#having a really fucking bad time playing pressure today lads /silly

[frindoka]

day in the life of a true expendable geezer wake up and greet the wife navi my little pandemonium aint it dreadful time to take painter to target practice rev up the submarine wheyyyyy quick stop at sebastian’s and load up that inventory get a sprint blacksite looking lovely today lads just a bit of locker minigame side room makes a 38 - 0 death to win ratio better pop down local locker good old medkit look at that navi made dinner lovely pop down have a couple of party specials with the lads and finish up at the ridge of nightmares

[dvp95]

not trying to hide it

pairing: dan howell/phil lester rating: explicit tags: flatmate au, strangers to lovers, smut, fluff word count: 5.6k summary: Phil's parents want him to get a flatmate. Bryony wants to get her newly-evicted mate off her couch. It’s not quite luck or fate, but Phil is thankful anyway. 

a birthday present for the lovely and hilarious @karcathy !!!!! they deserve only good things and you should all go wish them a happy birthday!

read on ao3 or here!

Phil doesn’t want to get a flatmate. He likes having his own space, because he can mess it up as much as he likes and doesn’t need to worry about someone making noise while he’s trying to sleep. He only pays part of his own rent, though - half during a good month - so he doesn’t have much of a choice when his parents tell him to find someone who can cover at least a third of it. London isn’t cheap, and Phil makes a fluctuating amount of money, and he supposes his parents are well within their rights to insist he gets his life together at some point.

He’s pretty sure that they helped him pick out a two bedroom so that he would do that eventually. Maybe they’d had some kind of pipe dream about nurseries? In either case, Phil’s just had his miscellaneous junk piled in the spare for over a year. There’s a futon in it whenever Martyn or PJ come over and don’t feel like taking the Tube home, but it’s currently piled high with unopened packages and stuffed animals.

Clearing the room is probably the biggest task. Phil’s got a lot of clutter, and getting rid of it is weirdly difficult sometimes. Most of it just ends up in his room or in the common area, making the rest of the flat look even more topsy than it already did. Opening all the PR is fun, until suddenly he’s got dozens of empty parcels to dispose of and various merch items from his online friends scattered all over the rug. At least most of it is clothing and accessories - he’s got enough storage in his room to handle more clothes. It’s the trinkets that he’s got problems finding space for.

Phil’s parents didn’t give him a deadline, which was probably a mistake. He’s all too happy to just exist with a barren spare room until they get on his case again, but that’s before Bryony gets ahold of him. Somehow, she scares him a lot more than his own mum does.

“Phil,” she says, blunt and businesslike as if she’s calling from work. Maybe she is - it’s quarter to four, which he supposes is a normal time for adults to be at work. Phil is in his pants and eating cereal. He didn’t even want to answer the phone, really, too invested in the complicated storyline playing out on Riverdale, but he knows she’d just keep calling until he did. “Have you cleared out that room yet?”

“Yes, mum,” says Phil. “I hated every second of it.”

“Good,” Bryony says. Which part she’s replying to is unclear. “My mate just got kicked out of his place and I want him off my couch. Will you bump him up the nonexistent list of potentials you’ve got?”

Phil pauses the Riverdale episode. It’s hard to focus on that and Bryony’s drama. “Well, that depends on why he got kicked out. Like, is he a dick? Did he not pay rent? Did he leave dishes in the sink for three weeks? Did he kick a hole in the wall trying to do drunk karate?”

“You need to stop comparing people to your uni housemates. No, nothing like that.”

“Then what happened?”

There’s a pause, and then Bryony makes a disapproving sort of noise. “It’s not exactly my fucking story to tell, is it? I’ll just say he ran into a bigot landlord and leave it at that, yeah?”

Something like guilt for pushing the issue settles into Phil’s stomach, but he scolds himself. He couldn’t have known that, and he didn’t want to blindly do a favour for someone troubled and stupid and in need of help. Bryony has a habit of collecting those people. When Phil feels like being honest with himself, he can recognise that he’s in that category as well. He doesn’t really feel like it today.

“Fine,” Phil says, like it’s a bigger hardship than it is. “Send him over, uh, Thursday?”

“I’ll send him over tonight,” says Bryony. Phil makes a loud noise of protest that she bowls right over. “You said the room is empty. Dan is eight feet tall and he snores like a lawnmower. I want him off my couch.”

--

Bryony’s mate isn’t eight feet tall, obviously, although Phil thinks it would be pretty cool if he were. The flat has high ceilings that Phil has to jump to touch, and he’s been amusing himself by picturing a giant of a man reaching up and just tapping on them. He does have to duck around the hanging light in the kitchen, but so does Phil.

“I’m convinced that’s going to be the thing that kills me,” Phil says conversationally.

