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It had been spontaneous, ordering Dominoes. It had been late and they’d been playing video games pressed against each other on the couch– because they can
do
that now, they can stay up til three playing games and Dan won’t have to leave in the morning because this is- this is
home.
It hadn’t been three yet, though; it was barely ten when Dan flopped his head onto Phil’s shoulder with an exaggerated pout and whined that he was hungry. Phil had suggested Dominoes, and Dan’s eyes had sparkled, and that had been that.
And now it’s been half an hour since their pizza had arrived, and Phil’s trying his best to look like he’s at all invested in his own second slice, because Dan is– Dan is fucking
demolishing
his pizza, and it’s– Phil doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what it is about it, but his mouth is altogether too dry. He takes a swig of his soda with shaking hands and tries very hard not to listen to the little moans Dan’s making around yet another slice.
Phil wants to make some kind of joke about how he’d gotten two large pizzas with the assumption they’d have leftovers for a few days, but he can’t even begin to formulate a thought when Dan’s long eyelashes flutter and– Christ, it’s just
pizza.
He shouldn’t be making it look so orgasmic. He shouldn’t– he shouldn’t be so enticing as he hiccups breathily, lips full and beautiful and hanging slack as he exhales slow, indulgent, and then reaches for another slice like he- like he can’t help it.
The surge of arousal that hits Phil at the thought is– he can’t address it. He has
got
to get it together, got to stop being such a weirdo (and not the good kind, the kind Dan likes, the kind that blends so well with Dan’s own brand of weirdness. This– whatever this is– Phil feels flushed with shame about it). Jesus, Dan’s already gotten through a solid two-thirds of the pizza. He needs to stop thinking about it.
“Are you gonna even save me a slice?” Phil asks, trying his best to keep his voice normal, even, measured like he’s not going through– whatever the hell he’s going through right now. Dan sticks his tongue out at him even as he shifts a little on the couch, then takes another bite as if just to spite him.
“You’ve got your own, idiot,” he mumbles around the bite, and Phil can’t even find the strength to argue that Dan’s commandeered the
fun
one, the one with all the toppings, and left him with boring pepperoni, because there’s a warmly satisfied part of him that’s curling tight in his chest, pleased, because it feels like he’s– like he’s taking care of Dan, somehow. Like he’s got him here, safe, for the first time since Dan was a child, probably, and Dan can just- be. It’s
home,
now, a home that’s not gonna make him feel unwanted, not gonna make him feel alone or scared or judged or anything ever again. Dan can relax. He can eat all the damn pizza he wants, if he wants. Even if it’s an entire one on his own, which is– well, frankly, it’s
really fucking hot.
Phil fights down the confusing swirl of emotions in favor of sticking his tongue out at Dan in return. “‘M gonna go to the bathroom,” he mumbles, pushing off the couch, and drops a kiss to the side of Dan’s face as he leaves. Dan hums in acknowledgment, and Phil can see him reach for another slice as he leaves the room.
Shit.
He needs to stare at the bathroom mirror for a long time before he deems himself composed enough to go back out. Sure, okay, it’s really doing it for him to watch his boyfriend demolish an entire large pizza on his own. Sure, it’s definitely one of his weirder
things,
and one he didn’t know existed until now. But he- he can be normal. He can be regular about it and not scare Dan off with… whatever the hell this is.
He can.
His composure lasts about five seconds, because the moment he walks back out of the bathroom Dan’s letting out a needy whine and– well, that’s it, then. Phil is so, so fucked.
“Phillllllllllll,”
Dan pouts, leaning his head back as Phil settles back onto the couch by his side. It’s immediately obvious that Dan’s overdone it. There’s only two slices left of the pizza, now, and one’s in his hand, and Dan’s eyelids look heavy and his gaze is unfocused, but still he brings the slice to his mouth like he still can’t help himself and
Phil can’t fucking breathe.
