🌷FROM https://archiveofourown.org/works/17877974/chapters/42355385#main
Secret agent au & daddy kink
Words:10304
-----------------------------------
Bitter. Everything is so... bitter. From the blackcurrant drink in his hand, to the nauseatingly brilliant glow of the all-too-extravagant chandeliers, to the flowing waves of gowns, to the immaculate dress suits. He's just so bitter .
There's a crackling in his ears, "Agent Lester, that better be your first drink," a voice reprimands. Phil barely restrains his scoff.
"Gimme a break," He mutters into the glimmering drink. His mask glitters beneath countless vibrant lights when he takes a sip. He would usually get some fruity cocktail, but these business parties are always dreary, and he has to fit in to remain inconspicuous.
Cobalt blue eyes flit around the golden-lit room. There are couples dancing gracefully on the embellished marble floors, fluidly weaving through the soft chimes floating through the air. Clusters of people clutch crisp amber drinks and sparkling flutes of champagne in jeweled hands as they murmur on grand staircases, covered by velvety-red layers of satin.
Maybe not so dreary; although, it won't be easy to find a culprit in this crowd. Masquerade balls are particularly tricky, with all the damned masks hiding anyone and everyone's true identities. He was barely able to recognize himself when he wore his own royal blue mask, lined with silver studs. Phil sighs and drinks another sip. Blue... it matches your eyes , Louise had told him before pressing it into his hands.
Speaking of Louise, "Someone's approaching from behind, Lester. Tall - probably 's tall as you - black mask, black suit -"
"Here for the food too, I see," An articulate, unfamiliar voice has Phil's head turning. He catches a glance: tall, like Louise had said, and wearing all black. His eyes are big and brown behind his jet black mask, and his suit perfectly fits him; it's like he was made for it. It outlines the curves of his shoulders, and his arms - his suit isn't skin tight, but tight enough so that the it outlines the curve of his bicep when he moves - down to the prim waist, to the long, long legs, and his thighs dizzyingly fill up his -
"My eyes are up here, sir," the man purrs, a dimple poking into his cheek as he smirks. Phil's face floods with mortifying heat. And maybe another kind of heat because of that voice, and he certainly does not want to analyze the tug of heat he felt when he heard the word "sir" roll from the man's mouth.
"Uh-" Phil rips his gaze away from the gorgeous man in front of him, despite the warning bells ringing in his head, "Yuh - yes. Parties were never really my thing..." he clears his throat. There's a nonverbal agreement to ignore how Phil was just blatantly checking out the man before him. They can forget about that, right?
At Phil's comment though, the man's eyes widen slightly, and Phil guesses his eyebrow is raising behind his inky mask. A mask that fits delicately against the curve of his cheek, irritatingly obscuring his identity. He can still see the dimples when he smiles though, "What's a young man like you doing here, anyway?" mystery man muses as he reaches for a warm roll of bread. His hands are large - they could probably encase the whole roll if he wanted to.
"I could ask you the same," Phil mumbles around the lip of his glass, avoiding the man's burning gaze, as well as his own increasingly concerning thoughts. Evading questions has always come naturally to him; it's probably why he's part of this damned mission in the first place. "Besides," He continues, glancing back towards the man, "you're definitely younger than me."
The man chuckles, "You really think so?" Those doe eyes are piercing into his own. Even though Phil is wearing a mask, he still feels oddly exposed. Before he can analyze the feeling, the eyes are shifting down, roving over Phil's body, which has Phil's stomach violently jumping to his throat. He barely hears the man's words over the rushing in his ears, "You can't be older than... 30."
Phil finally huffs out a laugh. He knows his face is tinted pink by the infuriating warmness he feels, "Well," he starts as swirls the dark liquid in his glass. Why are they discussing his age, again?
He hears a gasp, "No way! You're older than 30?" Phil meets his eyes again, and something blazes within the ocher depths.
Is this man into older people? Phil quirks an eyebrow, "Maybe," he shrugs, staring into the warmth of the man's eyes.
" Damn. " The word is uttered at such a low, wonderfully velvet frequency that Phil feels something akin to a spark run up his spine - there's no way it's legal to talk like that in public, in this elegant gathering, amidst all these posh people. And really, can this man be any less subtle with his staring? Phil almost wants to return the my eyes are up here comment , but he finds the words trapped in his throat. He internally cries as he watches the man's teeth sink into the enticing curve of blood-bitten lips. As he drags his eyes away from the supple lips, over to hazel orbs, he has a sudden urge to rip the man's mask off. He wants to see it. He wants to see the rest of his face, he wants to see if it's as gorgeous as he thinks - it's just curiosity. He's itching to take it off. Phil's heart is pounding in his chest for an absurd reason, and air fizzles with unbearable heat.
The mystery man then promptly shoves the bread roll in his mouth... his unusually large, wide mouth, probably perfectly capable - no , no, no, he can't go there. Phil clears his throat again and looks away. Again. He's on a mission. A damn mission. The next sip he gulps down is cool in his parched throat, but it probably doesn't help his easily-flushable cheeks.
Then he's jolted by the static in his ear, "Phil! We think someone might be tailing you. Act normal."
Act normal? Phil angles his face away and looks pointedly at the golden rolls of bread. He has a million questions racing through his mind, but the one that surfaces is: "how?"
"Bloody hell, I dunno..." Louise mutters gracefully. There's a pause. He can hear rustling noises, soft whisperings, "...es! That'll work. Get on the dance floor, Phil. You'll be well hidden there." Phil's mind reels.
"You are one picky eater, aren't you?" The smooth voice filters through his ears, cutting through his inner turmoil. Phil tears his gaze away from the golden rolls to meet the man's eyes. They're honest eyes. Phil must look more confused than he thinks because the man rushes to explain, "You've been staring quite intently at those for a while." He gestures to the glowing bread and pops the last bite into his mouth.
"I- oh- yes." Phil plasters a smile to his face as his heart ricochets through his chest. Why is this man still talking to him? How does he get on the dance floor without looking suspicious? How will he ever get to the dance floor in the first place? A distraction - he needs a distraction. Phil chews on his lip. "Actually, I'm not hungry," he finally decides to say. Louise is gabbling up a storm in his ear, but he can't hear it because the man is apparently loud too:
" Not hungry?! " The offended voice rings clearly in the air, and Phil nearly huffs out an irritated sigh.
