#but will include some e-rated scenes as a story line about sex & disability

[huphilpuffs]

flares

chapter: 32/? summary: Dan’s body has been broken for as long as he can remember, and he’s long since learned to deal with it. Sort of. But when his symptoms force him to leave uni and move into a new flat with a stranger named Phil, he finds that ignoring the pain isn’t the way to make himself happy. word count: 3.7k (106k total) rating: explicit (note the rating increase!) warnings: chronic illness, chronic pain, medicine a/n: Immense thanks to @obsessivelymoody for beta’ing!

Ao3 link || read from beginning

Dan wakes with an anxious sort of buzzing in his chest. 

He doesn’t know what he dreamed about to make it that way. Probably nothing. It’s probably just the after effects of speaking his fears into the void and trying to figure out how to make them go away. His joints feel swollen and his ribs ache and he wants to bounce out of bed, push himself until they start to feel better.

He doesn’t do that. He groans as he pushes himself to sit, and winces when his feet hit the floor, and walks into the lounge with slow, unsteady steps.

Phil’s already standing there, behind the breakfast bar, wearing a t-shirt and his pyjama pants and a smile. 

The stools at the breakfast bar aren’t cushioned enough for Dan’s ass, and they have no support for his weak spine, but he goes and sits there anyway. His fingers wrap tight around the edge of his seat, as though that will steady him. There’s a bar that digs into the bottom of his feet when he leans over to kiss Phil good morning.

His smile’s gone wider when Dan pulls away. It makes all the soreness worth it.

“Can I get you anything for breakfast?” he asks. 

“Cereal?”

Phil makes a show of serving him, a clumsy one that results in cinnamons dotted across the countertop and cupboard doors left open. He’s laughing when he slides the bowl over. Dan is too, until the happiness mixes with the anxiety in his chest and makes a muscle there spasm.

His heart feels tight. He takes a big bite of his breakfast in a feeble attempt to ignore it.

“I need to run to the shops today,” says Phil. “Do you need anything?”

Dan shakes his head, mouth still full of cereal, grip on his spoon going shaky. It’s dumb that his brain decides he should feel bad that Phil does the shopping, as though it hasn’t been months. As though Phil looks anything but fine with needing to do stuff for the both of them.

He thinks of the rent he hasn’t paid in weeks. The cereal feels stuck in his throat when he swallows.

“Okay,” says Phil. “I’m gonna get ready then. Text me if you need anything.”

Dan hums. He tries to eat while Phil gets dressed, but only manages one bite before he’s stepping out of his room in a different t-shirt and black skinny jeans. His hair’s still pushed back into a quiff. He must not be bothered enough to straighten his fringe today. 

He comes over, runs his fingers through Dan’s hair and presses a quick kiss to his head before leaving.

A curl flops down over his forehead as the door clicks shut. Dan reaches up to fix it. He needs a haircut. He really needs a shower.

Something in his chest goes tight again. He knows he probably shouldn’t do it while he’s home alone, but the anxiety is growing louder, spreading up his throat like a burning sort of nausea. He can do it without Phil here. He needs to be able to, if this fibromyalgia thing means he’s never fully going to get better.

It probably doesn’t count as graded exercise or whatever. Dan doesn’t care.

He leaves his breakfast on the counter and goes to take a shower. 

---

The water is still kinda cold when Dan steps into the shower, feeling like tiny pinpricks where it hits his skin. 

He tilts his head back so his hair gets wet. His scalp feels tight under the chill, shoulders going tense. The pressure points at the back of his neck are starting to hurt, a dull ache at the spot where Dr. Kissel had pressed. He rubs his hands along his arms where gooseflesh is starting to rise as though that’ll erase the spreading sting of nerves that can’t quite handle this.

Dan tries to ignore it. 

He thinks about the first time Phil helped him do this instead. He leans back into the water so his shampoo runs down his spine and pictures the moment when Phil had taken his shirt off, his concerned frown and the spattering of hair across his chest. He remembers, perhaps too vividly, the touch of Phil’s hands against his skin.

