Being home is- great. It's great, truly. They have reliable wifi. There's all their things and the comfy foot poof by the sofa and their bed that they sleep in together every night. There's the two of them, games and their favorite take out places, and nothing else.
Well, there's work, but they're used to that, aren't they? There's always work.
But they're home and it's great. Phil feels so great.
So he doesn't quite know why he keeps turning from one side to the other and can't bloody sleep.
"Morning," Dan sing-songs. He's stood in the kitchen, barefoot and clad in nothing but a jumper.
Phil grunts back at him. It feels visceral almost, coming from a place deep inside his chest. It's satisfying in how unsatisfied it is.
"'s cold," he mumbles
Dan smiles at him. He's wielding a frying ladle. What the hell is he frying at- ten in the morning, or whatever the fuck.
"There's coffee in the pot."
Well. Okay. At least that's something.
Phil thinks he stands around for longer than he probably wanted, or perhaps he's fallen asleep, either way, suddenly Dan is stood in front of him with a mug in his hands.
"Here, you useless man blob. Go sit down before you fall asleep."
Phil takes the cup. He's not a useless- man blob. He makes a displeased noise.
Dan has turned back to the stove. Phil still doesn't know what he's frying. It's bloody ten in the morning. Phil hates when someone- when Dan is up at ten in the morning. He's supposed to be in bed with scruffy face and warm, long legs.
He's wearing Calvin Klein pants. Phil hates him; he's pretty. It's annoying.
"Are you still standing around? Go, go, shush!"
It hurts, Phil thinks as he makes his way to the lounge, to be sent away like that. He can't tell Dan because he is all happy and what not, but Phil really feels hurt by how he didn't even get a kiss.
He knows it's dumb. It's dumb, right? To be hurt by your boyfriend being happier than you and ignoring you and- It's just. If Dan were like this, when Dan was like this after the last tour, Phil had kissed him and cuddled him and stayed in bed with him all day, like he always does when Dan feels bad because he just does that, so why can't Dan do the same for him-
It's unfair, but it also feels wrong to think that and Phil blinks and his eyes feel wet. He doesn't know whether he feels worse about how Dan isn't noticing how he feels, or because of the guilt that’s immediately springing himself on him at wishing for anything from Dan in exchange for having been there for him before.
Phil stares out the window and tucks his socked feet further into the poof.
Really. It's wonderful to be back home.
Phil has stared at a screen for the better part of the day. They're writing the transcripts for the show and he just- doesn't want to. The words swim before his eyes and he wonders why they took it on like this, back to back.
Dan's face is illuminated by the blue sheen of his own laptop. Somewhere in the past hour or two it had gotten dark outside. Now these lights are the only ones in the room. Dan has bags under his eyes, creases near his mouth, deepened by the cold light coming from down below. Phil looks at his hands, typing. Dan has always had such beautiful hands.
Dan's eyes barely look brown in this light. They’re black; deep and soft. He looks tired.
"Are you going to finger me tonight?"
"Bloody hell," Dan laughs, then frowns. "Well. I wanted to get this done..."
Phil looks back at his own document. He doesn't even remember where he left off. There's still so much to do though. He hadn't had any idea how long transcribing takes.
He thinks of Dan's fingers in his ass, deep and stretching him out wide.
He reaches over and closes Dan's laptop screen.
"I need you. I've been thinking about you all day. Fuck me, fill me up, I need you."
"Bloody hell," Dan murmurs, voice dropped deep. It’s nice to know he’s not unaffected. Then, a swift movement, all of a sudden he's sat on top of Phil's lap and grinds down.
Dan dips his head down low and kisses Phil. He opens his lips, licks in between Phil's own, and when Phil opens up, Dan captures his tongue and sucks slightly. Phil feels himself sigh into it.
It feels so, so good to be home.
They kiss for a while. Phil doesn’t know how much time passes. All he knows is the feeling of Dan’s ass under his hands, Dan’s mouth on his body and the overwhelming relief or feeling lighter than before.
“So you wanted me to finger you?”
Dan has Phil’s hand cradled between his hands. His lips are grazing Phil’s ear as he speaks. It makes him shiver, a whole-body thing.
“Want me to touch you deep inside?”
Phil groans. “Yeah.”
Dan kisses his cheek and then his other and mouths the next words into his left ear instead his right.
“Should I milk your prostate, never let go until you come rutting against the sofa right here?”
Dan, fucking- Dan.
