Once More, With Feeling - Part 2/4
< Back to Part 1/4
(Colin - Saturday, May 2nd, 2015)
The first thing Colin thinks when the hotel door opens inward, is -er.
Bradley’s eyes are bluer than he remembers. They’re much wilder.
Then, he thinks, Oh My God.
It’s Bradley.
He’s too shocked to move, too stunned to muster up any sort of embarrassment over seeing Bradley face to face for the first time in several years, and in these circumstances.
It’s absolutely no consolation at all that Bradley’s face reflects the stunned disbelief which must be written all over his own. Fucking hell, wrong room, which is surely what they’re both thinking, is so loud it’s like a gunshot ringing in Colin’s ears.
There is nothing that could have prepared him for this.
The hair on the back of his neck begins to prickle, startled by the vehemence of this familiar sensation. He clenches his hands inside his pockets, clutching fistfuls of silence so he can think, just think clearly for a second about what this all means, but there’s a static buzz in his mind which absorbs any and all coherent thought.
It’s been years since he felt the current his body seems to exude the moment Bradley James is anywhere near. It’s like suddenly switching to a new frequency, everything is energised, amplified. Colin’s a walking battery, so charged he’s zapping.
His heart is thumping so hard he feels the vein in his jaw pulse and he’s furious with himself for immediately succumbing to this thing, this whatever-it-is between them, which apparently didn’t die the same protracted death as their friendship. Colin’s stupid with it. In the moments that pass while they stare at each other in the doorway, it begins to make him angry.
He hates Bradley for making him feel like this within moments of seeing him, but he hates himself more for letting him. Grasping at the tatters of his control, he straightens up and cloaks himself in strength and Connor, addressing the shock in Bradley’s eyes with the calm, inexorable flint of his own.
There’s horror under the shock, which can only mean that Colin does, in fact, have the right room. He decides to call it. “Are you going to let me in, Mr Smith?”
Bradley just blinks, a flush creeping between the collars of his shirt to flood his throat, then his face, in hot crimson.
“Oh God,” Bradley whispers, standing very slightly aside and allowing Colin into the room. Colin can almost hear the moment Bradley’s brain sears with the knowledge that he called for an escort, and that escort is him. It’s like the universe having a lend of them both, the ultimate Murphy’s Law.
Colin walks in quietly but surely, listening for the snick of the door behind him. He knows he hasn’t changed much since the last season of Merlin. He imagines himself the way Bradley must see him right now, closely-fitted black jeans and blazer, a shirt that clings to him in all the right places, artfully messy hair, polish and a little elegance. Everything designed to make him desirable, to make him worth the money. He knows he looks good, and with anyone else, he’d feel great, too, but the situation is so far out of his comfort zone, he’s floundering.
All the ways in which this usually works for him, all the ways he feels he’s enough, and wanted seem to be dead ends, because it’s Bradley, with whom the goalposts were always moving, with whom he’d tried much, much too hard.
Then, he notices the food, and incredulity replaces shock.
“Jesus. Are you serious with all this?”
Bradley looks confused, pans around the room following Colin’s eyes as they land on the food, the wine, the dim lamp. “What?”
“Is this a dinner date, Bradley? Is your closet big enough for this?”
Horrified words tumble from Bradley’s mouth. “No! I was just - I’m not - I’m here for a -”
“Please,” Colin says, suddenly impatient, shrugging the blazer from his shoulders, deciding for both of them. “I really don’t need to know.”
Bradley’s eyes are dark, resting heavily on Colin’s mouth as he turns to him and nears. Just like that, the balance of power shifts back to a more even footing. Like they’re playing tug of war.
“Is this real?” Bradley mumbles, as if to himself. Colin feels his stomach knot up under the unbending scrutiny of blue eyes made dark by something lurking beneath the surface. There are subtle changes, which experience tells him are due to the pressures of carving a steadily rising film career: the snaggletooth grin was already gone by Merlin’s final curtain call, in its place, perfect Hollywood teeth. Bradley’s skin is clear, it’s obvious he’s been looking after himself, muscles beneath his shirt more defined than they ever were.
Underneath it all though, Bradley looks tired. There, right there in the chink of Bradley’s armour, Colin finds his purpose again, feels that indefinable zap of worth which comes from knowing what’s expected of him and excelling at it.
