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"This was the most fun I've ever had."
Fun was probably not the word Dan would have chosen if he was actually serious, or he would have said it with more enthusiasm—now, granted, Dan wasn't the most joyful teen around, even if his anxiety had significantly quietened for the last few hours, but he could do better.
No, this was purely sarcastic, meant to make Phil laugh at the idea that the last hour and a half had been the most fun in his life.
The most fun Dan had ever had was actually etched somewhere between the countless hours they had spent on Skype during the past month and the afternoon out in Manchester earlier in the day.
In those moments, it was like nothing else existed, like Phil's light overshadowed everything else.
So, Dan expected a laugh or a giggle—he would even have taken an eye roll with pleasure.
Dan's back hit the floor, the air kicked out of his lungs by the force and the surprise of the tackle—leaving just enough for a chuckle to escape—and his arms loosely wrapped around Phil's body pinning him to the green, messy, carpeted floor.
He barely registered Phil's own laugh—because then, two lips promptly pressed against his, the contact wandering between shy and impulsive, both overthought and thoughtless.
Dan forgot everything from the still-filming camera pointed at them to the pair of underwear pressed against his back on the floor. He even forgot what to do for a few seconds.
Fortunately, his instincts kicked in eerily quickly, a hand flying up to bury itself in Phil's definitely real hair—not a wig—to bring them closer. He happily followed Phil's slow lead, lazily moving their lips together, unhurriedly enough to appreciate the way Phil's breathing warmed his face, the way Phil's hands settled on his hips under his shirt and the circles his thumbs were tracing over his skin.
Phil pulled away too quickly to Dan's liking.
He also looked too guilty to Dan's liking. He wanted to kiss the worry away. Erase the frown between those two beautiful blue eyes staring down at him with his lips.
Now that Dan was close enough—not behind a shitty screen anymore—he could actually tell Phil's eyes were not completely blue. There was a hint of green and yellow in there as well. Dan would still be able to drown in them, that wasn't changing, but now… Now, Phil's eyes were like miniature Earth, and fuck if that didn't make completely sense.
"I—I, uh. Sorry, I didn't mean—I didn't even ask—It's not—" Phil stuttered, seemingly stringing multiple thoughts at the same time.
Immediately—and effectively shutting him up—Dan covered Phil's mouth with his hand.
"If you say it was a mistake, I am smothering you," he warned.
To be fair, there had not been any clear signal that they were into each other, and Dan wasn't even a hundred percent sure Phil was gay. But, hey, they had been toying with the line all afternoon in Manchester, and more generally playing jump rope with the limit between platonic friendship and downright horny flirt for months. Dan had said he wanted Phil to tie him up, so hopefully, Phil had caught the hint?
"Um…"
Dan was still laying on the floor, with Phil halfway sprawled above his body. His eyes carefully tracked as Phil swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in the process.
The bump on his throat was utterly biteable.
"Let me rephrase it," Phil demanded, cautiously stepping out from over Dan.
He sat down on the floor with his back against the bed, allowing Dan to sit up as well, facing him. It seemed to be the appropriate setting for the conversation they were bordering.
"Kissing you is not a mistake," Phil stated, his gaze firmly settling in Dan's soul. "I'm just bothered I didn't ask you first. I swear I planned to, but I simply—forgot. You were so beautiful, I just had to do it."
Dan's mouth cracked open, a tiny bit. What—
He blinked, once, twice.
Dan considered himself literate and quite good with words, but in this moment? No answer available. Just warmth, crawling out of his heart and spreading everywhere, up in his cheeks along with some colour, down in his belly paired with an sense of comfort and glee.
"I—Uh, I mean," Dan cleared his throat and fished for fillers to buy some time to string something together.
If Dan loved talking with Phil and throwing an innuendo or a compliment or two in the conversation, it turned out to be significantly harder to do with him in the flesh. He couldn't blame his delay on the phone, couldn't physically freak out, couldn't throw his phone across the room. Phil was there, studying him like he was actually interesting, like he cared about him. Because he did, Dan figured.
"Well, you'll do better next time," he finally said, shrugging as nonchalantly as he managed.
He was watching Phil so meticulously, he pinpointed the exact moment the implication registered in his brain—that smirk appearing and flipping Dan's stomach upside down for the umpteenth time today.
Phil was going to say something.
