FIC, Wherein Wooing Colin is Somewhat More Difficult than Anticipated, Bradley/Colin, PG-13
Title: Wherein Wooing Colin is Somewhat More Difficult than Anticipated
Rating: PG-13
Summary: “If you were hypothetically me and I were hypothetically courting Colin, what would you-and by you I mean me-do to win his heart and make him let you carry him off into the French sunset for a lifetime of sweetsweet lovemaking?” said Bradley.
Warnings: Bradley’s ridiculousness, Colin’s obliviousness, Tasmanian leaping spiders, murderous soybeans, naked Bradley roaming the hotel halls, attempted skywriting, special mention of Katie’s hypnotic breasts
Word Count: 2,010 words
Disclaimer: These are all lies from inside my head, and as far as I’m aware have no basis in reality whatsoever.
Author’s Note: Well at least it’s not mpreg this time. ^___~ Also, many thanks to the wonderful kick_flaw for all her help and her fantastic beta job. ILU BB-thank you for letting me musically assault you! <333
“I’ll make love to you! Like you want me to! And I’ll hold you tight! Baby, all through the night!”
“What the hell is that?” said Colin. Some of the crew looked around for the source of the disturbance-and, seeing it was Bradley, went back to setting up for the next scene.
“It’s an extremely poignant early-90’s love ballad by American R&B sensation Boyz II Men. Now shut up, I’m wooing you through the power of song,” said Bradley.
“I don’t think that’s a song, what you’re singing,” Colin said. “I don’t even think that’s singing, to be perfectly honest. It’s, like, shouting. Emphatically. In a way that also rhymes.”
“I’ll make love to you!” said Bradley. “When you want me to! And I will not let gooooo til you tell me toooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOooooooo!”
Colin looked at him.
“Did you like the long note?” Bradley asked. “I’ve been practicing.”
“Is that the tortured sound that’s been coming from your room the last few days?” said Colin.
“Yeah, what’d you think it was?” said Bradley.
“I didn’t want to speculate,” said Colin.
*
“You look upset,” said Bradley as Colin sat down across from him at the lunch table. “Would you like to curl up in my embrace and let me protect you from the world for a while?”
“Um, no,” said Colin. “Thanks.”
“Well, at least tell me what’s wrong then,” said Bradley.
“I think…” said Colin. “I think I have a stalker.”
“What!” said Bradley, alarmed.
“Someone’s broken into my trailer and left me roses-which I’m allergic to-and chocolates-which I’m also allergic to-and some creepy, badly-written poetry,” said Colin, shivering. “So it must be a stalker. And they’re trying to kill me!”
“Hey,” said Bradley. “Maybe your stalker just made a mistake. Maybe he was trying to woo you and thought flowers and chocolates and poetry would touch you in your innermost soul and you’d fling yourself into his manly arms so he could make mad passionate monkey-sex to you for twenty straight days. Maybe. I’m just guessing.”
“In that case,” said Colin, “I have a pretty shite stalker.”
*
“I made dinner!” said Bradley.
“This is takeaway,” said Colin. “I can tell. Everything’s still in the cartons.”
“I ordered dinner!” amended Bradley.
“There’s no steak in any of these like there was the last time, is there?” said Colin.
“No, only that vegetarian junk you like. I specifically forbade them from including any delicious dead animals,” said Bradley, looking briefly very pained.
“Thank you,” said Colin, touched by the gesture; he knew how much Bradley loved delicious dead animals.
The food was pretty good. Excellent, actually. Even Bradley admitted it, in his own grudging, carnivorous way.
“This tofu isn’t completely repulsive to me, I guess,” said Bradley. He coughed.
“Well, I’m glad to see you’re expanding your culinary horizons,” said Colin.
Bradley coughed again, and scratched his throat, and coughed once more.
“Bradley-are you allergic to soy?” said Colin.
“Yeah, how’d you know?” said Bradley, coughing.
“Tofu is made from soy, you idiot!” Colin yelled.
At the hospital they gave Bradley antihistamines whilst Colin assured him (repeatedly) that tofu wouldn’t ruin his striking good looks or cause him to die a tragic early death that would send the world into an endless spiral of mourning.
