pinky stroke made him feel.

The bartender snaps him out of it with their drinks, and Phil gracefully removes his hand to take his drink, shoving his free hand into his front pocket. Dan welcomes the cool shock of glass on his palm; it provides him a centering point to focus on before turning towards Phil. They lock eyes, Dan feeling unsure and inexplicably overwhelmed. Phil just smiles, warm, reassuring, open, and holds his glass towards Dan.

“Cheers?” Phil proposes, “to this whole crazy thing we’ve done?”

“Cheers to doing it successfully enough that we can have personalized drinks named after us. But also, yeah, cheers to this massive baby we birthed that now has a mind of its own and is barreling out of our control. I'm terrified of it all, but I'm also proud of it, of us,” Dan laughs self-consciously at his own rambling, but hopes he got his point across. Regardless, Phil gets it.

“To us?”

“So cheesy…yeah, yeah, to us.”

They clink their glasses and hear a camera click off to the side. Dan turns and gives Tom a halfhearted middle finger before turning back to Phil.

As they sip and hold each other's smiling gazes, Dan feels warm and confused, stomach a little fluttery and fingers even twitchier than usual. This tour was prying open the lid on a box Dan thought he’d packed tightly away. The kinetic force of their togetherness hadn't been quite so apparent since their early days of dating, when the power of their chemistry, attraction, and compatibility seemed to bowl them over every time they were in the same room. Furthermore, he couldn't remember the last time Phil had touched him so deliberately, even in such a benign way, and the sensation of his pinky left an awareness akin to pins and needles in Dan’s right hand.

***

“I would literally rather shave my own toenails off and eat them than get on a flight to America in the morning,” Dan groans.

Phil giggles against the taxi window, his eyes shut, tongue poking out of his mouth. “Movies though,” he says.

“What?”

“We’ve got all those movies we’ve been meaning to watch. That’ll be nice, right?”

“I could watch ten movies tomorrow without leaving my bedroom.”

“Fair enough. Yeah, honestly, there are few things I’d less like to do than go to the airport tomorrow. You finished packing, right?”

“Mhm… Hey, I have an idea,”

Phil grunts curiously in response.

“How about we stop at a hardware shop right now and pick up a wheelbarrow so that you can cart me around the airport tomorrow? And while we’re at it, let’s grab some arsenic so that you can poison me in my sleep tonight. You can’t catch a flight if you’re convulsing, right?”

Phil snorts. “I’d wheel your convulsing self through security… It’d probably be a smoother journey that way. Also, I don’t think they sell arsenic at the shops.”

“Hey! I’m an excellent traveler. You’ve seen how efficiently I pack a carry-on,” Dan’s protest lacks any bite. They’d reached the point in the night where he is mostly just talking in an effort to keep himself awake. After a few moments of silence, he sits upright again.

“Hey Phil?”

Phil grunts in reply, more softly this time.

“We actually, really did that.”

Phil slowly lifts his head, opens his eyes, turns towards Dan. “Yeah, we really, actually did.”

Dan swears he hasn’t seen that look in Phil’s eyes in ages. There’s an unguarded, open appreciation there. It’s a lazy morning in bed together kind of look. His eyes are wide, soft, crinkled at the corners. His mouth is relaxed, smile so gentle, and his hair is mussed from pressing against the window. Dan knows he has no control over what his own face is doing at the moment. He knows what it’s saying. This is special; I couldn’t have done this with anybody else; I love you when you’re drunk and sleepy; and it’s all true. They hold the gaze until it’s too long, until Dan has to shake his head slightly with a No, we can’t, and look down at his hands. His fingers twitch their requisite twitch please and he’s still smiling, still proud and fond, but it’s tinged with the blanket of sadness that he really had hoped he’d shaken off for good.

***

They board their plane without significant incident. Dan already realizes that he forgot a toothbrush, packed zero pairs of socks, and upon checking the weather on his phone, he may not have brought enough versatile attire for November in both Chicago and LA. Phil’s eyes look bloodshot, and they've barely said a word to one another the entire morning.

Dan feels like he hasn't been this tired in years, which may actually be true. They're too exhausted to begin watching their list of movies, and Dan’s mind keeps reminding him of precisely how hectic their upcoming schedule is. As the cabin lights dim around him, he keeps compulsively tapping through the dates on his calendar for the next week, running through the logistics of each interview, signing, and flight.

He's surprised when Phil's hand appears, gently turning the phone over and pressing it face down onto Dan’s thigh. Dan immediately feels what he knows is a misplaced spark of annoyance, fueled by general aggravation at Phil's hand on his thigh. Another touch; the kind of thoughtless move that lovers make. Not friends.

“I was looking at that,” Dan snaps.

“Stop obsessing, it won't help,” Phil softly urges.

“At least this way one of us will know our plans,” Dan says with too much bite. He knows he's being unfair.

“Dan, Marianne’s coming with us for a reason. She has at least four copies of a printed, probably laminated itinerary for us. We’ll be fine and we’ll take it day by day. Stop driving yourself mad.”

“Yeah alright, sorry. You’re right,” Dan responds, defeated.

Only then does Phil remove the warm, insistent weight of his hand from Dan’s leg. Dan feels a pull in his gut, protesting the loss of touch. He flips his phone back over to press play on his music, closing his eyes and urging his brain to settle.

Something about this exhaustion blurs the lines of their relationship. Soon Phil’s head falls onto Dan’s shoulder. Dan tenses, looks around, tries to see if anyone is watching, before realizing he is too tired to really care. He relaxes his shoulders and lets it be, subtly angling his face towards Phil’s head. He breathes in the familiar smell — cotton and pine, and his fingers twitch. Sighing, he watches his breath ruffle some of Phil’s hair. He yearns.

***

Their week passes in a state of chaos. They collapse into hotel beds each night, desperately grateful for Marianne’s calm reminders of what time their car leaves the next morning and which flight they’re catching next. They travel from London to New York to LA to Chicago in a span of five days, and they lose all sense of time, space, and climate. Phil forgets to carry his winter coat with him on the flight from LA to Chicago, and the thought of digging through his luggage in the airport has him unreasonably stressed.

“I’m just pretty sure I packed it underneath everything else,” Phil says as they step off the plane. There’s a tight edge to his voice that Dan is both unaccustomed to hearing and trained to recognize.

Once they’ve pulled their bags off the bag carousel, Dan tugs the thick black sweater over his head, hands it to Phil, and digs his puffy winter jacket out of the front pocket of his own suitcase.

“We’ll grab a taxi right outside; we won’t have to be in the cold for long,” Dan says, glancing up at Phil as he zips his suitcase back up. Phil looks at him gratefully and tugs the sweater, warm from the heat of Dan’s body, over his own head. It’s a bit big on him — Dan prefers to swim in his sweaters — but it smells familiar and somehow feels warmer than his coat ever could. Phil feels a bit of the tension that had been building in his shoulders release as they step out of the automatic doors and into the frigid air.

***

Their Chicago book signing goes without incident, unlike the hectic madness of Barnes and Noble in New York. They’re sitting side by side on one of the queen beds in their larger-than-average room while Phil snickers as he shows Dan some of the fallout on Twitter and Tumblr from the “angry dad” incident. They watch the original footage of the conversation, Phil shying into the background and Dan stepping forward to address the problem.

“That is potentially the first and only time I have ever handled a public mishap with grace and eloquence instead of just melting into the floor,” Dan says, shaking his head at himself on the screen. “Like, is that an alien with remarkable composure and mastery of the English language wearing my flesh suit?”

