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He's watched Phil wind up tight all day. Dan tracks the angle of his eyeline as they wander around the day's itinerary, the tourist sights, he watches his eyes, steady but unfocussed, sliding just slightly sideways of the thing he's meant to be appreciating.
He feels it as well, the encroaching tension. It has been months of busy on top of busy and they have only had yet more bad news. Plans that won't work out, things they want to do that still need to be confirmed but can't be just yet. He watches the litany of disappointment and feels each angry mention inside his chest, and knows Phil feels much the same.
Phil feels responsible. Phil always feels responsible, loyal to a fault and steadfast in his ambition to do right by absolutely everyone. But he notices the twitch in Phil's eyes, the coiled up stress of wanting to do something but being unable to.
Dan just feels overwhelmed. All day there are things to do, sights to see that deserve a happy reaction on his face even when the world seems too oppressive to let him. Dinner with Martyn and Cornelia where he'll laugh and joke and pretend he doesn't have a running list of everything he should be doing rolling over and over behind his eyelids with every blink.
He knows what he needs. He needs to feel the weight of everything slide away, just for a moment. And he knows Phil needs to feel as if he has some control. He knows exactly how this could all be resolved, what they do when it starts to feel like this.
He tries making it obvious, sliding a hand on to Phil's thigh under the dinner table while Martyn is in the bathroom and Cornelia is distracted by her phone. He blinks up and catches Phil's eye through his lashes and tries to communicate what tonight could be if Phil wants it.
He thinks of the silk tie Phil has in the bottom of his suitcase even though there is no fancy events on their calendar. He tries to let Phil know he's noticed the heavy headboard on the bed that could definitely put up with some sharp tugging.
But Phil slides away, lets Dan's hand fall onto the edge of the seat and away from Phil's warmth. The corners of his mouth tighten and Dan thinks Phil probably has a to do list of his own that he's worrying over, a list of things he can't control, and maybe he's too far gone for Dan to help with that.
Dan bites his lip, sighs, and lets Phil lean a bit away. He doesn't try again.
"I'm going to have a bath," Dan says when they’re back in the room, and Phil just nods before dropping down onto the bed and opening his laptop.
He's going to try and do emails, Dan just knows it.
His mind is a mess. Loud and complicated, and he has a bright green bath bomb in the plastic bag he's been carrying around since this morning's shopping trip.
Dan closes the door behind him and takes a breath. He starts the hot water running and the sound is loud as it echoes off the pale tan marble tiles. Above the bath, on the same far wall, is a window. It stretches from the edge of the bath to the ceiling, and from one corner of the wall to the other so that the appearance is as though the entire wall is made of glass.
The view is spectacular. The city stretches out beneath him and he can get lost in how small and insignificant he feels. Which is nice, when he feels like he has so much to do here in his own world. To remember there is a whole metropolis out there, a city full of people and a world beyond it, where his actions and thoughts and decisions have no bearing whatsoever.
It works, for a little while.
Sinking in to the warm water is nice, comforting. He leans back for a moment, ears under the surface so that his own breathing sounds loud in his head and he tries to make the sussurant sound of it overtake the churned up anxiety he's feeling, that juddering jumble of thoughts about what he needs to do, what he should do, all the things going wrong over and over that he'll never been good enough, or smart enough, or grown up enough to fix.
Sets they can't transport, shows they might have to cancel. More shows they haven't even booked yet. It's all too much. It feels like too much, like he's taken on a whole host of these responsibilities and now he has to be in charge of them all. When he has no idea how to do that effectively. He feels inadequate, like he's somehow gotten in to a position where everything he does matters and he doesn't know how it happened. He isn't worthy of that, or capable of it.
It's always been like this. For so many years he had no idea how to make it all stop, until that one night about five years ago.
The hot water is lapping over his ears, soaking the back of his head, as he closes his eyes and remembers.
He remembers getting so overwhelmed. He remembers the sting of frustrated tears in his eyes as he railed at Phil about how hopeless he felt, how he wanted more than anything just to make things go the way that he wanted them to. How it all felt so big and overwhelming.
Phil was angry, maybe more so than Dan but mostly angry that he couldn't fix it, that he had no control over anything at all. Dan didn't want to be in control anymore, and Phil wanted nothing but.
