![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tourdefierceTitle: Method Acting (yeah, i call it living)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tourdefierce
Pairing: Bradley/Colin
Rating: R for language I guess.
Warnings: FLUFF. OMG THE FLUFF with a side-dish of angsty!Colin, who pines. Not beta'd so just deal with my commas. DEAL WITH THEM.
Word Count: 1,900ish
Summary: Colin angsts, Bradley is confused and there is making out in the rain.
Disclaimer: This is lies, obviously.
A/N: This is a gift forsillyshy, who not only is one hot mother fucker but an amazing writer and artist. She drew for my ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
paperlegends fic Missed Connections (Glory, Glory, Holelelujah). She was also the most amazing friend during all my spastic moments. Darling, I hope you enjoy this. The prompt was: making out in the rain.
Colin walks out of the pub, or whatever the French fucking call it, and tries to stalk away but the anger floods out of him when he smells the pungent smell of rain hanging in the air. His hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans as he casually crosses the street to the small river that is walled up and contained on both sides by mountains of glorious stone. He wants to be angry again because it was a welcome change from just being tired. But as quickly as the anger came it's now gone, washed away by the gloomy return of exhaustion and self pity.
At least the storm had finally arrived.
"Cols!"
Colin turns around, surprised to hear Bradley's voice because that's not how this works. That's not how it has ever worked between them since whatever it is has decided to happen between them. And they haven't had the sense to stop it before things turn rancid... well, are turning rancid. Does it matter what tense their life functions under if it's all part of their inevitable demise?
They are so bloody stupid it hurts Colin to think about, toeing the pavement and sweeping his fraying jeans over pebbles.
Colin shakes his head and turns back to the river. No, this isn't how it's supposed to go at all. It's supposed to go like this: Colin asks. Bradley mocks. Colin pleads. Bradley denies. Colin leaves. Bradley ignores. Life. Moves. On.
It doesn't seem like Bradley wants to follow the script tonight. Bugger.
"Colin, don't walk away from me," Bradley practically bellows from his place outside the pub door. Colin pretends he's not blushing but he is because several people have started to glare at them since Bradley has yelled his name and the last thing they need is press about this debacle they've created. He can imagine the Julians now, their faces scrunched up in disbelief as Katie hangs around the background, hipster glasses low on her nose, gloating because she told them so.
Colin curses his traitorous body as it hums, pleasantly aroused by Bradley's appearance next to his. Colin doesn't know how to make it stop. He's decided that it will go away when he dies and he's just going to have to ween his body off Bradley—like an meth addict or a kitten.
For now, Colin just chastises himself when he breathes in deeply, trying to catch the scent of Bradley's cologne mixed with the smell of the storm. He's still refusing to look at Bradley, who is trying his damnedest to be patient and the mere fact that Bradley is trying, that he's fucking trying now, makes Colin want to drown him in the river like the runt of the litter. It also makes Colin want to kiss Bradley senseless. Both options would surely get them both in trouble. Hence the refuses to acknowledge his stupid, warm and wonderful presence.
It's beyond infuriating how fast he's fallen for this stupidly charming man. There are times, when he does feel like Merlin--constantly out of his depth in the presence of such a formidable man. But most times, most times Colin just feels like Colin—exhausted by love and the chaotic shuffle of life.
"I don't want you to go," Bradley says suddenly. Colin looks up from where he's staring at the river and feels the return of some righteous anger that had long given way to resigned patheticness. Bradley is much closer than Colin had thought and he can see every earnest feeling written in the plain curve of Bradley's pretty mouth. He hates him, just for a fraction of a second but it's enough to remember the anger in the pub.
"That's rich, Bradley. I wasn't going to stick around for you and Santiago-"
"Me and Santiago?"
He looks bewildered, his mouth parted and his head tilted as if he's actually listening or if he's surprised at Colin's words. They both know Bradley knows exactly how to play the game. He invented it, even though his raised eyebrows and innocent eyes would say otherwise. "Bradley, don't start."
"That's cute, you're jealous of Santiago now?"
"Don't mock me for loving you, Bradley James."
The confession slips out and stretches between them, much like what Colin imagines Merlin's magical confession will be in the end. Colin tries to think of ways he can catch it, ways he can reclaim that statement and huddle them together with all the other words he wants to say to Bradley but doesn't because he's sure, so damn sure, that this will fall apart as soon as Colin lets it known how badly he wants this. Things that are so sweet they make his teeth ache. Things that he wants so badly that he's obviously blinded to reason. Things like holding Bradley's hand and kissing him in corner shops and domesticity that has never been in Colin's future. He hates how much Bradley makes him want all these things but mostly, mostly Colin just hates himself for letting it get this bad.
Fools, the lot of them.