“S’good I’m not dead,” said Bradley later, drowsy from the medicine. “Woulda been embarrassing to have been murdered by a soybean.” His head drooped onto Colin’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” agreed Colin, fingers soft in Bradley’s hair, but Bradley was already asleep.
*
“My shower has been overrun by Tasmanian leaping spiders so I’m going to use yours,” said Bradley.
“…Okay,” said Colin.
“Thanks, mate,” said Bradley, stripping off his shirt before Colin had even finished closing the door.
“Bradley!” Colin said. “Can’t you wait til you’re in the bathroom to do that?”
“Oh I’m sorry, are my glorious golden muscles offending you?” said Bradley. “If you feel the need to swoon, go ahead. I’ll catch you.” He unbuttoned the fly of his jeans.
Colin whirled away and looked at the television, pretending to be deeply engrossed in a French laundry detergent commercial. His face felt hot.
When Bradley sauntered out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later, Colin shrieked. It wasn’t a very proud moment for him.
“What?” said Bradley, concerned. A droplet of water trickled down his neck.
“You’re naked,” said Colin.
“Yes,” agreed Bradley.
Pause.
“Why are you naked?” said Colin.
“I like to air-dry,” said Bradley.
*
“Let me back in!” Bradley said, pounding on Colin’s door. “I’m naked!”
*
“Hypothetically,” said Bradley to Angel when she opened her door, “let’s say you were a young, up-and-coming male television star blessed with miraculous good looks snatched straight from the Gods of ancient Greek legend. Someone, let’s say, very much like me.”
“…Okay,” said Angel.
“And let’s suppose,” said Bradley, “that you were interested in a lovely Irish beauty like-oh, I don’t know, I’m just grabbing this example from thin air, here, really-someone like Colin. How would you, in this completely fictional scenario, go about wooing him?”
“Colin?” said Angel.
“A completely imaginary person who we will pretend is Colin for the sake of discussion,” said Bradley.
“Well,” Angel said, “I think I’d compliment him a bit first, to show him I was interested-”
“Yes, yes, feed me your knowledge,” said Bradley.
“-and do nice things for him-”
“Would skywriting the message Dear Colin: I want your arse; what say you? Hugs and kisses, Bradley technically be a nice thing?” said Bradley.
“No,” said Angel. “No, it would not.”
“Hmm,” said Bradley. “We’ll agree to disagree. What else?”
“Well, I don’t know, maybe get him a gift-something you know he likes, to show that you took the time to learn about him and that you care about making him happy.”
“I’d have to give it to him in-person, I think, otherwise he might believe I was still stalking him,” said Bradley.
Angel blinked at him.
“Long story,” said Bradley.
“Just tell him how you feel,” said Angel, patting Bradley on the shoulder. “In a way that doesn’t involve skywriting.”
“Thank you,” said Bradley. “If this had been a real discussion about real people, I’m sure it would have been very illuminating.”
*
“Your cheekbones could make an artist weep for want of painting them,” said Bradley from in front of the castle steps Colin was reading on. “Your lips were shaped by God himself for the sole purpose of kissing. Your wrists were built to fit in the curve of my hand. Everything about you is beautiful to me-your skin, your eyes, your hair, the dimple on the left side of your mouth that jumps out when you smile. I want you. I want to touch you, I want to fuck you, I want to have you for my own for as long as you’ll let me.”
“Sorry,” said Colin, looking up from his book. “Were you saying something?”
“You’ve just bolloxed up your own wooing!” said Bradley.
“What?” said Colin.
“Never mind, the moment’s lost,” Bradley said, sighing. Pause. “Well, do you wanna go get lunch with me then?” said Bradley.
*
Okay, so, a gift.
Bradley was a clever fellow, he could certainly pick out a present for Colin that would make Colin realize just how thoughtful and handsome and charming Bradley was (and also extremely fit-strapping, really, if Bradley said so himself. Which he did. Often). Bradley could totally do that.
Bradley typed gifts for a skinny little Irishman that will make him love me into Google. 58,500 results popped up; Bradley clicked on the first one.