At this rate he'll have a pounding headache by the time the night is over. And maybe a few bullet wounds too. Who knows? Finally, Louise's voice floods into his ear, "With him!" She hisses, "Dance with him! "
Phil freezes. Who? he wants to ask, but he already knows. There's no one else here. His hand tightens around the cool condensation of the glass. He's far too sober for this. On that thought, he promptly downs the rest of his drink and winces as he slams the glass onto the spotless table-cloth with a hollow thunk . A shiver passes through his spine. The drink was stronger than he expected. He feels the man's curious gaze on him, and he's definitely not as sober as he thought because his hand is reaching out and yanking on the man's bread-warmed fingers, and they're suddenly pressed together, and they're so, so close. The man's dark chocolate eyes are wide, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Phil stares down at the motion for a moment before flicking his eyes back up to the round orbs. Mystery man is slightly taller than him, maybe by an inch.
"Dance with me?" Phil breathes. By this time, he already knows he's carved a path to torture. He thinks the face in front of him turns pink for a split-second, but it's back to normal in a flash. Yet, something curls in his chest when he notices the bright red hue of the man's ears. And once again, Phil's hit with the urge to rip the mask of. He wants to see the spread of rosiness on his cheeks. He wants to know if his cheekbones are really as high as they seem. Does he have freckles? Is he really blushing? Is he-
"My pleasure," the man whispers, his breath hot over Phil's lips. Phil abruptly turns away before he does something terribly uncalled for, and he marches them over to the marble floors. He can hear the devilish grin in the man's voice, "I hope you can dance." Phil glances behind him to see his brown eyes sparkling beneath the glowing lights.
"Of course I can dance," Phil shoots back flippantly, "I'll bet I dance better than you, at least," he tightens his hand around the man's wrist. The monochrome flashbacks of the merciless dance practices invade his mind. Dancing... It was a required skill to become a secret agent - a skill that's paying off right now.
When the man chuckles, his breath fans over Phil's ear, "Is that a challenge?"
Phil shrugs, stopping at the beginning of the sea of interwoven couples. Inexplicably, his heart starts pounding. He looks to the left and then back around to the twinkling eyes, "Only if you want it to be."
"I'm Dan," the man introduces, apropos of nothing, as he clasps his hands around Phil's neck. Dan. The eyebrows behind the black mask raise in inquisition, "And what shall I call you, good sir?"
Phil's lip quirks without his consent, and he rolls his eyes as he firmly snakes his arm around Dan's waist. Dan's other hand finds his own and gently clasps onto it. Ah, ballroom dancing. "Just call me... daddy." What the hell? Where did that come from? Damn, he's definitely more drunk than he thinks. He means it as a joke, of course, but he's rendered speechless by the crimson that creeps beneath Dan's mask.
Dan soon regains his composure though; he presses closer to the planes of Phil's body and they continue to side step into the crowd, "You sure, daddy?"
Phil's stomach surges, but he can feel his cheeks strain against the edge of his mask when he smiles. It's probably his first real smile of the day. "Fine, fine," he relents, "call me... Greg." Honestly, it was the first name Phil thought of. Dan snorts, but doesn't say anything, bless him. His body is warm and firm, and he smells like a delicious mix of pine and some kind of spice - maybe nutmeg or cinnamon - and he can feel the vessels in his blood vibrating together in anticipation. For what? His mind fogs over, and his body moves on autopilot. Phil silently thanks his terrifying dance classes. Dan fits so well in his hands, and he's pliant in his grip. Phil feels light-headed when they spin into the crowd, and he knows it's not from all the spinning.
Dan's mask is galaxy black, drawing Phil in like a black hole. In the new lighting, the shiny black expanse shimmers with every movement, catching and reflecting flashes of the brilliant radiance of the room. His thumb flickers over his collar and burns over the paleness of Phil's skin. When he hears the velvety voice again, the butterflies that have erupted in Phil's stomach suddenly swoop into his chest.
"So, Greg." Dan tightens his hand on Phil's shoulder, and Phil restrains himself from bursting into laughter at the ridiculous name.
He bites his tongue, hoping his face isn't as red as it feels, "Hmm?" Phil meets the dark depths of Dan's eyes.
"You never answered my question," Dan reminds, his breath warm on Phil's face. Phil can only stare at Dan, into those oddly honest, intense eyes. Golden lights swim in the background, and his vision whirls as they get pushed further into the crowd of couples. Pearls of light spill from the gaps between the chandeliers and drip over the slope of Dan's cheeks, and flicker into his eyes, and dance onto the swell of his lower lip - Phil has an urge to lick them off, but he forces himself to rip his eyes away from the tempting lips so that his gaze is leveled with Dan's eyes. Eyes that are staring intently at him from behind his glittery mask. And his hands - his hands feel too good on him, and he's already forgotten what Dan's said to him.
"Sorry, what?" Phil musters. No, he didn't forget the question because he's too distracted. He has short term memory loss. That's gotta be it. Phil internally sighs. He's on a mission right now. He needs to focus, more than anything else.
"Y'know, only old businessmen come to these kind of events," The brown eyes detach from Phil's gaze to look around at the people besides them. Phil follows his gaze - after ogling a bit too long at Dan's beautiful mask-covered side-profile - and sees the colorful flashes of swaying gowns, and older couples murmuring to each other, swimming in the musical notes. Dan's voice breaks him from his reverie, "What's your excuse?"
Phil's grip tightens on Dan's waist, and those eyes widen behind the irritating mask. "Wouldn't you like to know," Phil grunts. He's hit with Dan's natural scent again and his eyes flutter without his consent.
"Well, yeah, actually, that's why I -"
"For now, just dance, princess," Phil deflects, his thumb smoothing over the small of Dan's back in a manner that's almost intimate. And wow, he really is drunk, isn't he. He's drunk on Dan's hands, and the twirling, and the contact, and the burning, and the heat, and the lights, and the mask, and the sparkling eyes, and his smooth, smooth voice, and... he's drunk. His words seem to shut Dan up though, judging by the slight hitch in his breath. For some reason, it floods Phil with heat - heat that he does not want to analyze.
The song shifts suddenly. It's mellow, and slow, and maybe a little too sensual for Phil, but he has no choice but to stay on the damned floor. Dan, however, takes the initiative to lock his hands around Phil's neck, pressing impossibly closer. He can probably feel Phil's sharp intake of breath because of their closeness.
He didn't sign up for this. He didn't sign up for this electric heat that sears over his skin and simmers low in his stomach. Dan's breath his hot over his ear, and a shudder passes down his spine. His hands are like hot brands into Phil's flushed skin. And Dan wasn't lying when he said he could dance, because he can, and it's intoxicating and simply unfair . They're so close; Phil just has to turn his head to the side, and he could probably kiss the lights out of him and his tempting lips. Just a turn of the head. Not to mention, the soft symphony of chimes and string percussion simply add to the blooming heat spreading through his chest, where his heart is thudding. And maybe it's some form of payback, but he can feel the drag of Dan's thumb on his pale skin, which has Phil gripping his hips even harder. When he feels a puff of warm air beside his ear again, he doesn't even try to hide his smirk.