Phil snorts. “At least you didn’t actually melt into the floor. I’m a full grown adult hiding in the face of confrontation,” he says, cringing at himself. “I’m really glad you stepped up and said something though, you handled it well.” Phil’s voice is so warm. Dan looks up at him, meets his gaze and gives him a small, dimpling smile.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Dan breaks their eye contact to stand up and walk to the window. He pulls back the curtain and warily eyes the snow outside. It was at about three inches when they left the bookshop, waved to some fans outside and told them to get indoors and bundle up. It is still snowing heavily and according to the Weather app, it showed no sign of stopping for the next 24 hours.

“How’s it look?” Phil asks from his spot on the bed.

“Bad. Like, six inches or so? They’re big snowflakes… I don’t think I’ve ever seen a proper snowstorm like this,” Dan replies.

“We got some rough blizzards up north, but it’s definitely been a while for me. We should go outside,” Phil suggests, his voice rising in a tentative, questioning lilt.

Dan turns around and lets the blinds fall shut. He sees the open excitement in Phil’s eyes. There’s often something boyish and eager in Phil that keeps Dan on his toes, even at his most cynical of moments. And so he ignores the instinct to just groan and let physical exhaustion lead him towards the plush mattress.

“Yeah, alright. Roof?”

“We can try,” Phil says, nodding as he goes to fish some clean socks out of his suitcase. Once appropriately clothed for the blizzard, they head towards the elevator and press the button for the top floor.

“They said there was a stairwell towards roof access, right? We won’t get, like, tased for sneaking up there, will we?” Dan asks as they make their way down the hotel hallway, hunting for a stairwell.

“Well, it’s not sneaking if they told us about it, which yeah, they did, plus it definitely said something about it in that guide,” Phil says. Dan snorts in response. They’d never stayed in a hotel where Phil hadn’t assiduously read every page of information about the establishment left on the bedside table or desk, including each item of the room service menu.

“You and your frickin hotel room guides… Aha!” Dan exclaims as they reach the door labeled ‘Roof Access.’

He gingerly places his key card in the slot before turning the handle, looking furtively around him. Phil rolls his eyes and yanks the door open, placing his hand on the small of Dan’s back and giving him a nudge.

“We’re literally not sneaking; stop acting so suspicious! You’re making me feel like a criminal.”

Dan giggles but stays in the doorway for a beat longer than necessary, just to feel Phil’s hand pressing against his back through his coat. It's silly, these little touches that he lingers on.

It’s freezing on the roof, and all of the chairs are coated in inches of snow. Their shoes are immediately soaked through after about thirty seconds of being outside, and their coats are clearly not heavy duty enough for a Chicago winter.

“I need a frickin balaclava just to stand out here… Great idea Phil!” Dan shouts over the wind, laughing at the absurdity of how intense the storm is.

“Yeah, but look at it!” Phil trudges through the snow towards the side of the roof. He keeps his distance from the railing but looks out at the quiet streets, traffic practically stopped in the storm. Other than the wind, the city is quiet, and the snowflakes fall thick around them. Dan follows after him, standing close enough to Phil that their arms press together; a sturdy pillar in the face of the storm.

“Yeah, alright, this is beautiful. I’m glad you brought me out here,” Dan admits as he looks up, letting the snowflakes catch on his lashes and hair and melt down his cheeks. He looks over at Phil, who is open-mouthed, catching snowflakes on his tongue, and laughs. “You look ridiculous,” Dan says, before tilting his head back up to do the exact same thing. “Mmmm, cloud ice.”

“Y’know…” Phil starts, “I’m glad we’re doing this together. All of this. Seeing new places, trying new things.”

“Me too,” Dan responds easily, looking over at Phil with a soft smile. They share another long moment; there seem to be more and more of those recently. This time, Phil is the one to break their gaze.

“Alright, I think my toes have turned into popsicles; let’s go inside.”

Dan nods and follows Phil through their footsteps, now dusted over with fresh snow, back into the warmth.

***

The next morning they wake to their alarm, set on Dan’s phone since he’s a lighter sleeper, at 7 AM, suitcases packed and ready for their 11 AM flight.

Dan squints at the texts he received from Marianne and reads the alert automatically sent from the airline.

“Flight’s canceled. Blizzard,” he grunts.

“Like canceled-canceled?” Phil asks, voice muffled from his face buried in his pillow.

“Seems pretty canceled,” Dan says as he clicks the link in the text alert and skims through the information. “Heavy snow on the runway...low visibility...ice on the wings...next flight out indefinite...refunded tickets…guaranteed seat on next available flight of our choosing. Yeah, it’s full-on canceled. We’re stuck here for now.”

Dan pulls himself into a seating position and decides he ought to figure out the hotel situation so that they aren’t kicked to the curb at 11 AM in a blizzard. He calls Marianne first, and she picks up on the first ring. Phil rolls over to listen to Dan’s side of the conversation, eyes still closed and hands wrapped around his pillow.

“Morning, just wanted to make sure we aren’t getting hotel evicted. I should call down and try to extend our stay, right?

...You did? Bless you, thank you, praise be upon you. Another night? Alright…

Oh okay. You’re sure? Because you know we’ll gladly pay for your extra night.

Alright, if you’re positive. And it won’t be a hassle for you to get there?

Okay. Thank you again, really. Have a good blizzard," Dan hangs up, puts the phone back on the bedside table, and glances over at Phil, who still looks comatose.

“I’m awake. What’d she say?” Phil grumbles.

“She extended our stay with the hotel another night, booked us another flight out tomorrow afternoon, she’s staying with some old friend who moved to America and happened to settle in Chicago a couple of years ago. Apparently they’re just a few blocks away. Godspeed to her trudging through this storm,” Dan says.

He checks his weather app, which reports that the snow is still coming down hard, and figures he ought to look outside. He pads to the window, pulling open the curtain despite Phil’s grumbling. It’s still snowing heavily, and other than a snow plow a few blocks away, there is scarcely any movement on the streets below.

“So…we can go back to sleep, right?” Dan hears Phil ask from bed.

“Yeah just...come look at the snow for a second.”

“Must I?”

“You must, Mr. Blizzard-Man.”

“Clever.”

“It’s early. Just come look.”

A few moments pass before Dan hears a rustle of sheets and Phil’s slow plodding across the carpet to the window. He’s then shocked to feel Phil’s sleep-warm body press up against his back. Dan stands uncertainly in his long-sleeved t-shirt and briefs. While the air between the curtain and window feels cool against his skin, he feels fresh goosebumps erupt along his body as Phil appears behind him. This is the type of action neither of them would typically feel comfortable doing, but somehow at this early hour, in the newness of the snow and the closeness of this hotel room, it seems natural and coveted for Phil’s torso to drape across Dan’s.

He peers over Dan’s shoulder for a moment, breath on Dan’s neck, and Dan wishes he weren't so aware that he is in just his pants. He’s also aware that Phil is in his thin pajama bottoms, no pants underneath, pelvis ghosting against Dan’s ass. Not the time, not the time, Dan thinks to himself.

Phil then reaches out to draw the curtain open further and moves to stand next to Dan. Shoulder to shoulder, they stare out at the snow in the light of a new day. Dan feels a flush on his neck and chest, and a reignited humming awareness of Phil’s body. Phil, on the other hand, seems unfazed by the physical contact, looking out at the city in slight awe of the amount of snow.

“Okay, it’s my turn to thank you for forcing me to look,” Phil admits softly.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re welcome, you morning grump,” Dan says.

Just before turning back to his bed, Phil links his pinky around Dan’s and squeezes. Dan looks up at Phil with wide, confused eyes, just to see a small, curious smile in Phil’s own. They look hopeful, apologetic, and playful all at once, before Phil quickly breaks the gaze to plod to the bathroom. Dan stands frozen, watching Phil until the door closes behind him. He then pulls the drapes closed and returns to take a seat on his bed. What is Phil playing at? He's no fool, he surely knows exactly what he is doing, that this is out of their norm, so what the fuck.