There is thunder in the sky above them and Colin rocks back in forth before pulling up his hoodie. It's chilly by the river and he wants to go home to his warm, albeit empty, hotel room. He wants to leave Bradley on the street but he can't, not when Bradley is breathing so heavily and staring at him, jaw twitching and eyes wide. Colin is obviously pretending not to notice the staring because he hasn't quiet figured out that bit about Bradley yet. Because the staring isn't unusual. Bradley's done it ever since Colin has known him. But it's times like these that Colin doesn't understand it because Bradley's not trying to be funny and it makes his skin crawl with the feeling that he's the one being difficult, that he's the puzzle that needs figuring out and not Bradley. He wills his legs to turn and take him back toward the hotel but he doesn't move at all, just watches Bradley from the coroner of his eye... waiting.
And that's Colin, always waiting for Bradley. A theme that has run his heart right into the ground.
When Bradley steps closer, Colin stares resolutely at the river. He knows he's smarter than this, getting involved with his straight co-worker was not the most intelligent move. But that fact didn't stop Colin from curling his fingers around Bradley's when he thought no one was looking on set and kissing him behind set pieces or letting Bradley suffer through vegetarian food or being forced to be the big spoon (Colin seriously wonders what Bradley's exes thought about that) or obviously, falling in love with Bradley anyhow.
Knowing that falling in love with Bradley is a bad idea doesn't stop Colin from wanting, even now, to wake up in Bradley's bed every cold French morning and any other morning in any other country for that matter.
He stares out at the little river, feeling the rain swell in the air around him and fill up his lungs in an unpleasant way but distracting from the tightness in his chest from Bradley proximity. Bradley, who is still standing next to him and staring at him and stepping on the backs of Colin's frayed jeans because they were too long and he always teases him about their tattered quality because Bradley likes to think his unpleasantness is an acceptable form of foreplay.
"I don't even remember what we were fighting about," Bradley says.
"Santiago." Colin says it automatically. Closing his eyes briefly as his jealousy turns to shame. He honestly didn't used to be like this. He used to be a normal Irish bloke who fell in love with the right people at the right times.
Bradley scoffs with tilting laughter. "Does it matter?"
"Don't be cruel," Colin says even though he feels it worming into his chest. Bradley has never been cruel before, but there are first times for everything and especially for Bradley. Colin would know. He's a first time himself. Possibly, nay probably, just an experiment gone awfully awry.
"No," Bradley puffs out, stretching into the space between them and curling his large hand around Colin's hip. He spins Colin, who is trying to protest because he's oh so tired and this isn't in the script but Bradley shakes his head again, smile pulling at his stupidly pretty mouth. "No, Cols. I mean, does it matter?"
This time, Colin can see everything in Bradley's face; his eyes are so bright in the lights reflecting off the water, his checks curling into an intimate smile that Colin wants to believe exists just for him, his cheeks flushed with his last pint and yes, something else there too, underneath it all, channeling through Bradley's posture and shooting through the place at Colin's hip. He feels dizzy and warm like he's had too much lager as Bradley's smile stretches across his face into goofy and giddy and fucking delightful.
"Oh," Colin says dumbly when the pleasure coils in his chest and threatens to break out and consume him, just like Bradley because in the end, Colin imagines, it's always about Bradley in some way or another. "Oh.," he says again.
"Yes," Bradley says before he kisses him and it begins to rain.
Bradley tastes like Bradley; a mix of mostly lager right now but usually of milk and whatever meat product he's had earlier, sometimes Colin will taste the linger effects of French cheese on Bradley's tongue or cigar smoke if he's gone out with Tony for a bit. But tonight, he mostly tastes like Bradley and lager and it's lovely.
It's also pouring down rain.
In this moment, Colin forgets about how much he hates the way Bradley always has to control their kisses. Instead, Colin gives in to the feeling of Bradley's lips pressing incessantly, as if he's trying to kiss the sense into him. Colin lets himself fall into the tailspin of Bradley James, the way his clumsy hands practically pry Colin's jaw open so that he can claim the inside of Colin's mouth with broad sweeps of his tongue, curling around teeth and Colin's breath until he effectively steals it away. Colin just gasps into Bradley's kisses, rain pouring down all around them and making their faces wet, their clothes sodden and the chill of the air more dominating. Colin wants to break away, tell Bradley that these kisses don't fix anything, that they need to talk like normal blokes in relationships but he can't, not when Bradley is whimpering into his mouth, trying to physically devour Colin like Bradley just can't get enough of Colin Morgan; like Bradley needs him. Colin can't back away when Bradley is clinging to him, their clothes sticking together from the soak of the rain and Colin's body is drawn to Bradley, ever the furnace, as his body presses and arches against Colin's.
Colin can't do anything but love this mess of a man. He can't do anything but let himself be kissed, listening to the rain pounding in his ears and paling in comparison to the pounding of his heart.
