Fic: Theme Ingredient Fuckersnaps
Title: Theme Ingredient Fuckersnaps
Pairing: Bradley James/Colin Morgan (Merlin RPS)
Rating: NC-17 (fun sexy times)
Word Count: 3426
Disclaimer: Entirely fictional. Ie. Really really not real. No slander intended.
Author’s Notes I: Perhaps you remember this poll about the ethics of poaching real life conversations for the purpose of fic? Well, this is the resulting fic. My thanks and appreciation go to nixwilliams, daniel-bethany and theorybitch for being sparklingly witty and for giving me the okay to write this. :-) (In case anyone’s wondering, our RL conversation didn’t result in sex. At least, not to my knowledge.) Thank you to sajee and nixwilliams for betaing this and enabling sharing the Merlin love with me.
Author’s Notes II: This fic references Iron Chef and possibly your enjoyment of this fic may be increased through Iron Chef knowledge. Don't worry, you can very much still read it even if you've never heard of Iron Chef - there is much non-Iron Chef shananigans to enjoy here! However, if you want to educate yourself, you can watch the very educational Iron Chef opening sequence. And here is a clip of the tasting/judement section of a Foie Gras Battle. And if you want to go all out, you can watch the Sushi Battle in it's entirety.
Comments and feedback, as always, are very much appreciated.
Summary: “More drunken debauchery?” says Colin with a mouthful of orange, his accent thick and vowely around it. “Yeah,” says Bradley. He watches Colin eat the orange. He thinks about turning the camera onto him, just to capture the ways his lips and tongue move around the fruit, his teeth biting into the orange flesh, his hands and chin wet with juice. He’s amazed it isn’t all over the bed.
Bradley is sitting by the window, flicking through a magazine, looking for references to themselves or the show. The only thing he can find is a little rectangle with the promo shot of Colin as Merlin, recommending viewers watch the show. Revisit Camelot for fun and magic.
“We need to start some gossip,” he says to Colin. “Something outrageous. A sex scandal or something…”
Colin is sitting on the bed, eating an orange, watching TV. Bradley can’t see the screen. The sound is rapid-fire French. They’re in Colin’s hotel room.
“Mmm?” says Colin, looking at his orange instead of Bradley, juice dripping off his fingers onto the plate balanced in his lap.
“To get into this thing.” Bradley waves the glossy at him. “To start some buzz.”
“More drunken debauchery?” says Colin with a mouthful of orange, his accent thick and vowely around it.
“Yeah,” says Bradley. He watches Colin eat the orange. He thinks about turning the camera onto him, just to capture the ways his lips and tongue move around the fruit, his teeth biting into the orange flesh, his hands and chin wet with juice. He’s amazed it isn’t all over the bed.
“Ha!” says Colin at something on the TV. Bradley sees a spray of juice fly out of his mouth.
“What?” he says. He gets up so that he can see the TV. “What on earth are you watching?”
On the screen, there’s a Japanese man dressed as some kind of matador, with a half-crazy smile on his face, standing behind a table full of some unknown spiky, brown thing. Then there are the reaction shots of two other Japanese men dressed as chefs, one in white, the other in yellow with a ridiculous boofy hat. They look worried. Something is said in very speedy French.
“Colin?” says Bradley. “What are you watching?”
“It’s Iron Chef,” says Colin, glancing at Bradley, then back at the screen. “Dubbed in French.” He takes a bite of his orange while still looking at the screen. Another spray of juice shoots out, some of it hitting Bradley’s bare arm. Bradley sits down on the bed next to Colin and wipes his arm on the sleeve of Colin’s top. Colin watches him with raised eyebrows. Bradley flashes him his most charming smile.
“So,” he says, settling back into the pillows next to Colin. “What’s going on?”
“Well,” says Colin, gesticulating with a segment of orange in his hand. “Chairman Kaga has just unveiled the theme ingredient, but because my French is … pretty much non-existent, I don’t know what it is. What does that look like to you?”
Bradley peers at the screen. The camera is panning over a selection of the brown, spiky things, someone is speaking French in a soothing tone, and Japanese characters come up on the screen.
“I don’t know,” he says slowly. He’s not used to admitting he doesn’t know something - it’s very unlike him. He hopes Colin doesn’t notice. “This is pretty much the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen,” he says.
Colin nods, his mouth buried in a segment of orange, obscured by a smile of bright orange peel. The chefs are now collecting some of the brown spiky things into bowls, looking serious about it. Colin says something into the orange that Bradley doesn’t catch.
“What was that?” Bradley says. It’s like the early days again, when he couldn’t understand a word Colin said. He clocked in the word ‘what?’ more times in that first month than in the rest of his life up until that point.
Colin removes the orange segment, the orange grin replaced by his real one. “Theme ingredient: fuckersnaps!” he says, gleeful.
“Fuckerwhat?” says Bradley.
“Fuckersnaps!” says Colin. “You know? Fuckersnaps?! Fuckersnaps!” As though that explained it. Bradley blinks at him.
