Fic: Running Up That Hill, Merlin RPS, Bradley/Colin (PG)
Title: Running Up That Hill
Author: valderys
Pairing: Bradley/Colin
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,565
Warnings: Anaphylactic shock. Rubbish first aid.
Notes: Written for the ‘breathplay’ square on my kinkbingo card. Maybe one day I’ll actually write a porny fic for this :)
Summary: Colin gives Bradley a scare - he really is allergic to everything.
The hill from Pierrefonds chateau up to the convenient field that Shine has rented off a local farmer is not very long. It is a bit steep, Bradley will grant that, but it’s not exactly far to stagger from the location shooting up to craft services, trailers, wardrobe, make-up, and all the other miscellaneous set-up that any filming has to have in order to turn organised chaos into magic. Which is particularly appropriate given the show that they’re all making.
Bradley has time to think all these things as he looks up from his paper (three days old) to the door of his trailer, as it bangs open. He thinks about clutching it to him in a wild attempt to hide, but he’s not that much of a girl, and as it turns out, it’s only Colin. Who is late up the hill for lunch - Bradley’s already eaten his, and is aiming for a bit of a breather before he goes back to the hard work of hanging around waiting for another take. Bradley would ask what Colin’s been filming with the second unit, but as he staggers in, wide-eyed, it becomes obvious.
Bradley smirks. “Stocks again? What did Merlin do this time? And you conveniently didn’t mention it. You’re holding out on me, Morgan.”
There are bits of tomato in Colin’s hair, and straw and carefully dotted unmentionable stains on the rest of him. His face is a pale strawberry colour with the colour smearing brighter over his cheekbones. Observing him more closely, Bradley thinks the extras might have overdone it. Or did make-up forget Colin’s barrier cream?
Colin opens his mouth and waves his arms in a very disturbing fashion. He still hasn’t spoken. His throat is making a slight whistling noise. As Bradley sits up, the paper falling from his suddenly nerveless fingers, Colin's eyes roll upwards and he pitches forward, only just allowing Bradley to gather the presence of mind or the speed to catch him.
Bradley doesn’t panic. He’s not a natural panicker, luckily, which is just as well when his arms are full of a lanky Irishman, who has apparently stopped breathing. Bradley doesn’t panic, but he may swear and drop everything, and his hands may be shaking. His own skin may be clammy and cold, unlike Colin’s, who feels like he’s burning up. Bradley’s done first aid - who hasn’t these days - but his mind is incredibly close to being blank. He heaves Colin over, bringing him to rest with his head on Bradley’s knees so he doesn’t thump unceremoniously to the floor - and then realises that he’s on the floor too with Colin, and he doesn’t even know when he hit the ground. Then there’s the recovery position, except that Colin isn’t recovering, he’s not breathing, and Bradley… Bradley must do something about that.
He wants to thump his chest, because he’s seen them do that in ER, except… Bradley must check Colin’s mouth first, for obstructions, that’s right, but there’s nothing, just the burning warmth of Colin’s tongue, his sharp teeth, the soft skin of his mouth. Bradley feels like his fingers are too big and clumsy, too dirty, he wants to wash them, but there isn’t time. Then he thumps Colin's chest, and he must have done something right because Colin jerks, before falling still again, and it's a stupid thing, but it makes Bradley feel like he can really do this, despite the lack of epipens, or inhalers, or whatever else it might be that Colin needs right now.
Hurriedly Bradley shifts sideways, and Colin's head hits the floor of the trailer with more of a thump than Bradley was expecting, and there's a sound, almost as though Colin's trying to breath, but just needs a bit of a helping hand. There's no time, but Bradley takes a second, and another, just to look at him, to psych himself up, at the fan of dark lashes, at the tousled hair, full of seeds and grass, at the parted pink lips that Bradley… That Bradley must kiss. Has to kiss, to bring Colin back, and he bloody well hopes it will work, that he's doing the right thing.
Bradley takes a deep breath, as he prepares, as he tries to remember the classes in resuscitation. He takes Colin's head, feeling the round bones of his skull so delicate in his hands, and tips it back, exposing the throat - clearing the airways, he reminds himself - trying not to look too closely at the long slim neck, the vulnerable adam's apple. Colin's alive with energy usually - seeing him this still is rare, and would somehow be a privilege, if Bradley wasn't so scared. Bradley swallows and puts one hand on the centre of Colin's chest, feeling his heart thumping reassuringly hard under his palm, before finally bending down.
