franticsga

Title: Lucky Knickers Will Get You Everywhere.
Authors: hija_paloma and franticsga
Rating: Hard R.
Disclaimer: I'm sure there's a happy, wonderful universe where this fic has occurred and might occur again, but it is not this one.
Notes: Maaaaany moons ago, Misses Dovepants and Frantic got into a discussion about Bradley James, and how it's so obvious he cares more about sports than sex. Somewhere along the line we decided he's one of those guys who still has his favorite Man U ARSENAL OOPS PLEASE DON'T KILL US BRADLEY JAMES pants that he got when he was 13 and he will wear them until they have literally fallen off of him. And somehow that turned into...this. It's a joint Dove-and-Melissa effort, the kind that only happens with a special sort of inspiration. Like Bradley James.
Description: "That's it, then? No other burning questions you've been dying to ask about my sex life, you pervert?"
Yes, Bradley thinks, and says, "No." I need to know what else you do, what else you like, and if you think maybe you could like it with me. "I think that's everything for now."



The thing is, Bradley James is kind of an idiot.

This isn't news to him, he knows this, always has. He's a little stupid about people, and tends to bluster his way through, bludgeoning people into liking him with his goofy smile and dorky jokes, and the sort of mad thing is how it always works even though people know he's a nutter.

Colin...is different. Like really weird different, Bradley thinks at first, but from day one he can't help but pay attention to Colin--lots of attention. He studies him, thinks about what Colin does and why and what that means. It takes a while--kind of a long while--but Bradley thinks he's starting to get Colin, to understand not just his incomprehensible Irish jokes but his moods, his expressions, the way he folds up his body that means "don't talk to me" or how when he's tired he gets giggly and then denies it like Bradley doesn't have him on video.

He's learnt that when Colin is sad or really thinky, he makes this face, his sad face, delicately woeful like a bloody street urchin, and rubs his fingers together, and that's how Bradley knows he has to make fun of his accent and show him his raggedy pants, because how can a pair of genuine-article-1997-Arsenal pants fail to cheer a man up? Anyway Colin is too serious and he needs to be reminded to have fun, and that is why Bradley is talking him into stealing Angel's lucky knickers, and not because he's some sort of pants-stealing pervert, god (though he does seem to spend a lot of time thinking about pants and is, actually, a pervert).

Nobody would dare steal Katie's lucky knickers, because who wants to be castrated? But Angel is sweet and easy to tease and Bradley would definitely have a go at her but for some reason she keeps putting him off. Which is a good thing because every time he talks about how he knows Angel fancies him, Colin gets all quiet and Bradley doesn't understand. Colin doesn't really seem to fancy Angel--he doesn't seem to fancy anyone, really--but maybe he's just shy about it, and Bradley's not in love with her or anything, so if it makes Colin happier he'll refrain from giving her the full Bradley James Experience. It's just one of those things he doesn't get about Colin, he decides. But he brings him toys and books and sweets and beer anyway, in between pulling his hair and giving him wet willies and teasing him until they're both cackling, and then when they're watching a movie sometimes he'll tickle the back of Colin's neck and tell him "There, Colin, all better," like they've been playing Doctor or something.

And actually it does seem to make it better, even one awful day when Bradley's nattering on at lunch about how Angel is obviously in love with him, and when will she just give in to her mad desire, and he should probably know better but he's just talking shit and Colin should know how he operates by now, but instead Colin goes all quiet and hurt and then he's weird and tense for the rest of the day. And he won't laugh at any of Bradley's jokes and he won't talk between takes and just sits there reading in the shadows, which can't be good for his eyes.

And then after, when Bradley shows up at his door with a bag of Gummi frogs and Evil Dead 3, Colin stands there thinking about it for a minute, like he might say no, might shut the door in Bradley's face. Bradley might think his heart is breaking if he doesn't see Colin look resigned and stand aside to let him in. And someone else, a wiser or better person, might've seen where he wasn't welcome and made his excuses, but Bradley only knows how to be himself, doesn't know how to not need Colin at the end of the day, how to not crave his smile, his laughter like a reward, so he stretches out on the bed.

