The world, according to Mel

Fanfic - Inevitability (About Damn Time)

2013-01-15T00:17:26Z

Title: Inevitability (About Damn Time)
Summary: "So?" Stiles sputters, kicking his shoes into the corner and locking the front door behind him. He’d whipped out his phone the second he’d pulled up to the house, and miracle among miracles, Scott actually answered. Of course, he’s not so pleased about that now. "My Dad thinks Derek and I are dating, Scott. Did you miss that part?"
Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 9,735
Disclaimer: Don’t own, just playing around.
Author’s Note: So, I've had writer’s block for a good year now. But then I got sucked into TW fandom and suddenly ideas were finally flowing again. I came up with a new mission for myself then: To try and write a fic that was short and one that I was happy with. Clearly the “short” part didn't work out all that well, but I'm pretty pleased with the end result, so I'm going to call it a success anyway. Huge thanks to sonicbookmark for pre-reading/providing me with initial feedback, to adelagia for being super supportive and encouraging throughout the whole process, and especially to popfly for the amazing (and super quick) beta. You gals are the best!

Read on AO3

Inevitability (About Damn Time)

Stiles has always prided himself on being in the know. He’s usually one of the first people to figure out what’s going on when no one else has any idea, and it takes a lot to throw him off these days. Especially after nearly a decade of dealing with crazy supernatural business. So if someone were to say something particularly weird or off-putting to him, Stiles is one hundred percent certain that he’d have some sort of witty, intelligent retort at the tip of his tongue, ready to go. It’s sort of his thing, after all. Stiles does not get taken by surprise, he does not get easily thrown off his game, and he certainly isn’t ever at a loss for words.

Right now, though? Right now, Stiles is thoroughly and completely baffled.

“I-- wait, we’re, what? Dad, what the hell are you talking about?”

His fork stops midway between his plate and his mouth as he stares open-mouthed at his father. This is supposed to be just another Sunday morning brunch with his dad and Derek, like they’ve been doing for years. It isn’t supposed to be... well, whatever this is now.

“What do you mean?” the Sheriff asks.

“You just said-- About me and Derek. I mean, maybe I misheard you or something, because what?”

His dad frowns, looking at Stiles like he’s the one who’s completely lost his mind here. Which is clearly not the case. Like, at all.

“It was nothing. I was just talking to your great aunt and I mentioned to her how you and Derek are dating,” the Sheriff repeats, slower this time, as if he doesn’t think Stiles heard him the first time. But oh, Stiles heard him all right. Loud and clear. He just... doesn’t understand what’s going on. “Should I not have said anything to her? I know we never talk about it, but there’s no reason to keep pretending like that’s not what’s going on here. Don’t worry, she’s not going to judge you.”

Stiles continues to gape at his dad, and for once, he thinks he might be speechless. A good five seconds pass in silence before Stiles chances a glance over at Derek, who is sitting frozen to the spot, eyes wide and mouth hanging open just slightly. It would be completely hilarious if Stiles wasn’t internally freaking out about the exact same thing. Because, apparently, his father thinks that he and Derek are dating.

The Sheriff’s forehead creases, mouth pulling down into a slight frown and he places his coffee cup down on the table. “Stiles, calm down. Surely you can’t think I’ve been that blind, son.”

“But Dad, I-- we-- we’re not. I mean. I don’t know where you got that idea, but it’s--”

Some flicker of confusion seems to be setting in now, as his dad’s eyes dart back and forth between Stiles and Derek. “What are you talking about?”

“Dad! Derek and I,” Stiles says, gesturing wildly in Derek’s direction, “are not dating. We never have been. I don’t-- I have no idea where you got that from.”

Much to his immense surprise, the Sheriff snorts incredulously, as if the suggestion is preposterous. “Oh, come on, Stiles. Don’t be absurd. I’ve known about you two for years and I should hope it’s obvious that I support you both. You’re not a 16 year old kid any more. You don’t need to keep this from me.”

Years? Stiles feels himself paling, fingers tapping out a restless pattern on the tabletop as he finally drops his fork back to his plate. It lands with a noisy clang, and the sound causes him to wince briefly. His dad thinks they’ve been together for years? How is this even Stiles’s life?

Two feet over, Derek continues to sit there in stony, stunned silence, and Stiles would actually really appreciate if he would decide to contribute to this conversation some time, say, this century. So, he kicks Derek’s foot, hard, under the table. He manages to somehow bang his knee against the top of the table in the process, shaking the entire thing, and wow, great job at subtlety there, Stiles. But it seems to be enough to snap Derek out of it, as his head jerks around to glare at Stiles.

“Some help would be nice,” Stiles bites out.

“Uh, yeah.” Derek turns to face the Sheriff, eyes still wide as he meets Stiles’s dad’s expression. “What Stiles said. We’re, uh. Not dating.”

Wow, that was helpful. Stiles rolls his eyes as he tries to sort out how this misunderstanding even happened in the first place. Derek glances down at the kitchen table awkwardly.

For the first time, the Sheriff’s expression falters, and he looks genuinely confused now. “Are you guys seriously trying to tell me that you’re not dating?” he asks with that same incredulousness that Stiles just does not understand.

“Yes!” Stiles says, voice squeaking, but just barely. It probably wasn’t even noticeable.

His dad continues to stare, blinking several times before he says, carefully, “But that doesn’t make any sense. You two have been living together for almost two years.”

Which, right. It’s just a short-term arrangement, though. Or, well, it was originally supposed to be, anyway. Stiles was fresh out of college, but wasn’t quite financially stable enough to branch out on his own just yet. But considering he was in his twenties already, and he’d finally had a taste of freedom, living at home seemed lame in comparison. When Derek had offered him a place to stay in the renovated Hale house for a few months, he’d jumped on the chance.

It isn’t that he intended on staying for nearly two years. It’s just... they’d come a long way since Stiles was in high school, and living with Derek was so -- and he legitimately never thought he’d say this, ever, but -- easy. It worked well for both of them, especially when supernatural shit went down, which wasn’t nearly as frequently as it used to be, thank god. Eventually, Stiles stopped looking for another place, and Derek didn’t seem to mind, and somehow a few months turned into nearly two years. But, like, that didn’t mean they were involved.

Of course, he doesn’t say any of that. What he says instead is, “We’re just roommates,” then cringes, because they’re so much more than that. “Okay, not just roommates. We’re good friends. Really good friends.” (Scott will always be his best bro for life, but it’s entirely possible that Derek is his closest friend these days. The strangest part is how not weird it actually is.) “But, like, friends can live together, Dad.”

“I know that. But what about Scott and Allison’s wedding? Or cousin Grace’s wedding last year? And Aunt Marie’s remarriage? Our family reunion a few months ago?” The Sheriff gestures between the two of them with a significant look on his face.

Stiles glances over at Derek who lifts a single shoulder and gives him a confused look.

“You were each other’s ‘plus one’ for all of those things,” Stiles’s dad says. He’s entirely abandoned his coffee now, mug pushed off to the side of the table. Breakfast too, by the looks of it. “I don’t understand you two at all.”

Before Stiles can even think of anything to say, he continues talking. “What about how you two touch each other all the time? Derek’s constantly wrapped around you like a scarf or something.”

Stiles is absolutely, positively not going to blush. He’s not. He refuses. Because, um, his dad might have a bit of a point there. Maybe. Like how Derek always touches him -- on the arm or the shoulder or on his neck or even his back when they’re walking somewhere. Or, like, sometimes Stiles will fall asleep in Derek’s bed if they’re up late watching movies (because he has the bigger and better flatscreen in his room), and in the morning he’ll wake up either wrapped around Derek or vice versa. They’ve never talked about it, but it’s happened more times than Stiles can count, and if he’s being honest with himself, he likes it. A lot. Maybe too much.

“That’s kind of a pack thing, actually,” Derek says, and Stiles thinks, finally, thank you, because what the hell is he supposed to say to that? Especially knowing his dad has caught them more than once, curled up together on the couch, in his time.

“A pack thing?” He doesn’t exactly sound convinced. Or look it, for that matter, what with the furrowed brows and the suspicious glances back and forth between them.

Derek glances down at his hands for a second, and Stiles would swear -- swear on his life, in fact -- that he looks almost... sheepish? Embarrassed? The little red tips of his ears give him away the most though, and Stiles isn’t going to think about how he knows that about him to begin with. “Yeah. It’s just... werewolves aren’t like real wolves, of course, but we have some of their characteristics, and touch is one of them. It’s especially heightened when there are human members of the pack. It’s partially for protection, but also to identify pack members to other werewolves, and since I’m the alpha...” Derek shrugs, very pointedly ignoring the way Stiles is boring a hole through the side of his head, even though Stiles knows he can feel his stare.

“But what about--”

“Dad, no,” Stiles interrupts. He doesn’t want to hear any more, doesn’t think his brain can handle it right now.

“So, let me just get this straight. What you’re telling me is that you’re not in a relationship with each other?” The Sheriff eventually asks. “Really? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, I’m not really buying it, kiddo.”

Stiles sighs, tries to ignore the way he knows his entire body is flushed red and hot with embarrassment (and maybe something else, but he’s resolutely not going to even start thinking about that right now). “Well you should, because it’s the truth.”

And thankfully -- praise be to whatever deity is looking down and smiling at him for once in his ridiculous life -- his dad drops the conversation. Everything goes strangely quiet after that, as they finish off the rest of their breakfast without saying anything.

“I’ve, uh, actually got to go in to work for a few hours,” Derek finally says, breaking the awkward silence that’s settled over the room. He stands, brings his dishes over to the counter and turns to the Sheriff. “Thank you for breakfast, as always. I’m sorry I can’t stick around to help out with dishes.”

The Sheriff waves a dismissive hand at Derek. “Don’t worry about it, son. You can get them next time. Besides, I’ve got Stiles to help me out.”

Stiles tries very hard to ignore how his heart skips a beat at his dad calling Derek ‘son.’ But if the curious look Derek gives him is any indication, it obviously didn’t go unnoticed. Stupid werewolf hearing abilities.

“I should be home by dinner,” Derek says. “Do you want me to pick something up on the way, or--?”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Stiles says, doing a mental catalogue of what’s in their fridge back at the house. “There’s enough Sheppard’s pie leftover from yesterday that we can reheat.”

“Okay. I guess I’ll see you later then,” he addresses Stiles, then turns back to Dad. “Thanks again for breakfast. You’re still coming over to watch the game on Thursday?”

The Sheriff smiles and nods. “Yup. I’ll see you then, Derek.”

Stiles walks Derek to the door. “So, that was fun, wasn’t it?” he asks with a smile that’s a little too bright, a little too forced.

But Derek merely shrugs, his face frustratingly blank. After all these years, Stiles feels he’s mastered the art of reading Derek’s subtle expressions, so it always irritates him when he purposely hides what he’s thinking. This is one of those rare times when it would be really nice to know that things are still good between them, what with the recent dating accusations. Dating suggestion? Dating enquiry? It wasn’t really an accusation, per se. Whatever. With the whole Dad Thinks We’re Together thing, capital letters.

“Stop stressing,” Derek says eventually, quiet, reaching over to squeeze Stiles’ shoulder before turning to go. “I’ll see you later.” Stiles remains rooted to the ground, scratching absently at the back of his neck as he watches Derek walk to the car.

Derek is long gone by the time he finally closes the door and turns back to the kitchen. He’s just avoiding facing his father, he reasons, which is why he’s taking his sweet time. He isn’t, however, expecting his dad to be standing a few feet away, arms folded across his chest, a knowing look on his face. Shit, how long has he been there?

“Seriously, son?”

Stiles groans.

~*~

Scott is, very unsurprisingly, quite possibly the worst human being and friend in the entire world, and Stiles very much regrets calling him about thirty seconds into the conversation.

“So?” Scott says.

“So?” Stiles sputters, kicking his shoes into the corner and locking the front door behind him. He’d whipped out his phone the second he’d pulled up to the house, and miracle among miracles, Scott actually answered. Of course, he’s not so pleased about that now. “My dad thinks Derek and I are dating, Scott. Did you miss that part?”

The asshole actually has the audacity to laugh. As if this is somehow hilarious to him. Worst best friend ever. “No, I didn’t.”

“This is not funny, Scott.”

“Yeah, it actually kind of is, though,” he says with what Stiles imagines to be a huge shit-eating grin plastered to his face. “I just don’t see what the big deal is. I mean, I’m not surprised, to be honest--”

“Wait, what?” Stiles interrupts.

“Oh, come on, Stiles, you’re kidding me, right?”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” He flops down on the couch with a loud groan, letting his feet dangle off the edge. This is not the kind of conversation he can do standing up.

“Do you need me to explain it to you?”

“Oh my god, no! My dad already did that just fine, than--”

“Because honestly, Stiles, for a while I thought you two were dating too,” Scott continues, as if Stiles hadn’t said anything at all. “For one, you guys smell like each other. All the time.”

“We live together, dude,” Stiles points out.

“No, it’s more than that. It’s like... it’s not that you smell like Derek and Derek smells like you. It’s like you both smell like DerekandStiles, one word.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“Yes, it does. Like, you can get someone else’s scent on you by hanging out with them, touching them, sharing some of the same stuff. But you’re still gonna smell predominantly like you, but with other people’s scents mixed in. Like you and your dad, or me and my mom. With you and Derek, though, it’s like...”

Stiles doesn’t want to ask, but he thinks he kind of needs to know. “Like what, man?”

“Like your scents have combined. Like you share the same space often, or wear each other’s clothing. Which, actually, I know you do both. But also it’s like... like you’re regularly physically, I don’t know, rolling around with each other or something.”

“Oh my god, Scott!” Stiles sputters. He pulls the phone from his ear and glares at it for a second in horror. He can feel his entire body flush red and hot. In fact, he’s sure every werewolf in the entire state can probably sense his embarrassment right about now.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Scott says, and he sounds like he’s holding back another laugh, the asshole. “Though you might actually enjoy rolling around with Derek in that way, if you know what I mean. Naked. In case that wasn’t obvious.” And yup, now he’s definitely laughing. Mocking Stiles. Like the evil, horrible friend that he is.

“What the hell was your point?” Stiles demands in an attempt to interrupt the laughing fit at his expense.

“Just that you and Derek... well, you smell like a couple. Kind of like me and Allison, or Erica and Boyd. Minus the sex. Though there’s definitely a lot of unresolved tension hanging in the air whenever you’re together, so,” he says, when he finally calms enough to keep speaking.

“Do you even know what ‘unresolved tension’ means? Also, who the hell says shit like that?”

There’s a brief pause, and then, “I do. And duh.” Clearly they’re both grown adults, that much is painfully obvious.

Stiles throws an arm over his eyes and tries to tries not to groan. “Shut up, Scott. I don’t want to hear any more from you.”

“Look, you called me about this, so now you’re stuck listening to what I have to say.”

“No, I don’t. I’m hanging up.”

“Liar,” Scott says. “You won’t.”

And damn him, he’s right. Scott doesn’t even need to have werewolf hearing to know when Stiles is full of shit, as long as he’s actually listening. He sort of both loves and hates that about Scott at the same time.

“Fine.”

Scott sounds almost gleeful when he says, “Good. Now, next point: Derek was your date to mine and Allison’s wedding.”

“That doesn’t mean anything, dude. We were both single, and it made sense to go with each other...”

“You danced together.”

Stiles makes a ‘pffft’ sound and reaches up to scratch at his forehead. The back of his neck is itchy too, but he doesn’t feel like moving from his position sprawled out on the couch to do anything about it.

“Slow danced.”

“That was just... us fucking around, being silly. Also, I was totally hammered, so it doesn’t count.” He pulls his arm away from his face and waves it around for emphasis, belatedly remembering that Scott can’t actually see him. Though, uh, yeah... In retrospect, that dance had been incredibly intimate, Stiles shamelessly pressing up against Derek’s body, and it may occasionally feature in some of his--

No. No, he is not doing this. He refuses to see the logic in any of this. (Though a tiny part of his brain keeps asking ‘why?’ Why is he so resistant to the idea of other people thinking he’s dating Derek Hale? Stiles is sure there’s an answer in there somewhere, but he doesn’t want to dwell on it right now, okay?)

“Are you shitting me, Stiles? Really?” Scott says with a huff. That’s his ‘I mean business’ huff too, so yeah... great. This is gonna be fun. “Okay, look. Who do you spend the vast majority of your time with? Outside of work,” he tacks on, before Stiles can give a smart ass response about his students or any of his educational assistants.

“I don’t know, I guess Derek. But we live together, so I don’t think that really counts..”

Scott carries on, apparently undeterred. “Who do you talk to when you’re upset or stressed out about something?”

“Sometimes you, sometimes Derek. Occasionally my dad. Or Lydia, though usually that’s a bad plan.”

“When what you’re upset about doesn’t have something to do with Derek, then?”

Stiles huffs. He gets Scott’s point, because fine, maybe it’s true that he and Derek talk about pretty much everything. Or, well, Stiles does most of the talking, but now that Derek’s loosened up a considerable amount, he actually has a lot more to say than Stiles ever would’ve imagined.

Apparently Scott takes his silence for acceptance that he’s correct. “Exactly. Look, it’s not a huge deal. You guys make each other happy, right? So who cares what anyone thinks, either way? But, like, why don’t you just talk to him, dude? You’re basically already dating, except without the fun stuff.”

“Scott,” Stiles groans, even as his brain starts to imagine some of the ‘fun stuff’ he and Derek could get into, and fuck, the mere idea of having sex with Derek is suddenly turning his insides to mush and awakening his dick.

“Shut up, you know it’s true.” He sounds so smug. Stiles suddenly really wishes Scott was here so he could punch him in the face. “But, if you really think you’re not dating Derek, then when’s the last time you went on an honest-to-god date, Stiles? And don’t bullshit me, because I’ll know if you’re lying.”

Stiles is tempted to make up something anyway, just to spite him. But Scott’s right -- he would know if Stiles is lying, even without being able to hear his heart right now. He glares up at the ceiling balefully, trying to remember the last time he actually went out with someone and called it a date.

Nothing’s coming to mind, though. Not a single, fucking thing. And fuck, has Stiles’s life really been this pathetic, because come on, he damn well knows he’s been on dates before. Plenty of dates. Plenty of awesome, enjoyable dates. But like, has he really gone on anything since he graduated from college? That’s almost two years. Two goddamn years.

He continues to wrack his brain for something, but every time he remembers going somewhere -- like to the museum, or out for dinner and a movie, or to the county fair, or to some weird art gallery exhibit -- it inevitably leads back to Derek. There was Lauren, a girl he went to college with who was also from Beacon Hills that he’s seen a few times since returning home. But no, wait, come to think of it, Stiles thinks she might actually have a boyfriend already. There’s also that one EA that maybe asked him to hang out a few times, but he had to turn him down because of a couple pack meetings and then prior plans with Derek, and eventually he’d just stopped asking altogether. Which means...

Oh. Oh. Well, fuck.

Since when did Scott decide to go and get so fucking observant?

Finally, after a good several minutes have passed (damn, Scott’s patience has improved considerably since high school), Stiles reluctantly admits, “I... don’t know.”

At first, Stiles thinks that maybe Scott hung up on him, the line eerily silent all of a sudden. “What do you think that means?” he asks eventually. But despite having every reason to, Scott doesn’t sound smug at all. In fact, if Stiles didn’t know any better, he’d say that Scott was actually being supportive... gentle, almost.

“Jesus Christ.”

“No, it’s just me, Scott.”

Yeah, okay, that supportive streak ended pretty quickly.

“Shut up. That’s not even a little bit funny or clever. It’s like the oldest joke in the book. You suck.”

“I don’t. But I bet you Derek wo--”

“Oh my god. I hate you,” Stiles says sincerely.

“I love you too, buddy,” Scott replies with another laugh. “Good luck with Derek. I’ll make sure to keep the rest of the pack away from you guys for a few days, in case you want to make up for lost time or whatever.”

And fuck him, Stiles can actually hear his suggestive eyebrow waggle.

“You are the worst friend ever. Nope, the legit actual worst, man,” he says and hangs up the phone to the sound of Scott’s hysterical laughter ringing in his ears.

Stiles is so incredibly fucked.

~*~

It’s not that he’s freaking out, exactly, because no, Stiles is totally the epitome of calm all the time these days. (Okay, most of the time. A majority of the time. At least a good 50% of the time, if not slightly more than that. Stiles Stilinski can do calm, all right? He can.) Dealing with as much supernatural shit as he’s had to face over the past nine years has given him the ability to be calm, cool, and collected in stress-inducing situations. Which is not to say that this situation is causing him any stress at all.

There’s just the small matter of where he’s apparently been dating Derek for the past couple years without actually realizing, despite the fact that everyone else around him seems to be quite in the loop on that little revelation.

And he may or may not have fallen for Derek without even having any conscious awareness of it. Which, okay, maybe that’s not quite true. Stiles has had a thing for Derek since high school, but back then it mostly consisted of lust and a hopeless teenage fantasy. In recent years, sure, he’s thought about it one or two (or four hundred) times -- what it would be like to be with Derek, now that they were actually friends and Derek no longer hated him (most of the time).

Fuck. Stiles is supposed to be the smart one in their little group. Well, that title probably officially goes to Lydia, but he figures he’s a close second. How had he missed all the signs?

He hadn’t even really tolerated Derek until sometime in his junior year, despite his crush, and only started liking him towards the end of senior year. But then college happened, and everything sort of just shifted on its axis. At first it was just the occasional text or e-mail, then phone calls, when something important was going on. But somewhere along the line, the crises slowed down, and yet the texts and e-mails and phone calls continued. Then one day, Derek just showed up in Stiles’ dorm room, uninjured and with no apparent reason for being there. It’d been a little strange and somewhat awkward, but Stiles had liked it. Apparently so had Derek, since he kept returning, at first once a month, and then, in the last year of college, he visited Stiles almost as much as Stiles visited home (which was almost weekly).

And it isn’t even the fact that they moved in together, or the fact that he hasn’t been on a date in ages (thank you very much for that little reminder, Scott). Stiles hasn’t had sex in... God, he can’t even remember the last time he had sex, is how long it’s been. Ugh, that’s ridiculous and pathetic, and how had he not noticed something was up (ha, up!) with him this whole time? Stiles had a few relationships while he was in college. Nothing that lasted particularly long, but he still enjoyed them all the same. Sex used to be a semi-frequent occurrence. But then he’d moved in with Derek and... not so much anymore. Which is not to say that there’s been nothing since moving into the Hale house, because Stiles still has needs, all right, but his hand has kept him company more often than not over the past two years.

Stiles sighs heavily and scrubs a hand down his face. Why did his dad have to be so observant? And worse, why did he have to go and talk about it openly, like it’s no big deal, when it kind of, sort of, maybe is?

The real problem, though, isn’t that people think he and Derek are dating, because looking back on all the evidence, Stiles is forced to admit that it’s actually a logical conclusion to make. The problem is that now that the idea has been presented to him, now that Stiles has accepted that he may have missed a few things over the last several years, he literally cannot think of anything else in the entire world that he wants more than to actually be dating Derek Hale. And that in and of itself wouldn’t be an issue if Stiles knew he felt the same way. But what he has with Derek is pretty amazing as it is, and the last thing Stiles wants to do is risk screwing it all up.

He may still be pacing in the living room when Derek returns from work.

“Please tell me you haven’t been doing this all afternoon,” is the first thing Derek says to him. He peels off his leather jacket and hangs it by the door before coming to stand in front of him.

Stiles wants to joke about it, to play it off like he totally hasn’t been freaking out about all of this all afternoon. Of course not, what do you take me for? Or Please, I’m not that lame. But that would be stupid, because Derek will know he’s lying, or at least deflecting. Besides, this isn’t one of those things he can keep ignoring until it goes away, because Stiles is pretty sure he’s already tried that strategy for years, and look where it’s gotten him.

Instead, he says, “Well, not the entire time” and then winces. He’s sure Derek can smell his anxiety.

For a few blissful moments, Derek is silent, still standing stiffly in the doorway, and Stiles can almost convince himself that they’re not going to have this conversation just yet. It’s not that he’s scared of Derek, or scared of talking about this. But Stiles has always guarded his feelings and there’s a part of him that’s terrified that now that he’s realized just how much he wants Derek, the sentiment won’t be returned.

That hope is quickly shattered, however, when Derek finally says, “Stiles, can we talk?” It’s said in a carefully neutral tone of voice that Derek usually only saves for Serious Business conversations, which is not something they have, like, ever.

Stiles nods, stilling momentarily, before following Derek over to the couch. He tries to make eye contact, but Derek refuses to meet his gaze. It only serves to further increase his anxiety. Stiles settles against the cushions at the far end of the couch away from Derek and tucks his legs underneath him in an attempt to contain the restless energy buzzing beneath his skin. He so desperately wants to say something, anything to break the suddenly deafening silence, but he tamps down on the urge, because Derek is the one who started this and so Derek’s the one who also needs to take the lead here.

“About earlier...” Derek begins slowly, and Stiles thinks, this is it, this is where he lets me down easy. Ugh, being dumped before you even start dating is the worst.

“I’m sorry,” Derek continues, without any preamble.

Stiles blinks, because what? What would he have to be sorry about? Unless...

“What do you mean you’re sorry?” Stiles asks slowly, ignoring the growing sense of dread forming in the pit of his stomach.

“I just. Earlier, today. With your dad and the whole--” Derek waves a hand around (it’s eerily similar to Stiles’s own frenetic flailing, and he vaguely wonders when Derek picked up the habit). “It was. It’s my fault. That he thinks we’re dating, I mean.”

“I-- How could you be responsible for dad thinking we’re--?” Stiles’ brain catches up with his mouth about half a second later, and his eyes bug out of his head in shock. “Wait, did you, like. Did you actually tell Dad that we’re--”

“No,” Derek interrupts hastily. And for the briefest of moments, something like guilt passes across his face before it disappears. “But I might as well have.”

Stiles blinks, because in all the versions of this conversation he ran through his head earlier today, this was definitely not one of the possible scenarios.

‘I... don’t understand.”

Derek shifts on the couch, one hand reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck. The fingers of his other hand dig into his thigh in a way that looks just shy of painful, and he’s staring down at the couch cushion as though it just wished him harm.

“Look, Stiles. You know how your dad and I have grown pretty close since you went away to college?” he asks, and Stiles nods in affirmation, even though Derek still isn’t looking at him. “The thing is, I sort of talk to him. A lot.”

He doesn’t mean to do it, but the scoff sort of just... falls out of his mouth. “You?” he snorts incredulously. And yeah, fine, so Derek talks significantly more now than he did during the first few years Stiles knew him, but no one would ever accuse him of being ‘chatty.’ Ever.

Derek’s head shoots up then, his glare so fierce that Stiles feels himself tamping down a smile at the familiarity, despite it’s relative rarity these days.

“Yes, me. You of all people should know how much I can talk.” A beat passes before he adds, “When I want to.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Stiles says thoughtfully. He suddenly feels incredibly restless, like every muscle in his body is vibrating, but at least his earlier fears have been assuaged. For now. “So, what do you talk about with my dad?”

“Lots of things. But, uh, mostly you.”

“Me?” Stiles says in what might be considered a high-pitched voice. (Slightly higher pitched. He absolutely does not squawk. Not even a little bit, and anyone who suggests otherwise is a big, fat liar.)

Derek glances back down at the couch, picking at the slightly frayed cuff of his dark blue Henley and resolutely avoids eye contact. Stiles is buzzing with energy and a certain desperation to find out what Derek has to say, but he knows that pushing him to talk when he’s not ready is pointless. So Stiles fiddles absently with the hemline on his jeans and gives Derek the space he clearly needs.

“Sometimes I think your dad figured it out before I did,” Derek says, eventually, voice soft and considering. “I complained about you a lot, you know. About how you never listened and how you were so frustrating and stubborn. How you drove me crazy sometimes. And I mean, I never intended to tell your dad all that stuff, but I did. And he’d look at me in this certain... way. Like he could see through me. Then he’d tell me about your latest conversation, and he always made sure to mention the fact that you missed everyone, even if he knew I’d literally just been down to visit you.”

Silence fills the air and for a moment, Stiles wonders if he’s done. But then Derek takes a deep breath and keeps talking. “When I first met you, you drove me up the fucking wall. I’d leave most of our conversations feeling irritated and confused, like I wanted to claw my face off--”

“Wow, harsh, man,” Stiles interrupts, but immediately shuts his mouth when Derek pins him with an icy glare.

“Can you just be quiet for, like, five minutes? For once in your life?” Derek snaps, but it lacks any real heat.

All the same, Stiles nods and mimes zipping his lips.

Derek shakes his head suddenly, frowning. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m not good at this.”

“You’re doing fine,” Stiles tells him honestly. Derek looks more restless and skittish than Stiles can remember seeing him in a long time, and after only a moment’s hesitation, he reaches over and gently rests a reassuring hand on Derek’s knee.

“I guess, the thing is, it’s really-- It’s my fault that everyone thinks we’re dating. Because despite fighting it at every fucking turn, you somehow still managed to claw your way under my skin and just... stayed there. I didn’t want you there. Hell, I don’t know how you even got there. But you were anyway.

“And I guess, after a while, I gave up on fighting it, because I was so sick of pretending that it wasn’t true, that I didn’t want to be around you all the time. But I did. And I started to miss your scent, and when I’d visit you, I tried to touch you as much as I could so it would linger and stay with me until you came home. I was so fucking obvious about it that I may as well have hired a skywriter to broadcast my feelings for you across the sky so the entirety of Beacon Hills would know, instead of just the majority. So, uh,” Derek reaches up and rubs at the back of his neck, head finally peeking up to meet his gaze, “I’m sorry. That I never told you, and that it makes you uncomfortable that people think we’re together.”

Every muscle in Derek’s entire body looks tense as he stares at Stiles, but his expression is more earnest and open than Stiles can ever remember it being, and it literally sucks the breath from his lungs as he grasps the enormity of what Derek’s just confessed to him.

“Oh my god,” Stiles says, when he finally finds the words to speak. His heart is literally swelling up with affection for Derek right now, the feeling so intense that it’s almost suffocating. Leave it to Derek to be the biggest fucking closet romantic in the history of the world, without even realizing it. He thinks his chest might literally burst with all the emotion he’s suddenly feeling.

“Stiles,” Derek starts slowly, when he doesn’t follow up with anything else. Derek’s got that worried look in his eyes that he gets when he thinks he’s messed something up and can’t let it rest until it’s resolved. But Stiles is having none of that tonight.

“No, no, be quiet,” Stiles says. “No more talking. You had your turn, now it’s mine.”

Stiles is suddenly acutely aware of how far apart they’re sitting on this couch. It’s like Derek’s on another continent, and he doesn’t like it. So, Stiles scoots forward, until he’s a couple inches away from Derek, settling back down against the cushions. Despite the fact that Derek seems to startle a little at the movement, he doesn’t protest or try to run away, so Stiles considers it a success, overall.

“First of all, you’re a moron,” he says, but can’t help the grin when he sees Derek’s surprised expression. “Because I’ve basically been, like, totally crazy for you since high school, and I have no idea how you never figured it out, because I thought you were supposed to have your special werewolf smelling powers, or whatever.”

Derek scowls at the last part (he hates it when Stiles calls their heightened senses ‘werewolf powers’, so, naturally, Stiles makes a habit of saying it as often as possible, just to piss him off), but some of the tension leeches out of his body as he slumps forward. His lips twitch up at the corners then, briefly, but still noticeable, and Stiles recognizes it as one of Derek’s small, private smiles that he chooses to believe belongs to him alone.

“What I don’t understand is why you never said anything, man. It’s been years.”

“I--” Derek says, stops. “It’s been so long since I’ve allowed myself to want something, someone, again. I guess I was just... scared.” He swallows, sucking in a shaky, shuddering breath that would likely go unnoticed by anyone who didn’t know Derek incredibly well.

And it hits Stiles then that no matter how much Derek has matured, no matter how much he’s healed from some of his old wounds, it still costs him so much to admit fear of anything, but especially to admit to being afraid of opening his heart to someone again. All the same, they need to be on the same page for this one, so he can’t let something like this drop, much as he doesn’t want to push.

“Of what?” asks Stiles, furrowing his brows.

“Of you not feeling the same. Of losing you. God, Stiles, it’s complicated. I don’t exactly have a great history when it comes to, you know,” he throws a hand out again, “the people I love. And I just... couldn’t risk it. With you.”

“So, what, you just made the decision for both of us?”

‘No, it’s not. It’s not that, Stiles, and you know it. I just... things were so good, and I didn’t want to upset that, to risk it. I... couldn’t.”

There’s something more there, something underneath those words that he’s not saying. But Stiles has known Derek for far too long now, knows him better than probably anyone, and by this point, he hears what’s not being said almost as loudly as what is being said.

“You can’t honestly think... after all this time that I’d-- that I would just up and leave you. That I wouldn’t want to have anything more to do with you over this. Or, like, anything.”

Derek’s silence is answer enough -- and it should make him mad, he should be furious that after all this time, Derek still thinks that people are going to abandon him, that Stiles is going to abandon him like he means nothing and can be so easily tossed away. But before Stiles can think better of the action, he pushes up onto his knees and climbs into Derek’s lap. It’s a little awkward for a second, until Stiles positions himself so he’s straddling Derek, and it’s oddly comfortable when he settles back down.

“You are a stupid, fucking idiot, you know that?” Stiles asks, before leaning forward and wrapping his arms around Derek’s shoulders, burying his face in his neck and sighing heavily into the warmth of his skin. Stiles has learned over the years just how tactile of a guy Derek really is, and he knows that sometimes touch speaks volumes over what any words could say.

For a moment Stiles thinks he may have overstepped his bounds, but just as he’s about to pull away he feels Derek’s arms wrap around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, before one hand snakes up the back of his neck and buries in his hair. They hold each other for what feels like hours, and Stiles thinks, yes, and home and iloveyou, and he hopes Derek understands what he means, what he’s trying to convey with touch instead of words.

When he finally pulls back to look at Derek, Stiles feels his mouth go dry, like the air is being slowly sucked from the room and he can no longer breathe. Derek’s eyes are dark, his gaze so intense that Stiles’ stomach drops, heart thundering in his chest. Unconsciously, his tongue darts out to lick his lips, and Derek’s gaze follows the entire movement, mesmerized. He’s not sure who moves first, but one moment they’re looking at each other, and the next, they’re kissing.

Derek’s lips are soft and a little chapped, but they move with such precision that if Stiles didn’t know better, would think came from years and years of practice. Or maybe it’s just a natural werewolf talent. It’s a thought that dies almost immediately, however, when Derek licks his way into the heat of Stiles’s mouth, deepening their kiss, and he can’t quite tamp down the low moan in response. Derek’s hands slide underneath Stiles’s shirt, blunt nails dragging down the muscles of his back, and it’s so hot and intimate at the same time that it makes Stiles shiver. One of Stiles’s hands fists in Derek’s hair, the other still gripping desperately at the front of his shirt, holding him close.

Stiles groans as Derek trails hot kisses down his jaw line and throat, and he knows he’s already getting hard. Experimentally, Stiles grinds down on Derek’s lap and is rewarded with a moan from Derek as he instinctively arches up to meet him, just as hard and turned on as Stiles. Derek’s hands grip at his hips, fingers digging into the bones, just shy of painful, and Stiles’s hands find their way back into Derek’s hair, pulling him back into a wet, dirty kiss as they continue to grind against each other.

Pleasure courses through him every time their cocks meet, even between four layers of clothing, and Stiles knows, embarrassingly so, that he’s not going to last long at this rate. It’s not just what they’re doing, because Stiles has done this more than once in his lifetime and it’s never turned him on quite like this. He knows it’s because it’s Derek that he’s with, gorgeous, stubborn, beautiful Derek, that has always been there for him unwaveringly, even when he didn’t always want to be. Derek, the one person that Stiles fell in love with despite everything. And as Derek continues to kiss him desperately, driving up into him like he’s afraid this is the only chance they’re going to have to be together, Stiles feels a thrill at the idea that this is just the beginning.

“Fuck, Stiles, I need--” Derek gasps against his mouth, fingers reaching down to the fly of Stiles’s jeans. “I just-- I need to touch you.”

Stiles barely has time to grunt his complete and total acceptance of this plan before Derek is undoing his fly, fingers hot on his hips as he starts to slide Stiles’s jeans and boxer briefs down. Stiles arches up, giving Derek more room to push down the offending articles of clothing. Then his cock is finally freed from the confines of his underwear, straining hard against his stomach, already leaking precome. Derek stares down at it for a few moments, eyes soft and almost reverent, before wrapping a hand around his length and giving an experimental tug.

“Fuck,” Stiles moans, pressing forward to lick back into Derek’s mouth as Derek runs his thumb back and forth across the slit of Stiles’s cock. Pleasure shoots down his spine and all Stiles can think is fuck and Derek and yespleasemore. He slides his hands back under Derek’s shirt, running his fingers over the muscled planes of Derek’s body. He’s seen him shirtless too many times to count, but he’s never been able to touch, to explore his body in this way, and it’s incredible. Amazing. Everything he could’ve imagined and more. Stiles runs a thumb over Derek’s nipple before pinching it gently, and the sound Derek makes sends heat straight to Stiles’s groin.

“Too much clothing,” Stiles groans then, because he wants Derek’s nipples in his mouth and his cock in his hand and he can’t do either of those things while Derek’s fully clothed.

Reluctantly, Derek loosens his grip on him, and Stiles climbs out of Derek’s lap long enough for them to both shuck their clothes before settling back in. Derek’s cock is slightly longer than Stiles’s, uncut and full, and he gasps when it brushes up against Stiles’s as he repositions himself. Derek stares at him with wide, dark pupils, his hair wild, lips red and swollen, and Stiles thinks that Derek has never looked so gorgeous in his entire life.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Stiles murmurs before swooping in and kissing Derek breathless, hands roaming and touching and feeling every inch of Derek’s body. He wants to memorize every mole, map every dip and curve, trace every muscle, with his hands and his mouth and body until he knows Derek better than he knows himself.

“Stiles,” Derek groans, pulling away just before Stiles feels like he’s about to run out of oxygen. He brings his hand up, palm facing towards Stiles, and it takes him several moments to understand what Derek’s even asking.