Phil tilts his head and kisses him deep and thoroughly. Dan’s lips are just so soft, his mouth is so hot and he is so fucking good with his tongue. An image flashes before his eyes, Dan rimming him, licking all over and into him so hot and wet- but he didn’t do all the cleaning up he’d want to do before that, and besides, the image that Dan has conjured layers itself over that one in an instant.
“You’re such a filthy bastard,” Dan whispers. He smiles as he says it.
“Take off your pants. Turn around. I want you naked on this sofa in .2 seconds.”
Phil groans, not necessarily in a delighted way this time.
“Why me? Do it for me. Where has the romance gone.”
“Bitch, you are just the laziest. Do you want me to finger you or no?”
Dan reaches out and presses his hand on Phil’s crotch, right on top of where the shape of his dick is clearly visible in his sweatpants. He squeezes around it and it feels heavenly. Phil sighs out a moan.
But then he stops, tilts his body away from Phil’s and climbs off his lap.
“Come on, mate,” he grins. “I’m not waiting forever.”
Phil pouts, but he does hook his fingers in his waistband and starts shimmying out of pants and sweats at the same time.
“You’re annoying,” he says. “This is complicated. I would have done it for you. Because I love you.”
“It’d be easier if you just got up, you know.”
Phil glares at him from his position where he’s perched against the back of the sofa, feet planted on the ground, trying to shove the clothes down his bum.
“Shut up. I hate you.”
Dan continues to watch and do nothing, until Phil’s dick is free. Then he makes things even worse by touching him. Phil groans and bends around him to try and get his pants over his feet, but Dan just bends with him to keep a firm grasp on his dick. It’s not only annoying, it’s distracting too.
“I hate you,” Phil repeats. It comes out as a moan.
“I love you too,” Dan says and, because Phil is finally free of his constrictions, puts his mouth on Phil’s cock.
“Fuck,” he says.
Dan says nothing. He sucks on Phil’s dick like he’s on a mission. His mouth is just so warm. So warm and so velvety and wet and Phil has to press his hands on his eyes, because- because.
But he doesn’t want to come like this, not today. When Dan licks pointedly up his vein, in that way that makes Phil’s body convulse as if he were coming already, he slides a hand into his curls and pushes him off his dick.
Dan looks up at him, lips shiny, eyes big and black.
“Will you finger me?”
Instead of answering, Dan leans back down and closes his mouth just around the head, at the same time as he’s sliding his fingers behind Phil’s balls to press on his taint. It feels fucking amazing.
“Dan,” Phil presses out.
Dan lets go with a plop.
“Alright, alright. Move over then.”
Phil lays himself across the sofa, flat on his stomach. It feels strange to lay naked on their furniture like this, but strange in that way Phil really likes. He always feels dirty a bit, turned on, when he is sat naked in their flat. His dick pressed against where they usually sit, where sometimes friends sit, just out here in a normal place, it makes his blood boil with something hot and excited.
Dan strokes a hand across his arsecheeks, and then up to shove his t-shirt out of the way.
“Lube,” Phil says. “Can you get lube?”
“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Phil is sure Dan is rolling his eyes. “You did that on purpose, you little shit.”
Phil grins and wiggles his hips a bit. “Bring sweets too!”
When Dan is gone, socked feet sliding around the corner so Phil knows he’s actually happy and excited too, Phil reaches a hand up his front to rub his chest and squeeze his nipples. On another day, he might have reached down instead to wank a little while Dan was away, but not today. Today he really wants to come like this, rutting against the sofa, not even being touched. He can; they know that. Sometimes. When he’s in the right mood. Needy, Dan would say.
Perhaps he is being needy today. He turns his head, pillows it on his free arm. He has a good view of their lounge like this. There’s a candle burning; it’s one of Phil’s, Dan had put it on earlier. Phil feels a little heavy inside. Not bad, just- heavy.
“Why was the lube down by the foot end, Phil?” Dan calls out. He is coming up the stairs, two at a time, poltering up like an elephant. “I told you not to do foot fetishist things without me!”
“Sorry,” Phil says. He’s not sorry. Well, maybe a little, for himself and for this day.
Dan drops down on the floor beside him. He’s holding the bottle of lube. His face is higher than where Phil is laying, so he crouches down a bit. He’s pretty.
“You’re pretty,” Phil says.
They’re looking each other in the eyes. Phil realizes that he hasn’t properly held Dan’s gaze all day. He avoids it sometimes, involuntarily, when he is feeling a bit crap and doesn’t want Dan to see. Dan says, he does it when he doesn’t want to acknowledge his feelings.
Dan smiles at him. It’s a soft thing, warm. Behind him, the candle he’d put on is still burning. He doesn’t say anything, but Phil can see that he knows.
