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dvp95 · 5 years

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can’t breathe when you touch my sleeve - chapter 9

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: e

warnings: none

tags: alternate universe, slow burn, fluff & humour, tiny bit of inner turmoil wrt sexuality but trust me it’s not that deep, deeper than anticipated but still not that deep y'all this is primarily silly, eventual smut, idiots in love

word count: 6,538 for this chapter (41,509 total)

summary: Dan keeps making a fool of himself in interviews, to the point where it’s basically a meme. Now he’s got to sit down for the better part of an hour and sell his show to the YouTuber he’d had a massive crush on when he was a teenager.

read from the beginning on ao3 or on tumblr!

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

Dan wakes up alone. He's stretched out on Phil's sheets, mostly on his stomach, and he buries his face in a pillow to hide from the afternoon sunlight streaming through Phil's small windows. He listens carefully, but he can't hear Phil shuffling around the room or anything.

He's not overly worried, really. This is Phil's place. It would be next level weird for him to cut and run.

Sure enough, when Dan blinks away the spots in his vision and looks around the flat, he sees a sticky note on Phil's headboard. Had to go to work! Won't say your name on the radio lol, it says, and Dan feels a surge of fondness and embarrassment.

He rolls onto his back and rubs at his face, trying to wipe the stupid grin off even though nobody's here to see it. He grins wider when he remembers that someone else is here, actually.

"Thor," he calls out, not bothering to sit up. "C'mere, buddy!"

The jangling of Thor's collar and the rapid taps of his claws on the hardwood floor let him know that the dog is approaching.

Dan looks over and sees Thor sitting at the side of the bed, head cocked and ears perked. He might actually start to cry; he is obsessed with this dog.

"Hey there," he coos, patting the bed next to him in invitation. Thor just keeps looking at him. If Dan were to assign a human emotion to Thor's vibe right now, he'd say the dog looked dubious. "C'mon up, little guy, I won't bite."

Thor jumps up with his stumpy legs and Dan laughs delightedly at the height he can manage when he's got a running start. He snuffles into Dan's borrowed shirt and gives him a bunch of sloppy kisses.

Truly, there is no better way to wake up. Dan is in heaven right now.

He gives Thor a bunch of pats and coos nonsense at him for a little while. He's not really in a hurry to go anywhere. In fact, he wouldn't get out of bed at all if it weren't for his bladder starting to get angry with him. Dan sighs and gives Thor a kiss on his tiny forehead.

"I gotta get up," he laments. He blinks at Thor.

Thor blinks back.

"You need to get up, too," he informs the dog very solemnly.

Thor puts his front paws down like he's getting ready to play and lolls his tongue out, smiling at Dan.

Dan clutches at his chest dramatically and fumbles around for his phone. He needs to capture this moment. He notices that he's got missed texts, missed calls, but he shoves the spike of anxiety to the side in order to focus on getting cute photos and videos of Thor. He takes a bunch of the corgi alone, giggling to himself the whole time, and then pulls Thor close to him to take a few selfies as well.

After brushing his teeth and taking a quick piss, Dan lies back down and looks through the camera roll. He's smiling at his phone and petting one of Thor's soft ears. They're all super cute pictures, good enough to post if they weren't so laden in implications.

Two photos - one of them grinning wide at the camera and a follow-up where Dan's face is scrunched in laughter as Thor gives him a surprise kiss to his nose - get messaged to Phil instead of posted.

It's almost as good, really. After a beat, he sends the photos to Jaime and Patrick as well. He's already talked to them about everything, more or less, and he just wants to share the joy he's feeling right now to people who get it. His thumb hesitates. After a moment of consideration, he sends just the silly picture to Adrian.

Adrian responds with a knife emoji, followed by a heart eyes emoji.

They're never going to be like Phil and his brother, working together and razzing each other over dinner, but that's okay. Dan feels a little bit of softness in his chest, easing some of that decades-old guilt. Maybe they can, at least, be more than the strangers they are now.

Spurred on by something as simple as his brother replying immediately, Dan holds his breath and opens the text chain with his mum.

Blimey dear that must be a load off after all this time! Of course I still want to see you on Saturday... I love you with my whole heart and always will xx.

Fuck. He's not going to cry. He won't cry. Not here. Dan inhales lungfuls of air in gasps, trying not to let them turn into raspy sobs. Thor makes an inquisitive noise and noses at Dan's hand.

"I'm okay," he whispers, even if he isn't quite sure that's true. He makes a bunch of typos as he replies to her, just a short love you too that takes him an entire minute to get right. He doesn't want to make a big deal over this, even though it is a big deal, so he just adds a heart emoji and buries his face in Thor's soft fur.

His phone buzzes a few times, but Dan ignores it for a little while. He feels safe in Phil's bed, Thor in his arms, and he doesn't want to face the world again until he feels a bit less fragile. Eventually, though, Thor wiggles out of his grasp and bounds off the bed in search of a toy.

Jaime and Patrick have both responded to the dog selfies, Jaime with a string of barely-comprehensible emotional texts and Patrick with a single exclamation point iMessage reaction.

Phil has sent him a selfie in return, wearing radio headphones and a pout. Hate that I'm at work!!!!!!!!, he captions it. Dan hates that, too. He sends a quick shot of Thor on the other side of the flat with the caption, abandoned by both of u.

By the time he circles back to his mum, he isn't really sure what to expect. She isn't the type to wax poetic about her feelings, none of them are, so he doesn't anticipate another round of affection and love and pride right this second. Maybe in her goodbye text when he heads to the continent. Not right away.

Sure enough, she's said, Why don't you & I grab lunch in the city on Saturday? I've been meaning to try this new sushi bar... xx. Dan's heart sinks.

It's okay, he reminds himself. His mum loves him. Adrian loves him. They both said so.

His mum not wanting him to come to the house anymore speaks volumes to Dan. He expected this, anyway - his dad barely wanted to see him before this, Dan's always been nothing but a physical reminder of his wasted youth, and it isn't shocking that he doesn't want to see Dan now.

Dan lies back down and covers his head with Phil's duvet. He'll let himself be sad, just for a minute, for the loss. This is the first relationship he has to cut off if he wants to live authentically, move forward as a gay man who doesn't hate himself, and it hits hard. Maybe he'll let himself be angry, after this. Then, he'll get out of bed and start living the authentic, quietly proud life that he's only ever dreamed of.

It's okay. But, right now, it stings a bit.

By the time Thor's ears perk up and he runs to the door, a clear indication that Phil is home, Dan has well and truly gone through some stages of grief and landed on repression. He's been playing Guild Wars and idly tidying Phil's flat throughout the day, lazy with the impromptu day off as he is. Thor follows him around and Dan plies him with more treats than he thinks Phil would approve of.

Dan feels a little sheepish when Phil comes in and he's just lounging on the sofa with his laptop and a pair of Phil's ridiculous slippers on his feet. The flat looks better than it had last night, but Dan has done fuck all with himself. He could have at least showered, he supposes.