“You want me to--?” Stiles asks, sticking out his tongue briefly, and Derek just nods, once, lips quirking up at the corners.

Stiles doesn’t need to be told twice. Grasping the back of Derek’s hand, he trails his tongue from the bottom of his palm to the tips of his fingers, making sure it’s wet. It’s so fucking hot and so intensely intimate at the same time, that Stiles feels himself blush in spite of himself. When he’s done, Derek grins at him and shifts beneath Stiles, lining them up, before reaching down and wrapping his hand around both of their cocks, stroking lazily.

A jolt of heat courses through Stiles’s body as their cocks rub against one another and he instinctively rocks into Derek’s hand, urging him on. Stiles’s hands move to grip at Derek’s biceps as he leans forward to trail kisses down his jaw line, to lick the skin underneath his Adam’s apple, to suck gently at the soft skin where neck meets shoulder. Derek moans, heady and breathless, quickening his his strokes as Stiles continues to move down his body. Stiles moves his thumbs to circle each of Derek’s nipples, before leaning down and taking the right one into his mouth, running his tongue over the raised nub.

“Stiles... fuck,” Derek gasps, nails digging into his lower back, his breaths coming out in short puffs now. Stiles bites at the nipple, then sucks for a few more seconds before shifting to the other side.

Stiles can feel his orgasm building steadily, the pleasure curling in his belly, and based on Derek’s erratic breathing, Stiles can tell that he’s close too. Stiles drags his mouth away from Derek’s nipple to lick back into his mouth, and he reaches one hand between them, wrapping his hand around Derek’s to help him jerk them off. He barely gets a few strokes in before he cries out and is coming, his orgasm hitting him with such ferocity that he feels like he might pass out. Derek strokes him through the aftershocks, drawing every last ounce of pleasure out of him, and that seems to be all that Derek needs to push him over the edge before he’s coming too, Stiles’s name on his lips like a plea.

The air is heavy with the scent of sweat and sex, even to Stiles’s human nose, and he slumps forward, resting his forehead on Derek’s shoulder as they struggle to catch their breath and come back down. One of Derek’s hands trails lazily up and down the curve of Stiles’s spine, soothing and gentle, and Stiles thinks he could get used to this.

“Oh my god,” he finally says into Derek’s shoulder, when his breathing has mostly stabilized. “That was pretty fucking incredible. Why the hell did we wait so long to do that?”

“I have no idea,” Derek says. He moves his clean hand to the side of Stiles’s face, guiding him back up in order to press a kiss to his mouth. Stiles sinks into the kiss, parting his lips for Derek’s tongue as his hands grip at Derek’s shoulders, and it’s several minutes before they part again.

Stiles pulls back, glancing around at the mess around them before saying, “We should probably clean up or something. And have dinner, maybe?”

Derek tilts his head to the side, giving Stiles a lopsided grin. “I don’t know about you, but I’d be okay with going straight for dessert instead?”

Stiles groans loudly and laughs, in spite of himself. “I’m going to pretend that you didn’t just say that, because dude, wow is that lame, even for you.”

“Yeah, but you love it,” Derek counters.

And Stiles can’t do anything except agree. So, instead, he kisses the smirk right off Derek’s smug face, feeling happier than he can remember being in years.

~*~

Stiles ends up working late on Thursday. Parent-teacher conferences. But thankfully it’s the last one before the end of the school year, so it’s at least got that going for it. Which is not to say he dislikes them. It’s just tiring, and sometimes can be challenging to meet with parents and let them know that their child is struggling. Stiles tries really tries hard to make sure all of his students are working up to their potential, but he’s still so new at this and he isn’t always successful, despite his best efforts.

By the time he arrives home, his dad and Derek are already in the living room, watching the game. He waves and calls out a “hello” before toeing off his shoes and dumping a stack of quizzes that need marking on the floor. Derek will nag him about putting it away later, but right now he doesn’t particularly care. He’s tired and hungry. Speaking of which...

The lingering smell of Derek’s homemade lasagne floats through the air and Stiles all but runs into the kitchen to grab some for himself.

He’s standing in front of the microwave, watching the numbers slowly count down as his lasagne heats up, when he feels a strong pair of arms wrap around his middle. Almost instinctively, Stiles leans into the touch, smiling brightly when Derek presses his face into the side of Stiles’ neck and inhales deeply.

“Hey,” Derek murmurs into his ear, low and gruff, tightening his grip around Stiles’s waist.

It should feel weird, probably. Things are still so new between them, in a lot of ways. But it doesn’t. Not at all. In fact, it feels perfect, like they’ve been together forever already. Of course, in a lot of ways it’s true, so maybe it’s not so strange after all. (And god, when did he become such a schmoopy sap? He’ll find time to feel embarrassed about it later, though.) His sixteen year old self would laugh and probably punch him in the face if he ever suggested that he would end up falling completely in love with Derek freaking Hale, of all people. But, well, his early sixteen year old self would also have scoffed at the ideas of werewolves and kanimas and witches... so really, what does he know anyway?

Stiles turns in Derek’s embrace until they’re facing one another and he brings his arms up to wrap them around Derek’s neck, smiling broadly at Derek’s stupid, attractive face. “Hey yourself. Miss me?” he asks, lips brushing against Derek’s, too light to be a kiss, but firm enough to be a promise of more.

“Not even a little bit.”

“Good, ‘cause the feeling’s mutual,” Stiles says, and then Derek’s kissing him for real.

Even though they’ve only been doing this for a few days (and he’s not even thinking about all the time they could’ve been having incredibly hot sex over the past few years), Stiles thinks that he might never get tired of kissing Derek, of the feel of his lips and his stubble and his tongue (oh my god). So when Derek’s tongue slips inside his mouth, deepening the kiss, Stiles really can’t be faulted for the soft moan that slips past his lips. Especially when Derek’s hands have slid under his shirt, fingers ghosting down the back of his spine, and up and down his sides like he absolutely needs to touch Stiles as much as humanly possible.

To be fair, they’re both pretty distracted, what with the hot making out that’s going on -- Stiles’s lasagne long since forgotten -- so it naturally comes as a surprise to them both when they realize they’re not alone any more in their kitchen.

“Hey, do you have any more bee-- whoa, holy crap, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were-- Jeez, do you really have to do that in public, where I could just walk in and see?”

Derek wrenches away from Stiles as if he’s been kicked and they both turn with wild eyes to see Stiles’s dad, sputtering in shock at them in the kitchen entranceway.

“Nah, it’s totally fine Dad, we’re not busy,” Stiles tries for nonchalance, pointedly ignoring the way his face is burning. He feels a little light-headed and he hopes to god he doesn’t look as blissed out as he feels right now.

“Stiles,” Derek grumbles, lightly smacking him in the arm.

The Sheriff puts a hand to his forehead with an expression on his face that clearly reads, how is this even my life? Stiles knows the feeling. “Oh my god, please tell me you’re not just screwing around with me here, because that--” he points at their faces and makes some sort of weird, puckering thing with his lips that’s almost as embarrassing as what he just caught them doing “--is not how friends act, and if you think that’s the case, then I think we need to sit down and have a serious, and clearly belated, talk about appropriate social boundaries, son.”

Derek moves so he’s standing beside Stiles now, facing the Sheriff. Without even thinking, Stiles reaches for his hand and slots their fingers together, tugging Derek closer. The tips of Derek’s ears turn red (oh my god, and how fucking adorable is that? Stiles thinks) and he reaches up to scrub a hand through his hair before saying, “Yeah, I’m sorry. I guess I should have told you earlier, but I didn’t really know how?”

“Yeah, Dad,” Stiles pipes in, “turns out you were actually kind of, like, right?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, kid.” The Sheriff still looks mildly suspicious, which is probably fair. “So, this isn’t some big elaborate prank to get back at me then? Because you two may be family, but that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to use my power against you.”

Stiles scoffs loudly. “Please, you can’t arrest us for pranking you, even though that’s not what we-- wait, what did you just say? Did you just call us family? As in me and Derek, plural? Not just me?”

“Wow, nothing gets past this one, hey?” The Sheriff aims the comment at Derek, who blinks at him a few times as if he doesn’t understand, before eventually smirking.

“He’s smarter than he looks.”

“Hey, excuse you both, but I’m fantastic and you’re obviously jealous of my awesomeness.” And then he remembers that he was trying to make a point before he got sidetracked. “Wait, though, Dad. Do you really consider Derek family?”

“Yes, son, where have you been the last few years?”

“I-- what? I mean. Oh. Oh. Okay. That’s, um, that’s awesome.”

“It is,” the Sheriff agrees, before striding forward and pulling them both into a hug. It’s a little awkward and a little lopsided, but it feels nice, all the same.

“I’m happy for you guys,” he tells them when he pulls away. “And can I just be the first one to say it’s about damn time? Now, let’s get back in there before the game is over.”

Later, when he’s finished eating and has curled up next to Derek on the couch, face pressing into the warmth of Derek’s broad chest, one of his arms curled around Stiles’s shoulders, Stiles thinks that yes, it was about damn time.

The End.

Fanfic - After You (IAG)

2011-12-30T17:05:33Z

Title: After You
Author: Mel (accordingtomel)
Summary: When Jeff is invited to Drew’s annual Christmas party, he’s forced to relive some painful memories from the past.
Pairing(s): Jeff/Chip; Jeff/Greg friendship
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 8,394
Disclaimer: All fake. Making it up for fun. These guys belong to themselves only!
Author’s Note: Written for goblover! Merry Christmas, and I hope you enjoyed it! Many thanks to my lovely betas, adelagia and sungreen70, who make everything I write better! :)

December 12, 2012

If there was one thing in the world that could be said with absolute certainty, it was that Jeff Davis was not a fan of Christmas. He didn’t hate the idea of it, in theory, but everything was so commercial and contrived these days – stores out to divest hard-working people of their money, people going around singing ridiculous songs, streets lined with lights and gaudy decorations, and all in the name of what? The baby Jesus? Santa Claus? Some hollow notion that the excessive giving of gifts and spending of money would somehow negate any and all less than appealing events from the past eleven months? While he respected people’s right to believe whatever they chose, he personally found very little to celebrate at this time of year that he couldn’t at any other time.

This year, more than any other, Jeff felt he could say that he hated Christmas. Though he supposed it wasn’t so much Christmas, as it was the recent memories associated with it. Either way, the only reason he was braving the malls today was because he wanted to buy a toy for his niece that had just been released, and if the whole Tickle-Me Elmo incident of the mid-'90s had taught him anything, it was to always be prepared.

Jeff was halfway between the food court and his destination, grateful that the middle-of-the-day crowd was slightly smaller than the after-work crowd, when he felt his iPhone buzzing in his pocket.

Fumbling to retrieve the phone, Jeff glanced down at the caller ID before answering. “Hey, Greg,” he said, pressing the phone to his ear so he could hear amidst the hustle and bustle of the crowd passing him by.

“Jeff. How’s it going?”

“I’m fine,” he said, frowning as someone accidentally elbowed him in the ribs. “What’s up?”

There was a pause, and then, “Are you coming to the Christmas party on Saturday?”

So, there it was. The Christmas party. Jeff should have known this was the reason for Greg’s phone call. He’d spent the last two weeks trying to pretend it wasn’t happening, thinking about other things, like how he was trying to avoid all Christmas carols at any cost, or what else he could buy Maddox for Christmas, even though he routinely spoiled her throughout the year, so why did he need a special day for it?

“Look, man, it’ll be fun. Everyone misses you. It’d be great to see your sorry ass again.”

Jeff sighed, turning his back to the crowd as best he could as a feeling of heaviness settled on his shoulders, immediately darkening his already miserable mood. He was not ready to deal with this right now.

Greg continued with his pitch, when it became obvious that Jeff wasn’t going to answer. “I know you have your reservations, Jeff, but it’ll be good. Drew always has the best fucking drinks, and Colin, Jon, and Wayne are gonna be there this year too.”

It was nice to hear, especially since Jeff couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked to any of them, but that wasn’t really his primary concern.

“Who else is coming to this thing?”

“Ryan, Brad, Heather, Sean. Obviously Drew will be there, since he’s hosting. I think Kathy as well, though she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to make it, the last time we talked—” Greg hesitated, then, and Jeff braced himself for impact.

“What about Chip?” he forced himself to ask, eventually. The name felt foreign on his tongue, tasted like poison. His heart constricted painfully in his chest, and Jeff suddenly wished he was at home, sitting on his couch having this particular conversation, instead of in the middle of a busy mall.

“Um, yeah. He’ll be there,” Greg confirmed.

“Oh.” Jeff swallowed, tongue heavy and thick in his mouth. His head, which had already been on the verge of a headache when he first arrived at the mall, was now pounding.

“That’s not... it’s not going to be a problem, is it?” Greg asked, hesitance lacing his words. The ’you’re not over it yet?’ was implied. Or maybe he just thought it was. It was hard to say.

“No. It, uh, it’ll be fine,” he managed to choke out.

“Great! So I’ll see you then,” Greg said, sounding far too chipper for what the situation warranted.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever. I guess you will.”

The other line clicked, signifying the end of the conversation, but it was several moments before Jeff regained the ability to move his arm to turn off his phone.

What had he just agreed to do? Jeff closed his eyes and let a long sigh slip past his lips.

Fuck.

~*~

October 8, 2011

It all started, as it often did, with Jeff taking things a step too far, pushing the envelope just past the point of comfort. He hadn’t meant to do it this time, but even Jeff wasn’t stupid or naive enough to think that he could weasel his way out of it without some sort of explanation.

“What the hell was that?”

Chip’s voice trailed after him, both having barely set foot backstage, and Jeff hoped that they could at least make it back to the dressing room before getting into this.

With a focused determination, Jeff pushed past stage hands and theatre employees resolutely, ignoring the stares they tossed in his direction. He was close, they were almost there, just a few more feet to go now. The last thing he wanted to do was start airing their dirty laundry in front of everyone else.

“Jeff,” Chip persisted, the voice much closer than before.

The second he stepped through the threshold of the door, Jeff felt himself relax. The feeling was short lived, however.

“What the hell happened out there, Jeff?” Chip demanded, grabbing onto his arm and turning Jeff so they were standing face to face.

As Jeff took in Chip’s expression, he decided that ‘anger’ was probably too soft of a description of his current mood. No, ‘rage’ or ‘fury’ were far more accurate descriptors.

With a deep breath, Jeff steadied himself for the impending fight. “What are you talking about?” he asked, knowing damn well it wouldn’t help, but unable to stop the words from flying out of his mouth anyway. It was his natural instinct to deny, to play things off as if he had no idea what was going on even when he obviously did.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Chip said, arm flying out to point towards the door. Thankfully Greg and Ryan were nowhere in sight. At least not yet, anyway. “On stage? When you kissed me?”

Jeff tried not to react. “So, what? I kiss a lot of people on stage. So do you. It’s the nature of our job.”

But Chip shook his head. “Not like that, we don’t. Not like...” he trailed off, waving a hand in the air.

“Okay, so I admit that it was a little, uh, enthusiastic,” Jeff said in an attempt to placate him. “But I didn’t mean anything by it.” It was true, insomuch as it could be. Sure, he’d intended on kissing Chip, had been waiting for the opportunity for a number of months now, in fact, but he hadn’t expected things to turn out like this.

“Enthusiastic, Jeff? You had your tongue in my mouth.” Chip folded his arms across his chest defensively, an odd expression on his face that Jeff couldn’t quite put a name to. Something between frustration and confusion, and perhaps something else a bit darker.

“Look, I’m sorry, Chip. I got carried away. What do you want me to say?”

“That’s just it. You always get carried away,” he said, head tilting to the side as he pressed his lips together in a fine line.

“It was just a kiss. It was an accident, man. You know that.”

Chips eyebrows rose high on his forehead as he shot Jeff a reproachful look. “Was it, though?”

Jeff found his eyes narrowing of their own accord. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come off it, Jeff. You may have kissed every other person we work with, but you’ve never used tongue. It was completely unnecessary in that scene.” He unfolded his arms and pointed at Jeff. “You did it on purpose. I just don’t know why you’re trying to pretend like you didn’t.”

The accusatory tone in Chip’s voice rubbed Jeff the wrong way, true or not, and he felt the rush of sudden anger grip his throat. Before he could stop himself, the words came tumbling from his throat. “Or maybe you’re just pissed off at yourself for actually kissing me back.”

There. He’d said it. Except he found surprisingly little comfort or satisfaction in it, especially when he caught a glimpse of Chip’s face, quickly reddening from embarrassment or rage (or maybe both).

Somewhere in the background, Jeff noticed Greg and Ryan ducking out of the room, and he found himself oddly stuck between feeling grateful and nervous. At least if they remained, Chip would be less likely to enact some sort of physical revenge on him. Despite the fact that he’d never been a violent person – quite the opposite, in fact – Jeff wasn’t sure he wanted to risk it right now.

“Is that what this is about? Your little goal to kiss me onstage to see how I’d respond?” Chip was full out glaring at him now, face hard. “How is that working out for you?”

Jeff sighed, feeling himself deflate as quickly as he’d filled with anger. “Not very well,” he admitted. “Though this was never about some little goal of mine,” he added as an afterthought.

“Oh? So are you telling me that you haven’t been trying to kiss me for good few weeks, hell, maybe even months, now? Because I just want to get this whole thing straight in my mind so I can figure out what I should believe.”

Jeff blinked. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. All right, fine. So he wasn’t exactly the king of subtlety. In fact, he was quite the opposite. Even still, he’d hoped he hadn’t been making his intentions clear all this time. Apparently that wasn’t the case.

“Look, Chip, I—“

“Just tell me one thing,” Chip interrupted, stepping closer to Jeff for the first time since they’d left the stage.

“What?” Jeff breathed, voice tight and strained.

“Did you plan on kissing me?”

“I...” Jeff considered lying, but he suspected it wouldn’t help his cause in the long run. “Yes,” he admitted, at length, eyes focussed on the floor, anywhere but on Chip. He couldn’t stand the idea of meeting his gaze right now.

A long time passed before Chip finally spoke again, and this time his voice was soft and level. “How long is this going to keep going on for, Jeff?”

Alarm bells sounded in his head immediately, but he wasn’t quick enough to filter the words. “What do you mean?”

“You,” Chip said, gesturing towards him, lips pulling into a frown. “You constantly hitting on me, constantly trying to put us into compromising situations. It’s never ending, man. I am still technically married, remember? That’s not how this works. It just— it can’t.” He sighed heavily, running a hand down his face, and Jeff felt something heavy settle in the pit of his stomach. For the first time in a very long while, Jeff wondered if perhaps he really had gone too far this time. Chip and Patty had been having issues for quite a while now, but that didn’t grant Jeff the right to swoop in and take advantage of the situation.

“Chip,” he started, softly, carefully, but Chip turned his face away.

“I can’t keep doing this, Jeff,” he said flatly, eyes averted. “I won’t.”

And then, without another word, Chip grabbed his guitar case and bag, leaving without so much as a glance behind him.

Jeff tried to speak, to say something to prevent Chip from leaving, to fix this mess he’d created, but found that he had no words left to call Chip back to him.

With a heavy heart, Jeff sunk down into the couch behind him and buried his face in his hands.

~*~

December 15, 2012

The party was well underway by the time Jeff arrived, and he was immediately greeted at the door by Drew and Ryan, both of whom appeared to have had a head-start on the alcohol.

“Jeff, buddy, so good to see you,” Ryan crooned, pulling him in for a highly uncharacteristic hug. “It’s been so long,” he continued, sloshing his drink around and nearly spilling half of it on Jeff’s near pristine suit.

“I saw you last week,” Jeff pointed out, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears.

Drew was next in line, all but pushing Ryan out of the way to get to Jeff. “You didn’t even fucking welcome him in, Ryan, you big idiot. Do I have to do everything around this fucking place?”

“It’s your damn house, Drew,” said Ryan with a shrug. Drew shot him a withering look, inciting a bubble of amused laughter from Ryan, and Jeff felt some of the tightness in his chest diminish. At least he could count on some things never changing.

In the next second, Jeff was wrapped up in Drew’s arms, being hugged so tightly that he could barely breathe. “Nice to see you. I’m glad you came. Almost everyone’s here and I had all the food catered, so make sure you eat and drink lots, okay?”

“Will do,” Jeff said, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do right then.

When Drew stepped back, Jeff finally permitted himself a quick moment to do a cursory scan of the room. Over by the elaborately decorated Christmas tree, Colin stood chatting with Jonathan. Every once in a while he glanced over in Jeff’s direction, and eventually smiled over at him when they made eye contact. Heather, Brad and Wayne were hanging around what appeared to be the food table, munching and talking animatedly with one another. Over on the couch, Kathy and Sean appeared to be engaged in their own conversation. So far, it seemed as if the coast was clear, and he found himself relaxing just a little more, though he couldn’t help but wonder as to Greg’s whereabouts.

Suddenly, as if reading his mind, Greg appeared out of the woodwork, making a beeline straight for Jeff.

“Hey, man, you made it. Come with me,” Greg said, gesturing for Jeff to follow.

Greg slipped an arm across his shoulders and led him away from the entrance. “I’m glad you decided to come,” Greg said. “I wasn’t sure if you would, after we talked, but I guess I was wrong.” He pointed towards the drink table with a mischievous grin. “See? Told you Drew wouldn’t skimp on the alcohol. This place is more loaded than a fucking bar. Shall we?”

It probably wasn’t the best idea, but Jeff figured that he if was going to get through this night, alcohol might be the only way to do it. “Yeah, sure. I could use a stiff drink right about now,” he said, trailing behind Greg.

~*~

October 9, 2011

“Fuck him. I don’t need him,” Jeff said, slamming his empty drink down on the bar and indicating for the bartender to pour another.

“Right. He’s a useless pain in the ass anyway,” Greg agreed, though there was no real bite to his words. They both knew Greg didn’t mean it, not really, but Jeff appreciated the support all the same.

“Exactly.” He nodded gratefully at the bartender before he picked up his freshly refilled drink and took a long sip. “He gets so uptight about everything, you know?”

Greg eyed him carefully. “You guys really haven’t talked since yesterday?”

“No,” Jeff admitted, feeling himself deflate even further. He’d tried, several times, to talk to Chip and attempt to straighten everything out. Surely kissing him onstage like that wasn’t going to ruin over a decade’s worth of friendship. But every time he’d gone to Chip’s room, or called him, Chip had been mysteriously absent.

“Huh. I figured you two would’ve kissed and made up by now, considering how attached you guys are. I’m sure he’ll come around, though. This isn’t the first fight you’ve had, right?”

Jeff wished he had that same level of confidence in Chip as Greg seemed to, because truthfully, he had no fucking idea what had been going on between them as of late. Yes, it was true that he had spent quite some time recently working out a plan as to how he could kiss Chip during a Whose Live performance, but he wasn’t completely blameless in all of this. Things had been changing between the two of them over the past six months. The shift wasn’t obvious, but it was definitely noticeable to Jeff. Chip touched him more, smiled at him a little brighter, and Jeff was certain he’d caught Chip openly staring at him on more than one occasion. There had always been a measure of tension – maybe even attraction – between them, but it felt as though the air had been shifting as of late, teetering on the edge of something a little more dangerous, a little riskier. And fine, so maybe it hadn’t been the most brilliant plan he’d ever concocted, but damn it, Jeff couldn’t just sit on this forever and hope that something would happen.

Unfortunately, that stark reminder of how he’d caused the problem in the first place only added to the weight already sitting on Jeff’s shoulders. He reached for his drink and finished it in one gulp before responding. “Yeah. I know.”

No matter how much alcohol he consumed, though, Jeff knew it was pointless. He needed Chip far more than Chip needed him, when it came right down to it, and everybody knew it. Greg was humoring him, being a good friend, but it wouldn’t solve the problem.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” he groaned to Greg. Jeff tried to catch the bartender’s gaze again, and was poised to order another drink, when he felt Greg’s hand land on his arm.

“I think you’ve had enough,” he said seriously. “Come on, let’s go.”

Jeff barely had time to mutter, “Where?” before Greg dropped several bills on the counter and was dragging him out of the bar.

“I need a smoke,” Greg said, eventually, when they were already well on their way outside.

The cool air hit him like a smack to the face, and Jeff shivered involuntarily at the contrast between the over-heated bar and the cold night air. He hung a few feet back from Greg, standing against the wall, though he wasn’t actually touching it, arms folded against his chest protectively as he watched Greg pull out a cigarette. For a moment the light from the flame flickered against Greg’s glasses as he lit the smoke, illuminating his face, and it gave him a sort of ethereal glow that almost made him appear wise, controlled. Or maybe Jeff had just had one too many drinks this evening. He couldn’t be certain either way.

“Can I be honest with you?” Greg asked in that tone of voice that implied he was going to be brutally straightforward, so be prepared, if you said ‘yes.’

Jeff inclined his head. “Yeah, go for it.”

“I think you’re being a big fucking girl about this whole thing. You both are.” Greg blew out a long puff of smoke, giving Jeff a stern look. “I mean, are you fucking kidding me? Ryan and I have had bets for years on when you two would finally pull your heads out of your asses and get your shit together, but so far, he’s winning that little wager, what with you two acting like teenagers half the time. I mean, fuck, Jeff.”

“Teenagers?” Jeff asked, eyebrows rising high on his forehead. “Don’t you think that’s a bit of an exaggeration?”

“You tell me. You’ve been in love with him for, what? At least five years now, if not more than that?”

That information wasn’t exactly shocking, nor was it something that Jeff worked particularly hard to conceal, but to hear it stated so plainly, so casually, like they were talking about the weather, was more than a little unnerving.

Jeff carefully evaded the question, eyes cast down and face heating. “I don’t see how that’s relevant to anything.”

“Chip knows it too, you know. He’s not stupid, even if he may act like it sometimes,” Greg continued, apparently unconcerned by Jeff’s evasion attempt.

Jeff stared at Greg in bewilderment as he continued to puff on his cigarette. “And how does this help me, exactly?”

“I’m just saying... It doesn’t excuse anything, but maybe he needs time to, I don’t know, sort through some stuff?”

“Like how much of an immature prick he’s being?”

With a shake of his head, Greg butted out his half-smoked cigarette, placing it back into his pack and levelled his gaze on Jeff. “Yeah. Something like that. Look, just give him a bit of time, and for fuck’s sake, don’t drink yourself stupid. You do that enough as it is without any added stressors. Believe me when I tell you that it won’t help you out this time, my friend.”

And then, just like that, Greg left, leaving Jeff to stand alone in the cold with nothing but his thoughts and an emerging migraine.

~*~

December 15, 2012

Jeff knew, of course, that the false sense of security he’d fallen into couldn’t last long, but even still, he wished it would have for even another thirty minutes. He’d only had a chance to talk to a few people, and was finally starting to loosen up, with the help of a few good drinks.

The funny thing was that Jeff never actually even heard Chip enter the room. In fact, had Greg and Ryan not been involved in the current conversation, he probably wouldn’t have noticed at all, at least not for a little while. But the minute Chip walked in, they both fell silent. Jeff was disappointed in the two of them for failing so spectacularly at maintaining their composure. What good were they to him if even they couldn’t pretend that everything was normal?

“What is it?” Jeff asked, even though he already knew.

Greg indicated with his head at a point behind Jeff’s right shoulder. “He’s here,” was all he said.

The two words that had the power to unravel him completely. But no, Jeff was not some fragile little kitten. He’d chosen to come to this party, and he was not about to allow one Chip Esten to ruin it for him. So instead of avoiding him, he turned around to face him head on. Almost instantly, he felt his chest seize up and his breath catch in his throat at the sight of Chip. He looked a little thinner than the last time Jeff had seen him, face a bit paler too, but he still looked good. He always did. It wasn’t until he caught Chip’s eye, though, that a wave of pain, regret and sorrow washed over him as everything came rushing back at him like a hurricane.

It seemed to Jeff that the noise level had dropped considerably in these few short moments. He knew it was ridiculous, of course, but it felt like the entire room was watching them now, holding their collective breath to see how this whole thing would play out. Did everybody fucking know what had happened between them? Probably not, but it sure felt like it just then.

For several moments, they held each other’s gaze, the tension between them palpable, and Jeff felt as though a knife was twisting in his heart. At the same time, a thrill shot down his spine, warming him in a way that he hadn’t felt in a year, and the unwelcome sensation sent him reeling. He’d expected the anger, the frustration, the tension, the heartache upon seeing Chip again... but he hadn’t anticipated the want, the desire still coursing through his veins, despite everything they’d been through. That alone infuriated him more than anything else, overriding all other emotions at the forefront of his brain.

Finally, Jeff found his voice again. “Chip,” he said, nodding his head in Chip’s direction before fleeing the room in as graceful a manner as he could muster.

~*~

October 17, 2011

The avoidance lasted a grand total of eight days, some of which they spent apart, and some of which they didn’t. It was, of course, difficult to completely avoid someone when they were on the same tour bus, but Chip was actually surprisingly talented at it. He spent most of the time sleeping, pretending to be engaged in a fascinating book, and once or twice he even went to sit up front with their driver. He only climbed onto the bus moments before it pulled away, and was always the first one off it. Before and after shows, Chip would wander the casinos, chat up the staff working that evening, or hide in his dressing room, if they were fortunate enough to have them that particular night.

Finally, after a show that hadn’t gone quite as smoothly as anyone would’ve hoped, Jeff practically chased Chip off-stage, determined to catch him before he wandered off somewhere to hide. This little fight between them was starting to get out of hand.

Before Chip could run, Jeff heard himself speak. “Chip, we need to talk.”

Famous last words. Also entirely too cliché to sit well with Jeff. All the same, it was true, and there wasn’t any better way to get to the point.

Much to his surprise, Chip nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. We do,” he said, and even had the good sense to look properly chagrined.

“Where?” Jeff asked.

“Not here,” said Chip, glancing around as though to make sure they weren’t being watched. “When we get back to the hotel?”

Jeff’s faith in Chip to follow through was significantly diminished at this point, but he also knew that he didn’t have any other choice but to trust him. “All right, fine. Come to my hotel room,” he said.

Chip nodded just as Ryan and Greg walked past them, each wearing identical expressions of curiosity. “Yeah, okay.”

So it was determined. Now all he had to do was wait. And hope that Chip was amenable to sorting this whole thing out.

~*~

December 15, 2012

After escaping the awkward encounter with Chip, Jeff considered just calling it a night and leaving the party behind. He’d done his part – shown up, socialized, had some food and drinks – he had no real reason to stick around any longer. But despite the many legitimate excuses he had for leaving, there was something that held him back, prevented him from walking out and going home.

So, instead, he decided to give himself a tour of Drew’s home. Not that he hadn’t been there before, but he needed some time to clear his head and get himself back under control before he could go back to the party and rejoin everyone else. It was almost embarrassing how much Chip had an impact on him, even now. Eventually, Jeff found himself standing out on the balcony on the second floor, having wandered past it quite by accident.

He closed his fingers around the metal railing and stared out into the distance, cold seeping into his hands immediately. It was a cool evening, but Jeff had always preferred this type of weather to extreme heat, which had often made him wonder in the past why he chose to reside in this particular part of the country. There was a light breeze that brushed past his cheeks, running through his hair like a hand trying to ruffle his hair. Thankfully, there was enough gel there to keep it firmly in place, though he didn’t much care about his appearance right now.

For a long time, Jeff merely stood there, thinking. One year ago, he’d been sitting on top of the world. Everything had been going right, for once in his life, and he’d even started looking forward to Christmas. Funny how everything could go up in smoke so quickly. Jeff sighed, a frown forming on his lips, and he dug his fingers into the railing, seeking the odd comfort of the cold bar.

The sound of the screen door opening and closing a few minutes later pulled Jeff abruptly from his thoughts, alerting him to the fact that he wasn’t alone anymore. He had figured that people would know well enough to leave him alone, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that there was only one person who would have decided to join him on the balcony. The silence spoke louder than any words ever could.

Jeff froze, every muscle tensing simultaneously, but he forced himself to continue breathing, to remain calm. It wasn’t as significant as he made it out to be.

The intruder moved slowly behind him until he could see a silhouette of someone standing off to the right side of the balcony. He kept his gaze focused on one particular tree in a neighboring yard, drawing on it as an anchor to keep him grounded as he continued to concentrate on keeping his breath steady.

Neither spoke. And then suddenly, out of the blue, a memory resurfaced in Jeff’s mind of a time not so long ago, when things had been much the same and yet entirely different all at once. He wasn’t sure what triggered it, exactly, other than Chip’s presence, but he felt his heart ache as everything came rushing back – all the highs and the lows of that night, one not so far removed from this one.

“You know, there’s an odd sort of familiarity about this,” he said finally, unsure of whether it was smart to bring it up at all. His voice sounded gravelly and far less in control than he would’ve liked, but it was too late to take anything back now.

A long moment of silence passed, and Jeff began to wonder if he’d been wrong about his company after all, when suddenly Chip spoke. “Yeah, there is.”

Maybe it was only his imagination, but Jeff could swear he heard a touch of regret in Chip’s voice.

~*~

October 17, 2011

Jeff paced back and forth across the room, glancing down at his watch every minute or so. They’d agreed to meet at his room, but hadn’t set an official time. It was already getting late as it was by the time they’d returned to the hotel, and that had been almost an hour ago. With every passing second, it was starting to look as though Chip wasn’t going to show up after all.

Finally, Jeff decided that he needed to get out of this place and get some air. Just as he slipped on his jacket, there was a soft knock at the door.

“Chip,” Jeff said when he opened the door, trying not to let his relief show, though he suspected he wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

Chip shifted on his feet, cheeks reddening momentarily. “Yeah, uh, I’m sorry it took me so long. Something came up...” He trailed off, glancing down at the floor before meeting Jeff’s eyes again. “Is it too late?” He blinked, then seemed to notice Jeff’s attire for the first time. “Oh, were you going somewhere?”

Jeff shook his head, doing up the last button on his jacket. “No. I was just feeling cramped in here. Thought maybe I’d go for a walk.” He paused, then added, “But we could talk outside, if you wanted to join me?”

“Okay,” Chip agreed, almost sounding relieved.

For the first five minutes, they walked in silence, with no particular destination in mind. Jeff wasn’t sure how to even begin this conversation, and a part of him was afraid of how it would end, so, cowardly, he found himself enjoying just being in Chip’s company without having to deal with any of the emotional garbage sitting between them. In a way, it felt as if nothing was wrong, and he liked deluding himself, even if he knew it wouldn’t – couldn’t – last.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Chip would be the first one to speak. Nonetheless, Jeff was grateful that he was able to do what Jeff couldn't. “Jeff, look. I, uh— I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. For the way I’ve been treating you this past week. You didn’t deserve any of it, and I’m kind of embarrassed with how much of an ass I’ve been.”

Jeff blinked in surprise, glancing over at Chip. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been an outright apology.

“No, it’s fine,” he stammered out. “I mean, it’s not fine, but I understand why. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that on stage in the first place.”

“Maybe. But either way, my reaction wasn’t necessary either.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry for putting you in an awkward situation to begin with.”

Chip sighed, his hand accidentally brushing up against Jeff’s, and Jeff felt a little thrill run up his spine at the contact. Chip slowed his pace and a long silence stretched between them then.

When Chip finally spoke, there was a certain quality to his voice that Jeff only heard when he was trying to be careful about what he said. “Honestly, Jeff, I knew what you’ve been trying to do for months. If I was really bothered by your behavior, I could have said something to you sooner.”

“I guess so.” Jeff frowned, his eyebrows knitting together. “But you didn’t, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“Except that it sort of does,” Chip said firmly, and Jeff couldn’t help but look over at him curiously. “I wasn’t so much angry at you as I was at me. For how I, uh, reacted.”

“You shouldn’t feel bad for being upset with me.”

“I know. But I don’t think you’re hearing me. I wasn’t upset with you. My reaction to your kiss was sort of the opposite, actually. Which is why I was so mad at myself.”

Usually Jeff was more than competent at figuring out what was going on in conversations, but for some reason he couldn’t seem to piece together what Chip was trying to say now. “What do you mean your reaction was ‘the opposite’?”

“Jeff,” Chip said with exasperation. And then he felt fingers curl around his own, stopping him dead in his tracks.

Suddenly Jeff’s mouth went dry, and all he could do was stare down at their entwined hands, wondering how the hell his world had shifted on its axis so quickly.

“When I said my reaction was the opposite of angry, what I meant was that when you kissed me, I actually liked it. A lot. I guess I’d always suspected that I might, but until that night, I hadn’t actually known, so I kept deluding myself into thinking there was nothing there.”

A hand came to rest on his shoulder, dragging Jeff’s gaze up to meet Chip’s once more, and he shivered involuntarily. Chip was looking at him like he expected Jeff to say something. After several moments of deliberation, he eventually settled on, “Okay.”

“I guess I just thought that maybe if I avoided you for a while, those feelings would die down. But all I was doing was hurting us both, apparently, since it didn’t change a damn thing on my part. Only seemed to make it worse, truthfully.”

Jeff really wanted to say something substantial, but he couldn’t seem to formulate the right words. He nodded instead.

“Is any of this getting through to you?” Chip asked as he slid his fingers from Jeff’s shoulder up his neck to rest against his cheek. His other hand still clutched Jeff’s fingers.

Jeff swallowed and nodded again, pressing his face into the touch. “Yeah, I think so,” he finally managed to say, and leaned in to close the gap.

And then they were kissing, on an unfamiliar street in front of passers-by, but Jeff didn’t care. His hands moved to grip Chip’s hips, pulling him closer, and he thought that this might be one of the best moments of his entire life.

~*~

December 15, 2012

The silence couldn’t last forever. And despite the fact that Jeff was now thoroughly chilled, stuck out on a balcony with the very person he’d been trying to avoid, and his heart aching with every memory that came flooding back – good or bad – he couldn’t seem to drag himself away either.

In the end, it was Chip who spoke first. Just like he always had. “I’m sure this won’t mean much to you, but I wanted to say that I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, you don’t even know.”

