Work Text:
The doorbell rings.
Phil’s in the middle of an intense staring sesh with the outdoor pigeon, Barry, and he can’t afford to lose again . Those beady eyes have haunted him long enough, Phil thinks with a shudder. So, no loss of concentration, no sirree, just epic Phil and Barry eye contact.
Ding , it goes again. Phil sighs, blinking rapidly. He wipes away stray tears - some admittedly out of disappointment - and bids a quick farewell to Barry before trodding downstairs. He knows who it is, who it always is: the takeaway delivery man. Phil doesn’t order much, maybe a cheeky Nandos here and there, but his flatmate Dan only ever seems to inhale the double-bacon extra-sauce thin-crust pizza from Domino’s down the street.
Phil usually doesn’t mind, except recently, Dan always is locked up in his room doing whatever Dan does, thus, leaving Phil to answer the door in his most unflattering jammies. What if the delivery man happens to be his soulmate and has to see Phil in Goofy sweats?? Phil cringes at the thought.
London is on lockdown now, though, which alternatively means: no one is expected to look presentable at any time of the day. It chants like a mantra in Phil’s head as he collects the pizza from the delivery man, eyeing him warily in today’s choice of a Pikachu t-shirt, and makes his way back upstairs.
As usual, Dan’s nowhere to be seen. Truth be told, Phil isn’t all that close to his flatmate - he would wager that they’ve only spoken thrice since he moved in five months ago. Phil’s tried (being the people-pleaser he is, of course he has) but Dan just doesn’t seem interested, which may boil down to one of two things: (1) he’s homophobic or (2) thinks Phil is weird. Both together is equally as possible, since he knows Dan comes from a conservative family - he’s seen the cross earrings that Phil doubts are just for fashion - and might think that Phil speaking to a camera about his gayness every week is dodgy as fuck.
Still, Phil tries. “Dan! Pizza’s here!”
The response comes as Phil’s pouring himself a glass of Ribena and preparing for a quiet afternoon of editing. “Fuck, I forgot to cancel,” says the man hovering awkwardly behind him.
“Forgot to cancel what?” Phil turns his head slightly, pulls out his right earbud.
“The pizza. ‘ve got an appointment this evening near Kensington so I don’t need lunch or dinner. You can have some of that,” he says, gesturing to the box on the kitchen counter.
Phil shrugs. “Don’t think you can go anywhere, mate. Boris called a nationwide lockdown yesterday. Only things open are the takeaway shops, god bless.” He tacks on the last part for Dan, but it seems to go over his head. He doesn’t smile or bless him back - rude.
“Fuck. That’s not. Fuck,” Dan says with a frown, hurriedly checking his phone for updates. He seems to get one and his frown deepens - Phil feels momentarily bad for him, but then he recalls the number of times he was forced to get out of bed to collect Dan’s parcels and pizza and, once, a Winnie-The-Pooh onesie.
“Fuck it is. Sorry, mate,” Phil says with a sympathetic smile (Phil’s always nice, even to people who don’t deserve it) and goes back to his editing. Dan hovers though, and Phil winces the awkwardness. “Do you need anything?”
Dan hesitates. “Can I watch some telly?”
Phil almost lets out a laugh. “Well, you pay the bills too, so yeah. If you like some anime, there are some box sets under the tv if you’re in the mood. Feel free,” Phil says, waving him off. To be honest, he’s never been in a room with Dan before. Usually, Dan’s either in his room or rushing out the door to work, Phil presumes. Phil isn’t really sure where Dan works; when Dan responded to his flatmate notice he mentioned he was a writer.
“Thanks for that but I’ll catch up on some shows,” Dan says, plopping on the couch beside Phil’s workspace and begins to browse.
Phil angles himself away from the riveting imagery of - Phil takes a peek - Westworld to avoid the distraction. He announced on Twitter that he was uploading a new video that night, and, as it is, he is barely halfway through editing it. See, Phil’s too much of a perfectionist to let a half-assed video go on his channel. Especially now he has this “queer influencer” label thrust on him, it feels like the platform is not his but an entire community’s. He can’t fuck up, to put it crudely.
“Phil,” he hears from the sofa thirty minutes later, shaking him out of his reverie. “We forgot to eat the pizza,” Dan comments gravely like it’s a sin. Phil hums. From the corner of his eye, he can see Dan get up to set up his lunch, and just as he’s about to go back to editing, a plate appears on his desk.
