Fic: Come Crashing In (Merlin RPS - Bradley/Colin)
Unfortunately, I have no good excuse for this, but I blame the script writers and their inexplicable fondness for Arthur restraining Merlin. Because it made me wonder how the boys like filming those scenes. Um. All my gratitude goes to torakowalski, who Brit-picked and criticised in her wonderfully constructive way instead of telling me to stick this story where the sun don't shine.
Merlin RPS - Bradley/Colin
Warning: D/s content
NC-17
~ 7’000 words
>> The first scene they shoot together has Bradley trapping Colin’s arm behind his back, bending him over. <<
Disclaimer: Completely, utterly fake and written for entertainment purposes only. I don’t mean to imply anything about the real lives and preferences of the people involved.
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Come Crashing In
_______________________________
The first scene they shoot together has Bradley trapping Colin’s arm behind his back, bending him over. It takes Colin a week to get the scene out of his head, and another until he manages to act normally around Bradley instead of automatically withdrawing into himself.
--
Over the years, Colin has become fairly good at recognising the signs. So when he messes up three takes in a row then snaps at Katie when she suggests they take a break, he knows what’s happening. Three hours later, he’s found good train connections for the following day, a day that is blessedly free of shooting, free of cameras in his face and people everywhere. Paris is less than a hundred kilometres away.
“Paris?” Bradley sounds uncommonly interested when Colin mentions his plans, off-handedly, during a desperately needed afternoon break while make-up is swarming around them. Shooting isn’t as bad as it was this morning, but Colin has been having trouble remembering lines that he’s known by heart for weeks.
“Just to check out a bookshop,” he says quickly. It’s a good thing he’s prepared an explanation. “They’re supposed to have something on the Arthurian legend, and I thought it would be a good idea, doing research.”
“A foray into the world of Arthur and Merlin?” Bradley is shifting his weight forward, onto the tip of his toes, and although he’s anything but an avid reader, the idea of going to Paris to check out a bookshop doesn’t seem to put him off. “That sounds like fun.”
“Well. I don’t know.” Colin tips his head so that Carrie can attack the hair at the back of his neck with a small comb. He glances over at Bradley from underneath his lashes. He doesn’t want Bradley to tag along; he might get too close to the electric tension simmering underneath Colin’s skin. On the other hand, Bradley has only just stopped regarding Colin with the sort of confused fascination one might bestow on a being from a different planet, and Colin doesn't want things to go back to that.
“No, seriously.” Bradley spreads his arms to give easier access to someone from wardrobe, but he’s grinning at Colin. The corners of his eyes are crinkled with it, eyes lightened to a pale blue by the artificial illumination. “Just think of it as a joint venture into a foreign city of which we don’t speak the language, to find out more about two legendary people who may or may not have lived centuries before we were born, and if they did, they’re dead, rotten bodies by now.”
“Which makes it the right kind of trip for the morbid-minded.” For all that Colin’s brain is shouting at him to divert Bradley, he can’t help smiling back. “Sounds like fun, yes.”
“Great, then.” Bradley’s about to add something when a shout calls them back into their positions.
Colin crosses the room quickly, accompanied by a faint tremor of relief to get away from Bradley’s attention and settle back into Merlin’s skin. Now that Bradley invited himself along, Colin can’t very well uninvite him, but what worries him most is that he doesn’t even want to.
He’ll need to find a way to get a couple of hours to himself, somehow.
--
Colin brought a book for the train ride, but it turns out that Bradley’s in a talkative mood. He starts out by elaborating on the characteristics of his new mobile phone. Colin listens partly because it distracts him from his jittering nerves and mostly because Bradley’s wide-eyed disbelief at suddenly being able to afford such things is something that he can relate to. Then Bradley launches into movies, and there is just no way for Colin not to challenge the utterly absurd supposition that The Godfather is the greatest movie of all times.
“Just because it’s number one on the IMDB,” he leans forward, back again, running a nail along the seam of his jeans, “doesn’t make it true.”
“Millions of people can’t be wrong.” Bradley’s eyes seem to track the motion of Colin’s hand, and Colin stops, knotting his fingers together to prevent further nervous gestures.
“They can’t?” he asks. After a pause for effect, he follows it up with, “Then what about Bush’s re-election?”
Bradley gives him an exaggeratedly disgusted look. “Don’t try raising the discussion to highly intellectual levels, Morgan. It’s not fair.”
“You can hold your own,” Colin tells him, because if there’s one thing he’s learned about Bradley over the past two months, it’s that despite Bradley’s happy-go-lucky attitude, he shouldn’t be underestimated. Without Colin’s permission, his leg starts jiggling.