“Very real,” he murmurs. He’s standing so close. The scent of Bradley’s skin hasn’t changed one fucking bit and goddamn it, his lips are full just the way he remembers, fleshy and pink and parted. In the runaway beat of his own pulse is proof that so many things haven’t changed after all.
Colin echoes Bradley’s subtle gesture and parts his lips too, feeling the weight of Bradley’s eyes there, in the invitation of his mouth. He thrills at it, and on impulse, pushes at Bradley’s threadbare composure with a dirty move. He licks his lip, his tongue coming away with a little moist sound that’s innocent and filthy all at once.
There is no going back.
Bradley expels air like he’s been punched in the kidneys, which seems to carry him forward until he’s so close, Colin can smell the tang of wine on his breath, coming fast and thick.
“I want to ask, I want to know everything, but God, Col, it’s really you,” Bradley’s brow is furrowed like thinking about it all is causing him physical pain. Colin feels the whisper of blond hair over his own brow, the solid heat of Bradley’s body seeping into his skin like he’s exuding sunlight. Bradley’s paused there, as if he’s still not sure, still can’t believe it, so Colin inclines toward him, resting their temples against each other like he’s absorbing some of that palpable anxiety into himself.
“Bradley,” he whispers, and before the sound dies, there is a warm and familiar mouth closing on his, a large hand under his shirt, slotting with perfect, aching familiarity into the small of Colin’s back.
From the moment the hotel door opened, everything has felt inevitable, like gaining speed running downhill. Colin felt the gather momentum and couldn’t have stopped to save himself. But this moment, the hard press between Bradley’s needy mouth and his hot, possessive hand feels like where he would always end up, this exact place.
He hadn’t realised that inside him, there was a space where Bradley still lived, but it’s as true as his name, as honest as the breath in his lungs -- Bradley’s been there the whole time. In this moment, Colin feels that space acutely, an emotional elbow to his diaphragm.
Bradley’s mouth is demanding, his lips soft and lush. There is an edge to his kiss that knocks Colin’s knees out from under him. He wants to fall into Bradley, to lean in, to give up his weight into Bradley’s arms, they way he once could.
Bradley’s hand at his back gathers him up, and he goes with the kind of give that’s all muscle memory.
There’s no taking it slow, no matter how much he wants to. It’s surreal, like falling through time and countries into hotel rooms with thin walls and bad French rap on TV. The clinical part of him knows he should be looking for an out. Colin knows he’s in too deep, that in this moment he isn’t Connor. If it was anyone else he’d have been out the door and in the lift fifteen minutes ago, but this is Bradley.
Fuck.
This is Bradley.
A vague kernel of self preservation tells him he should at least face away, roll over, but an incredible well of years and years of unacknowledged desire spills over. So Colin spreads his legs and lets Bradley in.
Later, he won’t even remember a lot of it. It’s too much to take in. The familiarity, the meticulously stowed away memories that come back to him like he’s not a different person, overload his mind.
Slightly trembling fingers find the bumps of Bradley’s spine and Colin knows exactly which one has the small, perfectly round mole right next to it. Nosing Bradley’s neck and biting at his earlobe brings that exact same soft sigh to the surface. Sucking at his tongue still makes Bradley’s hips stutter. Colin’s just as proficient in the traces Bradley’s fingers leave. Bradley likes his clavicles, likes the way the tendon stands out in Colin’s neck. Likes to trace them both with his thumb while they kiss, until the skin underneath it tingles and then almost burns.
What’s new is Bradley biting Colin’s shoulder when he comes. To stop himself from saying Colin’s name, maybe. He used to, rough and desperate, a fragile thread Colin once clung to like a lifeline. The mark’ll be there for days, stark red proof of something he’d otherwise never believe in the morning.
After taking a minute to come down from his high, Bradley pulls out and slips off his condom. With great care, he kisses his way down Colin’s stomach and almost, almost Colin lets him. In the end he stops him and rolls on a condom through which Bradley sucks him off.
It’s the first layer Colin puts back between them.
(Bradley - Friday, May 15th, 2015)
Bradley tells himself he hasn’t decided anything yet, as he sits in the dark. It’s a different hotel, but the same suit, the same trembling hands lying in his lap.
