fic: despite his right-hand problem (he comes anyway)
Title: despite his right-hand problem (he comes anyway)
Rating: NC-17
Genre(s): porn
Word Count: ~790
Pairing(s) / Character(s): Bradley/Colin
Warnings / Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, the boys, this never happened, etc.
Summary: Written for tourdefierce, who requested fic ‘WHERE BRADLEY HAS TROUBLE FINGERING COLIN AND JACKING HIMSELF OFF AT THE SAME TIME BECAUSE HE CAN'T DO ANYTHING WITH HIS RIGHT HAND’ during this discussion about Bradley’s possible left-handedness.
They’re in Colin’s room, trying desperately, as usual, to be quiet, because the walls are horrifically thin, and they’ll never hear the end of it from Angel, who is much more tolerant than say, Katie, ever would be, and who thankfully can keep a secret. Except, of course, they’re once again failing miserably, and Bradley knows that tomorrow he’ll be subjected to an extremely mortified and aggravated Angel, who can somehow never bring up the matter with Colin, but will unfailingly poke Bradley about it until he blushes crimson and stutters out apologies to shut her up mimicking every little noise she’d heard.
It’s all Colin’s fault, though. Colin and his sex-mussed hair, Colin and his twinkling blue eyes, Colin and his delectable, addictive lips that pout and smile and kiss him so thoroughly-
“Bradley,” Colin’s lips moan, and yeah, Bradley’s a goner again. All sense of propriety and shame immediately flies out of the window. After all, every night with Colin in bed is worth every day facing Angel with a guilty, apologetic face.
Colin is spread-eagle on the bed, naked and flushed down his beautiful, pale body. Bradley’s hovering between his legs, which are pushed up so that Bradley’s fingers can slip into his hole with the help of lube that smells like mint, and, mixed with the scent of Colin, makes Bradley want to come then and there.
Bradley’s cock is evidence of this; it’s lying hard and stiff, waiting to be touched as Bradley lavishes attention upon Colin’s arsehole - stuffing his finger in so deep, before pulling it out once more, and then sliding it back in again. Colin is truly a sight to behold - gasping and writhing, and it’s such a turn-on, Bradley doesn’t know why he waited two whole fucking years to finally drag Colin into bed with him.
“Bradley, ah, Bradley,” Colin is gasping again, and fuck, Bradley isn’t going to last long; he’s going to come just watching his fingers undo Colin, filling him to the brim.
“I want to make you come from just this,” Bradley murmurs out loud, admiring the beautiful blush along Colin’s cheekbones he adores so much. “Want to make you come with just my fingers.”
Colin whines in reply, the primal sound low in the back of his throat, and shoves his hips back, trying to stuff Bradley’s fingers deeper into him. Bradley feels his breath catch, and his free hand - his right hand, his writing hand - goes to his own neglected cock, dripping pre-come onto the covers.
“Don’t touch yourself,” Bradley orders harshly when Colin tries to mirror his action, and digs his four fingers in deep to emphasise, causing Colin to give a loud cry that can’t be stifled in time.
(Oh God, Bradley’s going to hear such an earful from Angel tomorrow, but who gives a fuck, with Colin like this, so wanton and beautiful?)
“I want you to come like this,” Bradley repeats, and sets a faster pace, strong fingers driving in and out, clutched tight by Colin’s slicked hole. Only, Bradley’s right hand - the one trying to jack at his painfully erect cock - is not doing quite as sufficient a job.
“For fuck’s sake,” Bradley hisses to himself, as his hand skims the surface of his cock, but not in the way he wants it to - needs it to; needs it to be amazing and dirty and the way he normally wanks with his left hand, which although isn’t his writing hand, is the one he uses for everything else. Bradley wants to come so badly, and this - this is not enough.
“Bradley,” Colin moans - has resorted to arching into every thrust of Bradley’s fingers, arms hanging uselessly by his sides, nails scratching at the sheets. “Bradley, I’m close.”
Bradley grins despite his right-hand problem. He gives up on jerking himself off and focuses on Colin, then - makes sure to rotate his fingers, bend them crooked in Colin’s arse to stroke at the nerves that has Colin’s toes curling, his knees shaking by Bradley’s sides, his eyes scrunched so tight as he trembles with pleasure and his mouth whimpers the most obscene things.
“Come on, then, Colin,” Bradley murmurs, and the words fall well-versed off his lips. “Come on, come for me, Col, want to see you come from me touching you like this.”
And then Colin’s coming - white streaking his naked body as his orgasm is ripped from his throat in a low, hoarse moan. Bradley watches the drops of come leak out of the slit of Colin’s cockhead, and swallows, thinking God, I just made Colin come with just my fingers and fuck, I didn’t even touch him, before he’s coming himself - cock jerking against his thigh, and emptying onto the sheets, darkening the white into transparency.
