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The outfits for Easter are nowhere near as slutty as the ones from Halloween, and yet, there’s something like a tease about the cheap, still-creased fabric. The suits aren’t incredibly well-fitted, and they’re baggy in some key areas with loose threads dangling from the sleeves and lapels.
But the white looks good on Phil.
The pants sit high on his hips, and he’s actually tucked his shirt in for once so it doesn’t bunch up awkwardly in the back. The suit jacket is a bit big around the shoulders, the cumberbund a little restrictive, but he gets used to the feeling of the fabric shifting as he ties the sash loosely around his middle.
As he watches himself in the viewfinder, his gaze catches on the broad look of his shoulders, the dramatic curve of his waist. He’d expected to look more washed out on camera—the blonde tone of his hair clashing with the nearly translucent white of the suit—but it looks purposeful in the bright light of their kitchen. The brown-grey roots spilling out between pale strands, the pink of his lips, the blue of his eyes—all of it contrasted by the black button-up. He looks almost… sexy.
Dan must think so too, because his eyes stay locked on Phil as he traipses about the kitchen, snatching up ingredients and bowls and utensils for their bake. Phil finds himself swaying his hips a bit more than strictly necessary as he moves, delighting in the way Dan’s usual cadence of speech is broken up with the occasional stutter.
It could be that they’re freshly back from holiday—still drunk on foreign sun—or it could be the simple feat of being home. Absence making the heart fonder and all. Regardless, the familiarity of their kitchen in their home is doing something domestic and horny to Phil’s delicate sensibilities.
Or maybe it’s the bunny ears—looking silly and stiff and cheap as hell, but nestled into curly brown locks like they belong there.
And Phil has never really resonated with the “furry” label, but the sight of Dan in animal ears has now on two occasions made his brain go a bit funny. Or it’s just Dan. And Dan wearing anything, or nothing, just does it for Phil in general.
Either way, there’s a lingering sense of freedom in the air and an undercurrent of mutual arousal that threatens to end the video before it’s properly started.
Dan, for his part, isn’t helping. With the stupid ears and his pretty sun-kissed skin, he can’t seem to stop touching Phil. Causal brushes of arms, comedic slaps on the shoulder, his hands at Phil’s waist moving him around like he can—because he can. And Phil knows they’ll cut some of it out or crop the frame, but the touches are still there. Purposeful and freeing and Phil’s.
He feels a bit giddy with it, in all honesty—being claimed so openly and claiming in return. Each moment a bit surreal, stoking the flame of possession he’d long since forgotten burned in his chest—smothered as it had been by necessity—it is now blazing and alight. Every touch, every moment a declaration of “mine.” It makes Phil proud.
No one will ever have Dan the way Phil does, but he welcomes them to try.
He makes Dan do most of the work. He sits up on the counter and teases him about not reading the directions thoroughly, pretends he can’t open things—the usual. And Dan must not recognize the game just yet, because he acquiesces to all of Phil’s demands without so much as a biting comment.
Or maybe he does—maybe he’s decided to lose.
Phil pushes a bit more as the video goes, getting on his hands and knees to clean the floor and looking up beneath his lashes. Asking Dan to check that his tail is still attached as he bends over the kitchen counter. Smacking him on the ass with the saran wrap roll. It makes Phil even more giddy to see the way Dan swallows hard every time.
They film the April Fools video and one for the Patreon, and Dan manages to only kiss him breathless twice in the span of four hours, but it’s enough that when they finally film the endscreen, both of them are teeming with pent-up energy.
They don’t give in right away—they aren’t in their twenties anymore, and the camera is still rolling. Phil sets that to rights first, ending the recording and scrolling through the timeline quickly to check that there are no obvious gaps in footage. In his periphery, Dan shifts his weight from foot to foot.
Phil doesn’t let the smile slip across his features yet. He turns away from the camera, nodding down at the pile of dishes and half-emptied ingredients just out of sight of the lens. “It’s a mess in here,” he says.
Dan purses his lips and nods. “As usual.” His voice is measured, too calm for the way his eyes are boring into Phil’s. He’s waiting, primed to act the moment Phil gives in to the cloying tension. But Phil knows Dan—he knows this play. He stays quiet, watching as the silence settles uncomfortably behind Dan’s eyes. “You wanna export?” he asks eventually, words slow, careful.