"Hey," he says, tugging an earphone out and giving Phil a quick glance. "Sorry, I'm raiding, I'll give you attention in a second."

"Hi, Dan, my day was good," Phil says dryly. "Thanks for asking."

"You signed up for this," Dan informs him, not taking his eyes off the screen again. He can hear Phil enthusiastically greeting Thor, which makes him smile. "I did make dinner, 's in the oven."

"You cook?" Phil sounds far too surprised, in Dan's opinion.

Dan's character gets murked, and he shuts his laptop with a little huff of a noise. Normally he'd wait out the respawn and keep playing, but he's got more important things to focus on. "No, not really. I know how to throw a bunch of stuff in a pot or dish until it's food."

He gets a proper look at Phil while he peeks in the oven and feels even more like maybe he should have gotten dressed.

It's not like he's dressed up nicely or anything - he's wearing the corgi jumper that he interviewed Dan in and a pair of Vans that are surely on their last legs - but the fact that he is dressed gives him a head start on Dan. He looks a little tired, and Dan wonders if it's comfort or a distinct lack of it that has Phil's shoulders hunched forward more than usual.

"It smells good," Phil informs him, smiling a bit. "You didn't have to do that, y'know."

"Shut up, I wanted to," says Dan.

"I don't think I've come home to food cooking since I lived with my parents," Phil says, his hands inside out in his jean pockets. "I, uh, better not get used to it, huh?"

That definitely is a problem. The elephant in the room, that Dan can't just stay here forever. Dan sighs and stands, carefully stepping around the sofa so he doesn't trip on Thor. He comes close to wrap his arms around Phil's shoulders, smiling when Phil immediately takes hold of his waist like they're dancing.

"Hi, Phil," Dan mocks softly. "Good to see you, how was your day?"

Phil laughs. "Alright. Better now."

"Good," says Dan, and then he kisses Phil. It hasn't even been a full day since he did it last, but he hums and arches into it like it's been months.

They're making up for preemptive lost time. Dan is distracted, though, even when Phil licks into his mouth and pulls him closer. He can't stop thinking about the call he'd made to Amy earlier, the things his agent had said to him.

Netflix announces renewals and cancellations whenever it pleases, not on any sort of set schedule, so Dan will have to live in limbo for a little while. Amy doesn't know how long, exactly, but she promised him to at least find him a British film or series to do in the space between seasons. She called him an idiot, but she agreed to it.

Dan is wondering if he should tell Phil about that conversation. He spends half a minute tossing the possibilities around in his head while Phil sucks on his tongue, his lip.

This is so stupid. Dan pulls back from the kiss. He laughs a bit and puts a palm on Phil's chest to stop him from coming back for more. It warms Dan, knowing that Phil doesn't want to stop kissing him.

"Down, boy," he jokes, and Phil rolls his eyes.

"I don't like this habit you have of interrupting us," says Phil. His cool hands slip under Dan's borrowed Friends shirt. His thumbs trace mirroring shapes just under Dan's ribcage. Now that is distracting. "You could just let me keep kissing you."

"I could," Dan agrees. "But I've got shit to say, y'know?"

Phil grins at him, exasperated in a way that Dan thinks he could get used to. "I've noticed, Dan, that you always have shit to say. And I'd love to listen. Any other time."

"Rude," says Dan. There's no real heat to it, since Phil is right. "It's just that I almost didn't tell you something important because I didn't want to get your hopes up or sound like a freak, and then I remembered the disaster that not talking became last time, so, fuck it."

Even though he's already had experience with watching Phil's eyes go neutral and guarded, it's still a bit of a weird thing to watch happen up close.

It's not even that Phil is a particularly good actor, it's just that he's clearly so practiced in hiding his reactions to things that he can switch it on in an instant. Dan huffs a bit and pokes at Phil's cheek.

"None of that," he scolds.

"None of what?" Phil asks. He's smiling now, though. "What's so important?"

"I talked to my agent," says Dan. "Things are up in the air until we know if we're getting a fourth season, but. I'm thinking about moving to London if we aren't."

Phil's smile goes absolutely blinding, but he sounds suspicious when he says, "Really? That's something you want?"

"I always wanted to live here," Dan says with a little shrug. "Just got lucky in America and ended up staying. Nothing specific was really drawing me back here, I just knew London was always a 'someday' thing. Every time I come back for Christmas I remember how much I like it here." Dan pauses, then jokes, "It's not all about you, y'know."

It kind of is. The timing of it, at least, but Phil doesn't have to know that.

"Yeah, alright," Phil says, outright beaming at Dan now. "Makes sense to me, it's a way better place to live than Atlanta."

Dan laughs. "Atlanta is fine, you jealous bitch."

"I guess," says Phil. He presses a couple of soft kisses to Dan's jaw. Dan is ready to get carried away again before he adds, "It must be hard being so far from your family, as well. You'll get to see them more."

He knows that Phil is only trying to motivate him into staying without actively using himself as a reason, but Dan still grimaces.

"I'll probably see them about the same amount, honestly," he says. "Except my grandma, I'm sure I'll have tea with her every once in a while."

"Don't be silly, I'm sure they'd be excited," says Phil.

That's a very easy thing for Phil to say. Dan can't help the face he pulls at the idea of his family being excited that he's nearby. "They really won't. My parents aren't like yours, Phil, and my brother definitely isn't."

Phil cocks his head and blinks. Dan almost laughs at how eerily similar the action looks to Thor's confusion.

"Well, I know nobody's family is perfect," Phil says, squeezing Dan's waist. "I just figured you'd like to be closer to them."

"No," Dan says honestly. "I mean, it's not like it's a reason not to live in London. Where I am in relation to my family doesn't really affect my decision either way, TBH."

He kind of expects Phil to keep arguing with him about it. Dan only reached out to his mum about getting together in the first place after Phil got all disapproving about how little Dan sees them. Maybe he just takes Dan's word for it this time, though, because all he says is an easy, "Okay."

That's all it takes, really. Phil's agreement, even if he doesn't understand. Dan has already told this guy more about himself than anyone else he knows, and he can feel the words bubbling uncomfortably in his throat.

"I don't actually want to talk about this," says Dan, "but, like, okay, I came out to my family and only some of them are handling it well."

Actual understanding dawns on Phil's face, and he just nods.

"We won't talk about it, then," he says. Like it's that simple. "Let's eat. I'm gonna take Thor to the park afterwards if you want to come with us."

Dan leans in for a grateful kiss that lingers a bit too long. Phil's hands travel further up his shirt, tracing along Dan's ribs and making him shiver. "Thanks," he murmurs into the barely-there space between their mouths. "I'll come with you guys."

