Work Text:
When I saw you first,
it took every ounce of me
not to kiss you.
When I saw you laugh,
it took every ounce of me
not to fall in love.
And when I saw your soul—
it took every ounce of me.
poem by Atticus
“Da-an!” Phil kicks him in the chins, hard, rips the laptop from his grip and shuts it on the bad, awfully graphic (and maybe most importantly—though he doesn’t want to dwell due to his own feelings—not-gay) porn Dan decided to prank him with. “Awful, you’re really, really awful—!”
Dan rolls over to the other side of the bed, with giggles that get stuck in his throat when he once again faces the sickly green-coloured wall—can’t really believe that he’s in the bedroom of AmazingPhil, or better yet, Phil. As if he hasn’t spent all day with him, it has yet to sink in.
He’s spent years watching this room, this very wall, in videos, and months and months more recently looking at it—or, well, mostly at the hot, older emo sitting in front of it—making an appearance in grainy skype calls.
Despite poking him for attention, Phil whines a little more. He’s obviously pouting, though not with any real gravity, and if it’s not the cutest thing he’s ever—no, Dan won’t continue the thought. It’s all already a bit much.
He looks at Phil, cheeks flushed, and beams back (if not a little timidly).
“Hi.”
Dan can’t ignore the way his stomach flips, at the sound of Phil’s voice, and how warm his whole body feels—all the way to the tip of his toes.
Only a couple months ago, he would’ve hated himself sick for it, if it happened while looking at a guy (especially). So, so much has changed, all in time with Phil entering his life as a real person and friend and maybe something more, and not just a youtuber on his screen.
“Hi,” he answers, and clenches his throat around the weird, awkward noise that bubbles up after it. God, they may have already kissed once before, but he doesn’t want to mess this up, and have Phil finally realise how much he doesn’t want Dan here; how much he hates him, with all his awkwardness, and gross face, and obnoxiously loud personality.
“Hi, I’m Dan, and I’m a very bad boy.” By his smirk, it’s obvious what Phil’s imitating. And if it wasn’t Phil doing it, Dan’s sure he’d cringe (he still does, but only a little bit—and not because it's Phil.)
There’s the giggles, again. He tries to steer his brain away from Phil’s gentle hand on his arm and his soft lips and his swimmingly blue eyes—only manages to get himself more lost. Maybe it’s for the best. For a few seconds, he loses the worries, too.
He glances at Phil’s lips, focusing there, before dipping back up to his eyes. Phil only seems to come closer, and closer— and, oh.
Oh, that’s— yeah—
Dan’s near crying, it’s quite overwhelming—all of it. Phil’s nose is so close it should be touching his—he’s gone quite numb in surprisingly the best way, so can’t really tell, which he curses himself for—and his breath tickles across Dan’s skin, wavering slightly.
His voice cracks; “Oh— hi,” he repeats, and smiles, quite lopsidedly. Phil copies him.
And with a surge of bravery, he leans in, no hesitation—let’s himself meet Phil halfway, lips on lips oh so tenderly.
It’s the same as on the wheel, but not really. He suddenly feels not nearly as nervous; as then, or as a few minutes, seconds, earlier.
They put their all into the movement of the kiss— Phil, too, so passionately his affection becomes quite obvious, and it’s what finally breaks him—Dan—his eyes watering.
He tries to apologize—doesn’t want Phil to think he was in any way cruel or bad—but Phil shushes him. He wipes his tears and stays close to him, and it’s all Dan could ever need, despite the internal fear that has decided to swirl within him (he hopes that one day, it’ll go away completely.)
They’re pressed from thigh to thigh to chin to chin, and to top off the kiss, it makes him feel all gooey on the inside, in ways he’s new to.
“Sorry—”
“Don’t— Dan—” Phil touches his arm, as if asking for permission; Dan, knowingly, nudges him and lets him hug him—closely. His hands come all the way up to his nape, where the hair is almost impossible to straighten. “You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, but if you ever feel bad— kissing or otherwise— don’t apologize, please. You don’t have an… an obligation to me.”
Dan shakes his head. “No, no, I— I enjoyed it— I lov— liked it a lot it was just— so, so much, y’know— you’re so good to me, and you’ve barely known me for a day.”
“That’s not true, Dan,” Phil says, and the softness in his voice makes Dan’s heart pick up speed. “I’ve known you for a good while; I’d like to count skype and twitter, too, if that’s okay.”
And maybe, maybe that’s true—at the very least, it makes them both smile, and Dan exhales, content. Here, he feels safe—he’ll enjoy it, for as long as he gets to.
“Me— me too. And—” He really does feel brave and bold, huh. It’s surprising. “—well… I hope to know you for a lifetime, if you let me— any way you want to.”
Phil tries the word; lifetime. “Yes.. a lifetime—” he says, audibly, after a moment—smiles. “—I’d like that, too.”
The weight of it sparks some unabashed happiness, warmth in the bottom of Dan’s gut. Maybe Phil’s already gotten a piece—or all—of him. And he won’t complain, least of all now, not one single bit.