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Phil’s a bit like a baby giraffe, still, balancing with his hands on both sides of the bathtub. Dan snorts while watching him, and Phil’s face blossoms bright red.
“Need some help, bub?”
Going nude right now isn’t nearly as distracting as it could be, for either of them, but he doesn’t want his genitals to be the reason his husband falls in this bathroom for the first time —that’d be one hell of a trip to the a&e—so he covers himself up with a towel for the time being.
“Shut up —” Phil splutters; gives up on sinking in smoothly and slides down instead. There’s a thunk and Dan winces—Phil doesn’t seem too bothered, but he’ll definitely be bruised (...adding to the collection Dan has given him in bed.) “I didn’t think a bigger tub meant, like, let’s make it a million times more difficult to get into. Break all the giant gays’ bones or something.”
He puts the towel aside, strolls over to the side of the tub —barely hides his smirk when Phil’s eyes properly drag over him. Not that Dan hides his own ogling, either.
“Oh, really?” Phil makes that face and splashes water at him; he misses, and immediately lunges for Dan’s arm instead.
Dan shrieks —a brief battle between the water-wielding-heathen and rosy-patched-rat ensues, until he picks up the neatly sorted collection of bath accessories, threatening to dump them all into the water at once. That subdues them both pretty quickly, Phil’s puppy eyes wide with fear and pleading. Dan can’t not give in to him.
He lets Phil sample a bath bomb —a deep navy ball with scents of lavender, probably with a hidden centre—and a few oil pearls, and drops them in. They watch the fizz bubble up, eye-catching as it is, before Dan himself steps in.
The water is lukewarm. Had it not been for their weightlessness in the tub, and the colour, it’d have been unnoticeable.
Dan sinks against Phil’s chest, both of them shuffling to slot their limbs together nicely. For once it’s not because of the size of the tub, just their positioning.
Phil’s cradling embrace is a bare and open one, despite how close they sit — bare expanses of skin pressed flush together. Their chests rise in unison, and Dan can feel all of Phil against him. It’s nice, and calming, to a degree, just to be near him.
Fingers threading through Dan’s curls, Phil massages and wets his scalp — Dan sighs into the touch. He lets himself soften up — skin as well as joints and muscles — and watches the purplish streaks in the water swirl, relaxing even more. They swirl and swirl around nothing, no poky elbows or knees bending awkwardly above the surface to fit in.
He’s quite sleepy by the time Phil starts kneading the knots in his back and arms, slowly and gently. Like music to his ears, Phil hums, and presses the bridge of his nose against his nape.
“Hey — ” Phil’s voice cracks, grumbled and low, and it’s right in Dan’s ear. Clearly he’s about as awake as Dan is, and that makes him chuckle —then yawn .
“Mhm…”
“Can’t fall asleep in the bath, Danny,“ Phil says. “Wouldn’t be able to carry you out of here.”
His eyes must’ve closed for a few seconds, for the room suddenly looks brighter, and blurs. “How long’ve we been ‘n here? Oh — long, ha, get it, Phil?” He makes himself giggle; can’t help it.
Phil laughs along; wraps his arms around. “Honey… you’re so, so— god.”
He sounds too fond, almost too fond for Dan not to cry every time, even 12 years later. But by the time his brain registers, Dan’s too sleepy to feel anything but swirling warmth (that’s sure to rise to his head later.)
“Yeah…” His eyes slip closed, despite him knowing he shouldn’t let them. Phil’s soft lips are thankfully there to interrupt—and so is a light splash of water to his face. “Hey! That’s rude, Phiiil.”
Phil nudges him, ignores the pout in his voice. “Let’s get out. We need to get to bed— most of all you.”
Dan gets wrapped up in towels—surprisingly more than Phil usually wears on his own. He doesn’t have a heart to complain, but for once he won't damn his sluggish brain—not when Phil’s being so caring. And when his bambi legs steadies, and Phil wraps his arms around his waist and kisses him with lavender breath and dripping lips, it’s worth it. So, so worth it.
“Let’s not make it tradition,” he says, pointing at the odd number draped across their shoulders, and Phil lets out a laugh he’s sure he’ll remember for years to come. “Or you’re the one doing additional loads of laundry every week.”
“Oh it can just be a one-time thing.” Phil’s eyes twinkle. “An inauguration of sorts.”
And it’s the stupidest thing to come out of his mouth all day—or maybe the second or third or so—but Dan loves it all the same. It’s oh so very Phil; love of his life.