lamardeuse (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
lamardeuse.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
merlinrpf2009-05-25 09:18 am
lamardeuse.livejournal.com) wrote in merlinrpf2009-05-25 09:18 am
Entry tags:
fic: Home Truths (Colin/Bradley, PG13)
Title: Home Truths
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lamardeuse
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This is a work of complete and total fiction. Also, I do not actually know what Colin Morgan and Bradley James did last night.
Pairing: Colin/Bradley
Length: c. 1150 words
A/N: This is a sequel of sorts to A Questionable Quest, but you don't have to have read that one to read this one. Please note: Contains casting spoilers for Series 2 revealed at London Expo.
Thanks so much tovalderys, who provided fabulous details about the Soccer Six matches here, and to photographers like hils, londinensa, lady_razzle and loreley_se, who brought us pretty pictures of Bradley playing soccer and being generally adorable. :)
Home Truths
by lamardeuse
Bradley lets himself into Colin's Vauxhall flat just after midnight, the key still warm from his pocket. Since Colin passed it to him this morning across the breakfast table, casually, as though it were nothing, he's spent far too much time thinking about it.
Colin shrugged when Bradley stared at him, then at the key, lying in the centre of his upturned palm. “Thought you'd probably be out late tonight with Santiago and the other lads,” Colin said, “and chances are I'll already be sacked out, so.”
“Right, yeah,” Bradley said, nodding. “Makes sense. Cheers.”
“No prob,” Colin assured him, and Bradley closed his fingers around the key and rested his hand on his thigh under the table for a few minutes, feeling the die-cut metal edge press its unique pattern into his skin.
He's tried to understand the meaning of it all day, in between trying to play the best football he can so that he doesn't look like a complete git. At first he thinks it's important, one of those big steps in a relationship he was always crap at recognising, and that he should have made more of a fuss about it, or at least make more of a fuss when next he sees Colin. Then he remembers Colin isn't actually a girl, and blokes may well have different big steps he has to watch out for, and Christ, what makes him think he'll be any better at learning these ones?
As he tiptoes his way into Colin's quiet flat, it further occurs to him that he might be blowing this entire thing completely out of proportion. Perhaps Colin's giving him that key was simply what it appeared to be: a practical solution to Colin's not wanting to be awakened whenever Bradley chose to stumble in after a piss-up. Perhaps it's so practical that Colin will ask for his key back in the morning, because Bradley of course will no longer have any need of it.
That last thought makes his fingers twitch, and the key slips from his grasp and clatters noisily as it hits the floor. Wincing, Bradley bends down to pick it up, and as he straightens, he sees Colin stood in the doorway to the bedroom. His hair is rumpled, his eyes are squinting in the light from the kitchen, and he's idly scratching his belly under his thin t-shirt.
Fuck, he's beautiful.
“Sorry,” Bradley says, grabbing the key and holding it, unsure if he should put it back in his pocket or give it to Colin.
Colin shakes his head. “How was the match?”
“We won three, lost one, then got all the way to the semifinal but lost on penalties.”
“Too bad. Wish I could've seen it.”
Bradley snorts. “You're about as fond of football as I am of having my balls crushed in a vise.”
Colin cocks his head at him. “Is that why you didn't tell me about the match?” he asks, and suddenly Bradley realises he's stumbled over one of those big steps, and is now tumbling down the relationship staircase, quite probably to his death. Bugger.
“Erm,” Bradley says, “yes?”
“It's just,” Colin says, flapping a hand, “I was wondering if you didn't want me there because there might be – talk. About why I was there.”
It honestly hadn't occurred to him, but he's not sure if he should say so. He's not sure what to say first. His tongue feels stuck to the roof of his mouth. Marvelous.
“I,” is what he manages, then: “no.” Oh, bloody brilliant.