Jeff swallowed, and much to his horror, discovered his eyes welling up with tears. Fuck, he was pathetic. He leaned forward on his arms, digging his fingers into the railing again and sought out that tree he’d been staring at before. If Chip expected some sort of response, he wasn’t going to get it. An apology wasn’t going to erase what had happened, though he suspected Chip knew that.

“I know it probably means nothing to you,” Chip continued, as if reading his thoughts. “But I just needed you to know.”

Keeping his breath steady, Jeff ducked his head in acknowledgement. It was the most he could offer.

“How, uh— how have you been?” Chip continued.

Did he really want to know, or was he just attempting to make pleasant conversation? “I’ve been fine,” he said, purposefully vague.

“That’s good. What kinds of things have you been up to lately?”

Jeff had left the Whose Live Anyway? tour at the beginning of the year, taking a hiatus from the group under the guise of attempting to pursue other avenues for his career. Everyone had known why he’d actually done it, but they’d still had to replace him in the show. Jeff had kept in touch with Ryan and Greg throughout the year, but hadn’t spoken to Chip at all since that day in early January.

“I’ve been doing improv with another company in LA that tours across the mid-west, and I landed a guest spot on a new sitcom that starts airing in the new year. Dan and I are still doing Harmontown, too, and I’ve done a few other events throughout the year.”

“Oh, that’s great. I’m glad to hear it,” Chip said, sounding as sincere as ever. It was one of those qualities he had that usually made it hard to remain angry with him for too long.

Another silence fell, and Jeff felt as though Chip was waiting for him to carry on the conversation. The thing was, he didn’t want to ask how Chip was doing, because a large part of him didn’t want to know the answer. The last thing he wanted to hear was how things were going great in Chip’s life since everything happened between them last year. He didn’t want to hear how Chip was well and happy and successful, even if there was a part of him that still wanted that for his friend. Former friend, he mentally corrected, and felt his heart constrict in his chest. It would only confirm the truth that Jeff needed Chip more than Chip had ever needed him.

All the same, there was a sort of morbid curiosity still underlying his thoughts. Eventually, he decided to just do it anyway. “How have you been?”

A long pause preceded the reply. “Um... I’m okay now. But it hasn’t been a very good year for me.”

And suddenly, just like that, Jeff went from relatively calm to pissed off. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?” he snapped, though regretted the tone instantly. He had asked, after all.

“No. No, you definitely shouldn’t, and I’m not asking you to. I just figured I owed you the truth.”

“Okay,” Jeff said, taking a steadying breath, and then, “Look, I, uh— sorry. About that. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“It’s fine. I deserved it.”

The obvious question sat between them now. “What happened? To make your year so bad, I mean?”

“It’s a long story, not worth getting into the details right now, but basically things didn’t work out with Patty. It wasn’t until after the fact that I realized that it had probably been over long before that point.” Chip sighed audibly, and Jeff felt his throat tighten, a myriad of emotions running through his head at this unexpected revelation. “The kids took it really hard, knowing it was for good this time, and I’ve been a bit of a mess. Everything had been so confusing and muddled for so long, that I just struggled to try and make sense of my life again, you know?”

Of course he knew. It was the very life he’d been living this past year, trying to reinvent himself, figure out his place, move on after the ending of one of his longest friendships. Truth be told, Jeff wasn’t sure that he’d managed to accomplish it yet.

“Were you able to— I mean, did you figure things out?”

“I think so,” Chip said, voice soft, and suddenly a lot closer than Jeff remembered.

This whole time, he’d kept his gaze focused on the distance as a way of staying grounded. To actually turn and acknowledge Chip felt scary, especially given the topic of their conversation, but maybe there was a reason they’d both shown up for this party tonight. Maybe it was a way for both of them to finally heal.

~*~

December 20, 2011

Looking back on things, Jeff should have seen it coming. At first, he hadn’t believed that this thing with Chip was actually going anywhere. But when kissing led to touching, which eventually led to consistent sex and frequent time spent together both on and off tour, he started to get hopeful that things were real – that this was actually happening like he’d been dreaming about for years. It seemed too good to be true.

As it turned out, it had been.

Jeff knew something was wrong when Chip suggested they have dinner at Jeff’s place, instead of going out like they’d planned, but he’d pushed his doubts aside. It was five days before Christmas. Surely Chip wouldn’t be heartless enough to break it off right at that very moment.

By the time Chip arrived, Jeff had nearly finished with dinner. He’d made all of Chip’s favorites, because this was supposed to be their Christmas celebration, and he enjoyed cooking, so Jeff thought it wasn’t such a bad thing that they’d decided to stay in instead.

“Hey, you made it,” Jeff said with a grin when Chip arrived, moving to greet him with a kiss.

Chip smiled at him, but there was a certain sad quality to his eyes that filled Jeff with dread. That suspicion was only heightened when Chip pulled away from their kiss after a moment, refusing to meet his gaze.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Jeff said, returning to the stove to continue stirring the gravy. “I’ve been cooking most of the day.”

But instead of looking pleased, this seemed to upset Chip. “I wish you hadn’t done that. I told you I wanted to keep things simple tonight.”

“Yeah, but it’s Christmas, and I know how much you love it. Plus, I love to cook, so I figured we would both win this way.”

“Jeff,” Chip said softly, voice fond and yet also sounding pained.

Jeff stopped stirring and turned off the element, turning to face Chip fully. He finally gave voice to the question he didn’t want to ask. “What’s wrong?”

“Uh, Jeff, we really need to talk,” Chip said, and Jeff felt his heart sink deep in his chest. It was then that he knew with absolute certainty that this night was not going to go at all like he’d planned.

~*~

December 15, 2012

Tears stung his eyes once more as Jeff suddenly remembered the agony of that day, almost a year ago. How Chip had ripped his heart out, stomped it on the ground, and then walked away as if it’d been nothing. He’d been as kind as he could, of course, because Chip was still entirely good at his core, but it hadn’t been any less heart-wrenching.

As he’d watched Chip leave, he’d tossed a glass at his kitchen wall, watching it shatter into a million pieces, a mirror of his own miserable state. He’d sunk to the floor and sobbed for the first time in years. It wasn’t until many hours later, when he was beyond drunk, that he finally passed out on his living room couch.

“You know, it’s great that you managed to figure things out for yourself, but I’d had them figured out a long time before that, only to have everything fall apart at my feet,” Jeff eventually said, finally meeting Chip’s steady gaze.

He knew that the hurt was visible on his face, but he didn’t care. Maybe it was good that Chip saw tangible evidence of Jeff’s pain, not as a form of punishment, but as a way of finally acknowledging what had happened between them.

“I know. It wasn’t fair, what I did to you. I’ve hurt so many people over the last couple years.”

“I loved you, you know,” Jeff admitted. He probably still did, pathetic as that made him.

Chip swallowed, and for the first time, Jeff noticed the sheen of tears in his eyes too.

“There were so many times over the past several months that I wanted to call you, to tell you everything, but I didn’t know how to do that without coming across like a prick.”

“Maybe because you are a prick,” Jeff suggested, folding his arms across his chest. No matter how angry he got, though, he knew – at least intellectually – that Chip hadn’t ever intended on hurting him.

“You’re right, I am.”

“Do you have any fucking idea how much you hurt me?”

Thankfully, Chip had the good sense to stay quiet.

“It wasn’t just that I was in love with you, Chip. You were also one of my best friends in the entire world, and I thought I was so fucking lucky to have a best friend who also became my lover. In those first few weeks you assured me that your marriage was over in every way except legally, and stupid me, I believed you. Maybe because I’d loved you and dreamed of this for so damn long, never expecting it to actually happen.”

The tears that had only been threatening to fall for quite some time began to slowly trickle down his cheeks now. He knew he should probably stop talking, but now that the flood gates were open, Chip was going to listen, and he was going to know just how much he’d hurt Jeff.

“The worst part of it all, though, was that you gave me hope that there could be something more between us, when maybe you hadn’t ever been sure yourself. I would have preferred the silent treatment, because at least then I wasn’t given false hope for something more. But to have that handed to me, only to be taken away just as quickly... It fucking sucked, Chip. For a while after, I really hated you and what you’d done to me.”

He shook his head sadly, his gaze falling to the ground. He couldn’t stand to look at Chip right now.

“I’m so sorry for that. For all of it,” Chip said after a lengthy silence, taking a step closer. “I wish there was some way to take it all back and fix everything, but I know there isn’t.”

And then Chip was reaching for him, and Jeff couldn’t seem to resist the pull. He sunk into Chip’s embrace for the first time in over a year, barely able to hold back the sob that threatened to overtake him. Chip’s arms were strong around his body, hands pressing soothingly into his back. It seemed absurd that he was receiving comfort from the very person who had inflicted his pain in the first place, but it felt so good, so right, that he just couldn’t bring himself to care in that very moment.

“So, where do we go from here?” Chip eventually asked, long after they’d pulled away from one another.

“I don’t know,” Jeff admitted sadly. “This isn’t something I can just get over after one conversation. I just... I don’t know.”

Chip nodded, reaching up to brush a tear away from Jeff’s cheek. “I know, and I wouldn’t expect you to either. Maybe... maybe we could try and be friends again?” he suggested carefully.

“Friends,” Jeff said, tasting the word on his tongue to see how it felt. The thought was frightening, but maybe it wasn’t impossible either. “I think I can do that.”

When Chip smiled at him, full and genuine, something twisted in Jeff’s gut. But this time, it wasn’t unpleasant. “Good. That’s awesome.”

“I have no idea where this will go, though,” Jeff felt compelled to warn him, even though he didn’t want to erase that hopeful smile from Chip’s face now that he’d seen it again. “I just... I’m going to need time.”

“Of course,” Chip agreed. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

For several moments they watched one another, and Jeff wondered if things could really be good between them again. Right now, he couldn’t imagine getting involved with Chip again. But maybe... possibly some day... things might change. All he knew for certain was that he was willing to give their relationship another try.

“Do you think we should head back to the party?” Chip asked eventually.

Jeff nodded. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea. As Greg likes to point out, Drew has the best damn drinks around. I think could use another one right about now.”

Chip nodded, still smiling as he gestured towards the screen door. “Me too. After you.”

The End.

Fanfic - For in That Sleep of Death What Dreams May Come (IAG)

2011-11-13T00:34:02Z

Title: For in That Sleep of Death What Dreams May Come
Author: Mel (accordingtomel)
Summary: After a particularly bad nightmare, Jeff seeks Chip out.
Characters/Pairings: Jeff/Chip
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Word Count: 3,270
Disclaimer: All fake. I like to pretend it’s real, but that’s all it is – pretend. No disrespect is meant, it’s all for fun!
Author’s note: This idea got stuck in my head about a week ago and would absolutely not go away until it was written down, apparently. Thanks kindly to the ever wonderful adelagia for betaing this for me, even though she has a million other more important things to be doing. You’re the best! I fully recognize the cheesiness of the title, but it also felt appropriate, so I had to go with it ;). Anyway, enjoy!

For in That Sleep of Death What Dreams May Come

At first, Chip thinks the sound is in his dream, so he pays it no attention. A gentle knocking that could be coming from anywhere. But as the sound becomes more insistent, steadier, and Chip’s eyes finally flutter open to the pitch black of night, he realizes that the knocking is, indeed, real.

For several moments he lays there, mind still stuck in the foggy haze between dreaming and wakefulness, trying to sort out what the hell is going on. The first thought that drifts through his mind is that some crazed maniac is on the other side of his hotel room, desperate to get inside to commit some heinous act. But reason kicks in as his mind clears, and Chip decides that there are probably more realistic explanations for what’s going on than a murderer on the loose.

He reaches blindly through the darkness for his watch or cell phone, anything to tell him what time it is, since it’s clear that morning has yet to arrive and he certainly hasn’t slept through any alarm.

3:21 am boldly flashes at Chip as he comes face to face with the clock sitting on the night stand instead, the pounding at his door increasing with every passing second.

There must be something wrong, Chip reasons, panic suddenly settling in and eradicating the last remnants of his sleepy haze. Something terrible has happened; it’s the only logical explanation he can see.

Tossing the covers aside, Chip slips out from under the warm blankets and pads across the carpeted floor towards the door.

Chip’s hand closes around the door knob, but at the last second, he decides to take a look through the peephole. The sight that meets his eyes fills him with an odd sense of comfort and fear, twisting in his gut in equal measure.

“Jeff,” Chip says as the door swings open. He blinks against the sudden onslaught of light and instinctively reaches up to rub at his eyes.

When Chip’s vision clears, he finds himself face to face with one of the most dishevelled images of his friend that he’s ever seen, and they’ve gone through some pretty tough times together. Face pale, hair sticking out in every direction, eyes dark and puffy – he looks positively miserable.

For a second, neither says anything, merely staring one another down.

Jeff blinks, eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears, and finally says, “Oh.”

Before Chip can even open his mouth to ask what’s wrong, Jeff wraps his arms around Chip’s shoulders, pulling him into a tight embrace. It catches Chip off guard for several moments, concern intensifying, but Jeff is holding him with such ferocity that he allows all other thoughts slip away. Reaching up to place his hands on Jeff’s back, Chip returns the gesture, sinking fully into the hug. He is surprised to note that Jeff seems to be shaking, and it only incites further worry.

And then, as quickly as it starts, Jeff pulls away.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and reaches up to try and flatten down his unruly hair. In any other circumstance, Chip might have found the look endearing. It’s rare that he sees Jeff so open and unguarded, so not put together, but he just wishes it wasn’t only when something was causing him distress.

Chip shakes his head. “Come on,” he says, and ushers Jeff into the room with a gentle hand at his back. Whatever’s going on certainly doesn’t need to be revealed out in the hallway.

Flicking on the lamp, Chip indicates for Jeff to sit down, while he goes to retrieve a couple bottles of water from the mini fridge. He takes a seat beside Jeff on the small hotel couch, and hands him one of the bottles. Jeff accepts with a nod, lips quirking ever so slightly, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, before he twists the top off and takes a long drink.

Chip desperately wants to know what’s wrong, what has Jeff so upset at this hour. He has... well, a sneaking suspicion he knows what it might be, but he forces himself to remain quiet, to be patient. Jeff will talk when he’s ready – he came to Chip in the first place, after all – but pushing isn’t going to help.

So, instead, Chip waits. He waits and watches and tries to ignore the fact that Jeff is blatantly watching him, despite what seems to be failed attempts at appearing surreptitious. But it’s too late (or possibly too early) for subtlety, especially when something is bothering Jeff.

Jeff has nearly finished the bottle of water before he puts the cap back on and sets it down on the coffee table. He rubs a hand up and down his leg absently, wrinkling then smoothing down the material from his dark grey sweat pants. He still watches Chip, but his expression is distant at the same time. His left hand, the hand closest to Chip, sits clenched in a loose fist at his side. All the while, Jeff worries his bottom lip between his teeth in a way that Chip has never witnessed before.

“Look, uh, I’m sorry for barging in here in the middle of the night,” he finally says, a hoarse quality to his voice. He averts his gaze then, as though it’s difficult to look at Chip now that they’re actually talking.

“No, you don’t have to apologize. It’s fine, Jeff, don’t worry about it.”

“You’re probably going to think I’ve lost my mind.”

Chip smiles. “Nah,” he says, waving a hand. “You lost it years ago. I’ve known that for a long time now.”

This seems to be enough to elicit a tiny smile from Jeff, and Chip’s heart swells with affection and concern for him.

“I just...” Jeff starts, a heavy sigh falling from his lips.

Without thinking, Chip reaches over and places a hand on Jeff’s knee, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. It’s something they’ve both grown accustomed to doing over the years – to garner attention, to offer support, to tease one another, even to apologize – their own private, physical form of communication, when words aren’t appropriate or easily accessible. He doesn’t think about the action, just does it, because it’s what they do. But it also seems to be exactly what Jeff needs right in this very moment.

Jeff catches his eye then, really looks at him and not through him, and for a moment, Chip finds that he almost can’t breathe, struck by the intensity of... something between them or in the air, he’s not entirely sure. But before Chip has time to process anything, Jeff starts talking again, and whatever temporary spell they’ve just fallen under is broken once more.

“So, you know how I’ve always had really vivid dreams?” He meets Chip’s gaze, and Chip nods his confirmation. “And you also know how I’ve been having a lot of nightmares recently?” Again, Chip nods. “I’ve had a lot of messed up dreams in my life, but I think the one I had tonight was one of the worst ever.”

So it is about the nightmares, then. It’s what he had suspected earlier. “What was the dream about?” Chip asks gently, when Jeff falls silent.

For a few moments, Jeff continues to sit there, staring off into the distance, his mind clearly elsewhere. But then he snaps his eyes back to Chip, and sucking in a deep breath, continues on with his story.

“It was, um, about you,” Jeff says quietly, glancing down at his hands, a light shade of pink tainting his cheeks, though Chip can’t tell if it’s because he’s upset, embarrassed or something else entirely. “I dreamed that you died. And it was the worst fucking nightmare I’ve ever had. Not just because you died, but in the way it played out. I’ve never... I’ve never had a dream feel so real in my entire life.”

“I’m sorry,” Chip says, swallowing against the sudden lump in his throat. Jeff doesn’t look at him, but Chip can hear everything he needs to know through Jeff’s tone of voice.

A short, little laugh – melancholy and very much the opposite of amused – bursts from Jeff, and he shakes his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It was a dream, but the most fucking intense one I’ve ever had. It’s not like there was anything you could do. Besides, as stupid as it sounds, I’m just so relieved that you’re sitting across from me right now, alive and breathing.”

Their eyes meet again, and this time, Chip has to use every ounce of restraint he possesses to prevent himself from reaching out and touching Jeff’s face, assuring him that he’s alive and that Jeff has nothing to worry about. The fear he still sees in Jeff’s eyes is nearly overwhelming. He doesn’t like to see him like this, and it frustrates Chip to know that he probably can’t do anything to alleviate the emotional pain Jeff must be dealing with right now, regardless of the fact that it was triggered by a lie. Chip is all too familiar with the impact a dream like this can have on a person.

“It’s not stupid at all,” he says eventually.

“It’s just... Everything about it felt real, everything that happened was possible, you know?” Jeff shakes his head and threads his formerly clenched hand through his hair absently. “We were still at the hotel, and I remember waking up in the middle of the night with this feeling that something was wrong. But, you know, I’d been drinking, so I just dismissed it. The next morning I woke up to Greg pounding on my door. He looked like shit, and could barely even get out the words that you’d died. Like, of a heart attack, or something. Even though I knew I couldn’t have done anything, I still felt this immense guilt, like if I’d just got out of bed and checked on you, maybe I could have...”

Jeff trails off, glancing down at his hands, now clasped and hanging in the space between his knees.

Chip swallows, finding himself at a loss for words.

“The funeral was a few days later. We cancelled the rest of the shows for the month. I remember going through all the motions, helping with the funeral plans, attending the service. Everything was so vivid, so clear. I remember I kept wishing it was a dream, wishing and praying and hoping. But since everything seemed too real, I thought that it couldn’t possibly be.” Jeff snorts softly, finally meeting Chip’s gaze. “It was fucking awful, Chip. I felt responsible for not saving you, and just the thought that I’d never get to see you or talk to you again was agonizing. There were even a couple of times when I ‘woke up’ in my dream, only to discover that you were still dead.”

“I’m sorry that you had to go through that. I’ve had dreams like that before too. They’re the absolute worst,” Chip says softly, placing a comforting hand on Jeff’s wrist.

“I woke up— well, sobbing.” Jeff cringes slightly at this, and looks away, biting his lip. “Not one of my finest moments, I’ll admit, but unlike the rest of my ridiculous dreams, this one actually felt real – like it could have actually happened. I kept trying to convince myself that it was just a dream, but when you’re that riled up emotionally and it’s the middle of the goddamn night, it’s sort of hard to reason with yourself.”

Chip nods in understanding, giving Jeff’s wrist another squeeze. “Absolutely. But I am okay.” It seems like a stupid thing to say, because obviously he is, but Chip suspects that Jeff might need to hear it anyway.

With little more than the slight nod of his head in acknowledgement, Jeff continues on. “Yeah, I know. I just couldn’t convince my brain that you were. So, eventually I tried calling you. Which, yeah, was sort of a stupid idea at this hour. But then when you didn’t answer, I felt even more panicked, and that was when I figured I’d just come and see you instead.”

“Do you feel any better now that you’ve seen for yourself that it was just a dream?”

“I feel sort of stupid for reacting like this... But yeah. I guess. Somewhat.” Jeff turns his palms so they’re facing the ceiling, and his gaze lifts in that direction as well for several moments. “I just, like, feel everything so strongly still, though. I know it will pass, but...” He trails off, shrugging a shoulder, then picks up his water bottle and unscrews the cap.

Chip tilts his head, watching Jeff as he drinks the rest of his water. “Yeah, I understand. It sucks that we can’t just forget dreams like that after we wake up,” he says eventually, not sure what else he can offer in terms of comfort.

Jeff looks over at him then, holding the now empty water bottle in his hands and shifts awkwardly on the couch. “I guess I should, uh, go. Let you sleep or something. I’m sorry for acting crazy,” he says, shooting Chip a sheepish smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Chip fidgets with the hem of his t-shirt. In truth, he doesn’t want Jeff to leave, not like this.

“I’m glad you’re still alive,” Jeff adds after a moment, and something tugs more insistently at Chip’s heart.

“Me too,” he agrees. And then, “Also, you’re not crazy. At least no more than you’ve always been.”

The words cause Jeff to smile again, and this time it almost looks convincing. He glances over at the door but makes no attempt to move towards it. Chip realizes, then, that with the way he’s sitting, he’s actually blocking Jeff’s only real path out of the room. With a measured amount of reluctance, he stands up and moves out of the way, catching Jeff’s eye as he does so. Something like disappointment flickers briefly across his features, and Chip feels the sentiment mirrored in himself.

“Okay, well, good night,” Jeff says, finally pushing off the couch and shuffling slowly towards the door. Chip notes that he looks almost as distressed as he was when he first arrived, which isn’t a good sign.

Chip manages to watch in silence for all of two seconds before he hears himself say, “Wait.”

“Yeah?” Jeff asks, turning back to Chip, with just a touch of eagerness.

“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep when you get back to your room?”

Jeff tilts his head to the side thoughtfully. “Truthfully? Probably not. Not after a nightmare like that. I don’t know that I even want to try again right now, to be honest.”

Chip isn’t sure what he was waiting or hoping for with that answer, but something in either Jeff’s words or tone seems to trigger a decision in Chip’s mind, cementing the idea that began forming several minutes ago.

Sucking in a breath, Chip internally debates how wise of an idea this is, but quickly comes to the conclusion that it doesn’t matter. “If you want... You can stay here for the rest of the night. It might help you to sleep, if you know I’m still okay.”

It’s presented as a statement, but he knows that Jeff can hear the underlying question, and his own hesitancy in even asking. This wouldn’t be the first time they’ve slept in the same room, or even the same bed. Sometimes after an evening of drinking, one would collapse in the other’s bed for the night, too tired or wasted to even try walking back to his own room. In the months following Chip’s divorce, Jeff often stuck to his side like glue – one of his strongest supports during that difficult time – and there were many nights where they fell asleep in the middle of a conversation, or while watching a particularly awful movie. Sometimes Chip suspects that Jeff purposely comes up with any excuse to spend more time with him. The thing is, Chip knows he’s guilty of the same thing, so he’d never comment on it. He thinks he should be more concerned about the affection he holds for Jeff, but he’s never been able to bring himself to care.

Still, in spite of everything, this is the first time Chip’s ever explicitly asked Jeff to stay. There is a certain element of risk involved here, despite the reasons behind the initial request.

But to Chip’s surprise, Jeff merely nods and says, “Yeah. Yeah, okay. We can do that.” He glances between the couch and the bed, raising an expectant eyebrow.

Chip doesn’t even hesitate as he gestures towards the bed. He moves to turn off the light in the corner of the room as Jeff pulls back the covers and climbs into bed.

“Are you okay?” Chip asks, once he’s settled down beside Jeff. They lie facing each other, but despite being close, a couple inches of space remain between their bodies.

“Yeah. I’m good. Now go to sleep. I never should have woken you up in the first place.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad you did,” Chip admits, quite by accident. He’s thankful for the darkness that hides the way his cheeks flush hot.

Despite the fact that he’s exhausted, Chip finds that he wants to stay awake until he knows that Jeff is okay, sleeping peacefully beside him instead of haunted by memories of his nightmare. So, he closes his eyes, settling into the pillow, and listens silently to the sound of Jeff’s breathing, as it gradually begins to slow and deepen.

Just when it seems as though Jeff has finally fallen asleep, he suddenly starts, the way his body jerks almost violent in nature, and it causes Chip to jump in response.

“Chip?” Jeff asks, voice filled with sleepy fear.

“Yeah, I’m right here,” Chip replies, reaching out to touch Jeff’s shoulder. He is alarmed when he feels Jeff shaking beneath his fingers. “I’m here,” he repeats. “What happened? Another dream?”

“Yes,” he says. Chip doesn’t think he’s ever heard Jeff sound so small or so wounded.

Without giving it another thought, Chip grabs at Jeff and pulls him close. “Come here,” he says, and manhandles Jeff into his arms. Jeff is like putty in his hands, and after a few moments of working out where to place arms and legs, Chip ends up lying on his back, with Jeff wrapped around him, face resting on his chest like a pillow.

A long silence fills the room then, only the sound of their steady breathing penetrating the space between them. Instinctively, Chip rubs Jeff’s back until he stops shaking, relief flooding his veins when Jeff finally stills and gives Chip a gentle squeeze. This is the first time they’ve ever slept like this, wrapped up in each other’s arms, but Chip finds it immensely pleasant. And it may be the time of night, or his worry for Jeff impacting his ability to be rational, but Chip thinks he could get used to this.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Jeff says after several minutes, so quietly Chip almost doesn’t hear him. But he does, and a pleasant heat twists in Chip’s stomach at the words.

“You haven’t lost me. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere,” he eventually responds, reaching up with one hand to run his fingers gently through Jeff’s hair.

With a content sigh, Jeff presses in even closer, and Chip finally permits himself to go back to sleep, holding Jeff tightly.

The End.

Fanfic - Comfort of Love (IAG)

2011-11-01T02:41:22Z

Title: Comfort of Love
Author: Mel (accordingtomel)
Summary: Written for jawyer_4eva. Ryan has to fly, and he may or may not be a little terrified.
Characters/Pairings: Ryan/Colin
Rating: PG
Word Count: 778
Disclaimer: Not real, all fake, etc., etc.
Author’s note: For the Trick or Treat fest at wl_fanfiction. Thanks so much to sungreen70 for the beta/feedback!

Comfort of Love

“Oh, God. Why did I agree to do this again?”

Colin smiles, buckling his seatbelt, and glances over at Ryan sitting beside him. “Because you have a death wish?”

Ryan groans and closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the airplane seat. “Col, that’s not funny.”

“Sorry,” Colin says, trying to hide a grin. “Look, it’s not too late to back out, you know,” he adds seriously, when he catches a glance at Ryan’s uncharacteristically pale face.

“Of course it is. We’re taking off in less than ten minutes. All of my stuff is in a suitcase under the plane.”

“I know that, I just thought... well, I thought it might make you feel better to believe you had options.”

“Thanks,” Ryan says wryly, lips pressed into a fine line.

All around them, the last stragglers onto the plane are stowing luggage and taking their seats as the flight attendants prepare for take-off, but Colin doubts that Ryan’s noticed any of it, hands gripping the armrests with white-knuckled intensity. He’d been surprised – though pleasantly so – when Ryan had rearranged his schedule in order to come with Colin to London while he filmed the first few tapings of his new show, Trust Us With Your Life. Of course Colin had been touched, but now that he sees once again the amount of fear it causes Ryan to fly, he’s not so sure it was the best idea in the world.

“How many times have you flown before, Ryan?”

“More than I ever wanted to.”

Colin holds back a sigh, frowning at the anxiety evident in Ryan’s tone. “Did you know that you have a significantly higher risk of being randomly shot and killed than by dying on a plane?”

Ryan snorts softly, and the sound is oddly reassuring. Colin takes that as a cue to continue.

“The same is true of dying from a snake bite,” Colin says, just after he remembers that Ryan’s also afraid of snakes. Great job, genius, Colin thinks, struggling to cover his tracks. “Which, er, would never happen, of course. How many snakes do you run into on a regular basis? None. Flying,” Colin waves a hand around, “is a snap in comparison.”

He holds his breath for a moment, hoping he hasn’t just made things worse by bringing up another of Ryan’s fears. But when Ryan merely snorts again, this time louder, Colin decides he’s in the clear, obviously on the right track with this.

“And you know how you hate turbulence? Well, turbulence is basically like driving over potholes, but in the sky. It’s safer, even. Pilots don’t worry about it at all. It’s mostly just a pain in the ass, like driving in LA.”

That finally elicits something that looks suspiciously like a smile, and Colin feels some of his own tension slip away as Ryan’s death grip on the armrests eases up.

“Did you also know that—“

“Colin, how the hell do you know all of this shit?” Ryan finally interrupts, opening his eyes and leveling a curious stare at his companion.

Colin shrugs. “I figured that since you agreed to keep me company on this trip, I owed it to you to at least try and help ease some of your flying anxiety.” His only regret is that he’s never thought to do this until now. Maybe it would have helped.

That earns Colin a genuine smile, but before Ryan can say anything, the plane begins to move, as the flight attendants simultaneously start their diatribe about on-flight safety and what to do in the event of an emergency.

About halfway through their speech, Colin notices that Ryan’s gone white as a sheet once more. Drawing Ryan’s attention to him through a gentle hand to his arm, Colin leans over and whispers, “You’re going to be just fine. I promise you that I’ll make it up to you. We’ll have a great time in London.”

And then, without much thought about anything, save for helping Ryan through these two very long flights, Colin pries Ryan’s fingers from his armrest, substituting his own hand in its place.

This draws Ryan’s focus entirely, and his gaze immediately drops to their hands. For several long moments, Colin holds his breath, watching and waiting to see what Ryan will do in response. After a few seconds, Ryan shifts his hand, adjusting it so that their fingers are entwined, then closes his eyes once more, leaning back in his chair without a word. Colin permits himself to relax, squeezing Ryan’s hand gently.

As they glide into the air, Colin thinks that maybe this is what he should’ve tried all these years instead.

The End

Fanfic - Learn From Yesterday, Live for Today, Hope for Tomorrow (IAG)

2011-11-01T02:33:58Z

Title: Learn From Yesterday, Live for Today, Hope for Tomorrow
Author: Mel (accordingtomel)
Summary: Written for jie_jie. Ryan and Colin reunite after an Improv-a-Ganza taping.
Characters/Pairings: Ryan/Colin
Rating: PG
Word Count: 838
Disclaimer: Not real, all fake, etc., etc.
Author’s note: For the Trick or Treat fest at wl_fanfiction. Thanks so much to sungreen70 for the beta/feedback!

Learn From Yesterday, Live for Today, Hope for Tomorrow

The pub is dark. At this late hour, only the most steadfast remain, some nearly passed out across the bar, some clearly headed in that direction, and still others dancing the night away as though nothing could hold them back. This isn’t the ideal venue for a reunion of sorts, Ryan has to admit, but it’s better than a crowded casino where they would be recognized and accosted. And it’s not that Ryan doesn’t appreciate his fans, because he does. But right now he appreciates his privacy more.

Ryan and Colin make their way to a table towards the back of the bar, tucked in a corner away from prying eyes. This isn’t quite how he imagined things would go, when he first heard about Improv-a-Ganza from Drew. Truth be told, he hadn’t even known Colin was going to be doing the show at all until a few days beforehand, though why there was ever any question, he isn’t sure. Perhaps he never knew because secretly he never wanted to.

Silence fills the space between them, an odd mixture of tension and familiarity wrapped up in one. There are so many things he wants to say, so many things he doesn’t know how to verbalize just yet, but he thinks he should probably ease into it.

Unfortunately, as is the case more than he’d like to admit, Ryan’s mouth seems to have other plans.

“Today,” Ryan says, pitching his voice so low that Colin has to lean forward to hear him, “it felt right, you know? Us. Back on stage. Together.”

Ryan nearly cringes at his own stupidity, holding his breath as he waits to see how massively he’s just fucked things up. But Colin merely nods slowly, catching his gaze and holding it for several long moments. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah, I know.”

“It's just...” Ryan continues, because apparently he’s suffering from foot-in-mouth syndrome right now, “Greg and Jeff and Chip. They're great; awesome guys. But—“ They're not you. They're not us. Ryan swallows, unable to put words to the thoughts tumbling around in his head.

It's been a long time. Far too long, despite the fact that they’ve gone upwards of a year before without seeing one another. Still, this time... Well, this time it’s different. So much has changed, and yet it feels as though nothing truly has. And maybe there, maybe that’s where the folly lies, in thinking that everything is how it was, when it’s not. Perhaps it never can be again. It’s a potential Ryan doesn’t want to even consider.

“Brad,” Colin says, a knowing lilt to his tone. He tilts his head to the side, one finger tapping the tabletop. His eyes are distant now, thoughtful, but after several decades of friendship, it's still easy to decipher what's going on behind that carefully guarded expression. “You're right – it's not.”

Ryan smiles, gentle and, for the first time in a while, hopeful. He downs the rest of his drink in one go, relishing the burn as the alcohol slithers down his throat.

They’re good together. He’s always known it. They both have. Funny, though, how life has a way of getting in the way, interfering in the worst possible way. Ryan swallows the sudden, unwanted bitterness, pushing it back down where it belongs. Not here, not now.

Colin’s hand closes around the handle of his mug, and he takes a sip. “It’s good to see you again,” he says, meeting Ryan’s gaze. Colin opens his mouth, closes it again, then gives his head a little shake before adding, “I’ve missed you.”

Ryan swallows against the lump in his throat at those words, and it takes him several moments before he’s able to compose himself enough to throw out a casual, “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”

“Do you think, uh, that maybe—“ Ryan says, then forcibly stops himself. He has no right to ask this of Colin, not after everything that’s happened. He glances down at the table, ignoring the way his stomach twists uncomfortably all of a sudden and tries to pretend that he never opened his mouth at all.

“I think,” Colin starts, and Ryan’s eyes immediately dart up to examine the expression on his face. There is the faintest hint of a smile on Colin’s face as he watches Ryan intently. “I think,” he says again, eyes dark and serious, never leaving Ryan, “that that’s a definite possibility. I’d like to, I mean.”

For a second, Ryan thinks he must have heard wrong. But no... he’s certain that he didn’t.

The stupid grin on his face is probably all too revealing, but right now he doesn’t care. “Oh. Okay. That’s, um, that’s great. I’m glad.”

Colin smiles at him then, and Ryan finally feels himself relax.

They order another couple of drinks, and this time, Ryan can actually enjoy it. They have a long way to go, but at least now Ryan has the most important thing confirmed – the fact that there’s still hope – and it’s enough for him.

The End

Fanfic - Tender Loving Care (Improv-a-Ganza)

2011-08-07T17:21:01Z

Title: Tender Loving Care
Author: Mel (accordingtomel)
Characters/Pairings: Jeff/Chip
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3,030
Disclaimer: All 100% false. Just me being silly. No offense meant to anyone reading or those in the fic.
Warnings: Um, so I used a pet name in this. I usually hate them, but for some reason it felt right to me. Anyway, I just wanted to warn for it (LOL), in case anyone has a morbid fear and/or extreme dislike of them.
Prompt: #172 - Sick!Fic with either Colin/Ryan, Chip/Jeff or Greg/Jeff, with either Ryan or Jeff as the sick-ees and Colin, Chip, or Greg as the caretaker for the respective partner. Either one pairing or two with the caretakers commiserating with each other.
Author’s note: Yet another prompt fill for the Whose-a-Thon challenge over at wl_fanfiction. Sorry that I only included one pairing. One of these days, I’ll write something else, I promise! Anyway, continued thanks to the amazing adelagia for whipping this into shape so quickly, and for being completely unhelpful regarding the pet names (LOL!). Also, I have to say a huge thank you to everyone for always being so kind :). This fandom is amazing!

Tender Loving Care

Chip glances down at his watch, waiting impatiently for the other passengers to exit the plane. He's just arrived in LA on a flight from Vancouver after filming two episodes of a new TV show that he’ll hopefully have a recurring role on. Usually Chip tries to sit towards the front of the plane, but in his excitement over the show and heading home, he forgot to check in early and ended up with crappy seats at the back of the plane.

With nothing else to do, Chip powers his phone back on to check his messages while he waits. There are two voice mail messages – one from his agent about the gig, and one from Patty, confirming that he’s still taking the kids for an extra night next week. He makes a mental note to phone his agent in the morning, then gives Patty a quick call to confirm that he’ll have the kids next Thursday.

Once that’s finished, Chip scrolls through his text messages, and is mildly alarmed to see that his and Jeff’s friend Dan has sent him multiple texts over the past couple of hours. The series of texts gets increasingly irritated, though admittedly, also more amusing for Chip:

jeff’s still sick and won’t shut up about it. just so you know.

he’s sending me text after text, outlining all the ways in which he’s dying in unnecessarily graphic detail.

i’ve received 42 messages from him in the last hour, chip. 42! 1/2 are complaints and the other 1/2 are about you.

i’m supposed to go out tonight with erin. he won’t shut up, claiming he’s sick, dying & lonely. i’m starting to get homicidal.

Chip laughs softly as he rereads the very last text he received: esten, where the fuck are you? i swear to god i’m gonna kill him soon. please do something!

He sends a quick reply off to Dan, assuring him that he’ll take care of the situation and that there’s no need to resort to violence.

Eventually, Chip is able to get off the plane. The only bonus to having to wait is that by the time he makes it to the baggage conveyor belt, the luggage is already circling around. He quickly locates his suitcase, then pushes through a mob of people to hail down a taxi. Thankfully LAX isn’t quite as insane as it usually is, and the whole process takes far less time than anticipated. He tells the cab driver the address and settles back against the seat, feeling incredibly worn out all of a sudden.

“You from here, or just visiting?” the cab driver asks Chip after a few minutes, glancing at him through the rear-view mirror.

He smiles. “I’m from LA, yeah. Heading home now.”

The cab driver nods. “Have you been away for a long time?”