Not for the first time, it makes something warm swirl in his stomach. Dan’s started to get used to that, the hints of arousal that come with taking a shower now, only to get washed away and swept down the drain when his body remembers how much work this actually is. 

The water, warmer now, still beats down against the skin of his back.

Dan stares down at himself. His dick is starting to stir. He reaches for his body wash for an excuse to drag his hands down along his neck, his chest, his thighs. He thinks of Phil’s touch trailing down his spine and what might have happened had he gone lower, had his grip tightened at Dan’s hips, had he helped Dan wash other parts of himself.

He swallows. His cock is starting to get proper hard now. Dan wonders, for a moment, if wanking counts as graded exercise. Probably not.

Dan doesn’t much care.

He wraps a fist around himself, letting his hiss get lost in the sounds of the shower. 

It’s a lot, whatever pleasure’s there is getting lost to a sting of pain, the sensation shooting past overwhelming. He doesn’t let go, though. His free hand comes up to steady himself against the shower wall and he drags his fist up along his shaft, another hiss rolling off his tongue when it seems to throb through his whole body.

He’s never really done this before, not like this. His brain went haywire too young to have ever wanked with any real purpose. And afterwards, whatever arousal he did feel was almost always lost to the ache welling in his bones.

Dan’s pretty sure running an actual marathon would feel just as familiar. 

He doesn’t much care though. Running a marathon sounds bloody miserable and this, he thinks, as he drags his hand back, feels the sting start to ebb on the downstroke, this could be good. 

His hand is starting to shake against the wall. He turns so his back is pressed there instead, feet braced against the slippery floor. The tile presses a tad too harshly against his shoulder blades. He’s not entirely sure he trusts his legs to hold him upright. 

Dan squeezes his eyes shut and tries to ignore all the ways his body feels not quite right, tries to focus on the one thing that does. 

Or maybe it doesn’t. He doesn’t actually know what this is supposed to feel like, but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t much matter, as long as it feels good.

And it does, now. He rubs his thumb across the head of his cock and hears his own moan echo off the bathroom tiles. His eyes squeeze even tighter shut, and the burst of black behind them shifts into something brighter and blurry, like a dream.

It’s not the time Phil helped him shower this time, but the way Phil’s tongue slips into his mouth after they’ve been kissing for a little while, the way his teeth catch at Dan’s lips and leave them tingling in the best way. It’s the press of his hand against Dan’s jaw and how, whether intentionally or not, he almost always starts rubbing circles at where the joint starts to ache. 

Dan moves his hand faster, reaching up with the other to splay his palm across his chest. The pleasure is starting to get overwhelming now, edging past the pain that twinges under his touch.

He wonders what a moan would sound like in Phil’s voice, if it would feel good to have Phil roll over on top of them as they kiss. He thinks of how Phil’s touch already makes his brain forget it’s in pain, of how good it would feel to have Phil touch him like this.

That’s what he’s thinking about when he comes, pleasure throbbing through his entire body until it starts to fade away. The shudder that wracks his spine is so harsh it hurts. His ribs are starting to burn from how heavily he’s breathing. When he blinks his eyes open, the world is blurry, doubled and out of focus.

There’s a prickle at the base of his skull, dizziness swirling in his temples.

“Shit,” he murmurs. His throat feels scratchy. His hand is shaking when he reaches for the tap and turns the water off with a single twist of his wrist.

He’s not sure if it’s the how water or the orgasm that has his head spinning. It doesn’t matter. Black spots erupt at the edge of his vision and even though there’s still a bit of spunk on his stomach, Dan needs to get out of the shower before he collapses onto hard ceramic. 

He wraps his towel around himself before settling onto the floor. The edge of the tub digs into the back of his neck and his hands are too weak to hold the fabric tight around his body. His cock is still softening against his thigh.