Phil would've been content with staying in that blissfully tortured moment forever, but alas, all good things come to an end, right? The only warning he gets is the subtle tightening of Dan's hands around his neck, and the whoosh of air sucked past his ear. Then he's suddenly sprawled on top of Dan, his forearms braced around his head. His ears ring and his vision swims. People are swarming around, cries of chaotic strings spewing from their lips. The lights are flickering. An unsynchronized thudding of shoes and clacking of heels thunder in his ears.
"...ou okay?" Dan's voice sounds distant, but Phil is jolted by the gentle hand that cups his face. A warm, tender thumb smooths over his jaw, to the top of his mask, over his cheekbone. Phil's blurred vision clears to see doe-eyes peering up at him. Their eyes lock briefly before Dan glances aside to see the commotion. The sequins in Dan's mask sparkle as he turns his head, and the column of his neck is long and smooth, and the top of his collarbone peeks out beneath his white-collared shirt. Phil has an absurd urge to sink his teeth into the soft-looking skin, or to bury his head in the crook of Dan's neck and inhale . After some difficulty (and some internal berating), Phil drags his eyes away from the entrancing man before him. There's a cloud of gray smoke billowing in his hazy vision, around the swishing of gold, and pink, and red, and green, shimmering robes.
An explosion. It was an explosion. Phil's heart hammers in his throat. He needs to leave. Louise is yelling directions in his ear, and he needs to leave. Dan's hand leaves his face, and Phil feels Dan press a piece of paper to his chest. His heart is blundering beneath Dan's palm. Phil barely catches the haphazard numbering on the crumpled paper- Dan's number. Dan's hand is warm when it grazes over his breast pocket. Phil sucks in a breath when Dan tucks in the piece of paper and pats it twice, and then his thumb presses over the spot where his nipple should be, in a similar manner that it smoothed over his face. It stays there for longer than normally appropriate.
"Feel something you like?" Phil drawls, quirking an eyebrow. His stomach squirms, did I really say that aloud? He can still feel the spike of heat in his gut when Dan chuckles, and Phil watches his ears gradually tint deep red. Phil wonders if he's a similar shade of red behind his mask. He suddenly wishes Dan's mask had fallen off in the chaos.
But then Dan is on his feet in a second, pulling Phil up by the hand. The touch lingers, and Phil's heart stops when he feels a warm breath wash over the prickling skin of the back of his hand, and before he can stop it, Dan is pressing a soft kiss over the pale ridges. It's feather-light, yet searing into his skin. His brain short-circuits. The chaotic sounds drum down to a low murmur, and Phil's breath hitches, his heart bursting in his throat as Dan's velvety voice shudders over the crevices of his knuckles, "It was lovely meeting you, sir," he looks at Phil from beneath his lashes - his long lashes, casting shadows over his inky mask, and then he's gone with the last appearance of a dimple, and Phil is left there, his skin tingling all over. He's gone with just a simple turn, swept into the crowd. Phil's hand burns at his side, where he can feel the soft touch of Dan's lips there, imprinted onto his hand forever. He can barely hear the static voice of Louise over the blood gushing in his ears.
"... Lester? Agent Lester? Goddamnit, Lester, get a hold of yourself!"
Phil blinks, and shakes away his fogged daze, "Fuck," he mutters eloquently, "Sorry, what's the plan, Louise?"
***
The embellished, oaken double-doors are heavy when he pushes them open. Dan steps out into the frigid air. His breath puffs out in misty swirls as he brisk-walks over shiny, crunchy gravel. Spine wrenching with anxiety, he takes a deep breath of the cool night air. It prickles his nose and waters his eyes. His deft fingers are numb as he fishes for his burner phone. He's still striding away from the extravagant building, but glancing behind him, he can barely catch the small plume of smoke rising from the large structure, glooming its grandeur.
He presses the burner phone to his ear, and after one beep, there's a curt response. Dan barely hears it past the blood boiling in his brain, "Adam, where the fuck are you," he hisses. His footsteps clunk along the pavement as he turns into a narrow alleyway. Outside of the shadows, the lamplight illuminates the small particles of mist hovering in the air.
"Dan, calm dow -"
"I don't need any of your 'calm down' bullshit," Dan snaps, "These guys are professional. They're probably onto me already."
Dan hears a scoff, "Dan, stop being so paranoid."
Dan restrains himself from flinging the flimsy phone at the wall. Instead, he clutches it in a shaking grip, "Fucking hell, Adam. Next time I'll be the puppetmaster in the back, and we'll see how you like that, yeah?" Dan nearly spits, venomous, "How does that sound?"
"Dan," Adam sighs, "I already told you the reason for why -"
"Will you two cut it out?" A new voice in the background interrupts their redundant squabbling. "If we need to get out of this alive, both of you need to shut it, like, now."
Dan lets out a slight sigh of relief once he recognizes the voice. He trusts Veronica far more than Adam, although, " I ," he corrects. "If I need to get out of this alive. You guys aren't even here."
"Yes, fine," Veronica huffs, "if Dan needs to get out of this alive, okay?"
Dan is about to grunt a response when he hears distant murmurings of, yeah, I can hear something from there... I'll go investigate. Dan freezes, his heart pounding in his ears. He can hear the thud of footsteps drawing near.
"Shit," He mutters, backing against the grimy wall. "Fuck."
"What's wrong?" Veronica's voice sounds slightly more panicked. It's not reassuring, but it feels better to know that he's not the only one who's distressed.
The voice is getting closer. Dan squeezes his eyes and takes a sharp breath before opening them and glaring at the glittering pavement. "I need to get out of here," Dan whispers, " now ."
"Okay." Dan hears heavy breathing on the phone. Veronica's probably hyperventilating. He can imagine her mussing through her wavy locks of jet-black hair, her usual-tan skin blotchy with sweat. "Okay. Okay, so. Fuck, Dan." Another series of short breaths. There's a soft bloody hell , which is probably Adam looking over her shoulder. "It's a dead-end. You're in a dead-end."
Dan takes a sharp breath. He starts to fidget. There's too much nervous energy flowing through his system right now. Not to mention, the adrenaline pumping in his veins has him on edge, apart from the sounds that are drifting closer. His heart jackhammers. "Okay," Dan manages to say on an exhale, "what do I do." It's a demand, not a question.
"Hide," Adam proposes. His voice sounds distant over the blood roaring in his ears. Dan's blurred vision sees the yellow light of a flashlight spilling onto the uneven concrete. It's too late. Dan must've said this aloud in his fogged panic, because a shrill Veronica is insistently shrieking in his ear, "It's not too late!"