Colin pauses for the longest minute of Bradley's life before stretching out next to him and grabbing the remote off the nightstand. Everything is tense and quiet still, but at least Bradley is there, and then about 20 minutes in he reaches out and tickles the back of Colin's neck, and Colin stiffens at first--making Bradley's heart ratchet up another couple of notches--before relaxing completely, trapping Bradley's hand against the headboard. All right, maybe not trapping, but it would just be too awkward and rude to pull it away, so he leaves it there, cupping the back of Colin's neck, and every now and then he runs his thumb through the little curls there and thinks that he'll have to do better, somehow.

***

And he notices that when Colin is nervous-- like when they have an interview, although Bradley tries to soothe him like a skittish horse beforehand, rubbing his shoulders and telling him that he, Bradley, will handle all the questions except the ones addressed directly to Colin-- he grabs one of his thumbs with his other hand. Lately Colin does it all the time, pink and flustery-looking and grabbing onto his thumb like there's an interviewer around every corner.

So one day Bradley grabs his hand and bites the pad of Colin's thumb, telling him he'll turn into a vampire now and will never again be able to enjoy the thirty seconds of sun he gets a day. He looks up and Colin is staring at him with his eyes half-lidded and his mouth open, and he drops Colin's hand like it's a hot potato because Colin doesn't stare at things like that, like he's five seconds away from taking off his clothes.

And maybe now he can't stop thinking about it, and he wants to ask if Colin's gay (because Bradley's often suspected he is; he only gets all sweet and teasing with boys and hardly ever talks to girls), and if he's gay does he fancy Bradley? And if he fancies Bradley does he think maybe Bradley fancies him back? And if he thinks Bradley fancies him back why hasn't he ever tried to kiss him? And if he tries to kiss him what in god's name will Bradley do?

The worst part isn't that he thinks about it all damn day, because at least when there are other people around there's a limit to how much he can focus on it, how much of his mental energies can be devoted to Colin's lust-slackened face, and oh yeah, there's a limit to what he can do about it. Working with Katie and Tony pretty much means he's had to learn some iron self-control, because there are kind of a lot of pretty people around here, and if Katie were to ever notice him... noticing... that, he'd never hear the end of it.

No, the worst part is at night, when he's alone in his room and there's absolutely nothing to distract him from thinking about it, the taste of Colin's skin between his teeth, the way Colin looked at him, the way that Bradley is starting to suspect he really maybe almost definitely doesn't might want Colin to have looked at him--to look at him again. Nothing to stop him thinking over and over "What if he tries to kiss me?" and playing out so many different scenarios, a hundred different ways it could end.

At first he imagines ways of telling Colin "no," pushing him away, gently, kindly, laughing it off, getting angry--and that's where things go wrong, because when he sees himself yelling at Colin, shoving him away, he can see just as clearly Colin's reaction, hurt and disappointment and more than a little of his own anger, and he can't ever imagine himself doing that to Colin, and then he thinks maybe he can't see himself telling Colin "no."

Which leaves him with only one thing to imagine, and night after night, Bradley lies in bed, lost in a thousand variations on "yes," and somewhere along the way, "trying to decide how to respond" becomes "trying to decide if he could ever want that" becomes just plain fantasizing--a hundred, a thousand first kisses, and Bradley's just so frustrated at not knowing which one is the right one, which one is real.

There's no way he can discuss this with anybody; not the guilt and fear that feel like a kick to the chest when he thinks of rejecting Colin; not the softness of the downy hair on the back of Colin's neck that he likes running his thumb over to make Colin go droopy and pliant; not the way he likes to wrestle and tickle Colin just to hear him laugh that silly breathless laugh and feel the firm muscle under his baggy clothes that reminds him Colin's not quite as scrawny as he looks. He looks for Colin at parties and press dos and is annoyed with the frisson of disappointment when Colin's not there, with how the parties are automatically boring if he's Colinless.

And if this all means that kissing Colin is something he has to do, to keep Colin, to make sure he never looks at anybody else like he looked at Bradley-- he'll have to get his head around that yes, that sweet yes he knows is going to end up coming out of his mouth the second Colin makes his move and he can try out all the yeses he didn't know how to say before.

Which would be fine, but Colin never does actually make his move. He's perfectly Colin, polite and fun and cheerful as ever, and Bradley wants to kick someone because all of a sudden he's seeing Colin's wrists, those fragile strong wrists and those long fingers that could do things to Bradley that he's only read about in dirty mags. Colin drums his fingers against the table and Bradley imagines them snaking up inside his shirt to gently tug at his nipples and chokes on his water in a spectacular display of sprinkler-action.