Rating: NC-17
Genre(s): porn
Word Count: ~790
Pairing(s) / Character(s): Bradley/Colin
Warnings / Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, the boys, this never happened, etc.
Summary: Written for tourdefierce, who requested fic ‘WHERE BRADLEY HAS TROUBLE FINGERING COLIN AND JACKING HIMSELF OFF AT THE SAME TIME BECAUSE HE CAN'T DO ANYTHING WITH HIS RIGHT HAND’ during this discussion about Bradley’s possible left-handedness.
They’re in Colin’s room, trying desperately, as usual, to be quiet, because the walls are horrifically thin, and they’ll never hear the end of it from Angel, who is much more tolerant than say, Katie, ever would be, and who thankfully can keep a secret. Except, of course, they’re once again failing miserably, and Bradley knows that tomorrow he’ll be subjected to an extremely mortified and aggravated Angel, who can somehow never bring up the matter with Colin, but will unfailingly poke Bradley about it until he blushes crimson and stutters out apologies to shut her up mimicking every little noise she’d heard.
It’s all Colin’s fault, though. Colin and his sex-mussed hair, Colin and his twinkling blue eyes, Colin and his delectable, addictive lips that pout and smile and kiss him so thoroughly-
“Bradley,” Colin’s lips moan, and yeah, Bradley’s a goner again. All sense of propriety and shame immediately flies out of the window. After all, every night with Colin in bed is worth every day facing Angel with a guilty, apologetic face.
Colin is spread-eagle on the bed, naked and flushed down his beautiful, pale body. Bradley’s hovering between his legs, which are pushed up so that Bradley’s fingers can slip into his hole with the help of lube that smells like mint, and, mixed with the scent of Colin, makes Bradley want to come then and there.
Bradley’s cock is evidence of this; it’s lying hard and stiff, waiting to be touched as Bradley lavishes attention upon Colin’s arsehole - stuffing his finger in so deep, before pulling it out once more, and then sliding it back in again. Colin is truly a sight to behold - gasping and writhing, and it’s such a turn-on, Bradley doesn’t know why he waited two whole fucking years to finally drag Colin into bed with him.
“Bradley, ah, Bradley,” Colin is gasping again, and fuck, Bradley isn’t going to last long; he’s going to come just watching his fingers undo Colin, filling him to the brim.
“I want to make you come from just this,” Bradley murmurs out loud, admiring the beautiful blush along Colin’s cheekbones he adores so much. “Want to make you come with just my fingers.”
Colin whines in reply, the primal sound low in the back of his throat, and shoves his hips back, trying to stuff Bradley’s fingers deeper into him. Bradley feels his breath catch, and his free hand - his right hand, his writing hand - goes to his own neglected cock, dripping pre-come onto the covers.
“Don’t touch yourself,” Bradley orders harshly when Colin tries to mirror his action, and digs his four fingers in deep to emphasise, causing Colin to give a loud cry that can’t be stifled in time.
(Oh God, Bradley’s going to hear such an earful from Angel tomorrow, but who gives a fuck, with Colin like this, so wanton and beautiful?)
“I want you to come like this,” Bradley repeats, and sets a faster pace, strong fingers driving in and out, clutched tight by Colin’s slicked hole. Only, Bradley’s right hand - the one trying to jack at his painfully erect cock - is not doing quite as sufficient a job.
“For fuck’s sake,” Bradley hisses to himself, as his hand skims the surface of his cock, but not in the way he wants it to - needs it to; needs it to be amazing and dirty and the way he normally wanks with his left hand, which although isn’t his writing hand, is the one he uses for everything else. Bradley wants to come so badly, and this - this is not enough.
“Bradley,” Colin moans - has resorted to arching into every thrust of Bradley’s fingers, arms hanging uselessly by his sides, nails scratching at the sheets. “Bradley, I’m close.”
Bradley grins despite his right-hand problem. He gives up on jerking himself off and focuses on Colin, then - makes sure to rotate his fingers, bend them crooked in Colin’s arse to stroke at the nerves that has Colin’s toes curling, his knees shaking by Bradley’s sides, his eyes scrunched so tight as he trembles with pleasure and his mouth whimpers the most obscene things.
“Come on, then, Colin,” Bradley murmurs, and the words fall well-versed off his lips. “Come on, come for me, Col, want to see you come from me touching you like this.”
And then Colin’s coming - white streaking his naked body as his orgasm is ripped from his throat in a low, hoarse moan. Bradley watches the drops of come leak out of the slit of Colin’s cockhead, and swallows, thinking God, I just made Colin come with just my fingers and fuck, I didn’t even touch him, before he’s coming himself - cock jerking against his thigh, and emptying onto the sheets, darkening the white into transparency.