Like they trembled on Sunday morning two weeks ago, long after Colin left, silently in the middle of the night. It seemed far too familiar, even though Colin wasn’t next door anymore, and never would be again. Even though it wasn’t Bradley wanting him to go, this time.
Thinking about that night has Bradley’s fingers digging deep into his thighs. It was so perfect and so wrong and his life has been a complete bloody shambles ever since.
He’d be sitting in a meeting with PR, pretending to pay attention when his mind would start to wander. It would drift away to a branch scraping the window, or he’d register the imprint of teeth on a plastic pen, and bam! His gut would clench with the random recollection of the rasp of Colin’s tongue over his neck, and suddenly it’d be the hardest thing not to shift in his chair.
Or when signing papers, he’d look down at his own hand, remember how Colin’s mouth had looked licking between his fingers or sucking his thumb, and a full body shiver would work itself up from his balls to his throat, hot and flaring like a bush fire.
He’d remember Colin’s lips, pink around the root of his thumb where his ring used to sit, how Colin’s eyes’d roll back in his head, how he’d moan around it in pure bliss and though Bradley sat surrounded by people, it would get hot so fast in that room, he’d have to excuse himself for a bit. Even after walking up and down the corridor a few times, he’d still be useless for the rest of the day, all from the phantom of Colin’s mouth.
But in this moment, right here in the dark, he doesn’t have to pretend to pay attention to anything or anyone else. Now he can sit like a miser, sifting through memories like gold pieces, letting the thrill of them crawl up his spine in delicious and angsty little spikes.
Thinking back to that night, Bradley realises they didn’t say much. It was like there were so many things unsaid between them that they’d collapsed under their own weight and suddenly just weren’t important anymore.
They’d shed their clothes with a wretched urgency Bradley hadn’t felt in years. There was no finesse, no guarded mystery to it, no coy romance. All Bradley knew was now. Need to get my hands on you now, he’d said. And Colin, always so wonderfully responsive, took Bradley’s hand, pressed it against his straining dick and tipped his head back so Bradley could bruise his mouth on Colin’s throat.
It’s not like they had much to talk about, really. Apart from one thing, maybe. Just like that, the thought he’d been suppressing all this time worms its way through his brain. Why.
Why is Colin doing this?
Then, he remembers the movie.
It’d kept him awake for days on end, after all. He’d watched it, sat in the dark staring at the credits and watched it again straight after. Intrinsic Value, it had been called. Upscale escorts and their lives. Colin tangled in sheets of men and women he wasn’t really fucking (only he really was). It had rocked the movie world, but Colin had quietly waited out the storm and moved on to his next role.
Only it seems like he hasn’t moved on at all. Colin is working as a prostitute. The thought fills Bradley’s mouth with the taste of bile and sweet excitement at once.
He can have it again. He can pick up the phone, dial that number, and have him again. Any time he wants.
Turning the phone over and over in his hand, Bradley thinks about all the things he used to take for granted. Remembers all the times that he was almost glad for interruptions, for legitimate reasons to stay away, to not come with. Realises that he can almost pinpoint the time -- around the end of filming season four -- when Colin had stopped looking like he’d been kicked every time Bradley flaked on him.
He doesn’t even really remember why he’d behaved that way, except it had seemed easier somehow, if they cooled it. They’d been so intense, wanting each other with a kind of violence which still sends shivers up Bradley’s spine. He’d never experienced anything like it, not before or since.
It had seemed they were destined to crash into each other again and again until they broke into pieces like a derelict on the rocks. Like it was inevitable that things between them would have the same use-by-date as the show. So it was only prudent for Bradley to distance himself and save both their feelings before someone got hurt. He’d numbed himself so effectively, he didn’t even realise what had happened between them until it was too late. He hadn’t felt the fire die down to embers, hadn’t really noticed how completely he’d failed to protect either one of them by creating distance.
He certainly knows now.
Bradley remembers how he’d shrugged his jacket on after the Radio Times photoshoot, the words, come back to mine on the tip of his tongue. Something about how the day had gone kept him quiet, though. The way Colin had almost used Katie like a shield, the way he'd hardly spoken at all when they'd sat at that table, posing.
He’d looked at Bradley, weirdly intense, like he was searching for something. Just as the silence became the wrong side of uncomfortable, Colin had said, "Take care, Bradley."
