Hace un tiempo tengo la impresión de que vivimos atrapados en un dejavú, de que las preguntas nos asaltan cuando cerramos los ojos, nos ensordecen cuando todo se queda en silencio.
A veces, en la intimidad de mis noches a solas, pronuncio tu nombre al vacío, lo pruebo en mis labios buscando rastros tuyos, me imagino diciéndolo en un contexto en donde el mundo no nos pese tanto, donde las respuestas nos duelan menos que la ignorancia.
Quiero convencerme, en el júbilo de mi desesperación, de que nuestro amor es suficiente, de que con nuestro amor alcanza. De que el suspiro de nuestros ojos cruzándose en la oscuridad es lo único que va a desenterrarnos de la miseria. Y a veces, en la quietud de las madrugadas, con tu cuerpo desnudo desbordándose dentro del mío, me permito creerlo.
Quizás, porque quiero engañarme otro rato, escaparme de lo impostergable del adiós refugiada entre tus brazos. Quizás, porque te amo aún sabiendo que, para los soldados como nosotros, entregarnos al amor es dejarnos romper en mil pedazos. Que para nosotros amar es un juego en el que sólo podemos perder, la crónica de una muerte anunciada.
Quiero confesarte que te pienso en mis desvelos, y que te nombro al vacío, y que te llamo en secreto y que, en mi ingenuidad crédula, vuelvo a soñarte con la mirada despierta. Que te encuentro en las huellas de cada beso, que te busco aferrándome al perfume de tu pecho.
Asumo, tal vez, que ya te has dado cuenta. Tus manos me apartan el pelo de la cara, y tus dedos abrazan mis cicatrices y tu boca me desnuda expuesta también de alma. Te enredo entre mis piernas y te pinto con caricias y mis ojos brillan allí donde nuestros latidos son promesa implícita; la ironía de poder amar pese a la angustia, la poesía de habernos construido en medio de tanta destrucción.
Te confieso que, por las noches, cuando las voces de todos se apagan, me acurruco en tu piel y me gasto la ilusión, dibujo en el aire un futuro que no existe, que nunca llega. Y te llamo al vacío; imagino tu nombre retumbando contra las paredes de la sala, resbalándose de entre mis labios en el éxtasis de la lujuria. Imagino tu nombre dibujado en las estrellas, perfumado en nuestra cocina, atragantado en el desayuno. Imagino aunque las preguntas vuelvan marchitas para atacarme en la penumbra. Imagino aunque las respuestas sigan ardiendo profundas en el corazón.
Quizás sea porque nuestro amor es lo único de lo que puedo estar segura cuando todo es incierto. Lo único que puede salvarme cuando la vida se me cae a pedazos. Quizás, es porque te amo incluso consciente de que tenemos fecha de vencimiento, de que se nos acaba el tiempo, de que la felicidad se nos escurre como agua entre los dedos.
Me siento en silencio, y me juro a mí misma que no voy a hablar en voz alta, que no voy a condenar concreto al tumulto de emociones que me apretujan el alma. Que si lo digo no habrá caso, ni casa capaz de darnos resguardo.
Pero las palabras y la felicidad y la vida no son más que lo efímero de un pestaño. Y, entonces, cuando todo lo demás se esfuma finito en el ulular de la noche, se quema en el repiquetear del fuego, sólo el amor perdura.
Also written for the nonnie who requested “an exploration of Derek’s trauma” and a bit of Sterek bingo: touch starved.
- -
Derek didn’t know what he could call them.
He was much too scared to say that out loud. Them. He and Stiles. Bodies tangling in the night and separating in the morning. Derek would like to say he didn’t know who’d started it first, but that would be a lie.
He was the first one to show up in Stiles’s bedroom. Climbing through the window while the boy startled so hard in his desk chair, he’d nearly gone tumbling to the floor. Tousled hair, pale skin, and amber eyes were all Derek wanted to see that night.
At first, that’s all it had been.
A visit, a glance, a retreat. Then it was more. A feeling, a movement, a taste. Soon, Derek was lost in the way Stiles traced gentle fingers across his chest, whispered soft things in the night, and then curled up in his arms come morning.
They kept it quiet.
So Derek wasn’t sure what it could be called. He’d go to Stiles or Stiles would come to him. The boy would have a nightmare and Derek would spend the entire night holding him. Derek would wake up to flashes of Boyd’s tear-streaked face, or flames curling into the air, and Stiles would wrap around his shoulders and trace the tattoo on his back until Derek was lulled back into a trembling sleep.
Sometimes, he’d look at Stiles, surrounded by the rest of the pack, and be overwhelmed by the urge to kiss him. To trace his fingers across Stiles’s neck, to bite marks into the pale skin of his neck, to show the others that this boy— this wonder— was his.
Derek never did that. But sometimes he wished he could.
Sometimes though, when Stiles was wrapped up in his arms, Derek felt like he could be satisfied with this. If he had Stiles at night, Derek could go about the rest of his day with the boy ten feet away. He could look at Stiles, laughing with the rest of the pack, and just quietly want.
Other times, Derek would bury his face in the boy’s neck and tried to smother the crushing feeling of not right, not enough, not mine that overwhelmed him.
He didn’t know if Stiles felt the same. Derek didn’t think he had the right to ask.
Because sometimes, he hated himself for this.
Everyone around Derek got hurt. Everyone he dared touch, dared love, dared call his own, ended up facing the punishment for that. Derek used to think he was cursed. Until Stiles had pulled him into his arms at least, gentle fingers putting him back together as Derek broke.