When Phil emerges a few moments later, he just looks at Dan wordlessly, expression unreadable. Dan hates him for looking his most attractive right now; hair a mess, glasses on, face a bit stubbly, baggy t-shirt exposing his collarbone and thin pajama bottoms just hinting at a familiar bulge. He looks sloppy and boyish, handsome and soft. He quirks his lips at Dan’s staring and Dan just shakes his head in disbelief as Phil calmly removes his glasses and collapses back into bed.

“See you in a few hours Dan,” he says before rolling over to face the opposite direction. Dan heaves a long sigh and shakes his head incredulously again.

So Phil is flirting with him and clearly has no plans to acknowledge it verbally. Well, he’s dealt with enough at this early hour of the morning; Phil’s antics can wait.

“Sleep well, Phil,” Dan murmurs, before curling back up under his own covers.

***

They wake up three hours later and order room service. Eating a leisurely breakfast in bed feels like the height of luxury, despite their bodies’ internal clocks feeling completely out of whack. Dan wordlessly carries his omelet and silverware to Phil’s bed, and Phil scooches over to make room for him. Their legs press together under the covers, closer than they would typically sit, as they watch a few episodes of Haikyu on Phil’s laptop.

They leave the drapes open to watch the snowfall begin to lighten, and Dan feels like they’re even more in their own world than usual. Something about the muffling effect the snow has on the city, the quiet of the hotel, the scarce human interaction and the small dimensions of this shared room. They brought no camera equipment on their short trip, so they can’t even feel guilty about not filming or uploading, and they’re in a city where they know absolutely nobody, trapped inside by an actual blizzard. Curiously, Dan has never felt more free. From the looseness of Phil’s smiles and the way his toes keep brushing the arch of Dan’s foot under the cover, he senses that Phil feels the same.

After they’ve exhausted the anime and completed their breakfasts, they resign themselves to getting some work done. From their same positions on Phil’s bed, they tackle an hour’s worth of emails, respond to some tweets from Dan’s account, comments on Phil's new video, and edit some gaming footage that they'd imported before leaving London.

“Alright, that’s it. I’m stir-crazy. We’ve gotta get out of here,” Phil announces mid-afternoon.

Dan looks up from where he’s hunched over his laptop. “Alright, what do you reckon, we just walk out into the snowstorm?”

“No, I mean, it’d be nice to do something. But yeah, I guess we could just walk around,” Phil says. He’s looking a little wired and crazed in the eyes, so Dan does some research.

“Alright, I found an arcade bar. It’s a 15 minute walk, so I don’t think our extremities will fall off in that amount of time,” Dan says a few minutes later.

“Will we be pressured to do video-game-themed shots?” Phil asks warily.

“Nah, looks more vintage-arcade games than actual bar.”

Phil’s eyes widen, clearly delighted. He insists that they call to make sure the bar’s open before they bundle and make the walk. Luckily, the manager who answers the phone lives above the bar, so the storm presents no trouble for her.

***

Two minutes out of the hotel lobby, Phil hits a patch of slippery slush, skids, and begins to fall backwards with a loud whoosh. In shocking coordination and speed, Dan whips around and grabs Phil’s elbow in one hand, the fabric of his coat in the other. For a moment, Dan catches his own balance, holding Phil suspended over the pavement, before hauling him up. Of course he misjudges the distance between the two of them, and of course Phil stumbles into Dan. In a moment Dan can only assume was concocted by the gods whose priority in life is to laugh at human folly, Dan’s lips drag across Phil’s cheek, ending with a huff in his ear as Phil’s hands grip Dan’s chest, finally on steady ground. For a long moment, they linger in their closeness, Dan’s mouth against Phil’s ear, their bodies pressed together. After a few breaths, they pull back, Phil’s eyes wide and an apology on his mouth.

“Smooth, Phil,” Dan cuts in, just to break the tension.

“Like it’s my fault the sidewalks are a skating rink!”

“Just channel your inner Yuri,” Dan halfheartedly jokes, refusing to let that moment become A Thing. Just keep it light and keep it moving, he thinks to himself.

Phil giggles, and they both gingerly carry on. After a harrowing, wet, slow-going trek, they finally spot muted technicolor lights and the retro bolded lettering of Emporium Arcade Bar.

“Thank God,” Dan mutters. They shuffle inside, stomping their feet on the entry rug, patting down their damp hair, and peeling off their jackets. A woman helpfully gestures at a rack where they hang their coats. Then they turn towards each other, eying one another’s flushed cheeks, pink noses, dripping mussed hair, and wild eyes. They giggle in disbelief at the state of themselves before making their way to the bar. A few minutes later, Dan holds a cup filled to the brim with game tokens, and they each carry a drink. They went for mulled wine to start — seasonally appropriate and one of the few temptingly warm drinks on the menu.

They decide to ease into things with a warmup of Pacman, giddily taking their requisite spots on the right and left of the joystick.

***

An hour and a half later, they’re both one mulled wine and two warm hard ciders in (lending an even rosier tint to the patch on Dan’s cheek). They have the entire place to themselves, save a trio of nerdy older guys, probably in their forties, all huddled around a single machine, and the manager. They’ve made the rounds, playing some of their old favorites and indulging in each other's nostalgia. They feel warm, loose, and giddy, bumping hips and elbows, Phil’s eyes sharp and bright, Dan’s dimple permanently etched into his cheek.

“You absolute dickwad cocksucking bumfucker,” Dan sputters. His voice is high pitched, tone one of disbelief as he loses yet another round of Mortal Kombat.

“Well…” Phil quirks his lips, sneaks a glance at Dan, takes his chance, “not for a while I haven't been.” He glances over again to catch Dan’s reaction.

Dan snorts a surprised laugh and exclaims “Phil!” He then buries his face in his hands as it flashes its signature flush, shaking his head. From his hand cave, he mutters a muffled, “S’not like I’ve been stopping you.”

“Dan… C’mon,” Phil says dismissively.

Clearly Dan feels like testing his limits today. The closeness of the past few weeks and Phil’s uncharacteristic physicality over the past few days has Dan itching for some sort of continuation to this re-opened loop. And, of course, there was always the nagging part of his mind that is convinced Phil should and will one day find somebody better than Dan.

So, in the most nonchalant tone he can manage, Dan says, “I’m just saying, it’s not like you can’t...see someone else,” he shrugs, eyebrow quirked and lower lip pursed out in a see-if-I-care fashion, but he keeps his eyes trained on the leaderboard in front of him.

Phil turns towards Dan, brows furrowed. “Dan, you can’t honestly think… Just. Don’t be stupid.”

Dan finally turns and meets Phil’s gaze, face deliberately blank.

Phil sighs, realizing that Dan is going to make him say it.

“It wouldn’t happen,” Phil says firmly. “I’m not interested in anyone else. Full stop.”

Dan’s poker-face is garbage, even when he is trying his hardest, so the relief in his eyes is clear as day. Dan’s body, which had gone rigid during their brief exchange, relaxes as he allows his hip to cock towards Phil’s again. It settles the anxious fizzling in Phil’s own stomach. Meanwhile, Dan is stuck on the phrase anyone else, the words rattling around in his mind. Phil didn’t say anyone, he said anyone else. Dan lets himself smile, lets the fluttery warmth sneak its way into his fingertips.

“One more round?” Dan asks, already feeding tokens into the slot.

***

“This is stupid.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean…"

“We already—”

Dan cuts Phil off quickly, not quite ready to hear the end of the sentence. “Yeah, alright, whatever. Let’s do it. We can stop whenever.”

