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It doesn’t take long into being with Dan for Phil to notice he’s– quiet, sometimes. Sometimes it’s just his nerves, his general awkwardness that Phil had first found himself hopelessly endeared by before they’d known each other long enough for Dan to start opening up. That side of Dan is one Phil’s come to know just as well as the Dan that’s blossomed around him, the one that’s loud and dramatic and silly and Phil loves terribly. But there are– other times, Phil’s noticed, other varieties of Dan Quiet that he’s– less used to.
Sometimes, the quiet comes with Dan doing badly. He retreats into himself, gets muted and withdrawn and distant in ways Phil wishes more than anything he could fix. Sometimes he looks at Phil, these times, and mumbles soft apologies like Dan believes he needs to– apologize for even existing. Sometimes he can’t manage to say anything to Phil at all.
Phil had seen this kind of quiet more and more often as Dan’s time at uni had devolved, and is getting better at recognizing it when bad days come now. It’s a quiet that aches, but– he loves Dan. He loves him loud, and he’ll love him like this too, no matter what. Loves him always. And it’s been– better, since Dan had dropped out, since he’d properly moved in. The bad days are less frequent, now.
That kind of quiet isn’t the one that leaves Phil at a loss for what to do, not anymore. The other kind of quiet, though, is– much less familiar. It’s one Phil doesn’t quite understand yet, if he’s honest.
It’s just. Sometimes, they’ll be on the verge of something, and Phil will thread a hand through Dan’s hair or grind against him and Dan will just– go pliant, and when Phil looks into his eyes they’re glassy, pupils impossibly blown. Those times, Dan gets needy, desperate but never demanding, the only words falling from his lips near-incoherent pleas.
Sex with Dan is– a lot of things. They do emotional, they do slow and tender and loving, they do keyed-up and desperate, but mostly it’s always– fun. They can laugh together, even in the middle of it. Phil’s watched Dan grow more confident in it and in himself, and with that confidence has come relaxing into banter, into Dan’s usual inability to shut up whenever he’s comfortable (an inability Phil adores, he really does).
So. It’s– odd, a little, the times Dan doesn’t have anything to say. When he’s going boneless under Phil’s hands, undone so swiftly Phil’s always a little dizzy with it. It’s– he knows Dan. Knows he’s– extremely into it, whatever it is Phil’s doing the times Dan gets like that. And he can’t deny it’s– really, really hot, can’t deny he thinks about it more than he reasonably should. There’s something about Dan so needy, so debauched beneath him, that’s– it scratches at the part of Phil’s brain that just wants to see his boy cared for, he thinks. He wants to give him everything.
He just– also doesn’t know exactly what Dan needs, when he’s like that. Barely knows how to ask him about it in the first place.
And maybe he’s just overthinking it, because if there’s one thing Phil will do it’s overthink until he feels sick, but there’s– something there, he’s sure. Something he knows he’ll have to bring up sooner or later. He means to be subtle about it, really he does, but subtlety has– never been his strong suit. So. He probably should have expected he’d end up blurting it out at some point.
Some point turns out to be when Crash Bandicoot has turned into a lazy makeout that had slowly grown more heated, and he’s busy nipping at Dan’s jaw, pressing him back against the cushions of their shitty little couch, and Dan whines and– melts, a little. When Phil pulls back, Dan’s eyes are glossy in that way they get, and Phil– means to have more tact, but what he actually says is, “Are you– alright?”
Dan blinks at him, eyes focusing again with what looks like some effort, something a little nervous flickering across his face before he laughs awkwardly. Phil knows him well enough to know it’s forced. “Am I– what?”
“Um,” Phil says, trying to fight back the immediate concern at how cornered Dan looks. “I just. Sometimes you get a little–” he waves his hand, unsure how to describe it. “Like, uh. Quieter? When we– and I just. Do you need me to like– do anything differently, or–?”
“Oh.” Dan’s voice is soft and a little strained. “No, I’m– fine. I don’t– you don’t need to do anything. Nothing’s, um. Nothing’s wrong.”
“But it’s something, isn’t it?” Phil urges.
Prying is a gamble. For a moment he’s afraid Dan might withdraw entirely like he sometimes does when pushed a little too far, but– while he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t pull away, either. “Dan, please. It’s– it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it, but I just– I just want to understand.”
