fic: (aw crap) we’re falling in love, aren’t we?
Title: (aw crap) we’re falling in love, aren’t we?
Rating: PG-13
Genre(s): romance
Word Count: ~1580
Pairing(s) / Character(s): Bradley/Colin
Warnings / Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin and the boys and yep!
Summary: Five moments in their time. Written for voldything, because she required fluff and hey, who am I to say no? The following picture was her prompt.
i.
“Bradley, no,” Colin says with a straight face.
Bradley pouts.
“That doesn’t work on me, Bradley.”
Still, Colin is smiling. It’s hard not to.
Bradley rolls his eyes. He leans against the frame of Colin’s bedroom door and looks at him disapprovingly.
“You’re boring, Colin.”
Colin continues to smile at Bradley indulgently. “Yeah, I know.”
Bradley huffs. “Well, if you’re going to be boring and stuff, you’re going to need me to make it un-boring.” He marches into the room, making a beeline for the open script on the bed. Colin sits down beside him after shutting the door.
They spend half an hour running through their lines together in Season 3 Episode 7. Colin is already word-perfect, as Bradley points out every few minutes, annoyed that Colin would rather hole himself in his room than play yet another juvenile prank on an unsuspecting Angel with him. Despite his complaints, though, Bradley takes the opportunity to learn the last 20 per cent of his lines he’d neglected to do yet.
When they finish their last scene, Bradley drops the script on the duvet and yawns.
“Tired?” Colin asks from the other end of the bed.
“I guess,” Bradley shrugs. He stretches out like a cat, and his hair hits one of Colin’s pillows. Shaking his head, Colin turns around and lies beside him, mere inches separating their sides. One of Colin’s knobbly elbows nudges Bradley’s arm. Neither of them shift away.
They chat comfortably side by side, talking about Merlin and Arthur, tomorrow’s lunch, going home - everything and anything - until they’re both quiet, heads tilted towards each other in sleep.
In the morning, Bradley will stare longingly at Colin’s peaceful, sleeping face, before quietly leaving the room.
ii.
They’re sitting on the grass together, watching the sun set over Pierrefonds Castle, having abandoned their scripts for chatting, when Bradley says casually, “That’s a nice shirt.”
Colin looks down at the plain black shirt he’d thrown on after realising he’d run out of clean t-shirts. “Thanks.”
Bradley leans forward, crosses that small space separating them, so that his face is hovering by Colin’s shoulder. Colin is suddenly still as Bradley’s finger pulls at his collar.
“What brand is it? A cheap one from Primark?”
Colin knows that Bradley is teasing him (he would never buy clothes from Primark; he’d rather avoid the hoards of scary, sale-frenzied women constantly on the prowl), but he can’t process a smart remark with Bradley’s fingertips lightly stroking the back of his neck, searching for the label. He can smell Bradley’s cologne, sharp in his nostrils, mixed with grass and fresh air; it makes Colin’s heart beat faster, and that in turn makes him feel dizzy.
Colin hears none of Bradley’s words; is only startled by his disappointment when Bradley begins to draw back. Their eyes meet, brief, as Bradley retracts his arm, and then Colin’s turning away, stubbornly staring at a blade of grass next to his shoes, unable to look at Bradley again.
They go back inside five minutes later, and miss the sunset.
iii.
“Where do you want to sit - front, middle or back?” the cashier asks them. Evidently she doesn’t recognise them, and Bradley is glad of it. On the other hand, he’s sure the girls at the back of the queue are not quite as oblivious to who they are, because their pointing and giggling is rather unsubtle. Bradley can tell that Colin is unnerved, what with his eyes constantly flitting backwards, so he turns to the cashier and quickly asks for their usual preferred places.
After they purchase their tickets - Bradley pays on his card and Colin promises to give him the money later - they head upstairs, past the popcorn and Coke, and straight into Screen 12. They want good seats and neither of them are fond of parting with their hard-earned cash, considering how much this cinema charges for food. Bradley complains as much as they sit on the furthest back row, feet propped on the empty seat in front.
They chat to pass the time. The cinema is surprisingly empty when Scott Pilgrim vs. The World finally begins, and it makes for an undisturbed viewing. Bradley laughs loudly at the best lines, Colin not far behind him. It's a decent, enjoyable two hours.
Afterwards, as they’re leaving, hands stuffed into pockets in the chilled night air, Bradley asks, “You liked it then?”
Colin nods. “Yeah, it was good. Really funny.”