Phil blushes. “Oh,” he says, shaking his head, “you didn’t have to.”
“Though I could probably inhale the entire thing myself, I’m not that shit,” Dan says with a smile. He goes back to the sofa and unpauses the show - a zombie seems to be eating himself, how appetising to watch. Dan shuffles to the side of the sofa and leans against the armrest, a quick glance in Phil’s direction.
“Hey, why do you work so much?” Dan asks over the sounds of zombie groans. “Whenever I see you, you seem to be,” he mimes clicking on the keyboard with an entranced look.
“I, uh,” Phil wonders how much he should divulge. “I make videos of myself for the Internet.” Wow, way to make himself sound like a camboy. Nice job, Phil.
“YouTube?” Dan perks up. “No wonder I can hear you talking through the walls! Always just thought it was a girlfriend, to be honest.”
“Haha,” Phil says noncommittally, though he internally baulks at Dan’s straight-up (pun intended) assumption. He really doesn’t have the time and energy to school someone about the spectrum of sexuality; not even when he’s under lockdown and technically only has one other thing to do. Instead, he says, “What about you? What do you work as?”
Dan shrugs, turning back to the tv for a moment. The zombie seems to have progressed - albeit very slowly - to the nearby stores, hunting his next victim. “I write mostly. In the politics section of the Times paper.”
Oh , Phil thinks, that’s prestigious. Phil doesn’t really keep up with global affairs beyond a rudimentary level through his Twitter feed, so he’s impressed. “Domestic or international?”
Dan shrugs, “Sometimes both. I used to be their East Asian correspondent so I stayed in Hong Kong up until...five months ago,” he smiles. “Now I mostly handle Brexit politics.”
Phil makes a disgusted face that Dan returns.”So, how fucked would you say we are?”
Dan laughs. “As much as that lady getting her head chewed off,” he points at the tv.
Phil gives up on editing for the time being (he’s going to have to work double-time later to make up for it) and makes his way to the sofa with his plate. “Well, if you’re a journalist, how come you didn’t hear about the lockdown?” Phil teases, sitting down.
Dan’s smile falls momentarily before it tightens. “Nosey, eh.”
“I was just joking!” Phil hurriedly interjects.
Dan shakes his head. “No, I. Um. Need to tell you something, I guess? Since you’re physically closest to me most of the time and you should know.” Dan heaves a breath. “I’m depressed.”
Then, after a beat, “Not psycho! Most people equate the two, which made it hard to get treatment before. But, basically, I have bad days and can’t get out of bed. Yesterday was one of those.”
Dan sounds embarrassed about it and Phil’s heart breaks. He feels like a crappy flatmate for not noticing - now as he connects the dots, he understands why Dan prefers his room most of the time and was nervous earlier about missing an appointment. “Was that why you wanted to leave earlier? To see your, uh, therapist?”
“Yeah. I think she’ll probably call to schedule an online session but it’s not the same, y’know?”
Phil doesn’t, but he nods anyway. “What can I do? To help?” His closest encounter to depression was probably being outed to his family and when his dad didn’t speak to him for a week after. Even then, he was more anxious than anything else.
Dan shrugs. “Nah, don’t worry about it. As my therapist says, it’s about time I face my demons on my own.”
Phil knows there’s more there than what Dan’s saying but he doesn’t really want to prod. Especially since they don’t know each other well enough for Phil to take on the mothering hen role of the friendship just yet. “Well, when you feel iffy, just let me know what you need.”
Dan smiles and pats Phil’s knee. “Thanks, Phil.” He turns back to the show, “Aw man, I missed the most important part! Go back!”
And so it goes.
-
Day three of lockdown sees Phil standing outside Dan’s door, knuckles hovering over the hardwood.
Initially, he wanted to check-in to see if Dan was feeling alright - he googled all that he could on mental health, and realised that the lockdown could be a particularly difficult period for him - but stopped abruptly once he heard loud groaning noises coming from the room.
The noises are quite rhythmic: Dan groans “Fuck!”, wails “Ow!”. Rinse and repeat. See, the former could be construed as...pleasurable...but the latter is what Phil’s worried about. So, fuck it if he’s about to interrupt Dan wanking in his room - he’s concerned.
He knocks loudly. “Dan, y’good?”