Except it is.
"Hey, you there! Freeze!" Dan recognizes that voice. His stomach wriggles. It can't be... "Drop all your weapons. Show me your hands," the voice commands.
The burner phone clatters noisily onto the wet asphalt. Dan crushes it under his expensive shoe with a satisfying, final crunch . He turns slowly, and sure enough, it's the same man he had danced with earlier this evening. All porcelain skin behind a shimmery mask, and inky hair quiffed above a pale forehead, and crystal eyes. He meets those bright blue eyes, which have widened to the size of saucers behind the navy blue mask. It's gleaming silver in the moonlight. The man's jaw falls open, which has Dan's lip twitching. It's certainly not appropriate to smile in this situation, but it can't be helped. The pure expression of shock that flickers over the man's features is so surreal and blissful that Dan wishes he had taken a picture of it. It washes away all the previous regrets of the night. This is why he does this job. He lives for the electric adrenaline coursing through his blood, he lives for these priceless reactions, he lives for the chase, he lives for the fight, for the blood, for the fear, for the sweat. It's simply what he does.
"Dan...?" The stupefied man's grip is loose on the shiny black barrel of the gun. Dan's chest surges. It's his only window of escape. Now! an urgent voice in his mind hisses. Dan knows what he has to do.
He runs.
------
part2
Or at least, he tries to run. Two feet in, and Phil's pulling the trigger. He aims it directly towards the ground and shoots - a warning. The obscenely loud gunshots echo in the brittle air. Dan stops abruptly. "Shit," Phil hears him mutter.
"Against the wall," Phil barks. Dan's dark eyes are still as piercing as he remembers. When Dan doesn't move, Phil clenches his jaw. " Now. "
"Alright, alright, shit," Dan raises his hands and backs up. "Don't shoot," he adds, heart pounding in his chest.
Phil inches closer, debating on whether he should call his team or not. Louise lost bluetooth connection after the explosion. That felt like ages ago. Phil can't allow his mind to drift. He shuffles forward so that he's few feet in front of Dan, who immediately stands upright. His frame is rigid and unmoving against the wall and his eyes are shifty and unfocused. His arms are still glued tightly to the wall, but his breathing seems to be steady. Why? Phil frowns.
"Drop your weapons," he repeats slowly, as if talking to a spooked horse.
Dan flicks his doe-eyes back up. Phil swallows. "I don't have any weapons, sir."
Phil raises an eyebrow, "Do I need to search you? I will, you know." Dan snorts. Phil furrows his eyebrows. "What?"
"Nothing, 's just -"
"No, what's so funny?"
"I just... don't think I'd be entirely opposed to that."
Phil's mouth forms a grim line as his blue eyes flare. "Alright, fine." He takes one more step closer, and wonders if he's the only one who feels the tension between them, pulled taught like a string.
"Hello, you," Dan murmurs after what seems like a while. The ocher in his eyes are twinkling.
"Don't 'hello you' me," Phil snaps. Dan's dimpled smile only aggravates him more. So he can't control his limbs when he shoves Dan hard against the wall. They can be rough with criminals, right? That's the whole point of their job. He ignores the spike of heat he feels when he hears a soft gasp rip from Dan's mouth. Dan's mask is still covering his face, and it's too dark to detect whether he's blushing, but Phil is almost sure that Dan's face has become a shade pinker.
He checks Dan methodically; he sweeps his hands over his biceps, over the broad arch of his shoulders, down to his hips, and tries not to get distracted when he roves over Dan's wide chest and feels the swift up and down motion of his breath. He errantly wonders if Dan finds this arousing or something. And why is he wondering that? He's on a goddamn mission. He can't be thinking of that. And he doesn't, until Dan's breathless voice breaks him from his scrutiny. It happens as his fingers grace over Dan's trousers, skimming over his hip bones and barely dipping into his inner thigh.
"Hey, I think this is where you say 'is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?'" Dan drawls. His voice is low and smooth, and far too distracting. But it still cracks a grin over Phil's face. It's probably his second real smile of the day.
"Shut up," Phil mutters before getting back to work. He hopes the smile in his voice isn't as evident as it sounds.
Dan chuckles, but doesn't say anything more. A few moments later, Phil steps back and tries not to blatantly check out the man before him, like he did a few hours ago.
"Well, you're clean," he sighs.
Dan rolls out his shoulders, "You sound oddly disappointed." Phil shrugs. Dan shoots waggly eyebrows at him, "hoping to find another weapon?"
Phil sends him an incredulous look, "I can't believe you just said that."
Dan rolls his eyes, "Oh, come on. It's probably not the worst thing you've heard."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Dan deadpans, "Uh, nevermind."
Phil isn't listening. His hand darts up, peeling over the edge of Dan's obsidian mask. His chest swoops once he sees the fine arch of a dark eyebrow, just a glimpse, before Dan's hand shoots up and tugs off Phil's wrist.
"Wait! You can't take the mask off!" Dan's breath is warm over Phil's face.
"Actually, I think I can."
"No, no, no! It's against- against the rules!"
Phil splutters, "rules? What rules do you speak of?"
Instead of responding, Dan shoves away Phil's hand, trying to prevent him from taking his mask off. Meanwhile, Phil pushes his hands in any possible direction in order to maintain order, but instead it elicits chaos. They scuffle for a few moments, grunting and huffing and grappling.
"Dan! Do you want me to handcuff you?"
They break away when Dan releases his tight grip, distancing themselves. His chest is heaving, "That depends," he shrugs.
Phil shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose, "God, will you take this seriously for once?"
"Okay fine, take your mask off first."
"No! You're the one at fault here; why would you even consider that?"
"Why does my mask need to come off anyway?"
"Oh, I dunno - because we need identification," Phil snarls, "that's why."
"Yeah, uh, fuck that - I'll take the cuffs, please." Dan thrusts his wrists out, nearly punching Phil because of their proximity. Phil pockets his gun and retrieves his handcuffs, but by the time he looks back up, there's a gun pointed at him and two big brown eyes behind it. His breath hitches.
"Gotcha, officer," Dan purrs.
"I'm not an officer." Phil immediately growls, before internally marveling at the way his voice has been able to maintain steadiness.
Dan rolls his eyes, "whatever, detective, same thing."
Phil narrows his eyes, "Where the hell did you get that from? I searched you."
Dan cocks an eyebrow as he simultaneously cocks the trigger. Phil's heart jumps to his throat for a few reasons - some of which he won't admit to. "But did you search all of me?"
Phil swallows. There's only one place he could've hid it. "You bastard ," Phil gasps in realization. "I guess it was a gun in your pocket, then, huh."