Dan hasn’t said much, mostly just mumbling awkward pleasantries, but he laughs at that. When he laughs, Phil sees a glint of silver in his mouth that has his brain short-circuiting a little bit.

“Maybe,” Dan says as he looks dubiously into Phil’s cupboards. “Only if the sugar intake doesn’t get you first, mate. Why the fuck do you need four bags of marshmallows?”

“They’re different sizes!”

“Do you do a lot of baking or something?”

The question makes Phil flash back to the last time he tried to make muffins. The stain from that adventure turned meltdown still hasn’t come out of his favourite jeans. Whatever expression twists onto his face makes Dan laugh again, louder, and Phil decides that being a little stupid is worth hearing that unabashed sound. He gives Dan a sheepish grin and sticks his hands in his pockets. “No. I just like marshmallows.”

“You know they’ve got gelatin in them, right?” Dan asks like he’s trying to be serious, but the twitching of his lips gives him away.

“I like jello, too.”

“That’s not what -” Dan starts, and then honks. “How d’you know Bryony again?”

That’s a bit of a long, mortifying story, but Phil tells it anyway. He makes tea as he relives spilling a blue cocktail on her very expensive shoes and then following her around like a puppy while he tried to make it up to her. Normally he’d feel like he was talking too much, but Dan leans against the breakfast bar with attentive brown eyes and laughs in all the right places, so Phil doesn’t feel that hint of self-consciousness.

He hands Dan’s tea over in a Kirby mug and pours his own into an ugly commemorative one from a dinky Florida gift shop. For a moment, there’s quiet. Dan doesn’t seem uncomfortable as much as he seems contemplative, running his tongue absently over his teeth to catch on the silver ball in his tongue.

Then Dan says, “I don’t have any mugs. Or furniture. Or anything, really.”

“Nothing?” Phil asks, wondering if he ought to be aghast or just empathetic. He wonders if that has something to do with Dan being kicked out, or if he’s one of those minimalist people. “Not even, like, clothes?”

“I’ve got clothes, Jesus,” says Dan. Despite his grumbling, he looks more embarrassed than anything.

“Well,” Phil says, then comes up short. He hasn’t had to live with other people in so long, he forgets how this part works. “You can use whatever I’ve got. I don’t expect you to go out and buy your own plates or something, that would be silly. And we’d probably put off dishes even longer if I did.”

Dan smiles, but there’s a wariness that Phil doesn’t quite understand. “Okay. Thanks.” He takes a long sip of his tea, eyes fluttering closed for a moment, and Phil reminds himself - not for the first time, not even for the first time today - that it’s pointless to think about how pretty a guy is when nothing is going to come of it. “So you’re, like, really okay with me living here? You don’t need to let Bryony bully you.”

“Not quite sure what the alternative is,” Phil jokes, “but I don’t mind. I need a flatmate.”

“I can be a good flatmate,” Dan says, with a weirdly determined air about him. Phil has no reason not to believe him, aside from his own bad experiences with young men sharing space with him, but at least Dan isn’t a uni lad.

Phil finds himself shrugging. “Okay,” he says, because this is all going much easier than he expected. He supposes Bryony was doing him a favour as much as he was doing her one, because the relief of not having to do a bunch of interviews with potentially creepy strangers is settling into him now. “Rent’s due on the first, the water pressure sucks on weekends, and I’m gay.”

Dan blinks. Some of that wariness melts into something that Phil can’t read before he looks down at his tea.

“Me too,” Dan tells the drink. “More or less.”

It takes actual effort for Phil to bite back the joke. Maybe if the admission weren’t pulling at Dan’s shoulders in such an obvious way, he’d ask if Dan meant he also sucked on weekends. Instead, he just smiles. “That’s good. If Bry sent me a homophobe, I’d have to return her Christmas present.”

--

Dan leaves just long enough to get his bags, and then Phil has a flatmate. He promises to get a key cut in the morning, but Dan just shrugs and says he doesn’t leave the house much anyway, so there’s not much of a rush. That’s when Phil figures out that they both work from home, and anxiety swirls in his gut at the idea of that quickly becoming an issue. It’s so much easier to get on each other’s nerves when they’re both around practically all day every day, but that’s a bridge he’ll have to burn when he comes to it, or whatever.

For a couple of days, Dan is like a wounded animal that only comes out of hiding when he hears the fridge door open. Phil knows there isn’t really anything left in the room aside from his futon and a desk that he and Martyn tried to put together tispy, but he supposes that Dan’s got a laptop and big padded headphones to entertain himself with.

After a little while of getting used to the place, though, Dan starts doing his work in the common area of the flat. He’ll sit at the breakfast bar to sort through potential articles with the air of someone very bored on Tinder or make a nest on the corner of the sofa to watch Phil play Zelda. He’s good about staying quiet whenever Phil is streaming, but sometimes he’ll laugh or tease Phil for a dumb move, and people start wondering who the voice out of frame is.

