Troublemaker - Phan Smut Oneshot

Troublemaker

A/N: So apparently I'm really good at describing everything but the actual smut, but I don't think that part is too bad. I'm proud for my first one.

TW: smut, very little degrading, unprotected sex, and swearing.

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"You're giving me a cardiac arrest when I'm sitting at the traffic light."

Every single day, Phil would drive by the same old traffic light. The way it hung on an angle, the chipped paint from storms, the dirty yellow tint, and the exact seventeen seconds it took to change from green to yellow for six seconds, then back to red. He was never planning on going anywhere. He just liked that spot. That traffic light and that traffic light only.

He would drive around the block a few times, and a few more times just to see that old traffic light again. Not just the traffic light, but everything around it. The pothole covered road, the worn yellow lines on the concrete, the slightly curved speed limit sign from someone carelessly ramming into it, shoes tied together and thrown over the electrical wires, the ripped flag hanging from the building next to it that clearly needed to be retired, and the year-round Christmas decorations on the other side of the memorable lane.

Yes, Phil payed attention to all of these details, but not because he wanted to; it was because of his memory. Ever since he was younger, he had an amazing memory, near photographic. Despite his innocent childhood looks, he was able to easily learn and remember pranks, tricks, and other mischievous activities to repeat them over and over without fail. His memory earned him the title, "Troublemaker."

"Wanna be a troublemaker, wanna be a troublemaker."

That road made him want trouble. He craved it. He wanted to get himself into a situation he could never get out of. He wanted to get himself in so deep that the trouble he was in would feel like pure bliss. He'd never been able to shake the thought out of his head, ever since that boy showed up... That damn boy. His damn memory.

He was the reason Phil kept coming back to that same damn traffic light. He was the reason Phil spent most of his paycheck on gas to drive around and around waiting for that boy. He's the reason Phil bought a better car. He's the reason Phil actually got up in the morning and brushed his hair. That boy was his damn reason to live. That boy drove Phil insane.

He had seen him once and only once while on his way to visit his friend. Long story short, he ended up missing the meet up with his pal and drove back home and daydreamed about the stranger. The boy had jet black, leather shoes that zipped from the center of his foot all the way up to the top of the boot, which sat around two inches above the top of his ankle bone. He crossed his feet when he stood up and leaned against something. It was the most feminine thing below his knees. The curve of his right heel rested right on top of his left ankle, fitting almost like a puzzle piece. The way his toe lightly taps the ground because of the way his shoes restricted him was a tiny detail that Phil loved.

Phil's original glance at him started at the feet and worked its way up. His calves. They were clearly defined through what must have been the skinniest pair of jeans Phil had ever seen. But what surprised him even more about his legs, were his thighs. Goddamn they feminine, even more than the way he crossed his feet. The outward roundedness, the visible weight, the way that they curved in and out, both on his right and his left. Phil had spent hours just dribbling over what he could do to those thighs; he could cover them in purple marks, lightly trace shapes and designs over them with his delicate fingers, or he could spend all day with him, just leaving his hand on his inner thigh lovingly.

Phil couldn't handle himself, what happened to him? He was the strong, intimidating guy who would stop at nothing, but he was just melting at the sight of this stranger.