There’s a pause.
The door swings open and Dan’s in a grey exercise shirt, tights and a red bandana over his hair. He looks sweaty and terrific if you ask Phil. “Um. Sorry to bother you.” Phil’s sure he’s red all over.
Dan waves him off. “No. Come in. Just doing some yoga - actual satan’s work,” Dan explains between deep breaths. Phil walks into Dan’s room for the first time and is a bit surprised at the overabundance of greyscale decor: at the full-length mirror in the corner, the moon-shaped lamp. Dan also has multiple posters of 2000s emo bands and pictures of family and friends scattered around.
His laptop is open to some yoga tutorial class that looks, quite honestly, painful. Phil winces when Dan attempts to replicate the move on his yoga mat, his back twisting like a pretzel. He lasts five seconds before thumping on the ground. “See. The devil.”
Phil laughs. “Why are you doing this then? On a health kick?”
Dan looks aghast. “Me? On a health kick? Wow, I thought you were a good flatmate, how dare you insinuate such a thing,” Dan mumbles before ungracefully flopping on his back. “It’s a therapy thing. For the endorphins to go crazy.”
Phil nods in understanding but he quickly realises he has no reason to stay. “Uh. Right. I should just...let you go on with it then.” Phil backs away. What’s he doing here - he doesn’t even know Dan!! Not enough to watch him flop around doing suggestive poses, for sure.
“If you want? Could do with the company though,” Dan says when Phil steps back, gesturing for Phil to take up the spot to his left.
Let’s be real: Phil isn’t flexible at all. The last time he stretched, he was in sixth form. His bones will grind to dust by the time he’s seventy-five. All of that shows when he takes Dan up on his offer and begins to follow the video. The only pose he actually likes is the downward dog, which he knows is the most basic of the basics. Even then, it’s a struggle because his Shakira hips are heavy, who knew?
(The other thing he enjoys is Dan’s laugh. The way he pokes fun at the way Phil’s shoulders jut out (“They’re so pointy!!”) and the way he insists they try couple poses even though both of them are absolute crap (“Other leg, Phil!”). The way he laughs, and laughs, the rich high pitch of it all.)
As Dan is clearing up his stuff after the thirty-minute workout - Phil only did ten minutes worth of work - he says, “Thanks for staying.” There’s a glimmer in his eye and Phil looks away. He can’t think about it, he won’t.
“It was fun-ish?” Phil says, a slight wince. Standing up straight, his back pops and Dan laughs again. Quite an addictive sound that is. “Yeah, didn’t know some of these muscles existed, wow.”
Dan smiles. “You’re welcome, then. Let’s get some food.”
“No more pizza,” Phil groans, trailing him out the door.
-
They don’t talk much for a few days. Not for a lack of trying on Phil’s part; he tries to get Dan to come out for meals, and to watch some telly with him at night. Apparently Dan’s busy with an editorial feature and when he writes, he likes to crawl into a cave until it's done. This is not dissimilar to Phil’s own creative process - though, he likes to pencil in some quality time with Barry and Norman when he can.
Dan emerges for breakfast at the end of the week, dark eye circles and a jumper that says ‘Sexual Fantasies’ in bold red text. Phil isn’t sure if its’ because he hasn’t seen Dan as much in the past few days or the provocative jumper, but Phil’s heart stutters when he spots him.
“Dan!” Phil says, like an overeager puppy. “What do you need? Cereal? Coffee? Promise I haven’t finished them all.” He probably has but that’s for Phil to know and Dan to find out. Before Dan moved in, PJ used to complain about the fact that the groceries he bought seemed to always run out even though he was rarely in the flat - Phil never fessed up to it then either.
“I need some slee-ahhh-p,” Dan says, yawning mid-sentence. “My deadline was 8 this morning because my bosses are fucking mad.”
“Well, my boss is an omniscient Internet site owned by the richest company in the world, so I bet I sometimes have it worse,” Phil jokes, sipping more of his coffee. It’s just past ten, and Phil has more editing to do for a new series he’s doing: interviews with gay creators from around the world. Still, he has some time. “D’you wanna watch some anime?”
Dan smiles sleepily, “Sure. Fuck knows I need the break.”