His mouth fits over Colin's perfectly, and Bradley has a fleeting thought that he always knew it would. Colin's lips are cool and slack, but as he parts them a little further, to better breathe for him, Bradley's tongue touches the soft wet skin inside his mouth, catches the tip of Colin’s tongue. It's as furnace warm as he knew it would be. Colin smells of sun and make-up, of fresh earthy things, but he tastes sweet, like chewing gum, or mint. Bradley seals his lips over Colin's, and then he breathes out, knowing it should be more sharp and jerky, but he hasn't enough air, panic has made him light-headed, and he tries to ignore the fact that if he doesn’t do this right, Colin could die.
His breath moves easily from him and down into Colin’s chest, like it’s being softly stolen away. That’s good, right? Bradley breathes in through his nose, and then out once more into Colin’s mouth. It almost feels as though it’s being sucked from him, gently, as though he’s barely breathing at all. Bradley moves his lips, to make sure nothing escapes, and nearly makes a sound. Surely saving his friend’s life shouldn’t feel so good? He realises that he’s moved his hand from its position safely on Colin’s chest, up to his neck, that his fingers are resting alongside his throat, his thumb poised against Colin’s deceptively fragile collar bone. His other hand is in Colin’s hair, and it’s fine and strong against his fingers, soft against his palm.
He breathes and breathes again, like an ocean or a tide, until Bradley can feel the sway in his own blood, in the little lights that spring against his closed eyelids, in the dizziness that stays with him as he leans more heavily, breathes more slowly, not sharp and fast as it should be, but it doesn’t matter. Colin’s pulse is still strong, Bradley can feel it, thumping in time with his own, and that’s what’s really important.
Bradley doesn’t know how long he’s paused there, he’ll stay as long as he needs to, stay here forever, kissing Colin, breathing for him, as intimate a thing as he’s ever done. But then, there’s movement, Colin’s hands clutching abortively at Bradley’s arm, his side, scrabbling against Arthur’s tunic, under it, his long fingers grazing flesh, startling like a brand, making Bradley gasp and lift his head, blinking into Colin’s wide eyes.
He pushes himself back then, hurriedly, clumsily, his face heating, caught kissing his mate, lost in it, not a manly thing to do, not acceptable, and now… Now Bradley’s embarrassed, his mouth twisting with it, his body too lumbering and crude, it’s too much. He doesn’t know where to look.
“Hey, it’s all right,” says Colin, and Bradley forces himself to look at him, because it shouldn’t be Colin saying that, he’s the one who passed out, he’s the one who might still be in danger somehow, and Bradley’s all out of ideas.
There’s a weird little half-smile on Colin’s lips, that are pink and damp, still shining a little, and he’s holding his hand out, like he thinks Bradley needs soothing or something.
“Fuck,” says Bradley, “Fuck. You scared me, Morgan. Don’t you ever do that again.”
“No,” says Colin, his accent thick, “No, I don’t think we will. It’s ok.”
And Colin’s pushing himself forward, and Bradley realises that he’s leaned back against the front of the ratty old sofa in his trailer, and that he’s shaking, not much, probably not a visible amount, but still. Shaking. And that Colin’s crawling over, sitting next to him on the floor, their shoulders bumping, and it’s bizarre, but it helps, it does.
Then Bradley parses what Colin’s just said, and doesn’t understand. “What? We? What we?”
Colin turns his head, looks at Bradley sidelong, “Katie. Me. It was a bad idea, ok, I know. I’m sorry. I know that now.”
And Bradley shakes his head, because he doesn't get it, it’s like back at the beginning of shooting, when Colin might as well have been talking Swahili for all Bradley could understand him. It’s almost like Colin’s saying that he planned this. As though he knew he’d faint, and stop breathing, and give Bradley the scare of his fucking life. It’s like… Bradley watches with a slow kind of wonder as the tips of Colin’s ears go red. It's like…
Bradley feels like his mouth is numb, as though clumsy with alcohol. He makes himself speak anyway. "This was… what? A prank? A joke?"
He swallows and looks away. He's not sure what to do, he's not sure how he even feels about this, and he's a good actor, sure, but not this good. He doesn't know how to hide this. And it hurts, but he can't let Colin see, because he thought that Colin was… what? Dying? And that's a joke, a fucking joke, to them. And he has to laugh it off himself too, and he will. In a minute. He has to. Because otherwise the fucking joke will be on him, won't it, because they'll never let him forget it. Colin will smile at him when he tells the story, all dimples and playfulness that's about as innocent as a purring tiger, for all his wide-eyed act. He'll smile across at Bradley at breakfast, or down the pub, and Bradley will have to take it, he'll have to grit his teeth, and he'll smile back. He'll be a good sport, because he's the bloody prankster on set, and people know it, and no-one likes a poor loser - it's not like he hasn't had this coming, people will say. Except. Not like this… None of Bradley's pranks have ever been like this.