Dan is lying on his stomach on the hotel bed, idly scrolling through Reddit. Phil sits upright alongside him, resting against the headboard. A few minutes prior, Dan had shown him a New York Times article that he’d seen re-posted on Twitter, entitled “25 Questions to Make You Fall in Love.”

“I don’t buy it,” Dan had said, as Phil squinted his eyes to read the title.

“Oooh, I’m curious now,” Phil said and clicked through to the article. Dan snatched his phone back before Phil could read any of the questions, so Phil opened it on his own phone. And now here they were, playing chicken with a love questionnaire.

Dan rolls over onto his back, still looking up at Phil.

“You look like an alien like this; like your mouth is at the top of your head,” Dan mused.

“Now you know how I always feel when looking at you.”

“That doesn’t even…”

“Yeah. Sorry. Anyway…”

This is a bad idea. Dan knows this is a bad idea. He didn’t show the article to Phil with any ulterior motives, he just thought it was interesting and kind of ridiculous. But far be it from him to talk Phil out of an idea once he gets it into his head.

The first round goes smoothly, without a hitch. They snort at some of each other’s answers and try to keep it light, skipping some of the unnecessary questions like “Explain your life story in four minutes,” since they feel like they’re pretty set in that department. More than anything, it just feels like a conversation, and it’s nice. Nice to talk about things they don’t always discuss.

“Question number eleven: 'Describe your most treasured memory.'”

They both think for a while before Dan breaks the silence.

“This is so lame, but it could be that last show in London? Like, it felt like proof that everything we do is worth something. But also, I dunno, maybe this day I had with my grandparents when I was like twelve. I was having such a shit week at school and didn’t think anyone had noticed, and one morning they just came to my house, picked me up before I left for school and brought me to the zoo. Then we had afternoon tea. They didn’t ask me any questions and I don’t even know if they told my parents. We just had a lovely day together where I didn’t have to think about the twats who spat in my lunch and called me a fag, or the Maths teacher who mocked my posh accent. It just, it meant a lot at the time, knowing someone cared.”

Phil nods and looks warmly down at Dan. He doesn’t do the things anyone else would have done in response to that story. He doesn’t sigh, coo, or let even a hint of pity reach his gaze. He just smiles and feels a surge of gratitude for Dan’s grandparents, for the fact that Dan is here with him today, for the man that Dan has become.

“Yours?” Dan asks.

Phil thinks for a long moment.

“I don’t know… This is so random, but maybe that first Escape the Room we did with everyone? I just remember realizing, like, wow. I have these friends and this…well, perfect boyfriend at the time, and they all love to do nerdy stuff like this, and I’m having so much fun with them. I hadn’t felt that happy in a while, and I remember feeling really lucky on that day.”

Dan smiles softly, nodding along as Phil speaks. He tries not to linger on the phrase perfect boyfriend, tries not to feel any type of way about the inherent sadness of the words at the time.

“It’s not random. I remember that day too. All your friends seemed so frickin cool, and I felt so much younger than you all. Looking back it’s like, we were all complete, utter nerds. But, I dunno, you just seemed larger than life back then. And yeah, I remember how happy you were. I was so happy too. That was such a foreign feeling for me, honestly. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. But it never really did, did it?”

“No, it didn’t,” Phil responds, still remembering the giddy feeling of that day, all those days, that time of their lives. They glance at each other and smile before Phil interrupts the moment.

“Alright, sharp pivot. 'Most terrible memory,'” Phil announces.

“Jesus Christ, New York Times. Way to crush a man’s spirit. Are they trying to get people to fall in love through trauma bonding?”

Phil snorts in response.

Dan’s answer comes to him more quickly this time. “Okay, first thing that comes to mind: There was this day at uni where I skipped all my classes and just stayed in my dorm in the dark. And I remember genuinely thinking to myself, wow, I am never going to feel good again. Like, I really thought that was it, that I would feel sad and drained and life would be meaningless forever. I didn’t really want to die, like, I wasn’t actively suicidal at the time, but I had no real will to live. It was just this awful acceptance of unhappiness…” Dan trails off.

Again, Phil just looks at Dan with a long, careful stare, and nods. No pity, no words of unnecessary comfort, just acknowledgement. He already knows all of this; he knows how bad it was for Dan at that time, and he knows that there were days to come when it would get even worse. But he also knows that it got better, that they are here together now, and that Dan was able to feel good again. So he doesn’t need to say anything, but he does briefly reach over to grab Dan’s hand and give it a quick squeeze. Dan gives him a soft smile in response.

“Okay, for me, it was probably the day I found out my friend had died. It was just… there’s really no way to describe it. It was awful. Knowing he was gone forever, that that was so permanent. And it feels selfish because, like, it’s not about me. But you still always wonder, could I have done anything?”

Dan nods. Phil doesn’t really talk about this much. He isn’t one to dwell on sad feelings, a trait Dan can’t entirely understand but does thoroughly appreciate as an often helpful counterbalance to his more depressive tendencies. He reaches out for the phone, and Phil passes it his way.

“'Describe your perfect day…'” Dan reads aloud. “Ok, that’s a happy one. Uh… I feel like it’d have to be in segments. First segment: I get to just roam around the Guild Wars universe. I’m not under attack or anything, it’s just free exploration. Second segment: You and I go back to Japan. We get a private tour of the Miyazaki studio. Then we get to walk around somewhere really remote and beautiful, maybe some mountain, surrounded by cherry blossoms. We have a perfect meal with the best sushi and bubble tea you’ve ever had. It’s serene and lovely. Third segment: I’m alone. There’s zero external pressure from any sources. I get to feel actual, uninterrupted, unburdened peace for the first time in my life.”

“Hmmm okay, I like yours a lot,” Phil says. That’s an understatement. He likes it so much that he wants to steal the entire second chunk of Dan’s day and live in that universe forever. He shakes off the thought and carries on. “I don’t... Mine’s more simple I guess. I’d like to sleep in and then wake up to some really great coffee. Like, perfect coffee, a bottomless supply of it. And bottomless candy throughout the day. I’m just drip-fed candy with no sugar crash.”

Dan snorts at this.

“You and my family and maybe a couple of good friends come with me to some delicious, innovative restaurant where I can dress casually and still be served like eight weird, delicious courses. Then maybe I’d get to have a chat with some of my favorite directors. I think that’d be cool.”

Dan nods approvingly. “I like yours too. Okay, next. 'Greatest regrets in life?'”

Phil cringes, as Dan knew he would. Phil has an even worse tolerance for heavy emotions like regret and tends to avoid them.

“I’ll start,” Dan offers. “I think… I mostly regret treating people in life like they’re expendable. Family members, friends, exes… I feel like I just expect people to be there when I’m ready for them. And people get sick of that. And then I lose them. It’s shitty.”

“Yeah, alright, I guess mine would be similar. I wish I’d held on to more relationships throughout my life. Like primary school friends, uni friends, just all the people I’d once cared a lot about. And I wish I was more gregarious when I was younger too. Tried more things, took more risks.”

Dan nods solemnly before reading the next question to himself. He snorts and shakes his head. “I knew this was a bad idea… ‘If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why?’” He looks up at Phil and they hold each other's gaze for a couple of moments before breaking into matching, sad smiles as they avert their eyes.

Dan takes a deep breath and says, “I’d dump the career, keep you, go back to the way things used to be with us. Maybe take you back to Japan, blow all our savings there.” He looks up nervously, but Phil just bites his lip and nods.

“Yeah, I...yeah,” Phil responds lamely. They break their gaze quickly. Phil fidgets with his hoodie’s drawstrings as Dan looks back down at the phone.

“Oh, great, listen to the next two: ‘What does friendship mean to you?’ and ‘What roles do love and affection play in your life?’ Really, this was such a great idea, Phil,” Dan says, not unkindly, but Phil can hear the edge to his tone. It sounds a bit like nervousness.