<3<3<3 The End <3<3<3
Remember to head over to her art post, found right here and lavish it with the attention it deserves.
Author:
tourdefiercePairing: Bradley/Colin
Rating: R for language I guess.
Warnings: FLUFF. OMG THE FLUFF with a side-dish of angsty!Colin, who pines. Not beta'd so just deal with my commas. DEAL WITH THEM.
Word Count: 1,900ish
Summary: Colin angsts, Bradley is confused and there is making out in the rain.
Disclaimer: This is lies, obviously.
A/N: This is a gift for
sillyshy, who not only is one hot mother fucker but an amazing writer and artist. She drew for my paperlegends fic Missed Connections (Glory, Glory, Holelelujah). She was also the most amazing friend during all my spastic moments. Darling, I hope you enjoy this. The prompt was: making out in the rain.Colin walks out of the pub, or whatever the French fucking call it, and tries to stalk away but the anger floods out of him when he smells the pungent smell of rain hanging in the air. His hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans as he casually crosses the street to the small river that is walled up and contained on both sides by mountains of glorious stone. He wants to be angry again because it was a welcome change from just being tired. But as quickly as the anger came it's now gone, washed away by the gloomy return of exhaustion and self pity.
At least the storm had finally arrived.
"Cols!"
Colin turns around, surprised to hear Bradley's voice because that's not how this works. That's not how it has ever worked between them since whatever it is has decided to happen between them. And they haven't had the sense to stop it before things turn rancid... well, are turning rancid. Does it matter what tense their life functions under if it's all part of their inevitable demise?
They are so bloody stupid it hurts Colin to think about, toeing the pavement and sweeping his fraying jeans over pebbles.
Colin shakes his head and turns back to the river. No, this isn't how it's supposed to go at all. It's supposed to go like this: Colin asks. Bradley mocks. Colin pleads. Bradley denies. Colin leaves. Bradley ignores. Life. Moves. On.
It doesn't seem like Bradley wants to follow the script tonight. Bugger.
"Colin, don't walk away from me," Bradley practically bellows from his place outside the pub door. Colin pretends he's not blushing but he is because several people have started to glare at them since Bradley has yelled his name and the last thing they need is press about this debacle they've created. He can imagine the Julians now, their faces scrunched up in disbelief as Katie hangs around the background, hipster glasses low on her nose, gloating because she told them so.
Colin curses his traitorous body as it hums, pleasantly aroused by Bradley's appearance next to his. Colin doesn't know how to make it stop. He's decided that it will go away when he dies and he's just going to have to ween his body off Bradley—like an meth addict or a kitten.
For now, Colin just chastises himself when he breathes in deeply, trying to catch the scent of Bradley's cologne mixed with the smell of the storm. He's still refusing to look at Bradley, who is trying his damnedest to be patient and the mere fact that Bradley is trying, that he's fucking trying now, makes Colin want to drown him in the river like the runt of the litter. It also makes Colin want to kiss Bradley senseless. Both options would surely get them both in trouble. Hence the refuses to acknowledge his stupid, warm and wonderful presence.
It's beyond infuriating how fast he's fallen for this stupidly charming man. There are times, when he does feel like Merlin--constantly out of his depth in the presence of such a formidable man. But most times, most times Colin just feels like Colin—exhausted by love and the chaotic shuffle of life.
"I don't want you to go," Bradley says suddenly. Colin looks up from where he's staring at the river and feels the return of some righteous anger that had long given way to resigned patheticness. Bradley is much closer than Colin had thought and he can see every earnest feeling written in the plain curve of Bradley's pretty mouth. He hates him, just for a fraction of a second but it's enough to remember the anger in the pub.
"That's rich, Bradley. I wasn't going to stick around for you and Santiago-"
"Me and Santiago?"
He looks bewildered, his mouth parted and his head tilted as if he's actually listening or if he's surprised at Colin's words. They both know Bradley knows exactly how to play the game. He invented it, even though his raised eyebrows and innocent eyes would say otherwise. "Bradley, don't start."
"That's cute, you're jealous of Santiago now?"
"Don't mock me for loving you, Bradley James."
The confession slips out and stretches between them, much like what Colin imagines Merlin's magical confession will be in the end. Colin tries to think of ways he can catch it, ways he can reclaim that statement and huddle them together with all the other words he wants to say to Bradley but doesn't because he's sure, so damn sure, that this will fall apart as soon as Colin lets it known how badly he wants this. Things that are so sweet they make his teeth ache. Things that he wants so badly that he's obviously blinded to reason. Things like holding Bradley's hand and kissing him in corner shops and domesticity that has never been in Colin's future. He hates how much Bradley makes him want all these things but mostly, mostly Colin just hates himself for letting it get this bad.
Fools, the lot of them.