And if Bradley thought it was bad before, if he thought he was distracted by Colin looking at him one time, it's nothing on this. Now that he's seen one part of Colin's body it's like he can't stop seeing it, and Colin's wrists lead to his arms, which lead to his shoulders, and then down his back, and if there's a god in heaven then Tony might not have caught Bradley staring speculatively at Colin's arse, but he's not holding out much hope.

The day he gives up all pretense, when he knows he's lost, is the day he finds himself watching Colin do a scene with Katie, and realises he's not actually watching his castmates at work, he's actually staring at Colin's ears, and what's worse, he's stroking the curve of his own ear as he does it. He's shivering and his breath is just a little shorter than it really should be and if he doesn't do something about this, he's going to lose his mind or possibly get arrested for public indecency, so he has to tell Colin.

Except he's done everything backward, of course, and gone straight from "is Colin maybe gay?" to "what kind of noise would he make if I touched him like this?" without actually taking the time to answer any of the questions in between. He'd thought Colin necessary before but now he knows what it really means, to need Colin, to want him, and he has no actual idea if Colin needs him too.

***

One day when they're in London he goes out with Katie and Angel and Colin to have dinner at some tiny place that acts too posh for words. Katie and Angel act as if this is par for the course, but Colin kicks him when the waiter appears at his elbow with a big maroon napkin over his arm and a wine list and says, "If you'd like to see the wine list, sir?"

Later, he appears at Bradley's elbow again (startling the daylights out of him and nearly making him knock his ridiculously expensive glass of Merlot into Colin's lap) and politely asks if everyone would like their salads tossed. Bradley shakes his head-- not enough wine in the world for that, mate-- but Angel snorts and nods and Katie tilts her head demurely and says, "Oh yes, plaaays."

As soon as the waiter leaves they turn to each other and do that girl thing where they collapse into muffled giggles that are somehow far louder than they have any right to be. He's a bit afraid of those giggles, as he's suddenly being noticed around places where people have watched the show and he knows every time he hears giggling that someone is probably staring at his bum.

"What are you two making that awful noise for?" he asks in a hushed voice. The atmosphere in here is making him feel like maybe he wants to start yelling so he has to carefully keep his voice lowered just in case.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you want your salad tossed?" Angel says, snickering.

He looks at her pretty face, thinking that she may as well be speaking in French for all he understands her. "Angel, you know I don't eat that rubbish. It gives you ulcers, and things."

"But," Colin begins, but Bradley's already been on the receiving end of this lecture enough times that he can squeeze Colin's thigh and Colin will subside, knowing Bradley only says these things to get a rise out of him.

"Bradley, are you taking the piss or are you really that clueless?" Angel asks, biting the olive off of a toothpick.

He considers trying to lie, but he's starting to think this salad-tossing thing is something sexual and possibly derogatory, and he doesn't want to end up accidentally telling them he gets off on rubbing frogs on his dick or something. "I dunno if I want to know where your dirty minds are, you, you...hussies," he tells them huffily, feeling vaguely like he's heard that somewhere before.

"Times like these I know you've never had sex," Katie says, amused, and at his glare (because he has had sex several times, thank you) she finally relents. "It's when someone licks around your, ehm. Around your, you know."

From her gestures he has a pretty good idea that he does know, yeah, but he wants to hear her say it. "Around your what, Katie?"

"Round your bumhole," Angel puts in calmly. "Rimming."

He can't help the face he pulls. Honestly, the idea of someone's tongue near his-- he nearly gags at the idea. "Oh, god," he gasps, imagining his own tongue-- just, ugh, no. Wow. No.

"Oh, shite," Katie says softly, sitting back in her seat with her arms crossed. "I take it back. You're not allowed to have sex with anybody."

"Wot? Because I don't want to stick my tongue in somebody's bum?" he hisses. He notices Colin's been quiet during this whole conversation, fiddling with his napkin ring, pushing it over the first two fingers of his left hand and trying to fit his thumb in there as well.

"It's supposed to feel really, really good." Angel taps the table for emphasis. "You're a bit of a prude you know."