Phil shrugs, then nods back toward the mess. “You gonna clean?”
Dan blinks once, twice. “All by myself?” he asks, his tone verging on annoyed, but never making it past whiny.
Phil pouts as much as he’s able, with the way the side of his mouth is quirking up. “Aw, poor bunny.”
Dan’s reaction is immediate. His eyes go wide and dark as the word filters through the sieve of his brain and lands somewhere not completely surprising, but entirely pleasurable. He makes a move to open his mouth. Once, twice. Then he’s taking a step towards Phil, the mass of his body swaying forward, like he can’t help it. The motion accentuates his figure, the black suit pulling against newly defined muscles. It’s almost unfair how good he looks in something so tacky.
Phil watches, making no move to stop or encourage Dan. He stands, hands by his sides, patient.
“Phil,” Dan implores, his voice suddenly soft in the quiet of their kitchen. He’s stopped just short of Phil’s personal space, waiting, as if for permission.
Phil looks up at him, blue meeting a blown-out brown. “Yeah?”
Dan blinks and flounders a bit as he tries to grasp at words that typically come so easily to him. But Phil hasn’t been playing fair, so it’s to be expected. He lets Dan stew, work through the rapid deluge of information he is currently parsing through, and then he holds out a hand.
“C’mere, bunny,” he says softly.
There’s the briefest flash of relief across Dan’s features before he closes the distance between them, pressing his head with the stupid ears into Phil’s neck and settling his hands on Phil’s waist. The loose, white cumberbund smushes up against Phil’s shirt with how closely they’re pressed together, but Phil can’t bring himself to care as his arms come to wrap around Dan’s shoulders.
“Fuck,” Dan groans against the skin of Phil’s neck. Overwhelmed, honest. “Fuck.”
Phil hums. Yeah. He thinks. Fucking animal ears.
It isn’t entirely new—they’ve done the puppy thing a few times, both of them taking on the role in different but entirely them ways. With Dan going all sweet and soft until Phil plays with his hair and makes him hump the bed, calling him needy and helpless and perfect.
Phil, on the other hand, is a bit more subdued. He whines and pants and makes his eyes big and wide until Dan spoils him the way he always does—fucking into him slow and deep and telling him how good he is.
This is different.
Dan has this look in his eyes, this untamed, unbridled sense of urgency that’s too much to look at head-on. Like he wants to eat Phil, or crawl under his skin, or fuck him incoherent. The intensity of his want is plain in the way his fists clench and unclench against the fabric of Phil's shirt.
One of Phil’s hands wanders up to card through Dan’s hair, his fingers catching against the mop of brown curls with each pass of his fingers. The movement jostles the bunny ears a bit, and Dan whines at the touch. Phil feels a lick of heat curl up his spine at the sound.
“Needy,” he says, smiling knowingly.
Dan groans but nods a second later, the ears shifting again as Phil tugs at a particularly unruly curl. “You look good,” Dan says into the fabric of Phil’s suit.
Phil laughs a bit and pulls Dan’s head back to look in his eyes. He’s met with a startling degree of sincerity and a fuck ton of hunger.
Dan lets out a little overwhelmed breath as their eyes meet; it was likely meant to be a laugh, but it lacks conviction. He swallows. “Want you.”
Phil nods, smirking a bit as he pulls harder at the curls in his fist, tilting Dan’s head back to bare his throat. “Yeah, you do, don’t you?” he says quietly, almost a whisper as his other hand comes up to trace along the pretty curve of Dan’s adams apple.
Something passes through Dan’s body at that, a hot line of tension drawing his body taut as he wrenches his head forward and, pull, pulls Phil flush against him. His eyes are wild and defiant, and Phil feels the hot line of Dan’s cock press against his through their clothing as he is roughly manhandled back against the kitchen island.
Phil can’t help it, he moans. A mixture of surprise and arousal at the treatment ripples through his synapses as his hips push back against Dan’s instinctively, seeking more of that delicious friction. His movements are limited as every push he gives is met with a resulting pull—Dan’s teeth sinking into his neck, Dan’s hands at his hips, grip bruising and possessive and feral.
It’s a familiar scene, cold marble digging into Phil’s hipbones, two sets of animal ears askew, cheap costumes rumpled between their bodies.
Phil’s hand goes back to steady himself against the counter and is met with a resulting squelch. He yanks his hand away immediately and groans as the congealed mess of flour and spice and butter stares back at him, almost mocking.