Colin puts on a smooth presenter’s voice. “Fuckersnaps. If my memory serves me correctly - and I think it does - fuckersnaps originate from the Pierrefonds-Oise region of France where the locals enjoyed this rare delicacy during the autumnal months.”
Colin bursts out laughing and shoots Bradley a look. Bradley has one eyebrow raised.
“Fuckersnaps?” says Bradley.
“Fuckersnaps,” replies Colin in the low presenter’s voice, his bright eyes fixed on Bradley’s face.
“Fuckersnaps,” says Bradley, joining in. “Er. The crispy, crunchy treat you have to be at least 16 years of age to enjoy.”
They both laugh. Bradley is always drawn in by Colin’s smile. The way his face lights up. He can’t stop looking at him.
“There is an old proverb,” Colin intones with mock seriousness. “Fuckersnaps. First fuck, then snap. If you snap first, and then fuck, only disaster will befall you. So always remember, with fuckersnaps, first fuck, then snap.”
“Disaster, eh?” laughs Bradley. He pulls a face at Colin.
They watch the show for a while, making fun of the commentators. “I can see the Iron Chef is adding fuckersnaps to his broth of vigour, that’s interesting,” says Colin.
“A puree of fuckersnaps,” says Bradley. “The delicate flavour of fuckersnaps is blended with foie gras to produce dish fit for a prince!”
“This fuckersnap dessert,” says Colin in a girly voice. “It feels slimy in my mouth!”
Bradley laughs. Colin is smiling and placing the orange peel in a pile on the plate, before carefully moving the plate to the bedside table. He licks each of his fingers. Bradley watches.
“This fuckersnap pie,” says Colin in a new, deeper, gruff voice. “It’s the best I’ve ever tasted.” He looks at Bradley with bright eyes, one of his fingers still touching his lips.
“Colin, are you high?” asks Bradley. “What are you on?”
“I’m high on you,” says Colin, playful and mocking.
“Ha ha,” says Bradley, deadpan.
Colin raises his eyebrows. “It’s true,” he says, laughing. “I can’t believe you don’t - believe me.”
And because Colin is there, like this, just next to him, Bradley reaches over and, grasping Colin’s neck lightly with one hand, he kisses him square on the mouth. Colin kisses him back and they break apart, laughing.
“Mmm, tastes of fuckersnaps,” says Colin, in his smooth presenter’s voice.
Bradley laughs and whacks him on the arm. He can taste oranges on his lips. He pretends to pick something out of his teeth, look at it then flick it away. Colin wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, his lips changing from slack and wet to a smile, bright and open. He glances at the screen then back at Bradley, something playing behind his eyes.
They hesitate for a moment, looking at each other. Then Colin leans towards Bradley and they’re kissing again. Colin’s hands are on the skin by Bradley’s hairline, his fingertips feel sticky and damp. And then his hands are in Bradley’s hair and he’s kissing Bradley with open-mouthed enthusiasm. And Bradley can’t help but kiss him back, though he’s thinking that he’ll need to wash his hair sometime soon.
Colin begins to kiss his way down Bradley’s neck, his hands fidgeting with the bottom hem of Bradley’s t-shirt. Bradley has his hands lightly on Colin’s shoulders. He isn’t thinking about washing his hair anymore. His eyes are closed, but he helps Colin remove his t-shirt. There’s a shock when Colin presses against him, Colin’s chest suddenly naked too, his mouth on Bradley’s shoulder and his hand’s on Bradley’s sides. Bradley finds himself slipping down the pillows and groping at Colin in a way he never thought he’d want to.
They end up naked and tangled in the covers, but Bradley doesn’t look too closely. His hands are on Colin’s shoulders - the skin is smooth and warm. He’s not sure he’s ready for this. Colin is sucking him and all Bradley can think about is Colin’s mouth eating that orange. One of Colin’s hands is pressed flat on Bradley’s belly, the other gripping his thigh. Bradley comes and his brain is wiped clean.
Colin crawls up the bed, looking dishevelled and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Bradley closes his eyes. He feels Colin lying against him, breathing and half-laughing into his neck. Bradley does nothing to help Colin with his own erection. Colin swipes his tongue over a spot on Bradley’s neck, his hands twitching over Bradley’s hips before shifting to his own cock. He jacks himself off and, after a moment, comes all over Bradley’s leg, laughing and gasping against Bradley’s skin.
Bradley shifts, his arm slipping around Colin’s back. Colin is still for a moment, then moves, propping himself up as he reaches for something. Bradley feels the air cool against his exposed skin. Then Colin is wiping himself and Bradley’s leg down with something - Bradley tries not to think that it might be his t-shirt. Colin settles in around him, leaning over to plant a wet kiss on Bradley’s jaw. He hesitates, his face still close to Bradley’s. Bradley opens his eyes, just a fraction, and peers at Colin. Colin’s features look soft, blurred through Bradley’s eyelashes. Colin sees him looking and slowly smiles, watching him. Bradley tries to keep a straight face, but he’s not a good actor - not really. And when his face cracks, Colin kisses him, straight on the mouth. And Bradley hesitates for a moment and then kisses back. Colin mumbles something into his mouth.