“I don’t– I don’t know how to. Um. Explain it,” Dan mumbles, flushing, steadily avoiding Phil’s eyes. “I– it’s just– I don’t–”
“Hey,” Phil soothes, reaching out to cover Dan’s hand with his own. Dan jolts like he hadn’t been expecting the contact, eyes widening, the patch at his jaw going scarlet. “Hey. It’s okay. You’re okay, Dan. You don’t have to–”
“I want to,” Dan blurts, then bites his lip like he hadn’t meant to say it. Phil traces a circle on the inside of his wrist with his thumb, and it’s enough for Dan to swallow and tentatively look up at him. “I mean. I just. It’s, like. Sometimes I just– like. You make me feel– um.”
His voice goes soft, barely above a whisper.
“Um. Safe.”
“Dan,” Phil breathes, because– Dan. He thinks his heart might be trying to escape his ribcage, or maybe doing an elaborate gymnastics routine, or– something. God, he loves him. He can’t resist tugging him in, pressing kisses, quick and chaste, over Dan’s cheeks, the blotchy red on his jaw, the corner of his mouth, til Dan’s laughing against him, some of the tension dissipating from his frame.
“I love you,” Phil tells him softly, as if that’s– even enough. He doesn’t think there will ever be enough words to describe what he feels for Dan, thinks for all he’s learned of linguistics nothing in his degree could have begun to prepare him for this.
“I love you, too,” Dan murmurs, and Phil can’t resist cupping his cheek, poking a thumb into his dimple. “I– thank you.”
“You don’t have anything to thank me for,” Phil says, and means it. Means I’d do anything for you. “Do you– um. Do you wanna… like, tell me more? About– like, when you get like– or—”
Dan nuzzles into Phil’s hand for a moment, exhaling softly, before nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, um. I just– like I said, it’s hard to explain. Just–” he bites his lip, flushes darker, “I feel, like. Safe, I guess, yeah? And I just like– I don’t know. It feels like I can just kind of– let go, a little bit? Um. Like I can– let you just. Take care of things, I guess. And I don’t have to–”
Dan pauses, exhales again, and Phil strokes a thumb over the soft curve of his cheek. His own breath feels caught in his throat, like if he says anything, he’ll shatter this moment, and Dan will withdraw this fragile thing he’s so tentatively laying bare.
“I guess I just– it’s loud, in my head, a lot,” Dan continues after a moment, meeting Phil’s eyes, and there’s so much trust in his gaze Phil is afraid for a moment he might start crying and really fuck this up. “And, like– it’s not as loud, when I’m with you. And sometimes I want to– it just feels like I don’t have to worry, I guess. Don’t have to– think, really. I can just. Let you take care of it. Of, um. Me.”
“Dan,” Phil says, and can’t– can’t think of anything more to say, because.
Because Dan is so– brash and bright and loud and witty and wonderful, and Phil loves him, loves his mind in all its chaos, loves when he gets to rambling and he starts talking with his hands because he’s just so passionate, and– and. And this side of Dan is so– soft, comparatively, so vulnerable, in the ways that Dan does not let himself be usually, Phil’s realizing. This side of Dan is being offered to him with the utmost trust: this delicate thing, placed in Phil’s clumsy hands without a second thought.
God, Phil loves him. God, he wants to be as certain as Dan is that he won’t break this.
“What do you– what do you need?” he asks, ragged. Dan’s eyes are so impossibly wide, impossibly dark, impossibly lovely, and there’s something so terribly vulnerable in them. It takes a moment for him to answer, blinking fast.
“Just. Could you– I just…” Dan mumbles, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. There’s a lovely flush blooming over his cheeks, blotchy and wonderful, swallowing up his freckles, and Phil aches.
“…Tell me I’m good?”
The words leave Dan in a rush, and hit somewhere deep behind Phil’s ribs, and.
“Oh, Dan,” he murmurs, brushing Dan’s fringe back and letting his hand linger to cradle his cheek again. He feels– a little heartbroken, chest tight, and– oh, Dan. “Of course. Of course you’re good.”
Dan makes a quiet noise, almost a keen, and leans into Phil’s hand. Phil wants nothing more than to give him– everything.
“You’re so good.”
“Wanna be,” Dan breathes, eyes fluttering shut. His voice is so quiet, Phil’s not wholly sure he’s meant to hear it. “Wanna be– good for you.”
“You are,” Phil promises. “God, Dan. You are.”
He leans in and kisses Dan’s forehead, lets it linger for a moment until Dan’s breaths steady a little, until the last lingering tension eases out of him. “What else?”
Dan’s flush deepens, and he trains his gaze on the floor.
“I guess,” he mumbles, pauses, wets his lips. “I guess I like, um. The thought of you, like– like I said, taking care of me, yeah? Just– taking, um, control. Like, I don’t have to– I don’t have to think.” The tips of his ears have gone scarlet. “Like. You make all the decisions for me, um. Cause you know– best.”