Phil sighs and decides he can tackle this one. “Honestly, it seems silly to define my version of friendship to you… But I feel like for me, friendship and affection are essential to my life. I suppose romantic love is less so? I dunno, I feel like I only really need you to fill those roles in my life,” Phil says, only a bit shakily. It’s the truth, and Dan knows it. Dan also notices that Phil doesn’t specify which roles he fills, exactly, but isn’t that just the crux of this whole murky thing?

“Yeah, same goes for me,” Dan says, somewhat wearily. It's a cop-out of an answer, but Phil lets him get away with it. Phil nods and slides down the bed, rolls over onto his stomach, so that he’s facing Dan. Dan does the same, mirroring his position so that they’re face to face, just a few inches apart. Their legs hang off opposite sides of the bed, and Dan props himself up on his elbows, eying Phil with an unnerving openness.

“Alright, now we have to take turns sharing positive characteristics about each other until we’ve each shared five. Are you feeling ready to quit now?” Phil asks, semi-seriously. He wants to keep the door open for Dan to back out of this if he feels the need.

“Oy, excuse me. Just because you’re incapable of complimenting me doesn’t mean the game’s over. I’m in and I’m ready to be buttered up. I’ll start?”

Phil puts his hands up defensively and nods, “Go on, then.”

“Okay. Your brain is weird as heck, but in a really beautiful way. Like, to create something, most people—me included—have to sit down and proper try to be creative. For you it just comes naturally. Like, you even have to dial back your creative weirdness sometimes. It’s amazing,” Dan says with such sincerity that Phil is taken aback for a second. It’s especially hard to process this amount of open flattery when Dan is looking at him like that, just inches away. Phil tries his hardest though.

“Alright, guess we’re just really going for it here. Thank you,” Phil says, somewhat awkwardly and with a bashful smile. “Okay, uh…”

Dan rolls his eyes.

“No! It’s not that I don’t have anything to say, I’m just thinking of how to word it. I swear.”

Dan raises a brow skeptically, so Phil shakes off his stupid nerves and begins.

“Okay. I feel like… I feel like you see yourself as this mess of a critical, overdramatic mind that sets you back in life. I see someone brilliantly introspective and thoughtful who draws grand conclusions on things that most people would look right past. And yeah you waffle and ramble way too much, but I think ultimately, it’s worth it,” Phil says. Dan looks up from his hands, which are fidgeting with the bedspread, and he dimples at Phil, eyes bright.

“You may say that, mate, but you don’t live with this brain. But thank you. Really. Um...alright. Your positivity thing isn’t just some facade. Like, sure, you’re a demon in the mornings and a snake when you play videogames, but you actually don’t let the floods of negativity get you down, because… I guess this is a two-in-one compliment… I think you manage it because you are so sure of who you are and have such a strong sense of self. Like, it’s amazing seeing how much confidence you carry yourself with, it’s really impressive. So, like, I think that’s why and how you manage to stay so positive. Can that count for two?”

“Yeah, sure,” Phil says. He’s full on grinning now. “This is the most sincere I think I’ve heard you in years. But I really appreciate it, Dan.” Phil’s heart is beating a bit faster than usual in the face of this open-faced vulnerability.

The warmth of the night’s drinks has fully worn off, and Dan can feel himself shrinking back from the honesty of their conversation. Their curtains are open; the warm glow of the city filters in, accompanying the singular light of the bedside lamp. Dan feels like their whole small world, contained in the walls of this room, is exceptionally private. For the past day, that’s been a welcome feeling, like a thick canopy drawn around a bed. But suddenly, it feels too close. At home, they always have their own rooms to retreat to, and the busy activity of London is always just two floors down. He is relieved when the ragged sound of a snowplow from the street below interrupts the hotel room’s peace. It feels like a way out.

“Alright, that’s enough disgusting kindness for a lifetime. Should we just stop while we’re ahead? We could watch Ex Machina instead,” Dan suggests quickly.

The look in Phil’s eyes implies that he thinks Dan is a chicken, but he won’t say a thing. He knows Dan well enough to know when his walls are caving in. He’ll let him have this one.

“Sure, you set it up." Phil stands up to grab his laptop off the desk and tosses it towards the center of his bed. He then turns to fiddle with the room’s electric kettle and free packets of hot chocolate. He goes to the bathroom to fill the kettle’s water basin in the sink and as he's returning, he hears Dan’s voice, more tentative than before.

“So, do you reckon it would’ve worked if we finished it?”

He looks at Dan, cross-legged on the center of the bed, hunched over the laptop and lit by its blue-ish glow. He’s intently looking at the screen, and perhaps even more intently not looking up at Phil.

“What do you—” Phil starts to ask in confusion, before he remembers the name of the article. 25 Questions to Make You Fall in love.

“Oh.” Phil pauses. He thinks this one through, and decides to go with honesty.

“I don’t think it had to work, Dan. At least, not for me.”

Dan looks up then, bites his lip, and tilts the laptop screen down so that his face is again awash in the orange glow of the bedside lamp. He looks so open, so scared, and so trusting. A hint of a smile shies through, and to Phil he looks young again, so young.

Dan raises his eyebrows in response to Phil’s words, asking a silent question. Phil nods two small, firm nods before turning back around to fiddle with the hot chocolate again. His fingers tremble a bit, and his heartrate feels a bit too fast again. He feels a smile creep up on him too, though. He’ll let this one play out.

***

Dan flutters his eyes open to see just the dim fluorescent glow of the bathroom light. Phil must have flicked off the bedside lamp at some point. He hears the sound of tooth brushing and figures he ought to do the same, but not quite yet. The mattress next to him is still warm, and he isn’t ready to move. Inexplicably, when Phil flicks off the bathroom light and wanders back in by the light of his phone flashlight (horrendous), Dan closes his eyes again and pretends to still be asleep. He wants to know where Phil will position his body with Dan still taking up half the bed.

Of course, as soon as Phil hits the mattress, Dan immediately feels ridiculous and snaps his eyes open. Phil meets his gaze, rolls to face him, and they eye one another.

“How much would you pay me to go brush my teeth right now?” Dan asks.

“Nought point two pence.”

“Not even one full pence? I think getting a fraction of one would be monumentally harder than just coughing up a coin.”

“I know a guy with a laser cutter back in London,” Phil responds lazily.

They’re just talking to fill the silence, to keep the equilibrium normal, to keep their own nerves settled.

Dan sighs dramatically and flops his limbs over the side of the bed, slowly inching his way up before shuffling to the bathroom. Once his teeth are clean, his face moisturized, and his bladder empty, he steps out of his sweatpants, drapes them on the towel rack, and heads to his own bed.

“Dan,” Phil’s voice is somehow both tentative and firm

Dan turns to quirk an eyebrow at him, before realizing that without glasses and in the dark, Phil can’t see a damn thing. “Mm?”

“Do you…” he trails off with a silent question. He wasn’t going to say it. Dan looks at Phil holding up his duvet with a half-spoken invitation, looks down at himself in a t-shirt and snug briefs, and then looks to his empty bed. Suddenly flustered by the decision being asked of him, he makes an executive compromise, snatching the duvet off of his own bed and then climbing in next to Phil, draping himself in his own cover.

Phil snorts with disbelief, but when Dan rolls to face him, Dan can tell that he is content.

“Hey, you sheets-burrito in the night,” Dan utters as his excuse. In reality, sliding under Phil’s warm duvet felt far too intimate. He needed some sort of barrier, however flimsy it may be.

“Goodnight Dan,” Phil says.

“Night.”