“Perfect!” Bradley said.
*
“Would you mind telling me,” said Colin, “why you felt it was a good idea to hijack my iPod for the day and return it filled with all the Celtic Woman CDs?”
“You’re Irish,” said Bradley.
“Yes, I’m well aware of that, thank you,” said Colin. “What does that have to do with you besmirching my iPod?”
“It’s the music of your motherland,” said Bradley. “The melodies of your soul. The Celtic Woman is Ireland, Colin. The Celtic Woman is you.”
Colin looked at him.
Bradley looked back.
The silence stretched out uncomfortably.
“Didn’t you like it, then?” said Bradley finally, looking so nervous and hopeful all at once that Colin knew he’d have to lie to him.
“Erm, yeah,” said Colin. “Love it! The songs really…speak to me. On a spiritual level.”
Bradley beamed.
“Well?” said Bradley. “Do you want to jump me yet?”
Colin walked away. Bradley took that to mean “maybe.”
*
“If you were hypothetically me and I were hypothetically courting Colin, what would you-and by you I mean me-do to win his heart and make him let you carry him off into the French sunset for a lifetime of sweetsweet lovemaking?” said Bradley.
“Are you talking to me?” said Katie from the hair and makeup chair.
“Focus!” said Bradley. “How do you usually get someone to like you?”
“Generally I tell them, ‘You. Here. Now.’ That seems to work well,” Katie said.
“Yes, but you have magnificent breasts that make people do what you say. I need a plan that doesn’t involve your hypnotic knockers,” said Bradley. Then, thoughtful: “Well, unless-I mean, would you be willing to-?”
“I’m not going to flash my breasts at somebody to get you a date, Bradley,” said Katie.
“Not even for true love?” said Bradley.
“If it’s meant to happen, it’ll happen,” said Katie. “No mind-controlling breasts necessary.”
“Well, it was worth a try,” said Bradley.
*
Some wanker was playing music out in the hallway.
Correction: some wanker was blasting music out in the hallway, at one in the morning, on Colin’s first day off in two weeks.
“What the hell-” said Colin, yanking his door open.
Bradley was standing there. Holding a boom box over his head.
“HELLO MY PRECIOUS SNOWFLAKE!” said Bradley.
“WHAT?” said Colin.
“COME ON, BABY, DON’T IGNORE ME, I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE FEELING FOR ME!” sang JC Chasez.
“WHAT’RE YOU DOING?” said Colin.
“YOU CAN’T FIGHT IT, ’CAUSE YOU WANT ME, DON’T YOU MISS THIS OR YOU’LL BE SORRY!” sang JC Chasez.
“I’M PROFESSING MY LOVE-” said Bradley, and Colin reached up and jabbed at the boom box’s off button.
“What?” Colin said again. “Bradley, you had better have a good explanation for waking me up at one in the morning on my day off.”
“As I was saying,” said Bradley, setting the boom box on the ground, “I was professing my love to you in the iconic style of John Cusack in the classic 1989 movie-film Say Anything…. In this reenactment, you are Ione Skye.”
“Not this again,” said Colin, and dragged Bradley into his room by the front of Bradley’s shirt.
“Finally,” said Bradley as Colin slammed the door behind them. Bradley opened his arms.
“You may now throw yourself at me in a fit of desirous passion,” said Bradley.
“What the hell is wrong with you!” said Colin, furious. “I’ve had it with all your jokes! Yeah, so I have a crush on you-big deal. That doesn’t mean you can make fun of me for it all the time! Get over yourself, Bradley.”
“What?” said Bradley. “Is that what you think this-you really believed that-Jesus, Colin, I’ve been trying to woo you all week, you idiot!” said Bradley.
“-Excuse me?” said Colin.
“Enough with this, I’m done being subtle,” said Bradley. “I’m going to kiss you now, and then I’m going to throw you on that bed over there and fuck you til you can’t see straight, and when we’re sweaty and aching and too tired to fuck anymore we’re going to go to sleep, and when we wake up tomorrow morning we’re going to do it all again. Unless you have any objections?”
