Work Text:
You keep me in your orbit
Well, I know I'm a hard one to please
Give it too much importance
My love'll have you fall to your knees
The club is packed with people, different voices blending together until your ears ring with a cacophony loud enough to make you nauseous.
At least the alcohol is good, you tell yourself, taking another sip of what must be your third cocktail of the night, the bitter taste of the espresso mixing with the vodka clinging to your tongue to give you a buzz that you know you’re going to regret tomorrow.
There’s conversation happening around you, people you know - although not terribly well - engaging in laughter and gossip that you wish you could at least pretend to be interested in, but in reality couldn’t care less.
It’s not their fault that your focus is somewhere else, eyes trained to the other side of the room where you can see the curve of Phil’s back, the broadness of his shoulders so incredibly familiar to you even from far away. He’s wearing a red checkered shirt tonight, one that you’ve peeled off his body countless of times, revealing inches of skin at every button and covering it with your kisses.
You love that shirt on him - love the way the bright colour makes his skin look even paler, his hair even darker. You feel the telltale beginning of arousal stirring in the pit of your stomach as you watch him, willing him to turn around and not turn around at the same time, cursing him for having such an effect on you even in a room full of people.
“Dan?”
The sound of your name disrupts your thought and you find yourself being dragged back into a conversation that you’re not interested in. You wonder briefly if they noticed that you were staring at Phil, wonder what they must think about it, if they’re going to start talking about it the moment you turn your back to them.
It’s a struggle to force yourself to stop looking at Phil, especially when you notice that he’s turned around and is looking back, his blue eyes searching you in the midst of the crowd, always looking for you.
“You look tired,” says the blonde haired girl next to you, worry creasing the space in between her eyebrows. She places a hand on your arm, the tip of a fingernail tickling the skin of your exposed wrist. “Do you want to get some air?”
She’s flirting, unmistakingly so. It makes your stomach churn, the fact that this stranger thinks that she can do that, that you’re available.
There’s a part of you that wants to let her believe it, wants to send a smile her way and accept the offer, just so anyone in the room who might have doubts concerning you and Phil would wipe them away.
You disgust yourself.
Steering clear of any headaches to start
And if we're being honest
I'd rather your body than half of your heart
Or jealous-ridden comments
“Oi, Phil! There you are!” Someone says, loud enough that you jump, your arm sliding off the gentle grip of the girl whose name you don’t even know.
“We were wondering why you’d left Dan all alone!”
They all laugh, the usual joke thrown around.
It used to be your favourite thing, people seeing you and Phil as an extension of each other, walking side by side along the crowded streets, shoulders brushing together, creating a shield against the outside world, hiding away your most precious secret from curious onlookers.
His presence next to you hasn’t felt like an armour in a long time, slowly turned into the monster that you’ve been running away from.
You laugh along with them, a strained sound that doesn’t feel natural, a simple “hilarious” falling easily out of your mouth in that sarcastic tone that you’re so used to take on. They don’t really notice, just how dull you feel, drained from colour both inside and outside.
Phil, though. Wonderful, too good for you Phil, whose eyes are trained on the space of your arm where a strange hand had been placed only a few seconds before, in a way so casual that he has never been allowed, not in public.
His gaze is laser focus and lacking the warmth that characterize it, a dark shadow casted over it before it disappears. Right after, a smile shows up on his lips, the prelude of something dangerous.
“Can you excuse us?” He says to the blonde girl still glued to your side, his voice as sweet as honey. “We’re going home.”
“Are we?” You ask before you can stop yourself, swallowing down as he turns his eyes to you, a warning in them. “Yeah, sorry,” you rush out to say to her, trying to salvage what must look like a tense interaction.
Phil’s hand stays on your lower back as you walk through the crowd of people to exit the room, fingers digging into the skin almost like he’s trying to stop you from running away. It’s the most daring touch you have allowed yourselves in months, and no matter how dark it is, how hard it would be for people to notice, you can’t help but worry.
There’s a part of you - a small part, buried down a pile of self-hate and doubts and fears - that loves the thrill of it. There’s a part of you that wants to grab Phil by the hips, drag him to the middle of the crowd of sweaty bodies dancing together, and show everyone exactly what is going on between the two of you - that you’re Phil’s and Phil is yours.
Bitterly, you wonder if it will ever happen - if the two of you will even last long enough for that to be a possibility, being together out in the open, uncaring of the whispers sent your way.
I'm better off without him
I'm better off being a wild one
On the road a lot, had to keep it a thousand
So that I'm better off not being around ya
You stand far apart on the tube ride, only to grab at each other the moment the front door of your apartment closes, your back pushed harshly against it as Phil starts peppering your neck with kisses desperate enough to be painful.
“She was flirting with you,” he says before the kisses turns into punishing bites, the feeling of his teeth on your skin going straight to your hardening cock.