It’s probably the delirium of a blood pressure crash that makes that seem so funny, but Dan laughs anyway.

---

“You took a shower,” is the first thing Phil says when he gets home.

He’s dropped his shopping bags by the door and sat down on the armrest of the sofa, gaze locked on the top of Dan’s head. His hair dried a long time ago, but it’s gone all curly from the moisture, less matted over his forehead. Phil reaches out to run his fingers through it.

“Made my blood pressure crash too,” says Dan. 

Phil’s brows furrow. He tucks a curl behind Dan’s ear. “Were you okay?”

Dan hums. “Sat down. Waited it out. Came back up, I guess.”

“Oh,” says Phil. His hand drifts down the side of Dan’s face, settling by his jaw before falling away as Phil moves over on the sofa, wedging himself into the space between the armrest and Dan’s knee. His head falls back against the cushions, eyes meeting Dan’s. “You could have waited, you know. I wouldn’t have minded helping you. Or at least being here in case something happened.”

Warmth blooms in Dan’s cheeks at the thought. He doesn’t have the energy to entertain the ideas that come to mind, the images that faded after a few minutes of lying on his bathroom floor. He hardly has the energy to push them away.

“I know,” he says. And he does.

He did a week ago, at least.

Phil’s still looking at him like he means it, like he wouldn’t have minded at all to linger in the bathroom listening to the pattering of the shower, rubbing shampoo into Dan’s hair. Like it doesn’t cross his mind at all that he’ll have to do it again, and again, and again, if Dan doesn’t learn how to deal with it himself. 

Dan wants to ask. He doesn’t.

He leans over, resting his head on Phil’s shoulder. 

“‘M tired,” he says. 

Phil shifts beneath him, adjusting his legs, looping his arm around Dan’s body, holding him close. “You should rest,” he says. “Blood pressure crashes are hard, huh?”

Dan nods. A silly part of his brain points out that it’s not the only thing that was hard today. The rest of him has gone warm with the sort of momentary comfort that comes from knowing Phil’s still willing to help, for now.

It takes a little while for that thought to lull him to sleep.

---

He’s still on the sofa when he wakes up, curled up on his side, throw pillow tucked under his head. Phil’s hand is on his shoulder, voice in his ear, whispering his name. There’s a blanket draped over Dan’s body, he realizes, that wasn’t there when he fell asleep.

“Good afternoon,” says Phil. He sounds like he’s smiling. “I made us a proper lunch for once.”

“Oh.” Dan takes a breath. “Smells nice,” he says. “I should learn to do that for myself.”

He rolls onto his back, the armrest digging into his neck and the blanket getting all twisted around his legs. Phil’s hand falls from his shoulders, landing on the sofa cushion. When Dan blinks up at him, Phil’s brows are furrowed, slips pressed tight together.

“Why?” he says.

“Why what?”

“Why should you learn to cook?” says Phil. He holds his hand out to help Dan off the sofa, pressing the other against Dan’s hip to steady him when he sways onto his feet. His lips dust against the shell of his ear. “I don’t mind cooking, you know. You were tired.”

Dan’s chest goes tight. His hand lands on Phil’s stomach, clutching at the fabric of his t-shirt. “I know,” he mumbles. “Just, like, I’ll need to cook for myself one day.”

“I guess,” says Phil. His voice is low, unconvinced. “Not today, though. Come eat.”

He squeezes Dan’s hip once before letting go and leading him to the dining table. His frown has settled into a shaky smile. He motions to the table with a twist of his wrist, a flourish that doesn’t quite reach his fingertips. There’s two plates set out, paired with apple juice poured into wine glasses. 

Dan smiles back at him. His cheeks feel tight. His eyes are stinging. He stands there as Phil pulls his chair out for him and motions for him to sit. 

The serving of spaghetti piled onto his plate is too much for him to eat.

