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Phil’s hands are on his hips, in his hair, a little bit of everywhere. He’s kissing like it’s the last thing he’d like to do in his whole goddamn life, and it makes Dan feel a little dizzy.
He kisses back just as desperately. He doesn’t care for the railing poking through his fluffy bear sweater—lets Phil’s warm body press him up against it; make him forget all and everything but the two of them; their hands, lips, the rings on their fingers...
“mhm…” Phil slips his tongue in. It’s somehow more intoxicating than the drinks they’ve been having.
More fireworks explode, but Phil’s movements practically drown the sounds out, blood rushing in his ears. Dan melts in his hands—kisses and kisses and kisses—and slips his own below the waist, lightly squeezing his bum in return.
There’s a buzz in his pocket— and, oh. Not in his pocket—in Phil’s pocket.
They pull apart, and Phil fishes out his phone. They’re still close enough that Dan can see each wrinkle on Phil’s face as he grimaces, groaning. Makes him giggle.
“Someone wishing you a happy new year’s eve?” He’s breathless, fighting to get the words out.
Phil shakes his head, puts the phone back once it's stopped buzzing. “Nope,” he says. “A timer.”
“Oh…” It clicks, then. “Was— was it for the tweet?“
“Mhm… how did you guess?”
Dan beams, a bit belatedly—Phil slots against him nicely again, pecks his cheek; delays his words a little more. “Just something… with your stupid pretty face.”
“Stupid pretty—” Dan’s only looking at his moving lips, but he can hear the crinkling of Phil’s eyes in the way he speaks. “Stupid pretty who?”
“Shut up— words not nice. ‘m drunk.”
“So am I— and stupidly pretty, apparently.”
“Spork— Shush—” Their voices have practically disappeared, low and therefore lost in the sounds of the night, to anyone but them. “—stupid pretty, stupid ducking brain-thingy— ‘n m’ husband.”
“That’s good, Danny. You’re my husband, too— pretty ace, actually.”
It’s stupid, but Dan cackles unabashedly, throwing his head back. Phil catches him by the belt hoops again, and he flushes. Warmth spreads all the way up his chest and into his cheeks, despite the cold of the wind catching in his clothes.
“Again— gonna… gon’ kiss you?” He asks it like a question, but Phil knows it isn’t.
“Mhm… if you’d like me to, you can— or I can.”
Dan nods, and so he does. Softly; gently; slowly; tenderly.