For as long as Dan has known about commitment issues, he's known that he has them. With personal projects, with schoolwork, with his own sense of self. It's hard for him to settle on something, harder still to follow through. He's felt it with the women he's dated, too, but he'd already known there was an underlying issue that made it impossible for him to say, 'yeah, okay, this could be something I do long-term'.

Now he's making out with a man who he's pretty sure is his boyfriend, even if they hadn't actually said that word, talking about sharing dinner and dog walks and clothes, and Dan has never done this before, and he knows that he's committing to something just by being here right now.

He waits for that moment of panic so he can whack it aside with some logic, but. It never comes.

Huh.

When they head to bed later that night, it isn't because Phil has almost passed out on the sofa again. They'd been ignoring a film for about an hour to snog, and Phil's perpetually cold hands had started wandering about five minutes into that.

Dan had managed to handle Phil's hands under his shirt, in his hair, on his thighs, even brushing the side of his neck, all without major issues. When Phil had decided to outright grope his ass through his too-tight jeans, though, Dan's brain had short circuited. So he'd dragged Phil across the room and pulled him down in a tangle of limbs and laughter as they accidentally elbowed and kneed at each other.

They're not exactly graceful people, but Dan can't complain much with Phil's hands in his back pockets and Phil's mouth on his jaw.

Dan's breathing already feels too loud in the softly lit room, small windows not letting much background noise through at all, and Phil isn't even doing much of anything to him yet.

The part of Dan's brain that exists only to remind him that he's attracted to men has literally never been so loud. He'd foolishly assumed that admitting it to himself and other people would shut it the fuck up, but instead it is outright screaming at him.

You're so fucking gay! it reminds him, as if it's yodeling from the top of a mountain.

Yeah, Dan thinks, he is, he's aware, he's currently straddling a guy he really likes and mouthing at his neck to try and get his breathing as ragged as Dan's is. He doesn't need the commentary.

Still, it keeps shouting, and it only gets louder when Phil tangles one hand in his hair and tugs him back up for an open-mouthed kiss.

He's kissing you! AmazingPhil is kissing you! that part of his mind is chanting, and in the short break between their lips meeting, Dan can't help but murmur a, "Shut up."

Phil pauses. Dan realises he's said that out loud and promptly wants to die.

"I didn't say anything," says Phil. His voice is low and amused, and Dan feels a renewed spark of heat up his spine.

"Not you," Dan says.

Raising his eyebrows, Phil makes a point to look around the flat as best he can without dislodging Dan from his hips. "Uh huh. Y'know, I always knew this place was haunted. I just figured I'd be the one to make friends with the ghosts."

"You're ridiculous," says Dan, but he can't stop himself from smiling.

"I'm not the one talking to ghosts," says Phil.

"I'm not taking to ghosts, Phil, I'm talking to myself. My brain won't shut off, it's so fucking loud right now."

Phil laughs, but he doesn't seem like he's making fun of Dan. He twirls his finger around one of Dan's curls and grins up at him. "I can help with that," he says. In case there were any doubt about what he means, Phil squeezes Dan's ass. "Bet I could make your brain be quiet."

"Yeah?" Dan grins and noses at Phil's jaw. "Yeah, alright, do your worst."

"What do you want?" Phil asks, using his light grip on Dan's hair to make Dan look at him. Dan personally thinks he could tug harder, but they can talk about that when Dan has to pull up a PowerPoint presentation on his kinks.

That's not an easy question. Dan wants everything, whatever Phil's got on offer. He shrugs.

"Honestly," says Dan, "I'm even easier about sex than I am about food."

"This has not been easy," Phil grumbles, good-natured about it. Dan cackles in response. Not a very attractive sound, but Phil doesn't seem to mind. He just smiles.

"Okay, yeah, fair enough," says Dan. "You know what I mean. You can make that call, I believe in you. Although, for you to make an informed decision, you should know I haven't showered since..." He trails off, frowning.

"Not a good sign that you can't remember," Phil laughs. He doesn't seem anxious the way he has when Dan pushes him in the past, but maybe he's just feeling the same loose vulnerability that's making Dan go mad with it. Phil hums and toys with Dan's hair. "Uh, alright, you wanna maybe fuck me?"

The suggestion being somehow both unsure and totally blunt makes Dan laugh, and then Phil is ducking giggles into Dan's collarbone, too.

"How is that a question?" Dan grins. "Sure I do."

Phil is grinning back at him, bright and beautiful, and Dan has to lean in and connect their lips again for a long moment. "Mm, you wanna grab the stuff from the loo, then? And put Thor in there while you're at it."

"Why do I have to?"

"You're on top of me."

"I don't have to be. You go put the dog away."

"No, you should - okay," Phil cuts himself off with a laugh and takes his hand off Dan's ass to hold it up between them in a fist. "Rock, paper, scissors you for it?"

As Dan proceeds to lose two of three - and then three of five, and then five of seven when he keeps complaining about not being in the Zone - it occurs to him that this whole thing feels ridiculous.

It's not a bad thing. Dan hasn't had silly sex in a very, very long time. He's certainly never had sex with someone he trusts quite as much as he trusts Phil. He's trying not to think about that too hard when he lures Thor into the bathroom with treats and his favourite toy, because he doesn't want to accidentally activate his own fight or flight reflex.

Phil is propped up on his elbows in bed, watching Dan with an absent smile on his face, and Dan remembers seeing him like this when they were drunk together. He'd been sprawled out over Dan's sheets and smirking up at him and Dan hadn't done anything about it.

"God, I'm stupid," Dan breathes, and Phil laughs.

"Yeah," he agrees, even though he can't possibly know what Dan is thinking about. "You just gonna stand there?"

With a rude gesture, Dan tosses the bottle of lube at Phil, who yelps as it almost hits him in the face. Dan finds himself cackling again as he fights to get his ultra-skinny jeans off his legs while he's still standing. He'd put them on to go to the dog park - stayed in the Friends shirt, though, it's very comfortable - but he's regretting that now. Phil's cotton shorts would be way less awkward to shimmy out of.

"Must you watch me do this?" Dan huffs, hopping on one foot as he tries to yank his jeans down over his other ankle. "It's not exactly sexy."

"It's very funny, though," says Phil.

Dan manages to get his jeans and socks off without injury, and then he flops back into bed to help Phil with his own tight jeans.

"We need to rethink our fashion," Dan laughs. Phil is giggling, too, and lifting his hips for Dan, and this is all so fun. Dan had actually forgotten that sex could be fun. His jeans come off easier than Dan's, thank god, and Dan runs his hands over Phil's thighs with a little hum. "Damn, you're pale."

Phil makes an amused, choked-off noise and kicks out at Dan without actually trying to hit him. "Hey, fuck you, you're supposed to say nice stuff to me."