Derek didn’t know what he could call them.
But he wished more than anything he could call Stiles ‘his’.
“Der?”
Derek came back to the real world, blinking a few times. Amber eyes watched him quietly, a small smile dancing across Stiles’s lips as he studied Derek’s in the night. Derek felt his face grow warm and instead of saying anything, he leaned forward and brushed a kiss across the boy’s lips.
Stiles laughed softly. “What was that for?”
“Nothing.”
“Okay, Sourwolf,” Stiles said, eyes sparkling. “You’re just being extra gooey in bed because I was that great, huh? Lemme guess, I fuc—”
“Okay,” Derek said, cutting him off. “Don’t get a big head.”
“That’s coming from you,” Stiles said with a snort. “Mr. Derek ‘I Preen for Days When I Make Stiles Scream My Name’ Hale.”
“That’s quite the title.”
“It’s your title.”
“And shortened?”
Stiles scrunched up his face for a second, before grinning. “Smugwolf. No! Sexwolf.”
“I don’t understand your brain sometimes.”
“But you love it.”
Derek went quiet. Because despite Stiles’s teasing tone, despite the glimmer in his eyes, Derek did. His heart ached for Stiles and those words to be said aloud with actual meaning. But instead, he just huffed and pulled Stiles into his chest so the boy’s face was pressed into his neck.
Stiles spluttered a few times before shifting around and going still. Derek focused on the dark wall across the room and just tried to breathe. Tried to listen to Stiles’s heartbeats, inhale his scent, and tell himself that this was enough.
Stiles with him here, now, was enough.
Mostly, he was terrified he’d say it, he’d spill his guts out, and Stiles would draw away. Because what even was this? Derek didn’t know what to call them. Comfort when the days turned dark. Stiles seeking him out when he smelled like want and arousal. Derek coming in through his window when he wanted was something— touch— anything.
It was enough. Stiles was enough.
Derek hated himself for wanting more.
There were times he could get out of his own head. Beacon Hills was always attracting a new threat; like flies to honey. When Derek wasn’t seeking Stiles out, they were working side by side to deal with the new Monster of the Week. Derek could throw himself into that. Forget about nearly everything else.
Other times, Derek would go into town. Find a corner in the small coffee shop, the nearly empty bar, or the quiet library. Even though the whispers always seemed to follow. The ‘That’s Derek Hale’, ‘that’s the one from the fire’, ‘that’s the one they almost convicted for murder’.
‘His own sister.’
Derek didn’t go out as often after that.
The first time Stiles pinned him down to the mattress, licking a stripe up his stomach, Derek had nearly tossed the boy out of bed. When Stiles had pulled him close one night and whispered the soft word ‘sweetheart’ Derek had stayed wide awake until the sun peeked over the horizon. Fast forward to the next night and Stiles had held him tight as Derek cried.
Derek had kept Stiles out of a fight once, working the plan around him, and the boy hadn’t talked to him for two weeks. Derek was pretty sure they were the longest of his life.
Stiles’s touch was like phantoms that followed him into waking hours and out of them.
It was this whole fake relationship, secret relationship, no relationship, that messed with Derek’s head. He felt like he was drowning. Or suffocating. Or maybe he was just addicted. If he let go of the source though, Derek didn’t think he would survive.
He didn’t think he could survive losing Stiles.
Which might have been why Derek started pushing him away. Because it hurt, it hurt so fucking bad, but Derek could know he was safe. Everyone around Derek got hurt. Everyone that got close to him, got underneath his skin, snaked their way into his heart, ended up punished for it.
Derek refused to lose Stiles.
But he still lost against himself sometimes.
There was a figure standing in the doorway of the loft that night. Derek knew the rest of the betas were out and honestly, he didn’t expect them back until at least the next morning. So when Stiles stood there, amber eyes pleading, a faint stutter to his heartbeats, Derek didn’t even have the strength to turn away.
“Sexwolf,” was whispered against his skin as Stiles laughed. Derek picked him up, long legs wrapping around his waist, and carried the boy toward the bedroom.
Sharp teeth skated down his neck and Stiles sucked a mark there, always so frustrated when he couldn’t leave a lasting mark. There was one time he’d completely forgotten they were both naked, dropping out of the scene midway as he glared at Derek’s neck like he was trying to silently will dark red claiming bites there of his own.
Derek had loved him even more for that.
“You,” Stiles said, as Derek dropped him down onto the mattress. “You’re pulling away from me again, Sourwolf.”
Derek looked at him for a long moment. Then he forced a chuckle and stripped off his shirt. Stiles’s eyes dilated and Derek could always tell when all of his thoughts turned to abs.
“What do you want, Stiles?”
A crooked smile tugged at the boy’s lips. He leaned up, wrapping a hand around the back of Derek’s neck and pulled him in close.
“You.”
Derek always thought it would get easier. But he still closed his eyes, swallowing words, and stripped off Stiles’s shirt too. The boy let loose a litany of soft curses as Derek moved to his jeans, pulling down the zipper and stripping those off too.
By the time Derek had come twice, Stiles three times, and the boy was panting underneath him with Derek’s face buried in his neck, he felt nothing except a little woozy. There was a fog in his mind, a daze behind his eyes, and as Stiles combed careful fingers through his hair, Derek let himself go for the first time.
“I love you.”
