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It wasn’t his fault. He was drunk. It’d been a while since they’d had time to actually indulge in one another. And Phil was so fucking hot.
So, yeah... Dan came in his pants. Unintentionally. Sloppily. At twenty-seven fucking years old.
And Phil wouldn’t let him hear the end of it.
*
“That was hot,” Phil said in the car on the way back home, watching the streetlights pass by the window before turning towards Dan. “That was really hot.”
“What was?” Dan laughed. He’d reached across to lace his fingers between Phil’s and somewhere in the back of his alcohol-soaked brain he had reminded himself not to check if the driver could see. Little steps, he’s meant to be getting more comfortable with— little steps like holding Phil’s hand in the backseat of a car and not giving a fuck if anyone sees. Little steps that feel much bigger, even now.
“You,” Phil said, his grip on Dan’s hand tightening. “You, at the bar.”
They’d been having a night out with Martyn and Cornelia— dinner, drinks, seeing The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time.
It’s always nice being out with Martyn and Corn. It’s the same sort of feeling they got when they used to go out with Bryony and Wirrow or when they can make it up north to go out with Ian and Lauren. A good feeling, the feeling of being out with another long-settled couple, of just being unquestionable and normal and in public and happy. Dan really likes stepping into that sort of life for a few hours.
After the play, they’d all stopped at a nearby bar for a nightcap and to talk the show over. For Dan to gush over the euphoria he feels after he’s just finished watching or reading or listening to something, while he’s still riding that high where he’s convinced it’s the best media he’s ever consumed.
There was one blip while at the bar that Dan’s perfectly lovely night with his favourite people was almost spoiled.
When their server brought them over their second round, and lingered a little longer than he really needed to. When he placed a hand on Phil’s shoulder and squeezed and spoke with a little too much warmth in his voice saying, “Anything I can do for you, all you need to do is ask!” before stepping away.
Dan could feel the tension settling into his spine. He could feel his jaw clench. He could even feel Phil’s gaze turning trying to catch his because Dan’s jealousy is never well disguised.
He took a sip of his cocktail. He counted ten in his head. He reminded himself that he and Phil literally just travelled the world together, literally just celebrated their nine-year anniversary.
When he finally turned to meet Phil’s eye, he managed an unreserved smile. He tapped the plane of his nail against his glass and said, “We don’t have gin often enough.”
“Guess we don’t,” Phil smiled. And the night finished without a direct mention of that moment until they were in the cab heading home.
Dan wasn’t sure if Phil wanted him to play dumb for this conversation or not. The number of drinks he’d had over the course of the night also made him feel he might just be dumb in general.
“Me?” he laughed, “Me at the bar?”
“Mm-hmm,” Phil said, leaning closer to nudge his shoulder. “You, Dan, at the bar. Not Jealous Dan.”
“Y’know, I seem to recall someone finding Jealous Dan a turn on…”
“And I seem to recall someone worrying that wasn’t exactly healthy.” The creases near Phil’s eyes from his smile were caught in the passing light of the other cars. “And sure, Jealous Dan’s a turn on because it’s hot to see how bad you want everyone to know I’m yours, but—”
“—but what, Lester?”
“Well, there’s something even better about you not being bothered, because you know I’m yours whether anyone else does or not.” Dan could smell the gin on Phil’s breath when he leaned in close to whisper in his ear. “Certainty is incredibly sexy, Dan.”
Dan knows what he means; it’s like when Phil had teased him that summer for drooling over Chan the border agent. It’s downright sexy to love someone and know for sure that they love you back no matter who catches their eye or tries to.
“You’re pretty sure of yourself.” Dan tried to smirk, he tried to bant. His brain was a little too foggy for it.
“You’re pretty sure of me.” Phil nipped at the silver hoop in Dan’s ear. “Rightly so.”
Dan could feel his heartbeat in his throat. This was a lot more blatantly public than holding hands in the dark backseat. But he didn’t have time to get too panicked by his own preservative instincts because the car slowed to a stop then in front of their building.
Phil’s lips were on his neck as soon as the front door to their apartment was closed.
His hands were on Dan’s hips and his nails were digging into his skin where he’d pushed the hem of Dan’s shirt out of his way.
Dan’s head was still swimming, from the long night and the liquor and Phil’s eagerness. He felt the door solid against his back and his sights and scents and sounds were surrounded and smothered with Phil and fuck it was so, so good already.
