a/n: no right okay i feel like before this happens and before this is a thing i’m actually daring to publish can i just say this was SUPPOSED to be a cute fluffy fic about cuddles and yay happy cute stuff but this just turned into trainwreck what the fuck im so sorry 

also it’s notable that this is my first attempt at smut in literally like literally a year so here’s another apology for the atrociousness that this fic is

 summary: dan needs to do homework but his best friend/lab parter/fuck buddy/whatever the fuck phil is, has other (better) ideas 

~fluffy smut but not sex~

words: 3.6k

-

Dan’s not even sure why, or how it happened in the first place.

Butit’s worth the accumulation in the form of squiggly red biro in his school journal from teacher’s signing his ‘incomplete homework’ notes. It’s worth that and more. He’d been more than familiar with the impatient sighs and fair share of eye-rolls from whatever subject teacher was having to contend with his pathetic excuses before this, so if he’s honest, it’s nothing particularly new, anyway.

He’s just not used to the detentions after his lack of complete work had increased, and, without causing any offence to Phil, they’re certainly not worth an hour of his time after school every Friday. When he’s left scratching My Chemical Romance lyrics on the desks and letting his mind agonise over all the possible things he could, (and most certainly would rather) be doing than struggling to complete the sheet of 'Fifty Reasons Why Homework Is Important’ when he can barely think beyond the third point at a stretch, it’s not worth it. It never really is.

Yet the thought of landing himself in yet another detention when he’s already got his calendar booked up for this Friday regarding last week’s disregarded Geography essay, still doesn’t appear enough to cause him to fabricate an excuse and speedwalk away from the school gates before Phil has a chance to question him. Once again, he’s walking in the opposite fucking direction with intentions of none other then to end up at Phil’s house, and he doesn’t know why he puts himself through it.

He glances at Phil, studying his lab partner quietly as he shares a funny lunchtime anecdote with the brown-haired boy (he’s not listening; he zoned out ten minutes ago) and wonders how this even happened. Their Chemistry teacher’s the perfect icon of organisation with an enthusiast for seating plans, but Howell, and Lester aren’t remotely close to each-other in the alphabet. He understands Chemistry isn’t exactly the most interesting or even popular subject to take on to A-Level, especially as the majority of their school population sharing similar intellect are leaning more towards the BTEC and Apprenticeship fields, but he never anticipated anyone in their class to lack even one surname beginning with either I, J or K.

He wonders how much better off he’d be if there was some kind of third-party distraction separating them, although it wouldn’t stop him admiring the black-haired work of art from a distance of a couple of chairs away. Maybe he’d be worse off because he’d be spending all the time usually occupied cuddling him, wishing he was. Or masturbating over him. Oh god, it’s a lose-lose situation (although considering he’s actually in the presence of pin-up boy as opposed to relying on his imagination, he hopes he’s got the better 'lose’ of the two).

“Dan?” Dan zones back in with a jump at Phil’s interruption.

“Hm?” Dan internally scolds himself as he shakes the persistently intruding thoughts out of his head, trying to give Phil his concentration for longer than five minutes despite the chore even that may be as the sapphire glitter in his eyes often causes him to do anything but concentrate.

“What work are you ignoring tonight, then?” Phil asks a little too casually, glancing studiously up at the overhanging trees shielding the path they’re currently walking over.

Dan sighs, worry beginning to flood through him with the sudden realisation that his art coursework is being sent off to be marked tomorrow, and he’s still on the same fucking leaf he’d been working on (and being frequently distracted from) for four months. Along with the stomach-churningly enormous pile of un-started coursework, let alone unfinished; not even an all-nighter could get him through one still-life of a pumpkin, nevermind twenty-six.

“I’ll take that as a lot?” Phil giggles playfully, and Dan would loathe his little pink tongue shyly poking through between his teeth if he possibly had the capacity to.

“Art.” Dan sighs in defeat, having to accept his fate of receiving a grade below his usual A (although judging by the amount he really hasn’t done, he’d be lucky to scrape anywhere past a C).

“Is there any use catching up?” Phil raises an eyebrow, nibbling his lip tentatively.

Dan glares at him with as much spite as his heart will allow. “You know there isn’t. It’s due tomorrow; it’s not worth starting anything at all.”

“Aw.” Phil sighs, trying to fashion his face into an expression painted with as much sympathy as he can possibly manage.

“Shut up.” Dan hisses, and Phil knows all too well how responsible he is for it.

He narrows his eyes, slowing his walk to a stop and leaning against a nearby lamppost. “Well if you’re that fussed, why not go home and get a headstart?” He raises an eyebrow teasingly, knowing exactly how to wrap the brown-haired classmate right around his finger.