“What was that?” says Bradley softly.
“I said,” murmurs Colin. “Do you want to turn that thing off, then?”
“What?” says Bradley.
“The telly,” says Colin, his eyes on Bradley’s lips.
Bradley becomes aware that the TV is still droning on and for a second he can’t work out why he can’t understand it, why it’s in some language that doesn’t seem to be English. Then he catches up.
“Don’t you want to know who won the fuckersnap battle?” he says.
“No,” says Colin. “I already know who won.”
“You do?”
Colin takes a long moment to answer. He’s looking at Bradley’s face in a way that makes Bradley slightly uncomfortable, like he knows something that Bradley doesn’t know and he’s going to torture Bradley for a fairly long time before telling him.
Eventually Colin speaks. “Yes,” he says.
They’re at the local pub - or whatever pubs are called in France - and Bradley is done with mangling the language and has settled on pointing at a bottle and holding up one finger. “Une.” There’s only so many times he can make Angel or Tony go to the bar and he figures he’d have better luck at being understood than Colin. So they end up drinking Beaujolais from beer glasses, but by this stage it’s only him and Colin and Angel so he figures it doesn’t matter anymore.
Colin is gazing moodily into his glass and Bradley is pondering the taste of his new blend - beer dregs and wine - when he realises Angel is staring at him. He glances at her.
“Yes, Angel?” he says.
“You two,” she says. “What’s wrong with you two?”
Bradley looks at her and then at Colin. Colin has a dark look on his face and isn’t looking at him. He looks back at Angel. “Nothing is wrong with us two,” he says. “Colin here might be just a touch drunk and I’m beginning to fear he’s a melancholy drunk, if that does anything to explain it.”
“No,” says Angel. “That’s not it.” She narrows her eyes at them. “Something’s changed.”
Bradley shrugs at her and takes a sip of his drink.
Angel watches him, then speaks. “You two haven’t played any pranks for a week and a half. No pranks on any of us.” She pauses. “Why is that?”
She stares at him, then turns her gaze to Colin. Eventually Colin meets her eyes and looks at her for a long moment. Bradley isn’t sure was passes between them - he’s not exactly sober himself. And there’s always been something between Colin and Angel, an understanding, an affinity. He’s given up trying to work out what it is.
Colin blinks and looks away from both of them, out towards the darkened windows of the pub.
Angel sighs. “Oh,” she says. “Oh, right.”
“What?” says Bradley, but he already has a bit of an idea about what’s going on.
“Oh,” says Angel again. She’s gazing at Colin, but flicks her glance towards Bradley and stares at him for a bit.
“What?” he says defensively and hides behind his drink.
Angel’s brow is furrowed. When she speaks, she talks slowly and carefully, like she’s explaining something to a child. “You two have to work this thing out. Okay? You’ve got to. You just-”
Colin makes a huffing noise, pushing air through his nose. He takes sip of his drink, which turns into skolling the whole thing. “Right,” he says as he slams the glass down on the table between them. He stands up, looking at Bradley for a second and then back at Angel, meeting her gaze and shaking his head just slightly. “Right,” he says again. The word comes out exasperated and harsh. He turns and leaves.
Angel looks at Bradley.
“What?” says Bradley. “What’d I do?”
“Bradley,” she says, giving him a look which is just a bit too direct and pointed for him to deal with right now.
“What?” he says again, feigning ignorance. But there is something clawing at the inside of him and he’s pretty sure it’s gonna take more than his wine-and-beer-dregs blend to settle it.
They’re at Colin’s place in London, drinking beer and watching the football. A week off from filming and the Saturday before they’re due back in Cardiff, and Colin wants to see everyone, sending out text messages which use the phrases ‘watch the game’ and ‘just hang out’. Bradley isn’t sure what to think - is it perhaps just a little bit desperate? - but he turns up anyway, just as Angel is leaving.
“You’re not staying, Angel-baby?” he croons.
“No,” she says bluntly. She looks at him like she’s about the punch him in the face.
“Okay then,” he says and backs away. He brushes past Colin and catches Angel giving Colin a significant look at the doorway. He decides that it has nothing to do with him. He joins Katie on the couch.
“So you like football, but Angel doesn’t?” he asks her.
“No,” says Katie. “I am here for your delightful company, whereas Angel can’t stand you.”
“Ha ha,” he says.
Katie raises her eyebrows at him. And then Bradley’s not sure what’s true and what isn’t. He doesn’t like the feeling.
Colin comes in, handing him a beer and flopping down on an armchair.
“So,” says Bradley. “Who else is coming?”
“Well,” says Colin slowly. “Santiago was meant to show, but you know how he is.” Colin shrugs, looking at the screen instead of Bradley’s face. “And Tony said fuck off.”
“Right,” says Bradley. “So it’s just us, then?”
“Yep,” says Colin.
Bradley becomes aware that Katie is looking at him. “Yes?” he says, turning to smile at her.