“God, Dan” Phil groaned into the jut of Dan’s jaw, “I think you should fuck me tonight. I want you to fuck me.”
The sound that fell from Dan’s throat at that was a hungry, hollow whimper. It’d been so long since they’d done that; they never really do that often enough. Phil’s voice was sending sparks through his blood. His words were echoing in his ear, rattling, growing louder as he repeated them. Fuck, he wanted that too— he was absolutely aching for it.
“Yeah,” he nodded frantically. “Yeah, Phil.”
Dan felt Phil shift, raking his nails across his back beneath his shirt and grinding their hips together. He heard Phil say again in a low, gruff voice that he wanted Dan to fuck him. He felt the back of his head slam against the door and heard his own voice whimper.
Then he didn’t feel anything for a suspended handful of seconds. Nothing but bliss and ascension and that time itself was fake, as his unexpected and unintended orgasm washed over him.
His breath was ragged when he started falling back to earth.
“Did you just…?” Phil panted against his neck.
Dan’s legs were shaking and his bones were weary but the alarm bells in his brain wouldn’t allow him to enjoy the haze through a combination of pure embarrassment and mourning the lost opportunity to be inside Phil that night.
Instead of answering Phil, Dan sank roughly to his knees and moved to distract him from asking again if he’d come by freeing Phil’s dick as quick as possible.
He felt exhaustion tugging at his joints and the wet mess in his pants squelched and the hard tile of their entryway under his knees was more distracting than it might have been when he was younger, but he still felt that thrill that comes at sucking Phil off— that thrill that comes with knowing he’s good at what he does, knowing how he’s making Phil feel, letting himself enjoy the taste and smell and sounds even if they’re all a little too much at times.
So he managed to push his embarrassment aside for as long as it takes to get Phil off, and when Phil came with a cry of Dan’s name he wondered just what it was he’d been embarrassed about in the first place.
Phil, as drunk and tired and fucking sated as Dan was himself, didn’t say anything about it until the next morning.
*
Dan wakes up with a hint of a headache that’s being soothed by Phil’s fingers at his temples. How the fuck does Phil always know just what he needs? “Morning,” he says, his mouth thick with last night’s vices.
“Morning,” Phil says. His fingers move from Dan’s temples to thread into his hair. “We should drink water.”
Dan shakes his head. “Requires standing.”
“You should’ve listened to me when I suggested installing hamster water bottles on the headboard.”
“Next time you have a mad idea like that, remind me of this.” Dan shoves his head a little deeper into the pillow, not ready yet to admit to himself that he’s awake despite holding a conversation. “You’re brilliant, I’m stubborn. We definitely need those hamster water bottles.”
“We drank too much,” Phil groans. “I don’t think I’ve had that much since my 30th birthday.”
“We weren’t that drunk,” Dan says.
“Oh, sure we weren’t, Mr. Came-In-My-Pants-Like-A-Bloody-Teenager.”
Dan turns his face to see Phil smiling that wide fucking smile with his tongue poking out the side. He seriously considers grabbing a pillow and smothering Phil, or at the least smacking him across the face with it. And he would, if he could even fathom gathering the energy.
“Shut up,” he says instead of smothering Phil. “That wasn’t my fault.”
“Oh, it wasn’t?” Phil’s still laughing.
“It wasn’t,” Dan insists. “If anything it was your fault, really. Don’t you know my tells by now? You should’ve known I was right on the edge! You should’ve laid off for a second. Let me catch my breath, or something.”
“Mm-hmm, sure,” Phil wraps his arms around Dan’s waist and pulls him closer. “My fault, right. See, Dan, now I get where all this teasing me for being an old man comes from.”
“Where?” Dan is deeply unamused.
“Well, you got the stamina of a teenager still. Here I am with the stamina of a man, dare I say, a god.”
“Dare you?”
“Don’t worry, babe. Self-control comes with age. I’m sure you’ll master it someday.” He goes in to kiss Dan’s cheek and Dan feels like he could slap him.
“I hate you,” Dan says, laughing as Phil kissing his cheek turns into tickling his face with his stubble. “This was a fluke, you know I’ve got stamina… we’ve, like, edged before.” It’s been a long nine years; they’ve tried a fair few things at least once.
“Been a while since we did though,” Phil says. “And even then I recall you having a difficult time holding back.”