“Long enough,” Chip says. It’s felt like a near eternity sometimes, even though it’s only been less than two weeks. These days, he finds it harder and harder to be away for any length of time, even though he used to be gone for weeks at a time on a regular basis. Chip is just glad to be home, finally.

“You have someone special waiting for you?” the cab driver asks. It’s a fairly personal question, but it’s obvious that the man is just trying to make polite conversation. Plus, it helps pass the time, so Chip doesn’t really mind.

“Yeah, I do,” he answers, smiling softly as he thinks of home.

“Then you must be very fortunate indeed.”

“I like to think I am,” Chip says, catching the cabbie’s eye in the mirror.

When they finally arrive, Chip tips the cab driver well and wishes him a good evening. It takes a few minutes for him to find his keys, but eventually locates them deep within one of the pockets of his suitcase.

Chip stumbles through the doorway and tosses his suitcase and carry-on bag to the floor. For a moment, he considers calling out an announcement that he’s home, but then remembers Dan’s texts and decides against it.

There is the distinct sound of a television coming from the bedroom, so Chip follows the noise. He pushes open the partially ajar door to find the sickest-looking Jeff he has ever seen, wrapped up in more pillows and blankets than seems possible to have on one bed. His skin is pale, nose bright red, and eyes puffy and swollen. His dark hair is flat, matted to his forehead without the typical hair gel to keep it styled. Two boxes of tissue sit on the nightstand, with the bathroom garbage can nestled between the bed and the nightstand. Chip doesn’t need to look any closer to know that it’s full of used tissues. A bottle of hand sanitizer, a tall glass of water, and a bottle of ibuprofen make up the rest of the items on the nightstand.

Despite the obvious discomfort Jeff is in, his face immediately brightens the moment Chip steps into the room.

“Hey, babe, I’m home,” Chip says, making his way across the room, over to the bed.

“Chip! I thought you’d never get home,” Jeff says, grinning happily, gripping his cell phone firmly in his right hand. But the second Chip makes it to the end of the bed, Jeff throws both hands up, waving them frantically. “Wait! Don’t get too close. I’m sick!”

“Yeah, I know. I don’t care.”

In spite of Jeff’s protests, Chip perches on the bed beside Jeff and reaches over to brush the hair away from his face. He leans in and presses a lingering kiss to Jeff’s forehead, hands framing his face. It’s only in this moment that he realizes just how much he’s missed Jeff in the past couple of weeks.

Something on the TV catches his ear, and Chip turns to glance at the screen behind them. He nearly falls over when he sees what program is playing.

“Jersey Shore, Jeff? Really?”

“God, no,” Jeff’s hand suddenly closes around Chip’s wrist, gripping it like a vise, and Chip returns his attention fully to Jeff. “I was changing the channels and I dropped the remote. I nearly fell out of bed trying to find it, but I don’t know where it went. It hurts to move. I considered throwing something at the TV to try and change the channel, but I didn’t want to break it. Please save me!”

The look of horror on his face is damn near the most adorably comical sight he’s ever seen, and Chip tries unsuccessfully to bite back a laugh.

“This isn’t funny,” Jeff says with a groan, pouting like a small child.

“You have to admit that it’s a little funny,” Chip says. A bubble of laughter escapes past his lips, and he tries to cover it up as a cough instead, even though he knows Jeff isn’t falling for it. Jersey Shore is the epitome of virtually everything Jeff loathes, so it’s nothing short of hilarious to Chip that he’s been stuck watching it for however long it’s been on the TV.

“Just help me,” he practically begs, and Chip sort of wants to hug him.

“All right, all right, I’m on it, don’t worry,” Chip reassures him. He walks over to the TV and changes the channel to some jazz music station, then gets down on the floor to find the remote. A few moments later, he emerges victorious.

“There you go, problem solved.” He holds out the remote control, and Jeff takes it from his hand, smiling gratefully.

“Thank you so much, Chip. You’ve just saved my life.”

Glancing down at the cell phone he’s still holding, Chip decides to perform a double life-saving mission this evening. “Dan seems pretty close to killing you too, so you might want to stop texting him now that I’m home.”

Jeff face scrunches up in annoyance. “Bah! He’s been no help whatsoever. Lousy, good-for-nothing friend.”

“Yeah, well, be that as it may, if he’s texting me about it, then you know it’s gotta be bad. So I’d highly recommend keeping those hands away from your phone for a while.”

A sigh escapes past Jeff’s lips. “Yeah, okay. Sorry for pissing Dan off so much that he felt the need to text you about it, but thanks for the heads up.”

Chip smirks. “Any time. Now, how are you feeling?”

“Awful,” Jeff says. “I can’t remember the last time I had a cold this bad.” And then, as if to demonstrate the point, he is hit with a huge sneezing and coughing fit that lasts for several minutes.

Without even thinking, Chip finds himself rubbing Jeff’s back through the whole thing, handing him the glass of water still sitting on the nightstand when the fit finally subsides. Jeff’s accused him of being over-protective before, and probably with good reason, but today he doesn’t seem particularly bothered by it.

“I can see that.” Chip pats his thigh through the thick layers of blankets, smiling sympathetically at him. “Have you had anything to eat recently?”

“What do you consider recent?” Jeff asks.

“Within the last couple of hours.”

“Then, no.”

“Please tell me you’ve at least eaten something today?”

“Um...”

For all that Jeff works to take care of himself – eating well, exercising regularly, and always ensuring that he looks his best – he is truly awful at caring for himself when he’s sick. Even before they started dating, back when they were on tour, Chip was always the one who ended up taking care of Jeff when he came down with the flu or a cold.

“Jeff, honestly. You can’t have spent all day in bed.”

“I’m sick,” is Jeff’s only response. He sounds truly pitiful.

“Yeah, well you’re not going to get better by not eating.” Chip stands up, making a decision. “Why don’t you take a hot bath? It’ll make you feel better. While you’re in there, I’ll heat up some soup for you, okay?”

There is a skeptical look on Jeff’s face, but Chip is having none of that tonight, nor is he going to permit Jeff to get out of any of this.

“No fighting me on this. I’ll go run your bath for you.”

Just as he’s turning towards the bathroom, Jeff speaks up. “I’m not a child, Chip. I can run my own bath.”

Chip tries not to roll his eyes. “Like you got out of bed to change the channel on the TV?”

Jeff’s eyes narrow, and Chip can’t help but laugh at the look of mock annoyance on his face. “Yes, I know that. But just because you can doesn’t mean that you will. Besides, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t take care of you when you’re sick? Just let me do this for you, okay?”

With some amount of reluctance, Jeff eventually agrees. After about ten minutes, and several extra requests – ’Don’t make the water too hot.’; ‘Can you empty the garbage while I’m in the bath, please? It’s getting really full and I don’t want to spread my germs everywhere’; ‘You might want to sanitize the remote control, and wash your hands, for that matter’; ‘Actually, maybe just change the sheets on the bed too’ - Jeff makes it into the tub, finally. It takes a great deal more effort than Chip would’ve expected, which only serves to confirm just how poorly Jeff’s actually feeling.

While Jeff’s homemade vegetable barley soup is warming on the stove, Chip takes a few minutes to unpack some of the essentials from his trip before stripping the bed, taking out the garbage and sanitizing everything on the nightstand (including Jeff’s phone). He has just enough time to throw a load of clothes and sheets into the laundry before the soup is ready. So far, Chip feels like he’s been busier since arriving home than he was while he was gone away on work-related business. He can only imagine the kinds of things Jeff must have been texting Dan all day to elicit the response that it did. Dan rarely texts Chip directly unless there’s a particularly important reason.

Chip warms and butters a biscuit before pouring a large bowl of the soup for Jeff. He places both on the tray they bought one day on a whim before filling up another tall glass of water. Rummaging through the cupboards, Chip also finds a couple multi-vitamins and adds them to the tray.

Jeff is just emerging from the bath when Chip saunters into the bedroom with the food. He has a bit more color now, and smells nice. His still-damp hair sticks up in little tufts on his head, and Chip has to actively fight the urge to go ruffle his hair.

“I can’t smell much yet, but it looks really good, so I assume it tastes and smells good too.”

Rounding the bed, Jeff climbs back in, settling against the mound of pillows Chip left there for him.

“You changed the sheets?”

“Yes.”

“And emptied the garbage?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you sanitize everything?”

“Yes, Jeff.”

“And the kitchen...?”

At this, Chip raises an eyebrow. “What about the kitchen?”

“Did you wash the dishes? The ones you just used, I mean?”

“No, not yet.”

“But, you’re going to, right?”

If it was anyone else, Chip might very well have slapped them for being so ridiculous and anal-retentive. But this is Jeff, and Jeff is, in spite of being one of the sweetest people Chip’s ever known, also one of the most obsessive-compulsive he’s ever met. In addition to counting damn near everything, Jeff is big on both hygiene and cleanliness. None of these things interfere with his ability to live life, but sometimes they have the tendency to drive others up the wall.

“Relax there, big guy. No wonder Dan was sending me SOS texts earlier, if this is how you’ve been all day. I was going to wait until you’d finished eating first, so I don’t waste water. We both know how much that irritates you too,” Chip says, smirking good-naturedly at Jeff as he places the warm food in front of him.

At those words, Jeff ducks his head, smiling shyly, at least having the good sense to appear mildly sheepish, even though Chip doesn’t really care. “I’m sorry. Thank you for everything. Sometimes I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Probably waste away to nothing,” Chip replies. He leans in to press a kiss to Jeff’s temple. “I think I’m going to take a shower while you eat.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Make sure you eat everything,” Chip tosses over his shoulder as he closes the bathroom door.

When Chip emerges from the shower twenty minutes later, he is feeling refreshed and much more comfortable in a pair of sweats and a soft t-shirt. Over at the bed, Jeff looks like he’s about ready to nod off, but as soon as Chip opens the door to the bathroom, his eyes open and he smiles over at Chip. Something warm settles in his chest at the sight, and he’s overcome with affection for Jeff in that moment.

“Did you finish eating everything?” Chip asks, eyeing the tray still sitting across Jeff’s lap.

“Yes, mother,” he says, gesturing towards the empty plate and bowl.

“Good job.” Chip picks up the tray. “How are you feeling?”

“Still awful. But I’m better now that you’re home.”

“Me too.”

Without another word, Chip carries the tray back out to the kitchen, where he proceeds to wash the few dishes in the sink. It’s something that can wait until morning, but he knows how Jeff can get, sick or not, and decides that even though it’s such a small thing, it’s worth the effort, if it’ll make Jeff feel better. He makes a quick run to the basement to throw the clothes into the dryer before shutting off all the lights and double-checking the locks on the front and back doors.

By the time Chip is ready for bed, Jeff is already sleeping soundly. Every breath he takes sounds labored, like it’s hard to breathe, but he looks peaceful enough, so Chip decides to try and stop worrying so much. He flicks off the light, carefully deposits the TV remote on the nightstand, and plugs in his cell phone before removing his t-shirt and climbing into bed.

Despite his best efforts to be careful, Jeff still startles awake when he accidentally kicks Jeff’s leg.

“Chip?” he whispers softly.

“Yeah, I’m here, baby. Go back to sleep.”

“Come closer,” Jeff says, and then he’s blindly reaching behind him, trying to grab onto Chip.

“Okay, okay, hold on.” Chip shuffles over until he’s pressed up against Jeff’s back, slipping an arm around his waist and burying his face in Jeff’s neck. His hair smells nice from the bath he’d had earlier. “Is that better?”

A moment later, Jeff’s arm and hand cover his own, and he leans back into Chip’s embrace. “Much.”

After a few minutes, Jeff’s breathing slows again, but not enough to signify that he’s falling asleep again.

“I missed you, Chip,” Jeff’s sleepy voice says at long last. “Every day you were gone.”

Chip smiles, brushing his lips against the back of Jeff’s neck. “I missed you too.”

“Not just because you take care of me,” Jeff continues. His voice sounds particularly adorable when he’s both stuffed up and half-asleep, Chip decides. “But also because I love you.”

“I know. I love you too, Jeff.” Chip says. He presses a kiss to the skin just below Jeff’s ear. “Now, you need to sleep.”

“But I want to hear how filming went.”

“Tomorrow,” Chip promises.

As if on cue, Jeff sneezes three times in succession, and Chip has to pull back slightly in order to prevent any potential injuries. Jeff reaches blindly for the box of tissues still at his side, blowing his nose then squirting some hand sanitizer onto his hands before settling back down in the bed.

“Yeah, okay, tomorrow,” he says eventually. “Good night, Chip.”

Chip slips his arm back around Jeff’s waist, relishing the warmth of his body. “Good night,” he whispers into the dark.

The End

Fanfic - Extremely Lazy Napping (Improv-a-Ganza)

2011-07-29T00:37:30Z

Title: Extremely Lazy Napping
Author: Mel (accordingtomel)
Characters/Pairings: Jeff/Chip
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,176
Disclaimer: All fake. Every word. No offense is meant to anyone in this fic or anyone reading it. I’m just having fun.
Prompt: #144 – Jeff/Chip cuddles after a show on the bus.
Author’s note: Once again, written for the Whose-a-Thon challenge over at wl_fanfiction. I can’t thank my beta, adelagia, enough for her feedback and suggestions with this. You make my fics about a billion times better, so thank you, hon!

Extremely Lazy Napping

Most of the time, Chip really enjoys meeting fans after their shows. But every once in a while, when the crowd is relatively thin and Chip is feeling particularly worn out, he’ll slip away to the tour bus a little early, just to have some alone time before they have to take off.

The odd time, he might be joined by Ryan or Jeff or Greg, though Jeff typically likes to hang out and meet with fans for as long as possible.

Today, however, is a double dose of the atypical, with both Chip and Jeff bowing out before Ryan and Greg. They are both completely exhausted, and Chip is just coming off of a week-long cold that knocked him off his feet. So, instead of socializing, they’re hanging out on the bus. It’s actually quite nice, Chip has to admit. Even though they both live in LA, their respective schedules keep them fairly busy, so they don’t get to spend nearly as much time together as they’d like.

Jeff is sitting next to Chip on the couch, channel surfing on the TV while Chip tries to read a book. Unsurprisingly, Jeff is pressed up against his side for no apparent reason. Sometimes Chip wonders if Jeff ever actually learned what ‘personal space’ is, or if he just chooses to ignore all social norms surrounding it. Either way, he doesn’t particularly mind, and this has become just another normal thing where the two of them are concerned.

After a few minutes, he feels Jeff’s head fall to his shoulder before jerking back up again. Chip holds back a smile.

“Are you tired?” Chip teases.

“No,” Jeff protests, but it is weak at best.

“Right,” Chip says, and returns his attention back to his book.

Another minute passes before Jeff’s head drops back down to his shoulder, and this time it takes a few seconds before he jerks back awake.

“I think,” Jeff drawls sleepily, “that I might actually be falling asleep.”

Chip chuckles lightly. “What was your first hint?”

“You’re so funny.”

“I try.” Chip smiles over at Jeff. “What’s up with you, though? Not that I mind the company, but you never fall asleep this early. Are you getting sick or something?”

“I think so,” Jeff says, reaching up to rub his forehead. “You probably gave me your stupid cold. I feel like I’m recovering from a hangover, but I didn’t even drink last night.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sick.”

Jeff smirks, lips twisting lazily. “Yeah, right. I bet you did it on purpose.”

The comment is followed by a lengthy yawn, and then Jeff rests his head against Chip’s shoulder once more. “I’ll go lie down on the other couch,” he says, though makes no attempt to actually move away from his spot beside Chip.

“That’s fine. You can stay,” Chip says.

“But I’ll just be… getting… in your way…” Jeff mumbles.

He reaches out to place a hand on Jeff’s arm. “It’s fine. Seriously, Jeff. I don’t mind.”

The response, when it eventually comes, is barely audible. “Okay. Thanks.”

It’s only a matter of minutes before Jeff is sound asleep, snoring lightly against Chip’s shoulder. Carefully, Chip takes the remote control out of Jeff’s hand and flicks off the TV. He’s constantly surrounded by noise everywhere he goes, so he likes taking advantage of the rare moments of silence he can find.

He manages to finish reading the rest of the chapter, but it doesn’t take long for Chip’s own exhaustion to creep up on him, and ten minutes after Jeff's fallen asleep, Chip realizes that he’s losing this battle. Unexpectedly, just as Chip finally gives in and closes his eyes, Jeff starts. It doesn’t wake him, much to Chip’s surprise, but it does cause his head to slip forward, nearly sliding right off Chip’s shoulder.

This is one of those situations where he should probably wake Jeff up and send him to the other couch to actually sleep. But the reality is that Chip doesn’t want Jeff to go anywhere. He likes the feeling of having Jeff’s body pressed up against his own, and even the fact that Chip is consciously aware of this should put a halt to any thoughts along those lines, but it doesn’t. It is an internal battle he’s been fighting for quite some time now, but he’s never been able to sort through what it all means, exactly.

Shifting very carefully on the couch, Chip turns his body more towards Jeff, gently positioning his head on Chip’s chest. He manages to slip his left arm around Jeff’s back, holding him gently as Jeff settles against his chest. Once Chip is comfortable – and has arranged Jeff in what appears to be a comfortable position as well – he closes his eyes once more. A few minutes later, Jeff grunts and shifts slightly, and Chip freezes. Instead of waking, however, one of Jeff’s arms slips around Chip’s waist and he presses further into Chip’s chest before drifting off once more.

It should be awkward – they’re basically wrapped up in each other’s arms – but strangely enough, it isn’t. Chip has always been a touchy-feely sort of person, but he can honestly say he’s never had a friendship like the one he has with Jeff. They have next to no boundaries, both physically and in terms of what they discuss with one another, and Chip is constantly thankful for Jeff’s presence in his life, even if they don’t get to see each other as often as they’d like sometimes. Oddly, he likens their friendship to a marriage of sorts. They know each so intimately that most of the time an entire conversation can be communicated through a glance across the room, or a simple touch. There is a comfort and familiarity there that only exists in extremely close relationships. The only other person Chip’s ever had it with is his wife. The fact that Jeff is essentially sleeping in his arms should seem inappropriate, but for some reason it feels almost... normal. Comfortable. Right.

Just as Chip is beginning to feel the weight of sleep finally descend on him, the distinct sound of two sets of feet trekking back onto the bus fill his ears. Reluctantly cranking open his eyes, Chip gives Ryan and Greg a tired smile. “Hey,” he greets, and waves his one free arm.

It only takes a second for them to take in the current situation – specifically, Jeff and Chip’s positions relative to one another – and he can practically see their minds turning.

“Aww, aren’t you two just precious over there,” Ryan says, grinning slyly.

“Beyond precious. You’re kind of like his teddy bear, aren’t you, Chip?” Greg asks.

This isn’t an entirely new situation Chip finds himself in. More than once, he and Jeff have fallen asleep on or beside each other, but this… Well, it’s bordering on cuddling, and possibly skating along the line of inappropriate conduct as well, but Chip pushes that thought aside for the moment.

“Ha ha, laugh it up, Chuckles,” Chip says with a smirk, but he can’t quite prevent heat from rising on his cheeks. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“So, you’re not cuddling on the couch with Jeff then?” Ryan asks, pointing over at Jeff.

“Um, well, I wouldn’t exactly use the word ‘cuddling.’”

“Oh, sorry. Is ‘snuggling’ a better way of describing it?” Greg asks. They both have matching shit-eating grins, as if they’re immensely pleased by this whole development.

“I would call it ‘extremely lazy napping using the most conveniently available resources,’” Chip says, after a moment’s pause.

“Whatever you say, Charles,” Greg quips, and Ryan laughs softly along with him as they both take a seat at the little kitchen table on the other side of the bus.

Glancing down at the top of Jeff’s head, with his cheek pressed against Chip’s chest, Chip finds himself suddenly filled with the alarming desire to press a kiss to Jeff’s hair. Something hot coils in Chip’s stomach at the revelation, and he shakes his head as though to visibly clear the notion from his mind. With that out of the way, he decides to return his focus to his original plan, before Ryan and Greg interrupted him – sleeping.

Chip is nearly out when the soft voices of Ryan and Greg drift in his direction, though he has to strain to hear them.

“So, what do you think?” Ryan asks.

“About what?”

There is silence, and then, “The two of them.”

“What do you mean?” Greg says.

“Well, it’s just... Has Jeff ever fallen asleep on you before?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Greg says. “What about you?”

“Not that I can remember.”

“I’m still not sure I see your point, though.”

“I’m just saying... Do you think there’s something going on there?”

“Between the two of them?” Greg asks, voice rising ever so slightly.

Chip freezes, before remembering that he’s supposed to be sleeping, not eavesdropping on this conversation, and forces himself to keep breathing slowly and evenly, despite his now quickening heart rate. Surely Ryan doesn’t believe there’s something romantic going on between him and Jeff. Does he?

Of course, it wouldn’t be the first time someone implied that there was more between Jeff and Chip than strictly friendship. They make no attempt to hide their affection for one another, and it is obvious in virtually every interaction they have. Hell, even Patty once joked that they acted like an old married couple.

Truth be told, Chip has thought about it before – in hypothetical terms – once, about a year ago. They’d both been drinking quite heavily that evening. As they stumbled back to their rooms, Jeff had tripped on the carpet, falling into Chip. It had been the opposite of romantic, but for a few brief moments, with Jeff’s face a mere couple of inches from his own, Chip permitted himself to wonder what it might feel like to kiss Jeff, to touch him. The image hadn’t brought about a physical reaction, but it certainly hadn’t been unpleasant either. It wasn’t until weeks later that he even remembered having the thoughts at all, and had immediately dismissed it as alcohol-induced insanity. Maybe in another life... if things were different... But they weren’t, so he’d put an end to that line of thinking before it lead anywhere inappropriate.

“Yeah. I mean, I know Chip’s married, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that he can’t fall for someone else...” Ryan says, trailing off.

Once again, something twists in Chip’s stomach. It feels similar to what he’d felt a year ago.

“And Jeff,” Ryan continues. “Well, we both know where Jeff stands.”

This is something that actually doesn’t come as a surprise. It’s common knowledge – at least amongst those who know him well – that Jeff has been with, and is interested in, both men and women. Jeff’s all but admitted to being attracted to Chip in the past, and while it might be the type of thing that can have a detrimental effect on a friendship, in their case, it hasn’t. Jeff respects Chip’s marriage, and while he may treat Chip differently than he treats everyone else they work with, for the most part, he doesn’t cross any boundaries.

“We do,” Greg agrees. “And I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t wondered if Chip felt the same way. But then maybe they just have an uncharacteristically close relationship, kind of like you and Colin.”

Ryan grunts, and silence falls over the bus again like a shadow. Jeff jerks slightly in Chip’s arms, and instinctively, he starts to rub circles into Jeff’s lower back with his thumb until he stills once more. In the meantime, Chip’s mind is reeling from Ryan and Greg’s suggestion that Jeff’s feelings may not be entirely one-sided. There are so many implications there that he doesn’t even know where to start.

“Do you think they’d tell us if they were together?” Ryan asks, at length.

“I don’t know,” Greg says eventually. “I suppose, either way, it doesn’t matter, though, does it? It’s not really any of our business whether Jeff and Chip are just friends, or more than that. As long as they’re happy. They’ll tell us when they want, if they want, if there’s anything to tell.”

“Yeah. Well, when you put it that way…” Ryan says, and they both laugh softly.

Another silence falls in the room then, Chip waiting for more, but nothing comes. He certainly hadn’t expected his day to end up quite like this – curled up with Jeff on a couch in their tour bus while Ryan and Greg discuss the nature of their relationship. Selfishly, Chip wants to savor this moment, short-lived though he knows it will be. Jeff makes a soft noise, pressing further into Chip’s chest, and Chip instinctively tightens his arms, still wrapped around Jeff.

It’s becoming harder and harder to deny that there’s something more lurking beneath the surface, but for now, sleep is more important. Everything else can be sorted out later.

The End

Fanfic - Never Too Late to Learn (Improv-a-Ganza)

2011-07-19T01:18:14Z

Title: Never Too Late to Learn
Author: Mel (accordingtomel)
Characters/Pairings: Jeff Davis/Chip Esten
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Word Count: 4,533
Disclaimer: There is absolutely nothing true about any of this. I’m just having fun. Absolutely no offense is meant to anyone in the fic or anyone reading it.
Prompt: #70 - Greg, Ry, Jeff and Chip are in New York in winter to do a Whose Live show. A stir crazy Jeff convinces everyone to get out of the hotel, and they stumble across an ice rink. Greg and Ryan scoff a lot, but Jeff's quite persuasive and they all begrudgingly agree to go skating. Anyway, Chip sucks at it and falls down a lot and Jeff winds up having to teach him how to ice skate. Cue lots of touching and grabbing.
Author’s note: This was written for the Whose-a-Thon challenge over at wl_fanfiction. So, hopefully I managed to do what the prompter was requesting. This is basically 4.5k of pure fluff, so be warned that it may rot your teeth. I had great fun writing it, though :). Thanks as always to my ever awesome beta and friend, adelagia for her help with this. You’re the best!

Never Too Late to Learn

“Oh my God, I don’t think I can take this anymore,” Jeff mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“I know I’m not as exciting as you, but if you didn’t want to hang out with me, you could’ve just said so,” Chip says, smirking at Jeff from the other side of the table they’re currently occupying.

They’re currently on the last stretch of their Whose Live Anyway? tour, and while Jeff loves his job and the fact that he gets to go on stage every night and perform with some of his best friends, the last leg of the tour is usually the most challenging. Not because they’re tired of the work – Jeff doesn’t ever think he could tire of doing this – but because of the weather. It’s cold and snowy and between the weather and traveling across the country, they barely get to see the outdoors, and Jeff loves the outdoors.

They’re in New York for the next two days, but aside from walking to and from the plane, hotel or their rental car, he’s fairly certain that none of them have really set foot outside for a good four or five days now, and the effects are starting to become obvious. Everyone is just a bit more on edge, a bit more snarky, a bit less patient. At this rate, it’s only a matter of time until they start taking digs at each other, which can only cause trouble in the long run. No one wants to watch an improv show where all the comedians are angry with one another. Besides that, they’re in New York, and Jeff is going completely stir-crazy.

Jeff smiles. “You know that’s not what I meant. I’m just going crazy. I’m sick and tired of being indoors. Let’s get out of here for a while, go outside, get some fresh air.”

“Now? It’s getting late, isn’t it? I thought it was snowing earlier too?” Chip’s nose scrunches up for the briefest of moments.

Well, this isn’t looking too promising.

A beat passes, and then Jeff says, “Chip? Are you just going to let me wander around by myself at night in New York? What if I get mugged, or lost, or kidnapped and sold to slave traders? Or worse – what if I get lost after being mugged, and I’m kidnapped by a group of slave-traders who sell me to a man with a daughter named Bertha that they force me to marry, and I’m stuck there until I’m old and fat and my hair grows down to my waist because they won’t let me cut or style it? Do you think you could live with that, knowing you had the power to save me but chose to ignore it?” Of anyone, he figures he has the best chance of convincing Chip to come out with him, even if he needs to use guilt and a touch of manipulation to do so (which Jeff is not above doing when the situation warrants it).

For several seconds Chip just stares at Jeff blankly before he bursts out laughing, his whole body shaking with his cackles. “You’re completely ridiculous, you know that?” he says, once he finally catches his breath.

Tilting his head to the side, Jeff shoots Chip the most innocent and charming grin he can muster. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“If you want to go for a walk outside, then we can go. You really didn’t need to resort to such obvious strategies.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t exactly keen on the suggestion.”

“Well, maybe not. But I didn’t say ‘no’ either, now did I?” Chip points out.

Jeff nods, and stands. That’s enough for him. “Great! Let’s go find Ryan and Greg too.”

Fishing through his wallet, he pulls out enough to cover both his and Chip’s drinks, then scans the room for his friends. It only takes a moment to spot Ryan. His height is a serious advantage to finding him in a crowd. Greg appears to be with him, and as Jeff and Chip near, it seems as though they’re talking to a couple of fans. They wait off to the side until Ryan and Greg are finished, before approaching them.

“Hey guys,” Jeff says. “So, Chip and I were thinking of going out for a walk. You wanna join us?”

“But it’s snowing,” Ryan says, pointing randomly away from himself.

“And it’s cold,” Greg adds.

Jeff shrugs. “So? It’s mostly stopped. Do you honestly want to spend the rest of the evening cooped up in here? We’re this close to going insane!”

“Speak for yourself, Jefferson,” Greg chirps, which sends a round of giggles through the rest of the group.

“Oh, come on. We spend all night, every night indoors drinking. I’m seriously going stir-crazy here. Just come for a short walk with me? I’m positive you’ll be glad you did.”

“I’m also positive that I’ll have just as much – if not more fun – staying here and having a few more drinks,” Ryan says, grinning.

“How often do you get to experience New York?” Jeff asks, feeling a tad desperate now, and then gestures towards Chip. “He’s going to come too.”

Greg’s eyes light up in mock excitement, and the next thing Jeff knows, he’s flailing and squealing exaggeratedly. “Oh my God, well if Chip’s going then count me in,” he declares dramatically, which causes everyone to laugh.

“You should have said so earlier,” Ryan adds as he grabs onto Greg’s arm. “Let’s go! Hurry, Greg! Chip’s going to be on this walk too.”

Jeff rolls his eyes at their antics, but inwardly he knows that joking or not, he’s still managed to snag them.

“Great! This will be fun, I promise,” he says as they make their way up to their hotel rooms to grab jackets, gloves and hats.

~*~

All right, so maybe ‘fun’ isn’t quite the correct word to use.

It is windy and colder than Jeff anticipates, and he spends most of the first fifteen minutes listening to Greg and Ryan whine about the cold and why the hell did we allow Jeff to drag us out in the first place? and do you think if we ran we could make it back to the hotel before our hands fall off? Granted, it’s chilly, and this isn’t exactly the best night for a leisurely stroll, but Jeff will be damned if he’s going to spend another minute cooped up in a hotel. This is exactly what everyone needs right now.

A flash of movement off in the distance catches Jeff’s attention and he is pleasantly surprised at what he sees in a park down the street. Perhaps this is exactly the thing they need to turn this evening around.

“Look at that. There’s a skating rink,” Jeff says, pointing with a gloved hand in the direction of the rink. “Why don’t we go there?”

Ryan scoffs. “What are we, ten?”

“No. What are you, a crotchety old man who’s afraid of having a little fun?”

This elicits a low chuckle from Greg. “Harsh burn, man. Though Ryan does have a point. Skating isn’t exactly my idea of a good time right now. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s fucking freezing out here.”

“No, I had no idea. It’s not like you’ve been bringing that fact up every five seconds or anything,” Jeff says, and actively has to hold back an eye roll. Honestly. For supposed non-crotchety old men, they sure as hell act like it sometimes.

“We should just go back to the hotel and continue to get drunk, like we were doing before you came up with this brilliant idea,” Ryan says, sounding for the world like he believes he’s just come up with the cure for all modern illnesses.

“Oh, come on, guys,” Jeff interjects, before either of them have a chance to run with this. Jeff is a huge fan of alcohol, and in fact, probably loves it more than the average person, but this is one time where he actually thinks there are better things they could be doing. “It’ll be fun. All we ever do is drink. Let’s try something new and different for a change. How often do you get to go ice skating these days?”

“I suppose you have a point,” Greg says eventually.

“Yeah, but it’s cold. I’m freezing my ass off, here,” Ryan says. “And I have a nice ass that my wife happens to enjoy quite a lot.” Jeff has to bite back a smirk.

Greg claps a hand down on Ryan’s shoulder. “Also a valid point, my friend. Especially the part about your ass. It is mighty fine.”

This whole excursion is looking more and more grim as every moment passes, so Jeff decides that he needs some reinforcement again, someone to back him up. Thankfully, he knows he has someone that can always be counted on. Turning, he smiles hopefully over at Chip, who’s been uncharacteristically silent throughout this whole exchange thus far.

“What do you think, Chip?”

There is silence. “Yeah, we can go skating,” he says eventually, though there is a distinct air of hesitance in his voice.

Jeff frowns. That isn’t quite the enthusiastic response he was hoping for. “You don’t want to go?”

“No, I do. It’s not that bad out. But, uh, there’s something you should probably know first.”

“Which is?”

“I’ve never skated before.”

Jeff finds that hard to believe. “Not even once? I doubt that.”

“I’m serious,” Chip insists, holding up both hands.

“How is that even possible?” Greg wonders.

“Yeah. I mean, you’ve never taken your kids out at all? That was like all mine wanted to do when they were younger,” Ryan says.

“They’ve never really expressed much interest in it, and the couple of times they have gone, it’s been with Patty or through school trips.”

“That’s completely fucked up,” Greg says.

Chip holds up both hands. “Hey, everyone has things they’ve never done before. This just happens to be mine.”

“So that settles it, then,” Jeff cuts in, deciding he can use this to his advantage. “Chip’s never been skating before, and this is his perfect opportunity to do so. We’d be idiots to pass this up. Let’s do this.”

This time, everyone agrees.

~*~

“How’s that?” Chip asks, gesturing down to his skates.

Jeff glances over. “Move your foot side to side for me?” Chip obeys. “No, that’s still too loose.”

“Well, then how damn tight is it supposed to be?” he asks, frowning at his skates in a way that can only be described as adorable. Or at least in Jeff’s head.

Getting up off the bench, Jeff moves to kneel down in front of Chip.

“Uh, what are you doing?”

“Be quiet. I’m going to fix your skates for you, since you’ve never tied the laces before. It’s not like shoes,” Jeff informs him, pulling one foot forward.

Jeff works quietly, but swiftly, untying and then tightening the laces on both skates. There is an odd sort of intimacy in this act, Jeff realizes, from being on his knees in front of Chip, to touching his feet and ankles, all the while having Chip’s eyes follow his every move. Thankfully, the skating rink is almost abandoned this evening; it’s the type of thing that could potentially draw attention.

When Jeff is finished, he places a hand on Chip’s left knee, which draws his full attention immediately. “You feel how tight that is? That’s how it should feel when you’ve done it right. You don’t want any wiggle room in your ankle. Make sense?”

Chip smiles. “Yeah, I think so. Thank you, Jeff.”

Unfortunately, this happens to be the moment when Ryan decides to make his presence known again. “Aww, isn’t that cute,” he coos, grinning over at them.

“You’re just jealous that you didn’t get that kind of service,” Greg quips, and everyone laughs. There is no mistaking the sexual innuendo loaded into the comment, but Jeff isn’t about to get into any of that right now.

Ignoring them, Jeff pushes up off the ground, using Chip’s knee for support, and turns to face Ryan and Greg. “So, are we ready to go?”

Greg nods. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Chip says.

They make their way down to the skating rink in a single file line, Ryan leading, followed by Greg, Jeff and then Chip. The wind seems to have died down a little, but it is still a chilly evening. Every few seconds, Jeff tosses a glance back over his shoulder, just to make sure that Chip hasn’t fallen over on his skates. Thankfully, he manages to make it all the way down the path without any injuries. So far, so good.

Jeff follows Greg and Ryan onto the ice, skating a couple of feet away from the entrance, when he hears Chip call his name.

“Uh, Jeff?”

Turning, Jeff can’t quite help but smile at the sight that meets his eyes. Chip, still standing in the exact same spot he’d been left, is grasping the railing with a two-handed, white-knuckled grip. (Or, well, what Jeff assumes would be white-knuckled under his gloves.)

“You okay, there, buddy?” Jeff asks, skating back towards his friend. If the skates hadn’t tipped him off already, this reaction seems to indicate that it’s possible Chip truly hasn’t ever skated before.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just great.”

“Then why do you look mildly petrified?” Jeff asks with a smirk.

Chips eyes narrow. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m going to fall flat on my ass the minute I skate out onto the ice.”

“Hey, what’s going on?” Ryan calls out from several yards away.

Jeff looks back at them and waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Chip’s having beginner’s nerves. You guys go on ahead. We’ll catch up with you in a bit.”

Greg and Ryan share a glance. “All right, good luck. See you later,” Greg says with a shrug as he and Ryan skate off.

Returning his attention to Chip, Jeff steps off the ice and back up onto the rubber pathway. Chip remains frozen in place. “Are you really that worried about falling?”

“I wouldn’t be standing here still if I wasn’t,” Chip replies, ducking his head sheepishly.

“Look, the hardest part is getting onto the ice. I’m sure once you’ve managed that, you’ll be fine. It’s easier than it looks. Come on.”

Jeff steps back onto the rink. Chip just stares at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Do you want some help?” he asks, offering an arm to Chip.

A few seconds pass, and then he’s reaching for Jeff, one hand at a time. With the support being provided to him, Chip is able to take one step, then another onto the ice.

“See? There you go! No problem at all,” Jeff jokes. Skating very slowly backwards, Jeff pulls Chip a few feet away from the entrance.

Chip smiles somewhat uncertainly, swaying on his feet, but there is no mistaking the determined expression on his face. “Yeah, just wait until you let go. Then you’ll see what happens.”

Jeff scoffs. “You can’t honestly be as bad as you think you are. Look, just do what I’m doing.”

He gently releases Chip’s hands and skates forward a few yards before turning to face Chip once more. The whole thing feels oddly reminiscent of the time Jeff tried to help his niece learn how to walk. Except slightly more bizarre, considering they’re both fully grown men.

“Okay, so skate towards me. One foot, then the other, nice and slow,” Jeff commands, gesturing for Chip to come forward.

“I’m seriously gonna fall, Jeff.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Trust me, I am.”

“Just come on. We haven’t got all night here.” Jeff’s brows rise up high on his forehead, and he holds out both arms in mock challenge.

Chip rolls his eyes and huffs. Then, like a small child, his arms shoot out on either side of his body as if to balance himself, and Jeff tries not to giggle at how ridiculous he looks.

“Good. Now you just have to move your feet,” Jeff teases.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Not at all.” Chips eyes narrow into tiny slits. “Well, maybe a little,” Jeff amends.

And then, finally, Chip pushes forward on two shaky legs, lips pressed together in what can only be described as fierce determination. In an odd sort of way, he looks kind of similar to a penguin with its arms out, wobbling side to side as he slowly tries to skate towards Jeff.

