Work Text:
The Emmy’s are fucking mad for a thousand different reasons.
None of those reasons remotely come close to waking up the next morning naked, wrapped in blankets in a hotel room paid for by Warner Brothers with fucking Brett Goldstein asleep next to him.
+
It’s supposed to be a one time thing. Really, it is.
It’s just they go to the Spotify Halloween party, and Phil thinks it’s a really fucking hilarious joke to rest his hand on Brett’s bum for the photo to fuck with him a bit.
It happens again.
+
By the time filming comes back around, he and Brett have only seen each other a handful of times since the Halloween party.
They just don’t go out of their way to hang out with each other, and Brett is probably the busiest human being Phil has met in his life. Phil also tries to get some other work in between Ted commitments.
When they do see each other though, it typically ends with falling into bed and then waking up swearing to each other it’s not really a thing, even though it definitely is.
The first day back to the set feels like the first day back at school, even though they all see each other all the time. It’s hard not to hang out when you love all of the people you’re working with. Phil’s been on a lot of sets and worked on a lot of stages - he’s never felt like this before.
His first few days on set are just with the lads, and it’s really fucking great. Everyone spends their time between filming talking about other work they’ve been doing or what they think of the script they’ve seen so far.
Phil only sees Brett in passing, even though they’re both in the scenes - it’s just they don’t really interact today. Brett does not look at him, even between takes, and Phil tries not to take it personally. He knows it’s just because Brett is trying to be a professional, and not that Brett is ignoring him.
It’s probably not that Brett is ignoring him.
+
They’ve been back on set for a week.
Brett is definitely ignoring him.
+
“Hey,” Phil runs up to Brett. “I just had a question about this thing on page, like, 6?”
“I didn’t write this script. Ask Jason.” Brett looks straight ahead, but there’s a slight curl to the corners of his mouth that betrays him. Phil counts it as a win.
“You’re in the room though.”
Brett sighs a bit.
“Fine, ask your fucking question.”
Phil looks around and then when he sees there’s no one following behind, he pulls Brett into an empty cupboard.
“It’s more a, uh, private kind of question.”
Brett doesn’t roll his eyes, but Phil knows it’s a close call just because he knows Brett. He pulls the door closed and then shifts his weight to press Brett back against the door and put his full body into kissing him.
Brett doesn’t fight against it at all, which Phil decides is a win.
“Is that your question?”
“No.” Phil grins. “Sort of. You’re fucking ignoring me, and it’s shit.”
“I’m not ignoring you, and this isn’t a thing. Even if it was a thing, it’s definitely not a thing we’re doing at fucking work, Dunster.”
Phil rolls his eyes. He knows Brett has a point; they’re both professionals, and it’s not like he wants everyone to know all of their business.
“I can’t fucking take you seriously with that hair, by the way. You look like Jamie Tartt.”
“I am Jamie Tartt.” Phil flicks Brett on the ear. “I might keep this hair after filming. Always did want highlights.”
“You are not going to keep that hair once we’re done filming and you know it. It’s about as likely as you not letting your eyebrow fill back in.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“I fucking know I’m right.” He lets his head fall against the back of the door and groans. “This isn’t a fucking thing.”
“Did I say it was?”
“I suppose you’re right.” Brett smirks a bit and tugs lightly on Phil’s hair. “Maybe this isn’t so bad.”
“See, you love it.”
“I’m going back to work now.” Brett says, reaching behind him for the door knob. He leans in to kiss Phil again before he twists the knob open and steps out. “I’ll stop fucking avoiding you, okay?”
“I knew you were avoiding me.”
Brett rolls his eyes and walks backwards for a moment before spinning on his heels.
Phil tries to keep telling himself it’s not a thing.
+
Phil is laid out on his giant sofa, Match of the Day playing in the background while he plays with his phone. He’d gotten in from the match about an hour ago, and he’s thinking about ordering Just Eat and going to bed. He has to be on set early in the morning, so he probably shouldn’t stay up too late.
He’s just about to hit send on his Chinese order when the doorbell starts buzzing. He has no fucking clue who would be over. He’d seen some of the lads at the match this afternoon, and no one ever just really drops in without asking.
When he opens the door, Brett is standing there holding up a bag of food.
“I was hoping you’d be here.”
“You could have sent a message?” Phil steps aside to let him come past. Brett’s been to his place enough times that he goes right past to the kitchen and starts pulling out plates.
“Thank God you have wine because I didn’t stop to get any.”
“I always have wine,” Phil says. He’s not quite sure what’s happening except Brett is here and he brought food.
“I thought we could look at some of the pages for next week. We have a couple of scenes together.” He pours them each a glass of wine and then hands one to Phil before dishing out the food on plates. “I was bored.”
Brett has been to Phil’s house several times - he’s never been there on his own to run lines.
“How could you be bored? You have like twelve jobs.” It’s true. Brett never seems to have any free time at all, let alone have time to be bored.
Brett just shrugs.
“Are you fucking hungry or not?”