Dan only notices the sound isn’t one of pleasure when Phil presses his messy hand to the black suit jacket.
As soon as it registers, Dan is jumping back. “Ew, what the fuck!” He exclaims, looking down at the half-formed handprint of white and brown and red. He quickly tries to dust it off but only ends up getting the disgusting mixture to plop onto the floor.
Phil shakes his hand and shudders internally at the gross feeling that seems to permeate his senses. “This is why we clean after videos,” he grimaces.
Dan scowls. “So sorry, princess, I got a bit distracted,” he quips.
Phil looks up to see Dan staring daggers at the mess on the floor, like it had personally offended him. There’s still that undeniable note of tension ringing in the air. He can almost see the battle waging in Dan’s head—his want to say screw it and fuck Phil anyway and his want to rid themselves—himself—of the arduous cleanup later.
So Phil, as he is wont to do, pushes.
“You should clean this up,” he says simply.
Dan glances back up at him, heat and annoyance present in his gaze. “Oh, I made this mess, did I?”
Phil nods. “Yup,” he pops the ‘p’ a bit for emphasis.
Dan shakes his head, incredulous, but Phil knows him—he knows they’re still playing the game. “Why don’t you clean?” Dan’s tone is pointed, but it lacks edge. His eyes are blown, his breathing is shallow.
Phil shrugs like it’s nothing and says, “‘Cause I don’t wanna fuck me in the kitchen.”
The brown of Dan’s eyes deepens a bit even as he huffs. “And I do?”
Phil nods knowingly. “Of course you do.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, careful of spreading the mess before he goes in for the kill. “Couldn’t even wait to clean before you were on me, needy little bunny.”
Dan’s mouth drops open. Gotcha.
Phil smiles and steps forward to press a kiss to those slack lips. “Clean the kitchen and I’ll let you hump as much as you want,” he whispers, saccharine sweet.
Dan’s eyes shut tight as he breathes through his nose harshly. Phil watches the rise and fall of his chest, the movement of air in and out and in again. He opens them a beat later, blinking quickly to reorient himself.
When the command finally hits, Dan pouts and whines and pleads with his pretty eyes. It’s all very convincing for about two seconds until he is sighing dramatically and snatching up the kitchen roll.
So easy. Phil thinks. For me. Because Dan is easy. He is easy and sweet and good to Phil in a way he rarely feels like he deserves, but Dan thinks he does. And that’s enough for Phil most days.
Like today, when Dan carefully begins putting the mostly full jars of spices and flour and sugar back into their respective cabinets, closing them gently as he finishes. He then sweeps the remaining mess from the counter into his hand and wipes down the surface with a damp towel. He takes such good care of things. Phil’s man—Phil’s Dan—takes such good care of everything. Especially him.
When he’s all done, he looks to Phil with an open expression, waiting for the final judgement. Phil holds up his still-messy hand, and Dan sighs. He wets another towel and holds it out to Phil. But Phil pauses, an idea working its way to the front of his mind. He shakes his head and offers up his hand to Dan, who swallows hard and breathes through his nose.
Dan gingerly lifts Phil’s hand by the wrist and begins slowly, methodically cleaning the mess from it. The towel is a bit rough on Phil’s skin, not wet enough, but the sensation is strangely pleasant, and the attention Dan has on him is downright addicting. Phil thinks he will never tire of being the center of this man’s world.
When Dan feels his job is done, he presses a gentle kiss to the back of Phil’s hand. Phil smiles, a bit silly, a bit in love, and intertwines their fingers. Dan softens at the touch, as much praise as anything, and he looks up at Phil beneath his lashes.
“Did good, Danny.” Dan licks his lips, then pouts as the words register. Phil laughs. “Did good, bunny,” he corrects.
Dan smiles and presses in close to rub his nose against Phil’s. Phil lets out a surprised little giggle and doesn’t fight as Dan presses him back into position against the counter.
As soon as his hips hit marble, Dan is back in his space, pushing up against Phil’s front as his hands wander everywhere, stopping to grope every few seconds before trailing up to grip his face with warm palms. Phil hears himself exhale shakily against Dan’s responding smirk and feels the way his dick hardens against Dan’s.
“You look best like this,” Dan says, darting in to press a too-quick kiss to Phil’s lips. “Wanting me.”