Stiles froze. The touches paused and it took Derek a moment for his own words to catch up with him. Then he felt horror, nausea, and terror crash over him. In a second, Derek was shoving himself up and stumbling out of bed, feeling like someone had grabbed him by the neck and ripped out his throat.
Stiles sat up in bed, the sheets pooling around him. And his eyes were wide. His scent loud. Derek thought he could be sick.
A sob threatened to tear from his chest.
“Derek—”
“Don’t,” Derek said, moving a step back. “I’m sorry, Stiles, I’m sorry. I didn’t mea— I’m sorry. I won’t say it again.”
The boy’s eyes cracked.
Slowly, he pushed himself out of bed and Derek froze as Stiles stepped closer. The boy reached out, then stopped, and one brow slowly raising. “Derek, can I touch you?”
Derek barely breathed for a second. Then he nodded and Stiles splayed a hand across his chest. It moved over his shoulders as Stiles stepped closer, cupping the back of his neck. Stiles brought their foreheads together, breaths warm against Derek’s skin.
“Your heart is beating crazy fast, dude.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Derek,” Stiles said, sounding broken. “Please stop apologizing to me.”
Derek felt like he could fall apart. He closed his eyes and nodded, and Stiles drew back a little, searching his face. He never removed his hand, though.
“Can I ask what happened?”
Derek looked at him, shocked. Stiles wet his lips before speaking again.
“You’re terrified.”
“I— I didn’t mean to.”
For a moment, Stiles didn’t answer. Then he nodded, throat bobbing as he swallowed. “You said you loved me. You didn’t mean it?”
“No, I didn’t mean to.”
Something the boy’s scent changed. It went soft, vanished altogether, and then came back in an overwhelming wave. Derek thought there was the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of Stiles’s lips but he didn’t know why.
“I won’t say it again.”
“Derek?”
“Yeah.”
“I love you too.”
Derek didn’t think that was right. He hadn’t heard right. Or maybe something else was wrong. He’d fallen asleep, he was having a nightmare. Stiles had never come over in the first place. This was all a dream.
Derek didn’t realize Stiles was leading him down to the floor until he realized his chest was too tight. The boy guided his head into his chest, whispering calm, soothing things, and wrapped careful arms around Derek’s shoulders, tracing fingers over the outline of his tattoo.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Are you okay?”
“I’m awake.”
“Yeah, big guy.”
Derek turned his face up, nose tracing along Stiles’s collarbone. The boy made a surprised noise before chuckling and a going lax.
“Yeah, big guy, I’m here. You alright?”
Derek just inhaled, eyes closed. Stiles’s entire body vibrated as he chuckled again.
“Okay, Softiewolf, you’re okay. Big whiff now, yeah? Smell that? That’s this human. This Stiles. Your human, alright? Your Stiles. You’re okay, Derek.”
Derek didn’t say a word. They sat like that for a long moment, the silence overwhelming.
Stiles covered him like a shield, pale neck tilted a little in submission. One hand stayed on Derek’s back, fingers outlining his tattoo. The other petted down the back of his neck. Derek stayed stock-still through it all.
“You said you didn’t mean to.”
Derek didn’t answer. Stiles swallowed.
“I did.”
Derek pulled back and Stiles studied his face.
“I meant what I said, big guy. I just… I didn’t want to scare you away. And I know there are some things that are better off not said, but…”
“What is this?”
Stiles blinked. His scent turned nervous. “What is it to you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh man,” Stiles said, laughing. “So it’s not just me. Listen, Sourwolf, I don’t know if you’re scared of my dad, or the betas, or whatever, but I’m totally fine with keeping it under the wraps until you’re good to go—”
Derek stared. Stiles trailed off.
“Derek?”
“I’m not scared.”
That was a lie. Derek was completely and totally terrified. But not of what the pack would think, or how the Sheriff might threaten to shoot him. Derek was terrified that the moment he said it out loud, the world would use that as a reason to take Stiles from him. To tear him away just like all of the others.
“Derek,” Stiles said softly, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Derek, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Stiles said, eyes flashing in the night. “Derek, I swear to god, I will never leave you. I’m Stiles Stilinski, remember? I’m stuck to you like glue now. And I’m never letting go.”
Derek’s chest tightened again. Stiles’s face softened.
“Derek, I love you.”
Derek moved forward and kissed him. Stiles tasted like cinnamon and apple spice and the boy smiled around his lips, hand tangling through his hair. Derek closed his eyes and just let himself want, curled against the boy like Stiles had all the control here.
Because maybe he did. Derek could be taken apart by a simple touch if it came from Stiles.
“I love you,” Derek said, the word whispered around Stiles’s lips. The boy’s scent flooded with happiness and he laughed against Derek’s lips, pulling him closer and kissing him hard.
“I’m yours, big guy.”
“Mine.”
Stiles guided his head down to his neck, fingers softened in his hair. “And I want everyone to know it.”
His.
Derek didn’t think the terror would end tonight. He’d always be afraid of losing Stiles. But there was something about wanting him, about wanting more, and Derek knew he would go to the ends of the earth for Stiles. Feelings of right, of enough, of his.
“I love you.”
Stiles held him closer. And he didn’t need to say a word because Derek knew it was okay. Stiles here. Stiles was his.
And Stiles was always enough.
