Work Text:
words: 2,685
warnings: mild exhibitionism (aka sex in a store cupboard), frottage, intercrural
Phil's going crazy, because its already hot in the room they're broadcasting in; but not being able to give Dan little touches-- just skimming a hand over his arm, or running a finger down the tendons in his hand is so fucking unfair. Casual, affectionate touches.
What's even more unfair is what Dan looks like right now, hair mussed from the humidity and shirt constantly riding up to show pale stretches of skin.
Phil doesn't know whether to blame the heat or their schedule, but they haven't been able to properly give each other attention in what feels like forever. Phil watches Dan talk into the small mic, some little quip about whatever song's playing, and has to dig his nails into his palms when Dan's lips keep brushing up against the fuzzy microphone like a caress, how Dan has to bend his body forward and unintentionally tilt his ass back. And God, this is bad, this is bad, and he has to think of his grandmother, his Year 9 English teacher who always had weird stains on her clothes and anything but Dan.
Phil's going fucking crazy.
"So, Phil," Dan starts, and Phil snaps to attention so fast he's surprised he doesn't get whiplash. "It's getting pretty hot, nearly hitting 30°C. How's your room staying cool?"
Dan's face is the epitome of smug. Phil swallows, a little dazed, but still narrows his eyes and leans into his own microphone.
"Well, Dan, someone," Phil's voice is a little rough as he looks pointedly at Dan and he wants to glare, but Dan's eyes are feigning big and innocent, and Phil can't contend with that, "stole the only fan we have and put it in their room, so I'm basically overheating."
Dan laughs triumphantly into the mic, and then, all sultry and mocking, slides dark eyes over to Phil, arching an eyebrow. Phil can only stare as the dull pull in the bottom of his stomach starts up again and he seriously needs to tell Dan to stop doing that because it's turning him on and they're on live radio. Phil can feel his groin pool with aching, and mentally tells the heat to fuck off.
Their little interlude finishes and Dan clicks the next music video on. The fan in the broadcasting room does little more than circulate the hot air around and makes the sweat stick to their shirts, making a whirring noise as it oscillates. Phil takes a breath, willing the skittish feeling in his fingers to stop because Dan's shirt keeps riding up and his trousers keep sliding down, exposing slivers of pale gold skin and freckles and everything that Phil is itching to take. The taller boy runs a hand through his hair over his headphones, making it stick up in tufts and look all gorgeous and debauched.
"Dan," Phil murmurs desperately, trying to catch his attention. It's clear, after a few seconds, that Dan evidently does not hear him. Instead, Dan's listening to the music, a song Phil recognises as Sweater Weather. Dan rocks himself on the heels, hips slowly pitching forward and fingers curled around the lip of the control board. Phil watches the other boy's throat pull taught as he tilts his head up and closes his eyes and absent mindedly mouths around the words "touch my neck, and I'll touch yours," lips parting and tongue darting out to wet his lips as the fan does its next cycle.
Phil can feel the heat filtering through his system and sensibility as he makes his way to stand behind his boyfriend. Dan makes a surprised sound and tries to move back, but only ends up with his back lined up against Phil's chest, and Phil has to swallow the groan that the soft friction creates. Giving little mind to the producers flitting around them, he hooks his fingers into the loops of Dan's belt, tilting his head so his mouth brushes up against the back of Dan's ear. Dan immediately shudders.
"You have no idea," Phil whispers lowly, "how fucking hot you are." Dan swallows, eyes struggling not to flutter close, because Phil only swears so often. As a second thought, Phil tugs Dan's belt loops back and sharply rises his hips to meet him, erection pressing between the thin material of Phil's linen trousers and Dan's cotton harem pants. Dan gives a short, shallow gasp and his nails skate right over the controls.
Everything in Phil's instincts is telling him to rut up against Dan with him pressed flush to the control board, cameras be damned. But this is his job, and he'd like to keep it instead of losing it because of his urges- even though Dan looks even better tight now; chest rising and falling with breaths in quick succession. As he steps back and away from Dan, Dan just blinks at him with wide, glazed eyes. Phil's mouth twitches into a grin and he gives him a slow wink.
The fan-made music video ends, and Dan makes several garbled sounds, then masks them by coughing. Phil struggles not to laugh outright.
"As you can all see, Dan is going crazy because of the heat." Phil states into the mic, biting the inside of his cheeks when Dan gives him a heated glare. One quick glance downwards, and Dan is strategically positioning himself to hide the tenting in his trousers. There's a deep flush all around his neck and the ridge of his cheeks.
