Barlyle Prompts

"You can't leave me like this!"

Word count: 1044
Notes: Despite the angsty-sounding title, this is from a list where the challenge was to take the angst prompts and turn them into fluff fics, or turn the fluffy prompts into angst fics. So it's somewhat fluffy!
No warnings apply.

Phillip delicately turned the page of his book, eyes fervently scanning across the words. The protagonist just had a run-in with their nemesis, things were getting intense, and looking grim. He barely registered the door to his office being opened or the footsteps that approached behind the sofa he lazed on. Just as the tension of the situation was being dealt with, the book was plucked from his hands and out of view.

He was turned around in an instant, knees perched on top of the cushioned seat. "Phineas Taylor Barnum, hand my book back right this instant." He held his hand out expectantly.

PT held the novel high above his head when Phillip reached out for it, earning a huff and a stomp from the younger man. PT held his finger out. "Not until I get a kiss." The look on his face made Phillip want to throttle the man. How dare he look so smug, so in-control?

Phillip stood up, braced a foot on the back of the sofa, and launched off in an attempt to grab his book. PT simply dodged. Phillip landed in a crouch. His hands were empty.

When PT saw the feral look steaming in Phillip's face, the color drained from his own. "Oh, shit," was all that peeped from his lips. Then he broke out into a run out of the office, Phillip on his heels.

Surely, there was no chance in PT's favor. He was strong and fit for his age, but Phillip was younger. And faster. Much faster, as he was beginning to realize as he ran for his life around the halls of the circus building. He passed various friends and performers, yelling for Lettie. With no sign of his savior in sight, he resorted to his own methods of negotiation.

"This was the exact opposite reaction I was hoping for, Phillip!" he screamed as he scanned his surroundings for a hiding spot. It was hard to search for an inconspicuous place, though, when speeding past them. The thought crossed his mind to just give the book back, but no — he was not defeated so easily.

Phillip hadn't slowed down since the chase had first begun. His vision had tunneled around one target: PT Barnum, the fool keeping his book hostage. He did not answer his feeble attempt at a truce. No, this man had declared war. There was no turning back. In a surge of speed, Phillip cut through a couple of back-to-back rooms that opened up into a hall that PT would surely run through. He leaned forward, hiding in the door frame, waiting.

Footsteps pounding across the floor grew louder and louder until Phillip lunged out, pinning the other man to the wall. They grappled for the book until PT managed to lift it high above, bracing one hand against Phillip's chest. Phillip tried to leap up to it, but the strength of the older man's arms prevented it.

"Calm yourself. I'm the tall one."

Then Phillip went still, taking a deep and resigned breath. "Fine. If I kiss you, once, will you please give me my book back?" He let his gaze drift down to PT's lips for an exaggerated effect.

PT swallowed. "I think we can arrange that," he hummed.

Phillip let his fingers twist at the collars of PT's shirt, then pressed their lips together. His grip on the shirt tightened, pushing him back through a door down the hall. It was a storage closet with a wooden chair sitting, lonely, inside.

"Wanna get that out of there?" he mumbled against PT's lips.

He felt the other mouth pull into a smile. PT wordlessly caught the leg of the chair with his foot and practically threw it out the door. Phillip dropped his hands down to PT's hands, gently taking the book away.

"You may want free hands." He sauntered back outside towards the chair, as if to put it up. In a flash, he caught the doorknob and flung it shut, then propped the chair underneath the handle.

A fist banged loudly against the wood as soon as it was secured. "Phillip!"

Phillip allowed himself a whoop of triumph. "That's why you should never steal my book. Ever again!"

There was one last pound, then it stopped. An image of PT propped up against the door with his forehead, arms sagging down at his side crossed his mind, and he found it quite satisfying. "Come on," he whined. "You can't leave me like this!"

Phillip opened his book and located his previous position. "Don't worry, Barnum, I'll come get you when I'm done with the book," he promised as he began walking back towards his office. "I've only got...a hundred pages left."

"PHILLIP!"

(An additional ending)

"Hey, PT, I've got those files you asked for—" Phillip looked up from the stack of folders in his hand to see PT slumped over his desk, fast asleep. He stopped in the doorway, then tiptoed to the bookshelf and gently set the folders down. He made a move to nestle PT's coat over his shoulders, but froze with a thought.

He stealthily creeped out of the office and down the stairs all the way to the water faucet backstage. A bucket rested nearby. Lettie was there, fanning herself as she rested. She must've seen the evil glint in his eye.

"What are you up to, Carlyle?"

He continued to fill the bucket up, almost to the brim before shutting the water off. "Don't worry," he assured her. "It's something that needs to be done."

If she suspected anything, she didn't stop him from returning up the stairs to PT's office. Phillip thought he even saw a knowing smirk upon her lips.

Now in the room, he carefully used the chair opposite of the desk to help him up to the desk. He was ready to run. With a grin cutting across his face, he allowed the water to shower onto the older man's body. He snapped up in a shocked and rude awakening.

"Who's the tall one now, asshole?!" Was all that Phillip shouted before bolting downstairs.

PT vaulted over the desk towards him, shouting profane threats of what he'd do once he caught him.

Phillip laughed the entire time, the ecstatic feeling of victory washing over him.