Chapter Text
Christmas, Phil had always said, arrived too early. Every year the creep extended its grubby little tinsel paws almost into Halloween, the music blaring in every shop and the decorations festooning streetlamps when they should still be in basement boxes. This year, however, he got into the spirit earlier than usual. By the third week of November, he’d strung fairy lights across every bannister and railing, and ordered a full thirty meters of fir swags from the local school fundraiser. And five wreaths. And six gingerbread house kits. The Twelve Days of Christmas deserved an update.
On the first day of Christmas, my credit card debt gave to me,
Seven boxes of ornaments,
Six gingerbread house kits,
Five pre-lit wreaths,
Four new Santa hats,
Three festive hand towels,
Two inflatable Grinches,
And a five meter Grand fir tree.
Yeah, he was bored. The reality of his solitude had long lost its glamour, the jokes fell flat, the public punchline of their codependency a painful fracture of the truth. He missed Dan. He missed his friend, his partner, his other half, the only one who could reach behind the camera and pull him back to reality. When Phil saw his own face in YouTube stills or Tumblr posts, it made his skin crawl. The man in that image was him, yet nothing could be further from the truth. Sometimes, he did not feel like a performer or entertainer or artist. Sometimes, he was an animal trapped in a glass cage to be studied and dissected at will. And never had he been more acutely aware of his self imprisonment in this glittering glass castle than when Dan was absent from their bed, their couch, their city. Sure, he spent most of his day perfectly functional, only playing up the distress for laughs on social media, but the sheets were cold when he crawled into bed each night, a private pain.
So.
Christmas.
Let’s get this shit lit.
“How did you even get it in the house?” Dan marveled while they video chatted one day, getting a tour of the partially decorated house.
“You think I can’t move a giant tree into the house by myself?” Phil huffed.
“Not unless you started taking steroids the minute I was gone.” Dan paused, then added, “Oh, you bribed the builders, didn’t you?”
“Now you’re just being mean!” Phil had, of course, sweet talked the construction team into moving the tree indoors, although he liked to think his directions constituted the bulk of the work.
“Yeah, whatever. Don’t decorate it until I get home.”
“Don’t worry, I’m too busy blowing into the Grinch’s hole.” Phil turned the camera to face the massive green nylon currently crumpled on the floor.
“Get that Grussy, Lester.”
“D’you think the Grinch is gay?”
“I think the Grinch visits the Whoville gloryhole once a year to get his rocks off before disappearing from view.”
Phil attached the blower to the inflatable hole (and god did that sound wrong) because he sure as hell didn’t have the lung capacity for that shit. On the tiny screen, Dan was getting dressed backstage, the overlapping chatter in the background muffled by a closed dressing room door.
“Is the Grinch’s cum green, d’you think?”
“Why the fuck are you horny for the Grinch all of a sudden? And no, it’s not green, that’s stupid.”
“You’re asking why I’m horny for a grumpy asshole with a hidden heart of gold?” Phil stared pointedly and Dan grimaced.
“Call me that again and I’m moving out.”
“Okay I’ll go back to jerking off to Jim Carrey in green body paint.”
Dan didn’t rise to the bait. “Have fun with that.”
They sat in silence together as Dan applied the barest hint of concealer and foundation, trying to disguise his puffy eyes and uneven skin. Sleep, it seemed, was losing the battle to insomnia.
“Text me if your flight info changes.”
“So you can make sure to show up with two dozen red roses?”
“Nah, gotta clean up the Grussy before you get home.”
Then he ended the call, and he didn’t see Dan’s face outside of the occasional photo for almost a week. In that time, Phil made a cursory glance around the internet for Grinch porn and sent the worst screenshots to Dan, before making a batch of green slime and letting it drip down his face for the worst possible photoshoot imaginable.
I was right wrt grinch cum
Shit looks radioactive
Cells are mutating as we speak
Phil had spent weeks trying to ignore the calendar in their office where Dan had helpfully listed his tour dates and return flight info. For the first time in his life, Dan fucking Howell had decided to be organized and helpful, if only for the apparent sole purpose of pissing Phil off. Love was overrated. But as the Christmas music piped through the house and he spent hours editing content and filming reaction videos, he couldn’t help glancing at the calendar. The date was inching closer, and he hated the way his stomach flipped at the idea. Like any good comedian, he transformed his discomfort into content for the masses, forgoing emotional candor for internet engagement.
Dan’s gonna be home in a few days. Hoping I survive him seeing the state of the phouse.
