Merlin RPF; Follow Them Home
Title: Follow Them Home
Author: significantowl
Pairing: Bradley/Colin
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1155
Disclaimer: Not true. Fictional characterizations and situations. No disrespect or invasion of privacy intended.
Summary: Colin has more rules for himself than anyone Bradley knows. Once, Bradley'd thought he wanted to be there the day Colin broke one; the longer he's known Colin, the less he ever wants to witness that. [KMM prompt: Bradley/Colin, frottage, preferably not cock against cock]
A/N: Originally for summerpornathon's KMM challenge. Edited and expanded version. A million thanks to tourdefierce, incapricious, and avidbeader for beta!
Follow Them Home
by significantowl
Bradley rucks the worn cotton of Colin's shirt beneath his palms, loving the shift of Colin's muscles under his hands, the way his body rocks forward as Bradley crowds against him.
Colin's mouth doesn't stutter against Bradley's, and he doesn't ease up on the glorious way he sucks Bradley's tongue, thank God. But he does disentangle his hands and tug his t-shirt back down.
Bradley murmurs in his throat - quiet, involuntary disappointment, not surprise. He pulls at Colin until they've switched positions, Bradley's back to the wall of the hotel room, Colin's height pinning him to it. There's a mirror straight across from them, full-length in a faux wooden frame.
At least Bradley will be able to see some of what he can't touch.
Colin's body is a long, taut line against Bradley's. He's just enough taller that the hardness in his jeans pushes low into Bradley's stomach. Bradley knows from experience that if Colin bends his knees just a bit, their cocks will line up perfectly, but right now he's glad Colin hasn't; the base of Colin's cock is grinding down on the head of Bradley's, and the way that firm pressure from above contrasts with the heavy, cushioning softness of Colin's balls has the blood throbbing in Bradley's cock.
Bradley runs a hand down to cup Colin through his jeans. Colin bucks at the contact, and Bradley holds him through it, feeling his cock swell in brief, tempting pulses. Bradley suddenly can't stand the coarse denim for another moment. He goes for Colin's belt.
And Colin lets him, even after Bradley's little mistake earlier with Colin's shirt. He trusts Bradley. That's the payoff for all Bradley's self-restraint, and Bradley believes it's worth it.
Colin has more rules for himself than anyone Bradley knows. Once, Bradley'd thought he wanted to be there the day Colin broke one; the longer he's known Colin, the less he ever wants to witness that.
Colin's laughing, a soft rumble in Bradley's ear. "Trouble with the buckle? Let me -"
"No," Bradley says, tugging. "No, don't." He slips the belt open finally, and pops the button of Colin's jeans. They're riding so damn low that there's at least two inches of Colin's boxers above them, but Bradley's knuckle manages to graze the soft skin at Colin's stomach nonetheless. He lingers, pulse loud in his ears, one beat, two, three, letting himself feel the gentle scratch of hair. Then Colin's stepping back, slipping his jeans down.
Boxers stay on, of course.
Bradley doesn't push it. He doesn't have to understand Colin's rules; all he really has to do is either accept them, or not, and he's already made up his mind about that.
But understanding is nice, it's good, it helps. Bradley never gets Colin anything but water with lemon when they go down the pub, because Colin doesn't drink while he's filming, not even on his days off. He may stay out 'til closing time with Bradley, but he won't touch a drop. Bradley knows why, even if Colin hasn't said in so many words: Colin's afraid it might show up in his performance later, that some small thing in his eyes, or voice, or the way he holds himself might be different to usual. And - for Colin, probably worst of all - beyond his control.
Colin doesn't sleep with co-stars, so that's not what they do.
Bradley's hands are resting on Colin's hips. He'd like to wait for Colin to undo Bradley's jeans, but that might mean waiting forever. He doesn't risk it. He pulls his off more slowly, because Colin's staring, his hands clenched in tight fists and his breathing audible. Bradley's jeans don't drop straight to the floor like Colin's, there's more tugging involved, and he tilts his hips overmuch in the process, trying to make the slit in his boxers gape. He likes the thought of Colin catching a glimpse of his hard cock; likes it so much that his cock twitches, as if it's making a move for the opening, trying to be helpful.