“I was about to order food.”
“So now you don’t have to.” Brett smiles but it’s barely there. Most people probably wouldn’t notice it at all, but Phil spends more time than he cares to admit watching Brett Goldstein.
Dinner turns out to be Italian and they eat it silently before moving to the sofa with their wine. Brett puts on a film but Phil doesn’t have time to even register what it is before Brett’s shifted his weight so he can get a better angle to kiss him.
They snog on the sofa for a while until Brett shuts the film off and suggests they move upstairs. Phil is absolutely not complaining.
+
A few weeks pass and dinner has become a regular thing. The only problem is Phil still can’t tell if Brett’s chorus of this isn’t a thing is really because it’s not a thing or because it’s easier to let it not be a thing until they have to admit it’s a thing.
They’re leaving for Amsterdam in a couple of hours, and Phil wakes up with his own blankets twisted around himself and no big hairy, too warm body next to him. Brett isn’t usually one to leave without saying anything, so Phil isn’t sure what to think.
Maybe he had decided arriving at the airport together would be too much, despite the fact that they’ve been regularly showing up to work in the same car for a couple of weeks now. He hears a crashing downstairs, followed by fuck shit fucking hell and laughs to himself.
“Don’t break my shit!” Phil calls down and then kicks himself out of bed. He slips into whatever trackies and t-shirt feel like they’ll be comfortable on a short plane ride and goes downstairs after stuffing a few things in a bag for the week.
“I just ran into your stupid fucking table. Why is it in that spot.” Brett stops ranting for a moment to press a kiss to Phil’s lips, and it makes Phil feel warm all over. “Move your fucking side table.”
“It’s always been there.”
“If I had broken a hip you would have had to call and explain to Jason why I can’t go film this week, and it would have been fucking hilarious to watch you try to explain why I was even at your place at 8 in the morning.”
“I would have told him you were picking me up for the airport so we didn’t both have to drive?”
“Well that’s just smart,” Brett says with a shrug. “I was going to make us tea, but your fucking side table attacked me before I could do that.”
“I thought you’d just fucked off and gone home.”
“Have I ever just taken off?”
“No, but - “
Brett rolls his eyes and tugs on Phil’s wrist until they’re close enough that he can kiss him again. This time it’s more than a small peck and Phil lets himself fall into it. He feels more and more fucked over this man every day, and he hopes he’s not going to make a fucking idiot of himself.
+
Amsterdam is fucking fun but they have to shoot a ton and it involves fucking cartwheels, so by the time they get back to the hotel after filming, Phil is achy and exhausted. He’s full of energy most of the time, but something about the level of energy he has to play up as Jamie is just a different level of exhaustion.
Plus, Brett has gone out with a couple of the writers so he can’t even sneak down the hall to see if he’s up for a bit of a shag before sleep. He gets in the shower to try and ease his muscles a bit and then crawls into bed. He’s hoping by the time he gets out of the shower Brett has at least texted.
There’s nothing on his phone.
He sighs a little and sits it back down on the bedside table before sliding under the blankets. It’s possible Brett’s endless chorus of this isn’t a thing is just the truth and Phil’s been reading too much into the surprise dinners and the early morning kisses and all the other little things that make it feel like, well, a thing.
+
Phil doesn’t even realize he’d fallen asleep until he’s jolted awake by a large banging. It takes him way too long to realize it’s someone knocking on the door of his room. He pushes himself out of bed and looks into the peephole.
It’s Brett.
Phil opens the door but he’s still mostly asleep. Brett pushes past him. He smells lightly like weed and alcohol, but still so unmistakably Brett that it wakes Phil up a little.
“Tried to go to bed but couldn’t sleep.” Brett falls onto Phil’s bed. “Had a good night, but ended up a bit fucked that you weren’t there.” His speech is just the lightest bit slurred, but he doesn’t seem so out of it he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. “Get over here.”
Phil closes the door and then gets onto the bed. Brett immediately wraps around him.
“Just going to sleep,” he says. “Didn’t want to go to sleep by myself.” He kisses the side of Phil’s face, and Phil can swear he hears him whisper this doesn’t make it a thing before they both fall asleep.
+
“You’re really stopping the podcast?”
“Just for a bit probably,” Brett says.
He’s got his laptop out and he’s sending emails to Bill about the project they’re working on. Brett has so many fucking job; it makes Phil tired.
It’s been a few weeks since Amsterdam, and Brett sometimes brings his work over to Phil’s so that Phil can cook for him and they can make out when he’s done. Phil’s sure that’s the only reason - Brett needs someone to make sure he eats between his 17 (17 minus 1 now that the podcast is on hold) jobs. He’s sure because that’s what Brett had told him the first time he’d come over to work.
“Can’t fucking believe you never had me on.”
Brett rolls his eyes and focuses on his laptop.
“I can’t believe you come over here and just ignore me.”
“I’m working, dickhead.” Brett laughs to himself. “I could just not fucking come over at all, if you’d prefer.”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll be quiet.”