They discuss the film for twenty minutes, and then they’re at Bradley’s flat. Colin’s staying over tonight until he can kick the lodger in his own place out and reclaim it for the summer they’re on break and promoting Merlin up and down the country.
Before Bradley closes his bedroom door, dressed in nightwear, Colin sticks his head - dark hair wet and fluffy from the shower - around the bathroom door and smiles, “Everyone’s told me that Inception is amazing and I haven’t seen it yet. Want to go tomorrow?”
“Sure,” Bradley doesn’t hesitate in replying. He’s seen it before. “Same time?”
Colin beams at him, delighted. “Goodnight then.”
Bradley smiles, their eyes holding one another. “Goodnight.”
Both doors click shut.
iv.
“Bradley!” Colin laughs, batting Bradley away half heartedly. “Stop it!”
“So Colin Morgan does have a fatal flaw!” Bradley announces, sitting on the other end of the sofa made for two. In the background, Colin’s TV is still playing.
Colin shakes his head. “You’re ticklish too.”
“Not as much as you are!” Bradley cements his point by extending an arm again to poke at Colin’s ribs. The action has Colin squirming into the back of his side of the couch, and Bradley laughs even harder.
“This’ll never get old,” Bradley declares with glee, and Colin burrows further backwards, as though that’ll save him.
“I can hold you off,” Colin says. There’s a challenging gleam in his eye as he looks at Bradley.
Colin watches as an expression falls over Bradley’s face. “Watch me, Morgan,” he says, and then he’s suddenly on top of Colin, tickling his hands into his ribs, and Colin’s gasping and trying to shove him off, laughing and laughing and laughing.
It’s not until Colin cries through helpless laughter, “Okay, okay, mercy! I surrender! Stop!” does Bradley come to a still, and finds himself hovering above Colin, their bodies slotted together. Colin’s laughter dies on his tongue as he gazes up at Bradley, intent stares locked, both motionless.
After a beat, Bradley scrambles off Colin with a muttered, “Sorry mate,” leaving Colin, to his dismay, feeling cold and disappointed again. “I’d better go.”
“Yeah, okay,” Colin finds himself automatically replying.
He walks Bradley to the door. When Bradley’s zipped his coat up, he turns around on the doorstep and flashes Colin a genuine smile. “I’ll see you this weekend?”
After Colin shuts the door, he returns to the living room to find the credits of the film beginning to roll.
v.
It’s the day before the third season begins airing on the BBC, and they’re both nervously sitting at Bradley’s kitchen table, discussing the consequences of the first episode. Colin’s sipping at a mug of herbal tea which Bradley had bought especially for him when he'd come home.
Neither of them expect it when, upon handling one of their old, faded and battle-worn scripts for the episode, Colin cuts his index finger on the edge of the paper.
“Did you cut yourself on the script?” Bradley says, disbelieving, as Colin stares at the thin line of red fast forming along the pad of his finger. “Colin. Come here.” Before Colin can protest, Bradley has his finger in his mouth, sucking at the skin gently.
Colin can only stare. He stares until Bradley finally pulls away, letting the wet finger slip out between his lips, and looks up at Colin with flushed cheeks.
“Um,” he begins uneasily, seeing the look in Colin’s eyes. “I. Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” He drops Colin’s hand as though burned.
“No!” Colin protests. “It’s fine. It’s fine. Thanks. Bradley, I, look-” He’s too flustered to string together a coherent sentence, and continues to talk nothing until Bradley silences him with a touch of his hand to Colin’s wrist.
“Hey,” Bradley murmurs. “Ssh.”
Colin hushes. They sit in quiet, the clock ticking by on the wall as they stare at one another.
When Bradley leans forward to gently press his lips to Colin’s, chaste and dry, it’s not really a surprise at all. Colin’s eyes close, his eyelashes fluttering against his skin as he takes in a breath, and his heart stutters along with it.
Then, when Bradley begins to draw away, Colin whines low in the back of his throat and leans forward to close the gap again, kisses back harder and more insistent, deeper and more exploratory. Their mouths fit together, whispering months of longing and want, as their fingers entwine and cling on tight.
When they finally part again, foreheads bent together, Bradley whispers, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”
Colin’s fingers grasp at Bradley’s harder from the sheer honesty and raw ache in his voice.
“I,” Colin starts, then falters. He pushes their foreheads together and shuts his eyes again. “I think it’s too late for me.”
Bradley chuckles, delighted and overwhelmed and ecstatic, and pulls Colin in for another kiss, and another, until Colin can’t remember a time when Bradley didn’t worship his skin, and Bradley does it because he doesn’t ever want to forget.