“Glad you figured that out.” Bradley glances down just as a noisy group of teenagers enters the compartment, the girls wearing too much make-up, the boys’ trousers three sizes too big. For a few moments, Colin tries to listen and get a grasp of what they’re talking about, but his French is insufficient to catch more than a couple of words. It seems that Bradley noticed the direction of Colin’s gaze because he grins, lowering his voice. “Isn’t it funny that they're about the age of our characters? I find it hard to believe Arthur was ever that carefree.”
“I don’t know.” Colin leans back, bouncing his leg. “My guess is that Arthur was born a prat.”
“He’s vastly misunderstood,” Bradley replies, following the typical formula that applies whenever they get into a discussion about their characters. He breaks the cycle by reaching out, stilling Colin’s knee with a flat palm. “Stop that.”
Colin freezes.
The noisy teenagers are prattling on in the background, laughing and shouting, and he barely dares to draw a breath, doesn’t dare to look up and meet Bradley’s eyes because this, Colin’s immediate obedience, it wasn’t a natural reaction and Bradley is bound to notice; he isn’t nearly as oblivious as one might think.
Bradley’s hand lifts, and Colin sucks in a lungful of air. He glances up to find Bradley’s gaze resting on him, clear and sharp. It takes an effort for Colin to drudge up a weak smirk. “Arthur’s a bully,” he says.
“He’s had a tough childhood,” Bradley counters, putting them back on familiar ground. Things shift back into place, at least for the most part.
--
Fortunately, Bradley’s predictable enough that he gets bored after browsing books for less than half an hour. Colin tries to bite down on a smile and hopes that his suggestion that they meet up again in three hours is innocent enough. Bradley probably doesn’t know him well enough to notice anything odd about his tone.
The moment Bradley is gone, Colin stops trying to pretend he’s interested in the books, or even to grasp what the summaries on the backs say. He waits a perfunctory couple of minutes before he leaves the shop in a rush, pulling the note with directions out of his back pocket.
When they meet up again near the Eiffel Tower, Colin keeps his sleeves tugged down to hide the bruises around his wrists. They’ll have faded by Monday, hopefully, just like the uncomfortable knot of shame burning in his stomach. He thinks he sees Bradley study his face with a curious expression, but, when Colin meets his eyes, Bradley’s smile is quick and easy, his eyes bright.
Colin apologises to Katie the next morning. By the time they finish shooting the first season of Merlin, he’s almost forgotten about the whole thing.
--
Colin doesn’t expect the flash of sheer delight at seeing Bradley again. He’s talked to Angel and even more so to Katie over the break, but Bradley he’s seen only at public appearances or when they were doing pick-up scenes. For all that they grew comfortable around each other during the later stages of filming, they’re guys, and regular phone calls don’t feature in the kind of relationship they have. Bradley’s too manly for that kind of thing, anyway.
“Colin Morgan,” Bradley exclaims, his characteristic lack of disrespect for people’s personal space planting him right in front of Colin. He’s grinning in a way that looks faintly demented and very Bradley. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Colin grins back, his entire face hurting with it. “Back to bully me, Bradley James?”
“Someone,” Bradley says, and suddenly his voice is heavy and meaningful, “has to keep you in line.” His eyes are serious, no trace of humour in his posture. He’s holding Colin’s gaze with a calm that shouldn’t make Colin’s spine grow hot.
“And that someone is you, huh?” Colin is aware that his smile is slipping, that instead of laughing it off, he’s a little breathless when he really should know better than to take Bradley seriously.
“Obviously.” The arrogance in Bradley’s voice is very pronounced, but there’s a careful tilt to his mouth. This, this moment right here is the point when Colin should start laughing, and then Bradley would laugh as well, but all Colin does is stand very still and reconsider his assessment of Bradley. If this isn’t a joke-
“Bradley!” Angel calls from the other side of the courtyard. “Colin!” She’s hurrying towards them with a broad smile, and Bradley appears to startle, glancing over before his expression relaxes. He turns away from Angel and closes the distance to hug Colin, seemingly unaware that he’s holding on too tightly.
His grip eases only when Angel jumps on his back, reaching over to mess up Colin’s hair. Colin ducks away with a laugh, and the echo of confusion in his stomach is all that remains of what just passed.
--
They’re halfway through a week spent mostly in the studio in front of a green screen, shouting and slashing at nothing, when Colin feels the familiar pressure creep up behind his forehead and settle at the back of his neck. He makes it through the rest of the day with his jaw clenched painfully, yelling at an invisible dragon as if the act might relieve the tension trembling all along his muscles.
It doesn’t, of course.