- -
Apparently, I write sad and happy things now? I promise to offer you guys a bit of both as often as I can <3 Thanks for the prompt, Matt! Sorry, it’s kinda lot of prompts pushed into one XD
(if you enjoy my writing, consider supporting your struggling student writer? You can also request a prompt if you’d like!). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writer
Arthropods and Awkwardness Chapter 2: Arachnid Adventures
Hi! I’m back with Chapter 2 for Arthropods and Awkardness! Check out the third and final chapter! Thanks for reading and enjoy!
(PS- despite the title, there aren’t actually spiders in this part, i just wanted to keep my theme)
read on ao3
Words: 4.8k
Description: Dan and Phil go on their first date after the spider adventure they had that morning, but not everything goes the right way. Phil has a different idea about what their date means, and Dan's not sure if he's ready for the step Phil wants to take. But, hey, at least there aren't anymore spiders! Just some geese.
“No, because Mario is too short. If you’re going to shag one, it’s gotta be Link, definitely.” Dan’s logic may have been more than a little strange, but he wasn’t the one who wanted to discuss their sexual preferences in video game characters.
“But, just listen. Link’s all about saving the world! He wouldn’t have time to really care about you, or any of that. Mario is a real homemaker.” Phil looks seriously invested in his argument, and it’s a good thing they had finished their caramel macchiatos before starting this conversation, because Dan’s not really sure they would have bothered with them otherwise.
Phil had changed out of the cursed pajamas and was now wearing a white t-shirt with a polaroid logo on it, along with black jeans and a pair of sunglasses were tucked into his shirt. Dan had originally been a little disappointed to see the glasses go, but as soon as they’d stepped out of the building and Phil had put the shades on instead, Dan was melting. If he’d thought Phil was attractive this morning in his pajamas, this was a whole different level. He felt lucky that his heart hadn’t legitimately stopped at this point.
Dan had gone for black jeans, a grey t-shirt, and a cherry blossom-print, short sleeved button up that he left open. He had been going for a casual coffee date outfit, but he couldn’t stop staring at the ebony haired man sat in front of him. Which was comical, considering this grown man was currently debating about which animated character out of a game would make the best lover.
They’d been having a generally nice, casual chat up until then, but Dan was feeling particularly flirty today, so he decided he’d risk it. Rolling his eyes at Phil’s speech, he shifts his legs under the table, “accidentally” dragging his foot down Phil’s calf. He hides his smirk as he notices the man’s speech stutter slightly, feeling a small ego boost at the reaction he was able to get. Finally, he felt a little control here.
“I don’t know. I guess I just generally prefer a real person. Video games don’t really do it for me.” Dan says casually, leaning back in his seat, fully smirking at the way Phil’s eyes widen a little at the implications.
“Oh?” Phil inquires, mirroring Dan’s stance and leaning back in his chair as well. To add to it, and probably to make Dan’s heart palpitate, Phil runs a hand through his hair, the motion looking ridiculously well-practiced.
“Mhm. But I do have a few other… preferences.” He says, trying his hardest to sound serious around the nervousness he feels.
Phil smiles, tilting his head. Dan nearly jumps as he feels Phil’s foot rub against his leg, and his mouth nearly drops open. How dare he steal Dan’s thing? And be better at it, too? “Please indulge me. I’d love to know just what it is that gets you going.” Phil leans forward suddenly, as if they’re sharing a secret. “I bet you like to give up control. I think that’s what gets you hot. Am I right?” He raises an eyebrow, his blue eyes glimmering with mischief.
Dan swears below his breath, unable to help himself. How could this dorky guy, who was talking about corgis and houseplants not twenty minutes ago, suddenly sound this hot and seductive? It wasn’t fair. There’s no way Dan was giving in that easily, though. Sure, he wanted to get laid, but he wouldn’t just bend over for any guy with pretty blue eyes and perfect skin. And a good sense of humor. And, well, you get the point.
“Mm. Wouldn’t you like to find out?” He smirks, bringing his straw up to his mouth, chewing on the plastic as he watches Phil, who’s eyes are trained on Dan’s lips.
“I think you want to show me.” Phil says softly, his eyes flicking up to meet Dan’s. He smiles, and it’s not even seductive at this point, just happy. The thought that this date might end in something other than sex makes Dan’s heart race, and he’s not quite sure if it’s in a good way or not. After his last relationship ended over a year ago, he hadn’t dated and there had only been a few casual hookups. He wasn’t sure which way he wanted this to go, but as long as those blue eyes kept looking at him, he wasn’t sure he even cared.
“I… um…” Dan stutters, his thoughts jumbled together and keeping him from making any actual sense as he tries to speak. “Er- what?” He says blankly.
Phil laughs, shaking his head. “You’re very cute when you’re flustered, Dan. Would you like to go for a walk?” he asks, gesturing to the door. Dan nods, because of course he wants to go on a walk with this cute stranger, is he crazy?
They walk outside, and Phil takes the lead, slipping his sunglasses back on. It’s really not too bright out here, but Dan supposes that with contacts in the sun could be a little irritating. “How long have you worn glasses?” He suddenly blurts, not really realizing how much he cares about the answer until he turns to look at Phil, who’s already looking at him.
He glances up, as if the answer is in the clouds, but likely he’s just trying to remember. “I’m not sure… I found out I needed them when I was probably eighteen, and I’m thirty-two now… so, that many years.” He smiles.
Dan files that information away, then his brain catches on something else Phil had just told him. “Wait, you’re thirty-two?” He asks, not bothered at all, just curious about this new information.
Phil blushes, ducking his head as he nods. “Yeah. Is that, like, a deal breaker for you? Because I’m so old?” He asks, almost sounding resigned.