"Stop," Phil said said.
There was an edge to his voice that Dan hadn't heard before and somehow, he'd stopped.
Phil's eyes met his, both of them breathing hard and loud. Phil had stepped in close, his eyes never breaking away and Dan remembers thinking that whatever Phil said, whatever he asked, he'd do it.
And the noise in his head had stopped too.
Phil wrapped one hand, large and powerful, right around Dan's wrist and Dan watched him feel in control for the first time in a while. And Dan handed over that control without a care, happy to let him take it.
Dan can't let his thoughts stray too far, because it only makes him more frustrated. He has half a mind to march into the room next door, pull Phil's laptop away from him and tell him what he needs. What he wants.
It isn't like Phil wouldn't give it to him, because Phil would want it too. But half the fun is waiting for Phil to make the move. For him to decide when it is Dan gets to let go.
He drifts for a while. He's got some soft music playing on his phone, propped up against the sink. The early evening sky is fuzzy and blurred behind the fogged up window and his body is relaxed, if not yet his head.
A while later, he hears the soft muffled thud of a knock on their main hotel room door and then the call of a female voice.
"Housekeeping!" she says.
He can't exactly hear what Phil's response is, because the bed is too far away from the bathroom door but he can imagine him taking off his headphones, looking up all apologetic for not answering the door. Polite and polished, a little nervous.
"Can I just replace the towels?" she asks.
He waits for Phil to refuse, but he doesn't hear anything. The door handle rattles and he panics.
"No!" he shouts.
It's too loud, far too loud for the tiled room and the way that it echoes but he can't believe that Phil nearly let her walk in here.
He hadn't locked the door, of course he hadn't, because it hadn't even crossed his mind to.
"Sorry," she says, with a bit of a laugh.
Dan's heart is beating hard against his ribcage. He feels a spike of adrenaline go through him as the faint click of the hotel room door sounds, and the unsuspecting woman, probably still laughing at him, finally retreats down the hall.
"What the fuck?" Dan says, mostly to himself, to the universe that likes to make a perpetual joke out of his life, but kind of to Phil too and his part in the whole thing.
She hadn't come in, but it was a close thing and Dan's body is still on alert, alive with energy.
"Why did you say no?" Phil calls in response.
Dan should get out of the bath. It's mostly cold now anyway and he can feel the shivers creeping up over his skin, but the water is still pleasantly green from his bath bomb, some small patches of bubbles still clinging to the surface. The view out of the large window is mostly obscured by lingering steam, fogged up so that the skyline is blurry, but he can see the sun has dipped, that the world is growing a little darker, lights in neighbouring buildings are coming on. The bathroom looks dimmer than it did when he climbed into the fragrant, warm water.
The door rattles where it isn't locked once again and Phil's head appears in the crack. His hair is pushed back as it always is, but not as tame as Dan knows it was earlier. Like he's been raking his hands through it.
"Dan?" He says, fixing him with a stare that is obviously not contained to his face. "Why did you say no?"
Dan rolls his eyes for a second, because Phil can't be serious. Then he watches Phil come round the door, throwing it wide and leaning on the frame, arms crossed over his chest. He's wearing soft jersey shorts and the same t-shirt he's been wearing all day, he's put his glasses on and he should look soft and non-threatening, but the set of his shoulders says something else. His head cocks a touch to the side and this time his eyes very pointedly looks down the length of Dan's body where he is still reclined. Stretched out and on display.
Dan swallows, wanting to maintain eye contact but finding he can't. His heart is still beating hard, only now it's keeping time to the thread of anticipation hanging in the air. A hard thrum of expectation.
Dan could almost cry, or laugh, because Phil is going to do this after all.
"Come on," Phil repeats for what Dan knows will be the final time, "Why did you say no?"
"I'm in the bath, Phil."
It seems like a simple enough explanation, and if Phil were in any other mood than the one Dan suspects he's in, it would suffice. The way things actually are, with Phil's eyebrows raised a small fraction, one bare ankle crossed over the other and a predatory look in his eyes, it won't do at all.
"You are," Phil says, unfolding his arms and moving to stand up straight.