They spend three hours in front of the tv, binge-watching five episodes of Goku kicking some serious arse. Phil realises that Dan is extremely witty and gets extremely invested in alternate universes - even more so than Phil, who needs to repeatedly remind himself that he is constrained by the known laws of physics, so no upside-down slice kick for him. Dan’s more cynical though and makes morbid jokes seem as easy as breathing. It’s a bit worrying to Phil but he remembers reading about humour as a coping mechanism during depressive episodes. He just needs to get used to it.
Halfway through their fifth episode, Dan turns to him abruptly. “Hey, forgot to mention that I watched some of your videos yesterday. Ello , mah name is Phil ,” Dan snickers. “They were cool, though. Or aces , as you would say.”
Phil flushes. Guess the jig is up. “Thanks, Dan. I’ve been on there for so long, I’m basically a dinosaur. Rawr.”
Dan laughs. “Didn’t know lions were a species of dinosaur, huh? Learn new things every day.”
There’s a lull of silence before, “Well, guess I was wrong about the girlfriend, too.”
Phil’s replying smile is tight. He doesn’t know why exactly he feels guilty - god knows he isn’t obligated to a stranger immediately - but he maybe should’ve told Dan earlier. On the off chance he really is uncomfortable staying with a gay man, Phil wouldn’t have wanted to live with him either. “Yeah.”
Dan winces. “Sorry about that, I shouldn’t have assumed. I’m, uh. Gay, too. Sorry, I don’t have many gay friends, so I tend to forget how large the community actually is in London,” Dan says with a sorry smile.
Phil lets out a breath of relief. So, Dan doesn’t have to move out after all. “That’s great, Dan. Hope this isn’t offensive or whatever but I could’ve sworn you were...conservative.”
“ No , what the fuck? I’m a political editor in London, we’re all basically liberals.” Dan laughs. “Actually, I wasn’t out until very recently.”
“What happened?” Phil asks.
Dan taps on his phone. “I got pretty drunk one night because I had just broken up with an ex and I just - I grabbed my phone and emailed everyone I knew that I was a flaming gay.”
“What? You came out through an email?” That’s so blasé , Phil loves it.
“Yep, pretty sure I started the email with ‘Fuck it’ which was quite apt, and my grandma was angrier about that than me being gay,” Dan jokes. He takes another spoon of cereal and tips it over his bowl slowly. “That’s how I should’ve come out - in stages. Instead, I just took the entire bowl and dumped it on everyone’s heads.”
Phil laughs along. “I came out pretty abruptly, too. In real life, I mean. Well, my family more or less knew since I was about ten, but I was actually outed in university.”
Dan looks horrified at that and Phil is quick to say, “S’fine now. I think that was really when my family and friends back home actually had to acknowledge the fact that I was a gay man, instead of hoping I ended up with a girl someday.”
They go back to relative silence for a bit, watching what’s left of the episode whilst chewing on their food. Phil will have to go edit or do something work-related pretty soon or else he’s going to burst from anxiety. But it feels different around Dan, though. Like he can afford to relax and chat and be normal for a bit.
“But I didn’t actually come out on the Internet until a year ago,” Phil says after a bit.
When Dan makes an enquiring noise, Phil continues, “I never intended to discuss sexuality - mine or anyone else’s - on YouTube. It never occurred to me that it was a talking point since I’d been out for years by then, and was already making fun, mindless videos about my life. But then, a few years ago, I was attacked at a YouTube convention - people called me a fag and said I didn’t belong - and I finally had to address it.”
What Phil doesn’t say is, he almost got socked in the jaw by the men as they tried to storm the stage, and he’d never been more scared in his life.
“Oh fuck, Phil ,” Dan says, moving closer to him and laying a palm on his shoulder. Phil snuggles closer to his touch. “ Fuck .”
If there’s anything Phil hates, it’s sympathy. He hasn’t told this story in a while, so he’s forgotten how people tend to react when he talks about it. Dan’s tone is not as sympathetic as it is unadulterated anger , and Phil appreciates it. “Yeah. Anyway, it felt better to publicly say it, instead of hoping that my audience caught all my very un subtle innuendos,” Phil laughs.
“And you’re happier with your channel now?” Dan asks. And wow, right to the jugular, Phil thinks.
“I’m happier than I can use it to discuss issues surrounding my sexuality, yeah. And it’s more rewarding content in that it can help millions across the world come to terms with their issues as well.”