They play games together, too, when neither of them have work to do - or, more accurately, are avoiding their tasks for a little while with pizza and Mario Kart - and Dan wins more often than not. That should probably be embarrassing to Phil, since he plays video games for a living, but he’s never been the type to try and excel at every single game he plays. It’s more about the entertainment, both for himself and for his audience. He imagines Dan feels similarly torn between sheepish and intrigued when Phil looks at the HTML on Dan’s laptop and points to an issue that Dan’s been trying to find for an hour.

Dan is a nerd with a contagious laugh who writes up a chart of ridiculous Riverdale theories on their fridge whiteboard, and it’s getting more and more difficult for Phil not to notice him.

His hair looks soft, his eyes are as expressive as the rest of him, he’s all lanky limbs and hairless chest when he hangs out half-naked - which is unfortunately often - but his mouth is probably the worst offender. He’s always chewing on a pen or toying with his tongue ring, like he’s got to be doing something with it when he’s not talking, and that’s not a train of thought that Phil should be going down except during the privacy of his showertime.

At this point, he’s not sure if he should thank Bryony or strangle her for delivering him a gorgeous ‘more or less’ gay man with all the same hobbies and interests as him, because there are too many ways for this to end badly and only, like, one way he wants it to end.

--

Phil is streaming Apex Legends in a surprisingly competent team when his phone rings. It doesn’t ring very often, and it’s probably Bryony asking why he’s been holed up for over a month, so he ignores it. It’s only when it starts ringing again, immediately after it stops, that he frowns.

“Hey, Dan,” he calls. Last time he checked, Dan was rearranging the spice shelf into something that makes a bit more sense than its current state. He thinks it’s a little silly, and he’ll probably still reach for the hot chocolate in the wrong place, but he likes that Dan has been making himself more at home lately. He’s noticed a few of his knick-knacks shifting around the room as well. “Can you check who’s calling?”

There’s a clattering noise that slightly worries Phil, and then Dan says, “It’s your mum.”

Phil freezes. He’s in the middle of something, sure, but he’s been waiting for this call. He doesn’t want to tell the couple thousand people watching him play about his dad’s health, so for a long moment he doesn’t know what to do.

Then, Dan is leaning over the back of the sofa. He takes the controller from Phil’s hands and replaces it with his still-buzzing phone.

“Go talk to her,” he murmurs. “I’ll keep playing for you.”

Gratitude washes over Phil, and he practically runs to his room to take the call. He doesn’t have time to worry about what his Twitch audience will think of Dan’s sudden appearance after so much time as a disembodied voice, because he’s got to spend all his brain power concentrating on the things his mum is telling him. At least he knows he’s not letting his team down - if anything, getting Dan as defense is an upgrade.

The conversation with his mum is long, but it’s all good news. Phil lets his mum talk his ear off, because the relief in her voice is so palpable and contagious that he doesn’t have the heart to say he’s in the middle of a video game. She only says goodbye when he gently reminds her to call Martyn as well, and then Phil is alone in his room with nothing but the pounding of his own heart in his ears for company. They’ve had good news (and bad news and no news) from the doctors before, but every time it’s like a shot of adrenaline right to Phil’s system. His dad is okay, his mum is happy, and his rampant anxiety can take a short break.

Dan isn’t playing anymore when Phil comes back, probably because the round ended, but he’s rambling about his own Apex opinions to the chat. He’s passionate like he is about basically everything, his hands and mouth moving faster than his brain, and Phil feels more warmth settle into his skin.

“Gunning for my job?” Phil jokes, plopping back down on the sofa. His thigh is pressed to Dan’s, but neither of them shift away.

“Maybe,” Dan teases. He hands the controller back all the same.

There’s a question in Dan’s big brown eyes: Everything okay? He doesn’t need to know details to pick up on how important that call was, and Phil thinks that this would have been the point of no return if he hadn’t hit that a couple weeks ago. He beams at Dan and nods, and the crinkly-eyed grin he gets in response makes Phil feel like he’s floating on air.

Later, when the night is winding down, Phil’s body is thrumming. Normally he’d be curled up with a book on one side of the sofa while Dan and his laptop took up the other, and that would be enough interaction before they headed to bed, but Phil still feels wired.

“You wanna go out?” he asks for the first time since Dan moved in. He’s always been more of a homebody than most of his friends, but having a friend like Dan - because that’s what they are now, isn’t it? - who also enjoys sitting in relative quiet doing their respective activities has made him even more of a shut-in than usual. Dan is clearly surprised by the question, and Phil doesn’t blame him. “I just - y’know, I got good news earlier, and I’m happy, and I want to get a drink or something.”