Googling plant necromancy, brb
Shit gotta get rid of the hunk I have tied up in the basement before Dan gets home, don’t know how to explain it
He didn’t end up tweeting that last one, seeing the draft on his screen and clicking delete because it was extremely funny but also too close to home. Too many fans had tweeted at him varieties of how are you surviving your husband being gone or have you been able to sleep ok with the bed being empty. He ignored the messages and tried to move on, tried not to resent Dan for being away for two months or, worse, the hint of anger gnawing at the edges of his mind for being forced to say friend. When those thoughts came, the scream building in a dusty corner of his psyche, he refused to give them words. Instead, he went to play a video game and imagine Dan’s voice in his ear don’t button smash, oh my god you suck at this. It put a smile on his face where otherwise there might be a scowl. Can’t have frown lines if you’re on camera constantly.
When the day finally came, Phil woke up to a series of texts:
At JFK, security looks brutal
Shit the line was fast and customs was painless, now im bored
Are you seriously asleep already, it isn’t even midnight your time
Oh wait it’s past midnight i can’t do math
Twitter is still collectively losing their shit over my tour, good
They think all the plants will be dead when I get home. If they are, you’re sleeping on the couch for the rest of our lives
Flight taking off
Flight landed. Fuck im tired
Are you seriously not awake yet
He’d briefly considered meeting Dan at the airport and taking a taxi back home together, but the idea of reuniting in public made his skin crawl. Instead, he waited for the inevitable phone call as Dan tried to avoid small talk with the driver.
“I could still be asleep, you know.” Phil said as he sipped his coffee and took inventory of their cereal. Down to half a box, oops.
“Don’t care, I wanted to chat.”
“You wanted to avoid talking to the driver, you mean?” He poured himself a bowl of Weetabix and stifled a yawn.
“Yeah yeah whatever. I never got proof of life about my houseplants.”
“Wow, I missed you too, can’t wait to see you once you get home after abandoning me for two months.”
“So they’re all dead and shriveled now, aren’t they?”
“No, they’re all still alive and green!”
“Because you painted the leaves green?”
“Hey! I’m gonna hang up on you now, see you when you get home.”
“No Phil wait-”
Phil made good on his threat, pressing the disconnect button before grinning widely. God he missed Dan. He missed his face, his smile, his laugh, but more than anything, he missed the endless teasing. There was nothing quite as reassuring as bullying your partner because you knew they couldn’t leave. Ah, absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Just as Phil was contemplating finishing the entire box of cereal just to piss off Dan, he heard the Ring doorbell chime. Still dressed in pajamas, Phil made his way to the front of the house as Dan was coming through the door, suitcases in tow. For a moment, they just looked at each other. Video chats were a paltry substitute for in person interactions, the papers always said, but Phil had not truly believed it until now. Until he was finally seeing Dan in person for the first time in two months and could see all the tiny details he’d missed on the screen. The way his shoulders were hunched slightly with the fatigue of a long journey, his hair unkempt and frizzy, the whisper of his jacket against fabric and skin. Dan shut the door.
“Thank fuck I’m home.” The words were casual but his eyes never left Phil’s face as the exhaustion crinkling his eyes eased slightly. “Surprised you didn’t color your hair.”
“Thought about it.” Phil stepped forward to grab Dan’s luggage but was intercepted in a crushing hug.
Nestled together in the entry way for several long minutes, they were finally able to inhale each other’s scents. Buried beneath deodorant and airplane funk and laundry detergent was the indescribable smell of skin and sweat as unique as their fingerprints. Video calls couldn’t replace it, nor could they replace the comforting press of their bodies and the solidity of the heartbeat reverberating in their chests. Emotions washed over Phil in a rather embarrassing cascade of relief and arousal. Luckily his dick didn’t take interest in the proceedings, given Dan’s slump.
“I need a shower.” Dan said against his shoulder, voice muffled by fabric.
“I’ll bring you breakfast.”
It became terribly domestic, then, as Phil toasted a couple slices of bread and smeared one with butter, the other with marmalade. Long flights and shitty airplane food left them nauseous, so Dan would want something easily digestible. He also fetched clean pajamas, leaving them on the bathroom counter with the plate of toast. Hearing the door open, Dan poked his head around the curtain, hair sudsy with shampoo.
“Thanks.”
“Enjoying yourself?”
“God I’ve missed our water pressure, those tour bus showers are shit.”
“I can’t believe you showered on the bus! I told you those water tanks are disgusting!”