There is thunder in the sky above them and Colin rocks back in forth before pulling up his hoodie. It's chilly by the river and he wants to go home to his warm, albeit empty, hotel room. He wants to leave Bradley on the street but he can't, not when Bradley is breathing so heavily and staring at him, jaw twitching and eyes wide. Colin is obviously pretending not to notice the staring because he hasn't quiet figured out that bit about Bradley yet. Because the staring isn't unusual. Bradley's done it ever since Colin has known him. But it's times like these that Colin doesn't understand it because Bradley's not trying to be funny and it makes his skin crawl with the feeling that he's the one being difficult, that he's the puzzle that needs figuring out and not Bradley. He wills his legs to turn and take him back toward the hotel but he doesn't move at all, just watches Bradley from the coroner of his eye... waiting.
And that's Colin, always waiting for Bradley. A theme that has run his heart right into the ground.
When Bradley steps closer, Colin stares resolutely at the river. He knows he's smarter than this, getting involved with his straight co-worker was not the most intelligent move. But that fact didn't stop Colin from curling his fingers around Bradley's when he thought no one was looking on set and kissing him behind set pieces or letting Bradley suffer through vegetarian food or being forced to be the big spoon (Colin seriously wonders what Bradley's exes thought about that) or obviously, falling in love with Bradley anyhow.
Knowing that falling in love with Bradley is a bad idea doesn't stop Colin from wanting, even now, to wake up in Bradley's bed every cold French morning and any other morning in any other country for that matter.
He stares out at the little river, feeling the rain swell in the air around him and fill up his lungs in an unpleasant way but distracting from the tightness in his chest from Bradley proximity. Bradley, who is still standing next to him and staring at him and stepping on the backs of Colin's frayed jeans because they were too long and he always teases him about their tattered quality because Bradley likes to think his unpleasantness is an acceptable form of foreplay.
"I don't even remember what we were fighting about," Bradley says.
"Santiago." Colin says it automatically. Closing his eyes briefly as his jealousy turns to shame. He honestly didn't used to be like this. He used to be a normal Irish bloke who fell in love with the right people at the right times.
Bradley scoffs with tilting laughter. "Does it matter?"
"Don't be cruel," Colin says even though he feels it worming into his chest. Bradley has never been cruel before, but there are first times for everything and especially for Bradley. Colin would know. He's a first time himself. Possibly, nay probably, just an experiment gone awfully awry.
"No," Bradley puffs out, stretching into the space between them and curling his large hand around Colin's hip. He spins Colin, who is trying to protest because he's oh so tired and this isn't in the script but Bradley shakes his head again, smile pulling at his stupidly pretty mouth. "No, Cols. I mean, does it matter?"
This time, Colin can see everything in Bradley's face; his eyes are so bright in the lights reflecting off the water, his checks curling into an intimate smile that Colin wants to believe exists just for him, his cheeks flushed with his last pint and yes, something else there too, underneath it all, channeling through Bradley's posture and shooting through the place at Colin's hip. He feels dizzy and warm like he's had too much lager as Bradley's smile stretches across his face into goofy and giddy and fucking delightful.
"Oh," Colin says dumbly when the pleasure coils in his chest and threatens to break out and consume him, just like Bradley because in the end, Colin imagines, it's always about Bradley in some way or another. "Oh.," he says again.
"Yes," Bradley says before he kisses him and it begins to rain.
Bradley tastes like Bradley; a mix of mostly lager right now but usually of milk and whatever meat product he's had earlier, sometimes Colin will taste the linger effects of French cheese on Bradley's tongue or cigar smoke if he's gone out with Tony for a bit. But tonight, he mostly tastes like Bradley and lager and it's lovely.
It's also pouring down rain.
In this moment, Colin forgets about how much he hates the way Bradley always has to control their kisses. Instead, Colin gives in to the feeling of Bradley's lips pressing incessantly, as if he's trying to kiss the sense into him. Colin lets himself fall into the tailspin of Bradley James, the way his clumsy hands practically pry Colin's jaw open so that he can claim the inside of Colin's mouth with broad sweeps of his tongue, curling around teeth and Colin's breath until he effectively steals it away. Colin just gasps into Bradley's kisses, rain pouring down all around them and making their faces wet, their clothes sodden and the chill of the air more dominating. Colin wants to break away, tell Bradley that these kisses don't fix anything, that they need to talk like normal blokes in relationships but he can't, not when Bradley is whimpering into his mouth, trying to physically devour Colin like Bradley just can't get enough of Colin Morgan; like Bradley needs him. Colin can't back away when Bradley is clinging to him, their clothes sticking together from the soak of the rain and Colin's body is drawn to Bradley, ever the furnace, as his body presses and arches against Colin's.
Colin can't do anything but love this mess of a man. He can't do anything but let himself be kissed, listening to the rain pounding in his ears and paling in comparison to the pounding of his heart.
Remember to head over to her art post, found right here and lavish it with the attention it deserves.