“That was a very diplomatic answer,” Dan remarks, removing his palm from Phil’s shoulder. “I’m a journalist, give me some credit here. What do you really think?”
Phil sighs. “I’m going to sound like an arsehole.”
“As ninety-nine percent of the population do on a daily basis, you’re not special,” Dan retorts and Phil laughs nervously.
“I just. This is dumb but I wish I was still known as amazingphil sometimes. The guy who makes virtual adventure games, who does stupid Q&As with his friends and is known for his creativity. Instead, now, I’m that gay man who talks about how gay he is all the time. Of course, it’s a choice I make with every video I post, but I can’t help but think how disappointing it would be if I went back to some of my old types of work. Like I’m wasting my platform on stupid ideas.”
Phil takes a breath. He doesn’t particularly talk about his problems out loud, and definitely not to people he’s only just getting to know. It’s testament to how good of a journalist Dan is that Phil feels completely comfortable talking to him, Phil thinks.
“You could, though. I doubt anyone would call you out for making content that better represents who you are as a person,” Dan says slowly. “Take some of that agency you lost back.”
Easier said than done, Phil figures, but he probably needs to make more of an effort. His work is becoming more of a chore to him than ever, and that has to change. “Yeah, I’ll try. Thanks, Dan. Sorry I thought you were homophobic.”
He snorts, “Why did you think that anyway?”
Phil smiles sheepishly, “Your earrings. Religion and our type don’t always agree.”
“It was for my aesthetic , Phil! No really, I could pull off more badass looks but I don’t fancy getting any more piercings. I’ve got three already.”
Phil ignores the urge he feels to trace those piercings with his tongue. No sirree. “You strike me as one of those emo teenagers who had straight hair and listened to MCR on loop.”
“Emo was my religion, yeah,” Dan says with a laugh. “I stopped straightening my hair when I moved to Hong Kong and got wrecked by the humidity.”
Phil can relate. “ Amazingphil was known for his jet black too-emo-for-you hair, too. Everyone was too scared to tell me it just looked like an overgrown mullet.”
“ Hey , I liked that hair,” Dan says defensively, like he’s been a lifelong subscriber and not someone who only found out he was a YouTuber a few days ago. “Grow it back! Grow it back!” Dan teasingly chants.
“Who knows,” Phil shrugs. “By the time lockdown ends, I could have a beard, too.”
-
After that, they have a pretty pleasant few days at home. Dan’s been keeping him company since the “deadline-at-eight-fucking-am” article was his last for awhile and he’s got nowhere else to go.
They sleep in and watch Norman swim around in his tank - Dan even offers to feed him once a day - and make strange vegan salads because Dan wants to get back on that train again. They do more yoga and play some scrabble (“Phil, how can you not win? You’re literally an English Language graduate”) and go Mario Kart-ing when nothing else works.
They reach the second-week mark on a Tuesday.
“Philly, we’ve run out of food,” Dan shouts from the kitchen. “I want some pasta but the sauce expired two days ago,” he whines.
“The best before date is just a suggestion , Dan,” Phil sighs, making his way to the kitchen from his room, “we can probably have some of that and have mild diarrhoea for a day or two.”
Dan smirks, “Wouldn’t we be in some deep shit ?” He puts the bottle on the countertop and takes out what’s left of the pasta from the near-empty cupboard. Phil fails to point out that Dan’s in-charge of groceries this week because there’s a fork near Dan’s hand and he doesn’t fancy it in his eye anytime soon.
After they sit down at their dining table - “Like a proper family!” Dan coos - and Dan unanimously decides to play 20 questions between bites of pasta. Dan’s first question is, of course, “Am I the best flatmate?”
To which, Phil replies, “When you’re not ignoring me for five months, yeah,” and he probably deserves the flick of sauce he gets on his new t-shirt.
"What's your favourite colour?"
"Blue, probably," Phil says.
"Mmh like one-third of your eye, you weirdo. Mine's black, obviously."
“What’s your family like?” Phil asks after.
“Oh, the tough questions start now, I see. Well, poor, I guess? I used to stay with my nan most of the time when my parents worked two jobs each. My brother and I would drive her up the wall,” Dan says distractedly. “What was yours like?”
“Dunno. My family’s nice.” Cookie-cutter is probably the term most apt since they were perfectly middle-class, perfectly happy. Phil never had Dan’s kind of experiences growing up; his mum worked as an admin assistant at the nearby clinic, and would always get home in time to cook them some dinner. “My brother is the real overachiever in the family. He and his girlfriend were touring their new album around the country last year.”