Colin frowns, and Bradley takes a step forward. “I don't – okay, look, I suppose I didn't ask you because I thought you'd think it was bollocks, and it is, you know? Well, the charity bit's lovely, but apart from that, it's ridiculous; half of them can't play worth a damn, and the only reason they're there is to show off their legs, or, I don't know. And you feel like a twat – at least I did – and I ended up shoulder-charging Tamer Hussan, for Christ's sake, which the closest I've ever come to suicide, I mean, have you seen him? It was like slamming myself against a brick wall; if he'd wanted to, he could have used me as a tent spike and driven me into the pitch with one good blow from his fist. And then instead of going to a pub, we had to go to this after party, and the music was so loud it made my ears bleed, and I felt like a fiftieth wheel, and it was complete, utter rubbish.”
Colin folds his arms and his mouth curves in dry amusement. “Perhaps you're just not a very good celebrity.”
“I hope not. Have I told you how much I hate that word, by the way? I always have, and I do now, with a burning, seething passion.”
Colin steps forward and slides his hands up Bradley's chest. “Did you take your shirt off?”
“Santiago and I both did. The crowd went mad.”
“Mmm, Santiago. Now that would've been worth the price of admission.”
“Oi!” Bradley says, slightly wounded.
“What? I've seen your chest. Did you slap each other's arses in the showers? Because I would've paid extra to see that.”
Bradley glares at him, and Colin collapses in laughter. After a moment, Bradley gives up and joins him.
“That's better,” Colin says, kissing him lightly. “Come to bed, yeah?”
And just like that, Bradley knows he's cleared that first big step, though he's fucked if he knows how he managed it.
“You asleep?”
“Hm,” Colin murmurs, shifting in Bradley's arms. “Not now I'm not.”
“I, erm.” Bradley takes a deep breath, lets it out. “I left your key on the table.”
“My key?” A pause. “Oh. No, that's yours. Keep it.”
“Oh,” Bradley says, stupidly, because his heart suddenly feels as though it's about to burst from his chest.
Colin's fingers, which have been stroking intricate, feather-light patterns on Bradley's hip, still suddenly. “Unless you don't want it.”
“No, I want it,” Bradley says hastily. “I want it very much.”
Colin doesn't answer, but his fingers resume their motion.
“I love this flat,” Bradley adds.
“Mmmm,” Colin says, drifting off into sleep once more.
Bradley turns his face into Colin's soft hair and smiles, then closes his eyes and joins him.
End
Author:
lamardeuseRating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This is a work of complete and total fiction. Also, I do not actually know what Colin Morgan and Bradley James did last night.
Pairing: Colin/Bradley
Length: c. 1150 words
A/N: This is a sequel of sorts to A Questionable Quest, but you don't have to have read that one to read this one. Please note: Contains casting spoilers for Series 2 revealed at London Expo.
Thanks so much to
valderys, who provided fabulous details about the Soccer Six matches here, and to photographers like hils, londinensa, lady_razzle and loreley_se, who brought us pretty pictures of Bradley playing soccer and being generally adorable. :)Home Truths
by lamardeuse
Bradley lets himself into Colin's Vauxhall flat just after midnight, the key still warm from his pocket. Since Colin passed it to him this morning across the breakfast table, casually, as though it were nothing, he's spent far too much time thinking about it.
Colin shrugged when Bradley stared at him, then at the key, lying in the centre of his upturned palm. “Thought you'd probably be out late tonight with Santiago and the other lads,” Colin said, “and chances are I'll already be sacked out, so.”
“Right, yeah,” Bradley said, nodding. “Makes sense. Cheers.”
“No prob,” Colin assured him, and Bradley closed his fingers around the key and rested his hand on his thigh under the table for a few minutes, feeling the die-cut metal edge press its unique pattern into his skin.
He's tried to understand the meaning of it all day, in between trying to play the best football he can so that he doesn't look like a complete git. At first he thinks it's important, one of those big steps in a relationship he was always crap at recognising, and that he should have made more of a fuss about it, or at least make more of a fuss when next he sees Colin. Then he remembers Colin isn't actually a girl, and blokes may well have different big steps he has to watch out for, and Christ, what makes him think he'll be any better at learning these ones?