He reaches for the door, pulling it to a close behind him, softly, deliberately. He turns away from Dan for a moment and Dan feels the urge to cover himself now that he isn't pinned by Phil's gaze. He can feel what's coming, or at least he has some idea, and the delicious tension in it all is made all the better by how unexpected it is.
Moments ago he was having a bath, Phil was playing a video game or fretting over emails or whatever, and now something is crackling in the air and Phil is stalking over to him, bare feet making a quiet slapping sound against the white faux-marble floor.
"In your bath with the world watching, what's one more person?"
Dan looks over his shoulder. The window is clearing, the world turned orange and gold with the setting sun. The skyline is vast, the world spread out below them with hundreds of unknown eyes glancing wherever they might be glancing. Maybe up here, maybe they can see how his face is flushed, or the way Phil has stepped right up next to the bath.
"Up," Phil says.
Dan doesn't register what Phil means right away. His limbs are still too relaxed from the bath, his heart is still a frantic thud in his chest, he's pulled between serenity and stress and his brain can't quite keep up with the shift Phil is bringing about. Phil reaches out to run his fingers through the wet curls at the side of Dan's head.
"Come on," he says encouragingly, almost like he's calm even though Dan can hear how he is balanced on a knife edge, "Up."
Dan blinks, and then shifts. The water swishes around him, frothy green waves parting around the curves of his body as he lifts himself up, rising to standing. Once he's up, slower than he would like and with Phil watching every single movement like it's free theatre, he lifts a leg to climb over the edge.
Phil's hand shoots out, slender fingers wrapping around his hip, thumb pressing into the delicate soft flesh of his lower stomach.
"Stay there," he says, knife edge tilted into a deep command.
Dan obeys. His foot dropping back into the water with a small splash. He's aware of the window behind him. The sun dipped even lower, the world a burnt amber, and the room they are in growing dark with only a faint glow of gold illuminating off the reflective surface of the taps and the marble tile.
Dan waits. It feels like an eternity but he does it. Even as Phil's hand leaves his skin, as Phil leans down to press the lever that releases the plug from the bath. Dan feels the water start to drain away. He is naked and exposed, shivering slightly in the cool of the room.
Phil will let him stand here a while. It's one of the things he does, making Dan wait for it.
He's highly strung now, maybe he always is, but Dan can feel the tension in his veins, buzzing like white noise, his thoughts messy and erratic just waiting for Phil to put them in order. The waiting is the worst part, and the best. He follows Phil's movements, all of them, cataloguing how Phil's muscles shift under his skin as he straightens up, watching his eyelashes flutter as his impossibly coloured eyes track the progress of the water draining from the tub. Dan can't stop looking.
Finally, as the last drops of water swirl down the drain, the sucking sound it makes and Dan's hitched breathing the only sounds, and just as Dan feels like he might burst into flame from how close Phil is yet how far away he feels, Phil looks up at him. Their eyes lock for a moment before Phil smirks, pulling his t-shirt up and over his head.
Phil is all narrow lithe muscle, tapered in at the waist and hips but broad shouldered. His shoulder blades jut out and the line of his hip bones is stark against the flat of his stomach. There is a smattering of chest hair up high and his nipples are rosy pink and prominent and Dan loves every inch of him. Just as much now as the first time he saw him with his shirt off. And the first time he saw it in real life.
He knows Phil's body by heart, is familiar with the cadence and pitch of his voice, and could probably pick him out of a line up just by his scent. But the sight of him still makes Dan suck in a surprised yet happy breath.
"What's the plan, here?" Dan asks, even though he knows it's useless.
Phil climbs in to the bath next to him, and that isn't what Dan thought the answer was going to be. He still isn't touching Dan, not yet, and Dan is beginning to feel a little desperate for it, a little exposed and neglected.
"Do I ever tell you?" Phil smirks.
"No," Dan says, "It's annoying."
Phil does touch him then. A hard swat to his arse cheek, loud enough for the crack to echo off the white ceramic of the bath. It starts with a sharp sting and then a slow flood of warmth as blood rushes to redden the skin.
"Don't be cheeky," Phil says, his voice just this side of reprimanding.
It's mostly playful, for now. But it gives Dan a thrill to know it is setting the tone for what is to come. He licks his bottom lip, tongue swiping, and finds himself nodding in agreement. He'll be good. He'll be so good.