That evening, he cites an oncoming cold to decline a pub night with the others. He’s aware of Bradley watching him with thoughtful eyes when he waves at the group before he leaves to find a lift back to the hotel. What he isn’t aware of is that Bradley makes his excuses shortly afterwards.
It’s a good thing Colin doesn’t go straight into the city and instead stops at his room first - it means he’s actually there when the knock on his door comes.
He opens it warily to find Bradley on the other side, a bag slung over his shoulder and his smile guileless. The hallway light gleams off his hair. “Hey.” Bradley tilts his head, his teeth revealed in a white smile. It’s disgustingly effective. “I brought films. I thought you might need some entertainment, considering your oncoming illness.” There might be an edge to his tone, a subtle layer that Colin wouldn’t have thought Bradley capable of two months ago. He’s been paying more attention recently. In fact, it’s almost frightening how attuned he is to Bradley these days, and it’s also frightening how easily Bradley appears to be reading him.
“That’s-Thanks,” Colin says. The knot of pressure at the base of his spine has become a heavy chunk of lead. “I mean, thanks, I appreciate your concern. It’s just, I was planning to head to bed pretty soon, so…”
“Well.” Bradley’s shoulders lift in a careless shrug, his t-shirt stretching nicely around the muscles of his arms. “Surely not before it’s even dark.”
“No, but… Wouldn’t want to pass my cold onto you.”
“I’m not particularly worried.” Another smile, and when Bradley shoulders past him into the room, Colin doesn’t really try to stop him. He wants Bradley around, has grown accustomed to his dramatic declarations and random ideas, so sitting through one movie doesn’t sound too bad. Colin can still sneak out afterwards, when Bradley’s gone.
“All right,” he says. “One movie.”
“Great. My pick.” Bradley flashes him another broad grin before he ambles over to the DVD player, humming as he selects something from his bag. He straightens in a smooth move, remote control in one hand as he crosses over to the only bed. When he stretches out above the covers, Colin’s mouth goes dry.
Oh. Oh, fuck.
“I know you enjoy waiting on me,” Bradley says, mouth quirked, “but there really is no need for you to stand there as if I’m about to dismiss you. There’s enough room for two.” He pats the mattress invitingly. Nothing about him suggests he’s aware of Colin’s discomfort.
“There is?” Colin is proud that he sounds remarkably unaffected. “Because between you and your ego, it was hard to tell.”
“Very funny, Morgan.” Bradley’s tone is still light on the surface, but a hint of dark authority has crept into it, an echo of Arthur during battle. “Now shut up and get over here.”
Colin has moved before he can make a conscious effort to stay where he is.
“There’s a boy,” Bradley says. He’s smiling when he starts the movie.
Pirates of the Caribbean turns out to be acceptable mostly for Johnny Depp. Even so, it takes an hour for Colin to stop waiting for further clues from Bradley, trying to keep still, trying not to change his position every minute or so because movement isn’t what it takes to get rid of the tension in his limbs.
Bradley’s arm shoots out without warning.
His fingers wrap around Colin’s wrist, thumb pressing down on the pulse point. He doesn’t look away from the screen. “Stop fidgeting.”
Colin swallows. The fingers around his wrist tighten to the delicious point of pain, and just like that, some of the anxiety behind Colin’s forehead dissipates. He inhales on a gasp.
When he lifts his head, Bradley’s grip eases. Colin wishes it didn’t, wants Bradley to trap his other wrist as well, wants- Wants.
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
Bradley takes his time answering. He lets go of Colin’s wrist before he says, “It’s all right.”
Colin exhales and averts his eyes. It’s not as if Bradley even asked for an explanation, but in a way, Colin feels compelled to volunteer one. “I just really hate green screen work.”
“Don’t we all?” Bradley pauses the movie, propping his head up on one hand to study Colin. “You know you’re doing great, don’t you? There’s no need to stress yourself out.”
“It’s just something I do,” Colin says, and then wishes he hadn’t.
Bradley’s eyes are warm. “I know. Don’t.”
Instead of a reply, Colin smiles and lifts one shoulder. He can feel the faint ache of a bruise forming on his wrist, but he manages not to look at the darkening spot until Bradley has nodded and resumed the movie.
--
Colin doesn’t make it into the city that night. He does make it out of the studio relatively early the next day, though, heading straight for the city, and when he finally gets back to the hotel not too long before midnight, he doesn’t encounter anyone.
Despite his lack of sleep, the morning’s shooting goes well; he’s focused and calm, pushing away any considerations that aren’t part of delving into Merlin’s character. The green screen doesn’t bother him. As a result, he gets an early lunch break, at a time when the cafeteria where random people from several BBC productions gather is still fairly empty. Colin grabs a sandwich and a bottle of water before he steps out onto the terrace, soaking in the rare sunshine. He hopes it will be a few weeks until his calm deserts him again.
