Fic: "The Little Things"
Title: The Little Things
Author: smokey2307
Pairing: Colin Morgan/Bradley James
Rating: R
Word count: ~900
Summary: Bradley tells people that it took a while, but now he understands Colin. He's lying.
The Little Things
Bradley tells everyone that though he hadn’t any idea what Colin was saying for the first few days, he understands him now.
This isn’t a lie. But neither is it the truth.
Bradley no longer has any problems trawling through the broad Irish accent to find out the meaning behind the words. He doesn’t stand confounded when Colin spouts another one of his ridiculously dark jokes.
But when Colin pushes him back against the walls of Pierrefonds and bites and pulls and soothes at his lips until Bradley swears he’s getting high on his smell, and then just walks away as if nothing had happened - then, Bradley’s at a loss for words.
It’s not infrequent, either. There’s varying degrees to Colin’s sudden attacks, and they come at all times of day and in all different places and situations, and he’ll be damned if he can predict when it will happen next, or the circumstances.
Like just a few days ago, when Colin went down on him with two minutes before their call, leaving Bradley panting and wanting and leaning against the heavy wooden door. Ten minutes later, Bradley watched from across the room as Angel told Colin something and he giggled, his nose scrunching up and baring all of his teeth as he grinned. And Bradley felt something shift in his belly that had nothing to do with the erection that had not yet disappeared.
That night Colin had traipsed into his room without knocking and slumped on his bed beside him. He had folded his body to fit against all the angles and planes of Bradley’s own and pressed against his side, and they hadn’t spoken a word as they watched three episodes of Buffy back-to-back. By the time Bradley decided that he was too tired to keep going, one hand was twined in dark hair and the other pressed along a bony ribcage, and Colin was breathing heavily where he was fast asleep against Bradley’s chest.
Colin had woken him early next morning and hour before he needed to be up, and left before Bradley had even pulled himself from his post-coital haze.
Colin never speaks of the times when they’re wrapped around each other, Bradley whispering his name in a hushed litany in darkened corners, kissing trails over his collarbones and cheekbones. Sometimes, there’ll be a meeting of eyes as they’re filming, or a brush of fingers as they pass on set, but it’s as though Colin has separated Bradley from the real world. It’s as though he doesn’t want to know about it. Even when Bradley rushes up to him after a particularly violent stunt, out of some misguided worry, Colin still ignores him.
When they attend the wrap party, or promo meets during the hiatus, something painful and awkward clenches in Bradley’s chest as he watches Colin flirt with all the pretty young girls that flitter around him. He wants to go up to him and throw an arm around his skinny shoulders, say something that only will Colin will understand, hit his shoulder, punch him in the face, anything. Anything would be better than this strange arrangement where they do things, but never speak of them.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he just watches from a distance, hand clenched on his beer until his knuckles are white. And when Katie asks him if he’s OK he says that he’s fine, and he knows that she can see right through his lies. But she doesn’t know the reason and apparently that’s what Colin wants, so he’s not going to push it. He downs the beer and orders a few shots.
Later at night (or earlier the next morning), when he’s beginning to regret the last few shots and the last few pints and the last few cocktails, it’s Colin that’s rubbing his back as he throws up the previous day’s meals into the shining white toilet in his hotel room. It’s Colin that whispers soothing words in his ear, hands him a glass of water, and makes him eat a piece of toast. It’s Colin that helps him out of his clothes and into bed, even though he’s passed out before he can thank him.
In the morning, it’s Colin who asks how he’s feeling, and Bradley realises that nobody else saw him in the state that he was in, and Colin hasn’t told any of them.
An hour later, when he’s stepped out of the shower and is feeling a whole lot better, Colin pins him up against the bathroom wall and drives up into him like it’s the last time he’ll ever be able to run his hands over Bradley’s wet skin.
Bradley’s used to Colin leaving before he’s even had a chance to speak, but it still hits him like a bucket of icy water every single time. He wonders what it is about himself that makes Colin run as soon as he’s had his way with him.
He could ask Colin what he’s playing it, or maybe even walk away. Tell him to stop whatever this was that they were engaged in, because it’s hurting him more than anything else.
But he doesn’t.
Because he knows, by now, that the best way to understand Colin is to just go with the flow and wait for the realisation to sink in.
Besides - it’s worth the heartache for all the bits in between.