He long since gave up on any pretence that he doesn't like this. It used to bother him, his insides waging war against it, not wanting to give in, to admit that he wanted to be brought down by Phil. But Phil was a constant, letting him take what he needed when he needed it, firm when he had to be, soft when he didn't.
But Dan can hand himself over now. Tuck away the loud and extreme parts of himself, let them quiet and still in the corner of his brain, the only part of himself still ticking over, because he can't get rid of if completely. The rest… the rest he gives to Phil to do with as he pleases.
And Phil has told him how he wants it too, and it's also been difficult for him to reconcile that within himself. There had been constant reassurances in the beginning, an overcompensation of love and affection afterwards, smothering and clinging. Sometimes there were apologies. Dan hated those.
They're the same, Dan had that said over and over. They both want this, it's something dark and clawing and urgent, but they both have it, in perfect complement.
"Sorry," he says, the residual sting of the slap still shimmering on his behind. He's not surprised to find he sounds sincere.
"Good," Phil praises and strokes his hand over the hot area once.
It's just a tiny thing, small and fluttering. Barely pain, barely pleasure, it's merely a reminder.
Phil sighs and Dan can feel the huff of it on his bare shoulder. He's hard now, and he won't even try to hide it, let Phil see what he's doing. As if he doesn't already know.
"Turn," Phil says.
Dan blinks like an idiot for a moment, not really understanding what Phil means until he lifts his chin in the direction of the window.
Oh. So that's the game they are playing.
"Here you are," Phil says once Dan has turned, "having a bath in front of this huge window. The whole world can see you. I wonder what else they'd like to see. What else you'd show them."
Dan closes his eyes and takes a shaking, thin breath in.
"No," Phil says almost immediately, "open your eyes, I want you to look."
Dan does as he is told, because what else would he do?
The scent of the bath bomb is still in the air but the temperature has dropped so that it's faint, thinner. The window fog has cleared and Dan has a picture-perfect view across the Sydney skyline, tipped with gold.
"What would you show them, Dan?"
Anything, Dan thinks. Anything Phil wanted him to in this moment. His entire body feels as if it is aching with the desire for Phil to touch him. He is so close, close enough that Dan can smell the lingering scent of coffee, and the subtle spice of his aftershave. He wants to turn around, to bury his face in Phil's neck and breathe him in. He wants to unravel piece by piece and have Phil put him back together.
Phil wants that too, but it has to be on his terms, because that is what unravels Phil, what makes the slope of his shoulders less tight and the crease of his brow a little lighter. This is for both of them, to unwind,to spin each other out, loose and carefree for a few moments.
All Dan has to do is everything he's told, and Phil gets to have some control over what happens. Over everything. There is nothing here to trip him up or make him feel inadequate,. No outside parties beating down the door with bad news, no awkward emails he has to answer.
This is just them, Dan and Phil, where no one can touch them. Where the world waits below, blinking lights back at them as its only contribution.
"Hands on the glass."
Phil's voice is a steady command. He doesn't raise his voice, he doesn't need to. Dan simply raises his arms and spreads his palms wide, splayed on the glass. The action bends him a little at the waist, hovering over the wide of the bath below, forearms braced, leaving tiny circles of fog on the cool glass from the heat of his skin.
His ass is on display, thrust out under Phil's assessing gaze. Dan likes this, being posed for Phil to enjoy, naked and unashamed and totally at his mercy.
"I think ten to start," Phil says.
"Ten?"
"You disagree?"
"No."
Dan looks over his shoulder to see the satisfied smile on Phil's face. He looks a little looser already.
"For being so shameless," Phil explains. "Eyes on the window."
Dan feels shameless, then. Looking out at the street below with matchbox sized cars and even smaller people. Any of them could look up, any of them could see Dan, hands pressed up against the glass as Phil moves in behind him.
It's a bit like being in public, and the idea of that is more shameless than anything he's actually done this evening.
"You don't need to count," Phil says.
That's fine, they've only done that a couple of times anyway.
"In fact… I want you to stay completely silent."
Dan swallows. That's new.
He looks round at Phil again, his head cocked to a questioning angle. He doesn't dare say anything, he doesn't know if they've started yet.
