Archive of Our Own

Phil is making tea.

They almost never drink tea. They are coffee drinkers. Ribena drinkers. Rosé drinkers. But even though they live in the UK - hardly ever tea drinkers.

Phil hides a spoon of mānuka honey into the steaming mug and swirl it around until it dissolves completely. The hot porcelain warms his hands as he heads back to the sofa where Dan is currently sprawled out. A recent heat wave has caused him to crawl out of both his shirt and shorts, but judging from the blanket drawn up to his chin, Phil reasons that he must have started to freeze again.

The bored expression from earlier has evaporated; instead replaced by a pair of dazed-out eyes and a loose droopy smile. Dan’s face and neck is flushed a feverishly red and his forehead is damp with greasy loops of curls sticking to beading sweat.

”I made you some tea”, Phil says meekly.

He puts down the Hello Kitty mug on the coffee table and slumps next to Dan’s feet on the sofa.

Phil already knows that Dan is not going to reach out for it.

Still, he studies his boyfriend’s expression with intense interest. Is he going to move? Say something? Need Phil’s help?

Dan opens his mouth to respond, but as soon as his lips part and a tiny gush of air travels through his mouth to tickle his trachea; he breaks out in a throaty, gurgling cough. It sounds alarmingly wet and raspy - and it sounds deep. The infection must have spread further down his lungs now, ultimately infecting them entirely with some kind of malicious virus.

Dan’s eyes begin to water as he continues to retch up phlegm in deep, stuttering coughs. Phil scrunches his nose as he hears him swallowing it down again.

”At least take some coughing medicine”, Phil tries and reaches out for the bottle on the table.

Dan shakes his head very carefully not to trigger another coughing fit - his voice comes out sounding weirdly broken and stuffy as he whispers: ”M’ not- … ev-en that si-ck.”

The easy, quiet atmosphere only remains unbroken for a few seconds before he breaks out in another fit sounding just as bad.

Dan has not always been this way.

Back in the days Dan would enjoy being cared for. Coming down with the flu used to serve as a wonderful and acceptable excuse to skip university-lectures and come over to hang out in Phil’s sofa or bed. He would enjoy being tucked in beneath warm sheets and being fed greasy pizza-slices and white pills brought from the corner shop down the street. He would enjoy a cool towel on the forehead and pecks on the cheeks and for Phil to put on his favorite show for him. They would spend hours on the sofa, hand-feeding each other sweets while giggling at the TV. They would stay awake until both their eyes and laugh-muscles burned. Dan would allow himself to be comfortable, medicated - and most importantly - cared for by Phil.

Nowadays Dan is not as compliant.

It would always start with Dan fully ignoring it. He would continue to work hard, almost manically, while neglecting the increasing symptoms. He would keep on editing, contacting, emailing, calling, producing, writing, publishing - all while hiding his increasingly runny nose and moist eyes from his boyfriend.

Phil almost thought it was a prestigious thing at first.

Because Dan Howell is healthy. He can not get sick, he is finally okay and he does not get ill or feel down - or anything - anymore. He is okay - and one should know that he works hard.

But then Phil figured it was just another of Dan Howell’s interesting methods to self harm.

The extreme stress he would put his body through by his manic behavior would eventually lead Dan to the beginning of the next phase - the excessive throat clearing.

It would start rather innocently, but it would begin to sound wetter and raspier each passing day until it evolved into a cough so unsettling that it became impossible for everyone to ignore. This is when Dan would finally stop working, stop talking and stop being up in everyone else’s business. He would relent to the sofa or his own bedroom with the excuse that Phil still needed his good night's worth of sleep. And then Dan would remain there for the following days.

Dan groans and squirms on the sofa. His throat is sore and swollen, making each breath sound like it is going through a rusty, clogged-up pipe.

”Dan… please, at least sit up?” Phil pleads.

The angle of Dan’s body is not suitable for the current condition of his throat. His head is not even properly propped up on a cushion. Dan is laying down - completely flat - against the sofa, ultimately closing off the poor, inflamed windpipe even further. Soon he breaks out in yet another phlegm-filled cough that unmistakably evolves into a stuffy moan.

”Hhghhmm…”

It is probably supposed to look like a natural adjustment of his body to get more comfortable on the sofa, but Phil catches the newfound position of Dan’s hand beneath the fuzzy blanket.

Dan is palming himself.

A faint blush spreads across Phil’s cheeks as he realizes that the final phase has begun. The increasing fever and lack of treatment have succeeded in making Dan dissociated and soft around the edges. He is starting to enjoy himself, and he is comfortable doing so very openly and shamelessly.