It's not like Bradley could've known that would be their last private moment.
And now... well. The phone in his hand feels hot. Alive.
He lifts it to tap his lip as though there is still something to think about. As though his stomach isn’t already clenching with the illicit thrill of it.
Like in his mind he isn’t already closing his palm around Colin’s thigh or nosing the soft, jet hair at his nape.
As though he’s not already ghost-mapping Colin’s flank, counting ribs with his mouth.
(Colin - Friday, May 15th, 2015)
It’s funny how realisations can creep up on someone during the most random times. When pulling on socks, for instance, or eating cereal. Just a reminder from the universe that life can kneecap anyone with less fuss than tugging wings off a fly. No matter how settled or complete they are.
Colin isn’t running away, that would be ridiculous. Yes, he’s rushing through showering and getting dressed. No, he isn’t going to look at Mr Roberts, MP - Duncan when they’re here and he’s all sweaty limbs and a mouthful of cock - but that’s just to expedite leaving, not because he’s embarrassed.
Duncan isn’t in any hurry, since it’s his spacious weekender they’ve just used for their lunchtime tryst, as usual, and he’s sitting up in bed, reading a magazine. A magazine Colin just glimpsed a few moments ago, which made his heart rush into his throat and lodge there like a hot rock he can’t swallow around.
He’s in the bathroom, showered and dressed, with a white-knuckled grip on the sink, trying to put his mind back together. Carefully straightening his clothing, he finally steps out from the bathroom, to find Duncan still engrossed in the magazine. From the cover, Bradley’s smiling eyes stare at him in all their wide, blue glory. Colin has no idea how this smiling, glossy Bradley can glare at him accusingly, but still, there it is.
Colin straightens his clothes as though he hasn’t already done it three times, and Duncan looks up quizzically just as he enters the room. Colin can almost literally see the penny drop as Duncan does a double-take at the page he’s been reading, then back to Colin’s face. He begins to close the magazine, trying to mask the moment of recognition, only to realise Bradley’s right there on the cover and they both know inside is a picture of a king and his hapless sorcerer, probably bromancing their merry way through some Merlin screentime.
Duncan’s eyes glaze over with the wary film of professionalism, and Colin’s all for helping him not go anywhere they’d both regret by acknowledging their actual lives beyond this room.
“Lovely to see you again. Take care, won’t you,” Colin says quietly, already on his way to the foyer.
“Yes, bye,” Duncan’s voice trails after him moments later, uncertain, as Colin softly closes the door behind him. He leans against it, closing his eyes and inwardly cringing on the thought that Duncan’s nose is probably right back in the article about Bradley, and indirectly, about himself.
His face feels dry as parchment, like it’s cracking around the edges. He’s already planning on telling the agency he can’t see Duncan again, when it comes to him, right there against the door of the apartment. He can’t see any of them again, can’t do it at all.
Not because magazine-cover Bradley looked at him with accusation, not because Duncan has recognised him and now knows who he is. None of that really matters; he’s sure Duncan’s not about to disclose their association.
What comes to him right there in the hallway is that his reasons don’t hold anymore. There isn’t any freedom to be found in this suddenly stifling loneliness, the glaring absence discovered inside himself, where Bradley has always lived.
It feels like the downplayed hand of fate when his phone rings moments later and Meghan’s friendly voice tells him Mr. Smith would like to see him again this evening. He doesn’t so much as blink before rushing out a breathy little, “Yes, all right,” and then wonders how the hell he’s going to do it without losing his mind.
Colin’s entire day flashes by in tiny snatches of Yes, salad on granary, please, which he can’t eat for the weight sitting on his chest, reading half a book he can’t recall, and a couple of completely forgettable phone calls. Then he suddenly finds himself in the shower again at seven, so nervous he can barely stand the sight of himself.
It’s not like he planned this, not exactly, but when Bradley opens the door and lets him into the dimly lit penthouse, Colin’s glad that he’s sharp and elegant in his three piece suit. He’s glad, because if want has a look, then that look is Bradley.
Bradley looks hungry.
Words from years ago come back to him, echoes from the past Colin had managed to subdue until recently. Vaguely, he remembers some awards thing they didn’t win, memorable for other reasons: for the way Bradley looked at him when he wore a suit like this, and the way his voice broke hoarsely over Colin’s scruffy jaw, all bloody hell, Colin, and how long do we have to stay here, while blue eyes drilled promise-shaped holes in Colin’s chest.