Dan blinks, as if he wasn't expecting Phil to say something like that. He bursts into a short laugh, "both, I won't lie."
"So what now?" Phil stares pointedly at the gun, missing any implications of Dan's words. His mind is reeling as he wonders if there's any way to contact his team. He grasps for his phone subtly with a clammy fingers and speed dials a random contact from behind his back. It connects easily to his Bluetooth.
PJ's frazzled voice filters through his ears like the pure relief that filters through his bones, "Phil! Where are you? Lou said there was an explosion, and -"
"Now," Dan side-steps away, "now, you go report to your team that you didn't find anyone, and I can go back to my boring life."
"Yeah, I'm 'fraid that's not happening, Dan," Phil's eyebrows furrow. PJ silences immediately.
"Well, I have you at gunpoint; there's not much you can do," Dan frowns.
Phil nods, knowing this is all going to PJ, "Yeah, you're right." He just needs to draw this out until backup arrives. "You do have me at gunpoint."
Dan narrows his eyes, "What's going on," he mutters, "why are you repeating everything that I'm saying."
"Why? Well, that's a good question." Phil runs a thumb over his chin, a dramatic deep-in-thought pose. "A good question indeed," he muses.
Dan sighs, realization flickering over his mask-covered features, "Shit." Phil quirks an eyebrow. Dan drops the gun and scrubs a hand over his face, " shit! "
Phil doesn't care. He grabs the handcuffs and shoves them on Dan. "Bloody bastard," Phil mutters.
"Yeah, you are," Dan murmurs offhandedly. Phil ignores him.
"Right, Peej-" he shoots a wary glance at Dan, who seems to be listening intently to him, "Erm-" he clears his throat, "agent P," he corrects, "I've got him."
"Good work, Phil. Backup will be right over."
Phil drags Dan over to his jet-black Mazda 6 Sedan and waits for reinforcements. He lets Dan lean on it as he stares up at the stars. They're small, twinkling orbs in the velvety night sky.
"So, uh, all daddy jokes aside," Dan starts, breaking Phil from his stargazing trance, "what was your real name, again?"
Phil's leaning on the glossy window of his car, his arms crossed. When he glances towards Dan, he swears he sees the dark eyes wandering all over his suit-claden figure. "Greg," Phil grunts, trying to remain steady on his two feet. Dan's eyes are blazing when their gazes meet, and Phil's heart rate jumps.
"Greg. Yeah, right," Dan scoffs, finally looking away, "'Greg,' my foot."
There's a pause where Phil reels back the roiling wave of lust that's creeping into his skin. Dan needs to stop looking at him with those eyes.
"Fine, you're right. It's not Greg," Phil admits. Dan waits patiently for Phil to tell him his real name. It doesn't happen.
"Right, so what is it," he presses.
"Like I'd tell you."
"Aw, come on," Dan argues, "you know mine ."
"Well," Phil huffs, "suck it," he finally decides to say. It makes him feel childish and petty, but he's a terrible liar.
Dan raises an eyebrow. It's silent for a few moments, and then he's shrugging, "Would if I could."
Phil facepalms, "oh my god," he mutters under his breath, trying to repress the infuriating blush that's rushing to his face. He directs his frustration away with more pressing matters. What did Dan even do? Why did he do it? Was he behind the explosion? Phil lifts his head from his hands to look at Dan, "Are you an arsonist?" He finally asks.
Dan's mask almost blends in with the dark backdrop, but the pale, yellow light of the street lamps give it a soft glow of orange around its edges. "No, not really." Dan's brown eyes grow intense. It freezes the breath in Phil's lungs.
A realization dawns on Phil, "you know, I never got to take your mask off." He lip quirks when he hears Dan's sharp gasp. It's a sound of horror.
He steps forward.
"Don't," Dan pleads breathlessly. The sound sends heat coursing through Phil, even though it really shouldn't.
"Now that you're handcuffed, it'll be easier." Phil reaches Dan, who flings his head to the right. Phil chuckles, "I can still take it off, Dan."
"Please don't," Dan begs. "I'll do anything.
"Anything," Phil cocks an eyebrow.
Dan looks back at Phil and nods vehemently, "anything."
"You shouldn't offer that up so freely," Phil murmurs, "people can take advantage of that, you know."
Dan smiles, his eyes twinkling, "I know." His dimples carve into his cheeks beneath the bottom of the mask. "You're not 'people.'"
Phil tilts his head, a smile playing on his lips, "True." Then in a flash, he's ripping the ebony mask off.
" Hey! " Dan practically screeches. He's heaving now, streaks of red rushing through his skin, flushing it red from neck to cheekbones. Phil almost flinches back from the fierce furrow of Dan's eyebrows to the menacing glare simmering beneath his dark chocolate depths, before he remembers that Dan is handcuffed, and can't possibly attack him; if looks could kill, Phil would be dead by now. Even when Dan's enraged, he still looks almost like a Greek god with features he hadn't even known he liked on a human - from his nose to the curve of an eyebrow. There's just the slightest trace of where the mask has dented the skin - faint pink markings gliding along the smooth surface - and a few freckles on the slope of his cheekbones, which is dusted crimson. There's a rosy patch glowing on one his right cheek, and Phil has a sudden, unbearable urge to just... touch. His thumb involuntary flies up and traces the curve of where the mask had kissed the reddened skin. Dan sucks in a sharp breath. Long lashes flutter shut and cast shadows over cheekbones. Phil skims over his freckles, splattered over his skin like the constellations Phil had just been looking at.
-
Dan's breath hitches audibly when Phil's thumb drags over the fullness of his bottom lip. His eyes shutter open to meet Phil's, whose eyes are slightly blown. There's a sliver of teal blue encircling the black holes. Dan can only see this because of the yellow light that illuminates Phil's face.
Dan's skin is tingling. His lip is tingling where Phil touched it. He's tingling all over; a shiver passes down his spine, all the way down to the scrunch of his toes. No one's ever looked at him like that before, and he's had plenty of ex-lovers. He's still angry at Phil for taking off his mask, but now he's frustrated. He can feel warm blood heating his skin and he wants Phil's hands all over him - he wants to feel his gentle, delicate, merciless touch. He wants to feel it everywhere else. He wants ...
Dan releases a shuddery breath. "You better not leave me hanging," he grits.
"What?" Phil squints in confusion.
"You know damn well what I mean."
"No, I'm afraid I don't." Is that a smile twitching on Phil's pink lips? It's unfair that Phil still has his royal blue mask on.
"Do you want me to spell it out for you?" Dan glares. Phil's hands cup Dan's face. His breath is warm over Dan's lips. "Fucking kiss me," Dan whispers in the nonexistent space between them.