***
Concrit loved xx
Author: smokey2307
Pairing: Colin Morgan/Bradley James
Rating: R
Word count: ~900
Summary: Bradley tells people that it took a while, but now he understands Colin. He's lying.
The Little Things
Bradley tells everyone that though he hadn’t any idea what Colin was saying for the first few days, he understands him now.
This isn’t a lie. But neither is it the truth.
Bradley no longer has any problems trawling through the broad Irish accent to find out the meaning behind the words. He doesn’t stand confounded when Colin spouts another one of his ridiculously dark jokes.
But when Colin pushes him back against the walls of Pierrefonds and bites and pulls and soothes at his lips until Bradley swears he’s getting high on his smell, and then just walks away as if nothing had happened - then, Bradley’s at a loss for words.
It’s not infrequent, either. There’s varying degrees to Colin’s sudden attacks, and they come at all times of day and in all different places and situations, and he’ll be damned if he can predict when it will happen next, or the circumstances.
Like just a few days ago, when Colin went down on him with two minutes before their call, leaving Bradley panting and wanting and leaning against the heavy wooden door. Ten minutes later, Bradley watched from across the room as Angel told Colin something and he giggled, his nose scrunching up and baring all of his teeth as he grinned. And Bradley felt something shift in his belly that had nothing to do with the erection that had not yet disappeared.
That night Colin had traipsed into his room without knocking and slumped on his bed beside him. He had folded his body to fit against all the angles and planes of Bradley’s own and pressed against his side, and they hadn’t spoken a word as they watched three episodes of Buffy back-to-back. By the time Bradley decided that he was too tired to keep going, one hand was twined in dark hair and the other pressed along a bony ribcage, and Colin was breathing heavily where he was fast asleep against Bradley’s chest.
Colin had woken him early next morning and hour before he needed to be up, and left before Bradley had even pulled himself from his post-coital haze.
Colin never speaks of the times when they’re wrapped around each other, Bradley whispering his name in a hushed litany in darkened corners, kissing trails over his collarbones and cheekbones. Sometimes, there’ll be a meeting of eyes as they’re filming, or a brush of fingers as they pass on set, but it’s as though Colin has separated Bradley from the real world. It’s as though he doesn’t want to know about it. Even when Bradley rushes up to him after a particularly violent stunt, out of some misguided worry, Colin still ignores him.
When they attend the wrap party, or promo meets during the hiatus, something painful and awkward clenches in Bradley’s chest as he watches Colin flirt with all the pretty young girls that flitter around him. He wants to go up to him and throw an arm around his skinny shoulders, say something that only will Colin will understand, hit his shoulder, punch him in the face, anything. Anything would be better than this strange arrangement where they do things, but never speak of them.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he just watches from a distance, hand clenched on his beer until his knuckles are white. And when Katie asks him if he’s OK he says that he’s fine, and he knows that she can see right through his lies. But she doesn’t know the reason and apparently that’s what Colin wants, so he’s not going to push it. He downs the beer and orders a few shots.
Later at night (or earlier the next morning), when he’s beginning to regret the last few shots and the last few pints and the last few cocktails, it’s Colin that’s rubbing his back as he throws up the previous day’s meals into the shining white toilet in his hotel room. It’s Colin that whispers soothing words in his ear, hands him a glass of water, and makes him eat a piece of toast. It’s Colin that helps him out of his clothes and into bed, even though he’s passed out before he can thank him.
In the morning, it’s Colin who asks how he’s feeling, and Bradley realises that nobody else saw him in the state that he was in, and Colin hasn’t told any of them.
An hour later, when he’s stepped out of the shower and is feeling a whole lot better, Colin pins him up against the bathroom wall and drives up into him like it’s the last time he’ll ever be able to run his hands over Bradley’s wet skin.
Bradley’s used to Colin leaving before he’s even had a chance to speak, but it still hits him like a bucket of icy water every single time. He wonders what it is about himself that makes Colin run as soon as he’s had his way with him.
He could ask Colin what he’s playing it, or maybe even walk away. Tell him to stop whatever this was that they were engaged in, because it’s hurting him more than anything else.
But he doesn’t.
Because he knows, by now, that the best way to understand Colin is to just go with the flow and wait for the realisation to sink in.
Besides - it’s worth the heartache for all the bits in between.
***
Concrit loved xx