This time, Colin can’t afford to be so stupid.
He knows, he knows that if he allows Bradley to so much as touch him tonight, he’ll be on the bed in seconds, he’ll be at that mouth, working himself into all the creases of Bradley’s lips. Once he tastes it, once he lets their past resonate like that a second time, he’ll be fucked, because he’s not going to want to come up for days, and this is nothing to Bradley. Nothing but some sort of game, some nostalgia-driven mind fuck that Colin can’t even begin to understand.
He shouldn’t be playing along. He should have refused the booking, but he’s honest enough with himself to admit that wasn’t even an option. Colin isn’t in any kind of denial about how much he still wants Bradley, willing to jump over the little grave where his self-respect is buried to give Bradley whatever he wants, since momentarily that happens to be Colin.
A faint SOS taps far away in the back of his mind; this level of emotional investment -- it’s exactly the reason he should walk away right now. Here is everything he wanted distance from, lying in wait like an obvious snare, teeth gleaming in the night.
It is why, instead of launching himself across the room and into Bradley’s lap, Colin walks over to a plush chair in the corner of the room. He bypasses any greetings to say quietly, “Take off your clothes and get on the bed.”
His voice is steady and strong with the time he’s had practice at this, even with the whimper he feels building up at the sight of Bradley, perfectly broad and narrow in all the right places like he has always been.
And Christ, but Bradley does exactly that -- he begins to unbutton his shirt, the vibe in the room shifting all of a sudden. Colin realises that this is working for Bradley, too. He can see the burgeoning thickness in Bradley’s jeans. It helps him lock his spine and step right into this role he’s playing, and yes, it’s a role, all right. One of his better performances, with how hard he’s having to work for it. He sits in that decadent chair, ankle crossed over knee, his arms slung casually over the armrests, watching Bradley strip. It takes effort to still himself so completely that his hands don’t so much as twitch.
Bradley’s fingers work each of the buttons through their holes. Maybe it’s the way he’s being watched, but he’s not rushing. By the time he shucks his shirt from his shoulders, his dick is undeniably uncomfortable under his jeans. It costs Colin a lot to sit impassively staring like this. Years ago when everything was Bradley, before it hurt, he might have smirked at the cute striptease or licked his lip in anticipation. Maybe he’d get up and help unbutton Bradley’s shirt. That all feels like another life, now. Another Colin. He’s pretty sure doing any of those things would wreck him. It would break him to show the kind of tenderness he’s capable of feeling for this man. Still.
In the semi darkness, Bradley stands stripped down to his boxers. The yellow lamp light behind him makes him glow. He watches Colin, waits.
“On the bed, Bradley,” Colin says in a voice not at all his own.
And Bradley, who’d always been the one to drive, who dictated the when and the where, Bradley not-here-someone-might-see James, does exactly as Colin tells him. In what is maybe a brief flare of defiance, his fingers twitch, like they want to ball around a protest. Then he relaxes, crawls onto the bed, settling almost naked on the pillows and waiting with his arm stretched out in invitation, his shorts tented.
“Colin,” he whispers, “Come here.”
Colin doesn’t move, though there is a storm brewing inside him. If Bradley was closer, he might sense it, gathering around his brow like a tornado.
“Take them off,” Colin says instead, pointing one finger to Bradley’s boxers before steepling his fingers under his chin. He speaks as calmly as he can, which is to say not at all, because fuck. Bradley’s all too eager to comply, and as hard and gorgeous as his chest his, it’s got nothing on his cock. He lifts the waistband and oh God, it peels wetly away from the head, pink and glistening in the low light. Colin’s thankful that he’s all the way over here in the relative safety of the chair so Bradley can’t see his hands shaking as he unfolds them over the armrests again. Misses the way he can’t breathe anymore because the air is so thick, he has to swallow it in chunks.
“You remember Pierrefonds, that day we shot the chase? It was the best day, so warm. It was perfect,” Colin says, his voice rough to his own ears. He’s not sure why these words are coming out now, but it feels right, Bradley’s attention is absolute. “It was like the sun came out just for us, remember?”