"It's good," Bradley makes himself say, "I was fooled, no question. How did you make yourself feel like you were burning up - running up the hill, yeah? Good. Right."
He's babbling, but he doesn't care. He can't look at Colin, at the pink cheeks that have to be make-up, and the carefully, artfully applied tomato pulp. It was well-planned, he has to agree.
"I didn't mean…" Colin's voice is small, still thick with accent, something Bradley has learnt means that Colin's emotions are running high. "I didn't think you'd believe it. Not as long as you did. I didn't…"
"Could be worse," Bradley offers, "You could have had the video camera out. Could have recorded this for a DVD extra. Surprised you didn't. You should have done."
There's a weight on his leg and he glances down. Colin's got his hand on Bradley's thigh. Bradley thinks he should push it off really, but it's meant to be comforting, and Bradley doesn't want to make this worse. Poor stupid Bradley James, can't take a joke. Lost his sense of humour. He wonders if Katie is peering in the window.
“It’s my fault,” says Colin, and Bradley swallows. He’s not going to snap back, he’s going to stop himself, because he’s beginning to feel anger simmering under his skin, and he can’t let it loose.
Colin’s turned away, he’s not looking at Bradley when he says, “You weren’t meant to… I liked it too much, so I let it go on too long. I’m an eejit, I’m sorry. I’m…” He trails off.
Bradley stares at him. At the pale column of Colin’s neck, at the curve of his ear, at the strands of dark hair just curling behind it, chopped short for Merlin. He still wants to touch. His anger drains away. Colin’s hand has stayed on Bradley’s thigh, and he reckons that Colin’s quite brave, really. More than Bradley is, certainly.
“What was I meant to do then? Run around, panic a bit, call for the crew?” Bradley asks. He nudges Colin until he turns his head, his eyes wide. “Was Katie waiting outside? Fuck, is she still there?”
That’s a terrifying thought - in case she comes in. Being caught making an arse of himself would be as nothing compared to being caught having a heart-to-heart, talking about actual feelings. He wonders if he should get up and lock the door. He wonders if he should get up and throw Colin to the Katie-shaped wolves.
“I didn’t think you’d snog me,” says Colin, simply.
“Kiss of life,” says Bradley, quickly, “Classic first aid, that is.”
Colin stares. “If you’re drowning, Bradley, not if you’re going into anaphylactic shock! It’s just as well I was bloody faking.”
Bradley looks down, and determinedly stares at Colin’s hand, at the long fingers, at the slightly protruding knuckles. He brings his own hands to rest in his lap, picking casually at the side of his thumb. His little finger slides conveniently to rest next to Colin’s wrist. It tingles.
“You’ll have to show me what to do then, won’t you?” he mutters towards his hands, “In case it happens again.”
He risks a glance sideways, and Colin is looking at him strangely. “What, allergy stuff? Or snogging?”
Bradley wants to roll his eyes. They’re both horribly bad at this, apparently. He supposes he ought to be glad it’s not just him.
“You know,” says Colin, in a matter-of-fact tone, “I nearly gave it away when you dropped me. And then when you thumped my chest. I thought you might have stopped my heart for real.”
“But you didn’t move,” Bradley says swiftly.
“No.”
“Why is that?”
They stare at each other again. Bradley is sure it’s not this difficult normally. He watches Colin lick his lips, and thinks, fuck it.
He leans forward, and waits for Colin to push him back, to turn away. Instead Bradley watches Colin’s pupils grow huge, and his lips part, before he shuts his eyes. Colin’s hand fists itself in his trousers, twisting the material, grazing Bradley’s skin. Their mouths touch, and they fit together, perfectly, just like before, just like Bradley remembers, except that it’s different now, it’s ten times better, because Colin is kissing him back, his tongue pushing itself into Bradley’s mouth. Bradley makes a noise, he does, he can’t help himself, groaning into Colin’s mouth, and Colin mms, and shifts, and snogs him some more.
Bradley decides that he might forgive Colin for his prank. Never mind that it was stupid, and potentially dangerous, and nearly gave him a heart attack. Never mind anaphylaxis, or allergies, or anything else. It’s Colin himself that leaves Bradley breathless.