Phil knows immediately what Dan is doing—overcompensating, putting on a show, trying to regain some dignity. Not that any has been lost, per se. Playing the game means there is no judgement, no preconceived notion of “should” and “shouldn’t.” But Dan still likes to fight it a bit—they both do. It makes the game exciting.
If Phil were feeling generous—he isn’t—but if he were, he’d let Dan suck marks into his neck and push their hips together and dirty talk them both into delicious orgasms. But Phil wants to play with this whole “bunny” thing. Wants to see what this version of Dan is like.
It should strike him as strange that after all these years they’re still finding out new things about each other, but it doesn’t. Everything about Dan is equally surprising and entirely predictable. Safe is the word that comes to mind.
So Phil pushes his hips against Dan, drawing out the contact as sensually as he’s able while being boxed in the way he is. He drags their cocks together through the layers of fabric separating them and delights in the way Dan’s hips stutter at the sudden motion. The bulge in his slacks catches against the pooling fabric of the cumberbund around Phil’s waist, but the tease of it is enough to have him immediately pressing back into the feeling, rutting against Phil with more force than he probably means to.
“Fuck, bunny,” Phil groans. “Need it so bad. Don’t you?”
Phil watches as Dan tries to shake his head but fails, as he gives in to the delicious feeling of letting go, whining against Phil’s cheek, his lips red and shiny as they press against the overheated skin there. “Phil,” he manages breathlessly. His hips start up an intoxicating rhythm—a bit fast, a bit desperate—Phil kind of loves it.
Then Dan’s hand starts to wander down between them, his intentions clear when he makes a grab for the zip on Phil’s trousers. Instinctively, Phil catches Dan by the wrist and yanks his hand away, tutting under his breath. “Bunnies can’t touch,” he says slowly as Dan huffs and whines and ruts against him faster. Phil smiles wickedly at the display and presses his lips to Dan’s ear. “All they can do is hump,” he says, grabbing Dan’s hips and forcing his pace to slow. “And hump and hump,” he continues, delighting in the pathetic whimper he gets in response, “‘till their brains turn to mush.” His hand releases Dan’s hip, and he feels the breathy exhale as Dan surrenders to the new tempo.
Phil moves his hand up to Dan’s forehead, pushing his sweat-damp hair back and out of his glazed-over eyes. Dan shudders against him and goes to say something but can’t, his mouth hanging open in a breathless moan. Phil can’t help but press two fingers into that willing space.
Dan’s reaction is immediate; his eyes shut, and he whines at the feeling. Phil is playing dirty, he knows. There are few things in life Dan loves more than having his mouth filled. Phil swears one day he’ll see if he can make Dan cum with only his fingers in his mouth and his words in his ear.
But for now, Dan’s mouth is warm and wet, and he sucks on Phil’s fingers sloppily, too far gone to worry about technique.
Phil pushes further. “Are you feeling mushy, Bunny?”
Dan blinks his eyes open slowly, so slowly it’s almost as if he’s just fluttering his lashes. He nods, the fingers in his mouth pushing further back in his throat with the action. Phil can feel the way Dan’s dick hardens against his hip.
“Such a sweet boy,” Phil praises. “Pretty bunny.” Dan’s hips jerk at the words.
Phil lets Dan suck on his fingers for a bit, his own arousal continuing to pool in his gut at the feeling of that skilled tongue lazily licking at the seam between his digits. The bunny ears alone had been enough to make Phil feel a bit wild, but reducing Dan to this state in such a short amount of time has Phil feeling insane.
Eventually, the gentle rock of Dan’s hips becomes much more frantic, jostling Phil with enough force that he reluctantly removes his fingers from that warm, wet place. Dan whines at the loss.
Phil kisses him soothingly. “Poor thing,” he coos, hand coming up on instinct to tangle in Dan’s hair. He pulls at it, tilting Dan’s head to the side. Dan follows the motion easily, pressing messy kisses to Phil’s neck as he pants and whines. There’s a line of sweat breaking out across his forehead. Shiny and damp. Phil doesn’t even try to fight the urge to lick up a stray bead as it trails down the side of his temple.
“Mmhm, feel so good,” Dan huffs between breaths. “This color, fuck, so good on you. You drive me insane.”
Phil laughs and it breaks off into a moan at a particularly good grind. “Love it when you’re like this,” Phil says into Dan’s ear. “Desperate.” He smiles. “But you always are, aren’t you?”