"I'm so sorry, Phil, the beauty of your alabaster legs just drive me crazy," Dan simpers, exaggeratedly batting his eyelashes. He's being a dick about it, but the sentiment behind the words are true enough. Phil's got nice legs, nice thighs, a nice semi in his nice boxers. Dan brushes his fingers in a way that's probably ticklish and laughs when Phil kicks his shin for real. "Fucking ow, do you want me to tell you how hot you are or not?"

"You're so annoying," Phil informs him, and then he's sitting up to take his shirt off and Dan's mouth goes dry for real.

"Oh," he says, shifting further up the bed so he can flick his thumb over the metal bar in Phil's left nipple. He hadn't really expected that from Phil. Dan blinks, trying to get his brain back online. "Why didn't you get both?'

Whatever Phil was expecting him to say, it wasn't that. He sits there for a moment, stumped, the pads of Dan's fingers curiously poking at his nipple. It doesn't seem like it's very sensitive. Dan wonders if that's from the piercing or if Phil just doesn't have sensitive nipples. He wonders how long this piercing has been here - it hadn't been, back when he was an avid AmazingPhil subscriber, and Phil hasn't taken his shirt off for YouTube in years.

Then, Phil shrugs. "You only get one pierced, don't you?"

"I think most people get both," Dan says, but he's talking on autopilot right now. He shakes his head, tries to clear it. "Fucking symmetry or whatever, yeah?"

"I guess," Phil says. He doesn't shrug again, but his broad, bare shoulders twitch like they want to. He's got freckles and beauty marks on his shoulders and arms and torso, and Dan wants to get his mouth on every single one.

"No offense," says Dan, "but I really didn't peg you as the piercing type."

Phil smirks a bit. "Wow, the MySpace boy I was trying so hard to be is crying right now. Yeah, I dunno, it was one of the really impulsive things I did a couple years ago. Getting Thor was one of those, I think I told you about that."

He had. Dan remembers it, vaguely, remembers wondering if Phil was hiding a tattoo under his clothes.

"Did it hurt?"

"Not as much as I expected," says Phil. "And definitely not as much as my other ones did."

Dan narrows his eyes and looks Phil over, dubious. Phil isn't wearing anything but a pair of boxer briefs with sushi print on them, and Dan can't see any more metal or healing holes on him. Phil's little smirk only grows while Dan looks him over carefully. "Stop fucking with me, you don't have more piercings."

Phil raises an eyebrow and his hips in a synchronicity that Dan didn't know his body possessed. Dan swallows, hard, can hear his heart pounding as it rushes all the blood in his brain south and makes him a little dizzy.

The room is quiet and still and too hot for a long beat. Then, Dan pulls his borrowed shirt off and chucks it somewhere over his shoulder so that the cool air of the basement can stop him from overheating. He slides his fingers under the hem of Phil's boxers and pulls them down his long legs, unable to stop himself from dropping a kiss to one of Phil's very pale thighs as he does.

"Fuck," Dan breathes. He nips at Phil's thigh a bit, making the muscles there jerk. "Alright, so I can see how that would hurt more."

Phil's cock is pretty and thick, which Dan suspected but had no way of knowing, and it's also got two piercings in it. Dan knows the name of the one, a Prince Albert ring right at the tip of Phil's dick, but he has no idea what the other is called.

He has to touch them, of course. He wraps his hand around Phil's cock and rubs his thumb back and forth over the ring, watching Phil's face carefully as he does.

"Dan," is all Phil says, but his voice has gone low and his eyes have gone dark, so Dan figures he's doing something right.

"What the hell is this?" Dan has to ask, trailing his fingers down Phil's cock to nudge at the bar through the bottom of it, right above his balls. "Like, what is it called? Also, why did you do this? Also, also, I want to suck your dick now."

Phil laughs, throaty and dark, and that doesn't help Dan's situation at all.

"You only grabbed one condom," he points out, waving the wrapper in Dan's face. "So you can either fuck me or suck me off, your call."

"I don't need a condom to suck your dick," says Dan.

Somehow, even with Dan's hand idly stroking him and playing with the piercings, Phil manages to roll his eyes. "You do. I'm not giving you a safe sex lecture, Dan, either make up your mind or go get another condom."

Dan sulks, but he doesn't bother arguing. He hasn't actually heard Phil be so strongly opinionated about something before. There's not a hint of hesitation or anxiety in telling Dan what he wants, and Dan likes that too much to bicker over something as miniscule as a condom.

"Fine," he sighs, sitting up between Phil's legs and letting go of his dick.

"Aw, Dan," Phil lightly mocks. He reaches out and pets Dan's hair, which Dan is only a little embarrassed to lean into. "It's like you don't even know that getting tested together can be third base for gay people."

"Well, I don't know," Dan huffs. He's a little prickly and defensive about the teasing, but Phil smiles at him so softly that he melts all over again. "It's been a while, okay? And it's not like any of us were the smartest bulbs about this shit in uni."

With a sympathetic little hum of a noise, Phil pulls Dan up by the hair to kiss him. It's slow and lingering and Dan's body is pressed against Phil's with the angle, only his thin Calvins in the way of them sliding together. When Phil pulls back, Dan is the one who gets stopped from leaning in for more.

"Sorry," Phil says, quiet and sincere and still smiling. "I really will talk about why it's important to me later, but right now I just really need you to put your stupidly big hands to work."

Another request, no hesitation. Dan is only too happy to oblige.

Dan has never fingered another guy before. The rare times, back in the day, that he hadn't been craving something inside him to ease that constant tension he carried around with him, Dan's sexual partners had just done the task themselves.

Still, it's not rocket science. He's had his fingers in women and in himself before, how different could it be?

Too much lube and a wrist cramp later, Dan is getting the hang of things. He's using his right hand on Phil so his left wrist can take a break, pushing and prodding deep with his longest fingers to coax drawn-out noises from Phil's pretty lips. Dan kisses him, rocks against his hip, murmurs absolute nonsense into his ear that he'll feel embarrassed about when he isn't so fucking turned on. He hasn't managed to consistently hit Phil's prostate or anything but Phil doesn't seem to mind. He's grinding into Dan's hand, biting his lip hard, murmuring, "That's it, you've got it, c'mon, give me another."

"Yeah, alright," Dan breathes, carefully pressing another finger into him and shuddering at the way Phil's back arches into it.

This is easily the hottest thing he's ever done, and that might be pathetic if it wasn't so obvious that nothing else could even come close to this. Phil doesn't bother telling Dan when he's ready, he just shoves the condom into Dan's free palm and wraps a hand around himself.

"Not getting any younger, here," Phil says on a little pant, and Dan realises that he's just been staring.

"Right, fuck, okay."

Dan's fingers shake a bit, but he manages to get his boxers off and his cock ready without any incidents - aside from another mean twinge in his left wrist. He waits and just looks at Phil again, spread legs and long neck and all gorgeous man, and Phil's eyelashes flutter as he tugs lightly on one of his piercings, fuck.

"C'mon," Phil urges again, hooking a lanky leg over Dan's hip to pull him closer.