Christ, he’s- he’s so–
“Phil,” Dan says, again, more insistent, his voice pitched high and breathy almost like it sounds when he’s turned on and demanding attention. But now he’s just– he’s pouting at Phil again, and his lips are so pink and look so temptingly sweet even though Phil knows he’ll taste like pizza when he kisses him, and he doesn’t even care because he feels like he’ll explode if he doesn’t do
something.
“Dan,” he says, soft, because Dan’s unfocused gaze still feels heavy, and the little pants of breath he’s letting out are so- fuck. “What do you want?”
Dan’s eyes flutter closed and he keens again, writhing a bit til he’s sprawled back deeper against the couch cushions and his legs are parted a little. He can’t be comfortable, constricted in his jeans like this when he’s so full, Phil realizes with a surge of heat that’s nearly painful. Oh, Christ, he wants to touch him. He’s not sure if he’s allowed.
“I need–” Dan breathes, and it sounds so fucking indecent Phil has to shift to make it less obvious how hard he is. “Can you help?”
Phil’s brain short-circuits for a minute, and he’s not entirely clear what Dan’s asking, until Dan holds out the slice of pizza and the realization crashes into him like a freight train.
“Need to finish,” Dan pants, and his eyes are glazed and his mouth is hanging open and
he wants Phil to feed him
and Phil’s grabbing the slice and pressing it to Dan’s pretty, pretty lips without a second thought. He thinks he might die. This feels all too much like some kind of weird wet dream he’ll wake from and be plagued by shame for the rest of the day, but– Dan’s chewing obediently, and his long eyelashes are fluttering closed and casting delicate shadows over the freckles on his cheeks, and Phil’s sure he doesn’t imagine the quiet moan as Dan swallows. Fuck.
“Last one,” he hears himself saying, almost distantly, as he picks up the last slice from the box without bothering to ask Dan if he wants it. He knows the answer, and it’s setting heat blazing through every fibre of his body. Dan’s exhale is ragged and shaky and his face is flushed and Phil’s not sure Dan would have been able to even get the slice for himself in this state and it’s– it’s almost too much.
Dan’s so prim, so neat even nearly undone like this, and there’s something about that fact that makes the whole thing even more electric– the way his tongue darts out to catch the sauce, the way he sucks Phil’s fingers into his mouth to lick them clean as he presses the last bit of crust in– Phil can’t help the moan it tears from his throat. He freezes, embarrassed, but Dan just whines softly in response, tilting his head back and exposing the column of his neck and it’s entirely too charged for any of Phil’s embarrassment at his own arousal to last all that long. Not when Dan seems just as keyed up.
“Fuck, Phil,” Dan breathes, ragged, and he’s slurring the words like he’s almost drunk with it, with how much he’s eaten. It feels impossibly dirty. “Can’t believe I– fuck, it hurts– can you–”
He’s been wearing Phil’s uni sweatshirt, and the bagginess has mostly hid the damages from sight, but now he’s wriggling back on the couch and pushing it up to weakly rub at his belly and Phil’s breath catches in his throat. He feels frozen. Fuck, Dan is so–
Dan laughs, hand flopping limp back to his side, and lets his legs fall even further open, sprawling back into the couch a fraction more. It just pushes his belly out more. “Fuck, I look pregnant,” he breathes, and it– it should be a joke. It should be a joke.
But Dan’s glazed eyes are impossibly dark when they meet Phil’s, and his breath is falling sweet and panting from softly parted lips, and his belly– he looks. Yeah. Christ. Phil’s eyes trace the curve hungrily, the way it’s jutting out from Dan’s lanky frame like he really is– and his eyes land on where Dan’s
unbuttoned his jeans, fuck,
and Dan’s just as turned on as he is, and it’s all too much.
“Dan,”
he breathes, ragged, reaching out a hand but stopping just before it settles on the curve of Dan’s belly. He looks so- so spoiled, he thinks. Pampered. Like he’s warm and taken care of and wants for nothing and–
(And yeah, shit, a little like he’s pregnant. A little like Phil’s the one who did it to him. He shouldn’t– he shouldn’t like the idea so much. It’s too much to think about for one night.)