They weren’t the cuddling type, hadn’t really been since their early days, but once they are both settled in, Dan slides his leg out to slip under the other cover. When he reaches Phil’s leg, he hooks his ankle around the other man’s. He isn't going to overthink this. This is good, this is enough, and this doesn't have to mean more than what it is. He lets himself drift to sleep, comforted by Phil’s steady breaths next to him.

***

Dan awakens hot. Too hot. The two duvets have overlapped, and there is a body plastered to his back. He can’t yet tell if Phil is awake, and he doesn’t dare disrupt this positioning. They may not be the cuddling type when falling asleep, but they’ve certainly found their way to one another’s bodies in the night.

Phil’s breath on the back of his neck, his torso curled around Dan’s back, and his leg wedged between Dan’s feels so fucking good right now. He feels safe and held in a way he hasn’t in so long, and even if Phil is fully unconscious, he’ll take what he can get and let his body get high on this sweet oxytocin.

As his body continues to awaken, Dan slowly becomes more aware of each individual point of contact between the two of them, each sensation. He feels Phil’s lips brushing the back of his neck, just behind his ear, as their chests rise and fall with each breath. He feels Phil’s open palm on his hip, not clutching, just loose, flat, relaxed, sleep-heavy and steady. Dan’s shirt has ridden up, so it’s skin on skin. He feels Phil’s thighs against his own, Dan’s bare and Phil’s covered in his thin pajama bottoms. Dan takes a deep breath, fills his chest, tries to think through the dizziness of being so close to Phil.

They are pressed together almost head to toe, but there remains a few inches of space between their pelvises. Dan would like to change that. They should be perfectly molded spoons. He makes the decision to shift his body slightly, scooching back towards Phil in miniscule increments as he strives not to wake him.

Please don’t move away, please don’t move away, he thinks to himself. He wants to savor this as long as he can. He just needs a bit more contact. He feels completely overcome by just how much he needs to be touching every inch of Phil, how certain his body is that this will be perfect once they’re molded together.

More of their thighs press together. Phil’s shins press Dan’s calves. He pauses a moment, lets his weight settle, listens to hear if Phil’s breath changes at all. When he’s certain he hasn’t woken Phil, he shifts back the final couple of millimeters, until the full line of Phil’s body is pressed against the full curve of Dan’s. And oh. Fuck. Oh, fuck.

He feels Phil’s cock, nowhere near fully hard but clearly swollen with sleepy blood flow, the shape of it rounded and heavy against Dan’s ass cheek. Dan closes his eyes against the darkness and sucks in an absolutely shuddering breath, feeling more overwhelmed than he knows how to process. He tries to breathe out slowly, careful to not shift his body anymore. He doesn’t want to disturb this moment of coveted, stolen pleasure.

He feels like he’s suffocating under the heat of the blankets, yes, but mostly under the heat of having Phil all around him, pressed against his neck, his ass, his legs, a hand on his hip. And somehow, the fact that Phil is completely unaware of it, sleeping peacefully and heavily through Dan’s honey-sated, delirious state, makes it feel even more overwhelming. Dan feels his own cock start to swell; it had been twitching awake even before he had Phils’ flushed half-hard dick nestled up against him.

He lets himself simply have this moment, trying to become attuned to individual sensations; the occasional twitch of Phil’s fingers against his hip, the brush of leg hair against his calf where Phil’s pantlegs have become rucked up, the moistness of Phil’s breath and his snuffles of sleep against Dan’s neck. The shape of Phil’s cock is a steady, half-hard, rounded bulge against Dan’s ass cheek, and Dan can barely stand it.

When his desire becomes too much, when he feels clouded by dumb carnal need and it feels like his entire body is melting under the heat of it all, Dan subtly presses his hips back. Just a tentative testing nudge, putting a bit more pressure against the shape of Phil’s cock. He then relaxes and his hips shift back into place. He waits, but Phil remains unmoving.

He does it again, just a small nudge. He’s getting no direct pleasure out of this, as it’s merely the meat of his asscheeks nudging against Phil’s clothed, half-hard cock. And yet, it’s so entirely intoxicating that he can feel his heart racing, his own cock swelling to full hardness, his fingers twitching against the sheets in front of him. He sucks in quiet, shallow breaths.

He does it again, and then again, until he has a small, careful rhythm going. His movements stay miniscule, just his hips pressing back the slightest amount, giving Phil’s cock just a hint of repetitive friction and pressure. He feels Phil’s cock slowly fill to its full size, the bulge growing.

Please don’t wake up, please don’t wake up, Dan thinks. He wants to stay here forever. He can’t remember ever feeling this turned on, this totally consumed by sheer sensation, and he never wants it to end.

But then he feels it. Phil’s toes and hands stutter in sync as his body twitches awake. His fingers flex and stretch along Dan’s hips as Dan carefully angles his pelvis away from Phil’s cock. He believes Phil had started to wake during a moment when Dan had already pulled his hips back. So if there is any God at all, then Phil is unaware that Dan’s been grinding up against his sleeping form for the better part of ten minutes. As far as he knows, he's just woken up with morning wood.

Phil straightens his legs, stretches them out, lets his open fingers stay on Dan’s hip, curling them to grip him, even. He snuffles and nuzzles against the back of Dan’s neck, clearly getting his bearings as his body transitions from its sleeping to waking state. He lets his legs curve back up against Dan’s, so that they’re once again fully fused together, other than his dick and Dan’s ass. There, Phil leaves some space. Their bodies are right back where they started.

“Dan?” Phil quietly mutters against the back of Dan’s neck. Instead of responding out loud, Dan reaches down to Phil’s hand and squeezes it once before letting go. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything right now, so he simply stays as still as he possibly can while his heart continues to race.

Please don’t get up, please don’t get up, his mind pleads.

“Mmm…” Phil hums a satisfied noise in response to Dan being awake and noses up against his neck again, clearly testing some boundaries. In response, Dan tilts his neck to the side, giving Phil a more open expanse of skin and clearly answering Phil’s unspoken question. Yes, yes, yes. Phil’s hand on Dan’s hip clenches a bit tighter as he reads Dan’s cue. He draws in a breath a bit more heavily before nosing along the curve of Dan’s ear lobe. Dan keeps silent, too afraid to disrupt whatever this is with sound, but he does curl his toes against the top of Phil’s foot. Yes, yes, yes.

Phil, devil that he is, reads Dan’s body far too well. He slowly glides his hand up Dan’s torso to skim his fingertips across Dan’s chest, staying on top of his shirt. Dan sighs a breathy mmf as Phil’s fingers drift over his nipples. They don’t pinch; they barely even make contact. He just brushes his thumb over Dan’s hardening nipples once, twice, vaguely able to feel Dan’s accelerated heart rate as he continues. He knows Dan’s nipples can be almost too sensitive, and that the soft cotton barrier of his shirt helps, making the sensation more electrifying and more taunting for Dan. He continues.

Dan’s hands stay clenched in the sheets in front of him. His body knows very decidedly what it wants, but his mind is still unsure, trying to catch up to what the hell is going on, so his hands remain paralyzed. Then he feels Phil’s other hand slowly move up to the back of his head, first to gently scratch through his hair, nails dragging over his scalp, then to grasp. First a light grip, still testing the waters, then firmer, until finally he gives Dan’s hair a proper tug. He then keeps his grip tight, maintaining the tension so that it isn’t quite painful, but is still firm enough that Dan would have to put some effort into moving his head. Dan gasps again, this time an open-mouthed “ ah.”

Fuck him, Dan thinks to himself. Phil knows this is one of Dan’s things, the hair-pulling. Of course he does. He knows all of Dan’s things. Hell, he was the one to uncover nearly all of them. They learned their own bodies together, although Dan's more so than Phil's. In fact, it took Dan a while, years even, to get over that particular complex of his and get comfortable with the imbalance of his and Phil’s sexual experiences. Dan’s body had only ever been claimed by Phil, save for some awkward mandatory fumblings with girls in his teens. The same could not be said for Phil. With his extra years on Dan and greater comfort with his own sexuality, he’d had ample opportunity to explore other bodies, discover what he liked, gasp into other people’s mouths and fuck into other tight holes.

