Part IIII
Words:7420
Warning:kind of dom!dan
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Phil should not have invited Dan to hang out at the club during his shift.
He'd been thrilled, of course, for the opportunity to brush by Dan every time he returned to the bar to get a drink order, ecstatic at the chance to trail his fingers across Dan's wing and earn that little hum from Dan's lips. But that'd quickly turned into a massive distraction, Dan's luminescent wings dragging his gaze to them no matter which table he stood at.
And Dan can tell. Or at least, Phil's fairly certain he can - the way Dan turns on the barstool, shifts his wings so they shine under the light, the way he tilts his head when he catches Phil staring, his lip curling up in a silent promise. And fuck, it's barely an hour into his shift.
"Phil!" PJ's shout, not for the first time tonight, tugs Phil from his staring. A glare from PJ makes him rush back over to the bar just five feet from where Dan's sipping some multilayered, colorful drink through a purple straw, his lips puckered around the-
"Phil, you absolute- jesus christ, do I have to send Dan home?" Phil whips around to find PJ frowning at him, and he sucks in a breath.
"No! No, I'm- it's fine, I'll- super focused, I'll be super laser focused, I promise." He grabs a trayful of drinks and whirls around, barely catching one of the poorly-balanced martini glasses before it tips over. He can do his job! He's done it for years, in spite of other gorgeous patrons drawing his eye. Dan shouldn't be any different, even though Phil knows he is.
He doesn't miss PJ's pointed scoff as Phil heads back toward the tables; clearly, he's not as confident in Phil's ability to put Dan aside for the time being.
But Phil's nothing if not determined, and as tempting as Dan looks perched on the barstool with those dark jeans and tight shirt, the glowing wings arching from his back, the pink lips that undoubtedly taste of all kinds of alcohol but probably taste mostly like Dan...and Phil's lost his train of thought.
Right. Focusing. On his job, not Dan. He can have Dan to himself later, for as long as he wants.
He's proud of himself for serving table after table, customer after customer, without so much as a glance in Dan's direction - and all just as the show's getting started for the evening. The orders have slowed to a halt, the patrons all focused on the lithe, rhythmic movements of the dancers, and Phil decides he's probably earned a few moments to talk to Dan. Perhaps he can convince PJ he deserves a break, one involving Dan and a dark corner and those pretty pink lips, and-
"I said you can fuck off, that's what." The voice sounds suspiciously Dan-like, but much more hostile than Phil's ever heard. He rushes around the side of the stage and back to the bar, where someone's stood blocking his view of Dan, someone with the dark wings of a demon and the fifties-reminiscent gelled-back hairstyle that makes bile rise at the back of his throat.
"I've got much better things I'd like to fuck, starting with your tight little angel ass..." the slimy words make Phil squirm as he glares daggers at Derek's back and sets his tray down on the bar with a hopefully audible thud.
Dan must've heard, with the way his wings shift and he looks up and behind Derek, wide brown eyes and pursed lips projecting his anger and exasperation across the space without a single word. Disgust, heat, anger, outright fury swells in Phil's chest. He reaches out to turn Derek around and tell him the only thing he'll be fucking is himself. Certainly not Dan. Not Phil's Dan.
Just before his fingers find purchase, he catches sight of Derek's hand poised half an inch from Dan's wing and with the clear intent of touching it, already moving in. Phil's not forgotten how uncomfortable that'd made Dan last time.
