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The flat hums with the distant thump of the washer downstairs and the tinny cacophony of gunfire and shouting voices erupting from Dan’s headset. Upstairs in the lounge, Dan slumps deeper into the worn leather gaming chair, fingers tight on the controller. On screen, his character ducks behind a crate as bullets whiz past.
“Revive me, you useless twat!” screeks a voice through his headphones, thick with frustration.
Another player chimes in, “Yeah, move your arse, fucker! What are you, asleep?”
Dan’s jaw clenches, but he stays silent, eyes fixed on the screen. Nonconfrontational to his core, he swallows the insults like sour sweets. Instead, he thumbs his phone open, texting Phil downstairs.
Dan: cant you do something
The reply pings back almost instantly.
Phil: Arent you playing ur game?
Dan: yes
Phil: sounds like fun
Dan scowls at the screen where his teammate’s corpse pixelates.
Dan: not the word i'd use
Phil: What word would you use?
Dan pauses, the absurdity cutting through his irritation. A tiny smirk quirks his lips.
Dan: moon butt
Dan: im not having fun
Phil: say you g2g
Dan* too awkward
Phil: Say ur grandma is arriving
Phil: Or switch off the pc and say the power cut
Dan groans, rubbing his temple.
Dan: oh god
Downstairs, Phil sighs, folding a fluffy towel warm from the dryer. The yelling upstairs is audible even over the washer’s spin cycle. He drops the towel into the basket, a plan forming—equal parts mischief and rescue. Dan’s online squad doesn’t know Phil Lester from Adam, just some faceless teammate. Phil pads up the stairs, quiet as a cat, pausing at the lounge doorway. Dan’s back is to him, shoulders tense, headset clamped on.
Phil takes a breath, then pitches his voice into a theatrical, falsetto drawl dripping with exaggerated exasperation—a tone reserved for rare, dramatic moments. “Aren’t you done with your game yet!?” he shrieks, making Dan jump violently. “I wanna have sex before bedtime! C’mon, baby!”
Silence. Then, chaos erupts through Dan’s headset. “Holy shit!” “Is that your missus?” “Mate, go!” “Get off, you lucky bastard!”
Dan whips around, face flooding crimson from his neck to the tips of his ears as he scrambles to mute his mic as his friends’ laughter crackles like static. He stares at his boyfriend, wide-eyed and mortified. “Seriously, Phil!?” he hisses.
Phil leans against the doorframe, grinning, utterly unrepentant. “Got you off.”
Dan rips off the headset, tossing it onto the desk. The game screen flickers, abandoned. His embarrassment melts into something hotter, sharper.
“Oh,” he says, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face as he pushes himself up. “You’re about to get me off.”
Phil’s grin widens, then turns into a yelp as Dan lunges. He bolts down the hallway toward their bedroom, Dan hot on his heels. Phil’s laughter echoes—bright, unguarded, and entirely eager—as Dan catches him just inside the doorway, pulling him close. Phil’s back hits the doorframe with a soft thud, still laughing breathlessly, his eyes sparkling with triumph and anticipation. Dan’s hands slide up Phil’s sides, the chase dissolving into the familiar, electric pull between them.
“Properly this time,” Dan murmurs against Phil’s neck, and Phil shivers, tilting his head back, already arching into the touch.