Dan would not be having that. He stops, his hand coming up to grip Phil’s wrist to stop him as well. “No, of course not.” He smiles cheekily then, and Phil’s eyes drop to the dimple in his cheek. “I like older men anyway.” Phil rolls his eyes at this, moving to keep walking, but Dan doesn’t loosen his grip on his wrist. They take a few steps like that before Phil slides his hand up, catching Dan’s in his own.
The brunet blushes at this but looks straight ahead as if he hadn’t even noticed. “So, if you like older men,” Phil continues their conversation, swinging their intertwined hands between them. “How old does that make you?” He asks, his head tilted to watch Dan.
“Twenty-eight. My birthday’s in June, though.” He shrugs, nodding towards the park they’re making their way to. “Are we going to the park?” He asks, trying not to blush when he looks at Phil. Even with the sunglasses on, Dan can tell that the older man is looking at him, and the attention makes him almost nervous.
“Aw, you’re just a baby.” He pinches Dan’s cheek, his hand being swatted away in the process. “And yeah, the park is nice, I figured we could walk around for a bit. I’m all about picture-perfect first dates.” He grins, his tongue poking out between his teeth.
“Oh? Picture-perfect, huh? Does this mean you’ll walk me to my door and we’ll share our first kiss when we’re done here?” Dan smirks, fluttering his eyelashes.
Phil laughs, elbowing him gently. “We’ll see, if you behave.”
“I can be a good boy,” Dan bites down on his tongue hard as Phil’s head swings around to look at him in shock at his boldness.
“Jesus, Dan. I can’t take you anywhere.” He rolls his eyes, glancing around as if someone might have heard them, and Dan notices the unmistakable blush on his cheeks.
Shrugging, Dan leads them over to a pond where a group of geese are gathered. “You can take me to bed,” he teases.
Phil smacks his arm, and Dan squeaks indignantly. “Daniel!” Phil’s barely containing his own laughter, but he’s trying to be serious. “I’ll take you to bed so you can take a nap if you don’t quit this.” Dan shrugs as if that works for him, and after flashes of he and Phil cuddling and napping together cross his mind, he decides that he really wouldn’t mind it at all.
“I like sleepovers, so I’m not entirely opposed to that idea, actually.”
Phil only laughs, pushing his glasses up since they’re standing in the shade provided by the trees surrounding the pond. “I’m really glad we did this. You’ve come out of your shell a lot since this morning, and I’m really enjoying spending time with you, Dan.” He says, his voice so genuine that it nearly makes Dan trip over his own feet.
His first reaction is to make a sarcastic comment, as he typically does when faced with any form of compliment or sentimentality, but when he sees the look of fondness on Phil’s face, the comment dies in his throat. “I am too,” he whispers instead, squeezing Phil’s hand.
The older man smiles, and Dan blushes, turning away to face the pond for a distraction. When he sees the geese, he blurts out, “Do you want to know a fun fact about geese?”
Phil looks slightly taken aback by the abrupt change in topic, but he still smiles widely before nodding. “Hit me with those sweet facts.” He smirks at the way Dan’s face crinkles at his wording.
Dan opens his mouth before realizing he doesn’t even have a fact. He just blurted it out because he was nervous and needed a distraction. Great. “They’re dicks.” He says finally, trying to put as much conviction in his voice as possible.
Phil stares at him for a moment before he starts laughing hysterically. Dan grins, relieved that he didn’t just think it was weird or stupid. When he’s done laughing, he looks at Dan, tilting his head with a soft smile on his face. When he opens his mouth, Dan expects him to say something cute that’ll likely make him blush, but instead he makes an obnoxious goose noise.
Dan’s eyes widen, and it takes him all of two seconds before he’s in stitches himself, and then they’re both stood there making goose noises, holding their sides with how hard they’ve been laughing. As he’s wiping tears of mirth out of his eyes, Dan leans heavily into Phil’s side, blushing as the older man drops his hand to instead wrap an arm around his shoulders. They’re about the same height, although Dan’s probably an inch or two taller if he’d stand up a little straighter.
“Yeah, I’m really glad we did this.” Phil smiles, guiding Dan away from the pond and over to a bench. “Or, as a goose would say,” followed by more obnoxious goose noises that cause Dan to begin giggling all over again. Phil just grins at him as he laughs, clearly more than proud of himself for getting Dan to laugh so much.
“You’re a dork, did you know that?” Dan smiles as they both drop onto the bench, Phil’s arm falling onto the backrest just behind Dan’s shoulder blades, his fingers playing with the hem of Dan’s sleeve.
“I really want to kiss you,” Phil blurts, his eyes widening as if he hadn’t meant to say it. Dan’s heart races, but he tries to play it as nonchalant as he can.
“Then why don’t you?” He asks with a smirk.
Phil tilts his head before smiling, his hand coming up to caress Dan’s cheek. Dan leans into the touch, his own hands coming up to fist Phil’s shirt as he leans in. Their lips touch lightly at first, but as Phil goes to pull away, Dan makes an embarrassing sound in his throat before following him, reattaching their lips. He doesn’t even care if this is needy or weird on a first date, Phil has soft lips and he’s been looking at him with those blue eyes all morning, and Dan is more than ready to take it a step further.
Phil’s hand drops from Dan’s face to his leg, which he tugs on until Dan is facing him fully. The older man brings his hands back up, one holding Dan there by the back of his neck while the other hand cups his jaw. The brunet basically swoons at this point, sighing into the kiss, which allows Phil to tentatively trace his lip with his tongue. Dan hurriedly moves his mouth to allow Phil the freedom to explore, but before it can go that far, he pulls away, keeping their foreheads pushed together.