“You’re gonna try and make us watch Buffy, aren’t you?” she asks, fixing him with an accusing look.
“Er,” he says. “I hadn’t thought of it.”
“Oh god, Colin,” Katie says. “He’s thinking about it. Fuck.”
Colin takes a sip of beer and looks at them, smiling. “Don’t worry,” he says lightly. “I don’t own any Buffy.”
“That won’t stop him! You don’t know how obsessed he gets! He’ll make us watch it and then read fanfic about it and then I won’t be able to look Tony in the eye again, because I’ll have all Bradley’s sick fantasies seared into my brain.”
“What?” says Bradley, laughing. “No!”
And Colin is laughing too. “No Buffy,” says Colin, looking at him.
“No Buffy,” replies Bradley. “Sure, fine, good.”
Katie gives him a suspicious look, but falls silent. Bradley keeps it to himself that he would actually prefer to be watching Buffy. But he’s good at pretending to be a hot-blooded male who enjoys watching football and eating big slabs of hardly cooked meat and all that. He feels it balances out with the drama-school, poncy acting thing. And for half a second, his mind thinks about sex with Colin and where that fits in the scheme of things. But he’s quick to block those thoughts. He takes a sip of beer and wonders if he can ogle Katie’s chest without her noticing and whacking him. The bruise from last time has only just faded.
Bradley wakes up on Colin’s couch, alone and with a furry beer-taste in his mouth. He pads to the bathroom and pauses at the closed door. He thinks he hears a noise from inside. He knocks. “Colin?” he asks.
He hears some splashing and Colin’s voice, slightly muffled. “Yes, Bradley?”
“Colin, I need to use the crapper,” he says.
“Um,” says Colin. “Um. Bradley, I’m having a bath.”
“You’re what?”
“I’m in the bath.”
Bradley thinks for a moment. “Look,” he says, trying to sound diplomatic and reasonable. “It’s a bit urgent, and it’s not like you haven’t seen my, er, manhood before. So, um, Colin? Please?”
He hears more splashing and then Colin says, “Oh, alright.”
Bradley pushes the door open and glances at Colin, giving him a small smile. Colin turns on the tap over the bath while Bradley empties his bladder. Bradley tucks himself in and turns to Colin. “Awkward,” he says after a pause.
Colin looks at him with raised eyebrows. And Bradley finds he can’t stop staring at him. Colin looks small and vulnerable, his skin pale and his hair dark and wet, slicked close to his head. He looks thinner than Bradley remembers. He has his knees bent and his arms crossed over the top of them.
Bradley realises he probably should stop staring and say something. “Did Katie go home?” he asks.
Colin nods. “Yep.” The murky water shifts around him. “A while ago actually. Do you want to know who won? I think you fell asleep before then.”
Bradley shrugs and perches on the closed toilet seat. “Colin?” he says. “Are we alright?” He’s said it before he can stop himself.
Colin takes a breath and looks into his face. Then he moves his hand in the water and looks at that instead. “Yes Bradley,” he says after a moment. “We are alright, I guess.” He lets out a breath.
Bradley scowls. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he says, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.
Colin’s still looking at his hands. “We’re okay,” he says slowly. “If you want us to be okay, then Bradley, we’re okay. You just say so and-”
“And what?”
“And nothing. It’s your call.” Colin’s voice sounds small and sad, like nothing Bradley has ever heard before. The words hang in the air and nothing moves.
Bradley stands up, moving before he’s even decided what he’s going to do. Then he’s climbing into the bath, fully clothed, facing Colin and settling his legs awkwardly on either side of Colin’s and leaning towards Colin, reaching for him.
“What’re you-” Colin protests, but Bradley has his hands on either side of Colin’s face and leans forward to kiss him. And that stops him talking.
When they break apart, Bradley keeps his forehead pressed against Colin’s, even though he’s leaning at an awkward angle and his legs are becoming slightly painful. He can feel Colin’s breath on his lips. He pulls away, stroking his hand across Colin’s face, unwilling to let go.
Colin touches his own lips and looks at Bradley. “You’re all wet,” he says at last.
“Yes,” says Bradley, looking down at his soaked clothes. “It is a bath.”
“Well, yes,” replies Colin. He crosses one arm across his chest and lets the other fall into the water. Bradley reaches out to hold it. He squeezes and Colin squeezes back.
He looks at Colin for a long time and for a long time Colin simply looks back.
“Right then,” says Bradley. He wonders if it’s too soon, but he can’t stop himself - he smiles. And Colin is smiling too, his mouth wet and pink and tempting.
“Right then,” he says again. “Now. Are we good?”
“Yes, Bradley,” replies Colin. “We’re good.”
“Good.” He drops Colin’s hand in order to pull off his t-shirt. “Because I want to wash my hair.” He flings the wet t-shirt onto the bathroom floor and stands up to climb out of his soaking jeans.
When Bradley settles back into the water, Colin is laughing.
“Sure,” Colin says. “Wash your hair.” And he’s grinning and looking straight into Bradley’s eyes.