On the way back, he runs into Bradley.
Bradley takes one look at him, then his expression shifts. His fingers close around Colin’s shoulder, blunt nails digging in, and a breathless moment later, Colin finds himself pressed against the wall of an empty studio, only a sliver of light from the hallway illuminating the scene. The wall is cold against his back, Bradley’s breath warm on his face.
“Did it help?” Bradley asks, voice a dangerously controlled hiss.
“Help?” Colin repeats. His tongue stumbles even over that one syllable, all his blood centring around where Bradley’s hips are bracketing him in, Bradley’s hands pinning Colin’s wrists against the smooth concrete. Colin always thought Bradley had a physical presence that was hard to escape; right now, it’s overwhelming.
“Yes, help.” Bradley presses forward, his chest hard against Colin’s. In the semi-dark, the only thing that’s bright about him are his eyes. He brings one of Colin’s trapped hands up to eyelevel, sliding the sleeve back to inspect Colin’s wrist. Even in here, the dark circles are obvious. Bradley’s face doesn’t show surprise, only a deep, satisfied contentment. “So,” he says, voice pitched low. “Did it help?”
“I don’t-” Colin begins, and Bradley’s fingers tighten, the lingering burn flaring up to a sharp, bright pain - pain and shame and a dark thrill of excitement. Colin inhales on a gasp, lets his head fall back against the wall. “Yes.”
“And did you feel better afterwards?” Bradley presses closer, effectively erasing any possibility of escape. “Did you feel good?”
The question leaves Colin at a loss, the ever-present embarrassment in his stomach unfolding. He swallows dryly, staring at Bradley who somehow appears to have gained an inch on him, too close and immediate and dangerous. “No.”
For a heavy second, silence stretches around them. Then Bradley lets go, steps back as suddenly as he reached for Colin. His voice is quiet, each word carefully pronounced. “Then maybe you’re doing it wrong.”
Bereft of Bradley’s touch, it feels as if the wall is the only thing that's holding Colin up. He slumps back against it, closing his eyes against even that small hint of light that trickles in from the hallway. “And how would I go about doing it right?”
“That’s for you to find out.” Bradley’s knuckles press to Colin’s jaw for a barely-there moment. When Colin blinks his eyes open, Bradley turns to go, pausing at the door.
“Coming?” he asks without looking back.
Colin draws three controlled breaths before he nods, unseen, and straightens. Last night’s calm has already evaporated.
--
The script says that Arthur forcibly drags Merlin from the throne room and doesn’t release him until they’ve made it down to the dungeons, to where they're keeping Gaius chained. The script doesn’t say that Arthur’s arm cuts across Merlin’s throat until Merlin has difficulty breathing, Arthur’s body pressed to Merlin’s back in a way that makes it impossible to miss the prominent swell in his trousers.
They have to re-shoot the scene several times until they get it right. By the time they’re done, Colin all but stumbles into the closest chair, strangely weightless and painfully hard. If it weren’t for Bradley watching him intently, he’d hide away in the toilets.
Their gazes lock, and Colin doesn’t want to beg; he’s not about to put himself out there when he can’t even be certain what Bradley wants from him.
A tiny quirk twitches around the corners of Bradley’s mouth. Then he turns away.
--
Richard’s birthday falls on a Thursday, but they manage to wheedle Metin into calling an early end to the day’s work. For all that Richard protests at first, claiming that an old man needs sleep rather than a pub party, his resistance is half-hearted, at best.
An hour later, he’s holding court on a bar stool, a beer in one hand as he entertains his gathered audience with tales of his theatre work. It’s captivating, but it doesn’t mean Colin misses that each time he turns his head, he finds Bradley’s eyes trained on him.
The sharp-edged knot in his stomach isn’t just apprehension.
By the time Richard does make good on his word and heads back to the hotel, it’s past ten, and only a few people from Merlin are still around. They have an early call tomorrow, and the wise thing would be to catch enough sleep, for once - which is as far as Colin’s thoughts have progressed when Angel and Katie challenge him and Bradley to a game of pool. Unfortunately, Bradley has a competitive streak that’s about the size of London, suburbs included.
“You girls really think you stand even the hint of a chance against Colin and me?” He picks his cue up with a nasty smile, weighing it in one hand. It takes Colin a moment too long to look away from the sure grip Bradley’s fingers have on the wood. “Prepare to lose.”
“We’ll see.” Katie’s smile is equally nasty, which is a feat in and of itself. “After all, you have Colin.”
