my freudian slip - phan

vii.

The yellow of the windows seems to put a filmy layer on everything inside, Phil thinks. They've made their way down the street to a normal one story, and it's not messy, but it's cluttered, and he finds it hard to move much, trusting in Dan to lead the way in.

Dan goes to put a light on when they're in his room, and this time it's a fluorescent blue– hygienic. The light is slow to turn on, shining on each surface in slow bursts. Phil looks around when it finishes.

What he sees is that Dan's room is peculiarly clean compared to the rest of his house. His nightstand has only a solitary clock on it, the rest of the surface polished to a shine. On his wall are posters for some punk bands Phil's never heard of, there's clippings about some local artists and a lot of scrawling words sharpied sporadically on the sky blue paint like a preschool art project. The contrast made him laugh.

"Your mom lets you do this?"

"She can't be arsed."

"It's interesting." Phil tries to keep the conversation going. "I don't know the bands. Any good?"

"They're alright, yeah. Want to listen?"

#1: get them interested.

He takes off his jacket and grabs a black and white record from a plastic filing bin, placing the vinyl on the record player. As it starts playing, Dan continues to stare at the baby blue spinner, looking down at it with a quiet reverence. "Oh love, oh love, Jumping jolly until the end, I wanna be your friend."

"Too hard core for you?" He laughs.

"No. It's nice. Who is it?"

Dan finally turns, taking a step closer to Phil. "Palma Violets." He takes the bloodied sweater from Phil's hands and throws it next to the door, and pulls tightly at Phil's striped school tie. "But don't play games. I think we both know why you followed me here." Dan's eyes rake over him, and his head bobs with the garaged vocals. "And talking punk bands wasn't it."

Phil feels his chest get lighter. "Um you know it's funny-"

"Nothing funny about this." He continues to pull at Phil's tie, moving him closer and closer until he's perched on his bed. The eyelashes on Phil's face are coming into focus and they're wet from the cold outside, his nose is raw and his cheeks echo the sentiment, a youthful glow of peach fuzz covering them.

#2: make them feel in control.

"I want you to fuck me." Dan lets his teeth bite at the command. "Fuck me," he repeats, this time whispered. He can see it in Phil's eyes, he's hesitant. But he's not an idiot, Phil want's it as much as he does.

"You'll talk to me tomorrow?" It's childish. Phil doesn't know it though. "Yeah?"

"Anything you say, hon." It's a lie. Phil's supposed to understand this.

So he brings Phil down to his eye level with one last tug on the school tie. Both of their lips are a little frigid, and the house isn't much warmer than outside. Instinctively Phil pulls Dan into his arms to try to warm himself, abruptly cutting off the frenzied kisses. Phil steadies himself on Dan's nose.

"I'm sorry- it's so cold."

"Damned heater broke about two years ago. It's all right, here-" Dan stills. Phil's closed eyes are directly in his viewpoint, and he can see the little lashes of his lids quiver with cold. He shouldn't be as attracted to him as he is right now. Phil's older than him and bigger than him– and yet here in his arms, Dan can only see a child. He wonders if it isn't just the cold that's making them shiver.

But Dan's supposed to continue, that's the unspoken rule to #2, but he can't–

Instead Dan just lays on his chest, letting Phil's arms wrap around him. He closes his eyes. It's comforting. Phil's heartbeat keeps his head company. On and on it grows, until Dan starts to feel himself slip–

They stay there for a few minutes, and he's complete bliss. Breathing in, and breathing out- something soft beneath him...

"I think I'm alright now." With a sudden jolt at Phil's voice, Dan wakes. "Maybe once we get under blankets or something."

"Anything you say-" the word hon sticks in his throat this time, slightly groggier.

Phil tries to lose some of his blush, and in his embarrassment pulls Dan back to his lips with a stinging urgency.

#3: forget

Dan focuses on the lips connecting with his, breathing in the musk of cheap aftershave and fighting the buttoned collar on Phil's neck so as to ignore the steady pool forming in his stomach.

"I can't believe we're doing this again," Phil breathes out.

"Y-You can't resist me." He doesn't want to forget the last few minutes but he finds that he can't focus on anything but that. I need to forget god this is pointless he doesn't care about you- idiot. Dan takes hold of the collar again, finding it hard to unbutton.

Helping with shaking hands, Phil slips his fingers in between Dan's to reveal a snow pale throat.

"You're all I've thought about all day."

Dan settles into his arms, wrapping his legs around him. He runs his hands along Phil's neck, finally fitting his mouth to the crook of it and kissing, finding the blood rushing underneath his lips a pleasant feeling. He moans in a little, trying to ease the tiny shivers of the boy's neck.

"Why are you shaking?"

"I-I guess I'm just cold."

So Dan goes back to his neck, marveling at the marble of the boning and the inlets of the collar, tracking his fingertips up his back on the way...

But it's the scrape against his chest that gets him, the warmth and the wet- he gets back. This isn't what supposed to happen. Phil is his friend, he likes him and wants to give him everything, but he can't give him this. This is to forget, to float, to be gone. This is not for Phil.

This is wrong.

"Stop-" He turns his head away from Phil's mouth. "I-I can't-"

The kisses stop immediately. He expects to have to bring his hands up to try to protect his neck, like usual, but it stops.

It stops.

Dan's eyes are cornered into the dresser, and only breath is in the blue room, billowing into the other, the only moving thing in the air. Everything is more than warm and Phil's hair is a real true black and it just so-

"What's wrong?"

There's a blink, and an icy tear leaves his eye and slides to the lily sheet. He wishes he could answer. He doesn't think he's ever heard his voice so fragile. "Y-You have to go home."

Neither of them can see the other, it's too dark and they're only shadows to the walls. But it's funny hearing life in people, passion and disgust, disappointment and fire come out from the lips of pitch. He's not use to it.

"My mum'll kill me-"

Dan's quiet. "Go home to your parents."

"I don't want to."

Phil could rape him. He could pin Dan down, force him to take it. He's smaller than Phil, and pretty fucking weak from eating takeaway almost every night. Dan wouldn't even be surprised at this point, just mildly disappointed.

But he must have said "go" with conviction because Phil does. His throat is caught as the sheets graze together as he gets up and takes his clothes, a little slap of metal says a belt buckle is off the floor, and a creak tells Dan that he's gone.

He's not even able to finish his sentence.

"But I want to you so bad."