“Uh, no,” said Colin. “That sounds-quite brilliant, actually. Yeah.”
“Excellent,” said Bradley, and made good on his promise.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: “If you were hypothetically me and I were hypothetically courting Colin, what would you-and by you I mean me-do to win his heart and make him let you carry him off into the French sunset for a lifetime of sweetsweet lovemaking?” said Bradley.
Warnings: Bradley’s ridiculousness, Colin’s obliviousness, Tasmanian leaping spiders, murderous soybeans, naked Bradley roaming the hotel halls, attempted skywriting, special mention of Katie’s hypnotic breasts
Word Count: 2,010 words
Disclaimer: These are all lies from inside my head, and as far as I’m aware have no basis in reality whatsoever.
Author’s Note: Well at least it’s not mpreg this time. ^___~ Also, many thanks to the wonderful kick_flaw for all her help and her fantastic beta job. ILU BB-thank you for letting me musically assault you! <333
“I’ll make love to you! Like you want me to! And I’ll hold you tight! Baby, all through the night!”
“What the hell is that?” said Colin. Some of the crew looked around for the source of the disturbance-and, seeing it was Bradley, went back to setting up for the next scene.
“It’s an extremely poignant early-90’s love ballad by American R&B sensation Boyz II Men. Now shut up, I’m wooing you through the power of song,” said Bradley.
“I don’t think that’s a song, what you’re singing,” Colin said. “I don’t even think that’s singing, to be perfectly honest. It’s, like, shouting. Emphatically. In a way that also rhymes.”
“I’ll make love to you!” said Bradley. “When you want me to! And I will not let gooooo til you tell me toooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOooooooo!”
Colin looked at him.
“Did you like the long note?” Bradley asked. “I’ve been practicing.”
“Is that the tortured sound that’s been coming from your room the last few days?” said Colin.
“Yeah, what’d you think it was?” said Bradley.
“I didn’t want to speculate,” said Colin.
*
“You look upset,” said Bradley as Colin sat down across from him at the lunch table. “Would you like to curl up in my embrace and let me protect you from the world for a while?”
“Um, no,” said Colin. “Thanks.”
“Well, at least tell me what’s wrong then,” said Bradley.
“I think…” said Colin. “I think I have a stalker.”
“What!” said Bradley, alarmed.
“Someone’s broken into my trailer and left me roses-which I’m allergic to-and chocolates-which I’m also allergic to-and some creepy, badly-written poetry,” said Colin, shivering. “So it must be a stalker. And they’re trying to kill me!”
“Hey,” said Bradley. “Maybe your stalker just made a mistake. Maybe he was trying to woo you and thought flowers and chocolates and poetry would touch you in your innermost soul and you’d fling yourself into his manly arms so he could make mad passionate monkey-sex to you for twenty straight days. Maybe. I’m just guessing.”
“In that case,” said Colin, “I have a pretty shite stalker.”
*
“I made dinner!” said Bradley.
“This is takeaway,” said Colin. “I can tell. Everything’s still in the cartons.”
“I ordered dinner!” amended Bradley.
“There’s no steak in any of these like there was the last time, is there?” said Colin.
“No, only that vegetarian junk you like. I specifically forbade them from including any delicious dead animals,” said Bradley, looking briefly very pained.
“Thank you,” said Colin, touched by the gesture; he knew how much Bradley loved delicious dead animals.
The food was pretty good. Excellent, actually. Even Bradley admitted it, in his own grudging, carnivorous way.
“This tofu isn’t completely repulsive to me, I guess,” said Bradley. He coughed.
“Well, I’m glad to see you’re expanding your culinary horizons,” said Colin.
Bradley coughed again, and scratched his throat, and coughed once more.
“Bradley-are you allergic to soy?” said Colin.
“Yeah, how’d you know?” said Bradley, coughing.
“Tofu is made from soy, you idiot!” Colin yelled.
At the hospital they gave Bradley antihistamines whilst Colin assured him (repeatedly) that tofu wouldn’t ruin his striking good looks or cause him to die a tragic early death that would send the world into an endless spiral of mourning.