He thinks of the last girl who consented to have sex with him, Hannah her name was, a dancer who looked teacup fragile but was mad mad mad in bed. She was the first girl who ever went on top of him and he made the mistake of telling her that. She laughed so hard she nearly slid right off his cock, but fucked his brains completely out of his ears so he forgave her. It's possible, he thinks now, that she would have liked Katie and Angel. The thought is terrifying.

"Whatever." He glares. "I'm not the only prude here, right Colin?"

And he forgot, for a second, that he'd started to fancy Colin like he does. The question is out of his mouth and he's blushing before he even finishes the 'in' in 'Colin'.

Colin raises an eyebrow and looks at him slantwise. He's also blushing, but Colin's always a bit pink so that's nothing unusual. "Speak for yourself," he says. "It's brilliant. Makes you cry it feels so good."

The waiter chooses this particular, horribly inappropriate moment to bring out his steak tartar and new potatoes, and Bradley wants to conk him over the head with the stupid bottle of wine. Because Colin Morgan of all people has just said he's not only gotten his arse eaten out but liked it. A lot.

And it's not like he didn't have a suspicion all this time that he wanted to shag Colin. That would make him stupid, what with all the kissing he's been imagining. But there's a difference between thinking I would quite like to have sex with Colin and knowing he wants to shag him, Colin on his hands and knees on the rug in Bradley's room, shaking and crying and pushing against Bradley's face, his back starting to bend into a trembling curve while he moans at every tiny lap of Bradley's tongue.

He stares blindly at his steak and suddenly has to squeeze Colin's leg again or it's quite possible he's going to come. Colin smiles at him around a bite of his spinach-feta-dried-cherry-walnut thing and squirms after a minute, ticklish, and Bradley knows he is so, so fucked.

Dinner passes in a blur and by the time Bradley's ready to join the world again, they're walking down a London street in a fine, cold rain. Katie and Angel have linked arms and are walking just a bit in front, their heads pressed together as they whisper and giggle about--actually, Bradley doesn't want to know. But he takes advantage of the opportunity and slows his pace, forcing Colin to drop back with him. Now or never, he thinks to himself, and it doesn't actually make sense, his life lately is nothing but a string of opportunities to be alone with Colin, but it seems to work anyway even though all of a sudden he realises he's wearing his lucky pants-- the pants that are lucky for everything but pulling. There's no way anyone could possibly want to be naked with him when his underwear are mostly holes held together by string and chance, and strangely, that calms him down a bit.

Bradley has never been smooth or subtle--he gets by in life largely on what one of his girlfriends had described as "a certain idiot charm"--so he's not even really surprised when he starts to speak and what comes out of his mouth is not, "Listen, I've been wondering and I just wanted to know, d'you fancy boys?" or even "I think you and I should have a snog and see where it leads" but "Do you really like--that?"

Colin eyes him warily. "Like what?" he asks, but he doesn't sound like he's confused, more like he's hoping he's confused and maybe they're talking about something else.

Bradley wants to avert his eyes, but that's only because he can't quite tear them away from Colin's mouth, and he absolutely cannot have this conversation while looking at Colin's mouth unless he wants to drop dead in the street. "You know," he starts, looking up at the girls, and he's so irritated at himself for echoing Katie that he forces himself to finish: "rimming. That. You liked it?"

Colin shrugs a bit. "I like it," he says carefully, like he's not sure if it's the right answer. Bradley isn't really sure, either. "I guess a lot of blokes have hang-ups about it, think it isn't manly or whatever, but..." he shrugs again. "Maybe it's 'cos I'm an actor, no inhibitions, right?"

The laugh they share at that feels almost normal and that's probably what makes Bradley open his mouth again. "Do--have you--" he can't quite finish the question, thinks it's crossing a line, one that he's not sure he's ready to cross.

But Colin laughs again and bumps him with his shoulder. "Go on, then," he says, "don't come over all shy now."

Bradley swallows and tries again, bolstered by Colin's arm warm against his. "Have you done it to someone, or just, you know, had it done to you?"

"Both," Colin says, and he still sounds careful, like he's not sure where Bradley's going with this. Join the club, Bradley thinks. "It's--y'know. It's, making someone else feel that good, it's sort of--it's just as good, almost. Right?"

Bradley nods slowly; he understands that, he supposes. And that leaves him with just one other question: "Have you done it--rimming--have you done that with just guys, or girls too?"