(On Phil’s bed in Manchester, early 2010, Dan curled away from him, facing the wall and gnawing on his thumbnail, hating this sick squirming insecurity that had crawled up to the surface.

“It’s only you. No one else has ever even… You won’t believe me because you’re being stupid and stubborn, but I don’t think our experiences are all that different. Like, honestly, it all felt new with you. It hadn’t mattered that I’d done any of it before. It had never been like that. It had never been with you. I had never felt like that, like this.”

“Right, sure Phil,” Dan rolled his eyes. “Me being a literal actual fucking virgin before meeting you is exactly the same as you whoring around Manchester and York for years.” Dan’s words had bite, but his tone didn’t.

He felt jealous, yes, embarrassed and small, yes, but he knew what Phil was saying was true. Phil wouldn’t lie to him just to make him feel better. He doesn’t do that. And as he thought about Phil’s words, he felt a fizzing warmth start to spread from the pit of his stomach to each of his extremities. The squirming feeling was replaced with a new one — he felt bashful and so fucking lucky. It all felt new with you. How did Phil always know exactly what to say to calm Dan’s insecurities without ever sounding fake or pitying?

Phil sputtered before he noticed Dan’s blush and how his cheek was dimpling as he tried to hide his smile.

“Look, I’ll say it again. They didn’t matter. It’s only been you. And now it will only ever be you.”

And that put the conversation to rest, because Dan launched himself at Phil, letting his body say what his words couldn’t, at least not yet. Thank you, thank you, where did you come from, how am I so lucky, thank you, thank you, I love you, you beautiful man.)

Phil releases his grip on Dan’s hair and moves his hand down just a couple of inches to let his fingers curl around the back of Dan’s neck. He doesn’t grip, not yet, he just places his hand there. His other hand continues to skim across Dan’s nipples, alternating every couple of seconds so that neither side of his chest is neglected. He can tell Dan is trying damn hard to keep himself quiet, but his body speaks loud and clear. As soon as Phil’s hand so much as lands on Dan’s neck, Dan’s back arches in one fluid motion while his hips buck backwards, pressing his ass squarely against Phil’s cock. He keeps his hips there, letting the outline of Phil’s cock settle between his clothed cheeks, both of their bottoms thin enough that they can still feel the heat, the shape of Phil’s hard dick, and can get some friction going.

Okay, so that was a good reaction. Phil tightens his hand in response. He’s gripping the back of Dan’s neck, so there is no real choking happening, just a light pressure on the veins of his neck. Dan feels the blood rush to his head as his ears fill with white noise. He loves the firmness of being held around the back of the neck like this, gripped by his scruff, made to feel powerless and claimed.

This time, out loud, Dan says, “Oh fuck you.”

Phil chuckles low and gravelly, but he, too, is overwhelmed by the feeling of it all. It had been so long since he’d coaxed a reaction like this from Dan’s body, and this was so heady. And they are both still clothed, having barely just begun. Their bodies are still shaking off the outer edges of sleep, and it is so, so warm under the covers.

Phil tries to control himself, but his hips seem to have adopted a mind of their own, beginning to rock back and forth against Dan’s ass.

Yes, yes, this was exactly what Dan had wanted. Steady pressure, Phil using Dan’s body, friction and undeniable heat.

Phil’s hand remains clenched tightly around the back of Dan’s neck, his other hand pressed flat and firm against Dan’s chest. They work up a steady, fluid motion, just grinding against each other, getting refamiliarized with the feel of one another’s bodies, settling into it.

Suddenly, they both freeze. Phil’s cockhead, even beneath two layers of fabric, has nudged itself up against Dan’s hole just as Dan had twitched his ass back in perfect timing. After a moment of reeling from the new sensation, Phil continues to just hold fast and let himself feel the pressure, let Dan feel the pressure of Phil’s blunt cockhead, hard as a rock and seeking out Dan’s hole, even when fully clothed. This is clearly enough for Dan, who lets out a long, keening moan and finally releases his grip on the sheets he’s been clutching since the start of this whole ordeal.

One hand flies back to palm along Phil’s hip, contorting and reaching around their bodies to grasp Phil’s ass as best he can. Dan applies his own pressure, forcing Phil’s hips to resume the same rocking motion, this time with greater force, slipping at times but continuously guiding the head of his cock towards the indentation of Dan’s asshole. Dan simultaneously plunges his other hand into his own briefs to palm at his dick. He lets out another low moan, deep and guttural, as he tilts his neck back even further.

Phil’s hand travels down from Dan’s nipples to get a firmer grip on the man’s body. He keeps a possessive hold on both Dan’s neck and hip, finally getting with the program as he regains control over the pacing and strength of his own hips’ rhythm, holding Dan still for leverage. He lets his thumb slip teasingly under Dan’s briefs, rubbing over his bare pelvis bone, dusting across Dan’s pubic hair.

Dan’s hand kneads the flesh of Phil’s ass as he continues to urge him back and forth. The hand he has on his cock doesn’t stroke or even grip; he just palms himself flatly to relieve some of the unbelievable tension. He yearns to feel skin on skin, his body screaming for him to just rip off his clothes, turn around, writhe against Phil, take everything he can, get him inside, get his mouth on him, anything. But at the same time, he still doesn’t know if he can quite bear to look Phil in the eyes right now, because what the fuck, so no, he better not upset this equation. Plus, this was just so fucking hot, Phil’s cock feeling harder and hotter by the second, pressing against Dan’s fluttering hole as Phil’s hands absolutely claim his body. He feels small and owned and he loves it. Phil’s fingers slide further under his waistband, grazing the shaft of Dan’s cock, and oh, fuck it.

Dan briefly breaks their rhythm to shimmy out of his briefs, kicking them off to the side, before tangling his legs back together with Phil’s. He uses them to pull Phil’s body even more snugly against his own. Phil slides his hand up under Dan’s shirt to pinch his nipples in appreciation as he mutters a low Fuck, oh god, at the revelation of Dan’s bare ass at his fingertips. He then lets out another low groan as his cock finds its way back to settling between Dan’s cheeks, now only separated by one layer of thin, thin cotton.

He sends his hand down to grasp at Dan’s inner thigh, just to feel the soft skin there and grab at the thick meat of his legs. God, he’d missed this. He then skims his fingers around Dan’s cock, batting Dan’s hand away entirely and replacing it with his own. As his fingers wrap around Dan, Phil feels completely overwhelmed, like he has departed his body and entered a dream state or some sticky afterlife. Dan’s cock is so soft, velvety, wet at the head, and fully twitching. He allows his hand to glide up and down, starting a slow rhythm and keeping a light touch. He doesn’t want to get Dan off just yet. It’s still enough for Dan to begin writhing, releasing small whimpers, still persistently grinding and gyrating between Phil’s hand and his cock.

They continue this sinful, wordless rhythm for a while longer, just letting themselves get lost in the sensations, the headiness. But the friction on Phil’s sensitive cock rubbing against the fabric of his pajama pants was growing to be too much. Dan’s whimpers change in tenor from pleasured to needy as soon Phil’s hand leaves his cock, but Phil shushes him, laying a kiss on his shoulder. He quickly pushes his own bottoms down to the ankles before returning his hand to Dan’s cock. He wraps his fingers around it but does not move them; he just holds it firmly. Dan clearly likes this, as his fingers dig into Phil’s now bare ass with increased strength.