“And you want it with me?” Dan asks, his dimple deepening in the tell-tale beginnings of a grin.

“Yeah,” says Phil. Maybe he ought to have some kind of explanation that doesn’t make him sound like an idiot with a crush, but he can’t be bothered to think of one right now. Besides, Dan is smiling with the silver ball between his teeth, so he probably doesn’t mind how Phil sounds.

“Alright,” Dan agrees easily enough, shutting his laptop. “I’ll get dressed.”

--

Neither of them dress up; Phil leaves his top buttons open and Dan’s jeans are distractingly tight, but that’s as much of a concession as they’ll make. Phil likes bars more than he likes pubs or clubs, and he thinks splashing ten quid on a neon pink cocktail is absolutely worth it tonight. Dan doesn’t offer his opinion one way or the other until they’re sat at a booth, and then he says, “Thank fuck you’re not a clubber.”

“You don’t like clubbing?” Phil asks, distracted by Dan’s mission of blindly finding his straw with his tongue. The longer he knows Dan, the more he’s tempted to look up whether or not oral fixation is a real thing. “I mean, I don’t really love it, but it’s fun sometimes.”

“I’d have to already be wasted to dance in public,” says Dan.

“Oh, I can’t dance,” Phil says, matter-of-factly, and Dan snorts into his drink. “But I do it anyway.”

The bar isn’t overly busy or loud, but Phil still has to strain his ears to hear when Dan mutters, “Maybe it’d be more fun with you.”

It’s a little too easy for Phil’s overactive imagination to picture. Dan, pressed close to him and laughing with his head thrown back every time Phil says or does something stupid. He hopes that the flush he feels high on his cheeks isn’t obvious in the low light, but he’s not optimistic. Dan’s smile is more of a smirk.

Maybe getting drunk with the object of his stupid affections is… not smart. But Phil’s drink is good, and Dan is striking up an easy conversation about the music that’s playing, so Phil pushes logic aside for the moment to just enjoy himself.

--

Phil wakes up with a dry mouth and a slight headache, which is honestly better than he expected after three cocktails and a greasy kebab on the way home. Either Dan drank less than he did or he’s better at holding his alcohol, because Phil remembers getting guided away from lamp posts by his big, steady hands a couple of times.

He remembers making a bit of a fool of himself in general, but if anything Dan got more and more smiley the more that Phil rambled about Star Wars. Phil had reached across the table and poked at one of Dan’s dimples, and Dan had laughed loudly before taking Phil’s hand and holding it to the tabletop for a couple of seconds. Phil hadn’t wanted him to let go, and he wonders now if the hesitation stemmed from Dan’s own reluctance to stop touching him or if that’s just wishful thinking.

Phil gets himself together enough to take some ibuprofen and a long shower. By the time he gets out, wrapped in various towels, Dan is awake and making breakfast. It smells like bacon, but Phil is wary. It might be that fake stuff Dan insists on buying.

“That smells good,” Phil says, suspicious. He drifts over to the breakfast bar to try and get a peek at the pan.

“It’s real bacon,” says Dan. He turns specifically to roll his eyes where Phil can see it.

“Oh, cool. I thought you weren’t eating meat.”

“I’m not,” Dan says. “This is for you. I’m not hungry.”

“God, you’re incredible,” says Phil. He thinks that maybe he should tone it down a bit, because Bryony will kill him if he messes up this very good thing they’ve got going, but he’s not humble enough to not notice the way Dan dimples and turns pink at the earnest compliment. “Seriously,” he adds, talking to Dan’s back as he plates up some toast and bacon. “I am so lucky you needed a place to stay.”

“Luck’s not real, first of all,” Dan says as he hands over Phil’s breakfast. “Secondly, you’re only saying that because I cooked for you.”

Phil isn’t just saying that for the food, but it certainly takes over his attention. He pulls the towel around his shoulders tighter and leans against the breakfast bar to eat. Dan steals the crusts off his toast, rambling the whole time about the work emails he’d woken up to. Every time Dan talks about the ins and outs of journalism and website upkeep, Phil feels grateful all over again for getting a job so far out of his official field that the sectors barely touch. He doesn’t think he could handle working with so many people who can’t figure out how to change the alignment of text in simple HTML or which words they should capitalize in a headline.

“Thank you,” Phil says when he’s done, coming into the kitchen proper to rinse his plate. It’s the least he can do, considering his inability to actually wash the dishes before Dan gets fed up with the mess.

“At the risk of sounding gross and sappy,” Dan hums, “it’s really me who should be thanking you.”