“I resent that,” Colin says albeit there is a certain truth to Katie’s allegation; if Bradley were playing alone, he’d be done before the other team sank half of its balls. Colin’s participation might even out the odds.
“Yes, indeed,” Bradley puts in, slinging a heavy arm around Colin’s shoulder while smirking at Katie. “I have Colin.”
“Um.” Something must have got stuck in Colin’s throat, because this is the only reply he can come up with. He quickly looks away from Bradley’s smug expression, repeats, joking, he’s joking, to himself, but ignoring the curious looks from Angel and Katie requires more concentration than he can muster up when Bradley’s side is warm against his.
“So, are we playing, or did you think better of your challenge?” Bradley asks.
“We’re playing,” Angel says.
“We are absolutely playing.” Katie picks up a cue, reaching for the blue chalk to prepare the tip. “If only to wipe that smug grin right off your face, Bradley.”
“You’re not a very good loser, are you?” Bradley drops his arm, and Colin can breathe again. He gathers his self-control while Bradley inserts a coin into the slot, then retrieves the triangle and arranges the balls with a precision he only devotes to things that matter to him. When he catches Colin watching, he raises a brow.
Colin lowers his eyes.
The game starts off fair and square, with Angel sinking two balls in a row before Bradley sinks one, Katie none, and Colin manages to restore the balance with a shot that’s impossible to fumble even for him. As Angel’s ball bounces off the cushion, Bradley’s next move puts them ahead by two. Katie reduces it to one.
Colin sets his beer down and goes to examine his options with what he imagines is a professional air. If he goes for the twelve, he has to be careful because the black eight is a little off to the side, but-
“Try the two,” Bradley says, right by his ear. He drapes himself over Colin’s back, peering over his shoulder to study the playing field. “The angle’s good, and if you hit the white slightly below the centre, it won’t go in behind the two.” When he peels himself away, he leaves a strange sense of coldness behind.
Just to spite him, Colin tries for the twelve. It trundles past the pocket, nudging the black eight out of the way before both balls come to a halt in different corners of the field.
Colin raises his gaze to meet Bradley’s. Bradley is watching him with a faint edge of amusement, arms crossed. Once again, Colin is first to look away.
--
They trudge back to the hotel around two in the morning. Just as Colin’s about to enter his room, his entire brain consumed by thoughts of sleep, he’s stopped by Bradley’s fingers circling his forearm in a loose grasp. Slightly further down the hallway, Angel and Katie are unlocking their respective rooms, already having said their goodbyes.
Colin turns slowly, leaning back against the door for support. In the sickly hallway light, Bradley’s gaze is unreadable. His voice is low. “Are you trying to provoke me, Colin? Because I should warn you that it’s not going to work.”
Fighting a frown, Colin keeps his expression open, raising his head. “Why?”
“If you want this, I want you to ask.” A small smile steals its way across Bradley’s face. He tilts his head, seeming to memorise the curve of Colin’s mouth, before he adds, “Nicely, please.” There is no trace of humour in his tone.
Colin swallows even though his mouth is dry.
The sound of two doors closing, one after the other, informs him they’re the only ones left in the hallway. He doesn’t dare to look away, but he also doesn’t dare to move so much as a muscle, doesn’t dare to open his mouth and say, Yes, please. Please, Bradley.
After what feels like a very long time filled with nothing but their quiet breathing, Bradley nods slowly. He drops his hand and takes a step back, and when he unlocks his door, Colin is still standing in the hallway, his heart hammering against the restraint of his ribcage. The green-tinted light makes his head ache.
--
Colin is a big fan of mental lists. His current one is topped by two of his friends from London who sort of, vaguely, kind of know about him, although he was always too uncomfortable to go into detail. The problem is that he’s in France and they’re in London, and also, they don’t know Bradley.
Which leaves Richard, Katie and Angel.
While it’s hard to imagine that Richard would be shocked by anything Colin could possibly tell him, Richard is too much like his grandfather for that sort of conversation. Angel is easy to talk to, but she’s too close to Bradley, so Katie it is. Since there are a number of scenes between Morgana and Merlin coming up, the timing is fairly convenient.
During a break, Colin manages to drag Katie into a quiet corner, pushing two fold-up chairs close together and refusing to explain until they’ve both sat down and he’s certain there isn’t anyone within hearing range. Katie is nice enough to indulge him, and for that, Colin already kind of loves her.
“So,” she says, crossing one leg over the other and watching him with an amused expression. “What is it?”
Colin pulls at Merlin’s neckerchief. Right now, it feels as if it’s too tight, choking him. “It’s, um.” He shrugs and glances around the room. No one is paying attention to them.