Dan grabs a fork and digs into it anyway, because he’s a little hungry and Phil’s too nice and there’s a lump in his throat that he can’t quite force down on his own. 

Phil watches him. His smile has fallen again. He hasn’t even reached for his fork. Dan’s halfway through a sip of juice when he says, “Is that why you showered while I was gone?”

Dan sets his glass down slowly, the clatter of it against the table top echoing too loudly. “Huh?”

Phil shrugs. He grabs his fork and starts fidgeting with it, gaze locked on his plate. “The whole needing to do stuff for yourself thing,” he says. “You usually wait until I could, like, help. I mean, if you need it.”

“Oh,” says Dan. A muscle in his chest spasms, the pressure in his throat growing painful. His hunger has morphed into something more like nausea that makes him want to go back to the sofa, curl up with his blanket and ignore the fact that he knows it’s not the food that caused it. “Doesn’t matter. Just felt like showering.”

It’s shaky. He hears it in his own ears, watches something shutter across Phil’s face in response. 

He knows Dan’s lying. He must. And the thought makes Dan’s breath catch in chest, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. He flattens his hands against the table to push himself back, fingers shaking over the table top, sweaty palms leaving smudged prints on the glass. 

“‘M not hungry,” he says, because at least that’s actually true.

Phil reaches for him before he can try to stand, hand stopping just far enough that his fingers drift across Dan’s knuckles, hesitant.

He looks scared.

“Sorry,” he says. “I know how annoying it is when people ask about stuff that you’re, like, anxious about.”

Dan almost says, I’m not anxious. He almost asks, What were you anxious about? His fingers are shaking and his legs feel too weak to flee and he ends up just staring at the table, swallowing when his brain lets him start to breathe again. Phil’s palm has landed flat against the table, right next to his.

He’s not touching anymore.

“Unless you want to tell me?” he says. “I’m all ears. Only if you do.”

He shrugs. “It’s gonna sound like I’m asking for something,” he mumbles. “And I don’t want you to say yes just because you have to.”

“Oh,” says Phil. His fingers twitch on the tabletop. “What if I promise I won’t do that?”

Dan laughs. It comes out as a breath. “You can’t do that. Not if you think it’ll upset me.”

“You’re right,” says Phil. Dan looks back up at him then, catches the slightest upturn of his lips. “But if I know one thing about anxiety, it’s that usually when you expect something to hurt you, it’s not, like, actually gonna do that.”

“How wise,” says Dan. He manages half a smile back. “I just, like, don’t want you to feel pressured or whatever.”

Phil nods. He sits back in his chair, just for a moment, just long enough to shift his chair over so he’s closer to Dan. He doesn’t need to reach over their meals from there, just grabs Dan’s hand and holds on tight.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he says. “But I promise I’ve never felt pressured by you before.”

Dan swallows. He’s not even sure he entirely means to when he says, “Even when you asked your parents for money to cover rent because of me?”

Without hesitating, Phil answers, “Yup. Even then.” 

“Oh.”

That makes it easier. Dan sucks in a breath through his nose and lets it out through his mouth, letting himself sink heavier against the back of the dining chair. Phil’s grip on his hand tightens even more, lips pinching into a thoughtful line as he watches Dan.

“Is that what this is about? Rent?” he asks.

Dan shrugs. “I guess? Sorta?” He glances down, staring at where Phil’s fingers are wrapped around his. “Just, like, if this whole fibromyalgia thing is gonna be permanent, I figure I can’t expect your parents to help pay forever and I don’t think I can work and then if you can’t pay rent I’ll have to move and I really don’t want to move back in with my mum–”

“Hey, whoa, stop.”

Dan clamps his mouth shut, looking back up at Phil. His eyes are gone wide and a little glossy and an apology for making him look that way is curling at the tip of Dan’s tongue. It falls silent when Phil tugs their joined hands into his lap, pressing his palm across the ridges of Dan’s knuckles and holding on tight.