Phil kisses him. It's warm and wet and messy and heated, and Dan is still handcuffed. Hot sparks zip down his spine. He takes a sharp breath through his nose and moans softly when Phil nibbles along his lower lip, sucking on the morsel of flesh. Dan bites back in retaliation, and the kiss grows hot and heavy, tongue and teeth and intertwining and tangling. Phil's hands drift down from Dan's cheeks to his shoulders, where they clutch the material there. The sound of their wet smacking echoes in his ears, but is soon replaced by the sound of heavy breathing that fills the air when they break apart to catch their breath. Dan's lips are buzzing and there's a warm heat steadily simmering low in his stomach. Phil's lips are cherry red, his eyes dark and molten. Dan struggles to stay standing, but still manages to huff, "See, this would've been kinkier with the mask on ."
Phil chuckles breathlessly. "You're already handcuffed - isn't that enough?"
Dan shakes his head, his chest still heaving, "Never," he breathes, "It's never enough."
Phil rolls his eyes, "needy."
"Bastard."
"Arsehole."
"Twat."
Phil looks affronted.
"Hey," Dan murmurs, licking his swollen lips. His heart jolts when he sees Phil's dark eyes follow the motion. "You still haven't told me your name."
"Oh," Phil sighs, flicking his gaze away. "Right."
"Wait, shit." Dan gasps, "shit, you can't be..."
"What?" Phil frowns and their eyes meet again.
Dan's eyes bounce over Phil's features. Tall, blue eyes, black hair, pale skin. It matches all the descriptions that PJ had warned him about. Earlier, Phil had called someone named Peej, PJ's nickname. The memory blasts unforgivingly into Dan's mind.
PJ's eyes are deep green, "Hello, agent D." Dan nods in greeting as he shuts the door of the whitewashed-walled room. "Please, have a seat," PJ gestures to the chairs before him. Dan cautiously sits in the plushy maroon chair, his eyes filled to the brim with concern.
"I know you must have a lot of questions, but don't worry," PJ assures, "you're not in trouble." Dan bites his lip. Then why is he here? "I'm assigning you to a new job," PJ declares. "You are to work undercover as an arsonist."
Dan's breath hitches. He clears his throat, "Undercover, sir?"
"Yes, that's correct," PJ clicks away on his desktop computer. His face is a lighter shade than the usual tan due to the bright glow of the monitor. "Now, you'll get the actual details and all of the paperwork for the first mission later, but for now, I'll just warn you of this man."
PJ angles the monitor towards Dan. On it, there's a digital profile. The name on the top reads Phil Lester. Dan can barely process any of the details because his mind is reeling too fast. "Phil is a detective, and a bloody good one at that," PJ informs, shifting the screen back to himself, "he works against arsonists. He's also under our agency, but under absolutely no circumstances are you to tell him you work undercover," PJ's voice is stern and full of authority, "Are we clear on that?"
"Of course. I understand, sir."
"Good." PJ's green eyes are piercing into his own. It's as if he's scanning him for lies. "Good," PJ repeats. Absurdly, Dan feels like he had passed some sort of test. "So," PJ snaps his attention back to the monitor, "Agent Phil is tall - not as tall as you, but around the same height. Tall, blue eyes, black hair, and pale skin."
The words echo in Dan's mind, whistling like the wind. Tall, blue eyes, black hair, pale skin. It's him. It's Phil.
"Shit," Dan hangs his head and closes his eyes.
" What ?"
"Nothing, nothing," Dan mumbles, feeling lightheaded. He looks back up to meet Phil's eyes. Phil's blue eyes. " Shit ," he furrows his eyebrows, and his next question is uttered with a sense of trepidation, "you're not Phil, are you?"
Phil's eyes become guarded. His spine grows rigid, "Wh-o?" Alas, Phil still can't help the voice crack that escapes with his single-worded response. Dan bites his lip. It's him. It's Phil.
"Well, this is gonna be hard to explain, Phil," Dan sighs, "but I'm on your side." He ignores the warning bells ringing in his ears - the ones that are screaming at him to keep his mouth shut. You're undercover! You're the bad guy right now.
Phil is quiet for a long time. His blue eyes are calculating. At last, he exhales, "I fucking knew it," Phil looks like he's about to kick his shiny car hard enough to dent it, "I fucking knew we had an undercover working for us." Phil paces back and forth before Dan. "I knew it! Why doesn't Peej tell me anything, that arsehole."
Dan's stomach jumps to his chest as Phil whips out a phone.
"Wait!" Dan shrieks, "you can't tell him, I'll die!"
Phil freezes, "What?" Dan is breathing unsteadily.
"I- I'll die."
Phil deadpans and raises an eyebrow.
"Okay fine," Dan huffs, "I won't die , but there's a big possibility that the pyromaniacs will bug up my flat with explosives and kill me."
Once again, Phil looks at him for a long time. His gaze is unnerving. "How do I know I can trust you?"
Dan exhales lengthily. He knew this question would've arose, but there's no way around it. "I..." He swallows around a dry throat, clinging to the hope that Phil's decisions rest on his intuition and not solely on logic. He finally connects his gaze with Phil, hoping his eyes will convey his integrity, "Other than knowing your name, I have no possible way to prove myself to you right now." Phil doesn't break his gaze, and they have an intense staring contest. Dan refuses to break even though he feels beads of sweat clinging to his forehead. And is it just him, or does he feel another kind of energy tugging between them? It's more electric and does something weird to Dan's insides. And his breathing pattern. It's probably just the nerves.
Phil is the one to break the gaze. When he glances away, the lamplight adds shadows to the contours of his face, where his elegant mask hides any emotion that Dan can't pick up on. There's a tight coil of nerves in Dan's chest, and he gingerly shifts on his feet. "Okay, fine," Phil sighs, "I believe you." Phil moves to uncuff him. Dan blinks, a wave of dizzying relief rushing through him; it's like a ten-ton weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He releases the breath he didn't know he was holding. "I'll tell them you ran away," Phil continues before barging into Dan's personal space, "but this better not be a mistake, Dan," his breath is warm on Dan's cheeks, and Dan can smell the mild scent of Phil's aftershave.
They're so close that Dan can see the pale yellow, aquamarine colors merging together in Phil's eyes, "Don't worry, Phil," Dan's eyes jump down to Phil's lips, and he can feel Phil's breath hitch over his tingling lips, "it's not a mistake." Dan's lip curves as he flicks his hazel orbs back up to meet Phil's surreal eyes - eyes that are fixed to something below eye-level. "How about a goodbye kiss?"
