how beautiful life is now you're in the world
how beautiful life is now you're in the world
Fandom: Merlin RPF
Pairing: Bradley James/Colin Morgan
Summary: Bradley's Twitter and all the love that comes afterwwards
Author's Note: This nonsense short fic an be blamed on that ridiculous picture of Bradders and the boys and ronsoftie (I hate you bb)
Apologies: This is my first shot as br/c so I'm sorry if it does sound a bit OOC, also, it's 2 in the morning here and fuck, I need sleep. Also: I'm sorry to the boys for, well, everything :D
It’s been a long day; they’ve just had that bloody read-through and Colin can barely hear his own voice and his fingers stretch together like rubber. Bradley and him mutually decide that it’s probably best for both of them to just go to bed and cuddle like real boyfriends do, without the pressure of a BBC drama on their shoulders.
So Bradley tucks Colin in like a real boyfriend would, says ‘good night’, but, somehow, somewhere along the line, sometime after real boyfriend and before Bradley, his feet stick in Colin’s face like only Bradley could.
“Mmph,” Colin swats his hands like he’s hitting for an insect.
“Oh, sorry,” Bradley’s voice comes from the foot of the bed.
Colin screws up the effort to turn his body and look at their shared bed. From the tangled sheets to the spare pillows everywhere but to observe the most prominent feature: his boyfriend on his stomach, with electric blue light shining on his face from his laptop. From what he can gather from Bradley’s expression, he hasn’t been sleeping while Colin has. Sometimes, yes, that’s not really a surprise because Bradley’s just really a night person and can probably put on some AC/DC really loudly and re-enact Risky Business in his bedroom in the middle of the night had he not have a boyfriend as boring as Colin.
In fact, he’s pretty sure before they were even a ‘they’ or an ‘us’ during outings, Bradley has done that once or twice.
“What are you doing?” Colin rubs his eyes, adjusting his sight.
“Making a Twitter account,” Bradley says simply, as simply as someone might say, “I have a sandwich,” but the analogy stops there. Making a Twitter is nothing as easy as making a sandwich; especially if you’re one of the two male leads of a BBC drama who are constantly being hit with rumours that they are dating each other. Sure, they are but that doesn’t mean a public spectacle through internet messages needs to be made.
“Good luck with the fangirls, then,” Colin groans, not really in the mood to deal with all these shenanigans because it’s fuck o’clock in the morning and his pillow really is comfortable.
Bradley looks at him -Colin can’t quite put a finger on his expression, though, something indescribable, something that probably says ‘I love you’ in a simple movement of his eyelashes or the reasons of why he wants to spend his life with him on his lips that never seem to move the right away- and closes his laptop. He takes his shirt off, revealing miles and miles of skin Colin has explored but doesn’t know enough to make a map of, and wraps an arm around Colin’s waist.
“Good night, love,” Bradley murmurs into the fabric of his t-shirt. The topic of Twitter is dropped.
It’s an early morning, not the kind where you accidentally wake up when it’s still dark out and you suddenly realize you actually like being alone and having your pick of the cereal that your boyfriend usually hogs. No, it’s the kind of early morning that is grudging and you have to drag your feet and you have to hit your boyfriend/co-star with multiple pillows so he will just stir.
“Wake up,” Colin prods Bradley with his fingers on his waist.
“Get away, no,” Bradley groans into his pillow.
“This is what you get for staying up at ungodly hours by putting up a damn Twitter account,” Colin says, hair still wet. “Come on, you promised Tom and Ade breakfast.”
“I promise them a lot of things. I didn’t, however, promise my morning that should’ve been spent sleeping or having sex with my boyfriend who is, did I mention, really gorgeous when he’s all fresh and showered?” Bradley turns and looks at him with a smile, ruffling his hair like he’s so charming. And fuck all, he really is.
So Colin wipes his chin with his sleeve, leans in and kisses him on the neck because if there’s one thing that can remain constant in early mornings, whatever type they are, it’s the fact that Bradley has really horrible morning breath. Also, because whenever he kisses him there, in the joining of his collarbone and his shoulder, Bradley positively tingles like a school girl. He likes making him tingle.
“Stay in bed, just for a bit,” Bradley reaches for his hand.
Colin lies in bed with him, just for a bit, like he said, because he likes this feeling. Of being contained in someone’s arms and Bradley really does have nice, warm arms that hold him like a cage worth being trapped in.
“You smell like everything I love,” Bradley says, his lips against his neck. It’s these kinds of things he says that makes Colin’s heart do little ballet twirls and spring out confetti and he has to remind himself he’s saying that about him, about Colin, this pasty Irish boy that the extraordinaire Bradley James chooses to snuggle up to on early mornings.
“You, too,” Colin says, trying not to be fazed by how much he truly loves this man. “After you’ve brushed your teeth.”
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Bradley sits down at the table with Ade and Tom, a tray of coffee cups in his hands, to which both of the other men whoop loudly for, because, honestly, Brits might like tea but the cast of Merlin survives on coffee.
Colin follows him after, acting as nonchalant as Colin can when he’s not being a wizard or a drug-addict or some savant like Rain Man (Colin has argued with him numerous times that he does not portray a savant in Island, merely a young man with some mental issues. He then took a breather and murmured under his breath, saying that Bradley had some mental issues of his own) but, really, when Colin’s just being Colin, he’s not much of an actor. Katie figured out that they were shagging two days in because Colin was being a jittering, albeit adorable, idiot around him like he was picturing him naked. He probably was.