“S’good I’m not dead,” said Bradley later, drowsy from the medicine. “Woulda been embarrassing to have been murdered by a soybean.” His head drooped onto Colin’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” agreed Colin, fingers soft in Bradley’s hair, but Bradley was already asleep.
*
“My shower has been overrun by Tasmanian leaping spiders so I’m going to use yours,” said Bradley.
“…Okay,” said Colin.
“Thanks, mate,” said Bradley, stripping off his shirt before Colin had even finished closing the door.
“Bradley!” Colin said. “Can’t you wait til you’re in the bathroom to do that?”
“Oh I’m sorry, are my glorious golden muscles offending you?” said Bradley. “If you feel the need to swoon, go ahead. I’ll catch you.” He unbuttoned the fly of his jeans.
Colin whirled away and looked at the television, pretending to be deeply engrossed in a French laundry detergent commercial. His face felt hot.
When Bradley sauntered out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later, Colin shrieked. It wasn’t a very proud moment for him.
“What?” said Bradley, concerned. A droplet of water trickled down his neck.
“You’re naked,” said Colin.
“Yes,” agreed Bradley.
Pause.
“Why are you naked?” said Colin.
“I like to air-dry,” said Bradley.
*
“Let me back in!” Bradley said, pounding on Colin’s door. “I’m naked!”
*
“Hypothetically,” said Bradley to Angel when she opened her door, “let’s say you were a young, up-and-coming male television star blessed with miraculous good looks snatched straight from the Gods of ancient Greek legend. Someone, let’s say, very much like me.”
“…Okay,” said Angel.
“And let’s suppose,” said Bradley, “that you were interested in a lovely Irish beauty like-oh, I don’t know, I’m just grabbing this example from thin air, here, really-someone like Colin. How would you, in this completely fictional scenario, go about wooing him?”
“Colin?” said Angel.
“A completely imaginary person who we will pretend is Colin for the sake of discussion,” said Bradley.
“Well,” Angel said, “I think I’d compliment him a bit first, to show him I was interested-”
“Yes, yes, feed me your knowledge,” said Bradley.
“-and do nice things for him-”
“Would skywriting the message Dear Colin: I want your arse; what say you? Hugs and kisses, Bradley technically be a nice thing?” said Bradley.
“No,” said Angel. “No, it would not.”
“Hmm,” said Bradley. “We’ll agree to disagree. What else?”
“Well, I don’t know, maybe get him a gift-something you know he likes, to show that you took the time to learn about him and that you care about making him happy.”
“I’d have to give it to him in-person, I think, otherwise he might believe I was still stalking him,” said Bradley.
Angel blinked at him.
“Long story,” said Bradley.
“Just tell him how you feel,” said Angel, patting Bradley on the shoulder. “In a way that doesn’t involve skywriting.”
“Thank you,” said Bradley. “If this had been a real discussion about real people, I’m sure it would have been very illuminating.”
*
“Your cheekbones could make an artist weep for want of painting them,” said Bradley from in front of the castle steps Colin was reading on. “Your lips were shaped by God himself for the sole purpose of kissing. Your wrists were built to fit in the curve of my hand. Everything about you is beautiful to me-your skin, your eyes, your hair, the dimple on the left side of your mouth that jumps out when you smile. I want you. I want to touch you, I want to fuck you, I want to have you for my own for as long as you’ll let me.”
“Sorry,” said Colin, looking up from his book. “Were you saying something?”
“You’ve just bolloxed up your own wooing!” said Bradley.
“What?” said Colin.
“Never mind, the moment’s lost,” Bradley said, sighing. Pause. “Well, do you wanna go get lunch with me then?” said Bradley.
*
Okay, so, a gift.
Bradley was a clever fellow, he could certainly pick out a present for Colin that would make Colin realize just how thoughtful and handsome and charming Bradley was (and also extremely fit-strapping, really, if Bradley said so himself. Which he did. Often). Bradley could totally do that.
Bradley typed gifts for a skinny little Irishman that will make him love me into Google. 58,500 results popped up; Bradley clicked on the first one.
“Perfect!” Bradley said.