Dan looks at him, perplexed. “Your brother is a famous musician? Wow, the Lester genetics must really be high up there.”
Phil blushes. “Thank you. But that just means it’s hard disappointing them. My parents reckoned that after going to uni for five years, I was ready to settle in for a steady paying job with regular hours. Definitely not a dodgy job on the Internet, that’s for sure. At least it worked out at the end.”
Dan hums. “I always felt like my parents hated me. Not in like a literal sense, but you could just see the wave of contempt when I dropped out of uni, or switched jobs. It didn’t matter that I was depressed - they just wanted a son to praise in front of wealthy relatives.” Dan sighs again. “It’s better now, though. I can handle my parents just fine, and my brother is...my brother. I just wish things could’ve been easier before. Maybe I wouldn’t be so fucked up if it was.”
Dan snorts suddenly like he can’t help himself. “S’just...I remembered how fucked we all are. The entire human population. There’s a virus going around and most people fear for their jobs more than their lives. There are people in America threatening their healthcare workers. I’m probably more normal than the average.”
Phil purses his lips. “So, in other words: we just live in a simulation controlled by the one percent.”
Dan chuckles wetly, “Not exactly what I meant but you’re starting to sound like me. We’ve been spending too much time together.”
Phil smiles, “Does lockdown-induced humour look good on me?” He mock-flips his hair and strikes a pose.
Dan stares at it a beat too long, before letting out a fond giggle. “I’d give it a solid ten; Tyra would be proud of such a smize.”
-
Dan’s fun in a way Phil has never experienced before. He’s feisty - needs to have the last word in every argument and needs to win every game - but so good when it comes down to it, compassionate and sweet and soft.
Like when Phil’s leaning against the wall having mashed his thumb against the edge of the cupboard, Dan laughs at him for a solid two minutes before going to find a bandage somewhere.
Like when Phil’s drained from all the emails he’s had to reply to in the last few hours, Dan says, “I’ll go get some weed,” and Phil’s forced to accept the fact that he’ll maybe never find anyone like him.
-
“Marijuana is a weird word, Phil,” Dan slurs dopily. “Think about it, Phil. Mari-juana. The ‘j’ is missing, lit-a-ra-lee where the fuck does it go?”
They’re slumped against the front of the sofa, Dan’s hands expertly rolling another blunt. He passes it to Phil when he’s done, and Phil puts it to his lips for a solid thirty seconds before he realises it’s not lighted. “Oh.”
Dan looks at him amusedly, “Such a spork.” He scoots closer to light the blunt before flopping half of his body - and his weight, unfortunately - over Phil’s right shoulder. “I’m sleepyyyy. Heh. Phil-sleep Lester,” Dan mumbles into his collarbone and yawns so wide his jaw pops. Phil can’t quite relate: he feels a strange mix of giddy, horny and sleepy all at once.
“You’re so warm,” Phil comments, cuddling closer into Dan’s side. He grabs the blunt and places it between Dan’s lips, letting the smoke envelop them both. “Where did you get this anyway?”
Dan smirks. “Got a dealer round the office. Gives me some weed if I help him proofread his shit articles. A fair deal, tbh.”
Phil nods, letting the high take him. “ Ace ,” he drawls.
Dan naps for a bit while Phil relaxes into his bones, feeling like he’s in another dimension. He doesn’t get stoned all too often, only when he has mates around to share the feeling with, but it’s always so fucking good when he does. Like he’s being a bit bad, a bit naughty too.
“Dan,” he whispers when Dan’s eyelashes flutter open. “I’m hard.” Phil giggles after he says it because he forgets how blunt he gets when he’s like this. One time, he took two gummies and offered to blow his very straight friend in front of everyone in the garden.
“W’dja wan’ me to do about it?” Dan replies, yawning into his palm. Phil would pout from the lack of attention except then Dan’s palm falls from his mouth to the front of Phil’s shorts and Phil looks up to see Dan eyeing him hungrily - like he hadn’t been asleep just two minutes prior.
“Dunno. What d’you want?” Phil asks, his own hand roaming over Dan’s back, under his black t-shirt. This is probably a bad idea because, one, they’re both absolutely mortal in a way that’s probably bad for decision-making, and, two, Phil isn’t going to shag his new flatmate and make things all messy.