Dan coughs and his eyelashes flutter as he swallows down yet another chunk of phlegm.

”M’ n-ot… si-ck”, Dan repeats weakly. His voice is hoarse and throaty. His vocal cords must feel like they have been sliced to hell with razorblades; turned into stringy spaghetti.

Phil rubs at his neck awkwardly. He is probably also going to go to hell - since there is something about the state of his boyfriend that manages to tickle something deep inside of him. Seeing Dan’s otherwise snarky, daft, little goblin-face being all devoid of attitude is rather… intriguing to say at least.

”Phil-”, Dan croaks.

His eyes are teary and glossed over; pupils blown wide.

”Need to-”

Dan does not have enough time to finish the sentence before his body convulses in another violent coughing fit. The infection is constricting its grip around his throat, hot and tight - strangling him - in a much harsher way than Phil could ever do. Dan tilts his head up ever so slightly, enough so that he is able to finish without drowning in mucus.

”- get off.”

The pace of Phil’s heart quickens. He puts his hands on top of Dan’s groin and feels the knuckles of the hand that is already there.

When Phil thinks about what is about to go down - in hindsight - he can not even begin to imagine himself actually acting in the way he is about to. He should be here to help Dan, comfort him - care and nurture him. Exactly like he did for him in his university-drop-out days. Not allow him to engage in the opposite.

But Dan looks so out of it, so desperate - so submissive - that Phil would be a fool to neglect him a good time, no matter the circumstances.

”Yeah…?” Phil whispers and kneads his hand onto Dan’s, pushing down on his groin.

Dan lets his head fall back flat against the sofa, restricting his poor windpipe once again. His hips buck upward, chasing friction, and Phil can feel the roll of his hips travel like a vibration through his own palm.

”Mmh…”

Dan whimpers and continues to whisper, really, really slow; in a low, raspy voice: ”Need…”

Dan looks up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. Phil recognizes the pleased look on his face from all the other times they have done this.

” Fe-els… so… go-od…”

It is no secret to Phil that Dan likes to be choked.

Whenever the heat of the moment catches up to Phil when they are fucking - those times it gets a bit rough and wild - he sometimes finds himself wrapping his clumsy hands around Dan’s tender neck. He does not necessarily enjoy being the one to do it; it feels like way too much pressure. But he always notices how much Dan is affected by it.

How much he likes it.

Right now Phil does not even need to do anything. His hands are not around Dan’s throat. They bear no responsibility. The complicity is out of the equation; it is all managed so well already thanks to the infection.

Dan’s hips have started to move on their own accord in small, stuttering circles against his own palm, every now and then bucking slightly to increase the pressure. Phil finds it endearing. Dan is so cute when he is needy and desperate for touch. It is like his whole body is begging - yearning - for a stimulation that only can be granted through Phil.

”Shhh…”, he hushes sweetly, ”Shhh… easy now. Just lay back. Let me help you…”

If this is the only way that he will be allowed to ease Dan’s suffering - then so be it.

Phil lifts the blanket so that he can replace Dan's hand with his own. It is hot and clammy beneath the fuzzy polyester. Phil puts his hand on top of his boyfriend’s bulge; the fabric of his pants is already soaked through with precum.

The suddenness of a foreign touch causes Dan’s cock to jump excitingly.

”Going to help you…”, Phil whispers again.

He reaches out with his other hand to push some of Dan’s damp hair out of his face. He lets it travel down his face until he reaches Dan’s bottom lip where he wipes away some drool. The fever seems only to have gotten worse during the last few hours. Dan almost looks delirious; hot, clammy and in pain.

Phil’s nimble fingers find their way inside of Dan’s pants and slowly he rubs a tentative thumb against the warm, leaking head. Dan’s hips buck violently at the touch.

”That’s it…”, Phil coos gently.

Dan allows a larger gulp of air to travel in through his mouth in a stuttering gasp, and instantly he breaks out in another deep, gurgling cough as it hits his sensitive trachea.

Phil scrunches his nose again at the sound but the wrinkle between his eyes evens out as he hears the unmistakable noise of a moan come through a stubborn bubble of phlegm.

Dan is practically shaking. He seems so aroused by the asphyxiation that he ignores the fact that he is essentially drowning himself in thick, disgusting mucus. The infection has him in an iron grip - stuck around his throat like a collar that cannot be removed.

Phil starts stroking.

Whenever Dan coughs, the force of it jolts him harder against the tight hole of Phil’s hand. Dan’s body is practically assisting in fucking itself. It is almost like the illness is a third presence in the room, helping Dan feel good and catered to. Phil believes it is probably impossible for him not to since it seems to know all about his vices and what delicious buttons to push for him.