Colin slams against Bradley, kissing Bradley's neck, open-mouthed and sloppy; one hand rubs at Bradley's nipple through his shirt. A little wildly, a little too hard, but it means Colin's barely thinking and Bradley loves it. When Colin's on the edge like this, Bradley can see just how far he's come - how far he's let Bradley take him - and he has no doubt that Colin wants to fall. He'll never let himself, but it's still the best secret Bradley knows.
Bradley grabs at Colin's waist. His t-shirt hitches up slightly, and Bradley jerks his eyes to the mirror - he can see a strip of skin that he's never felt, pale and smooth but for the knobs of Colin's spine. Bradley slides his hand down to Colin's arse and squeezes, because right now he's got to fucking grab something, or -
Colin keens, and Bradley squeezes again, feeling the muscle tense, feeling Colin lift up, his cock jutting higher and harder against Bradley. Colin's so fucking warm against him, and their boxers are getting so wet - Bradley didn't always wear boxers before, but now, oh, he's a fan, the cotton's so deliciously thin, lets in all the heat, all the shape of Colin against him, and slip-slides perfectly over him when he ruts.
And dear God, is he rutting now.
It always ends like this - frantic, Bradley's hand fisted in Colin's shirt, Colin too far gone to kiss, just panting into Bradley's mouth as their hips crash together. Bradley's legs trembling. Colin with one hand braced against the wall behind Bradley, the other scrabbling over Bradley's back.
Bradley can only imagine what they could be like - if they were in a bed, cool sheets on their skin, if this was allowed. He's banking on getting the chance to find out.
Colin laughs, shaky, just after he comes, and his eyes skitter away. It's not just about embarrassment, Bradley knows that; it's about fear. All rules are, he thinks, when you follow them home. He kisses Colin hard, rubbing a thumb over his cheekbone. It means "I understand" and "it's all right", because Bradley thinks he does, and hopes it will be.
As long as they're not getting everything that they want, Colin can believe they're doing the right thing.
Bradley can give him that. Bradley can come in his pants, keep his mouth above the neck of Colin's t-shirt, let his thumb rub over Colin's elbow when it wants to rub the head of Colin's cock. He can do all that for however long Colin needs; he's got this idea, though, that every morning they get up and go to work brings them one day closer to a time when Colin won't need the same things anymore.
Bradley's got high hopes for the wrap party.
Author: significantowl
Pairing: Bradley/Colin
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1155
Disclaimer: Not true. Fictional characterizations and situations. No disrespect or invasion of privacy intended.
Summary: Colin has more rules for himself than anyone Bradley knows. Once, Bradley'd thought he wanted to be there the day Colin broke one; the longer he's known Colin, the less he ever wants to witness that. [KMM prompt: Bradley/Colin, frottage, preferably not cock against cock]
A/N: Originally for summerpornathon's KMM challenge. Edited and expanded version. A million thanks to tourdefierce, incapricious, and avidbeader for beta!
Follow Them Home
by significantowl
Bradley rucks the worn cotton of Colin's shirt beneath his palms, loving the shift of Colin's muscles under his hands, the way his body rocks forward as Bradley crowds against him.
Colin's mouth doesn't stutter against Bradley's, and he doesn't ease up on the glorious way he sucks Bradley's tongue, thank God. But he does disentangle his hands and tug his t-shirt back down.
Bradley murmurs in his throat - quiet, involuntary disappointment, not surprise. He pulls at Colin until they've switched positions, Bradley's back to the wall of the hotel room, Colin's height pinning him to it. There's a mirror straight across from them, full-length in a faux wooden frame.
At least Bradley will be able to see some of what he can't touch.
Colin's body is a long, taut line against Bradley's. He's just enough taller that the hardness in his jeans pushes low into Bradley's stomach. Bradley knows from experience that if Colin bends his knees just a bit, their cocks will line up perfectly, but right now he's glad Colin hasn't; the base of Colin's cock is grinding down on the head of Bradley's, and the way that firm pressure from above contrasts with the heavy, cushioning softness of Colin's balls has the blood throbbing in Bradley's cock.
Bradley runs a hand down to cup Colin through his jeans. Colin bucks at the contact, and Bradley holds him through it, feeling his cock swell in brief, tempting pulses. Bradley suddenly can't stand the coarse denim for another moment. He goes for Colin's belt.
And Colin lets him, even after Bradley's little mistake earlier with Colin's shirt. He trusts Bradley. That's the payoff for all Bradley's self-restraint, and Bradley believes it's worth it.
