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Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name.
Phil sees heaven and hell as two ends of the same continuum but so drastically different that one by definition excludes the other. Heaven is reserved for all the good and the humble, who’s lived their lives by the book, never missing a page and never skipping a chapter; the bad and the proud, writing their own rules instead of following someone else’s, are awaited in hell. Heaven is pristinely clean, untouched, not a speck of dust on that stairway that Led Zeppelin was singing about, and hell is filthy, drowning in its own dirt and mud, in chaos and ruins. Heaven stands for absolute pleasure; hell means ultimate suffering.
Where Dan stands, he hasn’t decided yet.
There’s a devilish fire in Dan’s eyes, burning bright and low, which is counteracted by his smile, almost angelic in its innocence. His fingers are scolding hot, leaving angry red marks in their wake, but his touch is soft, gentle, barely there, would be soothing if it didn’t send Phil's blood to boil. Dan looks like something out of a fever dream, tall, lean, so out of place, red lights tangling in his hair and giving him an ethereal glow, but Phil is quick to wake up.
When he pushes open the bathroom door, he thinks that instead of gents the sign should say abandon all hope ye who enter here. The stall lock clicks in place, and with Dan looking at him, challenge and plea in just one raised eyebrow, Ohio cannot do anything else.
Dan’s head hits the wall as Phil kisses him with ferocity that startles them both, leaving them breathless and hungry for more. Phil pulls away, keeping his hands on Dan’s hips, and eyes the picture in front of him: Dan, displayed on the lime green wall, his shirt open and his throat pale, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he gasps for air. His fingers slide into Phil's hair, caressing only to then clench and tug, his eyes clouded with dark fog, and Phil forgets all about the graffitied walls and sticky floors.
When something is so sacred, anywhere can become a place of worship.
Phil kisses at Dan’s neck, pressing him into the wall, moves down to where one of his buttons slid out of place and bites there, earning himself a sharp gasp. Dan’s nails scrape at the back of his head, but Phil relishes in the power he has, because a few kisses is still enough to get Dan riled up, a few touches can still make him demand more, a few whispers are still enough to force him to surrender.
“Gorgeous,” Phil breathes out, because Dan is, he is sinfully beautiful and blissfully unaware of it, and drops to his knees.
The floor is as disgusting as it looks, but Dan shivers and grabs his hair tighter, and Phil doesn’t care. Undoing the button and pulling the zipper down is second nature at this point, and when his lips meet skin, Dan moans loudly and unabashedly, and Phil has to close his eyes. Looking at Dan is like looking at the sun, ruthless and blinding, and Phil will burn too soon, and he wants to stave off his inevitable ascend in flames for as long as he can.
Dan doesn’t hold back, his hips quickly losing all rhythm, so Phil pulls away, caressing his hip bones with his thumbs, and looks up, letting out a shuddering breath. Dan is a mess; he has probably been like this the entire night, but right now he’s nothing short of a wreck. His hand is still tangled in Phil’s hair, while the other is blindly grasping at the wall, flaky bits of paint sticking to his fingers, his lips are open in a silent gasp, his eyes are dark, almost black with lust and need, his entire body a picture of thoughtless want. Phil groans, pressing a kiss to his stomach, his knees digging into chipped tiles.
If love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling, he doesn’t ever want to get up.
Dan gasps and moans, his nails digging into Phil's shoulder, but Phil doesn’t stop now. If he ignites and burns, leaving ashes and dust on the dirty floor, so be it; he can’t bear the thought of slowing down, not when Dan looks like that, feels like that, tastes like that, so he keeps going until Dan cradles his head with both hands and all but screams, swaying forward with the intensity of it. Phil keeps him pinned to the wall, riding the remains of his control while Dan is riding his high, and pulls off once Dan’s knees stop trembling.
Dan looks at him through hazy eyes and tugs him up on his feet to crush their mouths together with a force that nearly sends Phil flying back to the floor. Dan's hand sneaks into his pants, and Phil's relieved sigh turns into a moan as Dan bites his lip once, twice and pushes him to another wall. Now Phil is pinned down and put on display with Dan mouthing at his throat and jaw, and when their eyes meet, the sated pleasure in Dan's eyes is overridden by infernal flame, and Phil feels lightheaded.
“Ask me,” Dan breathes in his ear, the curve of his smile burning Phil’s skin. “Tell me.”
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.
And Phil is ready to beg for forgiveness.
“Please,” he whispers. “Oh God, please.”
He feels Dan’s smile on his lips as the wave of heat rushes over him, leaving him breathless and empty. He doesn’t need air, he doesn’t need sun, he doesn’t need water, he’s not aiming for heaven and he’s not scared of hell; Dan’s looking at him, regal and tall, and that is all he will ever need.
In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
Phil has only one name on his mind, he whispers it over and over, his salvation and his curse.
“Dan".
Dan kisses him, deep but gentle, a hand resting on his cheek, and Phil grasps at his shirt not to float away. His knees feel like jelly and his throat hurts, but Dan is warm and close, and Phil nuzzles at his neck.
“Get your breath back,” Dan says quietly before kissing him again. “I’m not done dancing.”
Phil lets his head hit the wall and smiles.
Amen.