Dan rolled his eyes and closed the curtain, yelling over the water, “Just go grab a bottle of bleach and douse me, then!”
Phil considered the option seriously for a moment before deciding that would be too dramatic even for him. Instead, he dressed in real clothes and retreated to the living room to resume his second play through of A Plague Tale. It would be hours before he saw Dan: after his shower, he’d immediately crawl into bed and sleep off the jet lag. In the meantime, he had video games to play and work to procrastinate, as usual.
Around 1pm, as Phil was contemplating his lack of proper nutrition that day and deliberating his Deliveroo order, he got a text.
Alive. I think
A smile crept across his face as he responded:
Glad I don’t have to pull a corpse from our bed. Deliveroo order?
Pizza. From the good place
A few minutes later, Dan plopped on the couch next to him, hair messy and pajamas rumpled. He watched silently for a few minutes as Phil led the little French girl through slums and past hordes of plague infested rats.
“You suck at combat.” Dan yawned before flinging his legs into Phil’s lap and slumping against the cushions. “Haven’t you already played this? Why do you still suck so bad?”
“Wow, how did I survive two whole months without endless criticism of my gaming?” Phil retorted, before using his slingshot to kill an enemy soldier. “I’d like to see you do better.”
“Yeah all right, give it here.”
Phil passed the controller over and pretended to watch the game play. But he was distracted by the heavy weight of Dan’s legs in his lap and the simple comfort of his presence. Two months of their routine being absolutely fucked, his daily life having become a hollow shell of normalcy, and now Dan was home. Finally. Draped over the couch like an overgrown lizard lounging in the sun and absolutely wrecking the shit out of his gaming stats.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Phil demanded as Dan threw smoke bombs at his digital allies. “Those were the good guys!”
“Yeah I don’t care.”
“Oh my god, if you’re going to ruin my shit then give me the controller back.” He reached for it, but Dan pulled it away.
“I haven’t played a proper video game in two months, I deserve some time with the Playstation.”
“It was your choice to go on tour!” Phil made another grab for the controller and missed.
“Yeah and now that I’m home I want to game.”
“Then let’s play Mario Kart or something multiplayer.”
“Hmm, no, I want to keep ruining your second play through.” Dan shot him a crafty little grin and Phil realized he was being baited. Well fuck you, he’d take that goddamn bait, Howell.
Pushing Dan’s legs off his lap, Phil used the moment of distraction to pluck the controller from his hands and chuck it to the floor (“Hey! Rude!”) before draping himself over Dan.
“Oof.” But he didn’t sound particularly annoyed.
“Don’t mess with my Steam stats, Dan.”
“I’m so sorry to have hampered your chances of getting a slightly less shitty completion score.” Accompanied with an eyeroll of extreme exaggeration.
“And you’re hampering your chances of getting laid anytime soon.”
“Oh yeah?” Dan rolled his hips slightly, and the friction sent a shiver through Phil. “I call bullshit on that particular threat.”
“What, you think I’m easy or something?”
“I think you’ve been gagging for my dick for weeks, Lester.”
“Well-”
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Dan reached up and pulled his head down, mashing their faces together in a hungry kiss.
The world fell away, as was always reported in romance novels but never seemed to happen in real life. Phil was only aware of his lips against Dan’s, of their bodies once more pressed together, this time with gravity on his side. He’d nearly forgotten just how good Dan tasted, his spit hinting of toothpaste, his lips still sweet from marmalade, his whole mouth familiar and fucking incredible. Everything was fucking incredible in that moment, the way his dick had woken up and was finally rubbing against Dan’s body and not his own hand, the way he could feel Dan’s little moans vibrate in his chest. Their phone sex had been fun, an easy stop gap measure, but even just making out in person blew it out of the water. It had been too long since he’d been able to run his hands through Dan’s hair, which he did now, luxuriating in the softness. Underneath him, Dan was making little twitchy circles with his hips and tiny bucks, as if he could control the course of things despite being trapped. Which, to his credit, he absolutely fucking could. Phil let himself feel everything he’d been missing for the past two months. He ran his hand across Dan’s face, the stubble a gentle scratch, then down his side, suddenly hating this fucking tee shirt he’d placed on the bathroom counter. Underneath, Dan’s skin was as soft as he remembered, curling his fingers through the sprinkle of hair on his chest and down his belly. Dan moaned at the touch before breaking away.
“Fuck, we’re to old for sex on the couch.”
“Bullshit, it’s a very ergonomic couch.”