Colin smiles and turns just a little pinker. "Actually, the first time, it was with this girl at school, she didn't--warn me, or, you know, and I wasn't expecting--I fell off the bed." They both laugh at that, and it almost feels like a normal conversation with Colin, except that Bradley's stomach feels like it's filled with hot lead, tugging toward his feet. "But yeah, mostly guys. A few girls, but mostly guys since then."

Bradley nods. "Okay," he says. "I mean, not okay--not--I don't mean I'm giving you permission or anything. Just...bugger."

Colin is laughing too hard to walk straight at this point, leaning against Bradley and hiccuping, "Glad you approve!" Bradley just shoves him a bit, and he puts on a serious face again. "That's it, then? No other burning questions you've been dying to ask about my sex life, you pervert?"

Yes, Bradley thinks, and says, "No." I need to know what else you do, what else you like, and if you think maybe you could like it with me. "I think that's everything for now."

***

He's sure that if Colin had known that answering one question about his sex life would open the floodgates of Bradley's curiosity, he'd have been much less open. But now that he knows Colin's all right being his gay emissary (Bradley is smart enough never to use that phrase, but he knows Colin's thinking it by the suspicious look he gets sometimes), he can ask him practically anything.

"So what about giving, then? Doesn't it taste terrible?" he asks, and Colin blushes all over, even his arms. He always does, but he also always answers, which Bradley feels is important.

"This shower thing, Bradley, you've got to learn how it works," Colin says finally, scratching his nose. "You scrub and you scrub beforehand and then you hardly even think of it."

"So it's not like you could be spontaneous about it then." He likes springing these questions on Colin in the middle of lunch when there are loads of other people around, to see how uncomfortable he gets. "Can't just, I dunno, go at it when you've been wanting it all day. Have to have a shower first."

Colin is approximately the color of the tomatoes he's so violently allergic to. "Well, nooo. Not exactly. You could just go at it if you're really turned on. Then I guess it wouldn't matter much, would it?"

"I guess not," Bradley says contemplatively, wishing he dared steal Colin's cheesecake. But Colin is crafty; last time he'd got a fistful of mash instead. "Just curious."


That night, he jerks off in the shower thinking of Colin's lips, wet with rain and wine and shining pink. It starts innocently enough, just thinking about their dinner conversation--all right, perhaps innocently isn't exactly the word--and then Bradley's fingers are slipping across his skin, soap-slick and cool under the hot water, and he's thinking about Colin's mouth. He thinks about Colin kissing him and licks the water from his lips, thinks about Colin sucking on his neck and runs his fingers over the spot, there, where Colin would bite him, presses against the bruise he would leave. He drags his fingers down over his chest and tweaks his nipple as Colin's lips close around it, rubs it with a fingertip the way Colin would press his tongue against it.

When his fingers (Colin's lips) wrap around his cock, Bradley lets out the moan he's been fighting against and drops his head against the shower wall. It feels so good, wet and hot and tight and pressing the pad of his thumb (the tip of Colin's tongue) just there, just like that, god, it's perfect, it's, it's--not enough.

It feels fantastic but it's just not getting him where he wants to be, it feels good but it doesn't feel right, and then Colin's voice sounds in his head: "It's brilliant. Makes you cry it feels so good." And if Bradley hadn't already given up all pretense that he wasn't interested in Colin, if he hadn't already accepted that he wanted Colin, and didn't care what Colin wanted as long as he wanted Bradley, he'd have to accept it now, as he moves his other hand back to slide his fingertips over his arsehole, tentative but firm.

It tickles a little, not unpleasant but it really isn't doing anything for him either, and he's trying not to be disappointed. Then he wonders if it would be different, would be better with Colin's tongue instead of Bradley's fingers. The mental image of Colin kneeling behind him in the shower, his face pressed against Bradley's arse, makes Bradley feel dizzy and hot and a little sick with lust. He pushes one finger inside, then another, and thinks of Colin's long, pale fingers pushing into him, stretching him open.

When he comes, he's imagining Colin's teeth on the back of his neck, Colin's cock inside him instead of his own fingers, Colin's hand, not his, wrapped around his cock, and he thinks, Oh yes, this is going to be amazing.

***

Two days later they're fiddling around in between takes, waiting for the light to go correctly. Colin is kicking at his shins to test out the armour and Bradley is egging him on to see how long it takes before Colin hurts his toes.