On the bed, Bradley devours his words. Colin can see the moment the memory slips into place, and they both know the exact day, the exact moment on Colin’s mind. Bradley’s eyes grow dark. “Yeah,” he says, shifting on one elbow and stretching out. Displaying himself. Colin knows what he’s doing. Ignores it. “I remember.”
“We broke for an hour so they could set up the next scene, and we had all this waiting. Always with the waiting. I’d sit there reading my lines, and you’d be all ‘so what is tofu anyway, and really, why can’t they make it look any better than a kitchen sponge,’ and there would be no point reading lines because Bradley’s Bored Again.”
Bradley is completely engrossed in the memory, a fond smile playing in the corner of his mouth. For a moment, Colin almost forgets himself, almost allows his fingers to close tightly over the armrests of the chair. Almost.
“So we decided to go for a walk. You in your leather vest thing, and me in my Merlin gear, we followed the path into the woods where we’d been filming. There was this little dent in the undergrowth, remember that? I said, ‘Where’s this lead,’ and you were all ‘Arthur says, let’s find out.’”
On the bed, Bradley’s breath is coming faster and heavier, and Colin knows he has his full attention with what he’s about to say.
“So we followed this little path off into the woods and the sun was so warm, Bradley, do you remember how warm it was? Like summer was having a little last hurrah, just for us that day. It followed us all the way into this tiny break in the trees, this little meadow. I felt like we were running away. It was amazing, that feeling. Being with you. Alone with you.
“Had you all to myself, and knew it wouldn’t be for long. Knew they’d come looking for us, or your phone would go off or something. Knew our time was limited, it always was.” Colin closes his mouth around emotions he can’t afford to taste. He’s thinking that no amount of time would have been enough for him. That he could have lived and breathed Bradley, and did, for as long as Bradley had let him. That no matter how hard he’d run, the inevitable would always have caught up. He clenches his teeth against bitterness that has no place in this moment. Looking up and refocusing on this new Bradley, the one hanging on his every word, he continues.
“You walked right into the middle of this clearing, and you had those sunglasses on that you wore all the time. You just stood in this beam of sunlight, Bradley, a ray of sunshine just for you, for God’s sake. You just walked right into it and stood there, glowing, glowing like your hair was on fire, and I thought, God, that’s fucking beautiful. You’re so beautiful.”
Bradley’s mouth opens to allow a ragged sigh, and Colin watches him lying on the bed. He’s still so gorgeous it makes Colin ache, even though there is darkness under his eyes where once there was none. Colin thinks he recognises lines etched slightly deeper into the places where Bradley’s smile lives. None of it diminishes his appeal. Bradley is obviously enthralled with the vivid pictures Colin draws, the story he’s telling of that day, of their golden moment in the woods. His dick is proudly hard now, pulsing against his belly and Colin’s mouth is a dry well, but still he continues.
“I walked up behind you,” he says hoarsely, “and you turned to me and said, ‘I was expecting a stone circle,’ in this matter-of-fact voice like it made perfect sense because you were Arthur and I was Merlin, and of course, there should be a stone circle, because God! Of course.” Colin laughs under his breath, remembering the exact moment when everything changed. By the look on Bradley’s face, Colin knows he’s thinking the same thing.
Before this moment, there had been glances and a bit of innocent flirting, the kind reserved for people who grow on you over time, with secret words that mean nothing to anyone else. Before this moment, there had been warmth and friendship, but after this, after this it had been simple, like falling. Or so Colin had thought. He hadn’t known at the time Bradley’s heart wasn’t something for him to catch.
“You took off your sunglasses, and I couldn’t even move. You kind of leaned in like you were going to say something and then you kissed me. Right here,” Colin murmurs, fingers twitching as if to lightly touch the corner of his mouth where Bradley’s kiss still lingers on the days he feels weakest.
Bradley’s laid out on the bed and his mouth is open now, glistening where he’s licked it while listening to Colin’s roughened voice.
“Come here, Col,” he urges again. He sounds broken, cock hard and leaking into his navel. He’s beckoning, but Colin doesn’t move. Colin has never told him these things, the way he’d been affected, has never told Bradley how he saw it all. It’s so raw and unrehearsed, Bradley can’t possibly miss the depth of feeling there. It doesn’t appear to be turning him off. In fact, he’s breathing harder, faster, and Colin can see Bradley’s pulse jump in his throat. It’s not like Colin could stop at this point if he tried. It’s costing him to stay in his goddamn chair, though. His throat is so dry, it’s hurting.