All of a sudden, he’s embarrassed. He turns his head into the crook of his arm, away from Dan.
All Dan does is swipe a hand across his clothed back, warm and steady.
“I’m gonna fingerfuck you now,” he says. “Phil?”
“Please,” he whispers.
He can feel his eyes burning.
When Dan touches him again, it’s not on his bum but on his head, fingers scratching over the back of his head. Phil shivers into it.
Dan presses a kiss to the nape of his neck then, that place where he says Phil smells so good in his cheesiest moments.
Phil’s heart clenches. Sometimes, Dan’s attention on him like this is just- just a lot.
Dan strokes his hands down his sides and presses gently at his hips. Ugh.
“I don’t want a towel,” Phil says.
Dan shushes him. “And I want to sit on this couch without having to wash the cushions. Arse up.”
Phil grumbles, but complies. The towel is rough on his dick. Damn Dan and his insistence on not using clothing detergent anymore, because of the environment.
But then Dan puts both hands on his ass and kneads, and Phil pushes his slightly softened erection over the towel and the friction feels kind of nice, actually. Just on the line of being painful, just enough to get him out of his mind if he does it enough times.
He spreads his legs in a silent invitation.
His head is still hidden in the crevice of his elbow, the other one squished beneath his body. He moves his fingers again, rubbing over his nipple. He hears the bottle of lube opening.
And then Dan’s fingers are on him, cold and wet and sliding right between his cheeks.
“Fuck,” he says. “Shit. Cold.”
“Suck it up like a man,” Dan says and he doesn’t mean anything by it except for Phil to relax into it. So he does.
The cold subsides after Dan rubs over his rim a couple of times. It gets replaced by slippery goodness, by his asshole clenching whenever Dan rubs over it and by that feeling deep in his stomach, warm and needy and everything he wanted.
“Yes,” he says, pants, “more.”
“I’ll give you more,” Dan says as if that was threatening to hear. Phil spreads his legs wider.
The first time Dan slides his finger in is heaven. He does it slowly but all at once, pushes on and on and Phil relaxes around it and sighs.
“Yes,” he breathes and turns his head back to the room, “yes.”
Dan fills him up with that single finger and he turns and twists it and pushes it out, and in again, and pleasure sparks all across Phil’s body. He twists his nipple again, rubs his hand across it and moans.
“I’m here,” he replies and drags his thick, long finger in and out of Phil’s hole. Again and again until Phil pushes back at it. The feelings keep building, that one of needing more, deeper, harder.
And Dan knows him, because he pulls his finger out and Phil whines, even though he knows what’s about to come. He looks down his side to see Dan sat there in his pyjamas, concentrated and beautiful as he coats a second finger in lube. He looks up to meet Phil’s gaze and smiles.
Phil’s face does a smile too. He hides it against the sofa.
And then Dan’s fingers are back, both of them, pushing insistently into his hole.
“You’re so fucking hot, Jesus.”
He can feel Dan bracing himself on the sofa next to him, his hand touching near his stomach, and then he’s fucking with his other, deep and hard and dragging Phil across the towel each time.
Phil can’t think of anything else, only his ass and how it’s being filled and fucked, the drag of Dan’s fingers across his inner walls and the drag of his dick across the towel, over and over and over, the roughness against the head almost painful. He twists his nipple again; another shoot of pain that goes straight to his dick and to the pleasure coiling hot inside his stomach, right next to where Dan’s arm his touching him. He loves this, loves this. To be fucked like this, held by Dan and the sofa, right in their living room with Dan’s fingers deep inside his arse, fucking into him relentlessly.
Dan grunts and Phil feels pleasure shoot up his spine.
“Dan,” he pants, helpless.
Dan answers by curling his fingers right into his prostate.
He keeps it there, pressing against it and rubbing tiny circles.
“Dan,” Phil whines. “Dan-”
There’s a fire inside of him and it’s driving him wild. He can feel his muscles tense, in his stomach and his legs, he’s so nearly there- He grabs his own breast, a full hand of it and ruts against the towel.