Everything is going fine for about five seconds before it all falls apart. Stumbling on something on the ice – or quite possibly nothing at all – Chip goes from being mostly upright to lurching forward. Jeff rushes over in an attempt to abort the fall, but he gets there a moment too late, and suddenly, unexpectedly, they’re both crashing to the ice with a loud thud.

“Ow,” Chip groans, as his chin makes contact with Jeff’s shoulder. It takes several moments for them to process what’s happened, and then a few more to disentangle their limbs. Surprisingly, the fall wasn’t as damaging as it likely appeared, though Jeff’s still having a hard time processing the fact that Chip Esten really is the worst skater he’s ever met.

“Wow, you really haven’t ever skated before, have you?” Jeff asks as he rolls onto his back and tries to rein in the laughter that’s threatening to bubble forth all of a sudden.

“Were you not listening to me before when I told you that?” Chip pushes up into a seated position, rubbing his jaw.

“I was. I just assumed you were exaggerating,” Jeff says, and this time he does permit himself to laugh, briefly, before sitting up and looking over at Chip, who looks pained. “Are you okay, man?”

Instinctively, Jeff reaches out to touch Chip’s face, just to make sure for himself that everything is fine. He runs his fingers down the line of Chip’s jaw, but it isn’t until he feels Chip still, feels the slight hitch of his breath, that it occurs to Jeff just what, exactly, he’s doing. They are in a public place, sitting on ice, with barely a foot of space between them, as Jeff strokes Chip’s face.

His fingers still on Chip’s jaw, but he doesn’t immediately pull them away. Without thinking, Jeff’s eyes drop briefly to Chip’s lips, pink and slightly chapped from the cold, and he swallows as something hot twists in his stomach. Chip’s gaze is piercing, blue eyes wide and intense, and Jeff thinks that it would be so easy to just lean in, close the gap between them, finally taste Chip—

And then, suddenly, reality rushes over him like a wave, and Jeff remembers where the hell they are, that Chip is married, that they can’t just start making out in the middle of a skating rink in New York. He yanks his hand away from Chip’s face so fast that it might as well have been on fire, but it effectively ends whatever spell they’d just fallen under.

Silence follows for several moments, and then Chip nods and gives Jeff a small, if not slightly awkward, smile. “Yeah, um, I’m fine. Or, at least I think so. You’ve got bony shoulders, though.”

“I hear that a lot,” Jeff teases, and reaches up to scratch the back of his neck before finally getting back onto his feet.

Chip manages to get onto his hands and knees without toppling over, but without anything to hold onto for support, it’s clear that he’s not going anywhere any time soon.

“Need some help?” Jeff offers, holding out a hand.

Chip glances up at him, lips pursed in a child-like pout. That, combined with his rosy cheeks and red nose from the cold, makes him look absolutely endearing, and Jeff is struck with the desire to wrap Chip in his arms and protect him from the big, bad skating rink.

“Gladly,” Chip replies, reaching for the proffered limb.

He grabs onto Jeff’s arm with both hands, and after no small amount of struggling, manages to haul himself up off the ice. This time, though, Jeff slips his left arm under Chip’s right, and pulls him in close, trapping Chip’s arm between their bodies and wrapping his hand around Chip’s wrist.

“Clearly you can’t be left alone just yet,” Jeff decides and is met with a friendly glare from Chip.

“Yeah, yeah… laugh it up.”

“So, let me just get this straight, just so I can make sure I understand this correctly,” Jeff says, shooting Chip a playful smirk. “You, Charles Esten, can sing, dance, act, do improvisational comedy, play the guitar, run marathons, and basically bench-press me up like I weigh as much as a balloon, but you can’t ice skate? How the hell is that even possible?”

Chip shrugs, shoulder brushing against Jeff’s. “Look, my parents couldn’t afford to pay for hockey equipment for me, and I never really had any interest anyway, so I just never learned. My kids aren’t in hockey either, so I’ve just never had any good reason to pursue it.”

“That, my friend, is what the kids these days would say is ‘bunk.’”

A hearty laugh fills the air around them. “I’m pretty sure the kids don’t say that, Jeff.”

“And what kids do you know, old man?” Jeff asks. “Other than your own. But I seriously doubt any of them would say something that lame. Now, come on. I can’t hold onto you like you’re a small child the whole time we’re on the rink. Let’s at least try skating again.”

~*~

Things seem to be looking up for Chip with every passing minute, despite nearly falling twice more almost immediately after the first fall. Unsurprisingly, he’s a quick learner, and soon enough, they both deem it safe enough for Jeff to remove his physical support, even if he sort of wishes they didn’t have to separate.

“Look at you. Should have known you’d be a quick study,” Jeff says, voice swelling with pride, even though it seems silly.

“Yeah, well, just because I can now skate very slowly in a straight line doesn’t mean that I’ve mastered it,” Chip says, grinning.

“Fair enough. But you’re doing far better than you were twenty minutes ago, that’s for damn sure,” Jeff points out.

Even still, every other minute, Chip reaches out to grab Jeff’s arm, or skates into his shoulder, and so they’re still glued to each other’s sides for the most part, which is more than fine with Jeff.

After circling past them multiple times, Ryan and Greg eventually decide to join up with them again, apparently thoroughly amused by Chip’s lack of skills. But with vastly improved moods, no one particularly cares, and they continue to joke and laugh as they skate together. Jeff is just thankful that he managed to convince everyone to do this in the first place.

~*~

Half an hour later, they’ve finally decided to call it quits for the night. On the walk back to the hotel, they come across a little coffee shop that’s still open, and decide to stop in for some post-skating hot chocolate.

“So, how was your first ice skating experience?” Ryan asks Chip, once they’ve been seated and have ordered their drinks.

“Well, I got off to a bit of a rocky start, but it was definitely an enjoyable experience,” he says, tossing a side-long glance at Jeff.

“Don’t you think ‘rocky’ is a bit of an understatement, there, Chip?” Jeff asks, poking him in the side.

Chip laughs and squirms out of his touch. “All right, fine. So it was a disastrous start. What can I say? I took a swan-dive into your shoulder after I tripped on my own feet. I’m not as elegant as I appear.”

“For what it’s worth, I thought it was kind of endearing, actually,” Jeff says, smiling fondly over at Chip. It occurs to him that he probably shouldn’t be saying things like that out loud, but strangely, he doesn’t regret it.

“Now you’re just mocking me,” Chip pouts, but Jeff can see him smirking into his mug.

“I would never do such a thing,” he says, raising a hand in pledge.

Chip reaches out and grabs Jeff’s hand, pulling it back down to the table. “Oh, please. I’m never gonna hear the end of this from you, and you damn well know it.”

Jeff tilts his head to the side, touching his chin thoughtfully. “Yeah, well maybe. But only because I can’t believe you’ve never skated before. I mean, you’re fucking amazing at pretty much everything else in the world, so it’s shocking to find something you’re really not already an expert at.”

If it’s possible for somebody’s face to actually light up like a Christmas tree, then Chip is the shining example. “Wait, did you just call me amazing?” He’s practically beaming now, and it causes warmth to unfurl unexpectedly in Jeff’s stomach, not unlike what happened earlier on in the evening.

“You’re just hearing things.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I distinctly heard you say that I was amazing.”

“God, get a room you two,” Greg says, interrupting the moment. “Your blatant flirting has been going on all evening and it’s going to make me hurl if you don’t stop immediately.”

Ryan laughs, clearly amused, and raises his cup in a toast. “Amen to that, my friend.”

Chip coughs, still grinning, but conveniently returns his attention back to his hot chocolate. Jeff feels his face heat, and is thankful that they just emerged from the cold outdoors. Briefly his mind flashes back to their little moment on the ice, and he wonders if Ryan and Greg bore witness to it. Still, Jeff refuses to let them get the last laugh. (He also refuses to acknowledge the flirting comment, because he’s not sure he wants to subject either of them to the evidence Greg will no doubt provide, if provoked.)

“Yeah, right. You both would be watching with popcorn in the front row if we ever did, and don’t even try to deny it,” Jeff accuses, pointing at them both, a cocky grin plastered onto his face.

Snorting, Greg nearly chokes on his drink. “Ha, you wish.”

“You know what? I think you just wish you all had a skating coach as awesome as me.”

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself to sleep at night, then be my guest,” Greg says, and everyone laughs.

“But you have to admit, you had fun, right?” Jeff coaxes.

There is a lot of exaggerated grumbling, but all three eventually confess to agreeing with Jeff.

From under the table, a hand lands on his knee, squeezing gently, and Jeff turns to face Chip.

“Thanks for being patient with me,” he says, smiling warmly, and a feeling of contentment washes over Jeff.

He swallows, then nods, grin wide and openly affectionate. “You’re welcome. It was my pleasure.”

Chip has no idea how much truth is in that statement. But then again, maybe he does.

The End

Fanfic - Five Times (Improv-a-Ganza)

2011-06-28T23:56:20Z

Title: Five Times Jeff Doesn’t say “I Love You” to Chip (And One Time he Does)
Author: Mel (accordingtomel)
Summary: See the title.
Characters/Pairings: Jeff Davis/Chip Esten
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Word Count: 8,824
Disclaimer: All fake. Nothing is true. No offense is meant to anyone in the fic or anyone reading. I’m just having some fun with them.
Author’s note: So apparently these two have invaded my brain and refuse to leave. Therefore, I’m back with more fic. I must say a huge, huge thanks to the lovely adelagia and sheswatching for providing me with a beta and super helpful feedback! You both are super awesome and I appreciate your help so very much! Also, I've always wanted to write a 'Five Times' fic, but this is the first time it's ever really worked for me. So yay for that! These boys are inspiring ;)

Five Times Jeff Doesn’t say “I Love You” to Chip (And One Time he Does)

I

The first time Jeff meets Charles “Chip” Esten, he has only one thought: I think everything in my life is about to change.

It is overly dramatic and silly and a bit ridiculous, but then again, that’s just Jeff in a nutshell. He’s met hundreds, if not thousands of people in his life, more than the average person, especially given his profession, but there is something distinctly different about Chip that takes Jeff all of about five minutes to realize.

He is friendly and personable, someone you instantly take a strong liking to, because it just doesn’t seem possible to do anything else, what with his enthusiastic laugh and kind nature. But the thing that first stands out to Jeff, above Chip’s natural charisma and humor, is how unbelievably genuine he appears to be. It’s the kind of thing you can’t fake – either you have it or you don’t, and everything about Chip oozes sincerity.

(Then there is the added bonus of Chip’s rather pleasant facial structure and toned body, both of which Jeff would have to be blind to miss. But he doesn’t like to cheapen the memory by focusing too much on the shallower aspect of things, especially when Chip has so much more to offer than good looks.)

“Jeffrey Bryan Davis, huh? Strong name. I like it,” Chip says with a grin, grip firm as they shake hands.

Jeff smiles. “Call me Jeff.”

Chip’s lips quirk in amusement and he breaks the handshake. “Okay then, Jeff. Nice to meet you. You seem like a good guy. I’m sure it’ll be a blast working together. Good luck out there, man.”

If Jeff is impressed after five minutes of standing around and talking to Chip, he doesn’t even have the words to describe watching him in action. The guy is brilliant in every sense of the word. He’s got a quick, sharp humor, incredible comedic talent, and one hell of an amazing voice.

It’s enough to make him question what the hell he’s even doing here at this audition, especially with the likes of Ryan Stiles, Colin Mochrie and Greg Proops also in the room with them, all legends in their own right. Nearly all of them have been doing this since Jeff was a baby, and he is suddenly starkly aware of his youth in comparison.

Surprisingly – or maybe not so surprisingly – Jeff finds that he fits in rather well with everyone, and almost instantaneously develops a rapport with both Ryan and Chip, though he enjoys doing scenes with everyone.

When they’re done, Chip makes his way over to Jeff and nudges his arm, a playful smile on his lips. “So, what do you think?”

I think I might be in love with you, is the first thing that comes to mind, but somehow Jeff doubts that it’s the best way to start this relationship off, especially if there’s potential for them to work together in the future, which he may or may not be desperately hoping for. Besides that, he’s fairly certain that Chip wasn’t specifically talking about him, but the experience in general.

“I thought it was fucking awesome,” Jeff says instead.

“Great! I’m glad to hear it. I hope we’ll have a chance to work together again soon,” Chip says, and claps him on the shoulder, smiling warmly before heading out of the theatre.

As he watches Chip walk away, Jeff can’t help but think: Me too.

II

The thing about Jeff is: he likes to drink. It’s not that he gets drunk all that often, contrary to what it might seem, but he’s fortunate in the sense that his line of work allows him the opportunity to drink on the job, as it were. So the fact that he’s still rather fond of drinking at the ripe old age of 34 than others his age shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone.

Unfortunately, sometimes Jeff and alcohol just aren’t compatible. This happens to be one of those particular evenings, following their latest show in Vegas. The thing is, he hasn’t even had all that much yet, or at least not nearly as much as is usual after they do a show. No, the problem is that Jeff is a fucking klutz, in addition to thinking he’s more athletic than he actually is. Throughout his life, Jeff has heard warnings against dancing on swivel chairs. Now he understands the wisdom of those words.

The result is a spectacularly ungraceful fall over the back of the chairs and onto the ground. He is also about a foot away from smashing his head into the corner of a nearby table. Without doubt, it is not one of his finer moments in life. Thankfully, he doesn’t take any innocent bystanders down with him. It isn’t a pretty sight, but sadly, his ego is not the only thing that ends up bruised this evening. It’s possible he’s broken his right ankle in the process, from the sounds of it.

Which is how Jeff ends up in a cab with Chip, who volunteered to escort him to the ER, trying not to react to the throbbing pain in his leg like a small child. It’s a battle he’s barely winning.

“You okay, buddy?” Chip asks, halfway through the ride. His hand lands on Jeff’s forearm, and the touch is all that’s needed to ground him long enough to concentrate on answering the question.

“Fantastic,” he grinds out, closing his eyes and praying that they’ll reach the hospital sooner rather than later. Chip gives his arm a squeeze, but doesn’t remove it until they finally pull to a stop in front of the ER.

Chip wordlessly pays the cab driver upon their arrival, and then rushes around to the other side of the car to help Jeff get out. Chip wraps one arm around Jeff’s waist, while the other grips the arm slung across his shoulders.

“You doing all right?” Chip asks after they’ve taken a few tentative steps forward, Chip clearly bearing the brunt of Jeff’s weight.

“Oh, yeah. Just great. We only have about ten steps to take to get into the hospital, and it’ll probably take us an hour at this rate,” Jeff says through clenched teeth.

“I could carry you, if you wanted. But it might further bruise that already fragile ego of yours,” Chip says with a smile, and Jeff can’t help but laugh in response. A comment like that at any other time might’ve filled Jeff’s head with inappropriate thoughts, but now it only makes him wish he could take Chip up on it.

“Yeah, I think I’ll make it somehow,” he says instead, because even Jeff has limits. “But thanks for the offer. I’ll remember that in the future.”

Eventually they make it inside. Much to their chagrin, the waiting room is packed, which means it could be a long night. Thankfully, there is one empty chair near the door, which Chip promptly deposits Jeff into like he’s some sort of rag doll.

“Give me your wallet,” he says.

Jeff blinks up at him in confusion. “Uh, why?”

“So I can steal all your money and go out for a night on the town while you’re incapacitated and unable to stop me,” Chip deadpans. Jeff tries to smile.

A beat passes, and then he continues with, “Or, you know, so I can sign you in at the nursing station. Insurance and all that jazz. Unless you’d prefer to do it yourself?”

“No, definitely not,” Jeff says, and hands his wallet over to Chip.

It feels like forever until Chip returns, but it’s likely only a few minutes at most. Still, it’s long enough, for more than one reason.

“All right, so I have some good news and some bad news,” he says, leaning in close. “What do you want to hear first?”

He doesn’t even have to think about that answer. “The bad.”

“The nurse in charge is going to try and get you in as fast as possible, because they’ll need to set your leg if it really is fractured, but she said that right now, if you’re not bleeding profusely and there’s no bone sticking out of your leg, you’re just going to have to wait.”

Well, it could be worse, Jeff muses wryly to himself. Though not much.

“All right. What’s the good news?” he asks.

Chip ducks his head and a sheepish smile sneaks onto his lips. “You have me to keep you company while you wait?”

Maybe it’s the alcohol flowing through his system, or the pain making his brain think strange things, but for some reason, Jeff finds the statement incredibly hilarious, causing him to break out into a fit of laughter that continues for far longer than is necessary.

“It’s not that funny,” Chip says with a mock pout, and in spite of all the pain Jeff is in, he finds he’s feeling just a bit better.

“I’m sorry. Sorry. It’s just—“ you always know exactly what to say. Or maybe, you’re too fucking adorable for your own good. Or perhaps even, God, I love you and your stupid face. Of course, he can’t say any of these things. So instead, he goes with, “I’m just glad you’re here.”

Chip nods, looking around the room. “Hey, do you want to move to the other end of this row of chairs? I’m sure you don’t want to get up again, but there are a lot of people here and we might be able to avoid more pedestrian traffic and protect your foot by moving away from the hospital entrance?”

As much as Jeff doesn’t enjoy the idea of getting up again, the likelihood of someone bumping into him is a lot higher by the entrance. Plus, it looks like there’s actually a place for Chip to sit at the other end of the row, while there isn’t if they remain here.

“Yeah, okay, let’s do this,” he agrees.

The move is relatively uneventful, save for the moment when Jeff almost falls over when he trips on nothing. Damn his love of liquor. This is truly not his night.

No sooner are they sitting down again than a wave of pain shoots through Jeff's foot when he accidentally bumps it against the ground while shifting.

“Fuck,” he groans, bending forward and simultaneously lifting his foot off the floor.

“What is it?” Chip's hand is on his back, and he's leaning into Jeff's space with a concerned expression on his face.

“Nothing, I'm okay. I just banged my foot against the floor like the idiot that I am. If I elevate it, I'm sure it'll be fine.”

A logical plan, if he was Superman. But unfortunately, no amount of alcohol in Jeff's system will give him the necessary super strength he needs to keep his foot elevated off the ground for the duration of their wait. He lasts all of three minutes before he tries physically holding his leg off the floor by hooking his arms under his thigh.

“You're not going to last long like that,” Chip comments, ever helpful.

Jeff would like to glare at him, but he's too busy holding his leg and attempting to ignore the pain. “Thanks. That's helpful. Any other words of wisdom for me?”

“Look, why don't we switch seats,” Chip says patiently. “I'll sit at the end instead and you can rest your leg on my lap.”

Jeff eyes him with curiosity. The idea sounds heavenly, or at the very least, a hell of a lot more appealing than his current plan. But... “That would be a real pain the ass for you, wouldn’t it? I couldn’t ask you to do that for me because I’m an idiot.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it, Jeff. It’s not a big deal at all.” Chip waves a dismissive hand. “Besides, it’s better that than you sitting here in excruciating pain while we wait, though, right?

There isn't a single reason for Jeff to disagree with that logic, so he doesn't. After a bit of fumbling, shifting and no small amount of cursing (mostly from Jeff), they manage to rearrange themselves appropriately. Jeff’s body is turned towards Chip, right leg resting across his lap, ankle and foot hanging off the end, the other leg still planted firmly on the ground. Both of Chip’s hands rest lightly on Jeff’s leg, holding him in place. They are quite the sight to behold, but then considering where they are, that’s not saying much. Thankfully, everyone else in the waiting room seems to be too wrapped up in their own injuries or illnesses to take any notice of the two of them, much to Jeff’s relief.

“You think they’d allow alcohol in here, for purely medicinal reasons?” Jeff asks after a few minutes of comfortable silence pass.

Chip grins and shakes his head. “I’m gonna guess, no, but by all means, I can ask, if you’d like.”

“You're a good friend,” Jeff says, affection welling up in his chest. He closes his eyes against the pain.

“I know.” Chip pats his knee twice.

Their wait isn’t that long, according to all the clocks in the hospital, but it still feels like half an eternity by the time Jeff is finally seen by the ER physician. He pokes and prods and asks a bunch of questions before sending him off to get an x-ray. When the results finally come in, Jeff’s not sure whether to be happy or disappointed that it wasn’t more dramatic of an injury.

“It looks like you’ve sprained your ankle, Mr. Davis,” the doctor says. “It’s quite a severe strain, but it should heal fully within a few weeks, provided you take proper care of it. I’m going to wrap your ankle with tensor bandages, and I want you to keep the weight off for at least a week. You should probably look into either renting or purchasing a set of crutches. You’ll also want to ice your leg for short intervals – no more than about 15 minutes at a time – and keep it elevated. This will prevent further swelling.”

The doctor jots something down on the clipboard he’s holding before handing Jeff two small pieces of paper. “Here’s a prescription to help with the pain and reduce inflammation. Take two every four hours. I’ve also given you the number of a couple local physiotherapists. I would highly recommend booking an appointment to see someone in the next week. They can give you exercises and help ensure you don’t lose any range of motion or functioning in that ankle, especially if you’re on your feet a lot. Any questions?”

Jeff shakes his head, and then the doctor is off in a flash to see the next patient.

“So, I guess we need to take care of these things then, huh?” Chip asks, taking the two slips of paper from Jeff’s proffered hand.

By the time they make it back to the hotel, Jeff is so worn out he can barely stand it. But at least the pain medication is finally starting to kick in. Chip sticks around to help him change, insisting Jeff is a safety risk if left alone, and even if it’s a little awkward, he’s simply far too exhausted to care. In typical Chip fashion, he sticks around until he’s sure Jeff will be all right on his own, helping to elevate his leg and apply an ice pack.

“You don’t have to stay any longer,” Jeff says eventually, halfway between wakefulness and sleep.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay for the night?” Chip asks, looking unconvinced.

“Yeah, I’m fine. The crutches are beside the bed, my leg is elevated, the bandages are still firmly wrapped around my ankle, and I’m properly hopped up on medication. I’ll be good for a few hours.” He gives Chip an appreciative smile. “You’ve already done way more than I could’ve ever asked for. And you never called me out on being an idiot, even though I clearly was. So for all of that, I thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It was nothing.” Chip reaches out to ruffle Jeff’s hair affectionately, and Jeff feels warmth seep into him. Maybe it’s the drugs, or his exhaustion pulling him into a deep slumber, but it might also just be Chip. (In fact, it probably is.)

There are so many other things Jeff wants to say to Chip, but he’s fading so quickly that he’s not able to form the words properly. The last thing he hears before finally drifting off to sleep is the sound of his hotel door clicking shut as Chip slips out.

III

The day that Chip shows up at Jeff’s doorstep is neither a surprise, nor unexpected, but Jeff still wishes it hadn’t turned out this way in the end. He and Patty have been having problems in their marriage for the past couple of years, which has led to Chip spending the odd night here and there at Jeff’s. For a while, several months back, it looked as though perhaps things were finally beginning to improve for them, but clearly those gains were short-lived. One look at Chip’s face is all Jeff needs to know that, this time, he won’t be going back home the next day.

Clad in sweats and a ratty old grey t-shirt, Jeff steps away from the doorway and merely watches as Chip shuffles into his house with a suitcase and red, swollen eyes. He leads Chip down the hall to one of the spare bedrooms in silence – even though they both know he knows where to go by now – his heart breaking for his friend with every step they take.

The suitcase drops to the floor with a soft thud as Chip stands and stares, unblinking, at the bed, as though in a daze. Jeff folds his arms and watches from a few feet away, feeling helpless, useless, an ache seizing his chest and gripping him in a chokehold.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” Chip says, eventually, turning his head towards Jeff, and he’s certain he has never seen Chip look so lost in his life. “I mean, I have my brother and parents... but it just didn’t feel right. I don’t think I can deal with either of them right now—” His voice breaks on the last two words, and he visibly shakes his head as if to clear it of whatever thoughts might be hiding in his mind. It kills Jeff that Chip is hurting like this, and he’s helpless to do anything about it.

“It’s okay. You know you’re always welcome here,” Jeff says. He reaches for Chip, hesitates a moment, then places a supportive hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

Chip’s gaze falls to the hand on his shoulder before turning sad eyes to Jeff. “What the hell am I gonna do now?”

“This whole thing is shit. But you’ll get through it, like you always do,” Jeff says, at length, and then he’s tugging on Chip’s shoulder, pulling him forward.

Chip practically falls into Jeff’s arms, accepting this small comfort as Jeff wraps him in a warm embrace. A heavy sigh falls from Chip’s mouth, and Jeff instinctively rubs a small circle onto Chip’s back, between his shoulder blades, as Chip’s hands press against the back of Jeff’s t-shirt. Despite the fact that they are always touching one another, Jeff and Chip rarely hug. But everything about this feels right and necessary, and if this is all he can do for his friend, then he’d rather do this than nothing at all.

“Thank you,” Chip says when they pull apart, eyes still glistening with unshed tears, and Jeff has to actively resist the urge to reach up and touch his face, tell him that he’s not alone, will never be alone because he’ll always have Jeff.

Instead, Jeff smiles gently. “Any time. So, I was about to get drunk and watch the first few Fast and the Furious movies. You wanna join me?”

“Of course,” Chip says, but his voice lacks enthusiasm.

Neither end up drunk, however. Chip doesn’t seem to have the energy to drink himself stupid, instead spending most of the night staring blankly at the television screen, dark bags under his eyes and a heaviness to his posture that is wholly unfamiliar. Jeff has a few drinks, but ensures that he’s sober enough to watch out for Chip, in case he does decide to start pounding them down. The last thing Jeff needs is to be so out of it that he doesn’t notice Chip heading towards alcohol poisoning.

About halfway through Fast & Furious, Chip finally nods off on the couch. For a few moments, Jeff contemplates waking him up and sending him to bed, but by doing so he also runs the risk of preventing Chip from sleeping at all tonight. Better to get a couple hours now than to be woken up only to lay awake the rest of the night, he reasons. Instead, Jeff peels himself off the couch, slowly turns down the volume, and then quietly rummages through his hall closet for a blanket.

With a deliberate carefulness, Jeff lays the blanket across Chip’s body, keeping an eye on the steady rise and fall of his chest. Watching him sleep, there doesn’t seem to be any peace there, and the thought that Chip is being tormented in his dreams fills Jeff with sadness. He wants to run his fingers down Chip’s face, smooth out the worry lines, tell him that he’s still loved, but it’s too risky, Chip could wake up at any moment.

Making a quick decision, Jeff reaches out to gently brush a strand of hair from Chip’s forehead, then scolds himself for being so sentimental and girly. Ten minutes later, he’s crawling into his own bed; sleep that night restless.

IV

All Jeff hears for the first couple of weeks from Chip is how I’m going to find a place to stay, I promise. I’ll be out of your way by the end of the month, guaranteed. It is a promise made daily, despite the fact that Jeff assures Chip he’s welcome to stay with him for as long as he needs. Don’t be ridiculous. I couldn’t put you out like that, he says when Jeff tells him.

One month passes, then two, and suddenly, one day, Jeff wakes up to the realization that Chip has been living with him for almost four months. Perhaps even more surprising is the fact that Jeff finds he’s taken quite well to having Chip live with him.

Somewhere along the line, their temporary living arrangement shifts from ‘temporary’ to ‘slightly longer term’ in spite of the fact that neither of them have entered into any formal discussions about anything. Jeff has always lived by himself, in spite of having the room for roommates or a partner to move in. He’s just always enjoyed the freedom of having his own space without having to answer to anyone or change his lifestyle based on someone else. It’s served him well for close to 20 years, and he sure as hell isn’t expecting that to change now, after all this time.

They start filming season 2 of Improv-a-Ganza and tour with Whose Live Anyway?, as well as doing their own projects, but when they’re both in LA, Jeff finds there is something immensely comforting in the knowledge that he won’t be arriving home to an empty house. And Chip, for his part, seems to crave the company as well. It’s not easy for either of them at first, especially Chip, given what he’s gone through. As quickly as his whole life gets turned upside down, Jeff finds that it’s flipped back to a sense of normalcy frighteningly quickly.

Usually when they’re both in the city, Chip is home before Jeff, and more often than not, they sit down and eat a late dinner while receiving updates on each other’s day. Sometimes Chip cooks, sometimes Jeff, and sometimes they cook together. With vastly different skill sets and different definitions of “healthy” (Jeff is far less stringent on his definition than Chip), they both end up learning from each other.

Even Chip’s kids, whom he’s always liked, have managed to weasel their way into his heart and home effortlessly. Jeff likes children – he adores his niece to pieces – but he’s never really seen himself as the fatherly type. But Chip’s kids – whom he’s known since they were just little – aren’t really all that small any longer. They get on Jeff’s case about his insistence on having a clean kitchen, constantly beg him for homework help, and still call him “Uncle Jeff.” But no matter what they’re doing, they actually start to become a presence he’s used to, and even enjoys.

The whole thing is dangerously close to being domestic, and yet contrary to everything he’s ever believed about himself, Jeff finds that he enjoys having Chip in his life even more than he ever thought possible. Of course, they bicker over the stupidest things initially, and there are times when they both know they need a break from one another, but for the most part, things are rather fantastic.

So a couple of weeks later, when Chip comes up to Jeff, waving a newspaper around and stating that he thinks he may have found a place to live, Jeff is more than a little taken aback, and far less excited than he feels he probably should be.

“What do you mean you found a place?”

“I mean that I found a nice two-bedroom condo for rent that’s looking to have someone move in as soon as possible.” He lays the paper on top of the island in the middle of the kitchen and points to the ad he’s conveniently circled in red.

Jeff glances down at the listing sceptically. “Looks nice,” he says at last, voice soft.

“I sense a ‘but’ in there?”

“Well, it’s only a two-bedroom, so is that enough room for you and the kids, when they visit?”

Chip tilts his head to the side, looking thoughtful. “It’s fairly spacious – about 1,600 square feet. I can just sleep on the couch on the weekends I have them. Besides, it’s not a permanent place, just something for now to get out of your hair.”

“How many times have I told you that you’re welcome to stay as long as you want?” Jeff says, light-hearted tone belying his true feelings.

“I know you say that, and I’m sure you mean it. But I can’t keep imposing on you forever, Jeff. It’s already been over four months. I shouldn’t have stayed this long, even.”

“Yeah, but it’s okay. If I wanted you out, I would’ve told you already.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” Chip carries on, “but you don’t want me living with you forever. I’m sure I’ve already cramped your style enough as it is. Besides, there's no reason for me to stay here. Right?” Chip asks. Maybe he’s mistaken, but Jeff is sure there is a hint of disappointment in his tone. Possibly even something resembling hope.

There are a million reasons he could provide as to why Chip should stay, but he can't bring himself to share the most important one. Somehow, somewhere over the course of the past four months, Chip's managed to worm his way into Jeff's life in a way he never before imagined possible. They're not together, likely never will be, but Jeff thinks that he could get used to this. Then again, maybe that's the entire problem right there – that he has gotten used to having Chip around, and now that he's had a taste, he can't bring himself to go back to how it was before. Even his hesitance to let Chip move out, when it's a perfectly reasonable and logical thing for him to do, is probably far more telling than Jeff would care to admit.

“I guess there's not,” he finally says, feeling a bit saddened by the whole thing. “Not really, anyway. I mean, this is a great neighborhood with lots of other kids their age around, and I definitely have the space for all of you. Plus, it's close to the school and rec center. Oh, and that stupid restaurant with the salad bar that you seem to like so much, though God only knows why. But I'm sure you want your own space and to get out of this eternal bachelor pad.”

Chip tilts his head and gives Jeff a funny look. Inexplicably, he is suddenly overcome with the desire to wrap his arms around Chip, tell him to stay because Jeff can’t imagine life without him, but that feels strangely inappropriate.

“Actually, I really enjoy living with you,” Chip says, voice fond. The way he’s staring at Jeff now does something funny to his body, causing his stomach to flip and his heart rate to quicken almost instantaneously.

Jeff swallows and tries to avoid looking at Chip’s eyes, or his mouth, or any part of him, really. There is a part of Jeff that knows, logically, he should probably try and convince Chip to move out of his place. But Jeff’s never really been a fan of logic. “I’m glad you’re here. I really fucking enjoy having you around, actually, much to my surprise. You and your kids. Teenage monsters. Whatever.”

The smile that falls across Chip’s face is bright and genuine, and Jeff can’t quite stop himself from reaching out to squeeze Chip’s arm.

“Thank you. It makes me happy to hear that,” he says, and then, just like that, Chip is leaving the room again, the discussion effectively ended for now.

~*~

Three days later, when Jeff asks Chip when he anticipates moving out, Chip merely shakes his head and says, "It ended up falling through. Is it okay if I stay here a little while longer?"

The whole thing seems a bit suspicious, but Jeff doesn't ask any questions, merely accepting everything at face value and cheering his good luck.

There is no more talk of anyone moving anywhere for quite some time.

V

He’s sitting on Dan’s deck, beer in one hand and a veggie-burger in the other. It’s late September, but the sun is still hot on this early Sunday evening, making it feel more like summer than fall.

“So, what’s new?” Dan asks, as if they haven’t talked in weeks, even though they have.

“What do you mean, ‘what’s new’? Nothing. I just talked to you a couple days ago,” Jeff says, and then bites into his burger, relishing the taste. Since Chip moved in, Jeff has found himself eating considerably healthier, and even liking it, much to his surprise. But he still can’t remember the last time he had barbequed burgers, and makes a mental note to do something about that soon.

“Try a couple of weeks, man.”

Jeff blinks. “What are you talking about? We just spoke a few days ago.”

“Maybe in that little world inside your head, but not in reality. It’s been almost two weeks since the last time I spoke to you.” Dan stares at him pointedly.

“No fucking way.” That seems impossible. Dan’s one of his best friends. They rarely go more than a few days without speaking, unless there’s something specifically preventing them from doing so.

“Yes fucking way,” Dan says with a nod. He points the tip of his beer bottle at Jeff. “I think the last time we talked, you said you were going to watch Chip’s son’s soccer tournament or something?”

A frown tugs at Jeff’s lips, the hand holding his burger stopping in the air halfway to his mouth as his brain struggles to process this information. When he finally recalls the date of that tournament and does the math, he’s hit with the realization that Dan is right. Fuck. It has been nearly two weeks since the last time he talked to his supposed best friend.

Jeff shakes his head. “Shit, you’re right. How the hell did that happen?”

“I have a couple of theories,” Dan says carefully. He eyes Jeff, like he knows something Jeff doesn’t, and takes a long sip of his beer.

“Oh, yeah? Then let’s hear them.”

“Okay, I lied. I don’t have a couple of theories. Just one.”

Jeff suddenly has a feeling he’s not going to like where this is going. “Which is?”

“That the best friend’s always the first to lose face time when someone’s in a relationship.” Dan shrugs casually, like it’s no big deal.

But Jeff is confused as hell. What kind of crazy ass theory is this? “Wait, what the fuck are you talking about? I’m not in a relationship,” he says, brows furrowing.

“Aren’t you?”

“No. Are you high or something? I’m not in a relationship with anyone. Who do you think I’m dating?”

A low rumbling laugh spills from Dan, and he shakes his head. “If you need me to tell you, you’re really more clueless than I ever gave you credit for. Think about it, Jeff.”

So he does. Very carefully. It doesn’t take him long to figure out the answer to Dan’s supposition. Oh. Oh. Well, then.

“You think I’m dating Chip?” Jeff cries, and if his voice happens to squeak at the end, Dan doesn’t point it out.

“And are you going to try and tell me you’re not?” Dan meets his gaze, challenge in his eyes.

“Of course I am. Things aren’t like that between us.”

“Yeah, but you want them to be, and don’t you dare fucking deny it either,” Dan points out, and Jeff would like to slap him for it, true or not.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, because that doesn’t change the truth. Which happens to be that Chip and I are just close friends, and nothing more,” Jeff says, waving his half-full beer around now. Thankfully, none of it sloshes out of the bottle.

“Fuck that. How long has he been living with you now?”

It takes a moment for Jeff to actually calculate the answer. “About 15 months, I think.”

Dan smiles. “And how many people have you dated since he moved in with you?”

It’s an unfair question, at best. Jeff’s had a busy year and there’s been a lot of chaos in his life and so what if he’d rather spend time with Chip than date other people and where the fuck does Dan get off making large, baseless accusations like this anyway?

“I’ve been on a few dates,” he says eventually, but is unable to keep the defensive tone from his voice.

“How many of those have you slept with?”

Jeff frowns, and in the hot sun, he can feel his face heating. “What the hell has that got to do with anything?”

“I’m just trying to prove a point, man,” Dan says, throwing his hands up in fake surrender. “You haven’t slept with any of them, have you?”

The only answer he receives is a glare from Jeff, but it seems to be enough for Dan to continue. “You’ve brought Chip as your ‘date’ to virtually every event I’ve been to with you over the past year, even if you’ve never called it that. You spend time with his kids and take them to their sports games and go watch them in their school musicals. And more than half of every conversation I have with you somehow ends up revolving around Chip or what you’re doing with Chip or something amusing Chip said.”

Jeff opens his mouth to protest, but Dan holds up a hand. Clearly he’s not done yet.

“I’ve seen your improv shows. Hell, I see you two interact all the goddamn time. You’re both all over each other at every fucking moment. I’ve seen teenagers with better restraint than the two of you.”

“That isn’t true,” Jeff grumbles, even as a sinking feeling is starting to settle in the pit of his stomach at Dan’s words.

“Yes, it is, and you know it. Look, I’m not judging you, man, so don’t go getting all indignant on me. I know you’re in love with the guy and have been for years. It’s cool. I think Chip’s a fucking great guy all around and he sure as hell seems to adore you, though I can’t imagine why.” At this, Dan shoots him a teasing smirk, and Jeff can’t help the tiny smile that slips onto his face. “You may claim you’re not dating him, but you basically are. Minus the sex. Unless you guys are having sex and you just decided not to tell me about it? Which, actually, come to think of it, I really don’t want to know what goes on in your bedroom.”

This time, Jeff can’t help but laugh. “No, we’re not having sex, Dan. God.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should be. Might get that proverbial stick out of your ass finally and help you loosen up a bit.”

“I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but in order to have consensual sex, both parties have to be willing and eager to participate,” Jeff points out with a sigh.