“Maybe we should just both thank Bryony,” Phil suggests, turning to look at Dan again. Dan’s eyes snap up from - somewhere? Phil’s bare legs, maybe? - to stare determinedly at Phil’s face as if he can pretend that they never wandered. “You being too big and loud for her couch is the whole reason you’re here.”

Dan honks a laugh and reaches out like he’s going to shove at Phil. He doesn’t make contact, possibly remembering that Phil is somewhat naked, and just lets his hand fall back to his side awkwardly.

“As if your futon is any fucking better, mate,” he says, seemingly insistent on not drawing attention to the weird things he’s doing. Phil isn’t exactly stupid, is the thing. He thinks about Dan hesitating before letting go of his hand last night, the way he always grins when he catches Phil staring at his piercing, how it feels less like an unrequited crush between them and more like they’re just hovering at the edge of something, and Phil decides to throw caution to the goddamn wind.

“Y’know,” he says, messing with his damp hair for something to do with his hands. “I don’t think you’d be too big and loud for my bed, if you wanted to try that out.”

Dan laughs like he’s not quite sure if it’s a joke or not, and Phil shrugs to hide exactly how much his heart is pounding.

“Where were you planning to sleep, then?” Dan asks. His dark eyes are careful, searching, and Phil’s anxiety doesn’t like that at all. He doesn’t need Dan seeing things that he’s not purposefully putting on display.

“With you,” says Phil. “If you’d want me.”

There’s a long moment of quiet where Phil starts to worry that maybe he’s made a huge mistake. Then, Dan grins slowly and comes closer, pinning Phil to the counter without actually touching him, and Phil grins back at him in sheer relief. “I dunno why, but I never figured you as the type to be so blunt about this sort of thing.”

“What, you thought I was capable of subtlety?” Phil teases, putting a hand to his own chest as if he’s touched by the sentiment. “That’s so nice of you.”

Dan laughs, louder and more genuine, and then his big hands are cupping Phil’s jaw as he leans in to press their smiling mouths together. It’s been a hot minute since Phil kissed anyone while he was sober, so for a moment he doesn’t remember what he’s supposed to do with his hands. When he feels cool metal drag against the underside of his tongue, though, his brain shuts down enough that his hands find Dan’s hips without endlessly second-guessing himself.

It takes a while for them to reluctantly separate, because Phil is busy figuring out how to snog Dan without metal clacking against his teeth too much and Dan is busy figuring out all of the weak points in Phil’s neck with his thumbs.

“You taste like bacon,” Dan says in a strangely scolding tone of voice for someone who had cooked it for Phil.

“Sorry,” Phil says nonsensically, sliding his hands up Dan’s shirt to trace shapes over his lower back. The movements pause when Dan shivers. “Bad? Or good?”

“Your hands are just cold, you spork,” says Dan. He kisses Phil again, quick but firm, and then takes a step back. Phil doesn’t even realise he’s frowning until Dan giggles at him. “C’mon. Bed sounds fucking great right about now.”

--

Phil doesn’t remember the last time he kissed someone for so long that his lips started to tingle, but he’s certainly not complaining. He stopped feeling self conscious about being naked almost immediately after Dan told him it was frankly illegal to put damp towels on a bed, because the hungry way Dan looked at him and grabbed at him after he hung them up quieted the anxiety right away. Dan’s shirt has been discarded somewhere in Phil’s absolute tip of a room, but the soft material of his joggers keeps making Phil bite back noises when it comes in contact with his cock.

“You’re so hot,” Dan tells him in one of the times their mouths aren’t locked, one large hand wrapped around Phil’s thigh and the other supporting his weight on top of Phil.

“No, you,” Phil insists, not caring how dumb he sounds. He’s been mapping Dan’s back with his hands, but he slides them down the back of Dan’s sweats to win the argument before it starts. Sure enough, Dan’s words get cut off by a loud whine of a noise that gets pressed into Phil’s collarbone. Phil feels up Dan’s ass a little before using his grip to roll their hips together. “Fuck. What d’you want?”

“That depends,” Dan hums against Phil’s skin, nipping at his chest.

“On what?”

“On if this is a one time thing.”

There’s a jolt of guilt in Phil’s stomach, and he winds fingers into Dan’s curls to force Dan to look at him. “Hey, no, it’s not like that. I like you, you idiot.”

Dan smiles, and there’s no small amount of relief in it. Phil feels like he should have been more clear, but at least he’s got Dan in his bed and smiling about it now. “Oh good. I like you, too, and it would have been really awkward if you just wanted a fuck.”

“I do also want a fuck,” Phil says, teasing. “If I’m being honest.”

“I couldn’t tell,” Dan says sarcastically, rocking his hips down again and grinning when a noise is surprised out of Phil. “Well, okay, since I don’t need to bucket list this, I wanna go down on you.”