Brett sighs and sits his computer aside after a moment. Phil knows he’s really fucked over Brett. He’s known for a while. He just wishes Brett gave any indication he was fucked over Phil.
“You’re a fucking menace. You’re a terrible fucking influence.” He goes over to the sofa and flops down. “Bill can wait. Come here.”
Phil slides into the spot next to Brett easily and rests against him. There’s some cooking show on the tv, but Phil’s rarely ever actually paying attention. He can feel Brett’s arm wrap around his shoulder, and it’s just.
Comfortable.
He knows what Brett keeps saying, but then they’re just in each other’s space and it feels like a thing. He knows filming will be down in a couple of months, and they’ll all have separate ways to go, and Phil’s not sure what’s going to happen then. As far as they’re aware, it’s all going to end, and it’s not only Brett it’s everyone - Juno, Hannah, all of the lads - these people who really have become Phil’s family. He’s trying very hard not to think about it.
Especially the Brett part.
“I’m starving,” Brett says. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes, Brett. I’m aware. You only come over when you’re working so I can feed you.” Phil starts to push himself up but Brett catches his wrist and pulls him back down for a kiss. Phil closes his eyes and sighs against Brett’s mouth.
“I was only joking about that, you idiot.”
“Yeah, I know that,” Phil says, even though he didn’t.
“I’m a comedian, didn’t you know? I’m very fucking funny.”
“Hilarious, yes. Are you just fishing for compliments?”
“Obviously.” Brett pulls Phil down next to him. “We need to talk.”
“Oh.” Phil braces himself because he feels like this is it. Brett can feel the waves of a thing coming off of Phil, and he knows that Phil is having real emotions, and he’s going to end this. Phil was hoping he’d at least get Brett until the end of filming.
Fuck.
“Don’t make that fucking face.”
“What face?”
“That face, the one that looks like you think I’m about to break up with you.”
“You can’t break up with someone you aren’t actually dating, Brett.” Phil tries not to sound frustrated, but he is. He can’t help it.
“Oh fuck off.” Brett rolls his eyes. “That’s what we need to talk about.” He sighs. “I’m a prick, Phil.” Brett slides his fingers up into the hair at the back of Phil’s neck. “But we both know this thing has been more than - whatever - for a while now.”
“Do we? Because one of us keeps insisting it’s not a - “
“Shut up, and listen.” Brett drags his thumb behind Phil’s ear. It feels fucking amazing. It’s gentle and nice and it makes Phil shiver. “I think once something that’s not a thing has been happening consistently for almost 6 months it’s time for me to stop being a dick and admit it’s probably a thing, don’t you?”
“What about the whole workplace romance thing?”
“I’m still not saying we should fucking call up Juno and Hannah and have girltalk about each other. I’m not saying we should draft a memo to Jason like to whom it may concern Brett Goldstein and Phil Dunster have been secretly fucking for months and would like to disclose their relationship.” He snorts to himself. “But I’m a little in love you, you fucking idiot.”
It catches Phil off guard, and it’s like Brett knows that because when Phil really looks at him, it’s almost like he’s daring Phil to question it with his eyes.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, so.” Brett says. “Can you fucking respond or like at least tell me I’m not making an arse-”
Phil doesn’t let Brett finish before he presses in to kiss him and crawls into his lap, straddling his hips.
“You’re so fucking - I’ve been - “ Phil can’t really get his thoughts together. He’s pretty bad at that sometimes. It’s why he’s an actor. It’s easy to emote when someone’s telling you what to say, but when he needs to sound smart and emotional and thoughtful sometimes it takes him longer to get it together. That’s why half the time in interviews he just starts screaming out how Brett smells.
“Yeah?” Brett laughs. “Good chat.”
“Fuck off.” Phil presses his forehead against Brett’s. “What happens when - “
“No. Stop.” Brett slides his hand down to rest it on Phil’s neck, but all Phil really notices is Brett’s thumb dragging along his jawline and the sound of Brett’s soft spoken voice in his ears. “Stop. We’re not talking about any of that. We’ll deal with it when it happens.”
“Right, yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”
“Good. Because I’m not going to spend the next couple of months having you ask what happens when - it’s not - I don’t fucking know what happens after this. I don’t know, but who the fuck ever knows. Let’s just do this for now.”
Phil has a lot of things going through his mind, but nothing seems more important than just being with Brett. He doesn’t answer, but he does kiss Brett with a force that he hopes puts all of the thoughts in his mind together and gives at least some of it away.
“Good, that’s good.” Brett presses another kiss to his lips. “I meant it when I said I’m fucking starving. And you know, you were right. I did say I come here so you’ll feed me.”
“Fuck off,” Phil says, but he rolls off of him and stands to go find something to make.
Brett catches his wrist.
“Hey, wait. Is that any way to talk to your newly official boyfriend?”
“Is that what you are?”
“I reckon that’s what I am? Are you going to fucking argue?”
“No,” Phil says. “No, I don’t suppose I am.”