"Good thing I have the fan in my room, then." Dan replies, Phil noting, with deep satisfaction, that his voice sounds a little strangled.
They launch into Internet News. They really aren't focused on it, Dan continually glancing at Phil with this subdued desperation, fingers balling into fists where they rest on the radio control board. Phil isn't much better. When he got Dan to take note of his behaviour, he didn't know it would just make Dan look even better, all lustful, which would, in turn, make Phil's libido kick into full drive.
At one point, while one song is playing without a video to accompany it, and the cameras are blinking around them, Dan gets this dark look in his eyes and leans over; taking off one half of Phil's headphones. Phil shivers when Dan runs a finger down the underside of his arm.
"Whose song are we playing next?" Dan asks quietly, but his voice is molten and sinful. Phil barely swallows the groan that rises from the back of his throat, shoving the paper list he has in front of him, and pushing Dan away in the progress. Dan laughs, barely looking at the list in favour of watching Phil struggle to regain composure.
It becomes a game of how badly they can turn each other on without losing their jobs, basically. Phil slides a hand up under the back of Dan's thigh, where hopefully the camera doesn't catch them. Dan visibly shivers, hips snapping for unseen contact. It's becoming hard to shield the tenting in their trousers from the producers who are just giving them deadpan looks from the front.
They both keep looking at the digital clock, numbers blinking at them, time passing desperately slow. They're down to the last two music videos, having already rushed through their little tidbits of talking. Phil worries his bottom lip between his teeth, looking at Dan. Dan looks back, giving a wicked smile which is suddenly broken off by an breathtaking, yearning look.
Dan looks gorgeous, sweat a thin sheen over his skin, arms all wiry muscle and hair a dark muss, and Phil's sure that he's staring.
The last music video plays, and all Phil can think about is how its only a few minutes until he can shove Dan into a dark room and make him fall apart under his hands and mouth. He can almost taste the sweat on the back of Dan's neck.
The last thirty seconds are a blur; Phil can see Dan staring at the seconds and tapping his fingers on his hips and biting his bottom lip agitatedly. Phil nudges his shoulder in what he intends to be comfort, but Dan's eyes flutter closed and his face goes desperate, and that just leaves Phil wide-eyed.
Then they're off-air, the producers giving them the thumbs up to leave. Some of them look thoroughly amused. Phil doesn't linger on that, instead pulling Dan out by the wrist-- Dan all too eager to follow. The two of them almost jog down the corridors, lust still running too hot in their blood.
"Jesus, an empty room, store cupboard, anything," Dan mutters, tone annoyed and needy at the same time.
That stops Phil's short-- Dan's tone. Dan almost collides into him and then tugs on Phil's hand in a fluster. The corridor is empty, Phil notes; his brain flits between rationalities and the warm hand on his arm.
Fuck it, Phil thinks, and then pushes Dan against a wall, crowding against him as he brings their mouths together halfway. The muffled moan Dan emits when Phil slides his hands down Dan's ass and pulls forward to bring their bottom halves together dissolves straight into Phil's mouth, and is so, so worth it. Dan melts against him, head lolling upwards when Phil noses and licks down Dan's neck, trying hard not to leave any serious marks.
Then there are distant footsteps and Phil could scream out of frustration when they both have to step apart. Phil grabs at Dan's arm to get him walking-- he looks so fucking dazed. The footsteps are fading, anyway, and Dan can't keep his hands from petting all over the older boy's side. Phil's resolve is cracking.
When they find a door labelled 'Store Cupboard', relief floods through Phil's system as he swings the door open and propels both of them inside. It's dark, the only light coming from a flickering bulb in the corner of the space, covered in cobwebs. Dan blinks at Phil, then raises an eyebrow.
"Never knew you were that feist--" His words get promptly cut off when the Phil shoves him back into the shelving that lines the walls, and then threads his fingers tight into Dan's hair to drag him down into a wet kiss.
Phil groans into his Dan's mouth when he scrabbles at his back, then desperately brings his hips forward for friction. Phil gives him it, cantering his hips up and forwards, using the shelves to brace himself. Dan's mouth opens up and moans lowly, the kiss becoming little more than tongue and teeth, a wet lolling of both of their mouths.
They work themselves into a fractured rhythm, both of their erections rubbing desperately against the material of their trousers, against each other. Dan's hands clamber over Phil for purchase.
"Phil," Dan says deliriously, panting over the syllable. He runs his nails over Phil's shirt. "Phil-- I need, please, need more..."