“We lay down in the sun, and the grass was still a bit wet but it didn’t matter, because you were kissing me like nothing mattered. When I opened my eyes, it was just you and the sun, Bradley. The sun was right in my eyes and all I saw was you.”
“God, Col, please, I--”
“I felt you, rubbing against my leg, and I remember thinking this can’t be real, because I wanted you so bad, so damn bad, but I could never ever say, and I always thought that the looks and the flirting, I always thought you were joking, or unaware of what you were doing, you know? But that moment on the grass in the sun, you knew, Bradley, you knew, because there was tongue, and your cock was hard against my leg, and goddamn it, it was real.”
“Jesus fuck, Col, come--”
“I’d never been so turned on in all my life. I could have kissed you like that till the cows came home, till my lips were chafed. You were delicious and your mouth, Bradley, your mouth, it was so hot, hotter than the sun on my face. You started to rub on my leg, and I just about came in my fucking pants like a teenager,” Colin says, voice low and harsh, noticing how thickly Irish it sounds, how much he’s slipping into his natural speech, returning to basics here in the privacy of his and Bradley’s little tableau.
“It was like--I had to have you, had to know right then and there, so I pushed until you gave in and lay in the grass for me, even though I could feel you didn’t want to stop what you were doing. I think you would have been happy just to rub one out against my leg like that but I had to fucking have you, Bradley, if it was just that once. I had to discover what you were like. Bloody hell, I should have known you’d be perfect like you are everywhere else. I should have known that your cock would be the most beautiful thing. I should have--”
“Kiss me, goddamn it,” Bradley moans like he’s on the edge, but Colin won’t stop, can’t stop now.
“--put my hand down your trousers just to test it, to make sure you knew what I was going to do. You just closed your eyes and let me do it, and I remember thinking this is it, he’s going to let me have him, and God, I couldn’t get that placket open fast enough in case you’d change your mind. Isn’t that daft? I did think that, I really did, and then your trousers were open and I had my hand on you. Fuck me, Bradley, you were long and thick, and hot, so hot in my hand, I swear it was like bloody Christmas.”
“Colin, please--”
“--I put my face there, right into your crotch, right next to my hand and your cock, because I had to breathe you in so I could carry the memory of you in my blood in case this was all I'd ever get. I kissed you there, right in the crease of your thigh, had to taste, just wanted to memorise what you tasted like. I could have licked you clean Bradley, you tasted so good --”
“Oh my God--”
“--and when I put my mouth on you, you moaned,” Colin laughs, hoarse and humourless. “Now that’s irony for you. Anyway, I still couldn’t believe it was really happening, so I licked you, all the way from your balls to the tip of your cockhead, did I ever fucking love the weight of your balls on my tongue. I did that just to see, I had to see if it was me doing that, my tongue, my mouth on you. Turned out it was, because you did it again, moaned right from your gut; you sounded like you were in pain, you liked it so much. I couldn’t stop licking you, didn’t want to ever stop. Licked your thick, gorgeous cock like it was Knickerbocker Glory, like it was the best thing I ever had in my mouth. Licked the sweat and sunshine off your balls, and still couldn’t get enough, so I--”
Colin falters, looking up to a sudden movement on the bed. Bradley has thrown one arm over his head, clutching at the headboard, completely lost in the memory Colin’s painting with his words. He’s working himself with his other hand, completely lost to it, his strokes lacking any rhythm, just chasing after a memory that’d taste sweet if it wasn’t seasoned with ash. Colin’s hands are balled so tight, he cuts half moons into his palms. Bradley groans just like he did that day in the meadow, the sound so deep, so rough, so absolutely gut-wrenchingly wanton.
Colin takes up again, almost seamlessly, quickly getting lost in his tale again. It’s like he’s reliving it, watching Bradley do the same as he strips his cock. “--took you in my mouth and Jesus Christ if it wasn’t the most perfect thing, Bradley, the sun all over us like a blanket and the grass under us like the earth had a say in it. The air so fresh and clean around us, and me, so full of you, of the scent of your skin in my nose and your dick in my mouth. I swallowed down as much as I could take of it, wishing I could take more, fit more of you inside me--”
Bradley lowers his arm and looks at Colin with glassy, blown eyes, fisting his dick with complete abandon. Colin’s heart pounds its way around his ribcage like it’s loose, but he can’t stop watching, can’t stop talking Bradley up that escarpment so he can push him over the edge with their eyes locked on each other.