"It's gonna be like that, is it?" Dan laughs breathlessly. He hoists Phils body up by his thighs for a better angle and keeps a hand on Phil's ass to hold him there. "Fucking pillow princess, I should have guessed."

"Whatever, Dan," says Phil. He seems very distracted by Dan lining his cock up and slowly, so slowly, pressing inside of him. Phil groans then, the loudest noise he's made yet, and rocks his hips to take more of Dan's cock than Dan is giving him. "Not gonna fucking break, c'mon."

"Jesus, Phil," Dan half-laughs, half-moans. "So demanding. Feel so good, though, shit, I can't stay in Atlanta, I can't not have this all the - fuck - all the time."

It just kind of slips out, the way everything Dan babbles during sex slips out, but Phil is nodding along anyway, wrapping his arms around Dan's shoulders to pull him down into a messy kiss.

The wet noises where they're joined should be comical, maybe, all squelching lube and skin slapping against skin as Dan starts to fuck into Phil properly, but Dan is too focused on the breathy noises escaping from their kiss to care. This is just what sex sounds like - this is what sex with Phil sounds like, and Dan could really get used to that.

Phil's heel digs into the small of Dan's back to urge him on until, presumably, his leg gets tired or cramped and he wraps them both around Dan's hips instead. They gasp into each other's mouths at the slight change in angle, and Dan's hips snap forward.

If Phil weren't sucking on his tongue right now, Dan would be prattling on and moaning loud and generally making an idiot of himself. He feels the telltale sensation of heat in his gut that means there's an orgasm at the finish line, he just needs to get there.

Dan plants a hand on the bed and lifts Phil's lower body a bit more with the other, moaning absolute nonsense into Phil's mouth as he thrusts a little harder and faster to try and get Phil where he is.

A whine reverberates through Dan's body as Phil makes the noise with his teeth on Dan's lower lip, and then Dan can feel the rhythmic nudges of Phil's knuckles against his stomach as he jacks himself off, fast, because he's close too and Dan can tell. Dan wants to wait it out, he does, but Phil feels too good around his cock for him to hold out any longer. His orgasm hits and he groans like he’s been punched in the stomach, burying his face into Phil’s neck as he does.

He hears Phil say, "Fuck, okay, just stay there," and stays deep inside of him, pressing wet kisses to his neck and grinding his hips in little circles until Phil gets his, too, toes curling against the backs of Dan's thighs with a quiet groan and one hand gripping his hair so tight that Dan sees stars.

Dan presses a soft kiss to Phil's jaw and carefully pulls out of him to flop onto his back, trying to get his breathing back to a regular rate. He's seriously unfit when he isn't filming, his personal trainer would be so furious about all the Domino's he's been eating. He laughs at the thought of his trainer's angry face and then he's just giggling, throwing an arm over his face to hide from Phil's curious eyes.

"I think you fucked me stupid," Dan tells him through the giggles, and Phil responds with a low chuckle.

Arms are wrapped around Dan's waist and a line of kisses are dropped along his collarbone. "Hey, now," says Phil, his voice low and fucked out, "I can't take credit for that. You were stupid when you got here."

"Oi," Dan laughs, shoving at him. If they had more energy, they'd probably roll around until all the mocking words are just breathless laughter, but as it is they just manage to elbow each other a few times and then curl closer. It's quiet for a few minutes, just holding each other close and letting their hands brush softly over each other's skin.

Then, Phil yawns.

"Okay," he says, like he's psyching himself up. "Contacts out. Dog out. Pants on."

"That last one seems optional," Dan says, waggling his eyebrows. Phil laughs and swats at his chest.

"You," says Phil, swatting the same spot again for good measure, "condom off, pants on."

"What is this pants agenda you're pushing on me?" Dan hums into Phil's hair. It smells sweet, like some kind of berry. "I'm not sure I'm interested in these pants you speak of."

Phil laughs and pulls away to stretch all his long limbs out. Dan takes the opportunity to shamelessly check him out again, admiring the glints of metal that the majority of the world doesn't get to see. "You will be. Thor's going to want to cuddle after we locked him up."

He watches Phil as he searches his room for clean boxers, wolf-whistling when he bends down and laughing at the finger he gets in return.

"Yeah, okay," says Dan. He feels a smile spread across his face before he even thinks about it. Yeah. This is what he wants. This is what, for some godforsaken reason, he's been allowed to have.

#dnp fic #phanfic #phanfiction #can't breathe when you touch my sleeve #words words words

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dalishious · 6 years

Text

@briannamorley Well I wasn’t going to respond to all your replies, but then I figured hell, if you felt the need to go through all my anti Celene shit to leave messages saying you disagreed, you must really value my opinion of your opinion, so who would I be not to?

briannamorley replied to your post “What ending should I take in WEWH? Last time I played I hadn't read...”

Love the page; disagree about Celine and Briala's relationship being toxic--save for her killing Bria's parents. I personally always reconcile them even if you weigh her over Gaspard, she's the lesser of two evils. Gaspard would do way more killing then a 1k elves plus, as far as the abuse we don't know the extent all Bria says is on days she was cruel, she imagined them being amongst the Dalish with Celine having to serve her.

So like... if having her parents murdered doesn’t cross a line for you into toxic territory, what does, then?

And re: “We don’t know the extent” of Celene’s treatment of Briala...

The black curls lightened to grey with the pre-dawn light, then slid to the light brown of cinnamon as the sun brought colour to the room. Dirt-brown, Celene had called it, when Briala had waited upon her as a girl. Horse-dung brown, an ugly shadow of Celene’s spun-gold locks. -pg 27

Briala, a WOC, grew up serving Celene, a white woman, comparing her hair to horse-dung. And had to just grin and bare it because that was her job, and her mother instructed her to be Celene’s friend.

“Maker, I envy you sometimes.” She knew immediately that she had said something wrong. She felt Briala stiffen, though her arms didn’t move, and Briala’s voice was light as she said, “The empress of Orlais envies an elven handmaid?” “You know what I mean, Bria.” Still holding her, Celene patted Briala’s back. “You could leave here, become someone else.” “As long as that someone is an elf,” Briala said with a dimpled smile, but Celene knew she was still hurt. “Yes, I know. But I... I was born to sit on that throne. I can’t do anything else. Since my parents and Lady Mantillon...” She trailed off. This time, Briala pulled away. “You would make a wonderful scholar,” she said as she stood and pulled her robe on, “at least until Emperor Gaspard made a decision you found objectionable. Then, I believe trouble would ensue.” She smiled over her shoulder. “You are probably right, my love.” Celene rose as well and pulled her own robe on, as if nothing were wrong. “And... I will consider Remache.” Briala nodded and slipped her mask into place, then left through the passage behind the mirror, and Celene sighed and fetched her little magical pot. She would be making her own tea this morning, it seemed. -pg 59

Celene hurts Briala, and her thought is how she’ll have to make her own tea.