Dan paused, considering, before shrugging and reaching up to yank Phil’s shirt off. “Yeah alright, but I don’t want to hear you complain about your back tomorrow.”
Phil scoffed before trying to pull Dan’s shirt off, frowning when it didn’t come easily. “Sit up, I can’t get your shirt off.”
“Fuck’s sake, you’re sitting on me!”
“Oh my god stop being so dramatic.” But Phil relented, scooching backwards enough for Dan to sit up and pull his shirt off. Before he could get distracted again, he shucked the rest of his clothes off and watched Dan do the same. Seeing Dan lay nude on the off white couch made his cock twitch.
“I was one hundred percent expecting your pubes to be dyed green.” Dan murmured as he stared at Phil’s groin, fueled by curiosity and arousal.
“That would’ve been hilarious.” Phil laughed before crawling back on top and kissing him.
Two months. Two long months where they hadn’t dragged their naked bodies against each other, hadn’t felt the flush of hot skin or the hitching of breath each time their cockheads brushed, loneliness finally abating in the face of utter horniness. Phil had thought thirteen years would be long enough to dim his attraction or dampen his raging libido, but it all came flooding back when he reached a hand down to grasp their dicks. Like they were young again, discovering each other’s bodies for the first, second, third time. Like they were in Manchester in a shitty apartment trying to keep quiet so their neighbors couldn’t hear. Like they were closeted to their families and stealing kisses in the garden during holidays so grandma didn’t have a heart attack. Dan’s body underneath him felt the same, pale and lithe and trembling, their cocks weeping with clear pre-cum. Then Dan’s hand joined his, assertive in the way he’d never been as a young man, and the present reality came flooding back. Their couch wasn’t the dingy stained pre-owned of their first apartment. It was an expensive sofa purchased from a catalogue to compliment the color scheme of their new house, another addition to the carefully constructed home of their dreams. A home made possible because they had bared their minds and souls to the world and received a startling audience in return. Those long pale fingers which he’d been so mesmerized by when they tickled piano ivories now wrapped around his cock as they fell into an easy rhythm. They hadn’t even stopped kissing. There was no need to break away to gasp for breath when your nose was functional, no need to reposition when you’ve done this hundreds of times.
As a teenager, he’d thought sex would become boring when it’s been with the same person for a decade. As an adult, he’d realized that was true. It had become boring, but in the best possible way. He didn’t perform any more, didn’t try any fancy tricks to impress his partner because it was pointless. Dan knew him inside and out, and any changes to their intimacy was mere curiosity. As they panted into each other’s mouths, the sensations across his skin and in his muscles were the same exquisite zings of pleasure he always got from sex. The orgasm curling in his balls and in the base of his spine was achingly familiar, like the takeaway curry that never changed. Because perfection, he reasoned, could not be improved. And it was perfection every time. Regardless of the time and place, sex with Dan was an act of love which could never become dull despite the simple act, because the act was not the important part. Even the orgasm was secondary. It was the connection, the touching of skin and the sharing of breath and the flood of hormones making his head dizzy, the stripping of barriers and the intimacy which still made him weak with desire after thirteen years.
Phil broke away and stopped stroking, grinning at Dan’s grumble of discontent and the slight frown twitching his lips. Then he crawled backwards and, fulfilling his desire for the past two months, two fucking months dammit, he swallowed Dan’s cock. Dan let out a strangled moan and Phil hummed, the heavy weight in his mouth a blessed relief. The skin soft, the flesh hard, he licked and sucked like he was a starving man arriving at a banquet. Which, as he listened to Dan’s pants grow louder and felt his dick twitching, Phil was. Starving for contact and the physical need for his partner, no longer wanting his own hand or the shitty screen pixels. He needed the smell flooding his nose and the taste in his mouth, the salt of his pre-cum and the sweat from his groin and the softness of his testicle skin as he ran a tongue across Dan’s sack.
“Fuck,” Dan moaned. “Fuck I’m gonna come.”
It wasn’t a warning, it was a revelation. When his body seized and Phil’s mouth was flooded with semen, Dan almost shouted. Afterwards, in the eternity of the heartbeat after orgasm as his blood tried desperately to recirculate, Dan blinked in wonder.
“Holy shit I haven’t come that hard in months.”
“Two months?” Phil said after he swallowed.
“Yeah. Oh fuck you.” He added, seeing the grin spread across Phil’s face. “I’ll have you know that Buc-ee’s gloryhole was phenomenal.”
“Luckily I’m Phil-onmenal.” And he laughed at his own joke while Dan stared in disbelief.