Dan’s voice gets breathier the longer he speaks, and Phil feels– God. His head’s spinning, a little. The thought of Dan– his Dan– needy and pliant and good for him, only for him, trusting Phil to care for him like no one else can—
But. God, this is– a departure from their usual thing, such a shift in power from their usual even balance. Dan putting himself completely in Phil’s hands like this– it’s so, so fucking hot, but– Phil can’t help the surge of anxiety.
“Dan, look at me,” he says softly. Dan’s eyes snap to him immediately, pretty and dark and wide like he’d been– like he’d been waiting for a command.
“Like when you do– that,” Dan breathes. “That’s– fuck, Phil. You, um, telling me what to do. Like that.”
Jesus, Phil feels dizzy. Wants to take his boy apart so badly it’s overwhelming.
“You have to tell me if I do something you don’t like,” Phil insists, and frowns when Dan only nods silently. “Promise me, Dan.”
Dan swallows hard, wets his pretty lips like it’s an effort to speak, but– he does, soft but sure. “I promise.” He blinks up at Phil, all glassy dark eyes and impossibly long lashes, and adds, even quieter, “I trust you.”
And that– settles Phil’s nerves more than he’d been expecting. Because he trusts Dan, too, trusts that he’d say something if he needed to, trusts that– Dan trusts this, them, as much as Phil does.
“Okay,” Phil exhales, sliding his hand to the back of Dan’s neck. Dan stills instantly, pupils blown impossibly wide, mouth dropping open a bit at– just that. So little, and he’s– he’s so. “Alright. ‘M gonna take care of you. That’s what you need, yeah?”
He tightens his grip on the back of Dan’s neck the slightest amount, a gentle squeeze that’s still enough to make Dan’s breath hitch, enough to prompt him into answering. “Yes,” he breathes. He sounds wrecked.
“Good,” Phil tells him, and Dan shivers. God, he could get used to drawing out that reaction. “Already doing so good.”
The words are– clumsy on his lips, but feel right, feels like they come from– the same place within him that likes this entirely too much. Dan blinks up at him, and his eyes are wide and glassy and a little bit empty, and Phil wants to devour him.
“Get on your knees for me, yeah?” he prompts gently, and he’d almost laugh at the speed Dan scrambles to obey, if it weren’t so– so. Christ.
He threads a hand through Dan’s hair, gentle, because. God, he’s a marvel, this supernova of a boy, all that brilliant warmth placed directly into Phil’s hands. On his knees just because Phil had asked. His to care for.
Phil’s chest feels a little tight.
“Good,” he murmurs again, and means it more than he quite has the words for. For a moment he just cradles Dan’s face, lets him look up at him through his lashes with those inescapable doe eyes, and it feels like puzzle pieces slotting into place. “You’re so pretty, you know that?”
Dan’s flush deepens, and Phil forges on, doesn’t give him a second to answer. “Think you were– made for this. Made for me.”
Phil’s hand tightens in his hair as Dan’s breath catches. There’s something about Dan like this, quiet and pliant and looking at him like he holds the keys to the universe, that’s just. Overwhelming.
Phil tugs him closer, and Dan goes willingly, easily, and he’s– beautiful. “Perfect,” Phil tells him softly, fumbling at the zipper of his jeans. It would be easier to use both his hands, but he doesn’t want to let go of Dan’s hair, not with how Dan’s leaning into the touch like it’s the one thing keeping him upright. Ordinarily, Dan would be making fun of his struggle, wind up helping him in the end, but right now he remains still, settled; waiting for direction. For Phil’s direction.
“This alright?” Phil checks once he finally manages to get his jeans unzipped and shoved unceremoniously down his legs, kicking them somewhere to the side. Dan, who’s been staring up at him with something desperate in his gorgeously dark eyes, nods frantically, and Phil frowns, tugs at his hair a little.
“Words.”
“God, yes– yes, please, Phil, I need–”
“Shh, alright,” he cuts off Dan’s babbling, cupping his cheek with his free hand. Dan shuts up instantly. “Alright, baby. Gonna give you what you need.”
Phil shoves his boxers down with– less grace than he’d even managed with his jeans, but from the look on Dan’s face he doesn’t think he cares. He palms at his cock, groaning at the relief, and Dan makes a needy little noise that verges on desperation.
“Come here,” Phil breathes, and pulls at his hair, and Dan goes so, so easily.