Pairing: Bradley James/Colin Morgan (Merlin RPS)
Rating: NC-17 (fun sexy times)
Word Count: 3426
Disclaimer: Entirely fictional. Ie. Really really not real. No slander intended.
Author’s Notes I: Perhaps you remember this poll about the ethics of poaching real life conversations for the purpose of fic? Well, this is the resulting fic. My thanks and appreciation go to nixwilliams, daniel-bethany and theorybitch for being sparklingly witty and for giving me the okay to write this. :-) (In case anyone’s wondering, our RL conversation didn’t result in sex. At least, not to my knowledge.) Thank you to sajee and nixwilliams for betaing this and enabling sharing the Merlin love with me.
Author’s Notes II: This fic references Iron Chef and possibly your enjoyment of this fic may be increased through Iron Chef knowledge. Don't worry, you can very much still read it even if you've never heard of Iron Chef - there is much non-Iron Chef shananigans to enjoy here! However, if you want to educate yourself, you can watch the very educational Iron Chef opening sequence. And here is a clip of the tasting/judement section of a Foie Gras Battle. And if you want to go all out, you can watch the Sushi Battle in it's entirety.
Comments and feedback, as always, are very much appreciated.
Summary: “More drunken debauchery?” says Colin with a mouthful of orange, his accent thick and vowely around it. “Yeah,” says Bradley. He watches Colin eat the orange. He thinks about turning the camera onto him, just to capture the ways his lips and tongue move around the fruit, his teeth biting into the orange flesh, his hands and chin wet with juice. He’s amazed it isn’t all over the bed.
Bradley is sitting by the window, flicking through a magazine, looking for references to themselves or the show. The only thing he can find is a little rectangle with the promo shot of Colin as Merlin, recommending viewers watch the show. Revisit Camelot for fun and magic.
“We need to start some gossip,” he says to Colin. “Something outrageous. A sex scandal or something…”
Colin is sitting on the bed, eating an orange, watching TV. Bradley can’t see the screen. The sound is rapid-fire French. They’re in Colin’s hotel room.
“Mmm?” says Colin, looking at his orange instead of Bradley, juice dripping off his fingers onto the plate balanced in his lap.
“To get into this thing.” Bradley waves the glossy at him. “To start some buzz.”
“More drunken debauchery?” says Colin with a mouthful of orange, his accent thick and vowely around it.
“Yeah,” says Bradley. He watches Colin eat the orange. He thinks about turning the camera onto him, just to capture the ways his lips and tongue move around the fruit, his teeth biting into the orange flesh, his hands and chin wet with juice. He’s amazed it isn’t all over the bed.
“Ha!” says Colin at something on the TV. Bradley sees a spray of juice fly out of his mouth.
“What?” he says. He gets up so that he can see the TV. “What on earth are you watching?”
On the screen, there’s a Japanese man dressed as some kind of matador, with a half-crazy smile on his face, standing behind a table full of some unknown spiky, brown thing. Then there are the reaction shots of two other Japanese men dressed as chefs, one in white, the other in yellow with a ridiculous boofy hat. They look worried. Something is said in very speedy French.
“Colin?” says Bradley. “What are you watching?”
“It’s Iron Chef,” says Colin, glancing at Bradley, then back at the screen. “Dubbed in French.” He takes a bite of his orange while still looking at the screen. Another spray of juice shoots out, some of it hitting Bradley’s bare arm. Bradley sits down on the bed next to Colin and wipes his arm on the sleeve of Colin’s top. Colin watches him with raised eyebrows. Bradley flashes him his most charming smile.
“So,” he says, settling back into the pillows next to Colin. “What’s going on?”
“Well,” says Colin, gesticulating with a segment of orange in his hand. “Chairman Kaga has just unveiled the theme ingredient, but because my French is … pretty much non-existent, I don’t know what it is. What does that look like to you?”
Bradley peers at the screen. The camera is panning over a selection of the brown, spiky things, someone is speaking French in a soothing tone, and Japanese characters come up on the screen.
“I don’t know,” he says slowly. He’s not used to admitting he doesn’t know something - it’s very unlike him. He hopes Colin doesn’t notice. “This is pretty much the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen,” he says.
Colin nods, his mouth buried in a segment of orange, obscured by a smile of bright orange peel. The chefs are now collecting some of the brown spiky things into bowls, looking serious about it. Colin says something into the orange that Bradley doesn’t catch.
“What was that?” Bradley says. It’s like the early days again, when he couldn’t understand a word Colin said. He clocked in the word ‘what?’ more times in that first month than in the rest of his life up until that point.
Colin removes the orange segment, the orange grin replaced by his real one. “Theme ingredient: fuckersnaps!” he says, gleeful.
“Fuckerwhat?” says Bradley.
“Fuckersnaps!” says Colin. “You know? Fuckersnaps?! Fuckersnaps!” As though that explained it. Bradley blinks at him.