“I’d love to hear that bucket list sometime,” says Phil. He lets go of Dan’s ass and uses his hold on Dan’s hair to push him down, a little more impatiently than he intended. He’s got an apology on the tip of his tongue, but Dan just grunts an approving sort of noise and presses his mouth to Phil’s inner thigh. “But - ah - not right now.”

Dan’s got a mouth made for sucking cock, so it doesn’t take Phil by surprise when he sinks down easily, squeezing Phil’s thigh and running his tongue over the head of Phil’s dick whenever he comes back up, but it sure does make his legs start to shake.

“Fuck,” Phil breathes, doing his best to keep his hips still. That’s a lot more difficult when Dan looks up at him with those big dark eyes and takes him as deep as he can. “You look so good like that, you know that? Bet you do.” Dan hums around his cock and the vibrations from his throat make Phil shiver. “Yeah, fuck, of course you do. Such a pretty mouth, huh?”

With a quiet, wet noise, Dan pulls up to catch his breath. He grins. “I also didn’t figure you for a talker.”

“Sounds like you’ve thought about this,” says Phil. He runs his fingers through Dan’s curls, tugging a little bit to watch Dan’s eyelashes flutter. “How’s it feel to be wrong about me?”

“In this case? Very good.” Dan presses his mouth to Phil’s stomach and bites down, just a little. It doesn’t hurt at all, but it still makes Phil’s hips jerk up. “I dunno, Phil, you’re usually a pretty fucking awkward person, which is, like, a big mood, and you don’t seem like much of a flirt.”

“I’ve been flirting with you for, like, a month and a half,” Phil laughs.

Dan grins wider. “Oh, oops.”

“I don’t have to talk if you don’t like it,” says Phil, even though he can fully tell that Dan does like it. Maybe he just wants to hear that Dan likes it.

The way Dan rolls his eyes makes it obvious that Dan can tell that he’s fishing, but he dimples anyway. “You don’t have to stop talking,” he says dryly, wrapping a big hand around Phil’s cock. “You know I like it.”

Dan takes Phil back in his mouth and closes his eyes like he loves it, which is a visual that Phil will absolutely be coming back to when he’s alone in the shower. Phil tells him as much, gives him a running commentary on every passing thought he has, because it’s hard to control his mouth as it is and the more he talks, the more worked up Dan gets. He sees Dan grinding into the mattress and pulls at him, not bothering to be gentle with it.

“Get rid of these,” Phil says, pushing at Dan’s joggers with a foot. He doesn’t actually think he’ll be able to help like that, but it gets his point across. “And then c’mere, I want to get you off.”

Dan laughs. “Alright, bossy.”

He sits up to get his sweats off and Phil sits up to watch. They grin at each other a bit as soon as Dan is naked, and Phil makes grabby hands.

“Bossy,” Dan repeats before knee-walking into Phil’s lap and kissing him hard. Dan wraps a hand around both of their cocks, but he doesn’t try to stroke. Without fully pulling away from the kiss, Dan murmurs, “Lube, now, I want to come.”

“Now who’s bossy?” Phil huffs a laugh, blindly reaching for his nightstand. He knocks over a couple of things in his search, but eventually he finds the bottle he’s looking for. He pours some over their cocks and gasps when Dan’s hand slides up and back down so easily. Phil would be lying if he said that he hadn’t thought about this, hadn’t wondered if Dan’s wide reach could envelop both of them, but he doesn’t bother telling Dan any of that. Instead, he drops the lube back onto his nightstand and settles a hand on Dan’s ass as he kisses Dan deeper.

Phil’s mouth finds Dan’s neck, and he can’t help laughing at the loud keen of a noise that seems surprised out of Dan’s mouth.

Even though Dan didn’t have his dick sucked, he’s as desperate and horny as Phil feels, and having a tongue and teeth on his pulse point seems to escalate it even more. His breathing is ragged, his hips are jerking up into his own hand, and he comes so hard between them that Phil feels some of it hit his face.

“Fuck,” Dan whines, letting go of himself to stroke Phil’s cock in tight, quick movements. Phil’s breath hitches, and he digs his fingers into the soft skin of Dan’s ass for something to hold onto. Dan kisses Phil’s forehead, then his nose, and then kisses his cheek. His tongue comes out to press against Phil’s skin, the cool metal ball still a small shock somehow, and it takes Phil’s brain an addled moment before he realises that Dan is licking his own come off Phil’s cheek. That’s so unbelievably hot to Phil that he couldn’t stop himself from coming if he even wanted to. He groans and fucks into Dan’s fist, tugging him into an open-mouthed kiss. He can’t taste Dan’s come on his tongue or anything, but the idea of it is enough to make him shudder through an intense orgasm.