"So you said it feels really good,” he says, and Colin smiles. He doesn’t even ask what Bradley’s talking about, just keeps kicking. “How good?”

He wants to confuse Colin, make him sputter and blush like mad again, but he doesn’t this time. “It’s like,” he begins, looking up at the ridiculously beautiful French sky. “It’s like halfway between a massage and a tickle—like it’s almost too much and you’re wanting to get away but it feels so good you never want to get away.”

Bradley has to swallow a couple of times. "Oh," he says faintly. He’s envisioning Colin’s face, twisted with pleasure, and now he’s the one blushing.

“Yeah, and even if you try to be all ehm, controlled, or to stay still, you can’t. You end up making all these noises and moving,” Colin puts his hands out like he’s braced against something and mimes shoving his arse back, “y’know, trying to get more.”

“Oh,” Bradley says again, even more faintly. Actually, it’s possible he doesn’t make any sound at all. The chain mail is a fucking godsend. Although if Colin doesn’t stop talking he thinks his hard-on could challenge even the heaviest mail the costuming department could find.

“And you feel it, y’know, where you’d feel it, but then it winds up through your belly and goes here.” Colin puts his palm where Bradley’s sternum would be if he weren’t wearing seventeen layers under the armour.

“Does it make you come?” he breathes. His face is burning hot in a way that has nothing to do with seventeen layers on a hot summer night after swinging a sword around repeatedly.

Colin looks down (oh, of course now he’s shy), then up at Bradley again, his long lashes fanning. “Yeah,” he says softly.

Bradley opens his mouth to say something very ill-advised (probably I’d like to make you come, too, which has been circling round his head for weeks), but the light is going and Colin has to go get his hair finished. Fortunately, all of Bradley’s scenes require physical action, and he feels like the tremendous sexual frustration is almost worth it when he gets to utilize it by playing with a sword.

***

It's not because he's experiencing a near-constant state of arousal that he accepts any offer Colin makes to watch movies. He's always done that. Colin's mum sends him all sorts of DVDs because one time he mentioned Bradley was insane and needed constant entertainment. Bradley knows because Colin said so: "Bradley, my mother sent me all these DVDs because you're mad and I asked her for ways to keep you distracted." They're still negotiating Bradley's tastes, him and Colin's mum, but she's started to really get him lately.

At first Bradley thought Colin was the mad one here, because if there's one thing everybody knows about Bradley it's that all it takes to make him fall asleep is to blast the loudest movie anybody can find. Colin will tease him about it occasionally-- "That was a brilliant car chase you drooled through--" but Bradley picked up on it months ago that Colin will tell him he's got a new movie on the nights when Bradley's been having a hard time sleeping.

It's a guarantee that at some point Bradley will wake up with his face half-smushed into Colin's hip or his shoulder. It's no different tonight. He makes it through maybe fifteen minutes of...what was it? Faster and Even Furioser? This is how he knows Colin's indulging him, because he can't imagine Colin having even the slightest interest in drag racing. He dozes for a bit, then he's really out. He wakes up when there's kissing-- the absence of noise is startling-- but only halfway. Colin's leaning against the headboard. The space just above his bony hip makes Bradley's absolute favourite pillow in the universe. He shoves his nose into Colin's side and curls his fingers into the waistband of Colin's jeans, and Colin's hand tightens on his shoulder as he drifts back to sleep again.

The next time he wakes the movie's over and he expects, groggy as he is, that Colin will leave. Instead Colin slides down on the bed, forcing Bradley to lift his head from his very comfortable stomach-pillow. Bradley grumbles and clings like an angry cat, but Colin tugs at him until he's back where he wants to be, Colin's arms around him and his face buried in the warm fabric of Colin's hooded sweatshirt (his favourite; it always smells so particularly Colin).

"Should I stay?" Colin murmurs, stroking Bradley's hair off his forehead.

"Mmm, course," he mumbles into Colin's armpit, and turns his head to get more petting. "Stay."

"All right then." Colin flips off the telly and settles back down.

The third time he wakes it's not quite morning and he's octopused himself all over the bed with Colin underneath him, sleeping peacefully somehow. Colin's flipped over in the night so his back is to Bradley, and he's curled into a C that suggests he's cold. Bradley pulls the blankets out from underneath them and then over them without Colin so much as hitching a breath. It's not until he spoons up carefully behind Colin and puts an arm around his middle that Colin even shows a tiny bit of life.