Phil was going to say something and it was going to be absolutely devastating and Dan was going to be a mess and embarrass himself and Phil was going to find him weird—a complete mess—and not want him to stay and then Dan was going to have to change his ticket and come back home for the night but he definitely didn't want to come back home, he felt so good and so right and so safe here—it had been so long since he had last felt this safe.
He had to stop Phil, to say something, anything—
"For the record, I don't really mind 'cause I've been meaning to, like, kiss you for, uh. Months, actually, I think? It's just been on my mind a lot and yeah, I have thought about it, um—lots—"
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Christ on a bike.
If Dan was taking one thing from all this experience with Phil, it was that he had to shut his mouth more. And maybe turn his tongue seven times before speaking. Or nail his lips close altogether.
"Oh yeah? Months?"
Fuck.
Fuck Phil and his gorgeous face, his soft lips and his large hands.
"Come on, I want to know more!" he demanded, tilting his head to the side. "You said 'months' but we have not known—"
Dan leapt forward, wrapping his arms around Phil's neck as he straddled him, and forcefully pressed his lips to Phil's mouth—probably the only way he could effectively shut him up.
Phil sighed in the kiss, his hands flying down to Dan's hips. He pulled him impossibly closer, not even allowing an inch between them.
Tentatively, Dan ground his hips down and… bingo. The moan Phil let out was—Dan wouldn't consider himself a pornography expert but it was pretty high up. And it offered the opportunity for Dan to slip his tongue in Phil's mouth as a bonus.
Phil seemingly happily let Dan lead for a while, gently encouraging him to keep rubbing their hips together with a press of his hands on his lower back.
The thing was, Dan's plan was turning on him; the relentless contact between their crotches was making his stomach flutter and his insides warm.
Pleasure was building between them, Dan could feel it with the way Phil's kiss became more pants, involuntarily trusting his hips up to meet Dan's.
He was nearing the edge.
Phil seemed to feel it, or approach it himself; pulling away slightly—but not far enough that his lips couldn't trace the line of Dan's jaw.
"Let's slow down, yeah?" he suggested against Dan skin. "We have a video to finish."
Right. The video. Their little Q&A.
Fuck. The video! The camera was still directed at them, capturing every movement, each hungry kiss and their desperate rocking against one another.
… Dan would ask the original footage to Phil later.
For now, he pressed his forehead to Phil's shoulder, to collect himself and breath in his scent, comforting and so right. How could a scent be right? Dan had no idea, but somehow, Phil's was.
Finally—and reluctantly—he pulled away, getting off Phil's lap to sit close to the camera.
"Let's just make hearts to the camera and say bye," Dan proposed—Phil followed the idea, adding some fake-sounding comments, and he cut the camera right after Dan pretended to lick it.
In synch, they sat back in silence.
What now?
"So you, uh… Want to eat? We've got pizza we can put in the oven," Phil said, saving Dan the trouble of actually asking the question burning his tongue.
"Yes, sure, why not," he nodded, standing up. He extended his hand to Phil, pulling him to his feet.
He followed his friend through the house, across green carpets and strangely placed stairs, to the kitchen. Dan was still trying to find his bearings in the new environment, not quite feeling at ease enough to explore it by himself.
In the kitchen, Phil bent down to grab the pizza from the freezer—and Dan's gaze didn't linger. At all. Just don't ask him the colour of anything besides Phil's underwear.
Green.
Dan leaned back against the counter, watching as Phil was turning some of the buttons of the oven.
"So, that was fun," Dan said, somewhat awkwardly. "The video," he indicated. Not the making out part. That had not been fun. Well, it had been—the thrill and the challenge to elicit more moans and groans from Phil—but it's mostly been hot.
"You said it was the most fun you've ever had," Phil commented, sliding the pizza onto the rack in the oven.
"It was sarcastic," Dan indicated, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.
Phil hummed, "Yeah?"
"Yes."
Dan hesitated. The ball was in no one's court; he could take it and run with it with the hope that Phil would catch up with him and tackle him on the ground.
Or against the wall.
Dan wasn't too picky.
"But I liked where it took us."
Please, please, tackle me.
"Oh, yeah?" Phil stood up, facing him this time, and oh. This tone. Phil was running right behind him with that tone—and unfortunately, or fortunately, his voice was making him severely weak in the knees.
"Yes."
"Coincidentally, I liked it, too."
No shit.
No shit.
It was Phil who had interrupted them because they had been about to. Well. Come in their pants. So Dan sure hoped he had liked it at least a little bit.
"Weirdly, I think I could tell," he replied with a cheeky smile, his dimple on full display—he could feel it.
