Double Drabble: Flash (Colin/Bradley, MerlinRPS)
AN: Club!fic for bewarethesmirk, who incited this. My thanks to p_zeitgeist for betaing.
Flash
Glossy white lights flicker up through the wire-grate floor like the flash of cameras, sensations clear and fluid under the wash of music. He remembers the bar, downstairs, a mirrored surface under thick glass. Salt and tequila, which was a very good idea in fact, especially when he licked Colin's wrist. For a laugh.
Half the fun of Colin was getting him to react. Prodding at him a bit. Seeing what shook out.
His back hits the wall. The collar of Colin's jacket is still turned up, skinny black tie messy and loose. Flashbulbs on the red carpet, leaning in to whisper something in Colin's ear about being a lazy bastard who can't be bothered to shave. Quite decent champagne at the after-party, big plate-glass windows stories up, the roll of London, sprawl and lights and lines of traffic blurring past car windows. A limo? A cab?
Music vibrating in the walls. Here. This. The slow slide of Colin's large warm hands. The flash of club lights like photographers catching something truly private, plastered up on sites to be gawked at by strangers.
The rasp of Colin's stubble against his lips, soft off-center kisses that taste like salt and tequila.
Flash
Glossy white lights flicker up through the wire-grate floor like the flash of cameras, sensations clear and fluid under the wash of music. He remembers the bar, downstairs, a mirrored surface under thick glass. Salt and tequila, which was a very good idea in fact, especially when he licked Colin's wrist. For a laugh.
Half the fun of Colin was getting him to react. Prodding at him a bit. Seeing what shook out.
His back hits the wall. The collar of Colin's jacket is still turned up, skinny black tie messy and loose. Flashbulbs on the red carpet, leaning in to whisper something in Colin's ear about being a lazy bastard who can't be bothered to shave. Quite decent champagne at the after-party, big plate-glass windows stories up, the roll of London, sprawl and lights and lines of traffic blurring past car windows. A limo? A cab?
Music vibrating in the walls. Here. This. The slow slide of Colin's large warm hands. The flash of club lights like photographers catching something truly private, plastered up on sites to be gawked at by strangers.
The rasp of Colin's stubble against his lips, soft off-center kisses that taste like salt and tequila.