"Doon?" he asks hoarsely.

"Go back to sleep," Bradley tells him, nudging his spine with his nose.

"...kay."

The fourth time he wakes, Colin is kissing him.

***

The next day, on set, nothing is weird at all. Everything goes smoothly, everybody is acting perfectly normally, and Bradley keeps having this bizarre feeling like nothing's different, like nobody but him knows that last night, the world was fundamentally, permanently changed.

And then Colin smiles at him, knowing and a little shy, and Bradley flushes and remembers: he's not the only one who knows.

So Bradley manages, somehow, to get through the day, and he manages not to fuck anything up, not to smile at Colin for no reason in the middle of a scene, not to start every sentence with, "Colin kissed me," not to reach out and touch Colin's hand when they walk past each other. But he feels disconnected, detached even, as though he's watching everyone go through a normal day while he sits on the sidelines and remembers last night.

Clarisse frowns at him a lot and spends an extra couple of minutes on his mouth, and every time the brush sweeps across his lower lip, Bradley thinks of Colin kissing him, Colin's mouth soft and warm and needing as they traded kisses for long minutes. Bradley'd been afraid to stop, afraid to give himself the chance to say "Wait," and then Colin had pulled back and opened his mouth and Bradley had only said, "Yes," and reached up to kiss Colin again.

Andreas runs through the fight choreography with him, pushing his arms back, his feet wider, "One, two, three, cross, down, thrust," and Bradley thinks of Colin's knee between his, nudging his legs apart. He'd spread his legs, drawn his feet up over Colin's skinny calves and then hooked one knee around Colin's thigh, too caught up in needing Colin closer, tighter against him to be shocked at himself.

He and Angel sit down on the castle stairs at lunch, enjoying the sun almost as much as the glares they get from Katie and Colin, and he listens to her talk about Christmas in Scotland. He's a little proud of himself for managing to give all the right responses in all the right places, not to mention that he's somehow not scarred her for life by blurting out "Colin has a wicked mouth" or "God, his hands, I can't even explain." But that's what he's thinking of, Colin's mouth and Colin's hands and how Colin had used his body last night to take Bradley apart and put him back together, subtly changed and all brand new.

Later, during a lull in the action, Bradley sees Colin head for one of the towers. He checks his watch and slips out of the room, catching up to Colin on the stairs. "Hey," he says, and then smiles, huge and stupid, because wow, isn't this brilliant, and Colin smiles back, and says, "Hey," because it is, and then they're kissing on the stairs, and Bradley can feel the late afternoon sun on the back of his neck.

***

It takes three months to get through the hurdles of kissing clothed, kissing and rubbing together, kissing almost naked, kissing fully naked, and kissing DOWN THERE (and he's so glad Colin is a nicer person than he is and doesn't ever ever bring up the first time he tried to give a blowjob, even though the teeth must have really hurt). He still blushes like mad every time Colin uses his fingers because-- well, fingers. In his arse. How is he supposed to get used that, even if it feels so good he's started to ask for it in the most oblique way possible ("...do you think you could. Ehm. Do the thing you did last time? With your hands?").

For his part Colin is of course as patient as can be. If he were Colin he'd be ready to throttle himself, but Colin only smiles and keeps gently stroking Bradley's back after the fifth time he balks at Colin's tongue going...there.

"I'm sorry," he says miserably. "It's just...it's my arse, you know? I didn't turn the lights on while I was having sex for ages because I kept going mental at the naked part. This is the naked part times a thousand."

"Don't," Colin murmurs, and how he can be so calm and collected when his cock is stiff against his belly Bradley will never know. "You'll get there eventually."

Something about Colin's reassurance relaxes him, and the slow, soft strokes up and down his back make him more and more aware of his body. But not in that horrible self-conscious way that's stopped him several times over- the part of his brain that knows exactly what Colin's seeing and how completely disgusting it is. Instead he's starting to feel like maybe, maybe Colin doesn't mind how disgusting it is. From the state of him it certainly doesn't look like he minds. Bradley squirms against the sheets and says, "Let's try it again, yeah?"

And Colin, bless him, doesn't remind him that Bradley nearly snapped off his fingers less than ten minutes ago. He only says "Okay" affably, and slides down the bed.