"Could you?" Phil went on with the tone, slowly making his way to Dan, who meticulously let himself being trapped against the counter.
Dan raised his head slightly to get a proper look at the other. Phil was an inch or so taller than him, which—hot.
Phil smiled at him, one second, before their lips met again. And again. And again. Dan found himself wrapping his arms around Phil's neck.
He gasped in Phil's mouth when he felt a pair of hands grab his thighs, right under his ass, and put him up on the counter. On instinct, he pressed his legs under Phil's bum to steady himself. Allegedly. Probably.
Phil's hands were wandering everywhere on his thighs. Soon, one settled in his back, stabilising them both, while the other was showing some interest in the area around his crotch.
Physically, Dan couldn't pay attention to everything. He was trying, but… There was a hand in his back, warm under the fabric of his shirt. Another one was… undoing? the zip of his pants. Hips were keeping him on the counter-top. Lips were moving in synch with his, while a tongue was languidly stroking his own.
And then—then—then…
Dan's forehead fell to Phil's shoulder, a string of moans escaping his lips.
Phil had slipped his hands inside of his underwear, and wrapped his fingers around Dan's cock. And he was stroking it. And Dan was going to come, and cry, and scream, and die.
Dan tried to catch his breath and clear his thoughts—rather unsuccessfully—so he did the first thing that came to his mind: he forced Phil's pants open and followed his lead, pressing against the bulge there before diving inside to run his hands along the length.
It was panting in each other's neck, teeth occasionally scratching skin, that pleasure spiked in Dan's body, marking his orgasm—undoubtedly the best in his life. The first one with someone else, and it occurred to Dan that he never wanted anyone else.
In his haze, he accidentally grazed Phil's slit with the tip of his nail—a loud moan and a long spurt followed.
Dan slumped forward.
Phil caught him.
Dan had a feeling that Phil would always catch him, have his back.
Gentle, small kisses were being peppered in his neck, Dan realised. When he perked up, he felt Phil press his lips longer against his throat.
"Alright?" the older boy murmured.
Dan giggled—he giggled, he was that down bad—, "I think my brain stopped working. And my legs are jelly."
A huff of hair against his jaw, "Thank you."
"For what?" Dan tilted his head to the side, gazing up at Phil.
Dan had been breathing in the crease between Phil's shoulder and his neck, taking in his scent, the smell of sweat and salt and sex. But now? There was also the acrid odour of—
A gentle kiss under his ear, "For trusting me. For finding me. For—"
Smoke!
Dan pushed Phil away in his attempt to get off the counter and zip up his pants at the same time, "Phil! Pizza!"
Phil's oh-so-blue-green-yellow eyes widened, "Shit!"
They both rushed to the oven to turn it off, opening windows to let out the smoke in the fresh, two in the morning air.
Well.
There went their pizza.
Their plan of eating pizza on the couch with a Buffy episode didn't stick; instead, they took a shower, timidly standing under the spray together, and changed to their pyjama—way better than cum-stained, sticky skinny jeans anyway. In lieu of dinner—if they could even call that dinner, given the hour—they stuffed themselves full of cereals, limbs tangled under Phil's green and blue sheets.
"To be fair," Dan sighed, letting his head fall on one of the pillows, "I said it was sarcastic, but… This is kind of the most fun I've ever had."
"What, almost burning down a kitchen and stuff?" Phil was grinning down at him, propped up on his elbow next to Dan.
"And stuff," Dan rolled his eyes back at him.
"Idiot," Phil replied, gently shoving at his shoulder.
Dan hummed, his eyes closing.
He was all warm here, under the checkered sheets, heat radiating from the body next to him, Phil's scent all over him after showering with his body wash and laying in his bed, his cheek squished against his pillow.
"What time's it?" Phil wondered out loud. "A quarter past four. I suggest we sleep, yeah? You're already halfway there."
"Mhm. I can get behind the idea."
"Sure you can."
A soft kiss to his forehead, then Dan heard Phil dispose of the cereal box and turn the bedside lights off.
He must have rolled over to face Dan, because their noses brushed and Dan opened his eyes.
"Hi."
"Hello," Phil whispered back.
Dan tucked his head against Phil's chest, Phil tentatively throwing an arm around his waist. Secretly, Dan smiled and closed his eyes again.
"I like you," he murmured.
Phil's heartbeat accelerated against his ear.
"Well, good," he replied, just as low in the silence of the room, "because I like you too."
The most fun he'd ever had.