The vibrations of the plea makes the nerves all over Phil's lips tremble, and Phil understands almost immediately, understands Dan's the want in Dan's voice, in the quaking of his thighs.
He flips Dan over, so his chest is flush against the shelving and his ass pressed against Phil's dick. Phil makes a wanton sound, and is so on edge that he could drive right over it. Instead, he works quickly, pulling both of their trousers down, then sharply grinds himself into the cleft of Dan's ass, just for the need pricking over him like needles.
"Oh, fuck," Dan breathes. Phil groans deep in his throat, giving two quick thrusts into the heat and the thin cotton covering Dan's skin, Phil's boxers already soaked through with precome. A pause.
Then, Phil unceremoniously shoves his boxers down, tugs down the material covering Dan's ass, and then leans forward, pushing his two hands down to palm Dan's dick, the motion making his erection slide down and leak over Dan's perineum.
"Oh-h-h..." Dan wails, hips pistoning. Phil chokes off a moan as his fingers trail through the slick on the material covering Dan's dick, palms becoming sodden with precome.
"God, you're so fucking wet," Phil says hoarsely, tone pitched high. Dan doesn't reply, hips writhing into the contact. Phil works up a juddering rhythm again, plunging his hips forward to fuck the small space above Dan's thighs, the head of his cock constantly pushing into the back of Dan's balls and leaving stringy ropes of precome in its wake.
Phil trails his teeth over the back of Dan's neck, sweat tasting musty and salty, rolling his hips mindlessly into Dan's now slick skin. He cries out into Dan's nape when he can feel Dan's precome trickling through his fingers, his dick twitching against his palms which only serves to make Phil drive himself to piston himself harder into Dan, his thighs going taught with the effort. When Dan whimpers, Phil digs his teeth over the skin of his neck, sucking it into his mouth and letting it go when he knows it'll mark like a bruise.
"No," Dan stutters, "mark me up, Christ, wanna fucking feel it in the morning, do it, oh, God--" Phil moans into Dan's neck, curling his fingers tight around Dan's cock and pumps hard. Dan's knuckles go white from where they're gripping the shelves, and Phil sucks and teases the soft skin in his mouth, bringing it up in mottled purple and blue shades under the flickering light, licking and licking at his most sensitive spots.
Dan keens, hips shaking impossibly hard under the ministrations, and Phil thumbs hard at Dan's cock slit, where precome is bubbling up helplessly. The air smells thick and sweaty, and Phil doesn't think he can get enough of it as he slides through his own slick, up through the cleft of Dan's ass and down, the back of Dan's balls now coated and sticky and hot. Phil grinds up hard, tilting his head up to suck Dan's earlobe into his mouth, tongue flicking at the silky skin.
"Phil," Dan mewls loudly, over and over, like a mantra. Phil looks at the bruises he's marked onto Dan's neck-- ones that'll definitely ache in the morning, and delicately runs his teeth over the edge of the dark puffy edges. Dan bucks and his moans run into begs of half sentences and blurred vowels.
"Come for me, Dan," Phil says, choked in his throat. "Come all over me." He pumps Dan quickly, twisting at his head and fits his teeth over the edge of a dark cherry mark.
"Fuck, fuck, Phil." Dan says, "Phil," and then completely tenses up before he's coming all over Phil's hands, coating his fingers. Phil jackhammers and cries out, muffled against Dan's bruises and follows, coming hard against Dan's skin, coating it.
They both rock in orgasm and milk it out, legs shaking. Phil strokes Dan, stopping when he whimpers from over stimulation, then gently whispers praises into his skin.
For a few moments, they slump forward, Dan's face crooked at an angle against the shelving, Phil breathing heavily against Dan's shoulder, pecking kisses. Slowly, he slides his hands out and watches how Dan's come viscously drips off his fingers. Dan makes a small sound and experimentally rolls his hips, feeling the sticky slide of Phil's come.
They chuckle at the same time, and Phil gives a few sloppy kisses to the soft skin below Dan's ears before gingerly leaning back.
"Let's get cleaned up," he says quietly. He tugs his own boxers down and wipes at the mess he created over Dan's thighs.
"That was new," Dan notes amusedly, shivering when the cotton nudges up his perineum. Once Phil's done and cleaned his hands up, Dan turns around and draws his own boxers down; wiping at himself and fanning at his face as the humid smell of sex overwhelms the two of them.
They drag their trousers back up, Dan smirking at a 'going commando' comment Phil makes.
Then the two of them stand back up, the ground feeling firm under their feet again. Phil draws Dan in to give a long, soft kiss to his bitten lips.