"Can you do that?" Phil asks.
"Yes," Dan says, his voice barely a whisper, just in case.
"Use your words properly."
"Green," Dan corrects. Colours work fine, they'd tried words before but it felt stupid. Finger snaps suffice for when he's gagged but he isn't this time. This time he has to stay quiet all on his own.
"And if you want to stop?"
"Red" Dan says.
Phil nods approvingly, like Dan has done well. And he feels the beginning of something warm in the pit of his stomach.
"Eyes back on the window then, Dan. I won't ask again."
Dan takes a steadying breath, and turns to look back out of the window.
He feels the light touch of Phil's palm on his hip, stroking down over the curve of his arse, sinking fingertips into the soft flesh, feeling it ripple in his grip.
"Let's begin," he says, like he does every time.
The first blow lands on the fleshiest part of his butt cheek. Unlike the sharp sting of earlier this is a good solid bit of contact. It moves him a little, his elbows giving under his weight. It takes a lot for him not to make a noise, but he manages it.
"Good," Phil praises, and Dan feels a bit giddy.
He can feel it starting, the heady release of the day sliding off of him. A rush of adrenaline in his vein at the shock of pain, yes, but mostly just an eerie calm descending. He doesn't know why he works like this, why this is the only thing guaranteed to make him feel like this, but he's handed the reins over to Phil and he feels freer for it.
Phil's hand comes down again. Once, twice, a third time in quick succession barely giving Dan a chance to take a breath between each. They land over top of the last one, each of them spreading a hot rush of pain over his skin. He can can feel it start to burn, that raw pulsing throb.
"You're all pink for me already," Phil says, his breath nearly a purr right up near Dan's ear.
Dan feels his dick hard and heavy between his legs twitch at that. He's panting, but trying to hide it, because despite how much he likes this he doesn't like to make it easy for Phil. But then, Phil doesn't make it easy for him either.
Dan wants to groan, to cry out, to beg. But like all the times before he doesn't know whether he'd beg Phil to stop or to continue.
Phil switches sides for the fifth and six blows. They land on his other cheek but they're hard and fast. Dan sucks in a sharp breath that sounds a bit like a gasp. Phil pauses and Dan waits to see whether he's going to judge that making noise.
The pause is excruciating. But eventually Phil makes a kind of approving grunt and moves on.
"Look at you," Phil says, running his hands up Dan's sides. His palms skate delicately across his rib cage, curve up over the taut muscles of his biceps where he is still braced against the glass. "Look how much you like this. You know you deserve it."
Dan does shiver then. His whole body convulsing under Phil's hands. He moves his head, stretching his neck and rolling his shoulders. His feet shift just slightly, widening his stance and unconsciously tipping his hips to expose his ass a little more.
He wants it. He does deserve it. But more than that he's just so fucking happy that Phil will give it to him. Phil, who is usually gentle and overwhelmed, so anxious in the storm that is their lives, becomes commanding and powerful, focusing Dan's mind in on the pinpoint of pain so that it quiets everything else. He brings Dan down easily with only one hand and Dan is just so fucking grateful for it all.
Seven and eight land randomly, catching him on the top of one cheek, right near his crack, and then underneath, where his leg joins his arse. It's that one that brings the tears to his eyes.
"The window," Phil says, and Dan realises he's closed his eyes.
Dan quickly opens his eyes but it's to late. Phil's tongue clicks against his teeth in a soft tut.
"Should we add on some more?" he says.
Dan feels like he's pulled tight, like a bow string. Tense muscles and a warm, sharp ache where his skin is no doubt a hot, angry red.
"Dan?" Phil urges when he doesn't respond.
"Green."
"Another five then," Phil says. "I think you can take it."
Dan hopes he can. He wants to live up to the faith Phil has in him but he isn't sure. Phil's hands are big and his fingers long, they leave hot stripes of flushed pink across his ass with blows nine and ten.
They should have been the last, but now he has to bear it a little longer.
"Tell me what you see," Phil says.
"Err…" Dan starts, and number eleven lands like a blunt smack on the sensitive skin of his upper thigh.
