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The music comes on through the living room speakers, and the melody overcomes him before he has even fully registered what song Phil has put on.
“What did you do?” he says from his pretzeled up position by the computer.
Phil comes up to him without answering, and that’s how Dan knows something is definitely up. He narrows his eyes and glares suspiciously.
“What’s up?”
“Can’t I just want to listen to Beyoncé in my own home?” Phil asks with a frankly worrying attempt at innocence.
Dan scoffs.
Phil hums. He walks up behind Dan, wraps his arms around him and goes straight for his neck.
“Phil,” Dan says. It’s meant to be a complaint, a warning, something. But it comes out plaintive and embarrassingly horny. He can’t be held responsible for what effect this song has on him.
Phil’s arms around his chest are strong and tight, his lips under his ear soft, a slight rasp of stubble sending shivers down Dan’s spine.
Beyoncé sings, “Come on, baby, make love to me,” and Dan’s dick wakes up like it was fucking hardwired for it.
He sighs and buries a hand in Phil’s hair and holds him in place while Phil gently sucks a mark on his neck, Dan’s hard-on responding in full. He lets go and nudges Phil away, standing and turning in one fluid motion that has them chest-to-chest.
Their lips meet and it’s soft and wet and serious. Dan isn’t in this apartment anymore, he’s in bed in the old one, and things outside their bubble are scary, but inside it he can ignore everything, put it aside, let their love be all that matters, let Phil draw these feelings out of him without fear or worry.
Their bodies slot together perfectly, Phil’s hands creeping up under his shirt. Dan moans and wants.
And then 1+1 ends and End of Time blares out. It’s so jarring it nearly gives him a heart attack. He tears himself away and stares incredulously.
“Phil! Why didn’t you put on the playlist!?”
“What playlist?” Phil says stupidly, hands still on Dan’s skin.
“The playlist! The...” Dan slips out of Phil’s arms despite his protests and grabs up his own phone to stop the song. “Come on,” he says and walks over to the stairs.
“What? Where are we going?” Phil asks stupidly.
Dan rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna put the actual playlist on, and you’re gonna fucking make love to me like you promised, but we’re doing it in the actual bedroom.”
He turns to go when something catches his eye.
“Phil, what happened with the washing machine!?”
“Come on, let’s go.”