Dan shifts next to him, holds against the sofa hard and then he drags both his fingers out and in again, angled right into his prostate. Each thrust makes pleasure burn hot and hotter inside Phil’s stomach, the deep and needy kind like a wave that builds, but it also pushes his penis across the towel, sandwiched by his own weight and the sofa, the head smearing wetness on himself and burning from the friction, like a fire on top of the hot wave on his stomach, and the doubled pleasure from deep down and high on top all together and the knowledge that Dan is in him, fucking him on this sofa in their lounge and his hand by his side and fucking him with earnest and hitting in and in and in-
He hits that plateau where he knows there’s no going back. He cries out and tosses his head round and curls his toes, pleasure melting him on the inside and then he’s coming, convulsing up and in at the same time and it’s so blindingly hot and wonderful. He’s clenching around Dan’s fingers, both of them right at his prostate, still massaging and can feel his come making a right mess beneath his stomach. He drives his body down onto his own dick and Dan just follows, pressing still and making Phil shake with it.
When it ebbs out, Dan slowing down and merely holding his fingers inside of him now, Phil thinks he’s melted.
“Wow,” Dan laughs. “That was hot.”
“Mmh.” Phil sighs. “Yeah.”
Dan pulls his fingers out. Phil feels him wipe them on the towel his still laying on, the one that’s cooling kind of grossly beneath him. He should remove it probably, wipe himself down, make sure it’s not on the sofa.
He feels empty. His hole clenches around nothing. Dan has moved back from him, his arm not touching Phil’s side anymore. It sounds like he’s slid his hand inside his pants, tugging himself. Phil hears a sigh.
“Would you- can I fuck you still? Or your thighs? You’re so hot like this,” Dan says and strokes over Phil’s ass. He sounds very turned on.
“Sure,” Phil says, and then suddenly he’s crying. Not a silent thing, or a hidden one, although he tries to. The hand he was laying on during all of this is pins and needles as he pulls it up to hide his head in both of his arms and the towel is tacky against his skin and he’s crying, shaking with it.
“Phil?” Dan sounds worried, or surprised or something in between and Phil just feels raw. “What’s going on?”
Phil doesn’t know. He feels cut open and exhausted. He shakes his head between his arms.
It’s silent for a while, except for Phil’s cries that he tries to choke back but fails. He is confused and embarrassed by the feelings pouring out of him.
“Did I hurt you?”
Phil shakes his head again.
“Phil,” Dan says, and he sounds stressed now. “I am scared, talk to me.”
Phil presses his eyes closed. He hates this, has never been good at it, but he’s always hated more how Dan’s voice sounded when he got insecure because of something Phil did.
He breathes in shakily.
“I don’t know,” he whispers.
Dan exhales next to him.
“Okay,” he says, “okay. Can you- sit up for me? I’m gonna clean you up and then I’m gonna cuddle the fuck out of you. If- you want.”
Phil takes a deep breath and heaves himself up. He can feel wetness on his cheeks. He’s not really crying anymore, except a little. The towel sticks to his skin and it’s absolutely gross.
“You don’t have to,” he mumbles and reaches for the towel.
Dan swats his hand away.
“Keep your fingers to yourself, mate. I said I will.”
It’s strange, kneeling on their sofa, butt naked and sniffling. Dan wipes his stomach and around his soft dick. He’s so careful with it, gently holding Phil’s hip or his penis in one hand and wiping with the dry parts of the towel as softly as possible. Phil looks down onto this unruly mop of hair. He feels small, and loved, and vulnerable.
“Sorry about that,” he says. It’s slightly easier like this, with only the back of Dan’s head to look at. Dan looks up as he speaks, but Phil tilts his head back down. Dan chuckles.
“Nothing to be sorry about.”
“You can still fuck me later if you want,” Phil offers.
Dan has finished wiping now. He places the towel to the side.
“Not likely happening,” he says and motions for Phil to lay down. “Do you want pants first, or only a blanket?”
Phil sits back on his heels.
Dan pulls out the fluffy blanket from the sofa crease. Phil watches him. He’s gonna have to talk soon. He still doesn’t know about what and he doesn’t particularly want to.
And then he’s all cuddled in, complete with Dan throwing one of his freakishly bendy legs over his lap and tucking himself behind Phil’s back.
“Okay, talk, mate.”
“Hello. I am Phil and I am 31 years old. Is that enough?”
Dan pokes him in the side and Phil yelps.
“What happened? You’ve been off all day, did you not really want sex or something? Or was it something I did? I am worried and if you don’t tell me I’m not gonna touch you ever again in my life.”
“As if,” Phil says. “You wouldn’t be able to you know. Not with my hot and youthful body.”
“Phil.” Dan pokes his side again. “No changing the topic.”
Phil sighs a second time.
“What if I tell you I don’t know why I cried.”
He expects Dan to scold him again for avoiding, but he doesn’t. Instead he just keeps draped across Phil’s back.
“I’d believe you,” he says. “Was it something I did though? Did I make you uncomfortable?”