*
“Would you mind telling me,” said Colin, “why you felt it was a good idea to hijack my iPod for the day and return it filled with all the Celtic Woman CDs?”
“You’re Irish,” said Bradley.
“Yes, I’m well aware of that, thank you,” said Colin. “What does that have to do with you besmirching my iPod?”
“It’s the music of your motherland,” said Bradley. “The melodies of your soul. The Celtic Woman is Ireland, Colin. The Celtic Woman is you.”
Colin looked at him.
Bradley looked back.
The silence stretched out uncomfortably.
“Didn’t you like it, then?” said Bradley finally, looking so nervous and hopeful all at once that Colin knew he’d have to lie to him.
“Erm, yeah,” said Colin. “Love it! The songs really…speak to me. On a spiritual level.”
Bradley beamed.
“Well?” said Bradley. “Do you want to jump me yet?”
Colin walked away. Bradley took that to mean “maybe.”
*
“If you were hypothetically me and I were hypothetically courting Colin, what would you-and by you I mean me-do to win his heart and make him let you carry him off into the French sunset for a lifetime of sweetsweet lovemaking?” said Bradley.
“Are you talking to me?” said Katie from the hair and makeup chair.
“Focus!” said Bradley. “How do you usually get someone to like you?”
“Generally I tell them, ‘You. Here. Now.’ That seems to work well,” Katie said.
“Yes, but you have magnificent breasts that make people do what you say. I need a plan that doesn’t involve your hypnotic knockers,” said Bradley. Then, thoughtful: “Well, unless-I mean, would you be willing to-?”
“I’m not going to flash my breasts at somebody to get you a date, Bradley,” said Katie.
“Not even for true love?” said Bradley.
“If it’s meant to happen, it’ll happen,” said Katie. “No mind-controlling breasts necessary.”
“Well, it was worth a try,” said Bradley.
*
Some wanker was playing music out in the hallway.
Correction: some wanker was blasting music out in the hallway, at one in the morning, on Colin’s first day off in two weeks.
“What the hell-” said Colin, yanking his door open.
Bradley was standing there. Holding a boom box over his head.
“HELLO MY PRECIOUS SNOWFLAKE!” said Bradley.
“WHAT?” said Colin.
“COME ON, BABY, DON’T IGNORE ME, I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE FEELING FOR ME!” sang JC Chasez.
“WHAT’RE YOU DOING?” said Colin.
“YOU CAN’T FIGHT IT, ’CAUSE YOU WANT ME, DON’T YOU MISS THIS OR YOU’LL BE SORRY!” sang JC Chasez.
“I’M PROFESSING MY LOVE-” said Bradley, and Colin reached up and jabbed at the boom box’s off button.
“What?” Colin said again. “Bradley, you had better have a good explanation for waking me up at one in the morning on my day off.”
“As I was saying,” said Bradley, setting the boom box on the ground, “I was professing my love to you in the iconic style of John Cusack in the classic 1989 movie-film Say Anything…. In this reenactment, you are Ione Skye.”
“Not this again,” said Colin, and dragged Bradley into his room by the front of Bradley’s shirt.
“Finally,” said Bradley as Colin slammed the door behind them. Bradley opened his arms.
“You may now throw yourself at me in a fit of desirous passion,” said Bradley.
“What the hell is wrong with you!” said Colin, furious. “I’ve had it with all your jokes! Yeah, so I have a crush on you-big deal. That doesn’t mean you can make fun of me for it all the time! Get over yourself, Bradley.”
“What?” said Bradley. “Is that what you think this-you really believed that-Jesus, Colin, I’ve been trying to woo you all week, you idiot!” said Bradley.
“-Excuse me?” said Colin.
“Enough with this, I’m done being subtle,” said Bradley. “I’m going to kiss you now, and then I’m going to throw you on that bed over there and fuck you til you can’t see straight, and when we’re sweaty and aching and too tired to fuck anymore we’re going to go to sleep, and when we wake up tomorrow morning we’re going to do it all again. Unless you have any objections?”
“Uh, no,” said Colin. “That sounds-quite brilliant, actually. Yeah.”
“Excellent,” said Bradley, and made good on his promise.