“What’s wrong?” Dan whispers, feeling Phil’s breath against his lips and aching to close the gap again. He doesn’t, however, because he doesn’t want to overstep Phil’s boundaries.
Phil sighs, shaking his head slowly. “Nothing, just… Maybe the park isn’t the best place for this.” He answers.
“Oh,” Dan responds. His lips quirk into a smirk. Emotions and the cute hand-holding part of a date may be a little out of his comfort zone, but when it comes to the sex part, he feels that he’s pretty well-versed. “We can go back to mine? Or yours, if you want.”
Phil nods, pulling away only to tug Dan up by the hand. “Let’s go, then.” He smiles, leading the way back to their apartment building. Dan almost makes a comment about him being in a hurry, but he doesn’t want Phil to feel like he doesn’t want this, because god, does he. He didn’t think it was possible for him to want something more than he wanted this.
Instead, he says, “Thank you, by the way.” When Phil looks at him with a raised eyebrow, Dan feels his face heat up, and he kicks at the pavement. “For the date. I haven’t done something this fun in a while… so thanks.” He smiles a little, but it’s nothing compared to the grin that lights up Phil’s face.
“I’m glad you’ve had a good time, Dan. If I had known you liked boys, I would have asked months ago.” He bites his lip then, as if that wasn’t appropriate.
Dan’s jaw drops at this. Phil had liked him this whole time? “What?” He demands.
It’s Phil’s turn to blush then, and he nods, looking at the ground as they walk. “Yeah, after the first time I saw you I really wanted to ask you out. But I wasn’t sure… you seemed like you could swing either way, but I didn’t want to get it wrong and make you feel awkward, since we’re neighbors.” He shrugs as if it’s not a big deal, which, maybe it isn’t, but to Dan, it feels like it.
“I’m bi.” Dan says, nodding. Phil nods sheepishly as well. “But like, if you had asked me out, I would have been flattered, even if I didn’t also fuck men.”
Phil’s eyes widen comically at the crude way Dan had said that, and Dan just smirks. “Dan!” He hisses, looking around.
Dan shrugs. “I don’t care if people hear me. Are you…” He realizes he’d never asked Phil about something kind of important, and he slows his walk. “Are you out?” He studies the man beside him, wondering if he should pull his hand away.
Luckily, Phil takes away that worry almost immediately by nodding. “Yeah, I just… I’m not big on swearing, is all.” He shrugs, but he avoids Dan’s gaze.
Snickering, Dan shakes his head. “Well, you’ll get sick of me pretty soon, then.” He jokes.
They walk through the door to their building, heading to the elevator, their hands still interlocked. “No, of course not. I mean, I swear occasionally, but it just… I guess I feel weird about it when there are people are around?” He says, almost questioning, as if he isn’t really sure himself.
Dan smirks at this news, crowding Phil in the elevator when the doors shut behind them. “Yeah? How could I make you swear?” He teases, attaching his lips to Phil’s jaw, working his way down.
“You can’t.” Phil whispers, but Dan can hear how his voice wavers.
“Hm.” He hums, skimming his nose along Phil’s throat before attaching his lips to a spot just above his collarbone and sucking, letting his teeth graze the skin there. “Are you sure about that?” He whispers against the smooth, pale skin.
“Pretty… pretty sure.” Phil gasps, tossing his head back. “Dan, our floor. We’re on our floor.” He gently pushes Dan away, but his eyes hold a hunger that hadn’t been there before.
The smirk on Dan’s face doesn’t waver, and he drags Phil towards his own door, since he knew he had lube. The condom situation may be hit or miss, but as far as he was concerned, they could do it bare. Probably a stupid and reckless decision to make with a stranger, sure, but Phil was hot, and he didn’t want to let something like latex get in their way.
He shoves the door open, relieved for once to find that he’d left it unlocked. He really should lock his door, but he didn’t care enough to do so, especially when it came in handy during times like this. He doesn’t waste hardly any time before he’s got Phil pressed against the door, reattaching his lips back to where they’d been sucking a bruise into his neck just a few minutes earlier. Dan nearly groans at the sounds falling from Phil’s lips, but it doesn’t last long.
Dan’s almost shocked as Phil pushes him away, reversing their positions. He’s got a smirk on his face now, and Dan suddenly feels nervous. Phil’s so hot, and he looks so confident, and then his lips are on Dan’s neck and he’s whining, actually fucking whining as Phil sucks a spot above his collarbone.
Pulling away just slightly, Phil’s eyes meet Dan’s, and they’re full of amusement. “I knew you’d be vocal.” He taunts. He doesn’t even wait for a response, and his ministrations continue, Dan helpless against the feelings, left to thrash against the door as blood rushes to his cock, his head dizzy with arousal.
“Phil, Phil. Bedroom.” Dan grips the older man’s shoulders, gently pushing him away. Phil nods, and then he’s leading Dan to the bedroom, and Dan nearly sighs when his legs hit the mattress moments later as he falls onto his back. His shirt comes off immediately, and Phil raises an eyebrow, a small smile still on his lips. “Come here, please, god.” Dan whines, not even trying to cover up his lust.