“I don’t care,” you gasp out, hands roaming his chest until they find his shoulders as an anchor, holding on as your vision swim, and you’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the way you can feel his crotch align with your thigh, the familiar pressure of the hard line of him.
His mouth disappears. “She didn’t know that,” he says, and for the first time since you’ve met him, you can’t quite understand the emotion in his voice, the look in his eyes. It occurs to you, suddenly, that for how much you’ve been feeling like you’re drowning in a sea of doubts and insecurities, he might be right there with you.
“Phil-”
“We should talk,” he says, so soft and sweet that it makes tears well in your eyes, suddenly, the reminder of how much he loves you, how much you’re hurting him.
We should break up, you almost say, the words only a breath away from being let out in the open, charged with the power of tearing the two of you apart. You keep them in with a broken sob, pull him towards you with the same force you want to push those words to the back of your mind.
“Please -” you say against his lips, not sure if it’s a warning more than begging. “Please can we just - not?”
He wants to say no, you know he does - but you also know that he will give in, at least for now.
So it’s not a surprise when he kisses back, when he starts taking your clothes off. The surprise comes when he says I love you over and over as he does so, each word pressed on your body as if he wants to tattoo them on it, wants to sink them into your skin so that you won’t get rid of them.
So that you won’t get rid of him.
Go on and face it, I'll never be ready for you (ready for you)
I swear my love is a curse, make you handle issues (handle issues)
Let's put them topics to bed and go fuck on the roof, just to say that we did it
You keep insisting I listen to your proposition
I dismiss them all, no offense, yeah
You stumble inside the bathroom, too occupied with each other to pay attention.
It’s probably not healthy, how much you use sex to cope with the issues of a relationship that is falling apart - but at the same time, you can’t stop. It’s almost laughable, that the one thing you keep denying is the one thing that you can’t stop giving into - your undeniable attraction to Phil.
The warm water on your body doesn't feel as soothing as you were hoping for, but it helps wash away some of the haziness brought by the alcohol. Your still feel tense when Phil steps right behind you, pushing you fully underneath the shower head, but that’s nothing weird - you feel tense every day now, almost like a rubber band that is ready to snap, ready to lash out.
It’s exhausting, this never-ending cycle you’ve found yourself in that you seem to be unable to escape no matter how much you want to, how much you tell yourself that you have to if you want to feel better - if you want to make Phil feel better.
But fuck, everything would feel so much easier if you could just step away - if you could leave his side just as easily as you leave his warm bed every morning, retreating into the dark surroundings of your own room, empty of anything but your self hate.
Maybe this emptiness is why you crave him inside of you, crave to be taken and held and filled, brought to the highest of pleasures by his expert hands and kisses that taste like desperation and feel poisonous on your skin.
“Dan,” he calls, your name a prayer that he keeps saying every day, looking for some kind of miracle that you wished you could grant him.
But you can’t. The only thing you can give him is your body, open and willing and ready for him - more ready than your heart, more ready than your mind.
You hope that the sound of the shower will mask the sound of your broken voice, the water on your face hide the tears falling down your cheeks. “Fuck me, please,” is your one request, hands placed on the shower tiles above your head, letting them hold your weight so that you can abandon yourself against the wall and let Phil take care of you in the only way you will allow him to.
And he does.
Afterwards, you lie awake waiting for the clarity of the early morning, curl up into yourself like a scared child when it does not come.
With a blink, you notice that the sun is rising outside.
Already?, you wonder.
The faint light of the new day filters through the curtains and spills over Phil’s naked back, making the white skin glisten with it. You observe the freckles dotted in between his shoulders, trying to resist the urge to trace them with a fingertip, lest he’ll wake up.
He deserves to sleep, you tell yourself as you worry your bottom lip with your teeth, feeling the now familiar taste of copper on it. You're so tired, your limbs feel almost too heavy for your body, the duvet draped on your chest an almost unbearable weight.
You wonder, briefly, if it only feels like it because it's Phil's one - too bright, too colorful for how bleak you feel, the smell of it the perfect combination of both your perfumes, hair products and sweat. It's a smell that you're familiar with, a smell that means comfort, means home.
It's a smell that you want to wash away.
You hold your breath as Phil shifts on the mattress, turning on the side so that he's now facing you. He looks so peaceful, soft strands of hair falling on his face and lips slightly parted as he exhales quiet snores.
It's easier, when he’s sleeping. You don't have to try quite as hard to keep your facade up, don't have to hide just how much you hate that you're feeling like this, that you're making Phil feel like this. It's easier, when you can watch his face smooth of any worried lines, void of the concern and the pain that you seem to inflict upon him daily.
It would be even easier, if only you could stop caring - if only you could stop orbiting around him like a meteor circling the sun, attracted by a blinding light that obscures everything else.
If only he could stop loving you, so you could stop loving him back.
If only.
I'm better off without him
I'm better off being a wild one
On the road a lot, had to keep it a thousand
So that I'm better off not being around ya