Briala sat. “...The elves in Halamshiral are angry. Lord Mainserai killed a tradesman without justification, and the elves are calling for mien’harel.” At Celene’s silence, Briala added, “It is an elven word. When the humans go too far, the elves remind them that even a short blade must be respected. They—” “They will rebel,” Celene said, the words cutting through the chilly autumn air. “Against me. Now.” “It is not rebellion, Your Majesty.” Briala bowed her head and took a shaky breath, clutching at the griffon-head arm of her chair. This was exactly what she had feared. “The elves of Halamshiral have never seen you. Their grievance is with neither you nor Orlais. They only wish justice for a man of your empire who died without cause.” “What they wish is irrelevant.” Celene turned and stalked away from the window. “I am already fighting a war on two fronts. I cannot be seen to fight a war on three.” “Then don’t.” Briala rose, putting herself in Celene’s path. “Give them justice.” “A lord for the death of an elf? I... damn this thing.” With a quick jerk, Celene tore the mask from her face. Her face was flushed beneath, her eyes red from another night of little sleep. “Shall I declare the elves equal citizens before the Maker and the throne as well, while I’m at it?” “Why not?” Briala took her own mask off, stealing a quick moment to steady herself. “Unless you don’t believe that, and I’m just a jumped-up kitchen slut you haven’t tired of yet.” Celene turned away, tossing her mask onto an overstuffed couch and stalking to the great amber wall. “You know I cannot do that, Bria. I might as well engrave Gaspard’s initials on the throne.” Against the wall of gold and red, Briala’s empress and lover looked pale and wan. Celene had always seen sleep as an enemy, or at most a necessary evil, from what Briala could tell, and since the events in Kirkwall the stress of rising tensions had her awake before dawn almost every morning. If it were early enough, Briala could sometimes coax her into lovemaking, and the warm and drowsy bliss afterward would let Celene steal a few more hours of rest. Lately, even that had not been enough. Briala sighed. “I do know.” Instead of going to Celene, she went to the small table where Celene’s teapot sat, forever just shy of boiling. She poured Celene a cup of tea, brought it over, and gently touched Celene’s shoulder. It was not quite an apology. -pg 62

Briala fears having to ask Celene to enact justice. Celene says what the elves want is of no care to her. She then mocks the idea of elven freedoms. And “It was not quite an apology” my ass - Briala has nothing to apologize for.

What had happened at Halamshiral was a still-painful ache, but the elves had rebelled. Celene had done what she had to do. Had Briala been there, she might have been able to turn Celene to a different course, but Briala herself was the one who had left. It was not Celene’s fault that she had been manoeuvred into doing what she had done, any more than it was Briala’s fault for leaving Celene without the guidance she had wanted. -pg 167

Celene even has Briala convinced that she’s to blame for Halamshiral, because she wasn’t there to tell Celene otherwise. If one person in a relationship relies solely on another to guide their morals, yes, I would indeed call that toxic.

But anyway, these are just a few samples of Celene’s dismissive behaviour towards Briala. She only does the bare minimum to keep Briala at her side; she does not truly care about the elves.

briannamorley replied to your post “What ending should I take in WEWH? Last time I played I hadn't read...”

Also Bria has accepted that neither the city or Dalish elves see her as part of them; letting her rule with him as her mask--much like forcing them to work together--while interesting in theory, wouldn't last I don't think anyway. Ppl would get suspicious; Gaspard is a military strategist not an adept ruler

Briala goes from this:

Briala could not afford to spare tears for inevitable deaths. In that respect, she supposed that she was more like the nobles she served than the elves in the marketplace. The thought sometimes sickened her, but again, not as much as the thought of deaths she could have prevented. -pg 61

to this:

She had been in Celene’s court for too long. Too many years being called “rabbit,” too many years ducking her head and working from the shadows. Too many years of being proud of who she was, a feeling she could cling to like a floating log in a rushing river. It had kept her head above water, but it had never let her steer her own course. She would fight for her people, because nobody else would, and Fen’Harel take whoever got in her way. -pg 144

Briala’s whole character arc is about discovering who she is as her own person, and reconnecting with her people. Unless “has” was a typo for “had.”

Also, why is it unrealistic for Dalish and city elves to work together? Dalish elves go to the city, and city elves go to the Dalish all the time. In some cases you have clans that have very strong relationships with nearby alienages, such as Clan Boranehn and the Edgehall alienage in Knight Errant, for example.

briannamorley replied to your post “grandenchanterfiona: I don’t hate Celene because she’s a woman. I...”

Disagree not about the genocide or lying to Bria but everything else

...K?

briannamorley replied to your post “grandenchanterfiona: That’s it. Until proven otherwise the Masked...”

Nope to each their own though

...K?

briannamorley replied to your post “grandenchanterfiona: Celene is a straight guy’s idea of a lesbian....”

Stop... I can see if you were equating this to RR Martin but really???

Yes really lol

briannamorley replied to your post “I just read The Masked Empire and even though I knew how bad Celene...”

Theres disliking something and then there's bashing it to the point it becomes infuriating

Sorry guess we never received the guidelines one has to follow in terms of disliking something. Tell me, does it include going through a blog’s tags and leaving reply after reply that says basically the same thing?

briannamorley replied to your post “mllemaenad: jocelyntorrent: mllemaenad: … Okay, I don’t get it. ...”

Disagree but crazy tired so to each their own

Good thing you left another just plain ‘disagree,’ otherwise I might have gotten confused.

briannamorley replied to your post “So this by no means excuses Celene's actions whatsoever, but I noticed...”

Love orlais but again, to each their own

Cool cool I hate Orlais but to each their own. Perhaps I should find some random Orlais fan and spam their email notifications with replies saying as such, to make sure they know!

briannamorley replied to your post “lmao no, about 300 elves were brutally slaughtered, sweet summer...”

More than 300 but it does border on bashing

WTF does this one even mean?

briannamorley replied to your post “grandenchanterfiona: Celene has absolute power; she does not have a...”

If so say that from jump don't go on and on going from legitimate gripe to bashing... like damn I like both of y'alls pages but FUCK me this is exhausting

Then why are you reading through all this? And seriously, what is with this “bashing?” Is there some kind of internet slang I’m unfamiliar with? Because if you just mean bashing as in criticism that hell fucking yes I am critical of Celene. She has a lot of reasons for me to be.

briannamorley replied to your post “Remember that time when Michel de Chevin partook in the Academie des...”

Sigh... y es it was an oversight by them that shouldn't have happened but goddamn

“But goddamn...” what? Why is there a but? Why is there a but goddamn? Just... why, period?