“You know it won’t take them very long to sort out the lighting, right?” Katie’s smile is sweet. “So you’d better start talking.”
“Bradley,” Colin says. Which is a perfect explanation of just about nothing, but apparently, it’s enough because Katie leans forward, smile transforming into a grin. It’s not a reassuring sight.
“I was wondering when you’d break.”
“What?” Colin’s brain needs a moment to wrap itself around the implication, then he sits up, letting go of the neckerchief. “What do you-”
“You,” Katie says with no small amount of glee obvious in her tone, “want Bradley to tie you up and have his wicked way with you, but you’re not sure if that’s a good idea. Also, he’s waiting for you.”
Colin hopes he doesn’t look as horrified as he feels, but, just-Hearing it out loud like this makes it sound even worse than it did in his head, and he should maybe protest the implication that sex is all he wants from Bradley, except that at the forefront of his mind is the question, “How do you know?”
He can’t have been that obvious. They can’t have been that obvious.
“Ah, well.” Katie appears to enjoy this far more than she has any right to. “You boys seem to forget that Angel and I do talk, from time to time.”
Angel and Katie talk, of course they do. Which means… Which can only mean… Colin leans forward, staring at Katie. “Wait, Bradley talked to Angel? What did he say?”
“Confessional secret, sorry.” She shrugs with a carelessness that is downright infuriating.
“Angel told you,” Colin points out.
“That’s totally different.”
“How so?”
“It just is.” Katie waves her hand vaguely, as if that concludes the matter. She sets both elbows on her thighs, putting her chin in a palm. Morgana’s jewellery catches the light, and when Colin glances past her, it looks as if they might be ready to start filming again in a couple of minutes. Katie’s voice directs his attention back to her. “So what’s your problem, Colin?”
“I don’t…” Colin trails off and looks down at his hands. Without noticing, he’s gripped Merlin’s belt, the leather smooth and warm in his fingers, and he doesn’t wonder, not even for a moment, how it would feel wrapped around his wrists, how carefully Bradley would ensure the restraint was just tight enough.
Colin is so, so fucked.
He takes a deep, controlled breath and darts his gaze up to meet Katie’s, her face serious now rather than mocking. “I’ve never done this,” he says slowly. “I mean, with someone who’s… someone who matters.”
“Well, maybe that’s a mistake.” Katie smiles softly, just a faint curl to the corners of her mouth. “I mean, shouldn’t it be better with someone you trust to… to take care of you, I guess?” She pauses to consider it before she lifts a shoulder, slightly helpless. “Like, someone who won’t take advantage of you. You know Bradley wouldn’t.”
Yes, Colin knows. He tugs at the belt until it cuts into his waist, uncomfortable heat blooming in his face. “What if it doesn’t work?”
“Yes, well.” Katie’s voice is thoughtful. “That might be awkward for a while, true. But what if it does?”
--
But what if it does?
--
In order to celebrate that NBC bought the rights to air Merlin in the US, the production team organises a big buffet in the courtyard of Pierrefonds. Colin smiles in all the right places and quickly loses track of all the people who congratulate him, but with each minute, it gets harder to ignore the headache that’s building behind his eyes. He finally manages to get away when everyone is distracted by dessert, the blessed silence of the hotel hallway already soothing his nervous thoughts.
He’s searching his pockets for his room key, having found it just when he notices that Bradley’s door is ajar.
When he left the buffet, he didn’t see Bradley anywhere, but then, he was too tangled up in his own head to notice much of anything. It isn’t like Bradley to leave a party early, and yet... Colin squeezes his eyes shut until white sparks explode behind his lids, the cool metal of the room key heavy in his palm. He slides it back into his pocket and turns towards Bradley’s room. The carpet swallows his steps.
Bradley doesn’t look up when Colin slides the door open. He’s focused on his mobile phone, fingers moving quickly over the keys, and it’s only when Colin clears his throat and closes the door behind himself that Bradley’s hand stills.
Two, then three, then five seconds pass. Then Bradley lifts his head, gaze hard. “Yes?”
The words taste unfamiliar in Colin’s mouth, unfamiliar and frightening. He almost chokes them back down, and the only reason he doesn’t turn and run is because Bradley isn’t laughing, and because there’s a tension to the line of Bradley’s jaw that only ever appears when he’s uncertain. Bradley is hardly ever uncertain.
“Please,” Colin says, barely above a whisper.
Bradley pauses before he sets his phone aside. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
“Please,” Colin repeats, louder. “Bradley, please.” He doesn’t think he can manage more than this, doesn’t think he’ll be able to repeat it a third time if Bradley asks him to. His stomach is trying to twist itself into knots when Bradley finally moves, sliding closer to the edge of the bed.