Their kisses turn softer than Phil thought possible as they come down from it, and he nuzzles at Dan’s jaw. “I just had a shower,” he says, gently scolding. “Now I’m all gross again.”

“Oh, boo-hoo,” says Dan, grinning. “I’ll clean you up, you big baby.”

Phil is fairly sure that their shower isn’t big enough for that, but he’s always up for trying.

--

After a heated debate on the benefits of flowers versus gift baskets, they end up taking Bryony out for pizza and beer. As thanks.

[scorchviox]

Your Touch [ShigarakixOC]: Chapter 7

Chapter Index

Three in the morning was said to be the witching hour. Spirits and restless ghosts were to be haunting those unfortunate enough to be awake at such an hour; however, neither of these swirled around the brunette cackling or taunting her. To her dismay, it was the sound of an extremely loud video game’s soundtrack that woke her up, lulled her to sleep, then startled her awake once again with intense music. It was a vicious cycle all throughout the night. Souseiki tried from wrapping her pillow around her head to ripping pieces of her sheets and stuffing them in her ear canal in an attempt to drown out the noise, neither helped. She had half a mind to get out of bed and demand whoever was playing to turn it off or at least use some headphones. In the end, she knew she was nowhere near confrontational, so she stayed put under the covers.

   For the following four hours, Souseiki went in and out of sleep. Eventually, around seven in the morning, she decided to make an appearance in the common room. The brunette rubbed her irritated eyes as she walked down the hall and pushed the door open. “Morning,” she muttered in a tired tone. Once again, there was food on the counter, but this time Shigaraki was already present.

   “You look like shit,” he deadpanned as he watched her occupy the seat at his side.

   In response, Souseiki gave a small groan and began eating. He stared at her without restraint until she seemed to give in to the silent peer-pressure and gave an actual answer, “A bad spirit was haunting me last night. Couldn’t shake it,” she said picking at the rice on her plate.

   A scoff rang through the room, then turned into a laugh, “You believe in ghosts? What are you? A child?”

   Souseiki gripped her fork and gave a forced nod, “Maybe,” she said through gritted teeth before shoving food into her mouth to keep from making any unnecessary comments.

   “Anyway, we’re going out,” he states as he grips the wooden counter with trembling limbs. His body screams fatigue, but he gives no indication of wanting to rest. Those bloodshot eyes seem to be stuck on the promise of a mission. His movements are slow and sluggish, but his aura says ‘I’m fine!’ with the tone dipped in authority. Shigaraki surely was someone that, despite his bratty attitude, completed tasks he needed to be done. “Are you going to keep staring at me like a dumbass or are you going to go get changed?”

   Souseiki huffed and pushed herself up with the same fatigue, but with no determination. She followed the man with blue tresses out the door and down towards their respective rooms. From what she’s just witnessed, it was safe to assume that the ghost haunting her the night before was his doing, so why wasn’t he wanting to fall to the floor asleep like she was? He certainly was a force to be reckoned with if his own fatigue didn’t hinder him from moving forward with his day. On the other hand, she stood staring blankly at the bag on the floor full of her clothing. A stare as blank as a canvas watched the discarded items as if her nonexistent quirk would get her dressed. The brunette lazily tugged on a clean pair of jeans and a lightweight hoodie to hide her complexion from the crowds. Something told her today was going to be longer than it should be.

   There was something about the way Shigaraki continued to fiddle with his hands within his pockets that made Souseiki far more nervous than she should have been. The duo currently walked through the streets of Musutafu with their hoods worn high on their head. Souseiki wore a mask over her face and glanced over to Shigaraki in concern. He wasn’t the most notorious fellow, but he was the oddest looking lad of the year. Anyone would look over to his complexion and stare in astonishment if they had the time of day. His lips were dry while the scratches under his eyes and along his neck were red and angry. The hood and those blue locks could only do so much to cover his features. “Where are we going?”

   Shigaraki stared at the pavement as he walked, something about watching the cracks fall behind him with every step either piqued his interest or allowed him to calmly walk the streets without reliving a horrible past of gasps and dirty looks. “Kurogiri said we ran out of coffee,” he shrugs in reply. It was completely nonchalant and odd to think that was just it. Who would be fidgeting over such a mundane task? There had to be more to this, yet Souseiki didn’t voice any of her concerns as he leads the way into a convenience store. “He likes the shitty generic brand from this place for some reason,” he muttered looking down the aisles until he caught eye of the instant coffee mix. “One day,” he continued as he browsed the boxes on the shelves, “he wouldn’t talk to me for an entire day because I bought the wrong one,” he said reaching for a box.

   “Don’t you think that’s a little silly?” She questioned watching him inspect the detailed ingredients on the item. “Too specific actually,” Souseiki added. The comment was more in accordance with his overly verbose behavior rather than the story.