Anyway, TL;DR:

#briannamorley #anti celene #anti brialene

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ilikebigbooks-and-icannotlie · 7 years

Text

Fast Firsts and Sloppy Seconds (Part 3)

A Rowaelin/Manorian AU

It’s still 10:23 PM Tuesday, May 23, 2017 (HST), holla!!! This part’s pretty short, because I really struggled with it :( So, part 3.5 will be coming in a day or two, probably, and then I will make an immediate push for part 4 (Becca and Cas please become really annoying and fight me if I don’t) so 3.5 should be done by like Thursday night/Friday morning, and 4 will be ready by Tuesday night/Wednesday morning. Also, if anyone wants to teach me a thing or two about photo editing, I have a pinterest board of 487 pins which is part of why this chapter’s kind of a disaster sshhh that I would love to turn into edits for you guys :) I’m feeling like an instagram or snapchat vibe? Idk, hmu if you know anything on the subject. Lol it’s 4:23 EST and I’m low key deceased but like it’s fine why do I keep doing this to myself so apologies if there are any typos - I tried my best. Tagging @highlady-casandra because this is the reason I haven’t edited for you yet and I’m sorry, I love you!!! Also @miladyaelin who is asleep, lol - thanks for trying pal :) 3.5 will probably be posted at a more reasonable time so you can actually look at it first before I make a fool of myself post it … but i say that every time so who knows Also tagging @fictionalcharactersaremyreality, @rowanismybae, @the-north-star, @throneofstars, @fortunatelycleverpaper, @snaps7, @thegirlwith-that-smile, the anon who sent me that ask earlier today, and so so so many more, thank you for caring about my story and wanting more of it, I love you guys! HUGE thank you to everyone for the kind words and reblogs and notes, I appreciate every single one <3

Happy reading!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3.5

The second Dorian saw that look in Aelin’s eyes, he knew the dance was over. He easily stepped out of the way, a small smirk on his lips as he glanced behind him, catching the slightly scared and entirely determined look in the barkeep’s eyes as Aelin stepped directly into his arms.

The barkeep almost immediately stepped back, attempting to keep Aelin at a comfortable arm’s length away. Dorian couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness, as though Aelin would actually let him keep her at a distance. In any case, he didn’t really have time to spend watching the soon-to-be happy couple. His eyes quickly scanned the pub, once again falling onto Manon. He took in the satisfied smirk on her lips as she watched Aelin dance with Rowan. If you could call it dancing, that is. Rowan was awkwardly waddling from side to side, stiff as a board, as Aelin moved around him like a force of nature – absolutely breathtaking.

She was the one he’d dragged to ballroom dance lessons when his mother had forced him into them the summer after his freshman year of college. He didn’t need to be stuck partnered with any of the other pretentious bitches at the country club. And as much as Aelin pretended to complain, he knew she enjoyed it. No one could make Aelin do anything she didn’t want to do.

Their dancing had been comfortable, as it always was, as they learned to be. But this, this was a tragedy. However, even in the face of tragedy, Aelin looked like a princess.

And while he was the one dancing, Dorian was damn sure he looked like a prince. He couldn’t help but smile to himself as he thought about Manon angrily glaring at Aelin while they fell back into old patterns, easily moving around the floor. He definitely hadn’t quite gained the upper hand, but he felt like he was at least just below a tie at that point. After looking Manon over once again, he decided it was time for another drink. Another incredibly muscled, incredibly tall man appeared to have taken over for the white-haired barkeep. What were they putting in the water here? He had dark shoulder-length hair, a nose that looked like it had definitely been broken at least a few times, and overall looked generally pissed off at the world.

However, Dorian was absolutely determined to get more Guinness. The pub had emptied out significantly since they arrived, as the night carried on well into the next morning. He grabbed a seat at the bar, and tried his best not to be offended when the bartender grumbled about “typical Americans” after he’d ordered the beer. It took every ounce of determination in his body not to turn around, to look for those heart-stopping golden eyes, but then all attempts proved futile as she settled into the seat beside him.

“Looks like you’ve been replaced, twinkle toes,” she smirked, unable to keep the satisfaction out of her voice. “Jealous?”

He glanced over at her then, eyeing her casually crossed arms, her tired eyes, and her undoubtedly pleased smile. He couldn’t help the small smile that grew on his own face as he looked at what was likely the most earnest side of her he’d seen all night. He guessed she was probably too tired to put on her own mask in that moment.

“Manon,” the bartender grumbled, sliding the pint over to Dorian. “Don’t you have tables to serve?”

“Don’t you have glass to clean, Lorcan? Or better yet, business to mind?” She snapped at him. Her cold glare would have stopped Dorian in his tracks, but the bartender – Lorcan – merely rolled his eyes and walked over to the other end of the bar. He was clearly trying to pretend he was checking on another patron, but it was pretty clear to both Manon and Dorian that he honestly just didn’t seem to want to deal with her shit.

Dorian cleared his throat, sliding his hands around his beer and taking a sip. Manon’s golden eyes were focused on him as he forced himself to spit out the words he’d been desperate to ask since he first saw her looking like she was plotting a hundred different ways to kill Aelin. “So, were you? Jealous, that is?” He avoided her eyes, taking one of his hands off of the death grip on his beer to run it through his hair.

“Yeah,” her voice was even, almost aloof. “I was.” His eyes snapped to hers - confusion, and fear, and something more swimming through them, all at once. She rolled her eyes at his response, twirling her braid between her fingers. “Well don’t look too excited,” she scoffed, pulling on the white strands.

“So does that mean you want to dance?” Their eyes met, and for the first time, Dorian didn’t look away. He couldn’t look away, even if he tried. There was something there, tying him to her. Paralyzing him.

Her low laugh cut through him, inflating his lungs, and finally letting him breathe. She reached for his beer, taking her own sip before offering him a small smile. Her golden eyes had become molten, a warm amber. “Well played, princeling. Well played.”

“Come on,” he goaded, lightly bumping her shoulder with his. “You can’t be nearly as bad as that guy!” He gestured towards Rowan with his chin, and Manon laughed even harder then, an honest laugh, as she watched Rowan awkwardly fumble next to Aelin. “If you think my brother’s bad, you wouldn��t even be able to handle seeing me.”

Brother. He hesitated at the words, then suddenly saw the similarities, glancing back and forth between the apparent siblings. The hair was of course a blatant giveaway. But also, their strong chins, the high cheekbones. Dorian wasn’t sure how he’d missed it before. And then suddenly something in Manon’s face changed.

Confusion, shock, and then – something along the lines of disgust? Dorian followed her gaze to find Aelin and Manon’s brother all but dry-humping as they danced. He let out a sharp laugh at the sight. There was no way to know exactly what Aelin had done, but whatever it was, it worked. Two became one as they fit together perfectly, moving in time to a rhythm Dorian would’ve sworn the hulking bartender had absolutely no sense of rhythm only seconds before. But he supposed Aelin had enough rhythm for both of them, as the white-haired giant helplessly followed along, drowning deeper into Aelin. A smile spread across Dorian’s face as he watched his friend let herself feel pure joy for the first time in a long time.