Dan’s pretty lips wrapped around his cock is a sight Phil thinks wildly that he’ll never fully adjust to, because it’s so– he’s so. Phil– knows he’s not exactly small, but Dan takes him like he was born to do it. Dan's– always liked having something in his mouth, Phil had learned pretty quickly, even in the beginning when he was overeager and unpracticed and drooling around Phil’s fingers. And now—
Now, Dan whimpers when Phil hits the back of his throat, and doesn’t move even when Phil can’t help but roll his hips into the tight, slick heat. Phil’s hands tighten in his hair, and Dan moans around him, looks up at him through long eyelashes and– god. He looks gone, looks fucked-out and glassy-eyed and already so undone.
“God,” Phil rasps, jerks his hips just a little, and Dan’s eyes flutter. “Good– good boy, Dan, god, you’re so– Dan—”
Dan hollows his cheeks, moans in the back of his throat, and the vibration is– nearly too much. Phil won’t last much longer if they keep going like this.
“Fuck,” he groans, tugging Dan back by the hair. He whines, sounding disappointed, and the sight of him, lips puffy and slick, a line of drool still connecting him to Phil’s cock– it’s obscene. For a heady moment Phil entertains the thought of coming on his face, of marking him, his Dan, but– not tonight.
Dan’s been so good tonight. Phil just– wants to take care of him.
“Sorry. Sorry,” he soothes. “Didn’t wanna come yet. C’mere?”
He urges Dan up onto the couch, pulls him half into his lap, slotting a thigh between Dan’s legs. Dan makes a strangled noise and melts into him, panting, like the barest hint of friction Phil’s giving him is already too much.
God, he’s gorgeous like this, unselfconscious in his desperation. Half the time when Phil gets Dan in his lap, Dan has to be coaxed into letting go, to fully settling his weight, mumbling about not wanting to crush Phil; now, he’s practically boneless against him, and he’s beautiful.
“Hey,” Phil murmurs, cupping Dan’s cheek and guiding him back just a little to drink in the sight of him. “Wanna see you.”
Dan leans into his hand, dimpling, and Phil traces his bottom lip with his thumb, gathering up the mix of saliva and precome smeared across it. “Pretty,” Phil tells him, and while Dan would normally avert his eyes and protest, godawful at taking compliments, right now he just exhales shakily, eyes fluttering shut; lets Phil press his thumb between his lips, sucks it clean. Phil makes a punched-out noise, and Dan’s pleased little smile at that is– he’s lovely.
He traces his lips again fondly before pulling away, dropping his hands to the hem of Dan’s shirt. Dan’s wonderfully pliant as Phil maneuvers him out of his shirt, as he tugs off his sweatpants, throws them aside to the place he’d flung his own jeans, and settles Dan back into his lap.
Dan’s wearing a pair of boxers that Phil’s pretty sure were originally his, given the way they’re cutting into Dan’s hips, which– is hotter than it has any right to be. There’s something about Dan in his clothes that makes something possessive stir in Phil’s gut, makes him feel a little heady, and like this– god. He slips a finger under the waistband where it’s digging into Dan’s soft tummy, and is rewarded with a pretty gasp.
“You look nice in these,” Phil tells him, and his own voice sounds painfully sincere in his ears, but– Dan does look nice. Deserves to know . “Always look nice in my clothes.” He tugs at the waistband and lets it snap back into place, and Dan makes a strangled sound that might be a whimper, hips jerking. God, he looks lovely. He looks cared-for. He looks– Phil’s.
Phil eases the boxers down just a bit, just to tease, squeezing at Dan’s hips and kissing his way down his chest til he reaches the red mark the waistband has left behind on Dan’s pretty flesh. Dan whimpers again, squirming against him, and Phil presses another kiss to his belly before getting the pudge between his teeth and biting and Dan wails.
(Always a slut for pain, his Dan.)
Phil nips over Dan’s stomach, the curve of his hips, one hand firm on Dan’s waist to keep him still while the other eases his boxers the rest of the way off. “Doing so well,” he murmurs against Dan’s skin, and shifts back a little, adjusting their positions so he can part Dan’s legs and bite at the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs. Dan writhes, practically sobbing, as Phil studiously ignores his weeping cock, but– he makes no move to touch himself, hands curling desperately over Phil’s shoulders.
God, he’s so good.
Phil pulls away once he’s satisfied Dan’s been sufficiently marked up where no one but them will see. A claim, just for the two of them; Phil’s affection writ in the bruises blooming over the soft flesh of Dan’s thighs. Dan pants, chest heaving, eyes unfocused, and Phil lets him breathe a moment, stroking back his fringe. Dan hadn’t bothered to straighten it this morning, and it’s getting proper curly with sweat now, and Phil– adores him, so much he aches with it.
“I love you,” Phil murmurs, and Dan melts into it when he guides him into a kiss, sweet and filthy.