Dan’s teeth scrape against Phil’s jugular in retaliation. “No,” he pouts.
Phil smiles to himself, and his hand trails away from the curly brown locks to wrap around Dan’s throat, not squeezing, but present. He feels the motion of Dan swallow against his palm. “Try that again.”
Dan’s eyes drop closed as he bites his lip hard against a moan. “No,” he says again, blinking his pretty, glassy eyes open a moment later.
“Liar,” Phil says, pressing his hips up against Dan's, dragging their cocks together perfectly. Dan isn’t quick enough to keep the whine from spilling from his lips. “We just spent two weeks fucking on every surface in that villa,” Phil says, lowly, fingers flexing against the hot skin of Dan’s neck. “I blew you in the shower and ate you out on the balcony and fucked you stupid in bed, and you’re still gagging for it.”
Dan shudders against him. “Phil—”
“Say it.” Push.
Dan shakes his head. Pull.
Phil pushes himself off the island with enough force to be able to walk Dan backward until his hips hit the opposite counter. He tilts Dan’s head back with the hand still around his neck and bites into the sensitive skin below his hand. “Take the jacket off,” he says, his tone brooking no room for argument. Dan doesn’t even try, quickly shrugging off the black suit jacket and letting it fall to the floor.
Phil takes a step back to admire him. Flushed and panting, his cheap bowtie askew, slacks tented obscenely with the evidence of his arousal. The bunny ears are falling forward a bit, and Phil reaches up to push them back into place. Dan’s eyes shut in preparation for the touch but open wide and pitiful when he realizes Phil isn’t doing anything more than adjusting them. He looks edible like that. Precious and needy and Phil’s.
Always Phil’s. From the moment they met.
“Phil,” Dan pouts adorably but keeps his hands gripping the counter behind him, not touching.
Good boy. Phil thinks. “You’re so beautiful,” he says instead, and he means it.
Dan smiles that small little smile he only does when he’s well and truly out of it. “Yeah?” he asks. “What’re you- gonna do about it?” If he means it as a tease, it falls flat. His voice is too breathy, his eyes too far gone.
“Gonna make you beg,” Phil says simply.
Dan’s brows quirk up. “Yeah?” he asks, breathless and eager.
Phil nods, stepping closer, letting himself nearly close the distance between them. “Might not even have to try that hard.” He shrugs.
Dan’s eyes are on Phil’s lips, tracing them with a heated, sluggish look. “Not worth the effort?”
Phil nods, their noses nearly brushing. “Not when you’re so desperate you’re shaking,” he says quietly.
Dan tenses, gaze flicking up to meet Phil’s. “‘M not—”
Phil shuts him up by leaning impossibly closer, hands settling on the counter beside Dan’s hips, still cognizant of keeping their lower halves apart. “Yeah, you are.” He watches Dan shake apart in front of him. “C’mon, bunny, use your words. Tell me how bad you want it.”
Dan wants to protest; Phil can see the conflict of it play out across his closed eyelids, the tense line above his brow. He breathes and breathes and breathes. Then he goes soft at the edges, the briefly held tension dissipating from his shoulders and brow. “Please, Phil, can I hump you?” he asks softly.
Phil is on him in an instant, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to his lips and shoving a thigh between Dan’s spread legs. Dan moans into his mouth as his hips start thrusting messily against Phil’s thigh.
He’s so hot and warm where his dick ruts shamelessly against Phil, his mouth dropped open, panting these overwhelmed little breaths directly into his ear. Phil loves him like this. Spread thin and taking from him. It’s so hot. Dan is so hot.
It makes Phil’s mouth run away from him. “Should make you wear a plug next time,” he pants out hotly, his own hips rocking in time with Dan’s, unable to resist the wanton display before him any longer. “Put the bunny tail on it. Make you hump the sheets.”
Dan moans against his lips. “Fuck, Phil.”
“Yeah?” he asks breathily. “You want that, bunny?”
Dan nods and nods and nods. “Wanna cum.”
Phil feels himself twitch in response. “Do you? In your pretty suit? Wanna make a mess?”
“Phil, please, fuck.”
Phil smiles and, with great effort, stills his hips. Dan hardly has a chance to complain before Phil is shoving his thigh firmly against Dan’s trapped cock and saying in a low voice, “Go on, bunny, make yourself cum.”