Colin puts on a smooth presenter’s voice. “Fuckersnaps. If my memory serves me correctly - and I think it does - fuckersnaps originate from the Pierrefonds-Oise region of France where the locals enjoyed this rare delicacy during the autumnal months.”
Colin bursts out laughing and shoots Bradley a look. Bradley has one eyebrow raised.
“Fuckersnaps?” says Bradley.
“Fuckersnaps,” replies Colin in the low presenter’s voice, his bright eyes fixed on Bradley’s face.
“Fuckersnaps,” says Bradley, joining in. “Er. The crispy, crunchy treat you have to be at least 16 years of age to enjoy.”
They both laugh. Bradley is always drawn in by Colin’s smile. The way his face lights up. He can’t stop looking at him.
“There is an old proverb,” Colin intones with mock seriousness. “Fuckersnaps. First fuck, then snap. If you snap first, and then fuck, only disaster will befall you. So always remember, with fuckersnaps, first fuck, then snap.”
“Disaster, eh?” laughs Bradley. He pulls a face at Colin.
They watch the show for a while, making fun of the commentators. “I can see the Iron Chef is adding fuckersnaps to his broth of vigour, that’s interesting,” says Colin.
“A puree of fuckersnaps,” says Bradley. “The delicate flavour of fuckersnaps is blended with foie gras to produce dish fit for a prince!”
“This fuckersnap dessert,” says Colin in a girly voice. “It feels slimy in my mouth!”
Bradley laughs. Colin is smiling and placing the orange peel in a pile on the plate, before carefully moving the plate to the bedside table. He licks each of his fingers. Bradley watches.
“This fuckersnap pie,” says Colin in a new, deeper, gruff voice. “It’s the best I’ve ever tasted.” He looks at Bradley with bright eyes, one of his fingers still touching his lips.
“Colin, are you high?” asks Bradley. “What are you on?”
“I’m high on you,” says Colin, playful and mocking.
“Ha ha,” says Bradley, deadpan.
Colin raises his eyebrows. “It’s true,” he says, laughing. “I can’t believe you don’t - believe me.”
And because Colin is there, like this, just next to him, Bradley reaches over and, grasping Colin’s neck lightly with one hand, he kisses him square on the mouth. Colin kisses him back and they break apart, laughing.
“Mmm, tastes of fuckersnaps,” says Colin, in his smooth presenter’s voice.
Bradley laughs and whacks him on the arm. He can taste oranges on his lips. He pretends to pick something out of his teeth, look at it then flick it away. Colin wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, his lips changing from slack and wet to a smile, bright and open. He glances at the screen then back at Bradley, something playing behind his eyes.
They hesitate for a moment, looking at each other. Then Colin leans towards Bradley and they’re kissing again. Colin’s hands are on the skin by Bradley’s hairline, his fingertips feel sticky and damp. And then his hands are in Bradley’s hair and he’s kissing Bradley with open-mouthed enthusiasm. And Bradley can’t help but kiss him back, though he’s thinking that he’ll need to wash his hair sometime soon.
Colin begins to kiss his way down Bradley’s neck, his hands fidgeting with the bottom hem of Bradley’s t-shirt. Bradley has his hands lightly on Colin’s shoulders. He isn’t thinking about washing his hair anymore. His eyes are closed, but he helps Colin remove his t-shirt. There’s a shock when Colin presses against him, Colin’s chest suddenly naked too, his mouth on Bradley’s shoulder and his hand’s on Bradley’s sides. Bradley finds himself slipping down the pillows and groping at Colin in a way he never thought he’d want to.
They end up naked and tangled in the covers, but Bradley doesn’t look too closely. His hands are on Colin’s shoulders - the skin is smooth and warm. He’s not sure he’s ready for this. Colin is sucking him and all Bradley can think about is Colin’s mouth eating that orange. One of Colin’s hands is pressed flat on Bradley’s belly, the other gripping his thigh. Bradley comes and his brain is wiped clean.
Colin crawls up the bed, looking dishevelled and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Bradley closes his eyes. He feels Colin lying against him, breathing and half-laughing into his neck. Bradley does nothing to help Colin with his own erection. Colin swipes his tongue over a spot on Bradley’s neck, his hands twitching over Bradley’s hips before shifting to his own cock. He jacks himself off and, after a moment, comes all over Bradley’s leg, laughing and gasping against Bradley’s skin.
Bradley shifts, his arm slipping around Colin’s back. Colin is still for a moment, then moves, propping himself up as he reaches for something. Bradley feels the air cool against his exposed skin. Then Colin is wiping himself and Bradley’s leg down with something - Bradley tries not to think that it might be his t-shirt. Colin settles in around him, leaning over to plant a wet kiss on Bradley’s jaw. He hesitates, his face still close to Bradley’s. Bradley opens his eyes, just a fraction, and peers at Colin. Colin’s features look soft, blurred through Bradley’s eyelashes. Colin sees him looking and slowly smiles, watching him. Bradley tries to keep a straight face, but he’s not a good actor - not really. And when his face cracks, Colin kisses him, straight on the mouth. And Bradley hesitates for a moment and then kisses back. Colin mumbles something into his mouth.