And to Dan’s dismay, along with every hope that Phil would never try playing that card, it works.

He responds with a sigh, scratching the back of his neck thoughtfully as he begins to pick up a slow pace, reaching a couple of steps ahead from Phil’s stance before replying with a weak mumble.. “It’s not worth it, though.”

“You could get a bit done, though?” Phil teases further, experimenting with just how far he can take this before Dan caves in.

“It wouldn’t be that much.” Dan frowns, knowing Phil has every idea of how long he’d been spending on that bloody leaf and an equally fair idea of how little art can be completed in twenty-four hours.

“It’d still be more than what you’ve got, surely?” He tests, hauling himself off the lamppost and approaching Dan, holding back a smirk.

“Well, not enough to make any difference.” Dan protests, a delicate shade of pink beginning to interrupt his tanned complexion colouring his cheeks as he tries to refrain from coming out with what he’d much rather be doing anyday than a bit of stupid art instead of traipsing back home.

He knows Phil knows, anyway. Even the blind wouldn’t have a hard time working that out, and even resisting outright confession, Dan knows all too well what his body language and tone of voice is giving away.

“It’s your choice.” Phil shrugs, his eyes having not budged from Dan’s own for several minutes, and Dan himself is finding difficulty looking anywhere else that isn’t that fucking sapphire shade.

“Are you saying I’m making the wrong choice then?” Dan tests, pacing on step closer to Phil in questionable curiosity.

“It’s not the 'wrong’ choice if it feels so right.” Phil retaliates, and by the several seconds of paused silence from Dan, he knows he’s definitely the winner of this argument. Although, in brutal honesty, considering they’re both on the same side of the argument and only questioning each-other’s views and reasoning, he can’t think it can really be classed as something that describes the clashing of opinions.

“I hate you.” Dan mutters, although the glint in his eyes can only express the complete opposite much to his perpetual frustration.

“No you don’t.” It’s enough to grow Phil’s suppressed smirk into a full grin as he rolls his eyes at the almond-eyed boy,  taking his arm and guiding them down the privet hedge-lined road leading to his house; and although it’ll cost him a grade or two, Dan certainly isn’t complaining.

-

Phil ignores the 'hello’ his mother throws at him from somewhere in his house on hearing the slam of the front door, and ambles upstairs, dropping his bag by the door beside Dan’s, who had already mirrored his actions, dumping his coat on top of their rucksacks once Phil had disarmed himself of his.

“Do you have much?” Phil takes out his school journal and a couple of books without looking at what subject they’re concerned with, pretending to give his homework timetable a once-over as Dan drags out his Geography coursework folder and Maths revision guide with incredible reluctance. He doesn’t even bother doing so much as giving his art coursework a second thought; what’s the point, anyway? He’s set up a plan for if he fails, alongside a plan B in case plan A falls through, and a list of excuses to throw at his mother when faced with the outrage of him failing a GCSE. He knows he’s going to fail, so what’s the point in trying to pass?

“Mhm.” He mumbles, shrugging nonchalantly at his own homework timetable while trying to ignore the drop of realisation in the pit of his stomach at just how much work he’s actually missed.

And it’s all Phil’s fucking fault.

They continue up the stairs, Dan staring grumpily into the back of Phil as they stride down the familiar hallway before nudging open his bedroom door.

“I’m going to have to do something, today.” Dan sighs, disregarding art and focusing his attention on the even further-disregarded Geography folder, and when he throws it down on Phil’s bed, loose sheets of paper go flying.

“Wow.” Phil widens his eyes, picking up a sheet of paper and looking at a miscellaneous labelled graph of 'Traffic Survey’ results.

“Do you not have something you need to be getting on with?” Dan grumbles, unzipping his pencil case and resisting the urge to pour the contents of it over Phil in frustration.

Phil shrugs “Probably” and Dan doesn’t know how he isn’t covered with his stationery yet.

“Do you want to fail?” Dan mumbles, raising an eyebrow although he opens his Geography folder and oh fuck, he doesn’t know where to start.

“I never said that.” Phil says.

“Then get on with something.” Dan mutters in annoyance, settling for colouring in a map in order to procrastinate the actual important work that needs to be done, as in the stuff that’s actually going to be marked and in all honestlyhe might as well not be working at all.

And it’s still all Phil’s fucking fault.

He glares up at the black-haired boy, reading over his introduction studiously. He feels the Phil roll over on his mattress to face Dan, giving the unfinished work a nonchalant glance.

“That looks exciting.” He smirks as Dan begins giving the Pacific Ocean some blue colour, his pencil strokes slightly uneven with the distraction of how close Phil’s lying next to him.