“I hate you.” Apparently he wasn’t amused. Too bad.
“Well, I’m still hard.”
Dan fixed him with a sour look. “Dunno what you think you’re getting from me, buddy, after you sucked my soul out then hit me with a shit pun.”
“Dan.” Phil settled against the couch, his erection never flagging.
“Phil.” He responded in the same tone, trying to focus on his face and failing miserably.
“Suck my dick.”
“Well, when you put it like that…” Dan groaned as he pulled himself upright and resettled with his head in Phil’s lap.
The angle was disappointing from a visual perspective, Phil being unable to see Dan’s face, only his dark curls. But the sensation of his mouth was sublime, per usual. He tried not to buck, tried to be polite, but he’d only had his hand for two months. Now, the hot wetness surrounding him was destroying his etiquette. With a gentle grip, he weaved his hand through those gorgeous dark curls and held Dan’s head. A soft noise of approval told him that Dan could still breathe, which was a relief to the tiny part of Phil’s mind that still thought about something other than holy fuck his mouth. Tiny thrusts came from his hips, aborted halfway to prevent choking, but Dan gripped his thighs and pulled. Oh thank fuck.
Phil stopped trying to hold back and let his lizard brain take over, hips bucking without concern for Dan’s airway. The tongue against his skin and the soft pull of lips and throat making him moan and stutter, the anticipation of weeks heightening every sensation. He did not think about the sounds escaping his mouth, did not try to swallow them for the sake of propriety nor exaggerate them for the sake of sex appeal. He simply existed in the moment, totally ignorant as to his appearance. Dan had seen him in every form imaginable and still happily fucked him. When they’d first met, Dan had touched him with caution and fearful wonder, a skittish eighteen year old who wanted so desperately but didn’t know how. Now, he moved with a knowledge that could only be learned from endless repetitions: exactly how to drag his tongue across Phil’s frenulum, when to pull off and when to suck, responding to every sound with near instant alterations. Dan was using his free hand to stroke his balls and taint and asshole, just as he had on screen dressed as a nun or naked in the bus bedroom, the image seared into Phil’s head that was now being repeated on his body. For his part, Dan also didn’t perform. There was no sense of hesitation or coquettish gestures, only frenzied lust driving his movements. Sometimes, Phil would look at him and wonder how the hell they ever made it. Then Dan would smile at him and the thought would vanish like dew under a warm sun.
The blowjob lasted for an eternity, it felt to Phil, letting him build to a crescendo before teetering on the edge for a lifetime. There he dangled, the heat in his groin almost unbearable and the tension in his genitals making him want to shout in animalistic pleasure. Then, he tumbled over the cliff. His orgasm ripped through his body, leaving his ears ringing and his voice hoarse from the strangled cry as Dan gripped his shuddering thighs. He sat on the couch panting. Dan looked up at him, licking the last drops of cum from his lips, and grinned.
“I missed you.”
“Couldn’t tell.” Phil shot back with a lazy grin.
They sat for another moment, another minute, another hour and lifetime in the stillness of orgasmic bliss, enjoying the silence of connection. Then, Phil’s phone pinged.
“Oh, the pizza is here.”
Dan glanced at their nudity. “Rock paper scissors.”
Phil lost, of course, and quickly dressed to answer the door. They lounged on the couch afterwards, shoveling pepperoni into their mouths and sipping soda.
“Fuck, I think I missed Ribena more than you.” Dan said as he took his first sip, eyes closed.
“Yeah that’s fair. Still can’t believe they don’t have it in America.”
“Total bullshit. I think the fungus is a cover story.”
“For what?”
“I think,” Dan said dramatically, “Coke knows it would lose to Ribena so it invented a black currant fungus to prevent import.”
Phil burst out laughing, nearly spraying pizza sauce and soda over the room. God, he’d missed this. They turned on the TV, eager to get back to the multitude of shows and the backlog of movies from Dan’s absence. As they queued up the first episode of Andor, Phil glanced at Dan. The fatigue had vanished from his face, replaced with the quiet contentment of being home. Dan caught Phil looking at him, but didn’t crack a joke, didn’t poke fun, just smiled. Warm, kind, his eyes crinkling with love. The time apart had been rough, but it was over. They were stronger for it, Phil realized solipsistically, still utterly codependent but proving they could survive apart. He thought about saying something then decided against it. They’d been together for thirteen years. There was nothing which needed to be said. Instead, they pressed play, let their limbs tangle in a haphazard semblance of a cuddle, and watched their show.