“Please, fuck,
please, Phil,”
Dan whines, grabbing for Phil’s wrist and tugging and then Phil’s hands are on him and it’s so, so fucking good.
“Fuck, you’re so–” Phil tries, but he can’t even think of coherent words now that he’s finally touching Dan and Dan’s arching into the touch, whining, little hiccups escaping his lips as Phil runs his hands over the taut curve of Dan’s belly. He’s so, so warm against him, so warm and impossibly full and desperate despite it all and Phil feels dizzy with it.
Phil can barely think straight, doesn’t think he could string words together if he tried right now, but Dan– Dan’s talkative to the core. Now is no exception. “Didn’t- didn’t mean to eat it all,” he breathes, and it’s the hottest fucking thing Phil’s ever heard. “It was just so good- I couldn’t–”
He cuts off with another whine as Phil’s hands find a particularly sensitive spot, arching his back to press his belly into the touch like a spoiled cat, and it’s enough for Phil to find his words.
“You couldn’t help yourself, could you,” he breathes, and Dan’s eyes widen, his cheeks flushing dark and pretty. Phil’s not sure where the teasing is coming from. He feels like a man possessed. “You wanted- you needed to keep going. Fill yourself to the brim like the spoiled little thing you are, yeah?”
He accentuates the words with a nip at Dan’s neck, hands squeezing at the curve of his hips. He loves Dan’s hips, loves the way they’re soft, curvy, feminine– pretty. Pretty, pretty Dan.
He hadn’t noticed before, but there’s a little extra squish beneath his hands. Not much, but definitely a subtle change, hips a little softer to his touch, a little extra padding to the curve of his belly even packed tight like it is now, and
fuck
if that doesn’t make him feel crazy. He probably wouldn’t even notice if he didn’t know Dan so well, but– he does.
The idea that Dan’s been settling here, since he’s moved in, been indulging, been letting himself relax and not worry and it’s manifested in this new softness at his waistline– it’s like a jolt right to his heart. He knows better than anyone how much Dan worries, how self-conscious he gets. That Dan’s comfortable enough around him, that he’s
been
comfortable enough since he moved in, to just
be...
Phil’s chest feels a little tight. He brushes a strand of hair, curling with sweat, off Dan’s forehead, and hopes it conveys an ounce of the tenderness he’s feeling.
“Phil, please–” Dan moans (impatient, spoiled, cute), and Phil rolls his hips down, kisses him sloppily, kind of desperately.
“Gonna keep spoiling you,” he promises, hands kneading at Dan’s stomach. Dan’s eyes are so dark and so pretty and
Christ
he’d do anything for him. “Gonna take care of you, bear, promise– give you whatever you want, forever–”
Dan tries to roll his hips up to meet Phil’s erratic grinding, but cuts the motion off with a whimper. The fact Dan is just– too full for sex crashes over Phil like a wave, and he’s coming in his jeans like a horny teenager before he even fully realizes what’s happening. It’s the most intense orgasm he’s had in– he doesn’t know.
“Did you just–” Dan pants, disbelieving but hazy, and Phil can’t help the laughter bubbling in his throat. He presses a grin to Dan’s neck, just grinning wider when Dan squirms at the touch.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, not feeling very sorry at all, and his hands fall to the waistband of Dan’s too-tight jeans. “Let’s get you out of these, yeah?”
Dan nods, a little frantic, and groans like a goddamn pornstar when Phil wiggles him out of his jeans and pants. There’s an angry red line where the waistband had been digging into his hips, and it’s hotter than it should be. Phil rubs his thumb over it, gentle, reverent.
“Poor baby,” he murmurs. “Keep this up and I’ll need to get you a new pair of jeans.”
Dan makes a noise Phil’s never heard from him before, strung-out and high and desperate, and Phil barely has to wrap a hand around him before he’s coming hard.
They curl together in the aftermath of it, Dan making little keening noises while Phil strokes slow circles over his packed stomach, gentler now, soothing. Phil could fall asleep like this, but he knows Dan hates the mess, and right now Dan is hardly in any fit state to get up, so.