Rating: PG-13
Genre(s): romance
Word Count: ~1580
Pairing(s) / Character(s): Bradley/Colin
Warnings / Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin and the boys and yep!
Summary: Five moments in their time. Written for voldything, because she required fluff and hey, who am I to say no? The following picture was her prompt.
i.
“Bradley, no,” Colin says with a straight face.
Bradley pouts.
“That doesn’t work on me, Bradley.”
Still, Colin is smiling. It’s hard not to.
Bradley rolls his eyes. He leans against the frame of Colin’s bedroom door and looks at him disapprovingly.
“You’re boring, Colin.”
Colin continues to smile at Bradley indulgently. “Yeah, I know.”
Bradley huffs. “Well, if you’re going to be boring and stuff, you’re going to need me to make it un-boring.” He marches into the room, making a beeline for the open script on the bed. Colin sits down beside him after shutting the door.
They spend half an hour running through their lines together in Season 3 Episode 7. Colin is already word-perfect, as Bradley points out every few minutes, annoyed that Colin would rather hole himself in his room than play yet another juvenile prank on an unsuspecting Angel with him. Despite his complaints, though, Bradley takes the opportunity to learn the last 20 per cent of his lines he’d neglected to do yet.
When they finish their last scene, Bradley drops the script on the duvet and yawns.
“Tired?” Colin asks from the other end of the bed.
“I guess,” Bradley shrugs. He stretches out like a cat, and his hair hits one of Colin’s pillows. Shaking his head, Colin turns around and lies beside him, mere inches separating their sides. One of Colin’s knobbly elbows nudges Bradley’s arm. Neither of them shift away.
They chat comfortably side by side, talking about Merlin and Arthur, tomorrow’s lunch, going home - everything and anything - until they’re both quiet, heads tilted towards each other in sleep.
In the morning, Bradley will stare longingly at Colin’s peaceful, sleeping face, before quietly leaving the room.
ii.
They’re sitting on the grass together, watching the sun set over Pierrefonds Castle, having abandoned their scripts for chatting, when Bradley says casually, “That’s a nice shirt.”
Colin looks down at the plain black shirt he’d thrown on after realising he’d run out of clean t-shirts. “Thanks.”
Bradley leans forward, crosses that small space separating them, so that his face is hovering by Colin’s shoulder. Colin is suddenly still as Bradley’s finger pulls at his collar.
“What brand is it? A cheap one from Primark?”
Colin knows that Bradley is teasing him (he would never buy clothes from Primark; he’d rather avoid the hoards of scary, sale-frenzied women constantly on the prowl), but he can’t process a smart remark with Bradley’s fingertips lightly stroking the back of his neck, searching for the label. He can smell Bradley’s cologne, sharp in his nostrils, mixed with grass and fresh air; it makes Colin’s heart beat faster, and that in turn makes him feel dizzy.
Colin hears none of Bradley’s words; is only startled by his disappointment when Bradley begins to draw back. Their eyes meet, brief, as Bradley retracts his arm, and then Colin’s turning away, stubbornly staring at a blade of grass next to his shoes, unable to look at Bradley again.
They go back inside five minutes later, and miss the sunset.
iii.
“Where do you want to sit - front, middle or back?” the cashier asks them. Evidently she doesn’t recognise them, and Bradley is glad of it. On the other hand, he’s sure the girls at the back of the queue are not quite as oblivious to who they are, because their pointing and giggling is rather unsubtle. Bradley can tell that Colin is unnerved, what with his eyes constantly flitting backwards, so he turns to the cashier and quickly asks for their usual preferred places.
After they purchase their tickets - Bradley pays on his card and Colin promises to give him the money later - they head upstairs, past the popcorn and Coke, and straight into Screen 12. They want good seats and neither of them are fond of parting with their hard-earned cash, considering how much this cinema charges for food. Bradley complains as much as they sit on the furthest back row, feet propped on the empty seat in front.
They chat to pass the time. The cinema is surprisingly empty when Scott Pilgrim vs. The World finally begins, and it makes for an undisturbed viewing. Bradley laughs loudly at the best lines, Colin not far behind him. It's a decent, enjoyable two hours.
Afterwards, as they’re leaving, hands stuffed into pockets in the chilled night air, Bradley asks, “You liked it then?”
Colin nods. “Yeah, it was good. Really funny.”
They discuss the film for twenty minutes, and then they’re at Bradley’s flat. Colin’s staying over tonight until he can kick the lodger in his own place out and reclaim it for the summer they’re on break and promoting Merlin up and down the country.