“Love you,” Dan manages when Phil pulls back, words slurred and breathy. “Phil, please, I– I can’t–”
“Shh,” Phil hushes him, “It’s alright. You’ve been so good. So good, Dan. I’ve got you.”
Dan makes a little noise of protest as Phil leans away, blindly fumbling for the lube that he’s pretty sure they left on the coffee table after their last adventure involving the breakfast bar. His fingers close around the bottle, thank god, and he grins triumphantly as he leans back into Dan’s space. The last thing he’d wanted was to have to drag the both of them to one of the bedrooms in search of lube and shatter the moment, the little bubble they’ve wrapped themselves in here.
Phil’s got warmth singing in his veins as he adjusts their position a little, settling Dan in his lap again and resting their foreheads together as he fumbles the bottle open, drizzles lube over his hands. “Perfect, Dan,” he breathes, drinking in Dan’s pretty gasp when Phil lines them up, takes them both in one hand, and– god, he’s not going to last long, not after all this. Still, he– wants to get Dan there first.
Dan’s whole body shudders, head dropping to Phil’s shoulder, as Phil’s free hand dips to the base of his spine and then lower, trailing a teasing finger over his rim without pressing in. The noise he makes sounds a lot like a sob.
“There you go,” Phil murmurs, and eases a finger into Dan at the same time he rolls his hips, slides their cocks together, delicious and slick, and Dan wails. His hands scrabble at Phil’s back, his shoulders, hard enough that Phil’s sure there will be scratches later. “Good boy.”
Dan keens, frantic, as Phil tightens his grip on their cocks at the same time he slides in a second finger, crooks them til Dan’s body jolts and he knows he’s found his mark.
“Phil,” Dan begs, hips twitching like he’s not sure whether to fuck forwards into Phil’s fist or back onto his fingers, “Phil, please, please–”
“You’ve done so well, Dan,” Phil breathes, reverent, twists his hand around the both of them and chokes on a moan because he’s so close—
“Come on. Come for me.”
Dan, impossibly, wonderfully good, obeys.
Phil strokes him through the aftershocks, picks up his pace til he’s following him over the edge, spilling over his hand, painting Dan’s stomach, and it’s– earth-shattering, a bit.
Dan slumps into his chest, trembling, and Phil forces himself to gather his sanity just enough to maneuver them into a proper cuddle even crammed on the tiny couch. Dan seems– a bit gone, right now. Phil surreptitiously wipes his hands on the throw pillow they’ve just slightly destroyed and rubs gentle circles on Dan’s back, murmurs soothing nonsense until his breathing evens out.
“You with me?” Phil asks softly after a while, once Dan’s come back down enough to squirm closer in his arms.
Dan huffs a laugh, and it’s exhausted and quiet but definitely Dan. “Mmgh. Fifty.”
“Fifty?”
“Percent.”
“That’s fifty percent not with me. Not the best ratio, Dan.”
Dan lets out that quiet laugh again, and Phil decides he loves it, decides he needs to hear it regularly. “Seventy, then. Christ.”
Phil pokes at his side lightly, but he thinks the both of them are too exhausted for this to escalate into a play fight the way it might otherwise. Dan doesn’t even bother wriggling away from the touch.
“Where’d the other thirty percent of you go, then? How do I get it back?”
Dan hums. “Not on this planet anymore. All gone.”
Phil attempts a mock-horrified gasp that morphs into a yawn midway through. “Did aliens steal it? Is thirty percent of you out there getting probed right now?”
“Think a hundred percent of me just got probed,” Dan says under his breath, pressing a smile against Phil’s collarbone, and Phil laughs helplessly.
“God, I really love you, you know. So much.”
“Love you too,” Dan mumbles. His voice goes a little quieter, a little more vulnerable. “Thank you for– that. Seriously.”
Phil tightens his grip around him, noses a kiss against the crown of Dan’s head. “Anything, Dan. I mean it. And that was– um. I mean. I, uh. Liked it too. So.”
“Oh,” Dan says softly, like it’s a surprise, like Phil hadn’t just come harder than he ever has in his life just from Dan wanting him to order him around. “Oh. Um. Alright, then.” He sounds shyly pleased, entirely adorable, and Phil loves him.
“Alright, then,” Phil agrees happily, and kisses the top of Dan’s head again.
And he’ll have to get up in a few minutes and shepherd them into the shower, and then deal with cleanup and the fact they probably did just ruin the pillow and maybe a bit of the couch, and he and Dan will have to talk this thing through properly, but— later. Right now, Dan’s warm and wonderful in his arms, and he feels like everything Phil’s ever wanted, and that’s– enough. That’s– good.
They’re good.