Dan pouts when he gets up, all needy and clingy like he always gets in the aftermath, but Phil silences him with a quick kiss and a promise to be right back. It’s the quickest he’s ever wet a towel and filled a glass with water in his life, he thinks, and tosses his own jeans somewhere in the corner of the bedroom floor. He’ll worry about the laundry later.
Dan practically purrs when Phil crawls back onto the couch, cleaning him off in record time and pulling him back into his arms. He offers him a sip of water, gentle, and privately thrills at the way Dan trusts him to hold the glass to his lips.
It’s not long before Dan is tugging Phil’s hands back to his belly, and Phil resumes his earlier ministrations, kneading gentle circles on the stuffed curve. “You really are like a big cat,” he murmurs, nuzzling into Dan’s hair and nipping gently at the shell of his ear. Dan hums, still drifting, settled and spoiled and content.
“Your
cat,” he mumbles, and Phil kisses at the sleepy smile stretching over his lips.
“Mmm. Gotta call Animal Control if you keep eating all my food, though. Send you to the pound.”
Dan snorts a sleepy laugh, shoving at him before pulling him right back in. “I’ll send your
mum
to the pound.”
Phil bites at Dan’s nose in retaliation. “Hey! No you won’t!”
Dan laughs harder, then winces as it jostles his overpacked belly. Phil’s hands are instantly back to kneading, play-fighting forgotten. Dan’s eyes soften, and he noses into Phil’s shoulder. “You really do spoil me,” he mumbles, quiet and serious even with sleepiness tugging at the corners of his vowels. There’s a vulnerability to his voice that makes Phil ache.
“Always. I mean it.” He presses a kiss to Dan’s dimple, hoping he can convey the near-painful tenderness he feels. “Wasn’t just saying it, earlier. Wanna take care of you forever.”
Dan’s breath hitches, and his voice sounds a little wet when he next speaks. “Even if sometimes I wanna eat a whole large pizza and then feel like crap after? Even if you do have to buy me a new pair of jeans?”
Phil presses a kiss to his shoulder and traces over the curve of his belly again.
“Especially
then. That was–” he pauses, sheepish, but figures at this point forging ahead is the least he can do– “That was so fucking hot, Dan, you have no idea.”
Dan smiles, and he looks a little giddy, pretty and warm and grinning at Phil in a way that makes him feel like the luckiest guy in the world. “Thank fuck. I mean. Good. Cause– cause it’s not an all the time thing, but, like, maybe for special occasions, cause…” he bites his lip, and Phil would jump off a fucking cliff if he asked him to. “Cause, yeah. That was pretty fucking hot.”
Phil can’t help a giddy laugh, and then he’s kissing Dan again, and they’re both in shirts but no pants on their shitty little couch and there’s pizza boxes to toss and laundry to do but it feels like they’re in heaven. Or somewhere like that, anyway. Some kind of super awesome dream dimension.
“Love you,” he breathes when he pulls back and just– looks into Dan’s eyes for a bit. “So much.”
Dan’s practically glowing when he kisses him again. “You better, you dork, cause you’re stuck with me now. Gotta take care of me forever.” His voice is teasing, but Phil knows him well enough to know how much sincerity is in the words. It’s stupidly cute.
“I will,” he promises, and he means it more than anything. He tries to tell him just how much, but cuts himself off with a yawn. Dan cocks his head with that fond, sappy smile.
“Go to bed, idiot.”
Phil pouts, steals another kiss. “You first.”
“Can’t. ‘M too full to move.”
“Then we’re both stuck here. Can’t sleep without my personal space heater.”
Dan wriggles a little, tugs Phil’s arm over him. “That’s not so bad, then.” There’s already sleep creeping into his words. “‘S long as you’re here. Love you.”
Phil hums, heart feeling unraveled and warm and like he could sleep anywhere in the world so long as Dan is in his arms. “Always. Always gonna be here.”
They fall asleep like that.
(In the morning, Dan’s pouty about his aching stomach and stiff neck from sleeping on the couch. Phil just tugs him back to their bed.
He’s not too full for sex this time.)