Before Bradley closes his bedroom door, dressed in nightwear, Colin sticks his head - dark hair wet and fluffy from the shower - around the bathroom door and smiles, “Everyone’s told me that Inception is amazing and I haven’t seen it yet. Want to go tomorrow?”
“Sure,” Bradley doesn’t hesitate in replying. He’s seen it before. “Same time?”
Colin beams at him, delighted. “Goodnight then.”
Bradley smiles, their eyes holding one another. “Goodnight.”
Both doors click shut.
iv.
“Bradley!” Colin laughs, batting Bradley away half heartedly. “Stop it!”
“So Colin Morgan does have a fatal flaw!” Bradley announces, sitting on the other end of the sofa made for two. In the background, Colin’s TV is still playing.
Colin shakes his head. “You’re ticklish too.”
“Not as much as you are!” Bradley cements his point by extending an arm again to poke at Colin’s ribs. The action has Colin squirming into the back of his side of the couch, and Bradley laughs even harder.
“This’ll never get old,” Bradley declares with glee, and Colin burrows further backwards, as though that’ll save him.
“I can hold you off,” Colin says. There’s a challenging gleam in his eye as he looks at Bradley.
Colin watches as an expression falls over Bradley’s face. “Watch me, Morgan,” he says, and then he’s suddenly on top of Colin, tickling his hands into his ribs, and Colin’s gasping and trying to shove him off, laughing and laughing and laughing.
It’s not until Colin cries through helpless laughter, “Okay, okay, mercy! I surrender! Stop!” does Bradley come to a still, and finds himself hovering above Colin, their bodies slotted together. Colin’s laughter dies on his tongue as he gazes up at Bradley, intent stares locked, both motionless.
After a beat, Bradley scrambles off Colin with a muttered, “Sorry mate,” leaving Colin, to his dismay, feeling cold and disappointed again. “I’d better go.”
“Yeah, okay,” Colin finds himself automatically replying.
He walks Bradley to the door. When Bradley’s zipped his coat up, he turns around on the doorstep and flashes Colin a genuine smile. “I’ll see you this weekend?”
After Colin shuts the door, he returns to the living room to find the credits of the film beginning to roll.
v.
It’s the day before the third season begins airing on the BBC, and they’re both nervously sitting at Bradley’s kitchen table, discussing the consequences of the first episode. Colin’s sipping at a mug of herbal tea which Bradley had bought especially for him when he'd come home.
Neither of them expect it when, upon handling one of their old, faded and battle-worn scripts for the episode, Colin cuts his index finger on the edge of the paper.
“Did you cut yourself on the script?” Bradley says, disbelieving, as Colin stares at the thin line of red fast forming along the pad of his finger. “Colin. Come here.” Before Colin can protest, Bradley has his finger in his mouth, sucking at the skin gently.
Colin can only stare. He stares until Bradley finally pulls away, letting the wet finger slip out between his lips, and looks up at Colin with flushed cheeks.
“Um,” he begins uneasily, seeing the look in Colin’s eyes. “I. Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” He drops Colin’s hand as though burned.
“No!” Colin protests. “It’s fine. It’s fine. Thanks. Bradley, I, look-” He’s too flustered to string together a coherent sentence, and continues to talk nothing until Bradley silences him with a touch of his hand to Colin’s wrist.
“Hey,” Bradley murmurs. “Ssh.”
Colin hushes. They sit in quiet, the clock ticking by on the wall as they stare at one another.
When Bradley leans forward to gently press his lips to Colin’s, chaste and dry, it’s not really a surprise at all. Colin’s eyes close, his eyelashes fluttering against his skin as he takes in a breath, and his heart stutters along with it.
Then, when Bradley begins to draw away, Colin whines low in the back of his throat and leans forward to close the gap again, kisses back harder and more insistent, deeper and more exploratory. Their mouths fit together, whispering months of longing and want, as their fingers entwine and cling on tight.
When they finally part again, foreheads bent together, Bradley whispers, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”
Colin’s fingers grasp at Bradley’s harder from the sheer honesty and raw ache in his voice.
“I,” Colin starts, then falters. He pushes their foreheads together and shuts his eyes again. “I think it’s too late for me.”
Bradley chuckles, delighted and overwhelmed and ecstatic, and pulls Colin in for another kiss, and another, until Colin can’t remember a time when Bradley didn’t worship his skin, and Bradley does it because he doesn’t ever want to forget.