Slowly, Phil inches his hips back to Dan’s, lining up his cock flush between Dan’s cheeks. When skin is finally fully pressed against skin, Phil’s entire long, hard, cock snugly situated between Dan’s perfect asscheeks, they simply relax for a moment, briefly letting the tension in their bodies loosen, completely dizzy by the intensity of this feeling. Compared to what they had done together in the past, this is practically chaste. And yet, Phil’s hard dick firmly laid between Dan’s asscheeks is one of the most erotic things either of them has ever felt.

Unable to hold it together any longer, they resume their grinding, this time with greater desperation. They grunt and huff as they simulate the sex they’ve had so many times before, both too scared to make any further moves beyond this needy adolescent rutting and hungry clutching.

When Phil’s now bare cockhead catches again on the fluttering rim of Dan’s bare asshole, Dan shouts an “oh fuck” and his entire torso launches forward before arching back into Phil, fluid sex in motion. Phil takes his hand off of Dan’s cock to hold Dan’s hip firmly in place, a clear signal to him to stay still. Phil doesn’t move his cock, and he doesn’t try to push any further. They have no lube on them and he’s not completely out of his mind. He has no interest in hurting Dan by trying to fuck him dry, even as Dan mindlessly mutters “oh fuck, fuck, fuck, please,” quietly into the mattress, twitching his hips almost imperceptibly against Phil’s, asshole clenching and unclenching. The tip of Phil's dick is pressed firmly enough that he can feel the rhythmic clenching of Dan's hole, suctioning and releasing, almost like a kiss, over and over. It’s driving him insane.

Dan doesn’t even know what he’s begging for; he doesn’t actually want Phil to fuck him dry either. He just can barely stand how hot it is to feel the blunt head of Phil’s dick pressed so definitively against him. And the fact that they haven’t prepped his ass, that there has been no warming up to this feeling, that he hasn’t touched Phil’s body like this in so fucking long and now here he is, basically making a promise to be back inside him sometime soon, that all made it even hotter. He likes the fleshy friction, that there isn't any slide, that he can feel how much effort it would take for Phil’s huge fucking cock to force its way inside of Dan right now. And Phil just stays right there, lightly rocking back and forth, right up against Dan’s twitching, clenching, tight - so fucking tight - hole.

Eventually, dizzy with need, Dan brings his palm to his mouth, spitting as much as he can into his hand before reaching back to wet Phil’s cock. Maybe he does want Phil to try and breach his hole with nothing but spit as lube, but, again, Phil isn’t out of his mind. That’s out of the question. But the added slip does mean that he can now slide his cock flat between Dan’s cheeks and grind up and down with ease. He presses forward with force and desperation, grunting Dan’s name as he rides up against his perfect pale ass. The shaft of his cock continues to rub against Dan’s hole as Phil just ruts against him, blindly and hungrily.

His hand stays firm, clenching and unclenching around Dan’s neck, and he now slides his other hand back to Dan’s cock to fist it in a tight but uncoordinated fashion. Dan quickly knocks it out of the way to grab at his own cock, immediately beginning a steady and fast rhythm. God, god, oh god, oh god, fuck, fuck, Dan mutters to himself between soft moans. They're both getting close and they know it.

Phil’s orgasm comes first with a short but loud shout into the quiet hotel room. His hands grip Dan with white-knuckled strength as he ruts up against his ass once, twice, and yes, god yes. He pulls back just enough, just in time.

Dan is absolutely dizzy as he feels Phil’s cockhead perfectly align with his asshole mid-orgasm. The ropes of his cum smear hot and good, so fucking good, right up against Dan’s hole. He feels some of it dripping towards his balls, hot on his cheeks, all around the rim of his asshole, and that's it. He is gone. He bucks forward and backward and arches his back at an ungodly angle, coming harder than he has in months. He sees red, hears white noise, feels tingles in his feet and spasms in his legs. The pleasure is indescribable as he rides wave after wave of it with a long, keening oh fuuuuck. So fucking good.

He lays there in Phil's arms, tries to steady his heartrate as Phil relaxes his hold on Dan's body. As his hearing and sense of sight slowly return to him, the waves beginning to retreat, Dan blinks his eyes open and unclenches his fingers. He wipes his dirty hand on the sheets before taking a deep breath in through his nose and loosening his shoulders. Okay. This is it.

He turns around to face Phil. Their eyes meet. Phil looks absolutely fucked out, hair a mess, face flushed, chest still heaving. His skin glistens with sweat and his lips are moist. Dan imagines that he looks no better himself.

Alright, out with it then…

“What are we doing?” Dan asks bluntly. Phil just smiles softly at him.

Why doesn’t he have the same fear in his eyes that Dan feels right now?

“Well, that was good, right?” Phil asks.

Dan rolls his eyes in response. “No, I hated it. Yes Phil, that was earth-shatteringly good, what the fuck. That’s not the point.”

“I’ve still got it then?” Phil wiggles his eyebrows and smirks at Dan.

Dan huffs. “Okay, you’re clearly not freaked out by this at all. Why are you not freaked out?”

Phil sighs and rolls onto his back to look at the ceiling. “I mean, I may need to wait until my toes stop twitching to think real thoughts. But, yeah, I feel okay. I feel good. I feel like… I feel like maybe we’ve just been absolute idiots, that this was inevitable, and that we shouldn’t overthink it.” Phil turns his head towards Dan to try and gauge his reaction.

Dan looks skeptical. “Shouldn’t overthink it? I can’t tell if I should be insulted by that or not.” He feels his telltale spinning, a different rush in his ears, as panic starts to sit just below the surface.

“You shouldn’t. Dan, c’mon. That was good. That was so fucking good. This has all been so good. We are so good. We’re always good, but I think we’re better this way. And I think we’ll figure it out. We’ve done a pretty good job so far, don’t you think?”

“That was like, seven ‘good’s in one sentence,” Dan deflects, stalling for more time. Phil, of course, sees right through it.

“Do you agree though? That we are good?”

“Yes, I agree,” Dan sighs.

“Okay. And do you agree that I love you?”

A long, silent moment passes.

“Uh, how can I agree that you love me?”

Phil giggles. “You know what I mean!”

Dan lets his own snort dissolve into a soft, warm smile. “Yes, I agree that I love you too, Philip Michael Lester. I also agree that you are a moron.”

“Well, I agree that you are legally not allowed to insult me when your ass is still freshly covered in my semen.”

“Ugh, what kind of pillow talk is the word semen? Anyway, what time is it? We need to check out today.” Dan turns away from Phil, tossing his legs over the side of the bed. He stands up to make his way towards the curtain, trying to ignore the uncomfortable sensation of cum cooling on his ass.

“Check you out, more like,” Phil says from the bed. Dan turns around in disbelief to see Phil putting on his glasses and grinning lecherously at him. He can’t help but giggle before looking down at himself.

“Can you believe our sexual reunion occurred while we were both Winnie-the-Poohing?”

Phil looks down at his own half-clothed, shirt-only state. “Tigger would be proud.”

Dan snorts and turns back to open the curtains. An early morning bright blue sky shines in at them, and Dan looks down at the street below. He sees the black of the pavement for the first time in days, no longer coated in snow. Pedestrians trudge through slush and ice, cars speed through the intersections, and the world kicks into gear again. Their snowglobe is no more. In just a couple of hours, they will reintegrate into society, hop on a plane, head back to their own bustling city. Together, always together, and this time properly so. They are aligned again. They will be okay.

Dan turns around to face Phil on the bed, propped up against the headboard and staring back at Dan, silhouetted by the light streaming in through the window. Glasses, mussed hair, spent cock, a soft smile. His favorite Phil.

“We’ll be okay,” Dan says, only the slightest hint of a question in his tone.

Phil nods firmly.

“We’ll be okay.”