“What was that?” says Bradley softly.
“I said,” murmurs Colin. “Do you want to turn that thing off, then?”
“What?” says Bradley.
“The telly,” says Colin, his eyes on Bradley’s lips.
Bradley becomes aware that the TV is still droning on and for a second he can’t work out why he can’t understand it, why it’s in some language that doesn’t seem to be English. Then he catches up.
“Don’t you want to know who won the fuckersnap battle?” he says.
“No,” says Colin. “I already know who won.”
“You do?”
Colin takes a long moment to answer. He’s looking at Bradley’s face in a way that makes Bradley slightly uncomfortable, like he knows something that Bradley doesn’t know and he’s going to torture Bradley for a fairly long time before telling him.
Eventually Colin speaks. “Yes,” he says.
They’re at the local pub - or whatever pubs are called in France - and Bradley is done with mangling the language and has settled on pointing at a bottle and holding up one finger. “Une.” There’s only so many times he can make Angel or Tony go to the bar and he figures he’d have better luck at being understood than Colin. So they end up drinking Beaujolais from beer glasses, but by this stage it’s only him and Colin and Angel so he figures it doesn’t matter anymore.
Colin is gazing moodily into his glass and Bradley is pondering the taste of his new blend - beer dregs and wine - when he realises Angel is staring at him. He glances at her.
“Yes, Angel?” he says.
“You two,” she says. “What’s wrong with you two?”
Bradley looks at her and then at Colin. Colin has a dark look on his face and isn’t looking at him. He looks back at Angel. “Nothing is wrong with us two,” he says. “Colin here might be just a touch drunk and I’m beginning to fear he’s a melancholy drunk, if that does anything to explain it.”
“No,” says Angel. “That’s not it.” She narrows her eyes at them. “Something’s changed.”
Bradley shrugs at her and takes a sip of his drink.
Angel watches him, then speaks. “You two haven’t played any pranks for a week and a half. No pranks on any of us.” She pauses. “Why is that?”
She stares at him, then turns her gaze to Colin. Eventually Colin meets her eyes and looks at her for a long moment. Bradley isn’t sure was passes between them - he’s not exactly sober himself. And there’s always been something between Colin and Angel, an understanding, an affinity. He’s given up trying to work out what it is.
Colin blinks and looks away from both of them, out towards the darkened windows of the pub.
Angel sighs. “Oh,” she says. “Oh, right.”
“What?” says Bradley, but he already has a bit of an idea about what’s going on.
“Oh,” says Angel again. She’s gazing at Colin, but flicks her glance towards Bradley and stares at him for a bit.
“What?” he says defensively and hides behind his drink.
Angel’s brow is furrowed. When she speaks, she talks slowly and carefully, like she’s explaining something to a child. “You two have to work this thing out. Okay? You’ve got to. You just-”
Colin makes a huffing noise, pushing air through his nose. He takes sip of his drink, which turns into skolling the whole thing. “Right,” he says as he slams the glass down on the table between them. He stands up, looking at Bradley for a second and then back at Angel, meeting her gaze and shaking his head just slightly. “Right,” he says again. The word comes out exasperated and harsh. He turns and leaves.
Angel looks at Bradley.
“What?” says Bradley. “What’d I do?”
“Bradley,” she says, giving him a look which is just a bit too direct and pointed for him to deal with right now.
“What?” he says again, feigning ignorance. But there is something clawing at the inside of him and he’s pretty sure it’s gonna take more than his wine-and-beer-dregs blend to settle it.
They’re at Colin’s place in London, drinking beer and watching the football. A week off from filming and the Saturday before they’re due back in Cardiff, and Colin wants to see everyone, sending out text messages which use the phrases ‘watch the game’ and ‘just hang out’. Bradley isn’t sure what to think - is it perhaps just a little bit desperate? - but he turns up anyway, just as Angel is leaving.
“You’re not staying, Angel-baby?” he croons.
“No,” she says bluntly. She looks at him like she’s about the punch him in the face.
“Okay then,” he says and backs away. He brushes past Colin and catches Angel giving Colin a significant look at the doorway. He decides that it has nothing to do with him. He joins Katie on the couch.
“So you like football, but Angel doesn’t?” he asks her.
“No,” says Katie. “I am here for your delightful company, whereas Angel can’t stand you.”
“Ha ha,” he says.
Katie raises her eyebrows at him. And then Bradley’s not sure what’s true and what isn’t. He doesn’t like the feeling.
Colin comes in, handing him a beer and flopping down on an armchair.
“So,” says Bradley. “Who else is coming?”
“Well,” says Colin slowly. “Santiago was meant to show, but you know how he is.” Colin shrugs, looking at the screen instead of Bradley’s face. “And Tony said fuck off.”
“Right,” says Bradley. “So it’s just us, then?”
“Yep,” says Colin.
Bradley becomes aware that Katie is looking at him. “Yes?” he says, turning to smile at her.