“What makes you think you’d have to move out?” he whispers. His voice cracks at the end. 

Whatever pressure was lingering in Dan’s chest crumbles. 

“Money? Being sick isn’t exactly conducive to fiscal success, in case you didn’t notice.”

“And? You think I’d kick you out?” says Phil.

“Not because you wanted to,” says Dan. “But you need to be able to afford to, like, live. And if your parents can’t help anymore, I’m bloody useless.”

“So? I told you, I’d smuggle you into my bedroom,” he says. The corner of his mouth quirks up, pink tinging his cheeks. “Probably makes more sense now that we’re…”

Dan’s whole body goes warm, gaze flicking back down to their joined hands. “We’re?”

“Together?” says Phil, voice lilted with hope. His thumb drifts over Dan’s, grip careful and comforting.

“Yeah,” Dan breathes. “Together.”

He watches the smile spread wider across Phil’s face, reaching his eyes. Despite everything, Dan feels himself mirroring it until he’s certain both his dimples have popped in his cheeks.

“Okay, good,” says Phil. “So, even if my parents did stop helping, you wouldn’t have to leave, okay? We could share my room and get a roommate. Or move into a smaller place with just one bedroom, if we don’t need the second one.”

Dan tries not to let it show on his face, how nice that sounds. “Do you think we should tell your parents now?” he asks.

“You haven’t even told your mum yet,” says Phil.

Dan shrugs. “She’s not helping us with money,” he says. “Your parents– I feel bad that they’re paying because I’m sick and they don’t even know with what.”

“Neither did you, until a few days ago.”

“But I do now,” says Dan. He squeezes Phil’s hand, the one still in his grasp. “I don’t want them to feel like I’m hiding it from them.”

Phil squeezes back. “I don’t think they will,” he says. “Are you even ready to tell them?”

Dan doesn’t bother to shrug this time. His silence probably says enough.

It must, because Phil heaves a sigh. He brings their joined hands up to his mouth and brushes Dan’s fingers across his lips. 

“Think about it a bit more, okay? I promise they’ll understand.”

“How do you know?” whispers Dan. 

The corner of Phil’s mouth quirks up. “Maybe they have a bit of experience with a kid who needed time to tell them certain things,” he says. The upward jolt of his shoulder is probably meant to be more casual than it actually looks. “Trust me, I’ve known Kath and Nigel for twenty-four whole years, they won’t be cross.”

Dan’s responding, “Yeah?” comes out more like a chuckle. 

“Yeah,” says Phil. “If anything, they’ll be more cross about us not telling them we’re, like, proper more than friends now.”

Dan actually laughs then. He reaches over with his free hand to grab at Phil’s shoulder and draw him closer.

“Shut up,” he says.

Phil does, pressing their lips together and giggling into the kiss.

---

They settle into bed early that night.

Dan crawls in after Phil, tucking himself beneath the duvet, pressing his head into the crook of Phil’s neck. His fingers skim across Phil’s chest to the same rhythm as Phil’s tracing lines along his spine. 

“I think I’m gonna wait to tell your parents,” he says.

Phil hums, the sound vibrating against Dan’s ear. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I want to get more used to it before I do, I think.”

“Okay,” says Phil. He turns to press a quick kiss to the top of Phil’s head. “Just let me know when you’re ready.”

Dan smiles into the bright yellow fabric of Phil’s sleep shirt. His eyes fall closed. His breathing’s gone mostly steady and his brain a little hazy when he says, “Thank you.”

He wonders if Phil knows that it’s for so much more than today when he says, “Of course.”