"Fuck it," Phil grabs him. They collide in a mess of fumbling limbs and locked lips. Dan's hands fly up to his shoulders, to his hair, before dragging down, over anything he can touch. Phil's mouth his hot and wet, and he can taste the lingering of sparkling wine on his tongue. Phil kisses him with all the pent-up emotion he's bottled up for the past weeks. They're rushing. Reinforcements will probably be here any second now.
This time when they drift apart to breathe, Phil dives down to Dan's neck, and the sound that flies from Dan's mouth is a choked cry of his name. It has heat pooling low in Phil's gut. He licks over the golden skin, and should be repulsed by the taste of sweat and salt, but it spurs him on instead. Dan releases a shuddery breath and his hands fling to Phil's hair, where he crushes silky strands in his grasp. Phil groans against his neck.
"Fuck," Dan gasps. "Fuck me."
***
"Do all agents carry handcuffs?" Dan asks as he climbs the steps to one of his private apartments.
"A few," Phil responds gruffly. Dan's keys jingle as he hastily unlocks the door. As soon as it squeaks open, he's dragging Phil inside, and Phil whirls him around and slams him against the door, which closes behind him with a wham!
Phil's mouth is unrelenting, hot, wet, burning. It has his heart thudding in his chest, and it sets his nerves aflame. Dan is heaving before he can stop it. Phil's hands are roaming all over him, from tugging at his curls to squeezing his shoulders, to rucking up his dress-shirt (their suit jackets had flown off earlier). Dan somehow forces himself to break off from the kiss with a wet smack so that he can unbutton the confounded buttons of his shirt. His hands are shaking as they flutter over the smooth, round surfaces.
"Damned things," Dan huffs down at them. Phil smiles, his cerulean orbs twinkling behind his mask, and he uses the opportunity to inhale into Dan's neck, before biting over the smooth skin. Dan's eyes scrunch shut, "fuck, Phil, that-"
"What?"
Dan hisses as Phil bites down, slightly harder, allowing the blood vessels to bloom on dampened surface. "Nothing, it just feels so- fuck ."
Phil chuckles against his collarbone, and Dan shudders against the wall because he feels the tingling hickeys cool with the short puff of hot air. Once Dan finally manages to rip his shirt off (rather unceremoniously), he crashes his mouth into Phil's again. It's like he can't get enough of him, of his taste, his scent, his lips, his hands. Phil kisses him with unbridled passion, and Dan's body is buzzing with heat. A wave of wantonness crashes over him as Phil groans his name when he pulls on his hair, maybe a tad too rough, and suddenly Dan can feel Phil pressing into him, his heat against his own, a hardness digging into his hip. Dan gasps.
He breaks away, and almost laughs at the heartbroken look that flickers through Phil's eyes. "Bedroom," Dan breathes, and the look is gone. It's replaced with dilated irises and a dark, molten, electric-blue stare that makes Dan want to sink to his knees right then and there.
"Yeah, okay," Phil nods, swallowing thickly, "Bedroom."
"You still have the cuffs, right?"
"Yes."
"And the mask?"
" Yes , Dan."
"Great."
"Lube?" Phil checks.
Dan nods vehemently, "Yes, fuck yes. Let's go."
He pulls Phil all the way there, but can't help it if he needs to taste those lips again. They only get distracted twice though - once next to the faintly glowing lamp by the side table, and once by the door to a closet, where Phil had pinned his hands to the wall kissed him hard enough to see stars as he pushed a knee between Dan's wobbly legs.
"Take your mask off," Dan says once he shuts the door. Phil sucks in a breath.
"Dan, are-"
"Take it off. Take everything off."
Phil's eyes widen, and Dan swears he sees the corner of his pink lips quirk as he removes the mask, revealing his face.
Dan's breath halts. "Fucking hell."
"What?"
Dan mimics what Phil had done to him. He runs his hands over the porcelain skin, tracing the pinkened marks of where the mask had kissed the pale cheekbones.
"What," Phil whispers, his gaze searching Dan's.
Dan kisses Phil's nose, "You're beautiful, Phil."
A dust of pink settles over Phil's high cheekbones, and Dan's chest surges. They don't know who initiate it, but somehow they find each other's mouths again, and they're kissing in slow, heavy, heated breaths, and slow, heavy, heated grinds, and Dan whimpers when Phil brushes over his length with in his hand. Clothes are flying off, and Dan finds himself falling back onto his bed.
Phil clambers over him. His pale thighs are bracketing Dan's. Dan's breath hitches. Phil is all pale skin and beauty marks and firm muscles and azure blue eyes. His eyes drift down to the flushed skin of Phil's length, nestled right above Dan's own. Dan restrains himself from touching and licking - because for some reason he's completely powerless beneath Phil and his ethereal blue eyes that pin him down to the bed with ease. All he can do is try to control his breathing and allow himself to be completely at Phil's mercy. "Lube?" Phil pants.
Dan yanks open his side table and flings the bottle towards Phil, who catches it and pops the lid open. The first touch jolts him from his senses, "Shit, that's just as cold as I remember." Dan grits.
Phil chuckles in agreement, "Sorry," but soon takes both of them in his hands. Dan feels the heat instantly. "Fuck," he grunts, eyebrows furrowing. Phil's hand wraps around them both smoothly, and he fluidly snaps his wrist and shifts his hips so that there's delicious, burning friction that Dan didn't know he'd been craving until now. Dan releases a few undignified whimpers and muffled moans as Phil continues. He's leaking by the time Phil twists his hand at the top of their skin in a way that makes Dan's vision whiten out. His lower lip is caught in his teeth. He opens his scrunched eyes to see Phil's face twisted in pleasure. The sight, already engraved deep in his memory, has Dan panting like a wild animal.
"Yeah, fuck the masks," Dan breathes. "And fuck me. God, you're slow."
"You're just eager," Phil responds, his voice low and shiver-inducing.
"Are you going to finger me or do I have to do it myself?"
"See? Eager," Phil's lip quirks.
"Is that really a crime," Dan huffs, before his eyes widen, "are you going to handcuff me for it?"
Phil snorts, before purring, "Depends. Is that something you'd want?"
Dan's length is pulsing distractingly, so he can't filter the words that fly from his mouth, "yes, cuff me, daddy." Dan's face blooms red. "Fuck, did I just say that out loud?"
Phil bursts into a short laugh, "I knew you had a daddy kink. I could just see it."
Dan rolls his eyes, willing the redness in his cheeks to dissipate, "Can we please just... forget that happened."
Phil traces a pale finger over Dan's nipple, teasing, "Nah."
Dan's eyes squeeze shut, "Fuck you," he manages to exhale around a clenched jaw.
"Hmm, that's the plan."