Colin has more rules for himself than anyone Bradley knows. Once, Bradley'd thought he wanted to be there the day Colin broke one; the longer he's known Colin, the less he ever wants to witness that.
Colin's laughing, a soft rumble in Bradley's ear. "Trouble with the buckle? Let me -"
"No," Bradley says, tugging. "No, don't." He slips the belt open finally, and pops the button of Colin's jeans. They're riding so damn low that there's at least two inches of Colin's boxers above them, but Bradley's knuckle manages to graze the soft skin at Colin's stomach nonetheless. He lingers, pulse loud in his ears, one beat, two, three, letting himself feel the gentle scratch of hair. Then Colin's stepping back, slipping his jeans down.
Boxers stay on, of course.
Bradley doesn't push it. He doesn't have to understand Colin's rules; all he really has to do is either accept them, or not, and he's already made up his mind about that.
But understanding is nice, it's good, it helps. Bradley never gets Colin anything but water with lemon when they go down the pub, because Colin doesn't drink while he's filming, not even on his days off. He may stay out 'til closing time with Bradley, but he won't touch a drop. Bradley knows why, even if Colin hasn't said in so many words: Colin's afraid it might show up in his performance later, that some small thing in his eyes, or voice, or the way he holds himself might be different to usual. And - for Colin, probably worst of all - beyond his control.
Colin doesn't sleep with co-stars, so that's not what they do.
Bradley's hands are resting on Colin's hips. He'd like to wait for Colin to undo Bradley's jeans, but that might mean waiting forever. He doesn't risk it. He pulls his off more slowly, because Colin's staring, his hands clenched in tight fists and his breathing audible. Bradley's jeans don't drop straight to the floor like Colin's, there's more tugging involved, and he tilts his hips overmuch in the process, trying to make the slit in his boxers gape. He likes the thought of Colin catching a glimpse of his hard cock; likes it so much that his cock twitches, as if it's making a move for the opening, trying to be helpful.
Colin slams against Bradley, kissing Bradley's neck, open-mouthed and sloppy; one hand rubs at Bradley's nipple through his shirt. A little wildly, a little too hard, but it means Colin's barely thinking and Bradley loves it. When Colin's on the edge like this, Bradley can see just how far he's come - how far he's let Bradley take him - and he has no doubt that Colin wants to fall. He'll never let himself, but it's still the best secret Bradley knows.
Bradley grabs at Colin's waist. His t-shirt hitches up slightly, and Bradley jerks his eyes to the mirror - he can see a strip of skin that he's never felt, pale and smooth but for the knobs of Colin's spine. Bradley slides his hand down to Colin's arse and squeezes, because right now he's got to fucking grab something, or -
Colin keens, and Bradley squeezes again, feeling the muscle tense, feeling Colin lift up, his cock jutting higher and harder against Bradley. Colin's so fucking warm against him, and their boxers are getting so wet - Bradley didn't always wear boxers before, but now, oh, he's a fan, the cotton's so deliciously thin, lets in all the heat, all the shape of Colin against him, and slip-slides perfectly over him when he ruts.
And dear God, is he rutting now.
It always ends like this - frantic, Bradley's hand fisted in Colin's shirt, Colin too far gone to kiss, just panting into Bradley's mouth as their hips crash together. Bradley's legs trembling. Colin with one hand braced against the wall behind Bradley, the other scrabbling over Bradley's back.
Bradley can only imagine what they could be like - if they were in a bed, cool sheets on their skin, if this was allowed. He's banking on getting the chance to find out.
Colin laughs, shaky, just after he comes, and his eyes skitter away. It's not just about embarrassment, Bradley knows that; it's about fear. All rules are, he thinks, when you follow them home. He kisses Colin hard, rubbing a thumb over his cheekbone. It means "I understand" and "it's all right", because Bradley thinks he does, and hopes it will be.
As long as they're not getting everything that they want, Colin can believe they're doing the right thing.
Bradley can give him that. Bradley can come in his pants, keep his mouth above the neck of Colin's t-shirt, let his thumb rub over Colin's elbow when it wants to rub the head of Colin's cock. He can do all that for however long Colin needs; he's got this idea, though, that every morning they get up and go to work brings them one day closer to a time when Colin won't need the same things anymore.
Bradley's got high hopes for the wrap party.