Phil complies easily enough, straddling Dan. He places his hands on Dan’s stomach, slowly dragging his fingertips up, smirking at the way Dan shivers, then keens as Phil runs a thumb over one of his nipples. Raising an eyebrow questioningly, he repeats the action. “Hmm. If you’re making that sound now… I wonder what kind of sound you’d make…” He doesn’t finish his thought, but leans down, and Dan already knows what he’s going to do before he feels that wet heat closing around the sensitive skin.
The younger man arches up, a quiet moan falling out of his lips. He’d almost be embarrassed, but he’d embraced his loudness years ago, and Phil seemed to enjoy it as well. Phil continues with riling him up there for a few moments, before shifting to give the other nipple the same attention. Dan is panting, and his hips roll up into Phil’s involuntarily.
Phil’s mouth suddenly goes slack, and he groans at the friction Dan’s created. Dan smiles, proud to have had some effect on Phil. Without hesitating, he repeats the movement, painfully slow. Their jeans restrict them a little, but Dan find that it almost makes it hotter, the fact that they’re both almost fully dressed. He decides he needs to change that though, and tugs insistently at Phil’s shirt. “Off,” he demands.
The smirk Phil gives him before sitting up and tugging the shirt over his head nearly makes Dan’s eyes roll back in his head, and he’s so hot in here, they need to be naked, like now. Then the thoughts are being silenced as Phil brings their lips together, barely wasting a moment before his tongue slips into Dan’s mouth, licking against his own. Dan sighs into the kiss, and brings his arms to wrap around Phil’s neck, holding him there. If he could keep him there for hours, he would, the kiss is hot and wet and great, but Dan knows that if they stay like that, they can’t get to the other activities, and he’d very much like to do that.
Pulling away only briefly, he gestures to his bedside table. “There’s lube in the top drawer, maybe a condom too.” He runs a hand through Phil’s soft hair, with every intention of messing that perfect quiff up as they make out, but suddenly Phil is pulling away.
Dan can’t really describe the look on Phil’s face, but it’s somewhere between hurt and mad, which doesn’t make any sense. He struggles to think what he’d done wrong, but he can feel Phil’s cock pressing against his leg, and he knows that probably wouldn’t be the case if the kiss or the touching was just unappealing to Phil. So, it couldn’t be that. Rather than sit there wondering, Dan furrows his eyebrows before asking, “What’s wrong?”
Phil’s lips are wet and red, and they’re frowning, and Dan can’t figure out why they’re doing that, and so far away from his own. “Is that what this is about?” He asks, or demands actually, with the tone of his voice. Dan glances around the room, confused as he props himself up on his elbows.
“What?” He asks, genuinely not understanding where this is going.
“This,” Phil gestures between the two of them. “Today. Our date? And all the flirting? Was that just so you could get laid? I told you, Dan, I don’t sleep with people I don’t know.” His voice almost sounds hysterical, and Dan’s only more confused, his lust-addled brain not fully grasping why they’re talking and not kissing until Phil climbs off of him and grabs his shirt. His words process in Dan’s brain finally, and he sits up, unsure of how to handle this.
“What? No, Phil.” When Phil looks at him uncertainly, Dan caves. “Okay, I mean, maybe? Like, at least part of it was just me trying to get somewhere.” When Phil glares and tugs on his shirt, making his way out of the room, Dan shoots up off the bed to chase after him. “Phil! Wait, what the fuck? I thought we were on the same page.”
Phil spins on his heel, facing Dan with an expression of pure anger, which Dan hadn’t been prepared for at all. He cringes back slightly but struggles to maintain eye contact. “The same page? Do you mean the page where we fuck and then go back to our own lives like we didn’t?” Dan’s so shocked from his outburst that he doesn’t even think to comment on the fact that he got Phil to swear.
“No, that’s not what I meant…” Dan trails off as Phil rolls his eyes and starts towards the door again. “Wait!” Dan grabs his arm, but Phil shakes him off.
“No, Dan. I told you, I don’t just go around sleeping with people I don’t know.” Phil glances over Dan, a look of disgust, or maybe disappointment, on his face. “I’m not like you, apparently.”
Dan fumbles for his words, not letting Phil get away so easily. He was confused about why Phil was angry, but he thinks he’s slowly starting to get it. “But, you know me. That’s why we went for coffee, remember?” He tries.
Phil gapes at him, shaking his head, disbelief coloring his expression. “No! We went on one date, Dan! We barely knew each other before today, and we don’t even really know each other now!” Phil shakes his head once more before turning away. “Forget it, okay? This was a bad idea.”
The perfect fantasy he’d built in his head crumbling right in front of him, Dan grasps for straws. “I know your birthday! I know you drink caramel macchiatos, just like me. And I know that you have a brother and that you think Mario is husband material!” Dan knows he’s reaching now, but he finds that he’s not even doing it to get laid. He can’t fathom the idea that he could lose Phil over this, not after the wonderful day they just had and all they have in common. He felt like Phil could be a real friend if he would just try, and despite the fact that Dan wanted to sleep with him, he desperately didn’t want to lose his friendship, if that’s all he was offering.
As expected, Phil shakes his head, not buying it. “Those are just surface things, Dan. You don’t know my thoughts, or things that are important to me. I’ve made mistakes before, and one of them looked just like you. A boy who was everything I wanted, all wrapped up in nothing other than his desire to screw me. And you know what? I know better now. So, if that’s all you want from me, then I’m sorry Dan, but you can’t have that.” Phil’s eyes are fully of emotion, and Dan watches helplessly as he wipes angrily at a stray tear.