It is almost as if Phil is just here - sitting on the sideline, watching while his boyfriend gets choked and fucked.

Phil can not help himself but to fantasize about joining in on all the fun - to feel fulfilled and pleased and good - and soon he feels a familiar throb between his own legs. He quickly decides that he is selfish enough to move the other hand that had been soothingly stroking Dan’s thigh to his own groin.

Even though the fever has robbed Dan of most of his senses and awareness he seems to catch the moment Phil starts stroking himself in the corner of his eye. His mouth falls open in another stuffy moan that gets an abrupt end by a deep, throaty cough. This time it goes so deep that Dan’s eyes go wide in a way that makes Phil believe that he is truly choking. His scleras turn red and prickling tears start to well up and run down his cheeks; accompanying some snot that had already leaked out from his stuffy nose.

”Shhh… it’s okay…”, Phil tries to soothe.

He does not know if it is truly okay though.

But what he does know is that Dan is really close. He has started to spasm in that way he usually does and his fingers have turned white where they are latching onto the sofa cushions.

Phil really wants to grant him the satisfaction of relief. He looks up at Dan, searching for the attention of his favorite pair of brown eyes.

”Dan… so fucking hot for me…”, Phil mumbles while making a show of fucking his own fist in front of him while he suffocates.

”Sorry… I needed to… needed to fuck myself while watching...”

Dan groans and wails desperately through a row of stuttering coughs. His lungs are hacking, making him wail and whimper with every inhale. Phil strokes both of them in unison. The noises filling the room are wet and obscene, like a symphony of hot, aroused flesh and leaking liquids.

Phil is trying so, so hard to keep up the dual pace. It is a lot. It is the most coordination, let alone exercise, he has maneuvered in a while. His non dominant arm is getting tired embarrassingly fast already. But he resonates that it is just a few cocks, his favorite thing in the world - he should be able to make it through.

”Fuck… your throat is so fucking clogged… can’t even breathe...”, Phil groans as he speeds up the pace for them both.

Dan seems to be conscious enough to make sense of that. He tilts his head back further, closing off his windpipe almost completely and bucks his hips harder into Phil’s other hand.

”Mmh… so reactive for me.”

Dan whines pathetically; his breathing turning impossibly labored and weak.

”You love this don’t you? Fucking tight holes… gasping for air…”

Dan shudders deeply and breaks out in another fit; coughing hard enough to cause a large amount of phlegm to come loose and get stuck in his throat on the way up. He is choking hard. His spine goes rigid as a flood of pleasure wells through him, making his legs thrash and kick violently in the air as his whole body convulses in a sudden climax.

Phil continues to pump Dan through his orgasm; spilling hot and thick cum over his stomach - until he feels the inevitable need to let go as well.

Dan tries to squirm away, probably due to overstimulation, as Phil continues to stroke both hands equally as fast as he works himself through his own rippling release.

Phil groans deeply as he spills all over his fist and lap in fast, hot spurts.

They are both breathing heavily as they come down. Phil puts himself back in his pants. It is sticky and wet and the feeling makes him squirm uneasily. He definitely needs a steamy shower or maybe even a long, warm bath - right about now.

He looks over at his boyfriend. His face is flushed a deep crimson; his breathing still labored and another gooey bubble of phlegm gurgles in the back of his throat. Snot and drool and tears are mixed into a large slimy mess all over his face.

Phil wants to care for Dan; clean him up and make him comfortable. He reaches out for some paper tissues from the neglected med-kit next to the cold mug of tea on the table, and wipes down Dan’s face with it. He wipes off the cum from his stomach as well before he throws the soggy tissues in a heap on the floor. He will take care of that later. Probably.

Dan looks rather done. Exhausted and totally spent. His eyelids are drooping impossibly low; probably seconds from drifting away. He has also started to shiver again, grinding and chattering his teeth as an incoming chill spreads goosebumps across his naked flesh. Phil decides to tuck him back inside his pants, and wrap the fuzzy blanket snuggly around his shoulders and sides. Making him as comfortable as he possibly can be here on the drenched sofa. Since Dan has stopped complaining, Phil even takes the liberty to prop a cushion behind his head to ease the angle of his windpipe. It needs to heal, and Dan needs to breathe. Maybe he could even persuade Dan into taking some medicine later in exchange of more promised pleasure.

He has not always been this way.

Back in the days he would enjoy being cared for.

But slowly, Phil is finding new ways to satisfy and cater to the mythical creature of Dan Howell.