Colin sits down next to him, his appearance saying nothing devilish or something of the sort while Bradley is wondering whether or not he’s straightened his hair.
Tom notices and raises his eyebrow. He beckons them to come closer, even Ade, and whispers, “I smell sex.”
Ade bursts into laughter and, when he resurfaces, he looks to Bradley and Colin and almost yells out, “Britain television’s worst kept secret, you two are!”
“Lower your fucking voice, Ade,” Bradley hisses. “And, besides, I can’t help Colin’s insatiable for me.”
“Shut up and eat your breakfast,” Colin says to Bradley but he looks highly amused. When he leans in to give him his scone, he does actually smell like sex. And Bradley. Which makes certain parts of lower body tingle.
“Guess what, though?” Bradley asks to anyone who will answer.
“What?” Ade asks because, really, he’s a nice guy and will always be the one to answer your Guess What even if it is not important and it will not make a difference in his day-to-day life.
“I made a Twitter account.”
“Good luck with the fangirls,” Tom salutes him with a cup of coffee; the exact words Colin said. Fangirls weren’t that bad, honestly…were they?
“Thank you, I’ll need it,” Bradley smiles.
“You going public with it?” Ade asks, pulling up his hoodie.
“Why the fuck not?”
“Your boyfriend’s got balls,” Tom says to Colin.
“Mm, I know,” Colin sips his coffee, his eyes winking, almost seductively.
“There’s a dirty joke in there,” Ade says. “I’m just not getting it.”
“Col,” Bradley turns to him. “Look in my backpack. There’s a marker pen in there somewhere and a piece of paper.”
“Love letter?”
“A proclamation!”
“Ew, I get the joke now,” Ade says out of nowhere.
The coffee decreases and the time grows shorter until they have to get on set, until Colin has to take off his t-shirt and jeans and replace it for the costume he’s had for four years, the same shirt of either red, blue or white with the same goddamn neckerchief and the same coat. Sometimes he just wishes he’s Court Sorcerer already and Arthur would just stop being so dim so he’ll get a new costume. Time goes by but Bradley still hunching down and working on this ‘proclamation’ using his marker pens like a child.
He seems so animated, though, the way his fingers are moving languidly on the paper and how his tongue starts poking out because he’s concentrating and how he’s murmuring under his breath, “More stars!” and proceeds to draw more elementary-grade stars around his name and Twitter username.
“I’m done!” he announces and Colin smiles because he’s too busy being in love to care whether or not he’s an idiot for doing so.
“Col, take out your camera,” Bradley says to him. “Don’t pretend you don’t have it, you’re always looking for pretty things to shoot. I’m pretty, shoot me.”
“Pictures! Ooh, pictures!” Tom says excitedly and Colin truly wonders if any of his co-stars are sane.
“Ade?” Bradley asks.
“Sure,” Ade shrugs.
Bradley walks from Colin as he starts adjusting his camera. He’s sitting between Tom and Ade now, with that sign that proudly states ‘Bradley’s Twitter’ and just enough stars around it.
“Bradley,” Colin says, his eye to the camera already. “Fix your hair. People are going to think you just got some.”
“I did, didn’t I?” Bradley smirks. “Think of it as a statement, Col, a quiet, loud, statement of our amazing sex life. You know you love it.”
Colin takes the picture, sees on the screen; sees the smiles on Tom and Ade’s faces, how Tom looks so excited he’s getting his picture taken, how Ade looks like he’s got better things to do but can’t seem to find any and how neither of their smiles compare to Bradley’s.
He looks ridiculous, with his quiet, loud statement of hair and big grin that just seems to yell out, “See, Colin?” for some reason.
“Col?” Bradley asks. “You’re okay with this, right? My Twitter?”
“That’s a stupid question. Of course I am,” Colin nods. “As long as I don’t need to share you with anyone else.”
Tom immediately makes room for Bradley to move and sit next to Colin again like it’s a silent agreement. Bradley has his serious face on, the face Arthur has whenever he is under a stressful situation and desperately needs Merlin but won’t admit to it, and Colin can’t bear to see it. just like he can’t bear to see Bradley ever having a problem. It physically hurts him. how, he doesn’t know, it just does.
Bradley has a hold on him, stronger than what Colin will ever admit, a ferocity as such as Bradley cannot cry without Colin following suit; Bradley cannot be smiling and energetic without Colin growing a grin, as well; Colin cannot be happy if Bradley is not.
He tries to give Bradley this look, the one Bradley gave him last night, that indescribable face, and tries to convey all his love for this stupid, idiotic, beautiful arse through everything he has and he just wishes he can understand. He gives Bradley a piece of his soul and hopes he can catch it as it is falling down a cliff, past caverns and falling rocks, tumbling towards the great unknown. And he does.
In return, Bradley gives Colin a piece, too. “Never,” he says.
“What’s the M stand for?” Angel asks one day. “In your Twitter. What’s the M for?”
Bradley gives Colin a knowing look and twines their fingers together under the desk. “Uh, magic. Yeah, magic.”
Colin knows the real answer, though, because Bradley’s fingers are tracing it on his palm. Morgan.