He breathes through his nose and decides that, for once, he won't think about what Colin must be thinking. He'll only think about the fact that Colin touching him feels good, and that Colin is really, really hard so apparently he's not repulsive.

When Colin's hands spread him he fights not to tighten his muscles against the intrusion, and Colin kisses his thigh almost as a reward. "You good?" he asks roughly, and Bradley nods, not trusting his voice not to crack.

He clutches his pillow hard, shoving his mouth against it and staring at the headboard when he feels the first warmth against his arse. It's only warmth he feels, not wetness, which is weird. His eyes are following the pattern of the wallpaper-- blue shepherdesses against a pale yellow background-- when Colin goes from licking the inside of his arse cheek to right on his arsehole and all of a sudden he understands everything.

"Holy mother of god," he breathes, and then Colin really goes to work and his mind is blown of everything. The wallpaper is forgotten, his reluctance is forgotten, his name is forgotten, all licked cleanly away by Colin Morgan's fucking fantastic tongue. He's making harsh sobbing noises into his pillow that he doesn't even realize until Colin stops to get better traction and then starts in again, little delicate licks around and around until he's absolutely certain he's going to go insane. There's something about that area, apparently, that has a direct link to his cock, bypassing everything else. He knows now why Colin said it would go up through his stomach and settle in his chest. He feels it in his throat, practically.

He's shoving his arse back before he can be embarrassed about it (although he feels he'll probably be plenty embarrassed later, oh yes), back and forth and back and forth, and between the friction of the bedsheets and the slow, hot swipes of Colin's tongue, he's going to come in record time he's sure.

And that does embarrass him, finally; he staggeringly pushes himself up on all fours, pulling his cock away from the bed and incidentally giving easier access to his arse. He feels Colin's hand on the small of his back, pressing him gently downward again. "I'm gonna come," he gasps, "pretty much instantly."

"I want you to," Colin replies, panting, "please."

He waits a second, until he thinks he might not go off like a shot the second he touches the sheets, but he's already gone by the time he settles back down and Colin's tongue goes back to its truly miraculous work. Colin's fingers ghost over his balls, drawn up tight, and that does it. His hips twist and jerk against the bed and Colin's mouth, and he's biting on his pillow (biting on his pillow jesus christ) in an attempt not to wake Angel out of a dead sleep when he comes. It spreads under him even as Colin continues to use teeth and tongue to take him apart, and he keeps pushing back for more even though his body is overwhelmed.

Finally he lies shivering, gasping against his wrist, one eye open blearily. "I promise to always listen to you," he tells Colin, who kisses one of Bradley's thighs and shifts, kneeling his way up the bed. Bradley musters up enough energy to turn his head and there's Colin, flushed and wild-eyed, his lips swollen.

"Bradley," he says raggedly, as close to begging as Colin will ever get-- Bradley's not sure why, but he suspects Colin feels that begging is impolite. He looks like he's gagging for it. Bradley reaches out to fit his hand around Colin's cock, heavy and slick because he's so desperately turned on, and that seems to be enough. Colin's hips stutter forward, pushing hard into Bradley's hand, come spilling over Bradley's fingers before he even gets through a single stroke. The moans he makes as he comes are tinged with relief, as though he had been about to die but Bradley saved him.

Later, wrapped around Colin (naked, which scandalised him several times over and still sometimes surprises him, this sleeping naked business), he can't stop pressing kisses against the area between Colin's shoulder blades, where there are a hundred delicious freckles. "Thank you for being so patient," he murmurs, knowing Colin's at least 75% asleep but also that he'll wake up and listen if Bradley wants to tell him something. This is what's nice about Colin. It's not just the sex bits, although obviously those are amazing, but that if Colin were sound asleep and Bradley needed him-- for kissing, for going to get crisps and beer, for nothing other than just putting his arms around Bradley and breathing next to him-- he'd do it, and gladly. And Bradley is fairly certain that he'd do the same, although with quite a bit more grumbling.

"'s not just patience," Colin says sleepily. "I like showing you things. I like sort of...waiting for you to trust me enough."

He rests his forehead on the back of Colin's neck and makes a hmm noise, totally content, and only smiles when he hears Angel hiss, "Oh thank crap, you're finally asleep, you soppy bastards." Tomorrow, he thinks. Tomorrow for her new pair of lucky knickers.