(I'm so excited to see what you think. I can't imagine you being that behind. I don't have that much stuff posted. ♥ )
Bad Days
They fight about it somedays.
Somedays, it's hard and Colin doesn't like it but part of him knows that if it was easy, if this wasn't was it was, then he wouldn't want it. Here, when Bradley's angry and scared and Colin is defensive and vulnerable—here is where he knows that he wants this, that he wants Bradley.
"Don't even start!"
Colin throws his hands up in the air. "What? What, Bradley? Don't start what exactly?"
"Oh, fuck you," Bradley snarls out, taking off his jacket like its the one he's mad at. "Don't act like you have no idea what I'm talking about."
"It's just to keep appearances, you twat! You know that, so why the fuck—"
Bradley's face is flushed, embarrassed and irrationally angry, his eyes so bright and wild that Colin wonders if they'll fight all night or fuck instead.
"Because you're my boyfriend and you're flirting with women to satisfy bloody ratings, like anyone gives two fucks that we're gay for each other," Bradley says, voice gone broken but still sharp around the edges. "You're my boyfriend and you make me happy and this is just a fucking game to you."
Colin closes his eyes. It is hard. This is too difficult to maintain sometimes be all the things they're supposed to be—all the things they are and then, well, then be in love as well.
"It's not a game," Colin says, slipping to his knees and kissing Bradley's shaking, clasped hands. "I don't know what I'm doing any more than you do. I'm sorry. It was stupid, tonight, that was stupid. I don't know what I did it."
"God, Colin," he says and Colin just nods, waiting for Bradley to do something. Some nights, Bradley just walks out and the figure it out in the morning or in a couple of days but tonight, he slides his hands away, letting Colin's head fall to fit in his lap.
"Sometimes," Colin mumbles into Bradley's jeans, "sometimes I'm not okay with any of it and I just... I get so angry, Bradley—for hurting you, for putting us through this, for ever doing anything outside this stupid hotel room."
And then Bradley's fingers and combing through Colin's hair, making little cooing and shushing noises, like Colin's the one who needs comforting. Colin just breathes until his chest stops being tight and he feels less like he's going to lose it all, go to pieces right here on his knees—for Bradley, for Bradley he'd do it.
"It'll be all right, Cols," he says. "It'll be fine."
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2011-06-16 11:46 pm (UTC)Bad Days
They fight about it somedays.
Somedays, it's hard and Colin doesn't like it but part of him knows that if it was easy, if this wasn't was it was, then he wouldn't want it. Here, when Bradley's angry and scared and Colin is defensive and vulnerable—here is where he knows that he wants this, that he wants Bradley.
"Don't even start!"
Colin throws his hands up in the air. "What? What, Bradley? Don't start what exactly?"
"Oh, fuck you," Bradley snarls out, taking off his jacket like its the one he's mad at. "Don't act like you have no idea what I'm talking about."
"It's just to keep appearances, you twat! You know that, so why the fuck—"
Bradley's face is flushed, embarrassed and irrationally angry, his eyes so bright and wild that Colin wonders if they'll fight all night or fuck instead.
"Because you're my boyfriend and you're flirting with women to satisfy bloody ratings, like anyone gives two fucks that we're gay for each other," Bradley says, voice gone broken but still sharp around the edges. "You're my boyfriend and you make me happy and this is just a fucking game to you."
Colin closes his eyes. It is hard. This is too difficult to maintain sometimes be all the things they're supposed to be—all the things they are and then, well, then be in love as well.
"It's not a game," Colin says, slipping to his knees and kissing Bradley's shaking, clasped hands. "I don't know what I'm doing any more than you do. I'm sorry. It was stupid, tonight, that was stupid. I don't know what I did it."
"God, Colin," he says and Colin just nods, waiting for Bradley to do something. Some nights, Bradley just walks out and the figure it out in the morning or in a couple of days but tonight, he slides his hands away, letting Colin's head fall to fit in his lap.
"Sometimes," Colin mumbles into Bradley's jeans, "sometimes I'm not okay with any of it and I just... I get so angry, Bradley—for hurting you, for putting us through this, for ever doing anything outside this stupid hotel room."
And then Bradley's fingers and combing through Colin's hair, making little cooing and shushing noises, like Colin's the one who needs comforting. Colin just breathes until his chest stops being tight and he feels less like he's going to lose it all, go to pieces right here on his knees—for Bradley, for Bradley he'd do it.
"It'll be all right, Cols," he says. "It'll be fine."