Permission granted, Dan’s hips rut faster and faster, harder and harder against Phil’s leg as his noises quickly turn high-pitched and ruined. Under normal circumstances, it might not be enough, but with how long Phil has been teasing him, pushing, Dan falls easily. He lets out a choked-off moan against Phil’s lips, and his hips stutter as warmth spreads across Phil’s thigh.
It’s so fucking hot that Phil feels some of his brain cells literally die on the spot. They’re immediately replaced with a yawning hunger. Something about their kitchen, freedom—he doesn’t know—but when the shaking subsides and Dan falls limply against the counter, Phil can’t help but press forward again, knee rubbing against the wet spot on his trousers.
Dan sucks in a breath, eyes going wide as he gasps out the beginning of Phil’s name. “Ph-”
“Again,” Phil says. His voice is lower than he ever remembers hearing it, demanding too, but not in the usual way. It’s taken on that commanding tone that only comes out when they’re playing with pre-defined roles.
Dan shakes against him. “I can’t—”
Phil bites the corner of Dan’s jaw in retaliation. “You said you wanted to cum, bunny.”
Dan shakes his head, eyes wide and brown and pleading. “I can’t, Phil, please, I can’t.” Phil takes a shuddering breath in, his control a barely-there tether, the scent of baked goods and Dan’s sweat the only things tying him to reality.
Then he feels it, a small, shifting movement against his lower half. He looks down and feels a downright feral grin spread across his face at the sight. “Oh, but look at you, bunny,” he says lowly, pressing a kiss below Dan’s ear. “You already are.”
And Dan is—his hips are rutting gently against Phil’s thigh, half thrust, half judder. He lets out a wounded noise as Phil’s words hit him and Phil immediately reaches up to take Dan’s face in his hands. “It’s okay,” he says sweetly, almost condescending. “Bunnies can’t help it, can they?”
Dan’s eyes are getting a bit red now—the oversensitivity must be finally registering, because he winces with each grind of his cock against Phil’s thigh. “Phil,” he breathes, "Phil, it hurts.”
Phil knows it does. Dan is always so sensitive after cumming, often pulling out before he’s even finished and covering Phil’s thighs and stomach with his cum. But Phil also knows how much he likes being pushed past the point of pain.
And he likes the pain too—as long as it’s Phil inflicting it.
Phil brushes a stray hair from Dan’s face, his touch gentle, a contrast to his words. “I know, but it also feels good, doesn’t it?”
Dan’s whole body trembles, and he butts his head against Phil’s chest, mouth opening and closing around breaths. When he meets Phil’s gaze again, there are tears in his eyes. He looks fucking gorgeous, weepy, and needy, and his hips are still moving. Phil swears he can feel Dan’s dick harden up a bit against his leg. Maybe Phil should feel bad about that, but he doesn't—can't, with how hot it is.
“Such a good bunny,” he says sweetly. “Perfect and needy and mine.”
Dan sniffles and nods his head. “Fuck,” he says. “Fuck, Phil.”
As a lone tear rolls down Dan’s left cheek, Phil gets an idea. He doesn’t let it simmer—his hand comes up to the corners of Dan’s eyes, and he gathers up the stray tears on his fingers. Then he spits on his open palm and shoves Dan’s trousers and pants down to mid-thigh. He wraps his spit-slick, tear-wet hand around Dan’s mostly soft cock and gives it a few quick strokes that have Dan raising up on his tiptoes and sucking in air through his teeth. He’s sure it’s fucking agony, but Dan’s dick gets harder, filling out in record time for both of them being in their thirties.
When a fresh round of tears starts up, Phil takes his hand away, letting Dan’s now half-hard cock bob in the open air. He doesn’t leave Dan waiting for long, pressing his leg back between Dan’s, letting the thickness of his thigh drag over the hot skin of Dan’s now-exposed cock.
Dan’s hands go to grab Phil’s elbows for stability as he breathes and shakes and whines. He doesn’t push Phil away though—he lets Phil’s clothed thigh start to drag along his cock with nothing but a quiet, overwhelmed whimper.
Phil feels like he’s going out of his mind; his own dick is weeping into his boxers, and he’s about two seconds away from calling the whole thing off when Dan shakes his head to himself and mutters pitifully, “Too much.”