Dan does muster the energy this time, fuelled mostly on annoyance, to grab his pillow and whack Phil across the face with it. They descend into laughter and manage to stand up to eat and hydrate and do what they can to salvage the day despite the hangovers slowing them down.
*
Phil still teases Dan at scattered intervals through the morning. And through the next day. And for most of the next week.
When he’s finally had enough, Dan’s in the kitchen with Phil against the counter and his arms on either side of him. “That’s it, Lester. You gotta let this go.”
Phil’s face goes a little soft then. “Does it really bother you? Am I hitting a nerve?”
Dan’s annoyance immediately thaws. Damn Phil’s ability to… fucking care so much. “I mean, no,” he says, “I don’t feel, like, bullied. It’s just annoying, Phil. That night was a goddamn fluke, and you keep taking the piss.”
Phil’s smirk is back. “You know, you keep saying it was a fluke. Maybe those times I edged you before was a fluke.”
“Try me,” Dan challenges.
“It’s the middle of the day,” Phil laughs. “We’ve got too much on our plates.” He leans forward to kiss him, heated despite his insistence that they don’t have the time. “Tonight though, tonight I’ll try you.”
“And then you’ll have to shut up about the other night,” Dan says.
“What? You mean when you came in your pants from a little neck kissing?” Phil laughs again.
“You’re the worst person in the world.” Dan shoves him back against the kitchen counter.
Phil asks him that night how committed he is to this whole thing; it’s been a while since they did more than their usual in bed and even longer since they edged at all. He asks Dan if he wants this to be a numbered thing, like if he wants Phil to bring him to the edge twice before he can come on the third high.
Dan has a different idea.
They’re both in their trackies and t-shirts, they’re both wearing pants underneath and Phil’s wearing his cactus slightly odd socks but Dan’s barefoot.
Dan’s keeping track of the layers. He tells Phil that he won’t be taking any layers off himself, that he wants Phil to do that. And he tells Phil that he won’t come until there’s skin on his skin. That’s the signal, that’s when he can give in. Not a moment sooner. Not so long as there’s fabric touching his dick, standing in the way of his release.
He can manage it. Surely he can manage it.
This whole thing was prompted by him coming in his pants? Well, he’s not coming until the pants are off. Simple as that.
Phil nods. He pulls Dan towards their bedroom door until they’re in a similar position to when they were in their entryway before, Phil with his mouth on Dan’s neck while Dan takes note of the sturdy door against his back.
“You really think this’ll work twice?” Dan says, trying to sound teasing but there’s already a tension in his tone. Phil just knows, after all this time, he knows where to make him melt. He knows where to scrape his teeth, he knows where to lick and where to kiss.
Phil laughs against Dan’s skin, “Worth a shot.” They’re there against the door for a little while longer before Phil moves them over to the bed.
By then Dan’s hard, he’s loving this, and he’s focusing with all his might on not coming even though that isn’t a difficult feat yet. They’re just getting started.
Phil lays on top of Dan with his weight pressing him down into the bed. Dan loves this. Phil doesn’t always let his full weight rest on him; sometimes he lays to the side, sometimes he holds himself up with his arm. But Dan loves the full weight of Phil on top of him, warming him, securing him.
He hadn't always.
There was something he chaffed at against feeling, well… taken. He loves it now. He’s shed a lot of insecurities over the years in order to love many things he used to stop himself from loving before.
Phil rolls to the side to take his own shirt off, but pointedly leaves Dan’s on. He picks up Dan’s hand at the wrist and moves it to encourage Dan to fiddle with his chest hair.
It’s another thing Dan fucking loves that he didn’t use to let himself enjoy fully. Starkly masculine elements of Phil, of the man he’s built a life with.
Then Phil pulls Dan’s hands up to thread into his hair as he climbs back on top of him. He leans down to kiss him and they have some heavy heated moments of proper making out. Dan’s living for the feel of Phil’s lips and the taste of his tongue and the sounds he lets slip from his own mouth. He feels Phil’s hips grind down into his, feels how hard Phil is. He grinds up into him as well, trying to get a rhythm going.
“This good, Dan?” Phil asks with his breath hot against his mouth. “This reminding you of being eighteen at my parents’ house? Hmm? Of grinding on their couch because you couldn’t help yourself?”
And fuck Dan wasn’t expecting that. Phil’s never necessarily vocal in bed. He never just says unbearably hot things like that while his hips are thrusting against him.
Suddenly Dan’s grand plans of proving his perfectly adequate stamina to Phil seem a little more difficult.