“Take your clothes off.” Bradley’s tone is casual, but that hint of steely authority is back, shivering along Colin’s spine. He doesn’t even hesitate before he unbuttons his trousers with clumsy fingers, fumbling with the zip while simultaneously trying to shove the cloth down his hips. “Slowly,” Bradley orders.
Colin raises his gaze to meet Bradley’s eyes, catching a hint of warmth that negates the unreadable look on the rest of Bradley’s face. Maybe that’s the signal Colin has needed for things to slot into place. The rushing noise in his ears subsides.
He leaves his jeans partly undone and slides his t-shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor and coming a little closer to the bed before he crouches down to unlace his shoes. When he sneaks a glance at Bradley through his lashes, Bradley is watching him intently, leaning over the side of the bed. Colin rises back into a standing position to push his jeans down along with his boxers. He remains standing, his head bent slightly.
Bradley smiles and motions him closer. “Very nice. C’mere.”
“Yes.” Colin nods, everything inside his head calm and peaceful. He walks forward until his knees press to the edge of the mattress, a warm breeze from the open window stroking along his naked skin. He shivers faintly, a tremble running through his body even though he isn’t cold.
Bradley reaches out to press his hot palm to Colin’s stomach. Colin exhales in a rush, fingers twitching by his sides, but Bradley hasn’t given him permission to touch yet. He keeps his arms still.
“Good boy,” Bradley mutters. His thumb digs into the hollow near Colin’s hipbone before he slides his hand lower, tracing a fingernail along the inside of Colin’s thigh, softly scratching while Colin fights not to push into the touch. He’s rewarded with a satisfied twist to the corners of Bradley’s mouth.
Taking his hand away, Bradley splays back against the headboard, thighs casually parted. “Undo my trousers. I want your mouth.”
Colin nearly trips over himself when he crawls onto the bed, already reaching for Bradley’s jeans only to find fingers closing firmly around his wrist, the grip tight enough for Colin’s pulse to stutter before it speeds up. “Don’t rush it,” Bradley says. “This is my call, and I am not in a hurry.”
All of Colin’s previous experiences were tied to darkened rooms, actions fast and single-minded, whereas Bradley takes his time before he loosens his hold and leans back, looking perfectly at ease if it weren’t for the obvious bulge in his jeans. The golden evening light falls over the bed, reflections of the sun sparkling on spots of dust that dance in the air. Colin inhales, waiting for a nearly imperceptible nod from Bradley before he reaches out again, slowly this time, resting his hand on the outline of Bradley’s erection before he deftly thumbs the button of Bradley’s jeans open with one hand, earning himself hummed praise from Bradley. The warm glow in his stomach has nothing to do with the temperature.
He parts the jeans and pulls Bradley’s cock out through the slit of his boxers. A drop of liquid is already glistening on the tip, and Colin leans down, steadying himself with a hand on Bradley’s leg as he licks it away. The twitch of muscles in Bradley’s thigh is the only reaction he gets. Bradley’s fingers twine through his hair, gently carding before he suddenly grips tight, holding Colin’s head still.
Glancing up through his lashes, Colin meets Bradley’s eyes. There is an unspoken question in them.
Colin parts his lips and slackens his jaw. A second trickles by when Bradley smiles down at him, proud and happy. Then, without warning, he pushes into Colin’s mouth in one hard thrust. Colin does his best not to choke, lids fluttering shut as one of Bradley’s hand slides down to cup his cheek. The thought that Bradley might be able feel himself inside Colin’s mouth, might feel how difficult it is for Colin to fit him in, makes Colin whimper.
“Good boy,” Bradley repeats, a harsh whisper now. He twitches his hips forward, nudging his cock against the back of Colin’s throat. Colin inhales through his nose, waiting for another thrust, and another. The impulse to choke fades, his muscles getting used to the slick glide of Bradley’s cock, the texture and weight. Colin flattens his tongue against the underside, sensing a throbbing pulse that might be only his imagination. Bradley’s breathing is getting less controlled with each push, and Colin blindly slides a hand down to wrap around his own cock.
He’s shocked when Bradley pushes him away, following and using his hold on Colin’s hair to make him lie back on the bed. When Colin opens his eyes, Bradley is hovering above him, breath ghosting over Colin’s lips. They feel swollen. “Did I,” Bradley says, dangerously quiet, “allow you to touch yourself?”