A fresh wave of arousal nearly lays Phil out flat on the floor. His vision whites out for a second as need wells up inside him, the need to see more, to push further. Phil shoves his thigh harder against Dan’s dick, which is definitely hard now. “Seems like you like it.”
Dan throws his head back and pants to the ceiling. “Ah, ah, Phil, please, I—”
Phil presses bruising kisses to the exposed skin of Dan’s neck. “C’mon, bunny. Wanna see you cum again.”
Dan’s hips stutter as he moans brokenly. He’s sucking in air and can barely keep his eyes open when suddenly Phil feels him tense up against him. The tension holds and holds and holds until Dan is shaking violently and cumming pathetically against Phil’s white trouser leg. It’s much less than before and looks like it wrecks Dan entirely to have done it in the first place. He trembles against the counter as he comes down, hardly able to stand.
When the shaking finally subsides, minutes or hours later, he’s kissing Phil with the kind of intensity unfitting of a man who just came twice in a row. Phil can’t really be bothered by the minutiae as Dan’s fingers tug at the zip on Phil’s pants and his mouth trails down his neck to suck wetly at Phil’s nipple through his shirt.
And maybe Phil overestimated his lucidity because after he does that, Dan just kinda… stops.
His hands hang limply on either side of Phil’s body as he continues mindlessly sucking on Phil’s nipple. His eyes are dull and unseeing, fucked out and ruined.
It makes Phil feel fucking insane. A surge of arousal courses up through his veins, and he presses impossibly closer into Dan’s space. Dan just whines and whimpers and sucks harder.
“Fuckkkk, Dan.”
Dan’s eyes are half-lidded, and it takes more than a moment for them to flick up to meet Phil’s, but when he does, Phil feels the air get knocked out of his lungs. There are defined tear tracks trailing down both of Dan’s flushed cheeks, and he is so soft, so hazy and brown that Phil can’t help but pull him up to smash their lips together. Dan is too out of it to kiss back properly, mouthing sloppily against Phil’s lips, which only makes Phil burn hotter.
Then he is gasping, sucking in air like he’s drowning, and Phil feels the instinctive lurch of Dan’s hips forward. He immediately tenses—having accidentally overstimulated himself—he backs his hips away and hiccups around a moan.
But the seed has been planted now, and at the end of the day, Phil is just a man—a greedy, hedonistic man.
Dan breathes and shakes against the counter for a moment, then two, then three. Phil is shaking himself as he leans in to press a kiss beneath Dan’s ear and says, cruelly, “One more.”
Dan’s knees do give out at that. The only reason he doesn’t crash to the floor is Phil’s leg between his thighs and Phil’s hands on his hips.
He’s shaking his head. “No, mhm,” Dan groans. “Can’t, no, Phil, I— I can’t.”
Phil shushes him and pets his hair and kisses the stray tears that fall from his eyes. “Say it again and we’ll stop,” he says softly.
Dan swallows and opens his mouth. Then he swallows again and breathes and breathes and breathes.
But no words come out.
Phil feels his control snap, the floor falling out from beneath him. "Please, Dan, please, fuck, you look so hot, so fucking sexy.” All the hard-won authority in his tone is gone—washed away with Dan’s second orgasm. “You need me to help?” he asks desperately. “I’ll help. Make it so easy for you, you just have to feel it, okay?”
Dan shakes and nods and nods and keeps nodding even as Phil reaches between them to wrap a hand around Dan’s mostly soft cock. It’s wet from his first two orgasms and still dripping steadily even though he isn’t fully hard. Phil wants to devour him, wants to lock him up, and never let anyone else near him. Phil wants to keep him safe and make him cum and grow old together.
He rubs his thumb under the head of Dan’s dick, and Dan hisses through his teeth and whines high and loud in Phil’s ear.
“Phil, Ph- Phiw, fu-, hah, please. Please. Too- ah, too much.” And then, barely loud enough to hear, he says, “Don’t stop.”
Phil starts stripping Dan's cock in earnest now, mouth pressed to Dan’s, swallowing his choked-off noises and half-formed breaths.
“So good, bunny,” Phil says against his lips. “You’re so good. So pretty, so perfect. Just one more for me, okay? One more.”
Dan thrashes against the hold and sucks in air through his teeth and groans and grunts and cries out brokenly.
It only takes a handful of strokes before he tenses again and cums dry.
