Work Text:
Phil is listening. Listening, feeling, revelling.
He can hear and feel Dan’s soft breathing, the quiet puffs of air, the swell and fall of his chest. It’s just this side of too strong, too fast, to mean that he is asleep, Phil should know, but he’s nearly there.
He can feel the rhythmic throb of the other’s heartbeat, silent but sturdy. It’s familiar, welcoming, as if this is Phil’s fated state of being, wrapped around Dan and basking in the warmth he gives, revelling in it where his own front and the younger’s back meet. Some weak sunlight filters through the open window, settling on his skin, but it’s nothing compared to the glow of the man in his arms.
He can feel the dips of Dan’s sides as he lazily runs his hand up and down his bare waist, lightly strokes his thumb over the jut of his hip-bone, gently squeezes the soft edges along his body. It is not intended to be sexual, it’s a tender appreciation for the body he so greatly adores, finds comfort in, finds pleasure in. Everything about Dan’s body is gentle and beautiful, soft and full, graceful and curvy — Phil reckons that he can forgive himself a little worship.
He can smell the scent of sex still clinging to Dan’s skin. As much as the lust previously encompassing his mind has passed to be replaced with a sleepy softness, something small, something carnal is still ignited somewhere within him and he answers it with a little nip to Dan’s shoulder, apologising with an open-mouthed kiss hereafter to the same location. He languidly leaves a trail of even more kisses up and down Dan’s shoulder, as far as he can reach without having to crane his neck. He settles his head back to its resting place, inhaling the other’s nape deeply, indulging himself in the aromas he receives.
He can hear the sheets rustle as Dan slowly raises an arm to link his fingers through the hand on his hip and keep them clasped. Phil hums lowly and leaves another small kiss on the younger’s nape, the response being a squeeze of their linked hands. Otherwise, the world to them remains silent — no ticking of the hallway clock, no blaring hoots of street traffic, no droning of planes soaring above.
Everything in their small plane of existence is just them. Them at their most vulnerable, at their most exposed, but this is the one man with whom it feels like anything but vulnerability. It is mutual trust, appreciation, and Phil can slowly succumb to enchanting sleep safe in the knowledge that there’s no-one else he would trust with such raw comfort.
As he falls, he stops listening, he stops feeling. But conscious or not, he’ll never stop revelling, he’ll never stop appreciating. He’ll never stop loving.