Phil's on him again, trailing a kiss from Dan's nipple, licking over the pebble of his rosy skin, down to his abdomen, to the trail leading down, downwards, just a little bit more , Dan begs internally. He locks his hands behind his head, burying his fingers into his mess of curly hair. It's not handcuffs, but it's something. Dan can't bear to look down, lest he comes.
Then he feels Phil's tongue on him, and every fiber in his body spasms, which has him crying out. He must've said Phil's name aloud amidst the unintelligible babblings, because Phil's responding, "Yes?"
"Please, please, just -" Dan's words are jumbled. They're flying out in a breathless scramble of incoherent words as Phil engulfs him in the tight, wet heat of his mouth. Dan's toes scrunch as the air fills with breathless strings of obscenities, dripping from his mouth like the precome that trickles from his length, which is soon licked off by the slow, torturous drag of Phil's tongue. He doesn't know what to do with his hands. Phil does something with his tongue that causes Dan to arch back on his bed. " Phil ." It's the only word he's capable of saying now.
Phil pops off with a wet, sinful sound, and Dan is breathless and completely wrecked. He opens his eyes and his vision is hazy. His dazed eyes rove over the lithe figure before him. Phil's usually-pale skin is now flushed a deep, cherry red all the way to the tops of his broad shoulders. When their gazes meet, Dan feels shivers run down his spine and flutter over his skin because Phil's eyes are like blazing blue embers, scorching over him and alighting the fires in his veins. Dan's eyes close - and are those angels singing in the background? - because he hears the cap of the lube pop open, and he knows what Phil's about to do now.
"I'm going to fuck you, now, okay, Dan?"
Dan nods jerkily, "Fucking finally," he mutters. He barely catches Phil's snort because then there's a finger prodding at his hole, and Dan's thighs are quivering. His breath comes out in short puffs as Phil scissors in, gently and tenderly stroking into him. Dan feels a wave of fire licking through him, low in his stomach, and he can't stop himself from rutting down over Phil's fingers.
"H-harder," he lets out a strangled gasp.
Phil obliges. Then Dan feels him hit something that causes tingles to erupt over every inch of skin, " fuck, " he groans, the sound choked around a hitch in breath, "there," Dan pants, "there, do that again." He can see stars burning and bright orbs, planets crumbling amidst the dark ravine of his closed eyes. Phil's tongue is like a burning brand on his collarbone. His hot breaths wash over his clavicle and prickle the skin of his flushed neck. Dan's hands fly to Phil's shoulders and clutch his bare skin as he rocks himself over pale fingers. "So good, Phil," he continues to murmur into the heated air.
Phil presses wet splotches over the sharp ridge of Dan's collarbones, and Dan can't take it anymore. He whimpers, "Will you please fuck me now, for fuck's sake." His voice is hoarse and he doesn't care if he's begging. All dignity has flown out the window at this point.
"Alright, alright."
There's a flutter of a papery sound, and then Phil aligns himself and takes a deep breath. "Ready?" He glances up, and their eyes meet, long enough for Dan to feel that electric crackle sizzle between them.
Dan's face is crimson-red, "Phil, I swear to god-"
Phil pushes in, killing off the breath in Dan's lungs. It's a torturously slow process that has searing, white-hot heat spreading through Dan's body, and Phil soon bottoms out. Dan can barely hear his own groaning over pulse roaring in his ears, " move , damnit."
Phil starts to move - slowly and agonizing at first.
"Unngh, you're killing me," Dan sighs, which is followed by a sharp gasp. Dan feels a magma of lava flowing through his blood, down his chest and into his veins, bursting at his nerve-endings. Phil has started to drop more hickeys near Dan's collarbone, and down over his chest. Dan's hands dive into Phil's hair, where he tugs harshly. "Fuck," he utters as Phil grunts and picks up the pace. Dan can feel the heat tightening, pooling deep in his stomach. His length bobs obscenely, precome drooling out and streaming over his damp skin.
Phil wraps a hand around it, and Dan arches into his hold, "Phil, Phil, " he mewls.
"Yes," Phil groans, his hot breath dripping over Dan's nipple.
"Kiss me."
Finally a request that Phil can immediately oblige to. Dan's hands find Phil's shoulders once again. His nails dig into the rose-dusted skin. Phil's tongue licks into Dan's needy mouth, hot and wet and swirling, swallowing all gasps and grunts. " Harder ." Dan commands after breaking off with a loud slick, "I won't break."
Phil guides Dan's legs around him and hooks them over his hips, and Dan smothers a moan as Phil chokes out a gasp. At this angle, Dan can feel everything , and it's destroying his ability to breathe - his ability to think coherently . Phil hammers in, and Dan shrieks, pleasure pulsing through him in shockwaves. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, Phil ." His fingernails glide down the expanse of Phil's back, leaving four angry red streaks in its wake. The sound of their skin slapping together rings in Dan's ears. His lips are chapped as he breathes into Phil's neck, which smells faintly of raspberries, and he darts his tongue out to lick along a pale collarbone. Phil groans, which has Dan moaning over his pale skin.
"I'm close," Phil's puffs, his lips brushing against Dan's ear, the breath warm over Dan's earring, which Phil takes into his mouth. The silver band is metallic and cool in his mouth, and fireworks erupt in Dan's vision as he's pushed over the edge.
He tightens his arms around Phil's neck and buries his head into his neck. His knuckles turn white as he grips onto Phil like a liferaft, and he groans strings of Phil's name and other expletives as streaks of white release paint over their torsos. Phil comes a moment later, and Dan can feel the swell of his length inside him, pulsing and full. A moment later, Dan dissolves into the damp sheets, breathless and utterly spent. He winces as Phil pulls away, and he hears a solid thunk of something being tossed into the dustbin. Then there's warm flesh besides him, and an arm snaking around his waist. Dan's heart swells. There are still small tingles flooding through his skin.
"Well," Dan sighs, close to the dregs of sleep. "That that turned out to be a lot less kinkier than what I had expected, but..."
Phil laughs, and Dan feels the warm breath of air on his neck, "next time," Phil promises.
Dan breath hitches, and he suddenly feels more awake despite the bliss-fogged state of his mind. "Next time?"
Phil's breath hitches and he stutters, "I mean, if you want a next time, then uh, yeah, next time, but you know, like -" Dan cuts off Phil's rambling.
A sleepy smile splits across his face, "Next time," he repeats, a confirmation. He likes the sound of that. He mulls it over as he drifts off to sleep. The last thing he feels before the hazy abyss of sleep takes over is a soft, papery-thin pressure of Phil's lips on his jaw. His heart flutters and he snuggles into the security of Phil's arms. Finally, he allows the static fog of sleep to descend over him.