Yet, he ignores all of it in favour of seeking out Dan’s plush lips and fucking his tongue into his mouth. “ Phil ,” Dan gasps and Phil likes the way it feels against his teeth; the desperation and the lust. This is a bad idea in all the ways except in how it feels: like Phil’s on the fucking moon.
Dan tugs on the waistband of Phil’s shorts, roughly palms over the hair visible to him and forces Phil to shove them down and over his knees. “Fuck, baby,” Phil moans, when Dan rubs his index finger over the tip of his cock, spreading the wetness that’s been there since Phil took his first hit, to be honest. Dan tucks the tip of his finger in Phil’s slit, and oh , that’s new. “Fuck, fuck , Dan!”
Dan winks at him, takes a hit from the blunt and lets the smoke plume in his mouth. Phil almost wants to make a joke about a dragon except, then, Dan descends over Phil’s dick, smoke and all, and Phil almost dies - the sensations all hitting him at once. The vacuum of Dan’s mouth over his length, and the way Dan slightly chokes from the smoke and a cock down his throat, gets Phil even harder than before (something he didn’t think was possible).
“Dan,” Phil says, pulling Dan off his lap and laying him down on the floor. “I’m gonna take off your clothes now, babe, y’ok with that?”
“Mhm so polite,” Dan mumbles, eyes closed. He looks almost meditative like this, but the way his cock bobs against his stomach reminds Phil that this is very much happening. “Want you to fuck me, Phi-leep,” Dan says, hoisting his legs over Phil’s shoulders where he’s hovering over Dan’s body. “Wanna get,” Dan blushes, “a carpet burn.”
That’s it. Phil’s going to disintegrate. “What the man wants, he gets,” Phil says, slowly jacking Dan off with his right hand, while his left looks for some lube he’s sure he left under the coffee table once.
(Dan raises his eyebrow. “Y’wank here ?” Phil matches the raised eyebrow, “Aren’t we doing the same?”)
When he finds the near-empty bottle, he grabs Dan roughly across the carpet, securing his knees up over his shoulders and spreading Dan wide open. “Dan, shit . You’re so pretty,” Phil says, feeling more sober now as he watches Dan writhe and moan and tug his nipples frantically.
When Dan whines again, Phil wastes no time in lubing up two fingers and prodding at Dan’s hole, loving the way it flutters against his fingers. He eases them in slowly, observing the way Dan screws his eyes shut and his muscles contract. “Gorgeous, baby. You good?”
Dan nods, “Please, please , Phil.” Dan opens his eyes then, and Phil’s awed how dark his eyes are, how dilated his pupils look. He looks wrecked , and Phil hasn’t done anything yet. Phil kisses up the side of his thigh, hitching up his knees. They make eye contact as Phil wraps himself in a condom and eases in, bit by bit, like scaling down a cliff into an abyss. Dan’s so tight - like he hasn’t been fucked in a while - and so hot inside that Phil has to bite his bottom lip to stave off an orgasm.
When Dan nods imperceptibly after a few moments, and arches his back, it’s time for Phil to ditch his harnesses and commit straight to the fall. “Gonna fuck you, baby,” Phil says, like it isn’t obvious, and he picks up the pace. He thrusts in and out, pins Dan’s arms to the carpet, and fucks him into a place well beyond their high.
It feels biblical, the way Dan clenches around him and whines so prettily against Phil’s mouth. Phil can’t help but kiss, kiss, kiss, along Dan’s jawline and down Dan’s neck - here, Dan loses control completely. “ Phil ,” he whimpers, trying to make sense of everything happening to him, at the way Phil’s almost bending him in half and the carpet burns he’s most definitely getting. Phil’s so, so fond of this man.
Phil tightens his hold on Dan’s arms and moves into another gear he never thought existed. He pounds into Dan mercilessly, hitting his spot over and over until Dan is a writhing mess under him, his body limp. “Fuck!” Phil shouts when Dan tries to meet his thrusts and in the midst of that, Dan comes untouched with an absolutely pornographic moan. Phil isn’t far behind, and within two heartbeats, he comes as well, eyes catching on Dan’s blissed-out expression before he blacks out a little.
They lie there for a good ten minutes, their chests heaving against each other.
