self-help // phan

duodecim

Self-Help
a dan & phil fanfiction
chapter 12
enjoy.

The rest of their shopping spree was pretty unsuccessful.

They managed to enter one more shop, but it just resulted in Dan pressed against the wall in the far corner of the store, hidden by a rack of clothing, and Phil attacking his neck. He gasped softly and fidgeted, trying to keep quiet.

"Phil..." He whispered.

*****

He couldn't place what was going through his head.

Actually, back track- nothing was going on. Phil found his control ebbing away as he grasped Dan firmly, hearing him sigh his name underneath him. Since the night before, the older man couldn't think of anything else, and he was slowly being screwed with as Dan teased him throughout the entire day, whether intentional or not.

Running his hand up his shirt and feeling his smooth skin, he felt Dan tense up under his fingers. At his slight movement, Phil was briefly put back into reality.

He would have never done anything so risky, so why was he doing it now?

More importantly, did Dan even approve of him doing this, or was he just going along and letting Phil doing what he wanted out of fear?

Wait a minute, Phil thought, Dan could be straight. He never directly stated who or what he wanted.

But he kissed you first, another part of him growled, surely he would want you, whether consciously or unconsciously. Dan was drunk, his perception was twisted and confused, could he really have been so intoxicated he couldn't tell who Phil was?

Phil suddenly got a chill in his spine and hesitated, panting against Dan's neck. His heart was throbbing so loud he was sure the younger could hear.

Dan didn't remember that night.

He had no recollection of what he had done.

For a moment, his worries began to overwhelm him, but then he heard Dan speak in a hushed voice

"Why did you stop?"

*****

Dan's head was tilted back, his eyes watery and everything out of focus. Phil's body was frozen, pressed hard against his, but his movements had ceased.

For a few more moments, they stood like that, before Phil untangled himself from Dan and gave him an unreadable expression.

"Let's finish shopping," Phil bit his lip and glanced around to see if anyone had noticed them. What was he doing?

"But you were-"

"Just do it, Dan."

The rest of their afternoon was spent aimlessly walking around, but never close enough to touch. Phil seemed intent on not giving Dan any sort of attention, Dan however, was frustrated.

He didn't understand why, he just knew that a part of him ached as it went untouched. Dan hardly glanced at him while trying to guess that Phil was thinking.

So Phil had done something last night. And, that also meant he was remembering it today. If he was attracted to him, why did he stop what he was doing, and more importantly, why had he encouraged him?

You're disgusting.

Once back at Phil's flat, the older man immediately shut himself inside his room without saying anything to Dan.

The brown-headed boy's lips were still swollen from earlier, it had been over half an hour, but his skin still tingled. He cleaned up around the house and smoothed the ridiculously hard bed while Phil was still holed away.

Now he was staring at himself at the mirror. Pink bruises lined against his neck, small but present. He slid the shirt down his shoulders and his eyes traveled at the markings Phil Lester had left in the past 24 hours.

Gathering himself, he took a shower. The hot water sizzled his thoughts away, the steam stinging his eyes. He pressed against the shower wall, and collected his thoughts. He touched his neck, running his fingers against his skin to remember the feeling from earlier today.

The way Phil's entire body touched Dan's, or the way his own lips traveled on his neck and how gently Phil kissed him, hesitantly running his tongue over his, and Dan rutting against his leg and-

Wait, that isn't what happened.

'Dan, we shouldn't. You're drunk.'

A gasp came out of his lips as he recalled the almost mystical memory.

Beside the heat, Dan shivered and squeezed his eyes shut, groaning. His own hand touched him softly, and then slowly increased with more force.

'Don't wanna.'

Faggot.

He removed his hands with trembling hands before he could finish.

What the hell is wrong with you anyway?

Can't you see how disgusting you are?

I bet Phil can't even look at you.

Fucking queer.

*****

Dan toweled his body dry, not meeting his own eyes in the mirror. He reached for his clothing he normally put on the toilet, but only grasped the cold seat.

Of course, it would be today of all days that he would forget.

He shuddered, and wrapped his towel tightly around his waist, a hung a cloth over his shoulders. The walk to the extra bedroom wasn't far, but it was in direct sight of the living room.

He prayed Phil was still in his room, and quickly slid out the door.

Of course, he was wrong.

Phil looked up wide-eyed, his lips open as if he were about to speak, and immediately shut his mouth as he looked Dan up-and-down.

He swallowed quietly, and looked back down at his phone.

Cringing, Dan hopped to the bedroom. There, he pulled on a wooly grey sweater and a pair of tight dark jeans.

Classic Daniel Howell.

He glanced to the other side of his bedroom.

*****

Phil couldn't control his grimace.

He couldn't recall the last time he had felt so many emotions at once. He didn't understand why he immediately tried to talk to him when he left the shower, or why seeing Dan's body sent shocks that went through his waist.

After a few more minutes of glowering, his head jerked up at the sounds of soft notes echoing in the walls. They were gentle at first, and gradually built up into stronger, more firm notes.

He couldn't recognize the song, and he found himself being pulled from the couch and drawn toward the source of the music.

Without knocking, Phil pushed the guest bedroom's door open and found Dan facing away from him, his fingers gracefully moving against the old piano. From what he had remembered, the instrument had always been out of tune—that meant Dan had to have tuned it one day while he was home alone.

It was beautiful, the hum of the lower notes vibrated through the floors, into the soles of his feet, winding up his spine and ribcage, and made their way till the tendrils of the music wrapped tightly around his core, and planted Phil there.