He turned back around to find Manon watching him instead, a skeptical eyebrow perfectly raised at his pleased expression. “Shouldn’t you be angry? Off to defend your girl or something?”

Dorian barked out a laugh at the thought, shaking his head at the ridiculousness. “Aelin isn’t anyone’s anything. And the last time she was – well,” he hesitated, “let’s just say it didn’t end well.” The thought of his other best friend brought a tightness in his chest that he would rather have ignored just then, as he brought his beer to his lips once again. He couldn’t exactly say he would have enjoyed being stuck in Dublin with both Aelin and Chaol, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel bad for both of his friends.

When he refocused his attention to Manon, he was surprised to find her still watching the dancing couple. Although – when he looked closer – he got the distinct feeling she wasn’t watching anything. Manon appeared to be lost in a world all of her own, drowning in memories she was either afraid to lose – or desperately wanted to forget.

“Hey,” Dorian prodded, bumping his knee against hers – and leaving it there – terrified of the contact, yet desperate for more. “You okay?”

The second she turned to him, he knew he’d made a mistake. Her mask was back in place just as quickly, as she leaned into him, running a long nail down his chest. Her hot breath sent a chill down his spine as her lips lightly grazed his ear. “Let’s play a game, princeling, and I’ll show you exactly how okay I am.” As she leaned back against the bar, a savage smile graced her lips that should have made him afraid. But instead just made him want her more. Clearly, that was because he was a self-loathing idiot, because there could be no other explanation for his need – his impossible desire.

That, or she was clearly a witch. Seducing him somehow, with her charms. In that moment, he realized that his hand was somehow – suddenly in her hair? He was entirely unsure how it had happened? But somehow, in some way, his hand had ended up pushing one of the white strands behind her ear, as if he had no other option. He simply couldn’t help it – it was instinct, an impulse he couldn’t stop, and didn’t even realize was happening. Like breathing.

“Witchling,” he whispered. His sapphire blue eyes were locked on her golden ones, and in that moment, he could feel it. A part of him shifted and he knew – he knew – that whatever they had, it was precious. His hand had a mind of its own, moving to cup her cheek, and he didn’t think she could help herself either, as she closed her eyes and leaned into him. A hint of a small smile appeared on her lips as her mask began to crack again. They breathed as one. Inhale. Exhale. And then her eyes shot open. A fear was in them – uncertainty – and then an unbreakable hardness. Dorian suppressed a growl – and then let out a gasp.

Suddenly, her lips were against his. Her tongue immediately took advantage of the gasp, moving in, and invading his senses. She was all he could feel, the only thing he ever wanted to touch, as the taste of her burned into his memory. He needed her. All of her. His hands traced her hips, her waist, her breasts, pulling her against him, and onto his lap.

He took control of the kiss, a new savagery taking over him that it seemed – it seemed she liked, even responded to. She opened herself up to him, fully straddling him as he turned her back towards the bar. A low moan slipped past her lips against his mouth, as his hands climbed up her shirt, tracing slow lazy circles against her soft skin. He was determined to take his time. To claim her. By the end of the night, he was going to have all of her. And she will have been begging for it. He barely pulled away, breathing heavily as their lips lightly brushed against each other. She was entirely still in his arms, waiting for him. Her golden eyes poured into him as they met his, a shiver running down her spine at the words that left his lips. “I want to taste every inch of you.”

Manon let go of all pretense of reason as her princeling closed his eyes and claimed her mouth once again. She opened for him, melting against him even as a deep chill set deep within her bones.

His fingers slid to her jaw, tipping her face to thoroughly take her mouth, every movement of his jaw a sensuous promise that had her arching into him. Had her meeting him stroke for stroke as he explored and teased until she could hardly think straight.

This wasn’t the plan – he wasn’t supposed to taste this good, this right. He wasn’t supposed to make her feel this way, she wasn’t supposed to feel. She’d had enough feeling for a lifetime. But as every part of her burst with need, with an impossible heat, with an icy thrill, she felt everything. And she just kept falling, deeper and deeper, his touch on her body, his hands everywhere, stroking, tracing. She melted into the hardness of him, aching for all of him, as his dick strained against his jeans, pushing against where she needed him most, but not giving her nearly enough.

And then it just – stopped. And in that moment, Manon was entirely certain she could have murdered Lorcan. “For Christ’s sake, Manon,” he growled, his hand still clinging onto the back of Manon’s shirt where he’d pulled her away. “If you’re gonna fuck ‘im, fuck ‘im somewhere else.” He roughly let her go, walking away again and grumbling to himself once again about chaperoning. Manon cleared here throat as she awkwardly slid out of Dorian’s lap, pushing more pieces of her white hair back as she attempted to collect herself.

Dorian, however, was the calmest he’d been all night. Because finally – finally – he knew exactly what he wanted. And he knew they weren’t done. And he knew he was going to get it. And as Manon struggled to breathe – she knew she had never been more desperate before in her life.

A distraction.

She needed a distraction.

“Darts!” She blurted out, after scanning the room, looking for something – anything – to drag her out of this fiery, hot, hell. She flashed a grin at him, trying her hardest to keep it together. “Fancy a game?”

And as she floundered, and her chest rose and fell, and her face flushed, he smiled. An absolutely, irrevocably, rakish, panty-dropping type of smile. The kind that showed a little too much teeth – and reminded her of what it felt like when they bit her lip. The kind that made her helplessly think about all of the other things she wanted him to do to her with that mouth – those teeth. And at that look in her eyes – that glazed over, lost look – as she bit her lip, and focused on his, he finally let out a calm breath. Because for the first time that night, he was truly in control. And he liked it.

So because he could, his grin turned almost feral, and his voice was a sensual caress, sending chills down her spine. “I could think of a significantly better game to play involving sticking things in a target, and far more interesting things to do with my hands, but your wish is my command, witchling.” His voice was a velvety purr by the end of it, and she was left questioning how in the hell their roles had changed so quickly.

Boys never left her like this. She didn’t allow it. Manon was always in charge, and never got attached. They were two very simple rules. Yet this stupid boy, with his stupidly soft lips, and irritatingly delicious tongue, and new dumb confidence, and infuriating smirk was suddenly causing her to reconsider everything. And she wanted to hate him for it. Except there she was, ready to beg for more. What the actual fuck?

She said absolutely nothing as she spun around, her braid whipping around her shoulders. A large gulp of his beer and a few large steps later, he was right beside her. The burning hand he placed at her lower back only caused her to walk faster. She wanted nothing more than to have that hand in places that ached for his touch. So she sped up instead, desperate to run away – to forget.

Never forget, but never remember.

And then they were there, across the room. She grasped for the mask she needed to pull on to survive as she pulled the darts out of the board. But the action was more or less futile. The game had already begun. And she was losing.

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