Katie’s going to have to wait outside for a very long time.
Author: valderys
Pairing: Bradley/Colin
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,565
Warnings: Anaphylactic shock. Rubbish first aid.
Notes: Written for the ‘breathplay’ square on my kinkbingo card. Maybe one day I’ll actually write a porny fic for this :)
Summary: Colin gives Bradley a scare - he really is allergic to everything.
The hill from Pierrefonds chateau up to the convenient field that Shine has rented off a local farmer is not very long. It is a bit steep, Bradley will grant that, but it’s not exactly far to stagger from the location shooting up to craft services, trailers, wardrobe, make-up, and all the other miscellaneous set-up that any filming has to have in order to turn organised chaos into magic. Which is particularly appropriate given the show that they’re all making.
Bradley has time to think all these things as he looks up from his paper (three days old) to the door of his trailer, as it bangs open. He thinks about clutching it to him in a wild attempt to hide, but he’s not that much of a girl, and as it turns out, it’s only Colin. Who is late up the hill for lunch - Bradley’s already eaten his, and is aiming for a bit of a breather before he goes back to the hard work of hanging around waiting for another take. Bradley would ask what Colin’s been filming with the second unit, but as he staggers in, wide-eyed, it becomes obvious.
Bradley smirks. “Stocks again? What did Merlin do this time? And you conveniently didn’t mention it. You’re holding out on me, Morgan.”
There are bits of tomato in Colin’s hair, and straw and carefully dotted unmentionable stains on the rest of him. His face is a pale strawberry colour with the colour smearing brighter over his cheekbones. Observing him more closely, Bradley thinks the extras might have overdone it. Or did make-up forget Colin’s barrier cream?
Colin opens his mouth and waves his arms in a very disturbing fashion. He still hasn’t spoken. His throat is making a slight whistling noise. As Bradley sits up, the paper falling from his suddenly nerveless fingers, Colin's eyes roll upwards and he pitches forward, only just allowing Bradley to gather the presence of mind or the speed to catch him.
Bradley doesn’t panic. He’s not a natural panicker, luckily, which is just as well when his arms are full of a lanky Irishman, who has apparently stopped breathing. Bradley doesn’t panic, but he may swear and drop everything, and his hands may be shaking. His own skin may be clammy and cold, unlike Colin’s, who feels like he’s burning up. Bradley’s done first aid - who hasn’t these days - but his mind is incredibly close to being blank. He heaves Colin over, bringing him to rest with his head on Bradley’s knees so he doesn’t thump unceremoniously to the floor - and then realises that he’s on the floor too with Colin, and he doesn’t even know when he hit the ground. Then there’s the recovery position, except that Colin isn’t recovering, he’s not breathing, and Bradley… Bradley must do something about that.
He wants to thump his chest, because he’s seen them do that in ER, except… Bradley must check Colin’s mouth first, for obstructions, that’s right, but there’s nothing, just the burning warmth of Colin’s tongue, his sharp teeth, the soft skin of his mouth. Bradley feels like his fingers are too big and clumsy, too dirty, he wants to wash them, but there isn’t time. Then he thumps Colin's chest, and he must have done something right because Colin jerks, before falling still again, and it's a stupid thing, but it makes Bradley feel like he can really do this, despite the lack of epipens, or inhalers, or whatever else it might be that Colin needs right now.
Hurriedly Bradley shifts sideways, and Colin's head hits the floor of the trailer with more of a thump than Bradley was expecting, and there's a sound, almost as though Colin's trying to breath, but just needs a bit of a helping hand. There's no time, but Bradley takes a second, and another, just to look at him, to psych himself up, at the fan of dark lashes, at the tousled hair, full of seeds and grass, at the parted pink lips that Bradley… That Bradley must kiss. Has to kiss, to bring Colin back, and he bloody well hopes it will work, that he's doing the right thing.
Bradley takes a deep breath, as he prepares, as he tries to remember the classes in resuscitation. He takes Colin's head, feeling the round bones of his skull so delicate in his hands, and tips it back, exposing the throat - clearing the airways, he reminds himself - trying not to look too closely at the long slim neck, the vulnerable adam's apple. Colin's alive with energy usually - seeing him this still is rare, and would somehow be a privilege, if Bradley wasn't so scared. Bradley swallows and puts one hand on the centre of Colin's chest, feeling his heart thumping reassuringly hard under his palm, before finally bending down.