“Shut up.” Dan mutters, dragging his lower lip through his teeth in an attempt to not get distracted please don’t get distracted oh my god don’t you fucking dare get distracted.

“Really exciting…” Phil sighs, letting the corner of his lip tug into a smirk that Dan forces himself to keep his eyes away from because he’s in the shits if he doesn’t fucking get this done and oh fuck he really shouldn’t have come round to Phil’s today.

He refuses to let himself accept the fact that perhaps it’d be a little unfair to put Phil entirely at fault; it’s not like it wasn’t ultimately Dan’s decision to come round in the first place, was it?

“Do you know what would be even more exciting?” Dan tests, adrenaline briefly zipping through him because regardless of it being Dan’s decision to come round, it’s Phil’s decision to deliberately distract him.

“What?” Phil asks.

“Actually passing this fucking GCSE.” Dan replies in a tone maybe a little sharper than originally intended, although he doesn’t care. Maybe Phil could do with a little assertiveness for once.

“I can think of something even more exciting than that.” Phil says in a voice so fucking smooth it’s nothing but absolutely infuriating to Dan, and he’s about to bite a hole straight through his lip in a pathetic attempt at composure as the tips of Phil’s fingers glide suggestively across the sensitive backs of his hands.

“Does it involve me failing?” Dan pulls his hand away although stopping Phil is the last thing he actually wants right now, admittedly.

“It involves you having extremely pretty hands…” Phil sighs in response with admiration filling his tone, and Dan never realised holding a pen could be made this fucking difficult.

“Having pretty hands won’t earn me a grade.” Dan replies hotly, trying desperately to ignore the stupid tingles Phil’s sending down his spine. In this case, it’s going to almost definitely cost him a grade because regardless of where this is going to lead, even if he stays stubborn that doesn’t mean he’s going to stay focused.

Plus, his stubbornness is already faltering.

“It’ll earn you me, though.” Phil reasons.

Dan glances up. “So if I didn’t have pretty hands you’d be totally disinterested?”

Phil smirks, guiding his affectionate strokes up Dan’s arm, hovering around his neck agonisingly gently. “Not totally disinterested.” He pauses. “You still have quite a lot going for you.”

“Such as?” Dan narrows his eyes, suspicious about the fact Phil’s making him sound like some kind of doll. He won’t admit to the fact he likes the flattery too, though.

Phil smirks. “You want to be showered in compliments.” He drags his lower lip through his teeth, his eyes scanning every perfect crevice, curve and feature Dan’s face beholds, and although he doesn’t want to give him what he’s so obviously after, his face is definitely something that needs, and should be showered in every fucking compliment he can think of.

“I wouldn’t mind it.” Dan smirks back, loosening his grip on his pen and hating feeling every protest in his mind of what the fuck you fucking idiot why are you asking to fail go the fuck home or ignore Phil what the fucking fuck are you doing oh my god fade out into white noise the minute his eyes lock with Phil’s, the collision of icy sapphire with deep almond sending chills down Dan’s spine stronger than those of what Phil was previously giving him in admiration of his hands.

“Aren’t you meant to be getting on with this?” Phil raises an eyebrow, taking Dan’s pen out of his loose grip and holding it up.

Dan gulps, his eyes flickering to the pen in a brief moment of hesitation, before holding out his hand. “Depends if you’re going to give that back.”

If he isn’t unsure if his imagination is twisting reality or not, he would’ve noticed Phil tightening his grip ever so slightly on the pen. “Do you want it back?” He counteracts.

“Do you want me to have it back?” Dan says, his voice gravelly.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Phil’s eyes glitter menacingly.

“You never answered mine, either.” Dan retaliates, determined not to give an outright response until Phil does.

“Shall I ask you again?” Phil raises an eyebrow.

“Do you think I’m going to answer you properly again?” Dan responds, raising his own eyebrow and glaring into the azure shade of Phil’s eyes because maybe he really doesn’t want his pen back anymore.

Phil narrows his eyes, and his lips really can’t fucking tempt Dan any more. “Do you want the pen?”

“No.” Dan exhales shakily.

“What do you want?” Phil asks, unable to hide his victorious grin any longer.

Dan gulps, unable to hide his resistance any longer.

“You.” He finally caves in, and it only takes one second of hesitation until the pen’s thrown off the bed and Dan launches himself at Phil so hard the Geography folder and untouched Maths revision rustle and clatter to the floor alongside the pen, but Phil’s past caring how much paper’s cluttering up his room right now.