   “Tasted like shit,” He said walking past her and to the register to check out. “Personally, I thought all coffee tasted the same, but there’s just a way about how this one mixes well with those little boiling bubbles that make it taste really good.”

   With the item paid, he handed the bag to her and they walked out. Souseiki pondered on the conversation as they walked further into the city. Shigaraki didn’t dwell any longer on it as he led the girl through an empty path. Two large buildings encased the sidewalk that held no other pedestrians. “I’m sorry, but am I the boiling water and you’re the shitty brown color?”

   Such an outburst caused the blue-haired teen to halt and turn his entire attention to her, “What?” He spat out with a complexion twisted between disgust and confusion. “Are you stupid or something?”

   The response caught her off guard and had embarrassment skidding its way across her nose leaving a red trail on its way. “I thought you were making an analogy,” she spoke in a meek voice as she shrunk back where she stood.

   “I was telling you a story, idiot,” Shigaraki said with a scratch of his neck, “If I knew you were this dense I wouldn’t have said anything,” he mumbled. He turned down the street and left Souseiki standing against the building.

   “Wait!”

   Shigaraki looked over his shoulder, his crimson eyes shooting daggers in her direction; causing her to stay put in her spot. “Stay there!” He demanded after taking a few steps forward, then turning back to shout, “And that’s not a fucking analogy!” Before turning the corner and disappearing around the corner.

   Souseiki stared wide-eyed after the man before leaning against the building. The thought of him having to run another errand on his own popped into her head, so she did as told. Her initial embarrassment was still visible and she ruthlessly tried to calm her blood cells as she shook her head. She could understand now why her friends use to want her to stop reading so many mystery books. Her conclusions were insanely out there if she thought too much. Instead, to clear her head she rummaged through her pocket and pulled out her phone. The data to her carrier had been long disconnected, so she relied on a nearby hotspot to scroll through news articles. Everything hero related, from All Might saving an entire burning apartment building to Midnight assisting some market festival, filled the media. She was no longer in the headlines.

   “Who would even be out here? This is literally the boonies of this city,” groaned a voice down the path.

   The footsteps grew closer causing Souseiki’s blood to run cold as she slowly looked up, “There was a call saying a suspicious person was hanging around here,” voiced another man. When she looked up her eyes met his, Seiichi, her older brother. Right at his side was Yuu as well. The two were decked out in their hero gear, no doubt patrolling together to kill time. “Oh, miss!”  He called out seeing her. “We received a call concerning-”

   His voice slowly drowned out as the ringing in her ears grew louder and he closer. She watched the two approach slowly as she took a step back. “Hey, she’s moving away,” Yuu muttered to his brother. Without another word the two closed in on Souseiki quicker and demanded her to stop unless she wanted to be apprehended.

   She obeyed and stopped moving.

   Seiichi’s brow creased as he secured eye contact, “Would you answer a few questions?” He asked. The two brothers awaited an answer, but nothing verbal was received. The brunette merely nodded and held onto the plastic bag with a tighter grip. “There was a call concerning a strange individual. We’re not saying it’s you, but we just need you to answer some simple questions. It’s just procedure,” Seiichi explained calmly with a reassuring smile, yet it did nothing to calm her nerves.

   Where in the hell was Shigaraki?

   Yuu stood beside his brother with arms akimbo, eyes narrowed and set on his sister. “You look familiar,” he remarked leaning forward to get a better view of her, “Holy shit, Souseiki?”

   The two brothers stood waiting for her to decline such a statement or remove the mask to reveal her identity, but Souseiki was now focused on the figure standing behind the two. Shigaraki stood still between the two men. He now wore that dismembered hand on his face. “Yeah,” she muttered pulling down the mask without looking either brother in the eye. She was locked on Shigaraki, watching him raise his hands.

   He was going to kill them.

   “Isn’t this bad news?” Yuu asked with eyes trained on the youngest sibling, “If she’s alive then we’ll look like fools.”

   “Better,” Seiichi said with a smile that could put any villain’s to shame, “It’d be a miracle. We’d get more press.”

   Souseiki nodded, now looking at her brothers, “You know, I didn’t hate you guys all that much,” she said with a crack in her voice. “You two were okay,” The brunette smiled and waved a hand at the two, “I’ll see you around,” she said taking two large steps back.

   Before either brother could reach out to her, a hand was placed at the nape of their necks. “It was nice meeting you,” Shigaraki muttered to the two as their bodies decayed in a matter of seconds. Their ashes, it seemed like, piled onto the pavement before her eyes. “You’d never kill a person?” Shigaraki asked taking the hand off his face and placing it in his pocket.

   The brunette walked past him and said, “I didn’t kill anyone.”

Next