His mouth fits over Colin's perfectly, and Bradley has a fleeting thought that he always knew it would. Colin's lips are cool and slack, but as he parts them a little further, to better breathe for him, Bradley's tongue touches the soft wet skin inside his mouth, catches the tip of Colin’s tongue. It's as furnace warm as he knew it would be. Colin smells of sun and make-up, of fresh earthy things, but he tastes sweet, like chewing gum, or mint. Bradley seals his lips over Colin's, and then he breathes out, knowing it should be more sharp and jerky, but he hasn't enough air, panic has made him light-headed, and he tries to ignore the fact that if he doesn’t do this right, Colin could die.
His breath moves easily from him and down into Colin’s chest, like it’s being softly stolen away. That’s good, right? Bradley breathes in through his nose, and then out once more into Colin’s mouth. It almost feels as though it’s being sucked from him, gently, as though he’s barely breathing at all. Bradley moves his lips, to make sure nothing escapes, and nearly makes a sound. Surely saving his friend’s life shouldn’t feel so good? He realises that he’s moved his hand from its position safely on Colin’s chest, up to his neck, that his fingers are resting alongside his throat, his thumb poised against Colin’s deceptively fragile collar bone. His other hand is in Colin’s hair, and it’s fine and strong against his fingers, soft against his palm.
He breathes and breathes again, like an ocean or a tide, until Bradley can feel the sway in his own blood, in the little lights that spring against his closed eyelids, in the dizziness that stays with him as he leans more heavily, breathes more slowly, not sharp and fast as it should be, but it doesn’t matter. Colin’s pulse is still strong, Bradley can feel it, thumping in time with his own, and that’s what’s really important.
Bradley doesn’t know how long he’s paused there, he’ll stay as long as he needs to, stay here forever, kissing Colin, breathing for him, as intimate a thing as he’s ever done. But then, there’s movement, Colin’s hands clutching abortively at Bradley’s arm, his side, scrabbling against Arthur’s tunic, under it, his long fingers grazing flesh, startling like a brand, making Bradley gasp and lift his head, blinking into Colin’s wide eyes.
He pushes himself back then, hurriedly, clumsily, his face heating, caught kissing his mate, lost in it, not a manly thing to do, not acceptable, and now… Now Bradley’s embarrassed, his mouth twisting with it, his body too lumbering and crude, it’s too much. He doesn’t know where to look.
“Hey, it’s all right,” says Colin, and Bradley forces himself to look at him, because it shouldn’t be Colin saying that, he’s the one who passed out, he’s the one who might still be in danger somehow, and Bradley’s all out of ideas.
There’s a weird little half-smile on Colin’s lips, that are pink and damp, still shining a little, and he’s holding his hand out, like he thinks Bradley needs soothing or something.
“Fuck,” says Bradley, “Fuck. You scared me, Morgan. Don’t you ever do that again.”
“No,” says Colin, his accent thick, “No, I don’t think we will. It’s ok.”
And Colin’s pushing himself forward, and Bradley realises that he’s leaned back against the front of the ratty old sofa in his trailer, and that he’s shaking, not much, probably not a visible amount, but still. Shaking. And that Colin’s crawling over, sitting next to him on the floor, their shoulders bumping, and it’s bizarre, but it helps, it does.
Then Bradley parses what Colin’s just said, and doesn’t understand. “What? We? What we?”
Colin turns his head, looks at Bradley sidelong, “Katie. Me. It was a bad idea, ok, I know. I’m sorry. I know that now.”
And Bradley shakes his head, because he doesn't get it, it’s like back at the beginning of shooting, when Colin might as well have been talking Swahili for all Bradley could understand him. It’s almost like Colin’s saying that he planned this. As though he knew he’d faint, and stop breathing, and give Bradley the scare of his fucking life. It’s like… Bradley watches with a slow kind of wonder as the tips of Colin’s ears go red. It's like…
Bradley feels like his mouth is numb, as though clumsy with alcohol. He makes himself speak anyway. "This was… what? A prank? A joke?"
He swallows and looks away. He's not sure what to do, he's not sure how he even feels about this, and he's a good actor, sure, but not this good. He doesn't know how to hide this. And it hurts, but he can't let Colin see, because he thought that Colin was… what? Dying? And that's a joke, a fucking joke, to them. And he has to laugh it off himself too, and he will. In a minute. He has to. Because otherwise the fucking joke will be on him, won't it, because they'll never let him forget it. Colin will smile at him when he tells the story, all dimples and playfulness that's about as innocent as a purring tiger, for all his wide-eyed act. He'll smile across at Bradley at breakfast, or down the pub, and Bradley will have to take it, he'll have to grit his teeth, and he'll smile back. He'll be a good sport, because he's the bloody prankster on set, and people know it, and no-one likes a poor loser - it's not like he hasn't had this coming, people will say. Except. Not like this… None of Bradley's pranks have ever been like this.