The moment he relaxes, Phil is yanking his hand away and gathering Dan up in his arms and guiding them both gently to the floor. He speaks softly and pets Dan’s hair and tells him how perfect he is, how special, how loved. Phil tells him all the things that Dan would flush and balk at if he weren’t so out of it. As it is, his lips tremble and he breathes slowly and he smiles to himself.
As expected, it takes longer than usual for Dan to come back down to earth, something Phil feels particularly proud of, though he’ll never say it. The mindlessness of that place that they both reach when they play these games is as necessary as it is difficult to reach—they both crave it for different reasons.
When Dan starts to blink away the haziness and his eyes return to that familiar brown, Phil smiles at him. His hand still traces errant patterns against the skin of Dan’s neck, but he lessens the touch.
Dan blinks a few more times before he registers Phil’s expression. He smiles back, a bit shy, a bit embarrassed—and Phil can’t have that. He presses a kiss to Dan’s lips, sweet and small. When he pulls away, Dan blushes and looks to the floor.
Phil watches his brain come back online slowly and then watches Dan’s eyes widen comically as his head snaps back to Phil.
“You,” he coughs, “you didn’t—” He doesn’t even finish his statement before he is pressing into Phil’s space, kissing his cheeks, his lips, his nose, his hands going to Phil’s open fly.
Phil makes a grab for his wrist. “Hey, it’s okay, sweet boy, you don’t need to—”
Dan isn’t as easily distracted, pressing his palm to Phil’s half-hard cock through his underwear. “Just lemme…” His eyes are locked in on Phil’s bulge, his hand rubbing deliciously against it.
Phil tries to block him again. “Really, Danny, you did so good for me. You’re perfect, you— fuck.”
Dan is leaning down now, pressing his lips to Phil’s dick through his underwear. He looks up from beneath his lashes. His eyes are still blown, his cheeks are still red, and Phil can still make out the shadow of tear tracks on his cheeks.
And the bunny ears are still nestled gently in his curls.
“Please?” Dan asks, fluttering his lashes.
And, yeah, okay, he’s definitely back.
Phil exhales shakily and nods once. He spreads his legs just a bit so Dan can pull his underwear down enough to free his dick. Dan smiles smugly and practically impales his throat on Phil’s cock.
It’s too much, too fast. Phil’s senses are already in overdrive, and the wet heat of Dan’s mouth has always been his undoing. He feels the edge approach quickly and viciously as Dan sucks and licks and swallows around him like the pro he is. And while Phil longs to bury his hands in that gorgeous brown hair, he doesn’t want to risk knocking over the bunny ears, so he gives up, reaching up to grip the edge of the counter as Dan draws him deeper into his mouth.
It takes an embarrassingly short time before Phil’s thighs are tensing and he is throwing his head back, smacking it none too gently against the kitchen cabinet as he cums down Dan’s throat.
Dan swallows dutifully, throat contracting expertly as he milks Phil’s orgasm… and then he keeps going—past the point of pleasure and quickly tipping into pain. Phil’s newly lax body tenses, and he hisses as Dan gives a particularly strong suck to his oversensitive dick.
Phil pushes at Dan’s head once, twice, until he finally relents, smirking to himself as he comes up.
Phil does his best impression of a scorned lover and narrows his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. “Bitch,” he grumbles.
Dan raises his brows pointedly at the declaration, then mimes leaning back down. Phil yelps, knees instinctively coming up to his chest, curling into a half-naked ball on their kitchen floor.
Dan gives a weak smile. “Serves you right,” he says, leaning back to settle against the adjacent cabinet, his voice scratchy and low from the near-constant expressions of pleasure.
Phil shakes his head and rubs his hand over his face. “Shut up, you loved it,” he says between his fingers, voice muffled, face flushing pink the longer he is left to stew in the memories of what they just did.
But Dan, perfect, lovely Dan, stretches his legs out and knocks his shoe against Phil’s. “Yeah,” he hums.
Phil swallows, drops his hand, and taps his foot against Dan’s in response. “You did though, right?” he asks, his words ever so slightly hesitant. “It wasn’t… like… too much?”
Dan’s eyes go to Phil’s, at once losing that teasing glint, and then he is crawling over to Phil and pressing a kiss to his lips. He pulls back only enough to say, “It was perfect.” Then he kisses Phil again and says in a dangerously serious voice. “You’ll see soon enough.”