Phil, after a few more minutes of the same blissful treatment, rolls to the side again and pulls at the hem of Dan’s shirt to get it off. His hands are at Dan’s nipples and when he lets his nails scratch at one Dan lets out a surprised little yelp.
“This okay?” Phil asks. He hadn’t scratched hard. Barely scratched at all. Dan loves that he still asks.
He nods a little too breathlessly. “It’s good, Phil. It’s all so fucking good.”
He scratches lightly at Dan’s other nipple while moving his mouth over the one he had scratched initially. Phil’s hand moves down afterwards to palm Dan over his sweats. Dan lifts his hips to meet Phil’s hand and Phil chuckles. “Always eager,” he says, “even when you’re trying to prove something.”
Dan groans, but his annoyance is replaced as Phil continues to move his hand along his clothed cock. His mouth moves back to his nipples, then up to his collarbones, then back to his neck.
Dan’s properly panting and he manages a choked, “I’m close,” when the rush of blood in his ears starts to drown everything else out.
Phil stops and sits up, and Dan tries desperately to catch his breath.
Phil pulls off his trackies and sits with his back against the headboard. “C’mere,” he pulls at Dan’s hand. Dan moves to straddle him, loving the soft feel of Phil’s bare thigh under his fingertips. He fiddles with the hem of Phil’s pants until Phil’s arms wrap around his waist and pull him closer into a kiss.
It’s almost no time at all before Phil’s hands move to Dan’s hips and guides him down against his cock with a rhythm that’s driving Dan crazy.
There are too many layers, by the rules he set and just in general, but he can feel the hard line of Phil and he’s already more worked up than he thought he’d be at this point. Maybe just by the nature of having set a challenge. Maybe just because Phil’s so fucking good.
He moves to kiss Phil’s neck after a while longer of grinding into him. His moans manage to contain words of warning that he’s close again so Phil slows them down. He tilts Dan back until he’s lying on the bed and pulls his sweat pants off of him slowly, kissing down his legs along the way. Every instance of bare skin where Phil’s lips touch seem to be burning, Dan’s so fucking into it.
With them just in their pants now, when Phil ruts into him again Dan can feel the wetness of precome on the fabric and his brain short circuits.
Phil isn’t keeping his weight on Dan anymore; he’s hovering over Dan with his legs on either side of Dan’s hips and his hands on either side of Dan’s head. He misses that feeling of coverage. And his cock is aching for more friction. His hips are canting up even though Phil has lifted himself out of Dan’s reach.
He has the decency not to laugh at Dan for it.
Dan lifts his hands to Phil’s waist, hoping to pull Phil down to him. Phil instead leans to pull Dan’s hands up by his head. Though Phil still won’t put his full weight on Dan’s body, the heaviness of his grip on Dan’s wrists being pushed into the mattress is making his head spin.
It’s good, it’s so fucking good.
It’s that same sort of tightness in his chest that he gets when Phil puts all his weight on him, or when he feels Phil’s chest hair or the stubble along his jaw, or when he gets Phil’s cock in his mouth. That tightness that he gets when he fucking enjoys something so much even if it’s something he used to make himself feel shame for enjoying.
Phil finally lowers his hips to rut into Dan’s and he cries out from the long-awaited friction being felt at last.
He’s thrusting up to meet Phil’s hips and grunting out, “Phil,” and “yes,” and “fuck,” and all the earlier highs don’t compare to this because right now every cell in his body is calling out to Phil and he grits his teeth together because if he’s not careful he’s gonna come and— fuck! He can’t come, he can’t, but he’s so goddamn close…
He doesn’t realise he’s actually crying until Phil let’s go of his wrists to wipe the tears away.
Phil hovers over him, one hand holding him up while the other threads through Dan’s sweaty curls. He kisses Dan’s forehead. “Breathe,” he says. He kisses Dan’s nose, Dan’s cheeks, Dan’s chin. “Breathe.”
Dan steadies his exhales, still heavy but lengthened. He gulps down inhales. His brain feels less fuzzy now that it’s actually getting the oxygen it needs, but he can still focus on little else than breathing.
“Phil,” he groans, “fuck...”
“Do you want to stop?” Phil asks, his lips on Dan’s currently vibrant rosy patch near his jaw.
“Shut up,” Dan says, turning his head into Phil’s kiss. “Don’t you dare.”
“Do you wanna come?” he offers.