The look of disbelief on Dan’s face is almost comical. “You’re kidding me, right?”

Jeff just stares at him.

“Do you really think that Chip isn’t interested in you?”

“He’s not even divorced yet,” Jeff says, ignoring the little ache that’s suddenly sitting in his chest.

“So? That doesn’t mean shit. They’ve been separated for over a year now. He’s still a man with needs. I don’t even know why I have to tell you this. You’re a guy, for God’s sake. You know what it’s like. Take whatever frustrations you have and apply them tenfold to Chip.”

“He’s not gay,” Jeff adds feebly.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Dan says with a sarcastic smirk. “He has kids and was married. You know he’s attracted to women. But that doesn’t mean he can’t like men. Or even just you. There’s no rule out there about sexuality and how it works, man. Besides, you’ve been with women before too.”

Jeff sighs. God, he wants to believe that Dan’s right so fucking much, but it’s frightening to take that risk, because what if he’s wrong?

“Even Erin asked me if you two were shacking up.” Erin is Dan’s fiancé, and also one of his closest friends. She spends a lot of time with Dan, Jeff, Chip and the rest of their friends, so it’s not completely absurd that she might’ve noticed something going on.

“And what if I fuck everything up by saying something to Chip? Then what? I lose one of my best friends? I don’t know that I can do it,” Jeff says, staring at his feet.

"Look, it's your life, so do whatever you want. All I'm saying is that eventually there has to come a time when you decide to take a risk and step out of your comfort zone," Dan says. "I'm no expert, but I really don't think it's a stretch to assume that Chip wants you too. But even if you don't believe me, isn't it worth trying? The worst that'll happen is that he moves out and things will be a bit awkward between you two for a while. But honestly, man? I don't think it will ruin your friendship if he knows how you feel about him and doesn't feel the same. And if he has a thing for you too, then you guys can finally stop doing this fucking dance you've been doing for however long it’s been now, and just get your shit together. Besides, this tortured soul thing you've had going on for the last six months is really getting old. Where's the confident, self-assured Jeff I know and mildly tolerate?" Dan tacks on a smirk at the end, to go along with the playful rub, and Jeff knows in his heart that he's right.

It’s not as if there’s nothing there between them. He’s felt it for years, even before Chip moved in with him, this raw tension hovering just beneath the surface of all their interactions, but he never pursued it... was never even able to put a name to anything. And maybe it’s changed over the years in intensity and focus, but deep down, he suspects that perhaps Dan is right after all, which only seems to make the whole thing seem even more frightening.

“Fine. I’ll talk to him,” Jeff says, at long last. “Are you satisfied now?”

“As long as you are.” Dan chugs the rest of his beer and sits back, looking pleased with himself. “So now that we’ve got that out of the way, have I got a fucking story for you...”

~*~

When Jeff finally leaves Dan's place, it's already quite late, the sun having slunk below the horizon hours ago, so he's not expecting Chip to still be awake. On the drive home, he even manages to convince himself that this is true, secure in the hope that he won't have to have this conversation tonight. There is no denying that Dan's right – something has to give – and it appears that Jeff is the one who needs to make the first move. As terrifying as it might seem to expose himself and risk everything they have, it is an equally terrifying idea to go through the rest of his life never knowing if he could've had something more with Chip. Ultimately that, in the end, is what finally pushes him over the edge.

All the same, he's more than happy to put off the task for one more night.

Unfortunately, fate doesn’t seem to be on his side tonight, as is evidenced by the Chip-shaped blob watching TV on his couch when Jeff arrives home.

It’s possible he lets out a tiny squeak, though he’ll deny it later, should anyone ever bring it up. “Oh. Um, hi?” he says, dumbly.

Chip casts a smile in his direction. “Hey!”

Usually, Jeff would enter his house like a normal human being and either join Chip on the couch, or go straight to his bedroom. Today, however, his body decides it has other plans, and he finds himself literally paralyzed at the thought of having to move. So he doesn’t. He just stares over at Chip, mind racing as he struggles to figure out what to say or do.

"Jeff, are you okay?" Chip stands, shutting off the TV and tossing the remote onto the couch.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Just didn't expect to see you up at this hour." He finally manages to get a hold of himself and slips off his shoes, taking a few steps forward into the living room. He can feel his heart rate quicken, heat rise in his cheeks, and he wills Chip to just ignore him, turn away, go to bed instead of forcing Jeff's hand on this conversation.

But of course he wouldn’t be Chip if he simply ignored a friend in need, and for the first time that Jeff can remember, he wishes Chip wasn’t so attentive to others. In a split second, Chip makes his way across the room, standing a few feet away and eyeing Jeff with curiosity, completing the stance with a hand on his chin.

"Seriously, Jeff, what's wrong? You don't look so hot. Are you sure you're all right?"

This is the moment, Jeff decides, when he can either run away and hide, or stand firm and tell Chip exactly how he feels about him. This wasn’t exactly part of his plan, but the reality is that there’s no legitimate reason for Jeff to put this off any longer, and if he does, he suspects he may never work up the courage to do anything.

"No. Actually, I'm not," Jeff admits, biting down on the inside of his cheek. Chip's proximity is doing nothing to stave off the overwhelming attraction he suddenly feels, and that, combined with nerves, is making him feel extremely out of sorts. It's as if his skin is coursing with electricity, sensitive to the shirt clinging to his back, the air moving around them, the energy between them.

“Okay. Is there anything you want to talk about, then?” Chip asks, green eyes shining with concern, and maybe something else.

And in that split second, Jeff makes a decision.

“No, there’s nothing I want to talk about.”

Jeff’s always been a man of action, so why should this situation be any different? He steps forward, into Chip’s personal space, and reaches up to palm the back of Chip’s neck, thumb brushing against his jaw line. There is just the smallest hitch of breath from Chip, but it is enough to embolden Jeff, spurn him forward.

“I think I’d rather just show you.”

He searches Chip’s expression for any sign that this won’t be received well, but when he sees nothing to indicate any resistance, he takes it as a sign and finally, finally kisses Chip.

VI

It is a cool and windy day, even for the end of January in Los Angeles. Of course, this is where Jeff finds Chip, outside on the deck with nothing more than a light jacket on.

Jeff pulls open the back door, which is noisy enough to alert Chip to his presence, but he seems lost in thought, leaning forward on the deck railing and staring off into space. If he’s heard Jeff, Chip makes no indication of it.

Letting out a small cough to ensure Chip knows he’s there, Jeff makes his way across the deck until he’s standing directly behind him.

“Hey, you,” Jeff says softly, pressing his body against Chip’s back. He plants a kiss on the back of Chip’s neck before wrapping his arms around Chip’s waist and pulling him into a tight embrace from behind. “Are you okay?”

Almost immediately, Jeff can feel a light pressure from Chip pressing back into him, and Chip removes his hands from the railing in order to cover Jeff’s arms with his own.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking about how so much has changed in the past year.”

Jeff nods, resting his chin on Chip’s shoulder. They’ve officially been dating for close to four months now. As it turned out, most of their friends were surprised that they weren’t already together, and thus far they’d mostly been showered with love, support and acceptance from everyone around them. But today is the day that Chip’s divorce has finally gone through, making him truly free to be with whomever he pleases. Jeff knows this is difficult for him, even if he tries to claim otherwise, so he’s been especially mindful of that today.

“It’s a lot. I can’t imagine any of it has been easy for you,” Jeff says, slipping one hand beneath Chip’s jacket and thin cotton shirt, rubbing tiny circles onto Chip’s stomach. He’s always enjoyed touching Chip, but the novelty of being able to do so whenever he wants and as much as he wants still hasn’t worn off yet. Thankfully, Chip is almost as touchy-feely as Jeff is, otherwise they might have a problem.

Chip shakes his head. “No, it hasn’t always been easy. But it hasn’t been all terrible, either. Obviously when I got married, I never expected things to end like this. But they did, and now my life is very different. Not bad, though, just different than I thought it would be, years ago.”

A silence falls between them, long, but not uncomfortable, as they both stare off into the distance, still wrapped in each other’s arms. The chill from the evening air isn’t quite as bad with the warmth Chip’s body provides, but Jeff still can’t help but shiver at a particularly strong gust of wind.

As the silence stretches, Jeff starts to wonder... Chip’s been quieter than usual the last couple of days, with the knowledge that his divorce was about to be finalized. He’s claimed that the whole thing hasn’t been bothering him, but Jeff knows otherwise. Try as he might, Jeff can’t seem to ignore the worries that even now occasionally pop into his mind. What if Chip regrets this relationship? What if he’s not as invested as Jeff? What if he still misses his old life? It’s selfish, but Jeff can’t help the fears that crop up, even if he knows, logically, that there’s little basis for any of them.

“You’re sure you’re happy with your life how it is now? Like really happy with... everything?”

He hates the insecurity he hears in his voice, hates that he's doubting this relationship, and by extension, Chip. But if this isn't what Chip wants, then Jeff needs to know, sooner rather than later, before he's too invested, too addicted to give him up. Though, if he's being honest with himself, Jeff has been too invested in Chip for well over a decade now.

Chip pulls away from him, turning in Jeff's arms until they're facing one another, and reaches up with a hand to run the pads of his fingers across Jeff's cheek, a fond expression on his face.

“If you're talking about you, then yes, I am happy. Stupidly so. And before you even think about asking, no, I don't wish things were different. Not for a second.”

“But it must be hard, especially now that your marriage is officially over?”

Chip smiles at him, green eyes sincere and warm. “Obviously I never intended for my marriage to fall apart, but it happens, Jeff. And truth be told, Patty and I haven't had a marriage for close to three years now. I didn't need a piece of paper to tell me that. Do I regret some of the decisions I made in the past? Of course. But do I regret starting a relationship with you? Not a chance. It won't happen. You've been a constant in my life for damn near fifteen years, and I want you to be around for at least another, I don’t know, fifty.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ll be dead by then,” Jeff says with a laugh.

“Yeah, you wish.”

Jeff pretends to seriously consider this before smiling softly. “Nah, not really.”

The grin that overtakes Chip’s face fills Jeff with a sense of joy, much like the very first time they met. He’s still surprised at his own sentimentality sometimes, though Dan would clock him for it. Chip’s fingers press lightly into the back of his neck, and it’s all the encouragement Jeff needs to lean down and close the gap between them. Chip is still smiling into the kiss, and Jeff lets out a breathy laugh when he parts his lips for Chip’s tongue, tightening the grip he has around Chip’s waist. The kiss doesn’t last very long by their standards, but it is sweet and loving and everything Jeff needs to be certain that Chip’s as invested in this relationship as he is.

“God, I love you so much,” Jeff says, when they part for air.

It comes out so naturally that he almost doesn’t realize what he’s said until it hits him smack in the face. Unfortunately it’s too late to take it back. Except, Jeff realizes that he doesn’t actually want to take it back. He’s spent over a decade keeping his feelings for Chip hidden, and now that they’re actually dating, he finds he wants to say it all the time. Shout it from the rooftop, so that everyone knows how much he loves Chip. They’ve been together for four months now, so he figures it’s about damn time that he allows himself to be honest about this last thing, consequences be damned.

“Don’t look so panicked,” Chip teases.

“I’m not,” Jeff lies, shooting Chip what he hopes is a convincing smile. “It’s just... a big admission.”

Chip nods. “It is. But you don’t have anything to be worried about.” He leans forward again, capturing Jeff’s mouth in a tender kiss.

“No?” Jeff asks, smile tentative, but hopeful, when they pull apart.

“No,” Chip echoes. “Because I love you too, and don’t you dare doubt that, okay?”

Jeff nods, warmth filling his chest. He pulls Chip back into his arms, squeezing him in a firm embrace.

“So, now that we’ve established that...?” Jeff asks, face still buried in Chip’s neck.

“Well, I’m officially a free man now,” Chip says. “I’ve got a couple of ideas as to how we could celebrate, but I’m afraid none of them would be appropriate out here.”

He offers his hand to Jeff, when they separate, a smirk and eyebrow waggle clearing up any possible uncertainty as to his intentions. Jeff grins, accepting Chip’s hand as they make their way back into the house, threading their fingers together. This is certainly one celebration that he intends to make last as long as possible.

The End

Fanfic - Autopilot and Alcohol (Improv-a-Ganza)

2011-06-11T17:54:38Z

Title: Autopilot and Alcohol
Author: Mel (accordingtomel)
Summary: Chip has been avoiding Jeff. Jeff has been angsting. But then Jeff finally finds out why, and everything changes.
Characters/Pairings: Jeff Davis/Chip Esten
Rating: PG-13 (mostly for language)
Word Count: 5,672
Disclaimer: This is completely and utterly false, 100% fake, a figment of my over-active imagination. I mean absolutely no offense to anyone in the fic or anyone reading it. Jeff and Chip belong only to themselves. I’m just having a bit of fun.
Author’s note: So, I swore to myself that I wasn’t going to permit myself to ship these two. I said, “Self, stop being ridiculous. Just because they’re adorable, and always touching each other, and always looking at each other when something’s funny, and constantly making heart eyes, and only paying attention to each other when they’re singing... Wait, what?” Anyway, needless to say, after much internal struggles, I simply couldn’t resist. I have to say a huge thank you to my awesome friend, adelagia, for betaing this thing for me, as well as being my eternal enabler. When I would say to her, “Okay, I’m not allowing myself to ship them,” she would inevitably respond with, “Well, now that you’re not shipping them...” or “Not to fuel your fire or anything...” and provide me with something that would make me ship them even more! BTW, I just want to point out that while I’ve indicated in the fic that Chip and his wife have separated, I need it to be known that I do not, in fact, actually wish this to happen in real life in any way, shape or form. This is just my insane flight of fancy without making it actually AU. Anyway, thanks for reading! :)

Autopilot and Alcohol

It is another rough evening for them. Or, at least for Jeff it is. Not show-wise of course, because no matter what may be going on behind closed doors, both he and Chip are too professional to allow that to impact their work. But the reality is that things aren’t good between them right now, and haven’t been for well over a month. They’re already more than halfway through their Whose Live Anyway? tour, but it is turning out to be the most challenging one they’ve ever done.

When they’re on tour, Jeff typically ends up spending the vast majority of his time with Chip, and has for all of the years they’ve been doing this. Except spending time with Chip becomes far more challenging when he’s been dedicating most of his time to avoiding Jeff as much as possible. There is no legitimate reason Jeff can ascertain, which only makes the whole thing hurt even more. So when Ryan and Greg both call it an early night, and with Chip still very pointedly trying to avoid him, Jeff finds himself drinking alone, in a booth at the back of this particular casino, trying not to feel depressed about how he’s losing one of his best friends. It isn’t exactly working.

For about the millionth time, Jeff runs through everything he’s done in the last couple of months, trying to sort out where things went sour. Because he can’t for the life of him pinpoint any particular thing he could’ve done to bring this on, but he knows there has to be an explanation, because this isn’t like Chip at all. Granted, things have been difficult for Chip since he and his wife separated eight months ago, and Jeff knows just how much the whole thing hurt him. They rarely discuss details, but Jeff is the one Chip always chooses to confide in when he feels like talking. Or at least he used to. Jeff always feels honored that Chip trusts him enough with it, and even more so that he is able to help put a smile back on Chip’s face, if only for a little while. No one would know to see him perform on stage, but the pain is there all the same. Which makes Chip’s recent behaviour all the more bothersome, because as far as Jeff’s concerned, nothing is different between them now than it was six weeks prior.

Could Jeff have accidentally insulted Chip? It’s possible, sure, but at the same time, Jeff has the presence of mind to recognize that this slow, steady avoidance doesn’t seem to fit the crime. Perhaps Chip’s just tired of him finally, after years and years of putting up with his ridiculousness. Not everyone can tolerate his quirks, after all. But that seems equally unlikely, since they share a lot of similarities in that department, and it’s at least part of the reason they became such good friends to begin with.

As Jeff’s mind runs through a series of possible, but increasingly ridiculous potential reasons for Chip’s behaviour, another horrifying thought hits him with such force that it nearly knocks him out of his seat, his gut twisting at the mere idea. What if Chip somehow discovered Jeff’s feelings for him, and what if that’s the reason for his current behaviour? He would never deny that he adores Chip, and anyone who watches them together for more than a few minutes can see the affection there anyway. He couldn’t hide that, even if he wanted to. But what if he accidentally let it slip that he wants Chip in a slightly (vastly) less wholesome way? Chip’s an accepting person to the core, and sexuality doesn’t even register in his mind as something to be concerned with, but Jeff wonders if his attitude would extend to someone he knew had legitimate feelings for him. Especially if said person happened to be one of his best friends.

The truth of the matter is that Jeff is so fucking far gone, has been for a long time now, that he doesn’t even know anything else. He should have stopped this ages ago, when his feelings first began to manifest themselves, walked away from it all. But he’s always known that he could never walk away from Chip, from their friendship, from a career that so many crave and so few are able to actually live, even if it might be better for his mental health in the long run. Chip is technically still married and straight, both theoretically strong deterrents for the thoughts that race through Jeff’s mind and the dreams that plague him at night. Like the slow poison of a drug coursing through his veins, Jeff is completely and hopelessly addicted to Chip. It is the most ridiculous and embarrassingly pathetic feeling he’s ever experienced, frightening and exhilarating in equal measure.

Burying his face in his hands, Jeff tries not to groan at how pathetic his thoughts – his life – have become. It’s not as though he has no other friends in his life. He has many. The problem is that Chip is more than just another friend. The problem is that he isn’t in love with any one of those other people. The problem is that he is completely and utterly fucked, when he gets right down to it.

The feeling of a hand on his shoulder is so unexpected that Jeff literally starts, head flying up to see who's pulled him from his reverie. He doesn’t even hide the surprise at discovering Chip standing before him, bashful and slightly awkward. Chip’s touch is like fire to his skin, even with his suit acting as a barrier between them.

“Hey, um, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he says, and smiles, tentative, removing his hand from Jeff’s shoulder.

“That’s fine.” Jeff tries not to miss the physical contact. He tries even harder to resist the urge to reach out for Chip, as he is often wont to do.

“Do you mind if I join you?” Chip asks, and holy fuck does it feel like they’re awkward teenagers all of a sudden. When did everything get this weird?

Jeff gestures to the opposite side of the booth, mentally composing himself as Chip takes a seat, a drink in his other hand.

A lengthy silence stretches between them. Jeff sips leisurely at his beer, trying to fake a calmness he doesn’t feel. Every few moments he snatches a glance at Chip, who seems to be watching him rather openly, and that makes something uncomfortable crawl under his skin.

“So,” Chip breathes out, eventually. Jeff meets his gaze. “I just wanted to tell you... Well, I wanted to say sorry, man, for the way I’ve been behaving. I’ve been a complete asshole to you, for no good reason, and you don’t deserve that.”

Jeff nods and takes another sip of his beer. The knot in his stomach loosens ever so slightly.

“I appreciate how you’ve been here for me, well, always. But especially over the past year, with everything going on,” Chip carries on. “You’re a good friend, and I’ve been a prick. So, I’m sorry.”

This time, Jeff permits himself to smile, hesitant. He wraps his fingers around the cool glass of the beer bottle in his hand, and it is the only relief from the sudden heat he feels radiating throughout his body. “I— Well, I can’t say I’ve been happy that you’ve been avoiding me—“ Chip actually flinches at this, “—but I accept your apology. I guess I just don’t really get it...”

Chip swallows, watching him intently. “You don’t really get what?”

“I don’t really understand why you were avoiding me in the first place. I mean, did I do something to offend you? Because if I did, I’d prefer you just tell me than have there be all this—“ Jeff waves his other hand around in an elaborate, though meaningless, gesture, “—weirdness between us.”

He almost regrets the words, at the sight of Chip’s face. A million different emotions seem to flicker across his face in the span of a few moments, everything from guilt to disappointment to something that Jeff can’t quite identify but feels vaguely familiar.

“I know, I know. And I’m sorry.” Chip hangs his head. “But you didn’t do anything, that’s the problem.”

“Then I don’t understand. You’ve been drawing away from me for at least a month.” And how embarrassing is it, that Jeff has actually been keeping track? He silently wills Chip to disregard what he’s just said, even as heat continues to prick at the back of his neck.

Another silence fills the air between them, nothing but music and conversation floating around in the background, though Jeff barely registers any of it. When Chip does speak, it is with a deliberate carefulness, the way he talks when he has something important to say but wants it to come across in a controlled manner. It doesn’t happen very often, or at least not that Jeff has witnessed, and he’s not sure what to make of it all.

“Look, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to tell you any of this, but obviously I’ve been behaving like an ass, so clearly you do need to know.”

This sounds serious. Jeff nods, not knowing what else to do.

“It’s just... Ever since I split from Patty, things have been really tough. I still love her, but over the past several months I— Well, I guess I’ve started contemplating life after this marriage. Starting over, you know? Except everything has been so confusing and muddled and I don’t know if I’m just losing my mind, or what. But I started having these dreams—“ He stops, blinks, and glances down. If Jeff isn’t mistaken, he’d say that Chip was blushing. “At first I thought it was stupid and illogical, maybe some sort of transference type of thing, because, well... it’s ridiculous that I should be feeling this way at all. I mean, I’m fucking forty-five, for God’s sake. I don’t even like men. Or, well, so I thought. Anyway, I figured it’d go away after a day or two, but it didn’t. In fact, it just kept getting worse, much to my irritation. So, I did what made the most sense to me, which was to avoid the problem altogether in the hope that it might actually go away. Which it didn’t. Obviously. And so, here we are.”

When he’s finished, Chip glances up at Jeff, who is rooted to the spot, feeling as confused as ever. He has no fucking idea what Chip is talking about with this whole thing about starting over and confusing dreams and transference and...

Oh. Oh.

Suddenly, everything he’s just said, the way Chip’s been behaving the past month and a bit, starts to click into place, and Jeff feels like he’s been punched in the gut with the weight of this unexpected revelation. Which means that Chip...

Fuck.

His expression must give him away at the exact moment he figures it out, because Chip instantly jumps in to try and smooth things over.

“We can just pretend we never had this conversation, if you want. I mean, I’m sure it’ll pass. I didn’t want to tell you, but I felt like I had no choice, you know? I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.” He shakes his head, as if he’s still surprised that any of this is even happening at all. The feeling is mutual.

Jeff knows what he should say, and what he wants to say, and they are vastly different. But the words are out of his mouth before he can even really contemplate the decision at all. “Who says I want to pretend we never had this conversation?”

Chip blinks, the confusion passing to him now. “All right...?”

“Actually, maybe it’s good, in a way,” Jeff says, without really pausing to think about any of the words before they’re flying out of his mouth. He’s operating on autopilot at the moment. Autopilot, and alcohol. “Maybe we should have discussed this sooner.”

The words hang between them, and Jeff looks away, trying to pretend that they’re not actually talking about what they’re talking about. This whole thing is utter madness.

Chip coughs, fingers tapping nervously against the table, knee bouncing up and down. Jeff can’t see or even really feel the movement, but he knows it’s happening all the same. That’s how well he knows Chip, right down to his nervous fucking habits. Neither makes any attempt to speak, but Jeff knows that Chip will be the one to break the silence when it happens. The ball is in his court for the moment.

“How do you—? I mean, do you—?” Chip finally says, and waves a hand between them, clearly struggling to find the words to express what he wants to say, but Jeff thinks he knows.

It is terrifying to think that after more than ten years of friendship, Jeff is about to reveal something that could destroy everything they have in a heartbeat, but it's either now or never, and never is simply not an option for him any longer. Even though Chip has already laid his own cards on the table, nothing will change without Jeff weighing in on the whole thing with similar sentiments. In a lot of ways, everything comes down to this, and how he chooses to answer the question.

There is danger in these words, in this whole conversation. It is one thing to wonder, to hope, to wish for something more, but entirely another to acknowledge what has hung unspoken between them for years. Or, at least from Jeff’s perspective. He couldn’t possibly claim to know how Chip’s felt about him up until this point. They are standing on the edge of an already thin line, emotions running high and senses muddled by the early effects of the alcohol in their system, but Jeff doesn't know if he could pull out now, even if he wanted to. No matter the result of this conversation, the one certainty Jeff now has is that it will be better than living the rest of his life haunted by the question, 'what if?' With a deep breath, Jeff resolves to take the plunge.

"Chip, I— Yes. For a long time," he says, meeting Chip's gaze head on. And in case there's any doubt as to the meaning of his words, Jeff captures Chip's hand, curling his fingers around his palm and squeezing briefly before letting go.

For a minute, Chip just stares at him, dumbfounded, before he finally seems to get his bearings. “Oh. Right. Okay, then. Good. That’s good. I think?”

An uncertain smile tugs at Jeff’s lips, and he shrugs casually. “Maybe? I’m not really sure, to be honest.”

Chip folds his hands around the glass and sighs a heavy, burdened sigh, like this is too much for him to be dealing with right now. Jeff can’t even begin to comprehend what must be going through Chip’s mind at this very moment, and his chest aches for every doubt, all the fear and regret, that he is most certainly struggling with.

“What can I do to help? What do you want from me?” Jeff asks, his voice soft and hesitant as fear, and possibly a measure of anticipation, unfurls in his stomach.

The response, when it comes, is barely more than a whisper. “I don't know.”

Jeff studies Chip with consideration before reaching a conclusion. “You must. Otherwise, why would you have even bothered to come talk to me at all?”

“I guess... I’ve been having these feelings that are so different and yet so familiar at the same time. But I don’t know if they’re real, or if they’re just—“ he waves his hands around again, “—dream inspired. Don’t have a fucking clue, to be honest, and it’s been killing me.”

“So you want me to help you figure it out?” Jeff raises a single brow curiously.

Chip glances over at him, thoughtfully, and shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know how you’d be able to.”

“I could kiss you,” Jeff suggests before he even has time to think about how good or bad of a decision this is, his voice even and calm despite the sudden, erratic pounding of his heart in his chest. “Maybe if you get it out of your system and see that kissing me isn’t all that goddamn exciting, you can move on.”

It isn’t a bad idea, in theory. Once Chip kisses him, he’ll probably come back to his senses, and they can carry on again as if nothing ever happened. Well, except for the fact that Jeff’s admitted to his own feelings for Chip. But he’ll learn to live with it. He’s done so for years. What’s a few more decades, really?

“Kiss you,” Chip repeats, and Jeff has to give him credit for not passing out.

“Yeah. Look, you say you’ve been having dreams and you don’t know if any of it is based in reality. So, in theory, if you kiss the real me and you feel nothing, than you can know it was just a figment of your dreams.” How he’s even able to still come up with logical, coherent thought is a mystery at this point, and yet, it’s somehow still happening.

Chip, of course, has to throw him for a loop, just when he thinks maybe he’s getting a handle on everything. “And, uh, what if my feelings remain the same?”

“Then I don’t know,” Jeff says, at length. He’s starting to feel almost light-headed with all this discussion of kissing and feelings and potential futures. Never in a million years did he ever imagine himself having a discussion like this with Chip. Not even once. But he forces himself to stop jumping the gun and get a grip on the here and now, which is truly the most he could hope for at any given moment. “We can deal with that later. Or not. Whatever makes sense.”

Chip nods, hands still clasped, looking for all intents and purposes like a deer caught in the headlights. A terrified deer, knowing full well he’s about to die but is entirely helpless to do anything about it.

“Look, we don’t have to do this,” Jeff says, and is careful to keep his expression neutral. “It was just a suggestion, but obviously it was a shitty one.” The last thing he would ever want to do is somehow pressure Chip into doing something he’d later come to regret, no matter how much Jeff may want this. And he does. So fucking much. But what he wants more is for Chip to be happy again, and that will always come first.

But Chip is shaking his head, one hand suddenly gripping Jeff’s wrist like a vise. “No. No, I want to. I need to know.”

Jeff feels his breath catch in his throat, unable to tear his eyes away from Chip. He looks broken, shoulders sagging, eyes tired and weary, a smattering of stubble across his typically clean-shaven face. He shouldn’t look this damn gorgeous, but the open vulnerability painted across his features causes Jeff’s stomach to twist with desire. He shoves the feelings aside.

“Unless... I mean, I suppose this must be incredibly awkward for you too,” Chip carries on, apparently taking Jeff’s silence to mean he’s having regrets, which couldn’t be further from the truth. “You’ve just admitted to having feelings for me, and here I am, asking to kiss you so I can sort out what my own feelings are. If that isn’t the most disgustingly selfish thing I’ve ever heard, I don’t know what is. I’m sorry, man, I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me.”

“Chip, it’s fine. Honestly.” It’s not. Not exactly, anyway. Because Jeff knows that the moment he kisses Chip just once, he’s going to want to continue doing so for the rest of his life, and it’s going to be a fucking nightmare to try and get over him once the realization hits that this isn’t actually what Chip wants. But it doesn’t really matter, in the end, because right now Jeff is just desperate enough to accept anything Chip has to offer. One kiss might turn him into a complete fucking wreck, but at least he’ll still have that memory, which is more than he started with.

Chip turns his face away from Jeff, the deep stain of his blush visible even under the dim bar lights. Jeff shuffles around the back of the booth until he’s sitting almost beside Chip now. He hesitates for just a second before he reaches out and palms the back of Chip’s neck, thumb brushing gently against the firm line of his jaw. With a start, Chip turns back to meet Jeff’s gaze, eyes wide and breath coming out in shallow pants. But he doesn’t pull away from the touch, leans into it instead, and Jeff continues to stroke his face soothingly, feeling encouraged. Over the years, they’ve physically invaded each other’s spaces in the most inappropriate of manners more times than he can count, been far closer than they are now, but in spite of everything they’ve been through, this is by far the most intimate touch they’ve ever shared. It’s enough to make Jeff’s stomach drop, though not unpleasantly.

Leaning forward, Jeff presses his forehead to Chip’s, and concentrates on simply breathing, in and out, steady, calm, as if he’s not about to kiss one of his best friends, who also happens to be a long-time repressed love.

“However you want this to go is entirely up to you. There’s no pressure and I expect nothing out of this. Whatever you need, I’m here for you. But if you don’t want to go through with it, all you need to say is no and we can pretend like this none of this ever happened,” Jeff says, and reaches up to press his left palm to the center of Chip’s chest. Even through his dress shirt, the rapid thrum of his heartbeat pulses against Jeff’s hand, and a jolt of heat shoots straight down to Jeff’s groin.

A moment passes in silence, then another, and Jeff tries to keep breathing steadily through the sudden fear that it’s possible Chip really will change his mind, when he feels the gentle press of Chip’s hand against his hip. It is enough to urge Jeff into action, and he finally closes the gap between them.

Jeff is gentle and careful, the kiss little more than the soft press of lips at first, because he doesn’t want to scare Chip away. For his part, Chip remains almost motionless, not pushing him away but not responding either, and Jeff starts to think that maybe this was a terrible idea after all. Something hot and painful burns in his chest at the thought that this is it, this is all he will ever get, but he won’t force anything on Chip, would never dream of it. He decides to cut his losses, and pulls back with every intention of laughing the whole thing off as a failed experiment, when suddenly Chip’s hand finds its way to the back of Jeff’s neck, pulling him back in.

This time when their lips meet, something changes. The hesitancy from before is replaced by clear intent as Chip responds with enthusiasm to the movement of Jeff’s mouth against his own. There is no way of knowing what changed for him over the course of those two seconds, but Jeff isn’t about to complain. Chip twists in his seat until they’re facing each other more directly, and he pulls away just long enough to adjust the angle of their kiss. When Chip’s lips part a moment later, and his tongue flicks out to run across Jeff’s bottom lip, Jeff takes it for the invitation that it is, and opens his mouth.

A low moan escapes unbidden from Jeff’s throat as Chip’s tongue slips into his mouth, tentative but curious at the same time. Jeff welcomes the intrusion, tongue sweeping across Chip’s, and allows him to explore, all the while attempting to tug Chip impossibly closer. Jeff moves the hand still pressed to Chip’s chest up to his shoulder, and then slides his finger up Chip’s neck. He traces circles with his thumb into the skin just below the collar of Chip’s dress shirt, and he can’t help but imagine what it would feel like to trail kisses down the hard line of Chip’s jaw, to taste the salty skin at his neck, to tease his nipple with his tongue. He would do anything to have Chip like that, soft, pliant and responsive to his touch, but that’s not what this is about, and he wants to store everything about this moment in his memory, in case it’s the only one he ever gets.

Kissing Chip isn’t like anything he expected. All these years of imagining and dreaming about it could never have done this moment justice. Chip is so passionate, yet exceedingly tender. Even though this kiss is more about him than about Jeff, Chip seems intent on coaxing as much pleasure out of him as he can, taking his time as though there’s no reason to rush, no hurry to finish. Lips move, tongues taste, hands explore, and Jeff feels like he’s possibly died and gone to heaven (if there is such a place). Jeff pours everything he has into this, because if this is it, then he wants to ensure that he’s shown Chip all that he has to offer, and all that he means to Jeff.

Eventually, after what feels like far too little time, Jeff forces himself to pull away from Chip, before he loses what’s left of his ability to think rationally. He’s already teetering on the edge, lips searing, brain muddled and body responding quite distinctively to the kiss they’ve just shared. But instead of backing away quickly, like he knows he should, he rests his forehead against Chip’s again, allowing them a little extra intimacy while they catch their breath.

Jeff drops one hand, but keeps the other at the nape of Chip’s neck, fingers threading through the hair that he finds there. He knows this touch is bordering on being highly inappropriate, now that the kiss is over, but he can’t help but indulge himself for a few extra seconds before everything has to come to an end. It is further encouraged by the fact that Chip doesn’t do anything to stop him, his own hand resting just above Jeff’s left knee, fingers pressing loosely into his flesh.

Finally Jeff pulls back properly to survey Chip. He looks... well, he looks positively ravished, with swollen lips, tousled hair, and dark, lust-blown eyes. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to determine that Chip was as affected by the kiss as Jeff, but he knows that Chip will need time to process and sort through all of this. Hell, he needs time to make sense of this whole fucking thing, a fantasy that actually turned into a reality.

Chip blinks at Jeff, twice, then turns back towards the table and buries his face in his hands. It’s a less than encouraging sign, but then Jeff can’t even begin to imagine what must be running through Chip’s mind. Jeff has the clear advantage here in that he’s had a great deal of time to determine exactly how he feels about Chip and what he might want from him. Chip is coming off a twenty year marriage, and the first person he’s kissed is his male best friend after having erotic dreams about the two of them for a couple of months. Naturally, it’s not exactly something that can be easily sorted through. So Jeff gives him space, folding his arms loosely across his chest and merely waits.

Several minutes pass in virtual silence, and Jeff starts to wonder if Chip’s actually all right after all.

"Hey, are you okay?" Jeff finally permits himself to ask. His hand hovers over Chip's shoulder for a few seconds before he makes the decision to complete the action, and he chooses to take it as a promising sign when Chip doesn't flinch away from his touch.

A moment later, Chip’s hands fall from his face and he turns to eye Jeff, a tight smile on his lips. “Yeah. I just... this is a lot for me to deal with right now, you know?”

Jeff nods solemnly. “Of course. We can just pretend that this never happened, if that would help?”

A lengthy silence penetrates the space between them. “I don’t think I can,” Chip finally admits, ducking his head. “But maybe... maybe that would be preferable.”

Jeff feels his heart sink to his feet, even as he scolds himself for ever getting his hopes up about any of this. Of course Chip wouldn’t kiss Jeff and then magically decide he wanted to spend the rest of his life having hot, passionate sex with him. What the fuck is wrong with him, anyway?

“Yeah, okay. Of course,” Jeff says, glancing down at his hands. This isn’t about him, and never was. “Anything you need me to do for you, I will. I promise.” He tosses Chip a watery smile that he hopes comes across as more genuine than he feels, before returning his attention back to his hands. Hands bound to be his only companion for a long time to come, it would seem.

But before he even has time to contemplate how to make a hasty, yet subtle retreat, Chip’s fingers curl around his arm, tugging gently until he meets Chip’s gaze. “Jeff, don’t misunderstand me. I’m not saying I want to forget this ever happened, because I honestly don’t see how the hell I could.”

Jeff feels a modicum of hope return, but he squashes it before he can get too carried away again. “All right,” he says, and nods, uncertain.

“What we just shared definitely confirms what I already suspected...” he trails off, a soft and mildly sheepish smile tugging at his lips momentarily before it’s replaced with a serious expression once more. “But this is a huge deal for me right now. I haven’t even been separated from my wife for a year and we’re nowhere close to being divorced. I just kissed one of my very male best friends for the first time in my life, and I liked it. A lot.”

“That sounds like it’d make a great song,” Jeff interjects jokingly, and is rewarded with a smirk from Chip in return.

“I don’t want to promise you anything I don’t know I can give, Jeff,” Chip carries on, in that typically fucking noble manner that Jeff both loves and loathes in equal measure.

“You don’t have to promise me anything.”

“And I don’t want you to have to wait around while I sort out all of my damn baggage.”

“You’re worth waiting for,” Jeff says, then nearly groans when he realizes what he’s just said. He shakes his head, feeling particularly ridiculous and tries not to blush. But since he’s already started down this path, he figures there’s no point in holding back now. “Look, there’s no pressure here from me. You take all the time you need to sort through everything. If you decide that you want to pursue something with me, then just know that I’m here and willing. But if not, that’s fine too. There’s nothing for you to be concerned about. Or, if you’re not sure and just want to experiment with a fine male specimen such as myself, I won’t be opposed to that either,” Jeff says with a smirk, his voice holding an element of confidence that belies the insecurity he actually feels.

A low, rumbling chuckle radiates from Chip, and suddenly, rather unexpectedly, Jeff finds himself being kissed again. It is short, but sweet; tender, yet filled with affection and assurance.

“What was that for?” Jeff asks, when they part. “Not that I minded, but I thought you just said—“

Chip nods. “I did. And I meant it. I don’t know what to expect or even to hope for in the future. Or how far away that future might be. But I think that if I was to start over with someone new... I think, maybe – and keep in mind that this is still a big maybe – but I think it’s possible that I could see it being with you. I need time, though, and I won’t expect you to sit around and wait for me. If you ever found someone else, I’d never hold that against you. I just need you to know.”