They find eachother’s lips in what Dan can register probably less than a millisecond, and any underlying feelings of stress or tension are almost immediately erased with the soft warmth of Phil’s lips against his in hungry, clumsy kisses and fuck, after the shitty Tuesday it’s been today Dan’s completely forgotten how addictive this is. Phil pulls Dan on top of him, snaking both arms around his waist and opening his lips a little, taking advantage of the access to the inside of Dan’s mouth as he feels two clammy hands grip onto his hair roughly as if he can’t bear the thought of Phil going anywhere that isn’t underneath him, the texture of his hair like velvet to his touch.

After a couple of minutes, Phil disconnects their lips and begins pecking his way across Dan’s cheeks and perfectly defined jawline, physically appreciating every feature he was previously admiring, until he reaches the sensitive skin of his neck, settling his lips on the exact spot underneath the left side of his jaw that he knows drives Dan insane.

“Fuck-…” Is all the chocolate-haired recipient can manage, inadvertently grinding his hips down onto Phil’s crotch, his desperation for friction growing with every nibble Phil grazes over him, smirking as he realises he’s unintentionally peppering little purple marks on his tanned skin which Dan’s probably going to kill him for once he finds out later. He collapses into the black-haired boy, tucking his face into the crook of Phil’s neck allowing him better access to his neck although he’s so fucking aroused he can’t think straight enough to do anything else other than take what Phil gives him with a muffled moan, determined not to let Phil’s mother (who, sidenote, is only fucking literally in the room next door if they haven’t forgotten) hear anything.  “Phil, I’m-…”

“Still want to do that Geography?” Phil suddenly teases, pulling away from Dan’s bruised neck.

Dan whines at the loss of contact. “Shut up.” He mumbles grumpily, letting one of his hands escape the midnight-coloured tangle and around Phil’s neck, pulling him back into him before Phil even has a chance to give Dan another one of his smirks in response.

Phil repositions himself slightly, wedging his thigh between Dan’s legs and grinding up into his hardening crotch just as Dan rolls his hips back into Phil, sending them both into a synchronised moan that, if he wasn’t so turned on he can barely register what’s happening around him, Dan would probably find the composure to giggle at.

Phil kisses over another lovebite he plants on Dan’s skin, tracing the tip of his tongue delicately around the shade of purple that’s now inked onto his neck for the next couple of days, and he fucking hopes Annie sees it, too; jealousy had never been a good friend of his. He’s suddenly overwhelmed with spikes of craving for more friction, and he grabs Dan’s hips, pulling him down onto him with need.

Dan feels himself weakening as arousal continues to jolt through him with every moment of friction Phil gives him, and his clothes are beginning to feel far too restrictive but he’s so close by the time he’d got his shirt off it’s safe to bet he’d probably have already came, so he settles for letting his quiet moans increase ever so slightly, his face still buried in the pillow in order to ensure his voice is for no-one but Phil.

“Fuck, Phil- I’m…”

“Me too.” Phil breathes out, and the way his voice is cracked with arousal is so hot it almost sends Dan over the edge.

Dan forces himself to last enough seconds longer to rake his fingers through Phil’s hair again, roughly massaging his scalp as he reconnects his lips, making slurred attempts to whisper filthy words into Phil’s mouth although it’s so incoherent he’d be surprised if Phil manages to make out more than two words of it.

“Dan, I- fuck-..” is the last Dan hears before he’s deafened by pleasure coursing through him, blindly grinding into Phil as he lets out a moan that his mum probably definitely fucking heard and there’s no way they’re getting themselves out of that one but fuck, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything but Phil and this is so hot and Phil’s so fucking hot and oh my god his school uniform’s uncomfortable and he’s never going to be a fucking Geographer and he just doesn’t fucking care.

He collapses on top of Phil once they’ve calmed down enough to descend into a weakly trembling heap, both of them still pretty breathless and a little sweatier than they’d expected they were going to get and Dan knows he should be filled with horrible guilt and regret and grab his school bag and run to the revision session he’s missing, but all he’s filled with is lazy content, and likewise all he’s prepared to do right now is nothing more than continue to lie here because he needs a cuddle. And a shower.

“I feel gross.” Phil mumbles, screwing up his face.

“Same.” Dan rolls off Phil and sidles up beside him, squirming uncomfortably.

“Are you going to get that pen back, then?” Phil comments humourously.

Dan rolls his eyes, letting his fingers play in Phil’s messed up fringe. “Nope; if I’m going to fail, I might as well fail graciously.”

“Inspirational.” Phil scoffs, and Dan still can’t ignore that nag in the back of his mind that’s getting more and more infuriated with Phils attitude.

He settles for giving his lips another peck, resting his forehead against Phil’s and searching his eyes with his own. “I hate you, by the way.” He mutters, although Phil had noticed his smirk.

He kisses him again, this time slower, and lingering, before finally replying. 

“No you don’t.”