Head trapped by Bradley’s fingers, Colin manages only a tiny headshake. His voice sounds wrecked, throat raw from Bradley’s cock, and oh, he hopes he still tastes it in the morning. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” Bradley asks, but instead of waiting for a reply, he claims Colin’s mouth, pushes his tongue in harshly as if he were trying to make a point, stake a claim. Of their own accord, Colin’s hands lift to grip Bradley’s shoulders, hold on because it might be the only thing to keep him from drowning.
Bradley shoves his hips down, making Colin slide a couple of inches on the bed. The hand that was gripping Colin’s hair lifts, and then Colin feels fingers wrap around both his and Bradley’s erections, holding on almost too tightly, too much pressure around his cock while Bradley’s jeans and boxers are rubbing over Colin’s thighs, the heat unbearable. Bradley’s mouth latches onto Colin’s throat, sucking a bruise into the soft, vulnerable spot right underneath his jaw that will have the make-up team dropping snide remarks tomorrow. The idea has Colin’s insides clenching in something that isn’t shame, isn’t embarrassment.
Apparently satisfied with his work, Bradley lifts his head, holding himself still until Colin can gather enough of a focus to meet his stare. Bradley’s mouth curves up. “Come for me,” he orders, voice low, and the hand holding them both twists, Bradley’s thumb swiping over the tip of Colin’s cock.
Colin arches his back off the mattress and does.
He’s still trembling with it when he feels Bradley pull back, sit up and give his cock two quick, hard tugs before he spills over Colin’s stomach in warm, sticky streaks. The sight of Bradley leaning over him, face slack with release even as his muscles twitch, has Colin’s body, impossibly, trying to come again. A moment later, Bradley collapses beside him, throwing a heavy arm over Colin’s chest.
For several minutes, their increasingly calm breathing is the only sound in the room, but the shame Colin expects doesn’t come. All he feels is a deep contentment mixed with a tiredness that isn’t just a result of getting up at five in the morning.
Bradley sighs softly. Then he rolls onto his side, poking Colin’s cheek with his index finger. “Next time will be less rushed,” he declares. “Next time, I’m planning to take my time with you, Colin Morgan.”
Next time.
Muscles that Colin didn’t even realise were tense suddenly relax, his lungs swelling with something that might be joy. “Yeah,” he says, “next time. Please.” He meets Bradley’s eyes, and for a heavy second, they stare at each other. Then Bradley laughs quietly, and before Colin can ask what it is, Bradley is leaning in to steal a quick, easy kiss, pulling back almost as soon as he's leaned in. Then he glances down their bodies.
“I’m still dressed.” Bradley sounds so amazed that Colin has to bite down on a grin.
“You didn’t let me get any further than undoing your trousers.”
“Complaints?” Bradley asks, and while his tone is light, there is a note of apprehension in it that makes Colin reach for him, lacing their fingers although it’s a gesture he’s always found silly, girly. On the other hand, Bradley’s always been more demonstrative than Colin is, more open about physical affection. Now, it’s enough to chase the caution out of Bradley’s gaze, widen his smile.
“No complaints,” Colin says, just to make it perfectly clear.
“Good.” For a moment, Bradley is simply grinning at him, then he tugs on a corner of the blanket, using it to wipe Colin’s stomach clean. The small gesture is enough for that stupidly wide, free feeling in Colin’s lungs to expand. He wonders if his grin is as moronic as it feels.
Bradley quickly shrugs out of his clothes before he lies back down, their feet towards the headboard. He pulls the blanket up over both of them even though night hasn’t even started to settle outside, the low-standing evening sun glowing off glass panes. His arm settles back over Colin’s chest, fingers lightly curling around Colin’s wrist, and Colin takes a yawning breath that he follows up with, “It’s not even eight yet.”
“True. But,” Bradley’s fingers tighten for a moment, and when Colin turns his head, it’s to find a prominent smirk on Bradley’s face. “You don’t honestly believe I’ll let you sleep uninterrupted until the morning, do you? Now that you’re finally mine.”
The possessive pronoun echoes in Colin’s stomach. He hopes Bradley’s didn’t notice the momentary acceleration of his pulse rate, but he probably did; Bradley’s always been more observant than most people would give him credit for. Colin swallows a little thickly. “Sorry it took me so long.”
“Doesn’t matter. It was very much worth the wait.” Bradley throws a leg over both of Colin’s, fine hair tickling a little. His yawn is loud in Colin’s ear. “Now go to sleep, there’s plenty of time to talk later.”
Colin obediently closes his eyes. He falls asleep listening to the regular rhythm of Bradley’s breathing.
=== .finis. ===
Extra! Podfic by nu_breed! Or, as a podbook, here.
The title was taken out of Depeche Mode’s Enjoy the Silence (personally, I’m rather fond of the Tori Amos version, I must say).