Dan whimpers out, “No, no. Can’t yet, too many layers.”
Phil moves down to rectify that, by one layer at least. Dan is more grateful for it than he can articulate in that moment. Only Phil isn’t playing fair. Because Dan’s pants are off now and his cock is free and the cool night air on it is driving him insane.
But Phil’s pants are still on.
He moves back up to kiss Dan and presses the line of his clothed cock against Dan’s hip. Dan can feel the fabric of Phil’s pants as the last fucking layer against his cock and Jesus fucking Christ— it’s gonna be the death of him.
Surely, surely this will kill him.
What a way to go…
He’s holding onto any shred of self-control he still had, loving everywhere Phil’s wandering lips meet his skin even whilst hating every second of it. When Phil moves lower Dan thinks he might cry again.
Surely Phil’s taking mercy on him now; surely Phil’s abandoning the final layer.
Phil’s situated himself between Dan’s legs, carefully avoiding any contact with Dan’s terribly frustrated cock on his way down. He bites at the jut of Dan’s hip and Dan tugs at his hair encouragingly.
He’s trying to focus on Phil’s movements, trying to focus on when Phil will take his pants off, but his breath is still ragged and his brain is still swimming and he can’t keep his eyes open for very long at all. So he doesn’t really register Phil moving his head from his hip, doesn’t really register Phil bending his legs or getting his hands under Dan’s ass to prop him up.
He doesn’t register just where Phil’s headed until he feels the divine wetness of Phil’s tongue against his rim. Dan lets out a choked moan and would’ve bucked his hips if Phil didn’t have such a solid hold on them. He tightens his fingers in Phil’s hair, begs him for more and begs him to stop, because he really thinks he might lose his mind if he’s so close to the goddamn edge and Phil really intends to eat him out.
“You wanna come?” Phil asks again, his tongue pushing the slightest bit past Dan’s entrance.
“Can’t…” Dan lets out a broken whimper. “Your p-pants.”
Phil gives Dan what would be a chaste little peck if he were placing it anywhere but Dan’s literal asshole. He sits up and waits until Dan can open his eyes to watch him. He slips his pants off and Dan’s whispering “Yes, yes, yes,” because now Phil’s socks are the only clothes between the two of them, and the socks were never a part of the challenge. Phil moves back to hover over him.
“You’re going to kill me,” he says when Phil lingers, looking at him with so much adoration that Dan would be blushing if his rosy patch wasn’t already at max rosiness. “I’m going to kill you,” he adds, so sure of both sentiments as his nerve endings are screaming.
Phil’s face breaks into a smile as he lowers to kiss him, messily and hungrily and with too much teeth.
He reaches with a hand down towards his hips which are lowering to meet Dan’s, and in a smooth motion he manages to get a hand around them both. The skin of Phil’s hand and the skin of Phil’s cock against his register in the back of Dan’s brain, the only quiet corner that is still functioning.
He could swear that his heart stops beating.
He comes and spills over Phil’s hand and moans out his name and it’s never been this good— even if he thinks that almost every time Phil makes him come he’s quite convinced that it’s never been this fucking good.
Phil comes too, long enough after Dan that he’s able to notice it. Able to watch his face and hear how his huffs of breath get pitchy and feel how his hand that’s still generously trying to stroke them both stutters then stills.
He doesn’t let his full weight on Dan again though Dan would absolutely love to be wrapped up in it during his haze like this. Instead, Phil rolls to his side and pulls Dan into his chest.
They both match their breathing and slowly wait for their heartbeats to return to normal.
“I love you,” Phil says. Dan kisses his chest.
He wants to tease Phil for getting sappy after he comes, wants to hear Phil tease him for being just as sappy, wants to have their usual back and forth. But he’s certain he’s never been so tired in his life; not after any of their stage shows, not after an intense training session, not after the most exhausting of his bad brain days.
So he skips the back and forth this time, says instead “I love you,” and hums his appreciation when Phil kisses his forehead.
*
After they’ve recovered a bit, after they’ve downed some water and Phil popped some popcorn and they’re eating it wrapped up in one another, Dan says almost hesitatingly, “So, old man, I prove my stamina or what?”
Phil laughs around the popcorn kernel he’d just thrown into his mouth. “I dunno,” he says, “might’ve been a fluke.”
They’re sure to find loose bits of popcorn in the bed the next morning because when Dan shoves him about half the bowl falls into their sheets.