warnings: none! it´s nice and fluffy :)
summary: Phil loves storms. And he loves watching them with Dan.
a/n: surprise! I got inspired and wrote a lil ficlet based on Dan´s insta story <3
“Hey, Dan?” Phil stood by the sliding glass door of the balcony, face fogging up the pane as he peered out at the restless storm outside. The clouds rumbled and roared in the midnight sky, rain blurring the city lights. Phil watched for a few minutes but decided he would rather watch something this beautiful with his other half. He liked to share the things he loved.
He heard a mumble from the next room,
He heard Dan’s weighty steps behind him, indicating he had entered the room. Phil turned from his intense watch out the window to see Dan glancing at him in question, tan potato sack jumper drowning his torso and fingers gathering the sleeves around his hands into little sweater paws. He looked cozy. And warm. Then again, he was always warm. Phil took a step toward his teddy bear of a boyfriend, noticing his stature trying to fold in on itself: a small, soft boy trapped in a six foot four man’s body. Phil smiled as he stood as close to Dan as possible and finally replied,
“It’s raining. You should come watch the storm with me.”
Dan’s dark brows raised and searched Phil’s eyes. Like the ocean. Or maybe a pool on a hot day. Or maybe a clear, blue sky in the Spring. Dan leaned forward and pecked Phil’s cheek, which warmed under the gentle touch.
“Alright.” And his dimples caved in as he smiled back, feeling his cheeks flush from fondness and being so comfortable in his oversized jumper.
In sync, they walked back toward the window, now both peering out and attempting not to fog the glass with their warm breath, eyes staring in awe at the wonder of the rain storm taking over the London sky. The clouds were mighty, deep, threatening grey stooping low in the atmosphere, and wild cracks of thunder boomed and split the sky, sounding as if the Earth itself were caving in. Suddenly, electric white and blue flashes illuminated the clouds, streaking through the swirl of the storm. Phil’s eyes widened, mouth slightly open in shock and youthful awe. Dan’s eyes averted to his companion’s face, eyes shining as he admired his strong profile. He looked like a little kid experiencing his first thunderstorm. Dan loved his child-like demeanor. Phil could be so adventurous and giddy about the things he loved. This, of course, included Dan. And Dan was grateful.
As they watched the sky billow and swirl, Dan reached his hand over and grasped Phil’s, curling his long fingers around Phil’s slender ones. The storm was tumultuous and almost terrifying, but Dan and Phil knew they were safe. And they had each other. No need to really be scared.
“It’s beautiful,” Phil breathed, squeezing Dan’s hand a little tighter, “reminds me of you,” he finished.
Dan felt the heat rise on the rosy patch of his cheek and looked down, smiling bashfully.
The comfortable silence enveloped them again, room only illuminated by a single lamp and the blue flashes of lightning. They stood there for several minutes more, just watching the cool rain patter on the window and blur the bright lights of the city, thunder clapping through the ominous clouds. Dan and Phil loved nights like this: nights where they could be warm and safe inside, feeling how close they were to each other, sharing body heat and admiring the rain together. They didn’t care much for rain, but storms, storms were different. Storms were abundant with mystery, wonder, and unknown fierceness. Storms were wild and unpredictable and beautiful all in the same. Storms were incredible. Storms were like Dan.
Phil rested his head on Dan’s shoulder, arm wrapping around his middle and hugging him to Phil’s body. They could go to bed, they could be watching television, or playing a game, or doing work they should be finishing. But this was good. They were comfortable.
And later that night, they both crawled into bed, still listening to the rain and the thunder, observing the flashes of lightning through the bedroom curtains. But they held each other tight: pulled to each other’s soft bodies, legs entwined, running fingers along silk skin, tender kisses placed on flushed cheeks and noses and lips. Safe. Happy. Content.
Storms aren’t forever. But Dan and Phil are.
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
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