“You wouldn’t be you, if you didn’t.” Jeff is pretty sure his grin is so bright that it might be blinding the other patrons in the casino. “Whatever you decide, I can accept, as long as you can handle being around me, knowing how I feel about you.”

“Of course,” Chip says, honest and sincere. “You’re still my best friend, no matter what.”

“Good. I’m glad.” Jeff smiles, and then, because he doesn’t feel quite so ill any longer, finally finishes off the last of his beer. Chip joins him, and they quickly settle into a comfortable silence.

“Should we get a couple more drinks?” Chip suggests eventually, and Jeff nods, gesturing for a waitress.

Nothing is guaranteed, of course, nor has anything really been clarified. But Jeff has one of his best friends back, and just enough hope for a future with him – one he never imagined would ever happen, even in his wildest dreams – no matter how miniscule the odds. So even if nothing happens in the end, he knows that at least he’ll always have these memories. And Jeff is willing to wait, no matter the outcome, because Chip is worth it.

The End

Improv-a-Ganza POST OF EPICNESS!

2011-06-10T01:59:58Z

Listen up, everyone!

So, as it turns out, I haven't actually posted anything in close to a month, which is insanity for me. But there is a good reason for that. I have developed a new obsession! (I know, everyone is shocked by this super sudden and completely surprising revelation!) For those of you who aren't following me on twitter or tumblr (or who are pointedly ignoring me, which I don't blame you for, BTW), you may have noticed I've sort of been obsessing over something new. Today, I am here to present this new obsession to you, and highlight why this show is SO DAMN AMAZING and why EVERYONE SHOULD BE WATCHING IT!

What show is this, might you be asking? I will tell you:

DREW CAREY’S IMPROV-A-GANZA is a lively, unpredictable and hilarious half-hour of improvised sketch comedy, complete with audience participation. The show is based on a series of live improv performances and are taped live in front of audiences at the MGM Grand Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas.
Official description from GSN.com

But basically, it's SO MUCH MORE THAN THAT! It's brilliant and ridiculously hilarious and lovely and just one of the most enjoyable shows I've ever watched! Plus, you'll never get pissed off with poorly written storylines, character inconsistencies, and continuity errors, because it's all live, and all made up on the spot by real live genuises! Seriously! ♥

Improv-a-Ganza Stars...

You may know many of these fine gentlemen from a little show called Whose Line is it Anyway? It was an improv show that ran for close to two decades between the UK and the US. It also happened to be one of my very first fandoms, about 12 years ago, so these guys hold a special place in my heart ♥

Jeff is brilliant, hilarious, gorgeous and is possibly the most adorable person on this show. He has absolutely NO sense of personal space whatsoever, loves to lie down on the ground, and spends half the time doubled over in laughter at his colleagues/friends. He has an amazing voice, makes the best faces, and is just so damn hilarious I can't even stand it. Without a doubt, one of the strongest, if not THE strongest all-around performers on this show!

Chip, in my humble opinion, has the BEST voice out of everyone. He is so funny and sweet and I just grin from ear to ear every time he's on my screen. Chip is so fantastic, and he makes the most incredible duo with Jeff, when they're singing or in a scene together. Plus, he's also sexy as hell and an amazing performer!

Anyone who's ever seen Ryan in action before will know that he's basically the King of Improv. There is absolutely nothing this man cannot do, and brilliantly too, I might add. You can basically be guaranteed that any scene he's in will have you crying with laughter, because he's just that good.

Colin is possibly the most ridiculous performer I have EVER seen. There are no limits, no bounds to what Colin will do for a laugh. He can't sing worth his life, but the lengths he will go to in order to avoid singing is hilarious enough to make your stomach hurt from laughing so hard. He's a complete ham in the best kind of way, and just one of the funniest guys on the entire show!

I've had the pleasure of interacting with Brad in the past through e-mail and online chats, and I am happy to report that he is just such an awesome and genuine person. Not only that, but he's just so funny and has such a sharp wit. He's always willing to do whatever he has to to ensure the success of a scene. Plus, he's completely adorable in everything he does.

Greg is such a hilarious comic, and his improv is nothing less than awesome! He can take whatever someone throws at him and just work with it. I've also had the pleasure of meeting Greg in person before, and he was just the most lovely, wonderful person ever. I have nothing but respect and admiration for his kindness and his talent!

Heather wasn't in very much of this season, and I don't know much about her improv background, but she sure holds her own. She's such a clever and hilarious woman, who also happens to write for SNL. Her perkiness is adorable, and she always adds so much to whatever scene she's in. I've enjoyed getting to know and watch her!

Jonathan is adorable, lovely and just so full of ridiculousness that you can't help but love him. He does the craziest things in his scenes and his joy in performing is obvious whenever he's up on stage. I believe he's newer to the improv game as well, but you can't really tell with this funny man! He also makes the best faces!

While Drew lacks the experience and some of the talent of the other long-time performers, he actually makes up for it in heart and enthusiasm. At times he's really impressed me, both with his comedy as well as his singing voice. You can tell that even though it doesn't come as easily for Drew, he still loves improv, and I enjoy watching him do it!

Wayne has a beautiful voice and is just an all around beautiful person. He's so funny and quick and has such a great connection with all of his former Whose Line co-stars. Wayne wasn't around that much this season, but he definitely contributed a great deal when he WAS there.

Kathy isn't as experienced as the others in her improv, and while she's not my favourite performer of the bunch, she definitely puts her all into the scenes that she's doing, and isn't afraid to take risks and/or embarrass herself for the sake of a good laugh.

Be Prepared to Laugh Until you Pee...

Would you like to know what this show has to offer? Well, I shall tell you! In addition to being utterly hilarious, it also includes, but is not limited to the following:

1. Romance

2. More Romance

3. Utter Ridiculousness

4. Intrigue

5. Amazing Songs

Need more proof of how amazing this show is? Why don't you DOWNLOAD the episodes >>HERE<< OR >>HERE<<

Now that you have the basics, here are some answers to questions you may be having:

FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS

1. Where can I download this show?
A: You can do so HERE OR HERE!

2. Is there going to be a 2nd season?
A: That depends. Ratings haven't been as high as GSN would like, apparently. But you can help by: a) Sending feedback to GSN, telling them how much you love the show!; b) Sign this petition, asking for a 2nd season of IAG

3. Is it REALLY that funny of a show?
A: In case you didn't click above: Fuck yes, it sure as hell is stinkin' hilarious!

4. Are there any good ships?
A: Depends on what tickles your fancy. Most of them are married, but this really is the gayest show I've possibly ever seen in my life, so.....;) (~~Also, I accidentally developed a ship that's close to my heart, but don't want to bias anyone with my vast inappropriateness!~~) IT IS WORTH WATCHING, EVEN WITHOUT SHIPPING ANYONE, BECAUSE THEY ARE THAT FUNNY AND AMAZING AND BRILLIANT! Trust me :D

And, I think that's all you need to know!

Now GO! Run! WATCH THIS BRILLIANT SHOW and be as happy as Chip & Jeff are! ♥

Also, all screencaps here were made for me by the wonderful adelagia, who is without a doubt my biggest enabler! Thanks for the help, BB! ♥

Fanfic - And we Are But Shadows

2011-04-23T18:25:04Z

Title: And we Are But Shadows
Author: Mel (accordingtomel)
Summary: After Merlin is rescued from captivity, he struggles to figure out Arthur’s strange behaviour, while Arthur has a difficult time coming to terms with what he almost lost.
Pairings: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers/Warnings: Vaguely takes place 6 months to a year after series 3, but the only real spoilers are for S3 characters.
Word Count: 5,528
Disclaimer: I only wish I owned them. Alas, I do not.
Author's Note: This is my birthday present (slightly belated) to one of my dearest friends in the world, awakencordy! A VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, MY FRIEND! Two years ago I wrote you pre-slash, last year I wrote you actual slash, and this year you get porn! This was my horribly failed attempt at writing a PWP, LOL! Anyway, I hope you enjoy! I need to say the hugest thanks in the world to prplhez8 for being my emergency beta! Your feedback was incredibly helpful and I can’t thank you enough for doing this for me! As always, concrit is welcome. I hope you enjoy, my friend ♥

And we Are But Shadows

In retrospect, it probably hadn’t been the wisest decision he’d ever made.

It wasn’t that Merlin wanted to be captured by a group of barbarians, merely that he’d seen no other feasible option presented at the time. It was either he offer himself up, pretending to be the prince of Camelot, or… Well, he hadn’t thought too long about the other options. All he knew was that he hadn’t had a choice.

Really, the whole plan had been reasonable enough. He would allow himself to be kidnapped, and then use magic to kill his captors when they were far enough away from Arthur and Camelot. In theory, it was perfect. Except for the part where they’d drugged and chained him. Which was less than optimal but still doable, were it not for the nausea and sheer exhaustion that overwhelmed him as a result. It took a day or two before the realisation sunk in that they were aware of his magic, and all of this was the direct result of active suppression of his abilities. It was the first time he’d felt a real sense of fear that he might not actually make it out alive.

Minutes bled into hours, which bled into days, and it was only a matter of time before he lost all sense of time completely. He continued to look for any opportunity to try and fight off his captors, but none arose. They gave him water and kept him fed, but he was shackled to the ground in what seemed like a cave, with only the cold stone floor as a bed. He was cold and sore, the sickness clouding his mind, but otherwise he was fine, all things considered. There had to be a reason why they hadn’t killed him yet, and Merlin clung to this vague thought like a drowning man. It was all he had left.

At some point, the fogginess lifted, and Merlin felt a modicum of hope return. If he could just think straight for a few minutes, surely he could figure out a way to get himself out of this mess. That hope was quickly dashed, however, when two of the bandits advanced on him, forcing a vile liquid down his throat, effects hitting him almost immediately. This wasn’t how things were supposed to end, he thought bitterly before his world faded to black.

~*~

When Merlin came to, several hours later, it was to the sound of swords clanging and men screaming. Something was happening, someone was here. Merlin’s heart leapt in his chest, hope steadily rising this time at the idea that he was being rescued; that he and Arthur still had time to fulfill their destiny.

A familiar voice drifted in his direction. “Merlin? Don’t worry, we’re here. Arthur’s here. I’ll get you out of these.”

Merlin twisted his neck around as far as he could, just barely catching a glimpse of Gwaine’s smiling face as he fumbled around with the shackles at Merlin’s ankles. With a sigh, he lay his head back down on the cold stone floor, relief pooling in his stomach, working hard to ignore the shooting pain radiating from one of his legs. All that mattered at this point was that they were here. More importantly, Arthur was here. He hadn’t left Merlin to die.

Gwaine worked quickly to unlock the shackles that held Merlin in place. From where he’d retrieved the keys was a mystery, but the feeling of freedom won over his desire to know.

“Merlin, I’m so glad to see you,” Gwaine said, practically beaming, despite the fact that there was still a battle raging in the background. “Do you think you can sit up?”

Merlin considered the question thoughtfully, unsure, so he shrugged. There were no reasons he could think of as to why he shouldn’t be able to do so. “Why not?”

The next few minutes were mostly a blur, with Gwaine helping Merlin sit up, and the other knights taking care of the rest of his captors. From his limited vantage point, Merlin thought he could make out Lancelot and Percival fighting alongside Arthur.

“Where is he?” Arthur asked, once the sounds of battle had finally ended.

“We’re over here,” Gwaine called out, waving a hand in the air to get his attention.

In seconds, Arthur was at Merlin’s side. Gwaine squeezed his shoulder before backing away and relinquishing his care to Arthur. With a heaving chest, sweat beading on his forehead, he knelt down on the ground in front of Merlin. His eyes were wide, a little stunned, but unmistakably filled with relief.

“Are you all right?” He placed his sword on the ground, hands reaching out to touch Merlin, running fingers through his hair, across his shoulders, down his chest. The touch was gentle and assessing, deliberate in the care that was being used. Merlin was quite certain this was the most physical contact they’d ever had. Or, at least, the most Arthur had ever touched him before. Merlin found he quite enjoyed the feeling of Arthur’s hands roaming his body, and he swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable.

“I’m fine, Arthur,” Merlin said, batting feebly at his hands.

But Arthur was stronger, more insistent, and far too determined to be swayed in his mission.

“Stop complaining. I need to make sure you don’t have any serious injuries.”

“Arthur, I told you—“

The glare he received was enough of a warning to keep silent as Arthur continued his assessment. Merlin closed his eyes, allowing his head to fall back against the wall at his back.

“Ouch!” Merlin cried, when Arthur’s hands suddenly closed around his left ankle, thumbs pressing into the bony prominences. He bolted upright, eyes flying open as his hands scrambled to latch onto Arthur’s to pull them away from the area.

“Don’t! That hurts.” His fingers closed around Arthur’s wrists.

Arthur ignored him, but reduced the pressure of his thumbs significantly. It still wasn’t enough. “I’m sorry, Merlin, but I need to look at it.”

“Then look. How is touching looking?”

The prodding continued for another minute, which was a minute too long for Merlin’s liking. When Arthur finally seemed to decide that the torture session was over, he turned to bark an order at one of the knights still watching the unfolding scene, before announcing his diagnosis. “I think it’s sprained, but it doesn’t seem to be broken. It’ll hurt like hell for a few days, though.”

“Great.” Merlin sighed.

This wasn’t exactly the reunion with Arthur he’d imagined over the past several days. Arthur was supposed to swoop in and single-handedly obliterate all of the men holding him captive, then whisk Merlin into his arms and—

“Merlin?”

He blinked, only to discover that Arthur’s hands had moved back to his face, one thumb brushing against his cheekbone in a wildly intimate manner, especially given their audience. But Arthur didn’t seem particularly fussed by it.

“What?”

“You look distressed. Are you sure you’re fine? They didn’t hurt you? They didn’t… didn’t try and do anything to you, did they? Against your will?”

God, Arthur’s touch felt good, his hand, warm and gentle against Merlin’s skin. So good, in fact, that he couldn’t help but lean into it, pressing his cheek into the palm of Arthur’s hand. And then, suddenly, Arthur’s words penetrated the fog that was still drifting through his mind. Oh.

“Do anything? Oh. Oh, no, Arthur. No. Don’t worry. I— they. No. I’m fine.”

Arthur seemed to physically relax at the words, hands falling away from Merlin’s face. And then, as though a candle had been lit, his demeanour shifted drastically.

“Merlin, you complete and utter buffoon. What in the name of all that is holy is wrong with you?” He poked Merlin lightly in the chest, eyes blazing. “How could you have allowed yourself to get kidnapped like that?”

“Arthur, I’m sorry. I—“

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Around them, the rest of the knights were slowly backing away, casting knowing glances at one another.

“Do you have any idea what I’ve been through in the past week?” he carried on.

Merlin wasn’t exactly sure if Arthur wanted him to speak or not, so he shook his head instead, ignoring the pounding at the back of his skull.

“You are, without a doubt, the most moronic person I have ever met in my entire life, and I’m stunned that you managed to survive this long, when you clearly lack all manner of self-preservation.”

His finger was hovering around Merlin’s chest again without actually touching him, chest heaving and eyes wild. His other hand was clenched in a tight ball, pressed against his thigh as though he wanted to punch someone. Merlin hoped that someone wasn’t him, and instinctively tried to squirm away, but his back was pressed up against the cave wall. He was trapped, as it were. But then again, he didn’t really believe that Arthur would hit him. Surely not after everything he’d just been through.

“I’ve spent the past week looking for you, you idiot. Against my father’s wishes, too, I might add. I had no idea if you were even alive, but I followed the trail anyway, because foolish as your actions were, they’re still deserving of commendation.” Arthur paused and looked at his surroundings, swallowing heavily before he turned his eyes back to Merlin. “You need to stop doing this. I can’t keep chasing after your sorry arse every time you decide on a whim to be the hero. It doesn’t suit you, Merlin.”

“What was I supposed to do? Just stand by and watch you get taken instead?”

“Yes,” Arthur declared dramatically. “Because I could have defended myself against them in a way you can’t. You need to stop throwing yourself in harm’s way for me all the time.”

“Isn’t that what your people are supposed to do? Be willing to die for their future king?” Merlin shot back. His head was still pounding, foot still throbbing, but he was never too incapacitated to argue with Arthur.

“You’re more important,” Arthur said quietly. A look of panic fell over his face the instant the words left his mouth.

Merlin blinked, in shock himself. Wait, what?

“Arthur, did you just—“ Merlin started, but was abruptly cut off when fingers closed around the fabric of his tunic, pulling him forward.

“Merlin,” he said, voice low and husky, “you’re more important.” And suddenly, Arthur was kissing him.

For a moment, Merlin thought he must have passed out again, drifting off into some sort of lovely dream, because surely there was no way this could truly be happening. But when Arthur’s fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck, lips soft and urgent against his own, Merlin snapped out of his haze, leaning into the kiss. Heat billowed in his stomach, radiating through his entire body, and in spite of everything he’d been through, the feeling of Arthur’s mouth on his was the only sensation he registered.

One of Merlin’s hands reached up to palm Arthur’s cheek, thumb rubbing across the length of his jaw, the other carding through his thick blond hair. Arthur nipped lightly at Merlin’s lower lip, and he instinctively parted his lips, allowing Arthur’s tongue to slip inside his mouth. Every inch of Merlin craved Arthur as he tried to pull him impossibly closer, but he couldn’t prevent the soft moan that slipped past his lips when their tongues slid together for the first time.

In the background, Merlin vaguely heard the sound of shuffling and a couple of awkward coughs, and it was at precisely that moment that he remembered they weren’t alone. Arthur, having seemingly reached the same conclusion, pulled back from Merlin with ferocity, eyes wide as he stared openly at him. Allowing his hand to drop from the back of Merlin’s head, fingers ghosting across the side of his neck as he did, Arthur stood and turned around.

“Help him up,” he ordered to no one in particular, and walked purposefully out of the cave.

~*~

Merlin was getting mixed signals from Arthur.

It had been three days now in which they'd been travelling back to Camelot, pace deliberately slowed to accommodate Merlin's injuries, and he could make neither heads nor tails of Arthur's strange behaviour. He'd spent most of the time either avoiding Merlin entirely, or ignoring the vast majority of what he said, speaking only when absolutely necessary. But every once in a while, especially in the evening once they'd set up camp for the night, Merlin would catch Arthur staring at him from across the fire, gaze so intense that it gave Merlin chills, looking for the world like he wanted to— well, Merlin wasn't entirely sure what he wanted to do, but it stirred something hot and low in his nether regions all the same. It was a mystery, what was going on behind those deep blue eyes, but Merlin knew something was brewing there, lying dormant just below the surface. The difficult part was figuring out when he would finally erupt, because there was no doubt that it was an inevitable outcome.

Earlier that evening, Arthur had sat down next to Merlin, pressed close to his side, and asked how his ankle felt, voice a low hum against Merlin’s ear. The silence that surrounded them through the rest of dinner was companionable this time, and Merlin even caught a glimpse of a smile from Arthur. So, naturally, he assumed that things might finally be improving between them (though he dared not even hope Arthur would be up for discussing The Kiss just yet).

The problem was that Arthur had disappeared immediately after dinner, and Merlin got the distinct impression that Arthur was avoiding him. Again. Night was beginning to fall, and knowing Arthur, he had likely forgotten to take a cloak with him. The last thing anyone needed was for Arthur to catch a draft, fall ill, and die on them (unlikely a scenario as that might be).

Hobbling out of the tent, Merlin scanned the camp for any sign of Arthur. There was none.

“You sure you should be walking on that leg there?” Gwaine asked, smirking over at Merlin from his spot on a nearby log. Off in the distance, Merlin could see that Lancelot and Percival were sparring with one another. Merlin wondered why Gwaine was still here and not with them, but then he suspected he already knew the answer. Clearing his throat, Merlin took a few tentative steps forward.

“Don't start with me too, Gwaine. You sound like Arthur, you know,” he said, ignoring the pain that momentarily shot through his left foot as he put pressure on it for a moment too long.

“Yes, well, perhaps, just this once, he has a point. You're not supposed to put any weight on it at all, are you?”

“I can put some weight on it. Just not all of my weight,” Merlin lied. For a moment he considered abandoning the idea of searching for Arthur all together, in favour of sprawling on the log beside his friend. But then he knew that if he sat down, the likelihood of standing again any time in the near future was slim to none.

“Right. Of course.” Gwaine smiled, indulgent.

“Do you know where Arthur is?”

“Last I saw, he’d gone off in that direction,” Gwaine said, pointing to a spot behind Merlin’s head. “But I don’t know that you should be running around after him.”

“Thanks, Gwaine,” said Merlin with a grateful smile, turning and limping away before reason or good sense could catch up with him.

He found Arthur several hundred yards away, which was a relief, since he was quite certain he couldn’t walk much further than he already had. Arthur was leaning back against a tree, arms folded loosely across his chest, eyes distant and face sombre. The pale light of early evening cast a deep shadow over his features, giving him an almost quixotic appearance.

Merlin swallowed, shoving aside the sudden overwhelming desire to smooth out the hard lines of Arthur’s face and coax a smile from those lips instead. This withdrawn, reflective Arthur was starting to worry Merlin. Thankfully, he didn’t have to deal with the potential ramifications of such desires, as Arthur’s head whipped to the side at the first sounds of his approach. Even in the best of times, the art of silence eluded Merlin entirely. Adding an injury to the mix was only bound to make the situation worse.

Unsurprisingly, Arthur did not look impressed. “Merlin, what the hell are you doing walking around? You’re going to turn that sprain into a broken ankle.”

Merlin waved a hand at Arthur, forcing a smile. “I’m fine. Stop over-exaggerating.” He hoped the fact that he was leaning against a tree with his left foot nearly off the ground would escape Arthur’s notice. Unfortunately, it didn’t.

“That’s why you can’t even stand on it then?”

“Of course I can stand on it,” Merlin declared. And then, just to prove his point, he let go of the tree trunk and righted himself, putting weight on said foot.

As it turned out, this was not the wisest decision that had ever been made. A sharp pang shot up Merlin’s leg and moved through his spine, causing him to cry out in pain, before nearly falling into the tree next to him. In an instant, Arthur was at his side, a frown pulling at his lips. Even in the dim light from the setting sun, Merlin could see the worry and agitation on his face.

“Honestly, Merlin, how much of a buffoon can you be?”

Merlin didn’t think it wise to respond.

“Idiot,” Arthur said, crowding into Merlin’s space and wrapping an arm around his waist, willingly bearing the brunt of his weight now. “We’re going back to camp.”

The warmth of Arthur pressed flush against his side and the smell of his musky scent made Merlin feel a little light-headed with want, but he forced himself to focus on the pain instead. The last thing he needed right now was to have Arthur discover his attraction to him. Especially when he was barely even acknowledging Merlin right now.

~*~

“Sit down,” Arthur ordered, when they returned to camp and were safely within the confines of their tent. Merlin obeyed, with no small amount of effort.

“Arthur, I—“

“Stop talking. And for that matter, why don’t you stop doing any number of the incredibly idiotic things you seem to be so fond of doing on a regular basis.” Arthur was fishing around through a few bags at the side of the tent, back turned to Merlin.

“I don’t think that’s fair, Arthur.”

“And I don’t think you understand what ‘stop talking’ means. Clearly I’ve failed in teaching you these basic skills.” Arthur turned to face him. “Roll up your trouser leg.”

“Excuse me?”

Arthur heaved a long-suffering sigh, as though he was truly amazed at Merlin’s mental capacity, or lack thereof. “I need to check on your foot, since you seem determined to inflict permanent damage on yourself.”

“I was just looking for you,” Merlin protested.

Taking a seat at the end of Merlin’s bed roll, he waited until Merlin was finished adjusting his trouser leg. “I wasn’t far from camp. You should have stayed put, like I asked you to.”

“And do what, exactly?” Merlin grumbled. “Stare at the tent walls? It’s not as if there’s anything to do in here by myself. And you were off roaming the forest, so what was I supposed to do?”

“You’re not a child, Merlin, last I checked. I’m sure you’re more than capable of entertaining yourself. Though you sure behave like a child sometimes.”

Despite the harsh tone of voice, Arthur’s hands were surprisingly gentle as he examined Merlin’s injured foot.

With a slight frown, Merlin said, “Then maybe you should stop treating me like one.”

Arthur chose to ignore the comment. “Can you move your foot for me?”

Merlin did so, doing his best to keep his face neutral. There was no reason to hide his pain from Arthur, but at the same time, he didn’t want to give Arthur the satisfaction of being right, even though he was. Silence stretched between them as Arthur finished checking Merlin’s ankle.

There were so many things that Merlin wanted to say, so many questions he had for Arthur. Eventually he settled on the one thing that he wanted to know most. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

It was subtle, but there was no mistaking the twitch of muscle in Arthur’s jaw at the accusation. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

“Yes, you have. And when you’re not avoiding me, you’re refusing to talk. Look, I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused you, but if you’re that furious at me—“

“Is that what you think?” Arthur interrupted, hands stilling.

“You can barely stand to be around me,” Merlin pointed out. “Maybe I haven’t told you how grateful I am that you came for me, but I am, and I’m sorry if I never said so earlier.”

“Merlin.” Arthur’s eyes slipped shut as he ducked his head, one hand sliding up to rest on Merlin’s knee. “I’m not angry with you. You have no idea what’s been going through my head.”

For the first time since being rescued, Merlin took a moment to actually look at Arthur, to see behind the masquerade that he so often put on, especially in public. Arthur had never been one for acknowledging anything he felt, let alone speaking of it. But there was none of that now – no mask hiding the emotions he worked so hard to keep from the rest of the world. His expression was open, revealing to Merlin exactly what he was feeling, and there wasn’t a hint of anger anywhere behind his warm eyes. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Merlin blinked, and then realisation hit him. Oh. Oh.

“Arthur…”

He was suddenly very aware of how close Arthur was to him, the heat of the hand on Merlin’s knee bleeding through the thin layer of fabric, and Merlin swallowed. The fact that Arthur’s gaze dropped to his lips did not circumvent Merlin’s notice, nor did Arthur’s continued physical contact escape him. The air in the small tent felt stifling all of a sudden, thick with the sort of tension that made Merlin’s heart race and heat pool in his groin. He wanted to pull away before his brain decided to do something stupid, but he couldn’t bring himself to blink, let alone move away.

But when Arthur leaned in, fingers digging into his knee, it was all the encouragement Merlin needed. Surging forward, he pressed his lips to Arthur’s, hands reaching out to tug Arthur closer. Arthur shifted, mindful of his foot, until he was lying across Merlin’s chest, wrapped in each other’s arms. Arthur kissed the way Merlin always imagined he would – confident, passionate, and with an element of possession. Running his tongue along Merlin’s bottom lip, Arthur coaxed his way inside Merlin’s mouth, moaning as access was granted. As their tongues moved together, Merlin’s hands threaded through Arthur’s hair, tugging at his head until the angle was just perfect.

The kiss was slow and sweet, filled with such deep longing that Merlin didn’t think he’d ever be able to be satiated. He poured everything of himself into this kiss with Arthur, all the pent-up desires and wild fantasies that had kept him going on those lonely nights. He’d fallen in love with Arthur so many years ago, but never once had he dared to hope that Arthur might feel the same. Now, with Arthur lying in his arms, cock hard and pressed firmly against his thigh, Merlin’s doubt was finally melting away.

Without much thought, Merlin began to rock his hips upwards, seeking contact with Arthur. He was already so hard he was aching with want, desperate to feel Arthur on him, in him. They both moaned loudly when Arthur thrust back, their cocks rubbing together through the layers of clothing still separating them.

“Oh god, Arthur,” Merlin groaned when they broke for air, and that seemed to be enough for Arthur to move forward.

Arthur drew back long enough to pull Merlin’s tunic over his head, and remove his trousers and breeches, taking care to mind Merlin’s foot. Merlin’s cock stood erect against his stomach, hard and swollen and already leaking pre-come. He might have been embarrassed at how naked and exposed he felt, but when Arthur shed the last of his clothing, it was clear that he was as aroused as Merlin, and any thought of embarrassment vanished. Merlin had always been a fan of Arthur’s body. He was muscular and lean, the epitome of strength and beauty. But in the dim light of the tent, cock erect against his stomach, muscles taut and skin nearly glowing, Arthur looked stunning. It was a sight that literally sucked all air from his lungs.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Arthur announced softly, almost reverently, gaze raking up and down Merlin’s body in appraisal. He seemed to like what he saw, if the beaming grin on his face was any indication, and Merlin felt himself relax.

“So are you,” he breathed, when the ability to speak finally returned, and Arthur grinned openly at him.

The next thing he knew, Arthur was kissing him again, urging Merlin’s mouth open so he could slip his tongue inside. Merlin welcomed the intrusion, kissing Arthur back with the same ferocity in which he was being kissed. Their tongues slid back and forth, hot and wet, as though neither could fathom every having done anything in life other than this. Reaching up, Merlin’s right hand moved to tangle in Arthur’s hair, the other gripping his shoulder.

Pulling back, Arthur continued his exploration, trailing hot kisses down Merlin’s neck and chest, stopping only to pay special attention to each of Merlin’s nipples. The feel of Arthur’s tongue and teeth on such sensitive parts of his body had Merlin writing in pleasure, breath stuttering past his lips as he tried to silence the moans that were threatening to escape. The knights were still outside the tent, he tried to remind himself, but he couldn’t seem to help it.

Just before his lips reached Merlin’s cock, Arthur changed course, pressing a series of wet, almost worshipful kisses up the inside of each of his thighs. Every touch was loving and tender, designed solely to imbue pleasure for Merlin, and the thought that Arthur cared enough for him to provide this kind of attention was enough to bring tears to Merlin’s eyes.

When Arthur’s mouth finally worked its way up to Merlin’s balls, he thought he was prepared for what came next. But when Arthur’s tongue flickered out to run across Merlin’s entrance, the sensation caught him off guard, and his legs flailed out, sending a jolt of pain through his foot when it accidentally knocked into something.

Merlin let out a soft cry of pain.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Arthur said, hands trailing up and down Merlin’s thighs supportively. “Shouldn’t have done that.”

Merlin wanted to argue that he very much should have and could he please try that again sometime soon, but he hadn’t quite found his voice yet.

Arthur nosed at the inside of Merlin’s left thigh, rubbing his cheek against the sensitive skin there. “Hook your leg around my shoulder. It’ll help protect your foot,” he said, warm breath swirling dangerously close to Merlin’s entrance.

The thought of Arthur sucking him off sent waves of arousal straight to Merlin’s cock, and he was helpless to resist. With Arthur’s assistance, Merlin lifted his left leg and wrapped it around Arthur’s back. One hand gripped his thigh, holding him in place.

“See? Isn’t that better?” Arthur asked with a filthy smirk.

Merlin wanted to say something, to provide him with a response, any response, but then Arthur was pressing his tongue to the base of Merlin’s shaft, licking his way up to the head, and Merlin suddenly became incapable of coherent speech.

Arthur’s tongue swirled around the head of Merlin’s cock, salty with the taste of pre-come, teasing the slit, and Merlin groaned loudly. In all of his wildest fantasies involving sex with Arthur – and there had always been numerous – he never could have imagined that this was how things would play out. Arthur was the one kneeling between his legs, pupils black with lust and mouth taking Merlin’s cock with such practiced ease that it was as though he did this for a living. It was the single most arousing sight Merlin had ever seen, and if this was a dream, then he didn’t ever want to wake from it.

Merlin’s fists found their way into Arthur’s hair, tugging with a sense of urgency, but Arthur seemed determined to take his time. He continued to tease the head of Merlin’s cock, taking him partway into his mouth before pulling back again. With his free hand, Arthur moved to roll Merlin’s balls between his fingers, touching and stroking him until Merlin was practically writhing beneath Arthur’s touch, keening with pleasure.

It wasn’t until Merlin started whimpering, hips rocking forward desperately, that Arthur finally took Merlin’s entire length in his mouth, lips forming a tight seal around his cock. The rhythm was agonisingly slow at first, torturous even, until Merlin began to thrust his hips into the heat of Arthur’s mouth, moaning loudly when he permitted the change in pace. The sight of Arthur’s swollen lips wrapped around his cock, pupils black with lust was nearly enough to make him come, and he knew it would all be over far too quickly. Unexpectedly, Arthur’s thumb brushed against his entrance again, and suddenly Merlin was overwhelmed with the burning desire to find his release. He wanted to touch Arthur too, to feel his cock throbbing against Merlin’s palm and watch Arthur as he came, but he couldn’t.

“Arthur, I— I’m close. I’m going to—“ he tried to warn when he suddenly found himself on the brink of release, but he wasn’t able to get the words out in time.

With a loud cry, Merlin was coming, pulsing into Arthur’s mouth as he guided Merlin through wave after wave of pleasure, coaxing every last drop of bliss from his body before pulling off of his softening cock.

“Come here,” Merlin said, tugging at Arthur’s hair until their mouths met again, kiss hot and eager. He could taste himself in Arthur, and that thought alone was nearly enough to make his cock stiffen again. Pushing himself into a seated position, never breaking contact with Arthur’s mouth, Merlin finally wrapped his fingers around Arthur’s length. He took a moment to play with the slit, pushing back the foreskin before stroking Arthur with intent. With his free hand, Merlin swiped his thumb around Arthur’s hardened nipples, pressing kisses across his jaw and down his neck.

It only took a few minutes before Arthur was coming too, Merlin’s name like a plea on his lips as he spilled his come across their stomachs. When Merlin finally released his cock, Arthur sagged against him, content smile on his lips. Pressing a kiss to Arthur’s temple, Merlin wrapped both of his arms around Arthur, holding him close as they both struggled to catch their breath. For several minutes they remained like that, clinging to each other in silence, before Arthur reluctantly pulled back from the embrace.

“You have no idea the hell I went through trying to find you,” he said, fingers reaching up to brush against Merlin’s cheek, eyes soft and strikingly vulnerable. “I know that’s selfish to say, especially considering the fact that you were the one who’d been taken. But I had no idea, Merlin. No idea if you were still alive, and every day that passed without finding you only heightened that fear.”

He dropped his gaze, and Merlin felt his heart breaking. Sinking his hand into the hair at Arthur’s neck he waited until Arthur met his eyes again before speaking. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through. I just couldn’t allow anything to happen to you.”

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but Merlin held up a hand. “No, I know what you’re going to say, but don’t. I’ll never stop looking out for you, and no orders you give will ever change that. But what’s important now is that we’re both all right, and we’re together. That’s what matters, Arthur.”

For a moment, it appeared as though Arthur was about to argue the point, but instead, he simply nodded. “You’re right, reluctant as I am to admit it. But we still need to talk about this later.”

It was good enough for Merlin. Leaning forward, he pressed a soft kiss to Arthur’s mouth. “All right.”

A few minutes later, Arthur was curling up at Merlin’s back, wrapping a possessive arm around his waist. Beneath the warmth of several blankets and Arthur’s body, Merlin drifted off into a peaceful sleep for the first time in more than a week.

The End

Fanfic - Together We'll Face the Turning Tide

2011-04-15T12:06:12Z

Title: Together We’ll Face the Turning Tide
Author: Mel (accordingtomel)
Summary: Pregnant or not, Olivia is still Olivia. Lincoln just needs to figure out a way to not go crazy in the meantime. Thankfully, he's not alone.
Pairings/Characters: Alt!universe Lincoln, Olivia and Charlie. Sort of OT3 friendship with a slight Lincoln/Olivia slant.
Rating: PG
Spoilers/Warnings: Takes place prior to “Bloodline”
Word Count: 4,104
Disclaimer: Not mine. But at least I know they’re in good hands!
Authors' Note: So, this is a birthday present to one of my best friends in the world - adelagia. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BB! ♥ I thought I’d try something different and write a Fringe fic for you, since your love for the alt!universe is as strong as my own. I must say a huge thank you to shinychimera for being my first reader and providing me with tons of useful feedback! And then I also have to thank the lovely alba17 for her wonderful (and quick) beta, and amazing feedback/suggestions. Thank you both so much, ladies. Title was snagged from lyrics to the beautiful song “Dawn” by Poets of the Fall. The tone was very much inspired by that song, so I would recommend listening to it as you read. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, my friend :D.

Together We’ll Face the Turning Tide

“How are things going? Any new leads?” Lincoln perched on the edge of Olivia’s desk, placing a large file folder in front of her. It was filled with a plethora of information, most of it entirely useless, no doubt, but if anything could be found within its contents, then it would be worth perusing all the same.

Olivia smiled up at him, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. It hadn’t in quite some time, if he was being honest with himself. Not since... well, not since everything had gone south with Frank. “We live in a city full of crazy, though mostly well-meaning, people. Have I ever mentioned that before?”

“Yeah, once or twice.” He chuckled, feeling the laughter roll off his tongue, even if the sentiment behind it wasn’t fully there.

“I assume you want me to go through this information, see if any of it is useful?” Olivia asked, tapping her finger lightly against the beige cover.

“Unfortunately, yes.” He tried to look sympathetic.

“Cut that out,” Olivia said, face scrunching up in mock displeasure. “You’re not sorry at all. Now that you’re the big boss you get to pass off the menial tasks to those of us on the opposite end of the food chain whenever you like.”

Lincoln reached up and placed a hand over his heart, shooting her an entirely exaggerated look of betrayal. “You wound me, Olivia. I would never—”

“Don’t believe him, Liv,” a familiar voice cut in. “He’s a pathological liar.”

Both heads turned to Charlie, his face alight with an easy grin.

“Yes, and Charlie over here is about five seconds away from being unemployed.”

This time it was Charlie’s turn to look wounded. He pulled it off well, Lincoln noted wryly, lips pulling into a pouty frown. “Ouch. If you can’t handle a little criticism, you’re going to have a rough go at being boss man. Sir.”

A bubble of laughter slipped past Olivia’s lips, the sound settling warmly in Lincoln’s chest. She laughed so rarely these days; a fact that filled him with immense regret. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

“Boys, boys. Do I need to separate you?” Olivia asked, looking far more gleeful about the idea than Lincoln thought was strictly necessary. Still, if she was smiling, then it was worth it.