“That’s it, Bradley, do you wish I was sucking you right now, just like I did that day? I bet you want me to touch your cock, don’t you? Touch your heavy, thick cock? Can you feel that hot sun on your stomach and me licking all the way up the vein and back again so I can suck on your balls?” He murmurs, while Bradley trembles and pants on the bed. Even Colin’s shocked now, never knowing he could talk filth like this, to Bradley or anyone else. He doesn’t lower his eyes, doesn’t pretend to be coy about this.
Maybe Bradley’s given up asking, maybe he knows that Colin won’t come to him, because he’s really working now, his arm sliding fast and his legs falling open so wide that he’s completely spread out, breathtakingly on display.
“God yes, I can see how ready you are. Such a lovely, tight arse. Oh, how I would love fucking it with my fingers,” Colin drawls quietly, watching for the reaction on Bradley’s face, relishing how responsive he is. He’s not disappointed, the steady stream of vulgarity that falls from his lips wrenching a groan out of Bradley’s mouth that’s so real, so filthy, it makes Colin’s stomach drop like a freefalling elevator. “Would you like that? Have you fantasised about me fingering your arse?”
Bradley grunts, not coherent anymore; his hips thrust compulsively as he wanks, the head of his cock glistening in the low light. Holy shit, Colin thinks, you really--
“--love it when I talk like this, don’t you? You love it when I say I’m going to fuck you, stretch you with my fingers.”
Inspired by Bradley’s receptiveness and how incredibly willing he is to follow the lead, Colin can’t stop now even though somewhere in the back of his mind is the knowledge that he probably should. He drops his voice so low, he’s almost purring, and delivers the rest like he’s squeezing the juice out of the words.
“Or maybe you’ve thought about how it might feel if I bent you over the arm of this chair and spread you open so I could lick you, work my tongue all over you, right between your cheeks. Would you want that? Would you want me to lick you from your balls until I’m tongue-fucking your tight little hole?”
That’s it right there, the golden moment Bradley can’t hold back. Colin wants to see it more than anything. His eyes are huge when Bradley finally comes all over his own stomach, groaning just like he did that day in the meadow, when he filled Colin’s mouth in the dappled sunlight among the trees.
Startled out of his trance, Colin just stares open-mouthed as Bradley’s ruts slow to an eventual stop. The scent of sex makes Colin’s head spin, the sudden silence more overwhelming than screaming would be.
Bradley’s lying limp and spent on the bed, just staring at Colin with exhausted eyes and limbs splayed all over. Colin’s pulse thuds in his temples like a dam has burst somewhere and his brain is flooding. His dick throbs, protesting its own lack of attention, but Colin ignores it. He knows what he has to do.
With unhurried precision, he rises from the chair, taking a moment to right his tie and shrug his immaculately pressed jacket on his shoulders. He pulls at the ears of the buttoned vest to straighten it over his torso, and then turns away calmly, like he’s not leaving behind everything that matters to him, still breathless and spent on the hotel bed.
He leaves without looking back, without a word, thinks Bradley bites down on a noise but he can’t be sure. The elevator is as far as he gets. It’s where he finally slumps against the wall, his gritted teeth biting down on the certainty that no matter how much he tells himself otherwise, he knows one thing for certain now. He never did get over Bradley, and Bradley still has the power to destroy him.
He folds into the elevator like a boneless rag, knowing that he can’t do this again. He can’t crack his own heart open again. He won’t miss any of it, not any of the others, but he’s not fooling himself that a clean break here is going to be less painful than the festering wound he’s nursed for years.
Later, he walks and walks against the weather with his collar turned up, wanting to kick in mailboxes and fences. Cave in other people’s lives in these stupid nuisance ways, with the knowledge that he can’t have Bradley anymore -- not that he ever had him to begin with -- resounding in his head like the most piercing, protesting scream.
Bradley won’t call again. There’s no way he’ll call again after this.
And if he does, Colin won’t go.
He’ll refuse.
He will.
Forward to Part 3/4 >