That, Phil knows. He shakes his head. “By making me come the hardest in like half a year? Yeah, it was very uncomfortable.”
He can feel Dan relax behind him and feels instantly bad for having made him worried about this.
“Okay,” Dan just says, “good. What about the being off all day thing then?”
Phil scrunches his face up.
“I didn’t think you’d noticed.”
“Of course I have, you dingbat. I always do.”
“But you didn’t say anything.”
“Neither did you.”
Well. Fair enough.
Phil tips his head back onto Dan’s shoulder.
“I don’t know though, really. I don’t know what’s been going on so I couldn’t tell you. I slept like shit so perhaps that’s it.”
Dan presses a kiss to Phil’s temple and tightens his arm over his stomach.
“So it’s not that you are overworked and grumpy from it, but trying to ignore it because you think you should be totally happy now that we’re home? And you didn’t like, let that build up over the last couple of days by suppressing it every time you noticed it so you only let yourself feel it after I just fucked your walls down?”
“I am gonna fire my therapist and hire you instead,” Phil mumbles. “Would save us a lot of money.”
Dan pokes his sides again, but gentler this time.
“You’re a dingus and I hate when you act as if you don’t have feelings, you know.”
Phil turns his head and bites at Dan’s cheek.
“I am a robot and I don’t have feelings.”
“Sure thing, Mr. I-cry-after-Dan-fucks-me.”
Phil scrunches his face up.
“I changed my mind. You can’t actually fuck me anymore. You’re just mean.”
“I am just helping you not become an emotionally damaged forty-five year old who cheats in his mid-life crisis and becomes an alcoholic because he never learned how to deal with feelings.”
“Mean,” Phil says, “Mean, mean, mean.” He punctuates each word with a sway of his hair across Dan’s face.
“Am I right though?” He splutters. “Bleh, you got hair in my mouth.”
“Yeah. I guess so.”
Dan kisses the back of his head. It’s a nice feeling.
“Sorry I didn’t tell you,” he adds.
“It’s okay,” Dan says. “I mostly noticed anyway. I just wish you’d notice it too, you know. Makes you a lot less grumpy and overwhelmed.”
It’s probably true. He does know he has to work on that- and he does, a bit. At least he talks now to Dan.
“Okay,” he says. “And you’re right. With the work thing. And the home thing.”
“I know,” Dan says. “And we’re gonna have a nice pyjama week soon, yeah? A proper one, not with working in between.”
That sounds nice. Phil smiles.
“Can we go see a movie? I want to see a movie really bad.”
Dan chuckles behind him.
“You just want the popcorn.”
“Ooooh!” Phil turns in Dan’s arms to look at him and slaps his thigh. “Can we make popcorn?”
Dan makes the face he makes when he wants to act as if he’s annoyed at Phil but actually also loves him a lot.
“Go make popcorn then,” he says. “Bring wine. I want wine.”
Phil untangles the blanket. It somehow catches between his feet and he almost falls, bracing himself on the table. Dan laughs and slaps his ass.
“Put on pants,” he says.
“No,” Phil replies and walks out the door.
When he comes back, t-shirt chucked away too (it has an annoying length where it tickles constantly just above his ass, and besides, Dan always turns the heating up high enough anyway), Dan’s got his legs spread wide, a hand in his pants tugging vigorously, and his eyes screwed shut. He’s letting out tiny whimpers.
“You could have waited,” Phil says.
Dan startles, opens his eyes, tugs two more times and comes.
Phil walks over to the coffee table and puts the popcorn and the wine down.
“You and your thing for getting caught,” he says.
Dan’s still catching his breath. He wipes his hand on his pants.
“Gross,” Phil says.
“You and your thing for nudism,” Dan replies.
“That’s not a thing. That’s just a lifestyle.”
When Dan’s chucked his own pants off (and put on Phil’s discarded ones from earlier) and they’re sat in their respective sofa sides, legs tangled up together, Phil reaches out and massages Dan’s foot a little.
“Thanks,” he says, because he means it.
He feels lighter now. Not just for the fuck, although that too. But for this life they have together. That one where they know each other in and out, sometimes better like they know themselves. The one where Dan has learned when to give him space and a blanket, and when to prod. The one where Phil has learned how to trust and cry and ask for what he needs, sometimes. The one where they’re still learning each other and themselves.
Dan shoves his foot into Phil’s hand a bit more.
“Foot massage?” He mumbles. He’s engrossed in some wikipedia article, Phil thinks.
He digs his thumb into Dan’s sole.
It feels good to be back home.