[mirjam-writes]

Good Omens fic rec: Hired Heart

Hired Heart (illustrated by many artists) by GayDemonicDisaster ( @scrapheapchallenge​ )

Rating: E Words: 112k+ Summary (by the writer):

As a result of his sheltered upbringing, Aziraphale made it to 50 without exploring his sexuality or coming out. After 50, all that changed - he's gay, he's out, and wants to find love. He also wants to have sex. He's a tad nervous about that. His friend Agnes suggests he consult a professional and get some no-strings practice and advice, and build some confidence. And her friend Tracy runs an agency…

Crowley has quite the breadth of sexual experience: he’s a high class escort. He’s been in his line of work for a long time, though in this industry, that’s not exactly an advantage. He likes his work, but the more he’s reminded that he’s not as young as he once was, the more he contemplates his exit strategy. When his bookings manager and friend Tracy gives him a new, nervous client, Crowley finds him unexpectedly captivating. In fact, Crowley can’t seem to get him out of his head.

A Smitten Crowley is also a very silly Crowley, so prepare for giggles and fluff along with your love story and smut...

This fic is sex worker positive, disability positive, & a variety of genders and sexual preferences are referred to in back story.

So, here’s what I have to say about this:

After reading this some time ago, the first thing that came to my mind was how wholesome this story was. Never in my wildest dreams I would have thought there would come a day I would call a sex worker AU wholesome, but here I am, and I’m going to tell you why! The fic does not glorify the sex work and it does not dismiss the problems in the industry, even though it depicts a safe and very much consensual side of it. Every sex worker in this fic has chosen their profession voluntarily, and can leave it whenever they wish to. The rules and safety precautions are explained and followed to the perfection, and no exceptions are made, not even in the name of true love. Their situation feels very safe and supported, but it is not a coincidence, the fic does not depict a perfect world where sex work is unproblematic and easy, it depicts a world where the rules, precautions and responsible actions can make it so for these people.

But wholesomeness for me was in the relationship between these two! They both are confident adults (seems to be my favourite trope!), and while Crowley is more confident in bed, Aziraphale is a fast learner. There is of course the pining (can you have a GO getting together fic without some pining?) and some uncertainty about the other’s feelings, but in the end, instead of hiding it they reach out and communicate! They do care for each other and they are not afraid to show it. And the best thing: there’s no real jealousy even though it’s so incredibly common in the sex worker trope and that’s why this was so refreshing take on that. 

And the communication during sex deserves it’s own paragraph: wow! At the beginning it’s of course more about Crowley explaining and teaching Aziraphale things, so it’s a bit given that there’s discussions, but IT DOES NOT END THERE! They keep communicating they have FUN while doing so, and it does not break the mood. I love the fics where expectations, preferences and boundaries are openly discussed, even when it’s not always easy for the characters. I wish I had read fics like this years back, maybe then I’d realized sooner that COMMUNICATION IN BED IS SEXY! I wish everyone who has sex with a partner, regardless of their sexuality, would know this. Communication and laughing is allowed in bed, and while the hot spontaneous first times look hot in movies, communication makes things so much better in real life.

Sorry, got into a rant mode, trying to rein that in! 

This fic is explicit, the sex is hot and there’s a lot of it. It is a good example that writing communication to a sex scene does not break the mood, and for me that made this fic really stand out. It also falls in the category of the fics that have taught me things about different people and life situations, which I also love. And the art, there’s art included in almost every chapter of the fic and it’s so good! Please go and check the list of artists at the end notes! So many talented people!

This was also a really comforting read, like a warm E-rated blanket. No big disagreements, no looming threats, no huge drama... Yes, I also love all that, and I will rec those fics too, but sometimes you just want to trust that the fic keeps holding you in a warm embrace. The first half of the story is more about the plot, and the second one is a bit more slice-of-lifey, which adds to the safety-blanketness of this story. 

I also love the fact that Agnes is here as a character! I’ve read a lot of human AU’s lately, and they have used almost every possible combination of the show cast as friends for the husbands, but Agnes is a rare treat!  So, if you want to read a fic where sex work and disability are treated with respect (as far as I understand the writer themselves is disabled?) and where there’s a lot of hot, responsible and thoroughly communicated sex (with matching art!), this is your jam!