"It's good," Bradley makes himself say, "I was fooled, no question. How did you make yourself feel like you were burning up - running up the hill, yeah? Good. Right."
He's babbling, but he doesn't care. He can't look at Colin, at the pink cheeks that have to be make-up, and the carefully, artfully applied tomato pulp. It was well-planned, he has to agree.
"I didn't mean…" Colin's voice is small, still thick with accent, something Bradley has learnt means that Colin's emotions are running high. "I didn't think you'd believe it. Not as long as you did. I didn't…"
"Could be worse," Bradley offers, "You could have had the video camera out. Could have recorded this for a DVD extra. Surprised you didn't. You should have done."
There's a weight on his leg and he glances down. Colin's got his hand on Bradley's thigh. Bradley thinks he should push it off really, but it's meant to be comforting, and Bradley doesn't want to make this worse. Poor stupid Bradley James, can't take a joke. Lost his sense of humour. He wonders if Katie is peering in the window.
“It’s my fault,” says Colin, and Bradley swallows. He’s not going to snap back, he’s going to stop himself, because he’s beginning to feel anger simmering under his skin, and he can’t let it loose.
Colin’s turned away, he’s not looking at Bradley when he says, “You weren’t meant to… I liked it too much, so I let it go on too long. I’m an eejit, I’m sorry. I’m…” He trails off.
Bradley stares at him. At the pale column of Colin’s neck, at the curve of his ear, at the strands of dark hair just curling behind it, chopped short for Merlin. He still wants to touch. His anger drains away. Colin’s hand has stayed on Bradley’s thigh, and he reckons that Colin’s quite brave, really. More than Bradley is, certainly.
“What was I meant to do then? Run around, panic a bit, call for the crew?” Bradley asks. He nudges Colin until he turns his head, his eyes wide. “Was Katie waiting outside? Fuck, is she still there?”
That’s a terrifying thought - in case she comes in. Being caught making an arse of himself would be as nothing compared to being caught having a heart-to-heart, talking about actual feelings. He wonders if he should get up and lock the door. He wonders if he should get up and throw Colin to the Katie-shaped wolves.
“I didn’t think you’d snog me,” says Colin, simply.
“Kiss of life,” says Bradley, quickly, “Classic first aid, that is.”
Colin stares. “If you’re drowning, Bradley, not if you’re going into anaphylactic shock! It’s just as well I was bloody faking.”
Bradley looks down, and determinedly stares at Colin’s hand, at the long fingers, at the slightly protruding knuckles. He brings his own hands to rest in his lap, picking casually at the side of his thumb. His little finger slides conveniently to rest next to Colin’s wrist. It tingles.
“You’ll have to show me what to do then, won’t you?” he mutters towards his hands, “In case it happens again.”
He risks a glance sideways, and Colin is looking at him strangely. “What, allergy stuff? Or snogging?”
Bradley wants to roll his eyes. They’re both horribly bad at this, apparently. He supposes he ought to be glad it’s not just him.
“You know,” says Colin, in a matter-of-fact tone, “I nearly gave it away when you dropped me. And then when you thumped my chest. I thought you might have stopped my heart for real.”
“But you didn’t move,” Bradley says swiftly.
“No.”
“Why is that?”
They stare at each other again. Bradley is sure it’s not this difficult normally. He watches Colin lick his lips, and thinks, fuck it.
He leans forward, and waits for Colin to push him back, to turn away. Instead Bradley watches Colin’s pupils grow huge, and his lips part, before he shuts his eyes. Colin’s hand fists itself in his trousers, twisting the material, grazing Bradley’s skin. Their mouths touch, and they fit together, perfectly, just like before, just like Bradley remembers, except that it’s different now, it’s ten times better, because Colin is kissing him back, his tongue pushing itself into Bradley’s mouth. Bradley makes a noise, he does, he can’t help himself, groaning into Colin’s mouth, and Colin mms, and shifts, and snogs him some more.
Bradley decides that he might forgive Colin for his prank. Never mind that it was stupid, and potentially dangerous, and nearly gave him a heart attack. Never mind anaphylaxis, or allergies, or anything else. It’s Colin himself that leaves Bradley breathless.
Katie’s going to have to wait outside for a very long time.