Phil is always careful without making it seem like he's being so. He's down to the thigh now because his ass is too red. He's sensitive, liable to burn in the sun and flush at a moment's notice. Phil moves on and away, not giving more than Dan can take, but he doesn't make it easy. Not when the backs of his thighs sing with the hard swat of number twelve when Dan still doesn't say anything.
"Um, P-People," Dan says, trying not to groan or make any other reaction to the pain radiating across his entire backside.
"And what are they doing?"
"They're- uh, oh god… they're walking."
Phil shifts so that his hard cock brushes against the raw ache of his punished skin. He presses, minutely, so Dan can feel the pressure right where it hurts.
"Is that all?"
Phil thrusts his hips again and Dan can feel how hard he is. The sight of Dan spread out for him, willing and waiting. Pink and sore and ruined. It's that that's made him hard, and Phil pushes the blunt thickness of it against him, as if to show him what he's getting out of it.
Dan's own cock is leaking. Achingly hard and curved up and away from his body. There is a dribble of precum making its way down his shaft, flushed a deep pink, and he wants to reach down, to take a sweating, shaking hand from the window and wrap it around the length of him. It would be so easy, to relieve some of the pressure building up in the very core of him.
"Dan…" Phil warns, "Is that all?"
"No," Dan says, though it is increasingly difficult to form the words and not cry out with the way his skin burns.
"What else?"
Phil shifts, pulling his hips away quickly and then landing a blow, to one thigh and then the other. Dan's knees feel weak.
"F-Fuck," Dan stammers, and he knows that's a reaction, he knows he isn't supposed to but he can't help it.
There is a coiled up tightness in his groin, pleasure pooling there along with the pain down the backs of his legs.
Thirteen, right? They're at thirteen. Which means he has two more to endure and then it is over. Then he can-- What?
He isn't running this show. Phil is.
Phil is breathing heavily behind him, and Dan hears him make a tight pained groan under his breath.
"Do you want to know what I think?" he says, finally.
Dan waits, because Phil doesn't actually want an answer. What he wants is for Dan to stay poised and ready, and that is what he will endeavour to do.
Dan blinks, looking out to the city below them. It's truly dark now, only the lights of streetlamps, headlights and the lights from neighbouring buildings dotting the night sky. The bathroom is dark too, so that they could be hidden. But Dan still feels exposed, put on display for the world, as if Phil is showing him off somehow. Showing the world how obedient he can be.
Dan wants to be good at it.
"I think you want them to be looking up here," Phil says, and Dan senses him shifting off to the side. "I think you want them to see you. To see all the things you let me do to you. How pretty and pink your ass is right now because I made it that way."
Dan bites his lip, tasting blood just faintly as his teeth dig in a little too hard. Fuck.
Phil lifts a hand into the wet hair at the crown of Dan's hair. It's only really damp now, dried out by his own body heat. His temperature is raised and he is flushed down across his chest, in his cheeks, and he knows how embarrassingly scalded his arse must look.
Phil curls his fingers into Dan's hair and tugs, tipping his head back, exposing the long line of his neck, jerking his eyes away from the window.
He leans in close to Dan's ear, "Show them what a good boy you can be, Dan."
Phil lays the last two smacks right over his already beaten skin. They hurt like none of the previous ones did and Dan can't help the rushed, strangled sound that escapes him.
Phil growls, pulling at his hair, tipping Dan's head back so that he can claim his mouth in a bruising kiss. His tongue slips past the join of Dan's lips without waiting, there is no hesitation to him now, he is all jerky, fast movements and heaving breaths.
Pure, unadulterated control over Dan and everything that comes next.
Dan feels like he's floating. There is pain and urgent desperate pleasure. He aches for release, but his body is strung out. Pulled between pain and want he is wound up tight just waiting for Phil to offer him the release from it. One way or another.
Until then, he floats above it all, hazy and mellow in a way he hadn't been able to achieve by simply relaxing.
Phil lets him go, releasing his grip on his hair, and Dan wants to slump back down against him but Phil reacts as soon as Dan moves his hands even the tiniest amount.
"Keep your hands there," he says, "We're not done. The world needs to see a little more yet."
Dan hears the small crack of a bottle lid that's all too familiar, but he's too far gone to really notice where Phil might have gotten it. His pocket, maybe. He's a little startled when Phil presses a slick finger against his hole, but not enough to pull away.