“You’re gonna try and make us watch Buffy, aren’t you?” she asks, fixing him with an accusing look.
“Er,” he says. “I hadn’t thought of it.”
“Oh god, Colin,” Katie says. “He’s thinking about it. Fuck.”
Colin takes a sip of beer and looks at them, smiling. “Don’t worry,” he says lightly. “I don’t own any Buffy.”
“That won’t stop him! You don’t know how obsessed he gets! He’ll make us watch it and then read fanfic about it and then I won’t be able to look Tony in the eye again, because I’ll have all Bradley’s sick fantasies seared into my brain.”
“What?” says Bradley, laughing. “No!”
And Colin is laughing too. “No Buffy,” says Colin, looking at him.
“No Buffy,” replies Bradley. “Sure, fine, good.”
Katie gives him a suspicious look, but falls silent. Bradley keeps it to himself that he would actually prefer to be watching Buffy. But he’s good at pretending to be a hot-blooded male who enjoys watching football and eating big slabs of hardly cooked meat and all that. He feels it balances out with the drama-school, poncy acting thing. And for half a second, his mind thinks about sex with Colin and where that fits in the scheme of things. But he’s quick to block those thoughts. He takes a sip of beer and wonders if he can ogle Katie’s chest without her noticing and whacking him. The bruise from last time has only just faded.
Bradley wakes up on Colin’s couch, alone and with a furry beer-taste in his mouth. He pads to the bathroom and pauses at the closed door. He thinks he hears a noise from inside. He knocks. “Colin?” he asks.
He hears some splashing and Colin’s voice, slightly muffled. “Yes, Bradley?”
“Colin, I need to use the crapper,” he says.
“Um,” says Colin. “Um. Bradley, I’m having a bath.”
“You’re what?”
“I’m in the bath.”
Bradley thinks for a moment. “Look,” he says, trying to sound diplomatic and reasonable. “It’s a bit urgent, and it’s not like you haven’t seen my, er, manhood before. So, um, Colin? Please?”
He hears more splashing and then Colin says, “Oh, alright.”
Bradley pushes the door open and glances at Colin, giving him a small smile. Colin turns on the tap over the bath while Bradley empties his bladder. Bradley tucks himself in and turns to Colin. “Awkward,” he says after a pause.
Colin looks at him with raised eyebrows. And Bradley finds he can’t stop staring at him. Colin looks small and vulnerable, his skin pale and his hair dark and wet, slicked close to his head. He looks thinner than Bradley remembers. He has his knees bent and his arms crossed over the top of them.
Bradley realises he probably should stop staring and say something. “Did Katie go home?” he asks.
Colin nods. “Yep.” The murky water shifts around him. “A while ago actually. Do you want to know who won? I think you fell asleep before then.”
Bradley shrugs and perches on the closed toilet seat. “Colin?” he says. “Are we alright?” He’s said it before he can stop himself.
Colin takes a breath and looks into his face. Then he moves his hand in the water and looks at that instead. “Yes Bradley,” he says after a moment. “We are alright, I guess.” He lets out a breath.
Bradley scowls. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he says, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.
Colin’s still looking at his hands. “We’re okay,” he says slowly. “If you want us to be okay, then Bradley, we’re okay. You just say so and-”
“And what?”
“And nothing. It’s your call.” Colin’s voice sounds small and sad, like nothing Bradley has ever heard before. The words hang in the air and nothing moves.
Bradley stands up, moving before he’s even decided what he’s going to do. Then he’s climbing into the bath, fully clothed, facing Colin and settling his legs awkwardly on either side of Colin’s and leaning towards Colin, reaching for him.
“What’re you-” Colin protests, but Bradley has his hands on either side of Colin’s face and leans forward to kiss him. And that stops him talking.
When they break apart, Bradley keeps his forehead pressed against Colin’s, even though he’s leaning at an awkward angle and his legs are becoming slightly painful. He can feel Colin’s breath on his lips. He pulls away, stroking his hand across Colin’s face, unwilling to let go.
Colin touches his own lips and looks at Bradley. “You’re all wet,” he says at last.
“Yes,” says Bradley, looking down at his soaked clothes. “It is a bath.”
“Well, yes,” replies Colin. He crosses one arm across his chest and lets the other fall into the water. Bradley reaches out to hold it. He squeezes and Colin squeezes back.
He looks at Colin for a long time and for a long time Colin simply looks back.
“Right then,” says Bradley. He wonders if it’s too soon, but he can’t stop himself - he smiles. And Colin is smiling too, his mouth wet and pink and tempting.
“Right then,” he says again. “Now. Are we good?”
“Yes, Bradley,” replies Colin. “We’re good.”
“Good.” He drops Colin’s hand in order to pull off his t-shirt. “Because I want to wash my hair.” He flings the wet t-shirt onto the bathroom floor and stands up to climb out of his soaking jeans.
When Bradley settles back into the water, Colin is laughing.
“Sure,” Colin says. “Wash your hair.” And he’s grinning and looking straight into Bradley’s eyes.