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Love makes you stupid. Lust makes you stupider. Dan would know from first-hand experience. In retrospect, of course, he’s giving himself grace. They’d been young, they’d been horny and in love, and when you finally get a few days away from your families in a foreign country with your mysterious lover from the internet, you might get carried away. The hotel rooms are tempting, they always are. You see it in films, when the actors perform some form of acrobatics and wake up in perfect white sheets draped around them seductively. There’s a vibe, there’s a vision.
But frankly, hotel beds are disgusting when you think about it too hard. Especially once you find out that not every piece of fabric is regularly washed. Now, obviously, he knows better, and he won’t ever go near decorative cushions again. He’s not an innocent bystander in this dilemma. He’s desecrated enough hotel rooms in his time to want to warn people. Call it penance, if you will. He’s doing his part.
During their first holiday abroad, they’d shared a tiny hotel room in Portugal, with a queen-size bed too small for two very tall boys. They didn’t mind, though. Dan had a habit of wrapping himself around Phil like a koala at some time during the night, so it wasn’t like they’d eventually need the space. After check-in, they’d unpacked and then gone to the beach, barely getting back in time to get ready for dinner. When they finally returned to their room, they were almost frantic—needy for touch, the drowsiness from the travel day forgotten.
Dan was eager, as he always was—he was eighteen, and, frankly, there was little else on his mind aside from sex. Sometimes he could barely see straight. So he pushed Phil against the wall of the narrow entryway in their room, surging forward to press their lips together, tongue dipping into Phil’s mouth. His hands were grasping at the softness of Phil’s hips, their chests pressed together. Phil’s fingers were sliding under Dan’s t-shirt, pushing it up and over his head.
Dan moaned in frustration at the broken kiss, urging Phil toward the bed. It was messy, frantic. Clothes discarded, tripping over each other, Phil stumbling backwards and landing on the still-made-up bed. Somewhere along the way he’d lost every shred of clothing, Dan following close behind as he tugged off his pants, before crawling into Phil’s lap. The slide of their bodies was hot and sticky, Phil breathing roughly against Dan’s neck. They collapsed sideways onto the bed, still wrapped in each other, as Dan slid a hand between their bodies, drawing a moan from Phil. The friction was almost too much, the swirling heat low in Dan’s belly driving him mad. He couldn’t have formed a thought if he wanted to. There was only Phil, kissing him, hard and leaking in his hand, and so much friction. Sticky cum was pooling between them, slowly dripping onto the throw blanket of the hotel bed, creating a very unseemly stain.
Phil blinked slowly, his eyes focused on the stain. “We should’ve taken the decorative stuff off the bed.”
Dan winced. “They don’t wash these things, you know?” He was too tired to care, though. He slumped against Phil, burying his face against Phil’s neck, cum smeared over his hip.
Vidcon was always stressful and exhausting. Mostly because of the sheer amount of people and obligations, sure, but also because it was a time of year when it didn’t just feel like they were under constant surveillance—it was actually true. Internet celebrities were vlogging, fans were filming, and yes, of course, it was what they’d signed up for. But Dan couldn’t help but feel like a tiny ant under a microscope. His voice was clipped when speaking to Phil, tone sharper than usual. Phil, in return, was less cheery than usual, strangely monotone, and constantly avoiding eye contact. It was exhausting.
It was 2015, and the hotel they were staying at was booked to an extent that they were asked to share a room, since there simply wasn’t enough space. The person in charge had apologised profusely beforehand, yet Dan really didn’t mind. He was tired. He didn’t want to come up with an excuse as to why Phil and he could share a room. They were doing him a favour, really. It was around midnight when they stumbled into the room, all their bags already tossed on one of the beds.
Dan began to strip unceremoniously, as Phil pulled the curtains shut carefully before turning on a bedside lamp, bathing the room in soft golden light.
“Take off your clothes,” Dan said, his voice strained. He wasn’t just physically exhausted. The mental gymnastics of the day were haunting him, clawing at his insides. “Get on the bed.”
Phil smiled and saluted. “Yes, captain.” He pulled off his clothes, throwing them toward an armchair in the corner. He pushed the decorative pillows to the floor and the duvet down to the foot of the bed before climbing onto the mattress.
Dan was naked already, slowly opening the zipper on his backpack, producing an unopened bottle of lube. It landed on the mattress next to Phil’s hip. Dan followed promptly, stretching his body over Phil’s, hands roaming. There was an urgency to his movements, a burning need for release. To forget the day and just exist.
Dan was kissing a path down Phil’s stomach, biting his hip. “Ah,” Phil hissed, back bowing off the bed.
“Shh,” Dan said. “Hank Green is next door. Gotta be quiet.” Then his mouth was on Phil’s cock.
Later, lube was dripping on the sheets. And Dan was breaking a sweat, despite the icy air conditioning. Phil was biting his own hand to suppress a moan, back arching, hips moving to meet Dan with every thrust. Dan’s lip was bleeding, his finger’s leaving indents on Phil’s arse.
“Fuck,” he moaned quietly, hips stuttering. He leaned forward, his chest pressing against Phil’s back, reaching an arm out to clasp Phil’s hand with his—a shattering sound, and the room was tinged in darkness. Dan froze, arm still outstretched. He‘d knocked the lamp on the nightstand to the grown, the bulb shattering in the process.
“So much for being quiet, hm?” Phil murmured, twisting his neck to squint at Dan in the dark.
Dan rolled his eyes and leaned forward to kiss the corner of Phil’s mouth. “Shut up, we’ll pay for it. Who cares?”
Phil laughed quietly, the sound vibrating through his body. Dan groaned as his hips began moving again. “Oh, fuck, fuck—” he had to stop himself, stilling again.
“I don’t think I can come like this right now,” Phil said quietly, squirming against the bed.
Dan kissed his temple and carefully sat up. “Turn around.”
Phil rolled onto his back; the room was still dark. Dan leaned close, kissing him softly on the mouth. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Phil smiled, poking Dan’s dimple.
“Can I suck you off?” Dan asked against his mouth.
“Hmm, yes, please,” Phil replied, sinking deeper into the pillows.
Dan loved oral sex. He always had the time of his life going down on Phil, so when he wrapped his lips around Phil’s cock, he couldn’t help but let out a muffled moan. Phil’s fingers were tangled in his hair, his mouth stretched wide, tongue flicking up and down. His own hips were rutting against the bed, his thumbs digging into the fleshy part of Phil’s thighs. He was surrounded by Phil, his taste, his scent—and fuck, fuck, fuck. Phil was thrusting into his mouth, and Dan was thrusting against the duvet and fuck—
Warm cum filled his mouth, his cock chasing friction against the mattress. Dan moaned as he came. He collapsed next to Phil, with a damp spot next to his knee. He pressed a kiss to Phil’s sternum.
“This was fun,” Phil said. Dan slapped his stomach.
“I did all the work, bitch.”
Phil lifted up on his elbows. “Yeah, and you got bodily fluids on the blanket they don’t wash.”
Dan looked down. “Oh, fuck me. I’m bringing my own sheets next time.”
“You realise, you’re part of the problem, right?”
Dan got off the bed. “Fuck you, I didn’t do that on purpose.”
“Happens to the best of us,” Phil giggled, pulling the thin white sheets up his body and pushing the dark green throw off the bed. Then a decorative pillow hit him in the face.