"All those people down there," Phil says, his fingers pressing, pressing, pressing, slipping inside Dan all wet and long. "They could be anyone, and here you are letting them watch you. Tell me how much you like it."
Dan whimpers, because he suspects that part of their game is over. Phil would usually tell him, but he suspects Phil is a bit gone as well, a bit lost in all of his heady sensation, so he can't really blame him.
Phil's finger slips in to the second knuckles, pumping a few times until Dan is pushing his his back, meeting his thrusts, asking for more.
"You want it," Phil says, adding a second finger so that Dan can feel the stretch. "Tell me you want it."
"Uh," Dan says, the delicious pull of Phil's fingers catching on his rim with each thrust. They slide along his walls, lube making everything slick and easy. He can't help the panting moan that arises in his throat. "God, Phil. I - fuck - I want it. I want it so bad."
"That's it," Phil says, easing his fingers out as Dan tries to thrust his ass back, chasing him. "Beg me for it, let the whole fucking world know how much you want it. You're shameless, you deserve this."
Dan, crazy with want but unable to get anything more while Phil struggles with his shorts, pulling them down, thinks about how much Phil has changed since they first started doing this. He used to be hesitant, timid, afraid to say things like this for fear of going too far. But Dan had told him, how it felt to be put in his place, to feel like he has to do nothing but follow Phil. He can be someone mindless, pulled towards his own pleasure and intent on giving Phil his, he doesn't have to be anything more than instrument for that.
He likes to be reminded of that, especially when it took so many years to admit it to himself. That he wanted boys, wanted Phil and then, finally, that he wanted this.
His hands are sweaty on the glass, the outside world still making the window cold despite the rise in his body temperature. He leans his head down so that his forehead touches the cool surface as well. He groans.
Then Phil is back, the blunt, thick end of his cock nudging at Dan's entrance. Dan spreads his legs a little wider, and lifts his head to look round at Phil.
Phil's own gaze is dipped low, watching his own cock ease its way in to Dan's body. He's biting his lip, brows furrowed like he's holding back. As he sinks in, fully seated, he squeezes his eyes shut for a second to steady himself.
Dan hums.
"Hey," Phil says, head snapping up, "eyes out of the window."
Dan obeys, looking back at the wide expanse still going about it's business while Phil pulls slowly out and then slams back into him.
"Shit," Dan shouts, "shit, oh my-- Phil."
"Hm," Phil hums in response, and then picks up a rhythm, sliding in and out of Dan's body, rocking him with it as Dan moves his hips to match the pace.
There is nothing but the sound of their bodies coming together for a few moments. Dan tries to keep his eyes focussed on the ground below, but he finds his vision blurring, head swimming. Phil's cock pushes at something deep within him, filling him over and over, an insistent tug in a place he can never reach himself. He's hungry for it even while it's happening.
"They could be anyone," Phil says.
He shifts closer, pushing at Dan's body so that they are closer to the glass, Dan's chest coming in to contact with the frigid window pane. His hands slip, only a fraction, leaving sweaty streaks in their wake, but he keeps them lifted, level with his cheeks. He doesn't rest his head against it like he wants to, he looks down, down over the sheer drop of the building, into the darkness of the street, and tracks the paths of ant-sized people on the pavement below.
"They could be our subscribers," Phil continues with a heavy thrust into Dan's body that leaves them both a little breathless. "They could know who you are. Look up here and see your filthy secrets laid bare for them."
Dan whimpers. It isn't really feasible, the darkness of the bathroom alone gives them cover and they are too high up anyway. Even if it was logistically impossible, the chances of anyone actually looking up, and that person being someone who would even know who they were, are nearly zero.
But still, Dan can't shake the thought - what if - and Phil knows that.
Phil's hips and abdomen come down to meet Dan's sore arse over and over and he feels the burn go through him anew. He is bruised, strung out, and barreling towards release. The winding coil of arousal thats been tight in his gut since Phil entered the bathroom is starting to fray, he's unraveling, coming undone under Phil's hands.
And Phil is panting too, up close to his ear. He's pulled in tight now, his hands a hard grip on Dan's hips, their bodies flush, pressing Dan into the cold, unyielding window at his front. He's rocking his hips into Dan's, pushing his cock impossibly deeper.