“I’m sorry,” Dan whispers hoarsely. “That’s not… that’s not all I want. We can be friends, too. I want to be your friend, Phil.” He’s nearly begging at this point, and he knows it’s pathetic, but he doesn’t even care. He doesn’t want to see Phil walk out the door without at least fighting for him to stay.
Phil just shakes his head sadly. “I’m sorry too, Dan. I can’t offer that. I want to be your friend, and I’m attracted to you, but if you aren’t interested in a relationship, in the work that it takes to maintain that, then I don’t have anything to offer you. We can be just friends, but I won’t be your fuck buddy.” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, which is disheveled from their earlier activities.
Dan just stares at him, and Phil takes this as his chance to leave, turning back to the door. It takes a moment for Dan’s brain to catch up with his mouth, but when it does, he blurts out, “I don’t think I can do a relationship… I’m not… I don’t think I’m ready for another relationship right now. But can’t we… can’t we try it?” He swallows hard, his eyes trailing away from Phil’s face for a second as he tries to gather his thoughts. “I really don’t want you to just walk away.” He whispers.
Phil studies him before shaking his head slowly. “No, Dan. We’re both adults. It’s childish and pretty naïve of you to assume that someone won’t get hurt in that kind of arrangement.” Dan opens his mouth to protest, but Phil raises a hand to stop him. “I’ve been there, I know how it works. I’m sorry, but I won’t do it. I wish you felt differently about the relationship thing, but I won’t pressure you. If that’s not what you want, I won’t try to force you.”
Dan just stares at him, wordlessly, as tears well up in his own eyes. He feels ridiculous for it, but after all the warmth he’d felt after spending the day with Phil, he didn’t think he could handle losing it all at once like this. But he can’t even think of a way to convince Phil not to leave, and it’s really not his place to ask that of him, especially not with everything he’d just shared. Dan was lucky he didn’t tell him to fuck off forever, honestly.
“If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” Phil says softly, and then he’s out the door, and for the time being, out of Dan’s life.
It takes him a few minutes of just staring at the door before Dan finally shuffles back into his bedroom, collapsing on the bed and rolling over to stare at the window. Fuck, he thinks to himself. Maybe I should have left the window open, after all. At least then the spiders could just crawl in and kill me in my sleep, so I wouldn’t have to deal with how much this fucking hurts.
Still, Dan doesn’t dare open the window. Even if everything had just fallen apart, he didn’t fancy adding the element of tiny horror beasts to his already shit life.
Counterpart
Eobard Thawne/Barry Allen
Thawne's glance scalds as hot as his touch does as it skims across Barry's face. Down his body, he can feel it like a physical thing as those burning eyes trail just behind fingertips. Maybe it's because he's so used to being seen without seeing that makes Eobard's regard feel so intense now...
Thawne's glance scalds as hot as his touch does as it skims across Barry's face. Down his body, he can feel it like a physical thing as those burning eyes trail just behind fingertips. Maybe it's because he's so used to being seen without seeing that makes Eobard's regard feel so intense now, but Barry feels as if he's on the edge of overstimulation and that hand hasn't even dipped below his belt yet. His breath hitches and his hips jerk upwards, eager and clumsy like he's new to this...is he new to this? They've never done this in this lifetime, he thinks, but the impression of other times press and bleed against the pages of here and now as if they've become soaked through, saturated with each successive attempt at...what, exactly?
This isn't what it's all leading up to, he doesn't think. Thawne is looking at him now like a man possessed--entranced--like every movement and every look is something he wants to catalogue and put on display. But this intimacy isn't enough. There's more that he wants, and that scares him.
Barry turns his head, burying his face in Eobard's throat with a shakey exhale. It's bizarre, how easy it is to lean back into Thawne, how natural it feels to let him take some of his weight. They fit well together--they always have, actually, it's just easier to dismiss the way their bodies slot together like someone carved them from one piece when they're running and fighting and Thawne is letting cruelty drip from his tongue like poison.
His lips don't taste like poison, and they should.
Rationally, this shouldn't be happening. The damage they've both done to each other is unforgivable, incalculable...it shouldn't be so easy to fall into step together, shouldn't feel natural to have Thawne at his side when he fights, shouldn't feel normal to banter with his Reverse, and the planet should start orbiting in the wrong direction around the Sun before Barry should be willing to let Eobard touch him.
Irrationally, the moment Barry gave in it felt like something that had been twisted out of place inside of him aligned perfectly and an ache in his chest that he hadn't known he'd been living with eased.
It was desperately easy.
Now, finally, Eobard's hand did slip past his belt, and Barry found himself gasping like he'd never been touched in his life before...something about the way that opposing energy that spun between the molecules of Eobard's body reacted to his own living Force made Barry truly feel it in a way skin on skin shouldn't accomplish.
Eobard turned his head and pressed lips to Barry's sweat-damp temple in a way that made him shudder, and then settle, reaching back with a hand to cradle the back of the bigger man's neck.
His hips moved of their own accord, pushing into the hold Thawne had on him, and Eobard continued to ground him with kisses. Barry bit gently into the muscle at the base of Thawne's throat to muffle the cry that wanted to escape him at last, his hand gripping at the yellow cowl his counterpart wore.
Finally, when they were both slack and sated and tangled up in each other, Barry was able to face Eobard's eyes again, turning his face away from his Reverse' throat with a few last, conciliatory kisses. They regarded each other for a long moment, and Thawne's hand paused--stuttered, almost--in its leisurely petting.