As he tiptoes his way into Colin's quiet flat, it further occurs to him that he might be blowing this entire thing completely out of proportion. Perhaps Colin's giving him that key was simply what it appeared to be: a practical solution to Colin's not wanting to be awakened whenever Bradley chose to stumble in after a piss-up. Perhaps it's so practical that Colin will ask for his key back in the morning, because Bradley of course will no longer have any need of it.
That last thought makes his fingers twitch, and the key slips from his grasp and clatters noisily as it hits the floor. Wincing, Bradley bends down to pick it up, and as he straightens, he sees Colin stood in the doorway to the bedroom. His hair is rumpled, his eyes are squinting in the light from the kitchen, and he's idly scratching his belly under his thin t-shirt.
Fuck, he's beautiful.
“Sorry,” Bradley says, grabbing the key and holding it, unsure if he should put it back in his pocket or give it to Colin.
Colin shakes his head. “How was the match?”
“We won three, lost one, then got all the way to the semifinal but lost on penalties.”
“Too bad. Wish I could've seen it.”
Bradley snorts. “You're about as fond of football as I am of having my balls crushed in a vise.”
Colin cocks his head at him. “Is that why you didn't tell me about the match?” he asks, and suddenly Bradley realises he's stumbled over one of those big steps, and is now tumbling down the relationship staircase, quite probably to his death. Bugger.
“Erm,” Bradley says, “yes?”
“It's just,” Colin says, flapping a hand, “I was wondering if you didn't want me there because there might be – talk. About why I was there.”
It honestly hadn't occurred to him, but he's not sure if he should say so. He's not sure what to say first. His tongue feels stuck to the roof of his mouth. Marvelous.
“I,” is what he manages, then: “no.” Oh, bloody brilliant.
Colin frowns, and Bradley takes a step forward. “I don't – okay, look, I suppose I didn't ask you because I thought you'd think it was bollocks, and it is, you know? Well, the charity bit's lovely, but apart from that, it's ridiculous; half of them can't play worth a damn, and the only reason they're there is to show off their legs, or, I don't know. And you feel like a twat – at least I did – and I ended up shoulder-charging Tamer Hussan, for Christ's sake, which the closest I've ever come to suicide, I mean, have you seen him? It was like slamming myself against a brick wall; if he'd wanted to, he could have used me as a tent spike and driven me into the pitch with one good blow from his fist. And then instead of going to a pub, we had to go to this after party, and the music was so loud it made my ears bleed, and I felt like a fiftieth wheel, and it was complete, utter rubbish.”
Colin folds his arms and his mouth curves in dry amusement. “Perhaps you're just not a very good celebrity.”
“I hope not. Have I told you how much I hate that word, by the way? I always have, and I do now, with a burning, seething passion.”
Colin steps forward and slides his hands up Bradley's chest. “Did you take your shirt off?”
“Santiago and I both did. The crowd went mad.”
“Mmm, Santiago. Now that would've been worth the price of admission.”
“Oi!” Bradley says, slightly wounded.
“What? I've seen your chest. Did you slap each other's arses in the showers? Because I would've paid extra to see that.”
Bradley glares at him, and Colin collapses in laughter. After a moment, Bradley gives up and joins him.
“That's better,” Colin says, kissing him lightly. “Come to bed, yeah?”
And just like that, Bradley knows he's cleared that first big step, though he's fucked if he knows how he managed it.
“You asleep?”
“Hm,” Colin murmurs, shifting in Bradley's arms. “Not now I'm not.”
“I, erm.” Bradley takes a deep breath, lets it out. “I left your key on the table.”
“My key?” A pause. “Oh. No, that's yours. Keep it.”
“Oh,” Bradley says, stupidly, because his heart suddenly feels as though it's about to burst from his chest.
Colin's fingers, which have been stroking intricate, feather-light patterns on Bradley's hip, still suddenly. “Unless you don't want it.”
“No, I want it,” Bradley says hastily. “I want it very much.”
Colin doesn't answer, but his fingers resume their motion.
“I love this flat,” Bradley adds.
“Mmmm,” Colin says, drifting off into sleep once more.
Bradley turns his face into Colin's soft hair and smiles, then closes his eyes and joins him.
End