Dan's own cock is insistent and neglected.
"Please," Dan says, the plea barely vocalised, getting lost amidst a pathetic whimpering moan.
"You know what?" Phil says, his hips stuttering so that Dan knows he's close. He's hesitating for some reason, Dan hopes he isn't planning to draw this out. He'll go mad, he can't take it.
Phil's hand loosens on his right hip and Phil's hand snakes down to mercifully, blessedly, wrap around him. He lets Dan's cock head push through his tight fingers, Dan bucking wildly. Into Phil's hand, back onto his cock, pivoting between the two.
"Ah-- ah." Dan pants, followed by a tight little moan as he nears the edge.
"I think," Phil says, rocking his hips in those perfect delicious circles, moving his hand over the sensitive tip of Dan's cock where he knows he likes it best. "I think you like it, I think you'd want them to see. You want all of our fans, the entire audience, to know just how shameless you are."
That does it. Dan can't help himself as he tips over the edge, his orgasm hitting him. His thighs tense, he pushes himself back, impaling himself down on Phil's cock hard and fast as come burst from his cock, pulsing in Phil's hand.
It splatters against the window, dripping in guilty strands, a mark of everything Phil has just said.
Dan is spent after, boneless and struggling to remain upright. But Phil isn't done.
"No," he says, as Dan starts to flag. "You have to wait for me."
Dan just breathes heavily, his breath fogging up the glass where he has dropped his head, cheek pressed flat to the surface.
"You good?" Phil says, stroking a hand through Dan's hair.
"M'good," Dan says, attempting a nod and kind of failing. "Green. Do it."
Phil thrusts his hips again. It isn’t unpleasant, but it is just a touch past the point of comfortable. Dan feels raw, oversensitive, and Phil is pushing him because he knows he can. Because Dan can take it.
Dan wants this, and Phil needs it, and he’d give anything to Phil. Anything.
It doesn’t take long for Phil’s thrusts to become erratic, for him to pull away just slightly, creating a bit of space between there bodies so he can do a couple of full, sharp pumps of his hips, driving himself in to Dan’s tired, overworked body again and again.
His skin burns, his muscles ache and his head is blissfully calm as Phil spirals out, his orgasm making his breath catch in his throat and ripping a gorgeous, loud moan from his chest.
Dan loves him like this, just afterwards. When he’s still buried inside him, neither of them alert enough to move.
But they’re still stood in the bath, Dan is still pressed against the window, trapped there by the weight of Phil’s body. Phil reaches up to cover Dan’s hand with his own, slipping his fingers in between each of Dan’s fingers and squeezing lightly.
“Hm,” he hums.
“Hm,” Dan agrees.
They breathe together for a while, but Dan can barely stand and now that adrenaline is wearing off he’s beginning to ache for real. He shifts, wriggling his body underneath Phil, just enough for Phil to get the hint.
“Come on,” Phil says, moving away and easing his dick out from where it’s still half inside him. “Let’s get you up.”
Dan lets himself be led. He leans on Phil as he climbs out of the bath and follows him, silent and calm, into the shower. Phil washes him down, soothing the skin of his ass, still red for the moment. It will fade by morning. In the light of day there will be nothing left of this encounter but the missing tension from their shoulders, a lightness to their steps.
All the tightness Phil had earlier in the day is gone. He looks peaceful now, with all the tension worked out. It isn’t just Dan that gets a sense of relief from doing things like this, and Dan is proud and pleased that he can at least help a little.
It feels good to be unwound, to let themselves go and trust that the other will catch them.
“Thank you,” Dan says, his head resting on Phil’s shoulder, the shower cascading down his back in a soft waterfall.
“And you,” Phil says, pressing a light, tender kiss to his temple.
They hold each other close, warm bodies and gentle words as they come down. After, Phil will insist that Dan get in to bed while Phil does the rest. He’ll wash the window and put away the lube and he’ll take care of everything Dan doesn’t have space for. Tomorrow awaits them, and there will be more emails with plans they have to sort out, responsibilities they need to take care of. Even below them, outside that window, the world rushes on without them.
But for now, just for a moment, all of that can wait.