“What the fuck,” Dan says with a disbelieving laugh. “Where did that come from?”
Phil breathes in the deep crevice between Dan’s collarbone contentedly. He’s never felt so whole before, not with any of his ex-boyfriends or the smattering of one night stands he’s had over the years. It’s not just sex here - Phil’s not that emotionally stunted to realise - but he also doesn’t know Dan enough to figure out how much more there is.
If there is any more, that is. What happens when life goes back to full swing and they don’t see each other again? Or if they argue too much and can’t stay in the same flat?
“I…” Phil trails off. “We were high , Dan.”
Dan looks at him, bleary eyes narrowed, “We’re probably still high. What’s your point?”
Phil takes a breath. “I’ve never been good at..casual. I’m not good at relationships either.” Honesty is probably the best way to go at it. Phil’s used to being called a lone ranger , for the fact that he’s nearly thirty now and isn’t married nor has he been in a long-term relationship. He thought he’s been in love before but he’s been fucked over just as many times. He isn’t cut out this, especially not when he already shares a lease with the other person, he thinks.
Dan snorts like he’s read Phil’s thoughts, “Y’think I’m any better? I was technically in the closet for most of my life, I’m depressed and have bad days more often than not. It’s hard being with me , Phil,” Dan says self-deprecatingly.
“So -”
“No, wait. Let me finish,” Dan says. “I’m difficult and stubborn and so are you. I was this ,” Dan separates his thumb and index fingers two inches wide, “close to murdering you earlier for finishing the Coco Pops, to be honest.”
Phil flushes, lifting his head from Dan’s side and peering into his brown eyes. “What’s your point, Danneh?” Phil asks, lightly biting Dan’s collarbone under his chin.
“My point is, we’re similar in some ways and different in others. Y’know it’s easy to talk about anything with you. And yeah, this could all go to tits up so easily but I think it’s worth it. Because this feels different, Phil.”
Phil surges up then, kisses him because there’s nowhere for him to go, or nothing else for him to do. It could be ten, or thirty, minutes before Phil pulls away from where he was sucking on Dan’s tongue. “It does. I like you a lot,” Phil confesses.
“Me too,” Dan replies, dimple appearing.
Phil exhales and mumbles into Dan’s cheek, “But I’m scared that this might all exist in our pandemic haze. And won’t work out when we go back to our real lives.” Phil clutches him closer. “That’s possible, right?”
“Well,” Dan says, voice sleepy again, “only one way to find out.”
And it’s not what Phil’s thinking.
-
They call it an in-house date in lieu of the fact they can’t go out and grab food like a normal couple. It’s everything like a normal date, though. The way Phil stands outside Dan’s door with some flowers - that he snuck out to pluck in the middle of the day from the edges of his neighbour’s garden, whoops - and knocks as the clock ticks 7 pm.
“Hi,” Dan says after making Phil wait two minutes. He’s dressed up all nice too. “Sorry I’m a bit late, work was crazy today,” Dan says, like they hadn’t sucked each other off twenty minutes before.
Phil tips his head, “Your carriage awaits, milady.”
Their carriage, of course, is an electric scooter PJ left when he moved across the country, and Phil feels a special thrill as Dan grabs on to his waist, places one foot on the scooter and pretends that they’re going at fifty kilometres an hour.
“Woo, the wind in my face!” Dan exclaims with a laugh as they round to the kitchen after a ten-second journey. “The traffic was insane , right? Took us much longer than usual,” Phil remarks.
In front of them is a spread of food the both of them (ok, mostly Dan) made with added help from the Chinese takeaway restaurant nearby. Phil rushes to pull Dan’s chair out - I’m a gentleman , Phil sniffs - and they dig into their meal. As per usual date etiquette, they talk about the weather first, then their respective lives, and finally, Dan offers to lick frosting off Phil’s nipples because he “does that with every date.” Phil would beg to differ.
Afterwards, they cuddle on the couch, Dan’s feet intertwined with Phil’s, and watch whichever series on Netflix they haven’t binged yet. They bicker and laugh through it all.
At the end, when Phil fake-yawns and says he has to go because he has work early the next morning, Dan asks, “Wanna date?” and Phil can only honestly answer, “Yeah, if you answer the door when your stuff comes next time.”
And somewhere within the hazy realm between real life and the dystopian universe the world has stumbled into, they know: they’ll be alright.