“No. I think we can behave, right boss?” Charlie asked with a wink, as much for Lincoln’s amusement as Olivia’s, he suspected. Something warm skittered beneath his skin and a smile unconsciously tugged at his mouth. It felt like months since the last time they’d been able to joke around like this, even if it had only been little more than a week.

“Yeah, sure.” Lincoln waved a dismissive hand in Charlie’s direction. “Don’t you have work to be doing, or something?”

Charlie grumbled softly to himself, words incomprehensible, but a soft smirk remained firmly planted on his face. “Lucky for you.”

Leaning in close to Olivia, Charlie whispered something into her ear that Lincoln couldn’t hear, before turning and strolling away. But whatever it was, it made her laugh, and so it didn’t really matter to Lincoln, even if Charlie was making fun of him.

They both stared after him for several long moments before Lincoln remembered himself, and why he’d come to speak with Olivia in the first place. Aside from handing off the file.

“Are you all right?” he asked carefully, voice lowering a notch.

It was almost imperceptible, the way her smile shifted, fractured, eyes devoid of the light that used to fill them. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

Lincoln held back a sigh. “I think you know why.”

Silence hung heavy between them, until finally Olivia spoke, voice soft. “I’m all right. Tired; more than I expected to be, actually. Then again, Rachel was always exhausted, so I suppose it’s not all that shocking.”

A wistful look crossed her features, eyes drifting to a point on the opposite side of her desk. Lincoln followed her gaze to a picture of her and her sister. They had their arms around one another and were beaming at the camera. He still remembered when Rachel had passed away during childbirth, and the impact it had on Olivia. He couldn’t help but wonder if she feared the same fate.

“Do you need some time off work?” Lincoln already knew the answer, but he felt better asking all the same.

Fingers fiddled idly with the bracelet she wore on her left wrist, twirling the charms between her thumb and index finger. Frank had given it to her for a birthday years earlier. Funny that she was still wearing it, and hadn’t for quite some time. “No. I’m just tired, and maybe a bit stressed out. But I think I’d be worse if I wasn’t here. I need to be at work. You understand, don’t you, Lincoln?”

“Of course.” His chest tightened, but he forced a smile anyway. There was nothing he could do to change her mind, knew that without even having to ask. Hell, truth be told, he didn’t know that he even wanted to. All he was certain of was that as long as he was around, both Olivia and her baby would be safe. Anything it took, he would do it. For her. For himself.

***

Lincoln discovered rather quickly that Olivia was not the type of person to take well to his over-protectiveness, much as his intentions were well-meaning.

“Lincoln, I can do this. I know what you’re trying to do here, but I don’t need your protection.” She eyed him warily.

“It’s too dangerous.”

“No, it’s not. You’re over-reacting,” Olivia asserted, jaw set in a stubborn line.

“Liv,” he said, tone bordering on a plea. It was all he could do to hold back the urge to pull rank, to tell her that she was not going in there to face Jones and that was final. But he couldn’t do that. Not without potentially jeopardizing the mission and calling unnecessary attention to Olivia. As far as everyone else was concerned, there was no reason why she wouldn’t be able to take the lead on this. Hell, as far as Olivia was concerned, that was true. Jones wanted to deal with Olivia, for whatever sick and twisted reason that was spinning through his mind, and logically, there was no good reason to pull her from the mission.

Still, it didn’t sit right in his gut. Jones was a monster, through and through, and he wouldn’t blink twice at the idea of killing whoever stood in his way. Not that anyone was anticipating it would even reach that point, but all it would take was for one thing to go wrong, one minor miscalculation on their part, and both Olivia, and her unborn child’s life, were on the line.

“I appreciate your concern,” she said, expression softening ever so slightly. “But I’m doing this. Jones wants me, and if I don’t show, we run the risk of losing this bastard again. You know I can’t allow that to happen.”

And he did. God, how he did. This was a case far too old, with far too many painful memories of failure associated with it. For the first time in years, they finally had another shot at taking the bastard down, and Lincoln would be damned if he was going to just let him slip through their fingers once more. But at what cost?

With a resolve of steel, shoulders pulled back and head held high, Olivia turned on her heel, marching towards the van which held all the necessary equipment. Lincoln closed his eyes, biting back the frustration he felt at the entire situation, anger welling up inside him. He took a step in Olivia’s direction, not even sure of what he planned to say or do, but he would figure it out along the way.

“Lincoln.” A hand landed on his shoulder from behind, steady and firm. It was a small gesture, but not without impact.

Lincoln blinked, swallowed, breath slowly ghosting past pursed lips. Charlie. Of course.

“She’ll be fine. She’s strong,” he said, voice raspy and low, infusing both disobedience and respect in the way that only Charlie could. “She’s not going in alone. We have a team watching out for her, and you and I will be there too. If Jones even thinks about trying anything, we’ll be on him so fast he won’t know what hit him. All in all, safety isn’t a real concern here.”

Pick your battles. It wasn’t explicitly stated, but the implication was clear enough. Coming from anyone else, the words might have been perceived as insubordination. But from Charlie, it was sage advice, the kind Lincoln needed when he permitted his personal feelings to cloud his professional judgement. Without a doubt, there was an element of danger in sending Olivia in like this. Yet the reality of their jobs dictated taking a calculated risk every time they set foot outside of the Fringe Division’s front door. Olivia had always been able to take care of herself. If pregnancy wasn’t going to stop her from doing her job, neither would Lincoln.

Charlie knew it, and it seemed as though he needed Lincoln to catch on as well. They had a mission to complete, and that wasn’t going to happen if Lincoln wasn’t able to learn how to calm the hell down.

“Yeah, you’re right. I know you’re right.” Lincoln scrubbed a hand down his face, watching as the team prepared to enter the perimeter. “It’s just…”

He felt another squeeze to his shoulder, like the weight of a steady anchor, grounding him in the here and now, a reminder that he, too, was not alone in his fears. It was oddly comforting, though not entirely surprising either.

“I know,” said Charlie. They were the words of someone who truly understood. And Lincoln felt the last of his resolve melt away with the calming presence of Charlie’s hand and the strength of his convictions.

Lincoln nodded, gearing himself up for the task at hand. “Yes, all right. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“That’s more like it!” said Charlie with an encouraging smile, clapping him on the back before jogging away.

His eyes trailed Charlie, following him until they landed on Olivia, and Lincoln swallowed. There was nothing to worry about, and he needed to stop wasting time. They had a criminal to catch, after all.

***

It was inevitable, that it should happen eventually. In a lot of ways, they all knew it was only a matter of time until she took a risk, made a bold move – as was often the case with Olivia – and the consequences could not be prevented. Lincoln had just hoped that it wouldn’t.

He’d missed the original call, after somehow finding himself drawn into an interview with a particularly vile suspect who refused to cooperate. This wasn’t even their case, officially, but since the orders had arrived from on high, his hands had been tied. It was with no small amount of relief that Lincoln finally dragged himself away from the interrogation room, only to discover that he’d missed four calls in the time it had taken to complete the interview.

Quickly scanning through the numbers on his call display, Lincoln was distressed to discover that they all originated from Charlie. All four of them. Charlie never called him. Well, no. That wasn’t true. Charlie often called him. But not so many times in such a short period. Something was wrong, that was the only explanation; there had to be. Calling into his voice mail, Lincoln leaned back against his desk, the cool, smooth surface beneath his hands an oddly calming presence.

His heart hammered in his chest as he listened to the familiar voice drifting into his ear. “Lincoln, it’s Charlie.” A pause. Lincoln bit his lip, willing away the fear steadily rising. “Look, Liv’s been in an accident. I didn’t want to leave a message like this on your cell, but you’re not answering, so…”

Lincoln was already halfway down the hall before Charlie even mentioned the name of the hospital, his hand clutching the car keys like a vise.

***

The hospital was unusually quiet, at least as far as hospitals went. Lincoln charged in, a man on a mission, only vaguely amazed that he'd made it here in one piece. It wasn't the actual driving that presented a concern, but the thoughts that had tumbled through his brain, a myriad of potentials and worst-case scenarios racing back and forth until he could barely focus enough to pay attention to where he was going. And yet, somehow he'd still made it.

“I'm looking for a patient who was admitted here about an hour ago,” Lincoln said, flashing his badge at the first nursing station he encountered. “Her name’s Olivia Dunham.”

The nurse in charge eyed him carefully before turning towards the computer sitting on the desk. “Let me check for you.”

Her fingers flew across the keyboard with practised ease while Lincoln tried not to let his impatience show.

“We don’t seem to have a patient registered under that name, sir,” she said at last, lips tugging downward into the smallest of frowns.

Lincoln’s eyes slipped shut for a second, hands clenching into tight fists.

“Olivia Dunham,” he repeated, speaking with deliberate slowness now. “I know she’s here. Do you want me to spell that for you?”

The nurse’s face pulled into a scowl at his tone, as if she’d just been mortally offended by his insinuation that she was incompetent, unintentional as it was. Usually Lincoln would throw out an apology or two, but at the moment he simply couldn’t be bothered to care. As it was, he was barely managing to hold his frustration at bay. He needed to find Olivia right the fuck now, not stand around and wait for people to figure out how the hell to spell a name as simple as ’Olivia Dunham’.

“Lincoln!”

Turning on his heel, Lincoln saw Charlie rushing down the hall towards him. Relief filled his chest as he abandoned the nursing station, ignoring the voice calling after him as he hurried towards his friend.

“Charlie! What the hell is going on?”

A hand closed around Lincoln's arm, pulling him off to the side and away from the center of the wide hallway, where they would be holding up pedestrian traffic. “Olivia's fine, the baby's fine. She fell down a flight of stairs, but she's all right.”

“Fell?” Both brows lifted high on Lincoln's forehead.

Charlie blinked guiltily, gaze momentarily falling to the floor as though too ashamed to look Lincoln in the eyes. ”She was pushed. By Russell Scott.”

“I thought you went in with her. How did this happen?” How could you have allowed this to happen? He hadn't intended for the accusation to seep into his voice, but it was clear the words struck Charlie like a low blow all the same. Lincoln regretted them the instant they left his mouth.

“We went to question Scott at his apartment. While Olivia talked to him, I was poking around a bit, to see what I could find, you know? Anyway, suddenly this guy’s taking off down the hall, provoked by God knows what, and Olivia races after him, because we both know she lacks self-preservation skills in the best of times.” Charlie tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace from Lincoln’s perspective. “I was right on their heels, but obviously not close enough...” He trailed off, frowning openly now.

Lincoln folded his arms, trying not to cringe at the idea of a pregnant Olivia being pushed down a flight of stairs. It made him physically ill. “Did you at least catch the bastard?”

There it was, that accusatory tone once again. This couldn't be pinned on Charlie, much as he wanted – no needed – someone to blame.

“Yeah. We got him,” was all Charlie said, but there was no mistaking the venom behind his words, a manifestation of the fury they both felt.

Later, when they weren't at the hospital, Lincoln would obtain all of the necessary details, but for now, only two things were important to know, and he was in possession of both pieces of information.

They stopped in front of what was presumably Olivia's hospital room.

“Look, she's pretty tired from the whole thing,” Charlie said softly, gaze darting between Lincoln and the partially open door.

“Don't worry, I'm not going to yell at her,” Lincoln attempted to assure him, raising both palms in a surrendering gesture.

A wry smile slipped onto Charlie's face. “I wasn't trying to imply that you would, just that she might not be as alert as you'd expect and I didn't want you to panic more than I know you already are.”

“I am not panicking. Wasn’t panicking,” he said, but the protest felt weak, even to his own ears.

“Right.” Charlie smiled again, soft and almost affectionate, insomuch as one could call him that, reaching out to clap Lincoln on the shoulder. “I've been trying to reach Marilyn, but haven't had any success yet. She'll kill me if I don't let her know what's going on with Liv, so I'm going to try again. I'll be out front if you need me.”

Lincoln found himself nodding. “Okay. Thanks, buddy.”

He stood quietly, arm hovering near the door knob as he listened to Charlie retreating down the hallway, the steady sound of his footfall providing a momentary distraction from the nerves twisting in his gut.

Sucking in a deep breath, Lincoln braced himself for whatever sight would meet him on the other side and gently pushed the door open.

The room was bright, but not overly so, lit almost entirely by natural sunlight from the large window that spanned across the back wall, instead of merely the typical harsh fluorescent lighting that the hospitals liked to employ. It made everything look just a bit softer somehow, less sterile and more homely.

Olivia lay in bed, sheet tucked loosely around her frame, hands folded and resting atop her stomach, one wrapped in gauze across the knuckles. She looked small, almost fragile, in the spotted hospital gown that must have been at least two sizes too large for her thin frame, any outward signs of her pregnancy still invisible. An ugly, dark purple bruise was already forming under her right eye, the area swollen and obviously tender. There were a few small cuts scattered across her face, but aside from that, there were no other obvious signs to suggest she’d just been pushed down a flight of stairs.

“Hi.”

The sound, loud and unexpected in the stillness of the room, jolted him out of his thoughts. “Hey, Liv.”

Smiling softly at him, she gestured Lincoln to her side. He found himself releasing a slow breath and returned the smile involuntarily, propelling his body forward through sheer will alone. With every step he took, the same mantra filled his thoughts - she’s alive, she’s fine, the baby is fine, it’s going to be all right - hoping that if he told himself the words enough times, he might start to actually believe them.

He took a seat on the hard, plastic hospital chair beside the bed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thigh, chin in his hands. There were so many things he wanted to say, a million sentiments that couldn’t ever adequately express everything he’d been thinking and feeling. But Olivia saved him the trouble of having to navigate through the tremulous waters of his mind.

“Lincoln,” was all she said, but the words carried a world of meaning: ’I’m all right’, ’I know I should haven’t done that’, ‘I’m sorry for making you worry’, 'I’m sorry.’

“Liv, I—“ His gaze dropped to her hands, fixating on the bandage. He needed to focus. Forcing himself to meet her eyes, he continued on. “You shouldn’t have run after him. Charlie was there. He could’ve handled things...”

“And what would you have preferred me to do? Let him get away?”

“Yes! No. I mean. No.” He shook his head. “Not at your own expense. Why do you always have to be so difficult?”

This was not going as he’d anticipated. The last thing Lincoln planned on was laying into her about this right now. What was done was done. Why did he have to open his big mouth at all? Thankfully, much to Lincoln’s surprise, Olivia merely laughed, waving her un-bandaged hand in the air for a moment. “Pregnant or not, it doesn’t change who I am. I wasn’t thinking, just reacting.”

Didn’t he know it. “Well, then, you need to be more careful.” He sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I’m not sure how much more of this I can handle.”

“Lincoln.” A hand reached out for him, and he readily grasped it, fingers curling around her hand as she squeezed gently. It occurred to him that he should be the one comforting her in this situation. But then again, maybe Lincoln was the one who really needed it. “I can't help myself, you know? Knowing that I’m going to be a mother is both exciting and terrifying, but it still won't turn me into someone I'm not. I can't just sit by and watch the world move around me. I need to move with it.”

“I know. And I'd never ask you to change who you are. I—“ He stopped himself before he could admit too much, shooting her a tentative smile instead. “The Olivia I know wouldn't have allowed Scott to get away. I just... I worry. About you. And the baby. I just want you both to be safe.”

“And we will be,” she asserted, voice confident. “I have you, and Charlie, and my mom. What else could I need?”

In a lot of ways, he supposed, she was right. He, Charlie and Olivia had each other's backs, and it had been this way for years. Lincoln almost couldn't remember a time when the two of them weren't his closest friends in the world, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, he wouldn't do for either of them. One of the qualities he'd always admired in Olivia was the strength of her convictions and her unwavering commitment to justice. At times it meant she threw herself into situations with reckless abandon, often putting herself (and sometimes others) at serious risk. But that fearless impulsivity had served them well so many times in the past, and Olivia was more than capable of taking care of herself.

Love was a difficult thing to understand at times. It was overwhelming, a consuming fire that could easily overtake a person if they were caught unprepared. Of course, it also explained why fear gripped at his heart every time she took a chance, because the thought of a life without Olivia in it wasn't something Lincoln could even begin to comprehend. Now, or ever. He couldn’t expect her to stop being who she was, which simply meant that he was the one who would have to change.

“Can you at least promise me one thing?” he asked, watching as she unsuccessfully tried to stifle a yawn.

“What’s that?”

“Could you try not to endanger your life every day?”

A smirk slipped onto her face, even as her eyelids began to droop with impending sleep. “So just every other day then?”

Lincoln made a thoughtful noise, pretending to seriously contemplate the suggestion. “Yeah. Sure. I can live with that,” he said.

Yawning again, Olivia gave him an apologetic smile. “I should probably, um, sleep, I think.”

“Right. I’ll just—“ He gestured towards the door, making to stand. “I’ll just leave.”

But he was prevented from doing so by the hand still gripping his.

“You can stay, if you want,” Olivia said quietly, eyes downcast.

It was the easiest decision he’d made in a long time. Nodding, Lincoln sat back down. “Of course I’ll stay.”

As he watched her drift off to sleep, their hands still entwined, something warm unfurled in his chest, a deep, swelling affection that ached in all the right ways. And he knew then that no matter what lay ahead, there was nowhere else he was meant to be than right by Olivia’s side. Leaning forward, Lincoln placed a gentle kiss to her temple as a promise of his commitment. Whatever obstacles that may come their way in the future, they would face the storm together, as they always had.

Fanfic - There's Nothing Wrong with Making Assumptions

2011-04-08T00:10:37Z

Title: There’s Nothing Wrong with Making Assumptions
Author: Mel (accordingtomel)
Summary: Bradley signs up for twitter. Colin can’t quite help but read and comment on his tweets. Naturally, this can only lead to trouble.
Pairings: Bradley James/Colin Morgan
Rating: G
Word Count: 4,104
Disclaimer: Nothing is true. I’m a lying liar who lies! There is merely for my own amusement, and no offense is meant to anyone in the fic or to anyone reading it. The boys are the property of themselves alone. I’m just playing with them for a bit!
Author’s Note: So I told myself I wasn’t going to write a twitter fic. I said, “Self. This is silly and pointless and completely unnecessary. You have better things to be doing.” And then I went ahead and did it anyway. Sadly, this is the shortest thing I’ve written in close to 6 months. Many thanks go to awakencordy for reading it over and giving me feedback/cheering me on, to sabriel75 for the quick and awesome beta, and to ellasphere for agreeing to Brit-pick another RPF fic even though she’s not even a huge fan of the pairing to begin with. You gals are the best! Please be aware that this is basically 4k of gratuitous, teeth-rotting fluff. You have been warned!

There's Nothing Wrong with Making Assumptions

"So, I see you're having fun."

Bradley smiles and stretches out on the hotel sofa, mobile phone pressed to his ear. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"With your twitter account. They not working you hard enough this series?"

Of course that's what Colin would pick up on to tease him about, that Bradley is being a lazy arse while he's off recovering from his stint on stage. The nerve!

"Well, you know how it is. They started me off easy this time. Arthur's unconscious within the first episode, from what I can tell, so between laying on the ground and sitting off to the side, I don't have much else to do. Especially without my usual on-set entertainment."

Soft laughter flitters through the phone line, inadvertently making Bradley smile. He's missed the sound, even though it's only been a few days since the last time they spoke.

"What are you on about? You have Tom and Rupert and Eoin and everyone else. You probably haven't even noticed my absence."

"Yeah, but they're not you," Bradley says with a huff.

Colin groans. "That is possibly the cheesiest thing I've ever heard you say. I don't know whether to be flattered or to worry for your sanity."

"I'd take it as a compliment," Bradley says, nodding for good measure, even though Colin can't see him doing so.

"Yes. Right. So, have I been replaced with the internet? Or your iPhone?"

"Neither." Honestly, what does Colin take him for? "I've had a long-term love affair with my mobile that started well before I ever met you. You were more than aware of this. But for that matter, why the hell are you even following me on twitter in the first place? I thought you were afraid of the internet?"

"Bradley, I'm not afraid of the internet. I just think that there are some frightening things that can be found online, most of which I'd rather avoid."

It is an understatement, if he's ever heard one. Still, back in his Buffy-watching days, Bradley may or may not have frequented a couple of online message boards. In fact, at one point he was one of the most frequent posters on one of said boards. Embarrassingly enough, he is quite sure he'd written a fanfiction once about Buffy and Spike that might still be accessible in the interwebs somewhere, but it's one of those things he tries to forget about. There are still some boundaries that even Bradley isn't willing to cross.

"Fair enough. But that doesn't explain why you're keeping an eye on my twitter page."

"Oh, I don't know. It may have something to do with the fact that you've sent me a good ten e-mails and texts about it already, saying things such as - and I quote - 'Colin, I got a twitter! You should get one too!', 'Colin, check me out on twitter', 'Have you started following me on twitter yet?', 'I'm starting to think you haven't read anything from my twitter. Why aren't you responding?', and so on. It was either that, or face your constant barrage of multi-modal harassment for however long you decide this is a good idea for."

"You make me sound obsessed or something."

Colin snorts rather loudly into Bradley's ear. "Your words, not mine."

Bradley decides to ignore the comment. "Did you like my confirmation picture?"

"Is that the one that was all sparkly and featured Tom and Ade?"

"It was not sparkly!" Bradley protests.

Colin chuckles softly. "Well it might as well have been. The little stars were a nice touch, though."

Bradley beams. "That was my idea. I thought so too."

Silence fills the line.

"Let me have my pretend victory, Col."

"Your talent and creativity knows no bounds, Bradley."

"Thank you. And I'm even going to pretend that I didn't hear the sarcastic tone to your voice when you said that."

"Good for you."

Bradley shifts to a sitting position and stares at the blank television across the room. He's barely looked at the telly since he discovered the joys of twitter. "So, was there any particular reason you rung me up, or did you just want to harass me about my online activities?"

"No, not really. I just—"

"Missed me?" Bradley supplies, when Colin hesitates just a fraction longer than entirely necessary.

Another long pause follows. "Yeah, something like that."

"I figured as much. I've heard similar statements before. It's hard to be away from me for too long, once you're hooked."

"How are you simultaneously so down to earth and yet so bloody arrogant at the same time?"

Smirking, Bradley pictures the accompanying eye roll to Colin's statement. "It's just one of my many talents."

"Yes, well, you keep telling yourself that," Colin says with affection. "I have to go, but I'll see you in a few days, yeah? Don't get yourself into too much trouble while I'm not around to watch out for you."

Bradley wants to say that he won't, but they both know it'd be a lie. He's barely able to keep himself out of trouble when Colin is around, never mind when he isn't.

As soon as he hangs up the phone, Bradley shoots off a quick text to Colin, as an afterthought: I missed you too.

~*~

"How come you never post any pictures of me?"

Bradley blinks, pushing his sunglasses off his face to glance up at Colin, who is suddenly standing in front of him.

"Excuse me?"

"On your twitter. How come you never post any pictures of me on twitter?"

"Um—" He isn't prepared for this conversation. Especially not when it's in the middle of a long day of filming.

"I notice you've posted a few of Rupert over the last couple of days," Colin continues, as if Bradley never spoke at all.

Something strikes Bradley in that instant. "Are you jealous?"

"No, I'm very much not." Colin shakes his head and laughs, as if it's a preposterous notion. "Stop flattering yourself, James."

Bradley, on the other hand, is not convinced just yet. "Then why are you asking?"

"Because I want to know?" Colin shrugs a shoulder and plops down on the empty chair beside him.

Holding up a hand, Bradley starts listing his points on his fingers. "For starters, I was filming with Rupert a lot over the past two days, and it was his damn e-mail address that infected my poor computer with a virus. Secondly, I don't think I'm even allowed to post any pictures of you as Merlin online right now, due to your new costume. I guess they consider that a spoiler? I don't know. I just don't want to get canned for something stupid like that. Lastly, even if I was able to take and post pictures of you, you wouldn't want me to anyway, would you?"

"Well, no," Colin says slowly.

"So then, why are we having this conversation?"

"I don't know. I was just wondering. For research purposes."

But there's more to it than just that. Bradley smiles over at Colin, eyes tracing the outline of his profile. "Do you want me to set up a second twitter account for the sole purpose of taking and posting pictures of you when you're not in costume? Because I can do that if it'll make you happy."

Colin smacks his arm and laughs, shooting Bradley an incredulous look. "You're absolutely ridiculous. You know that, right?"

Warmth settles in Bradley's chest and he resists the urge to reach out and do something idiotic and ill-advised, such as ruffling Colin's hair, or worse - leaning in to press a kiss against his lips.

"It's all part of my charm."

"Or at least that's what you like to tell yourself."

"You wound me, Colin," Bradley says, placing a hand on his heart and sighing dramatically.

"So...?" Colin asks eventually, eyebrows rising high on his forehead.

"So."

"You still haven't answered my question about the twitter pictures."

Bradley heaves a sigh and shifts in the chair until his body is facing Colin. "All right, fine. You want to know why I haven't posted any pictures of you? Aside from the fact that you don't want me to, and I'm not allowed anyway? It's for your own protection. People have already jumped to their own conclusions about us and the nature of our relationship. There's no need to add more fuel to that fire, no matter how innocent they may be. I know it makes you uncomfortable."

"Only because I don't understand the fascination with fantasizing about the personal lives of others as if they know us. They don't know the first thing about either you or I."

Shrugging, Bradley smiles encouragingly at Colin, poking gently at his knee. "No, they don't. But really, aside from the fact that it's a little weird, it's not as if it's hurting anyone, right? I mean, you and I know exactly where we stand, and that's all that matters."

Colin teases his bottom lip between his teeth, the angle of the light casting a shadow over his dark, long lashes, making them stand out even more prominently than usual. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Of course I am." Bradley grins cheekily. Leaning forward so his mouth is almost pressed to Colin's ear, Bradley drops his voice considerably to add, "Besides, I don't want to share you with anyone else."

He'd be lying if he claimed that Colin's responding shiver isn't immensely satisfying.

~*~

Now that he knows Colin is actually checking his twitter with relative frequency, Bradley makes a point of tweeting at least one message to Colin every few days.

It's nothing elaborate or obvious to anyone but them, but it fills him with a sense of contentment to know that he's making Colin smile. Or, at least that's what he hopes he's doing.

They're usually generic enough that his followers won't think twice about it. For example, two days ago Bradley tweeted 'Excellent day of filming, with great company. Though not enough time for lunch, unfortunately' after he and Colin had snuck away from set to have lunch on their own, only to be found half an hour later, quite by accident. Today he plans on tweeting about how a smiling face in the morning can make all the difference in the world, because his morning had been quite awful until he’d seen Colin. There's something special about that man, and the power of his broad, dimpled smile. It does funny things to Bradley, things he hasn't felt since he was a teenager with all too active hormones.

So he tweets to Colin too, because it's fun, and it makes both of them happy.

~*~

"So, remind me of why I'm doing this again?"

"Because I haven't had a chance to check my timeline in a day, and I have to get ready for dinner, otherwise we're going to be late." Bradley pokes his head out of the bathroom, face still half covered with shaving cream. "Also, because you love me and you're the best boyfriend I could ever ask for?"

Colin groans and rolls his eyes, but doesn't shut the laptop still resting on his legs. "I see what you're doing here."

"Is it working?"

There is a pause, and then, "Yeah, I guess so."

Bradley resumes shaving, smirking at himself in the mirror.

"I don't know how you do this. Don't you find it intrusive to have people constantly asking you things, demanding a response from you, and passing along links to random stuff?"

"Not really. I mean, some people are creepy and annoying, but I just block them until they've calmed down. Most of them seem like rather decent folks, though. And they helped me out when my computer had a virus. Couldn't have done that on my own."

"I guess not," Colin agrees. "So, what do you want me to do? Read all these comments out loud to you?"

"Nah. Just skim them, and let me know if anyone says anything interesting."

Several grumbles filter in his direction, but then Colin goes quiet, so Bradley assumes he's finally taken to his task.

"Not much so far," Colin says, at length. "Some people are asking for series four spoilers. You have various fans from all over the world sharing what country loves Merlin, and a number of people commenting on your last post thing. Oh, and two people asked if you're ever going to reveal what the 'M' stood for in your original twitter name."

"People are still asking about that?"

"Apparently."

Bradley emerges from the bathroom and walks down the hall towards the bedroom, leaving the door open so he can still hear Colin as he changes.

"Actually, come to think of it, you never did tell me what the 'M' was for, either," Colin calls out. "I sort of just assumed it was supposed to be a play on Georgia's name. Since she's your 'girlfriend' and all. And since there's no actual 'M' anywhere in your name."

Smirking to himself, Bradley shakes his head and pulls on a pair of black trousers. "That's the clever part, because I was banking on people jumping to that very conclusion. After all, we've managed to convince everyone that Georgia and I are dating, so logically it would make sense that I might do something to acknowledge that."

"You know we can't keep this charade up forever, yeah?"

"Of course not," Bradley agrees, "but we might as well enjoy the freedom as long as we have it. I've told Georgia a hundred times that she doesn't have to do this, but she keeps insisting that it's no big deal."

They can't lie about this indefinitely, and sooner or later she's going to get bored of pretending to be his girlfriend, but for now, Bradley is eternally grateful to Georgia for doing this for them. It's a favour he can't even begin to figure out how to repay. But they will, somehow.

"I guess you're right." A pause, and then, "So, if it wasn't because of that, then what was with the 'M'?"

Bradley fumbles with the last button on his dress shirt before snatching the tie from the end of his bed and leaving the room.

"You want to know what it stood for?" Bradley asks, coming to stand in front of Colin. The truth is rather embarrassing, now that he's being forced to admit it, but it probably would have come out eventually anyway. Or not.

Colin nods. "Yes. Of course."

Taking a deep breath, Bradley steels himself and says, "It stood for 'Morgan'."

A moment of silence passes before, "You're joking, right?"

"I wish I was, but no. I'm serious. I needed to use something, and that's what I came up with."

Colin continues to stare at him like he doesn't know how to respond before he eventually says, "Bradley, that's really rather—"

"Lame? Ridiculous? Embarrassing? I know!"

"Actually, I was going to say 'adorable', though I guess it's also a bit reckless. I'm flattered, though. You really are quite the charmer, aren't you James?"

"Er, well... I try?"

Bradley glances down at his socked feet, still feeling foolish. But he's grateful that Colin's so accepting of his quirks, and never makes him feel like an idiot, even though he has the tendency to act like one on occasion.

Turning to find his shoes, he suddenly remembers something. "Um, Col?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think you could help me with my tie?"

Colin closes the laptop and sets it on the sofa beside him before rising to his feet. "You know you're going to have to learn how to tie these on your own some day, don't you?" he teases, playful smirk tugging at his lips as his hands come up to wrap around Bradley's neck.

"I know. But I like it so much better when you're here to do it for me," Bradley says, and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. In truth, he learned how to tie a necktie back when he was in high school, after his mum insisted that it was a skill he needed to possess. Both of them are aware of this fact, but sometimes it's fun to pretend that he requires the assistance anyway. Plus, the feel of Colin's fingers ghosting across his neck is nothing short of heavenly.

"You're hopeless," Colin says, and tugs Bradley forward by the collar until their lips meet. The kiss is soft and tender, both sweet and loving in equal measure, and Bradley sighs into it contentedly.

"Now, come on. Let's get going or we really are going to be late," Colin orders when they break apart, and Bradley laughs into the space between them.

"Yes, sire."

~*~

See, it's not so much that Bradley's careless, as it is that he's carefree. Or at least that's what he's always liked to tell himself. When teachers and parents would tell him that he needed to think before he acted, Bradley thought it was more of a suggestion rather than an actual necessity. He means well, he always does. There are thoughts and opinions and strokes of genius just sitting around in his brain, waiting to burst forth, and it seems like it might be a crying shame to filter those kinds of things. It may or may not have landed him in a bit of hot water, at times, over the years, but he prides himself on having an opinion, and not being afraid to speak his mind.

Of course, sometimes this general life philosophy tends to backfire on him, and this may or may not be one of those situations (though probably is).

"Uh oh," Bradley says, staring hard at the screen on his iPhone, as though that will somehow make everything go away.

"Uh oh, what? I don't like the sound of that." Colin's head darts to the side, hands stilling.

"Um, well... I may have posted something kind of stupid on twitter."

"And this is different from normal how?" Colin asks with a teasing smirk.

But he might not be laughing when he hears what Bradley's gone and done.

"So, you know how my mum's here to visit for a few days?"

Colin blinks. "Yes."

"And how we're going out for dinner with her in about twenty minutes?"

He nods slowly, as if Bradley's losing his mind. "Yeah...?"

"Well... I may have sort of tweeted about it." There is an upward inflection at the end of his statement, as though he's asking a question instead of making a statement.

"Tweeted about it. How, exactly?"

There is a bit of a mildly panicked expression on Colin's face, but Bradley's gaze falls to his hands instead, which have begun to absently play with the cuff of his left sleeve. It's something Colin always does when he's nervous or distressed about something.

Bradley holds up both of his hands in a placating gesture, reaching out to touch Colin's knee but then deciding against the action at the last moment and pulling them back to rest on his lap. "Don't worry, I didn't say that we were going on a dinner date with my mum or anything. But, uh, it's not much better, I'm afraid."

"Just... what did you do, Bradley?" Colin asks, hand betraying his otherwise calm presentation.

Glancing down at the mobile still resting on his thigh, Bradley picks it up and scrolls through his recent tweets one last time before meeting Colin's gaze. "Well, earlier this morning I tweeted: 'Mum is visiting the set today. Have a long day of filming with Col, but it should be a lot of fun.'"

"Okay," Colin says carefully, eyes boring into Bradley's with a sense of eager anxiousness. "But I assume that's not the part I won't like."

He tries not to cringe as he shakes his head. Really, it's not that bad. Or so he hopes.

"So, uh, about forty-five minutes ago I tweeted the following: 'Going out for dinner in an hour with two of the people I love most in the world. How lucky can I be?'"

Colin merely stares at him for a long while, expression disturbingly guarded before he seems to visibly deflate. "That's it?" he finally says, looking far more relieved than Bradley anticipated.

"That's it? What do you mean, that's it? I talked about working late with you and how my mum's on-set, and then the next thing I tweet is that I'm going out for dinner with two people I love. It's not as if I'm in London and could be referring to any number of people." How on earth can Colin be so calm about this? It seems almost incomprehensible.

"Well, it's not as if you said you're having dinner with and then shagging Colin Morgan. You could have been talking about anyone."

"But they're going to assume I'm talking about you. How the hell else would you interpret that?"

"And you know what they say about assuming, right?"

"All right, who are you and what the hell have you done with the real Colin Morgan?"

Laughing, Colin stands up and reaches down to grab one of Bradley's hands, entwining their fingers and pulling him to his feet. "You worry too much. A wise man told me not so long ago that people could assume whatever they liked, as long as we knew where we stood. That's good enough for me. Let's go."

"So, wait a second. You're really not angry?" Bradley gapes, still in a state of shock.

Colin shrugs, the pad of his thumb rubbing gentle circles against Bradley's fingers, touch soothing against his skin. "No. I mean, I always knew something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. As I say, it could have been so much worse. This is barely anything to blink at. Plausible deniability, after all."

"Do you want me to stop tweeting? Because as you know, my filters are almost non-existent, and next time it could be something so much worse," Bradley says sheepishly. It's not the kind of thing he would usually ask a partner. He does what he likes and isn't about to let whomever he's dating dictate how he should live his life. But Colin means more to him than he can even articulate, and Bradley is honestly and truly willing to give it up, if that's what Colin wants. Besides, there's more at stake here than simply the reveal of an on-set relationship.

But Colin doesn't even hesitate when he answers. "No, of course not. You obviously love it, though I'm still not quite sure why, and it's clear that your fans love that you're online and accessible. I'd never ask you to give up something that makes you so happy."

"Being with you makes me happier than being on twitter. Far happier. A million times happier, in fact—"

But he is cut off by Colin's mouth, warm and eager, descending on him. Bradley instinctively wraps his free arm around Colin's waist as his tongue licks into Bradley's mouth, sliding slick and hot against his own tongue. The whole thing ends far too quickly for Bradley's liking, and to his embarrassment, he actually whimpers just a little when the contact is lost.

God, he loves Colin so much. "In case I haven't told you in a while, you're amazing, and I love you."

Colin presses one more lingering kiss to Bradley's lips before pulling back, grinning like a fool. "I know I am. And I love you too, you utter sap. God, you're unbelievable sometimes."

"Unbelievably charming, you mean."

A very deliberate and purposeful silence extends between them while Colin tries and fails to keep a straight face. "Something like that."

Tugging on their linked hands, Bradley leads Colin towards the door. "We should get going, otherwise we'll be late and then mum will start asking questions that we probably don't want to answer."

"Right. We wouldn't want that," Colin agrees with a wink and a smile, and Bradley will be damned if his chest isn't swelling like some school girl whose crush has just waved at her.

Bradley decides then and there that he's going to have to come up with a very clever way of tweeting that he plans on engaging in mind-blowing, kinky acts all night long with his incredibly awesome boyfriend without actually saying anything at all, but that's a challenge he's definitely willing to accept. Then again, Bradley's starting to wonder if maybe the people in twitter land don't need to know everything he's thinking and doing. After all, there’s nothing wrong with making assumptions.

Fanfic - It's a Little Bit Funny (This Feeling Inside) - MASTER POST

2011-03-20T04:06:56Z

Title: It’s a Little Bit Funny (This Feeling Inside)
Author: Mel (accordingtomel)
Summary: When an editing error accidentally makes it on the air, Bradley is forced to take a step back and re-evaluate his relationship with his co-star.
Pairings: Bradley James/Colin Morgan
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 48,484
Disclaimer: This is all a figment of my overly active imagination and is 100% fictitious. No offense is intended to anyone in the fic or to anyone reading. The boys belong to themselves only (even if I like to play around sometimes).
Author’s Note: This is a repost from the kinkme_merlin prompt here. It’s back, parts slightly rewritten, and has now been betaed by the wonderful adelagia and Brit-picked by the fantastic ellasphere. Thank you both so very much for looking at this monster for me! *hugs* I also need to thank everyone for all their kind comments and support over on the meme. It was so greatly appreciated! You’re all amazing! :) Also, apparently I am incapable of writing anything even remotely short any longer. Concrit always welcome and appreciated!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six

Fanfic - It's a Little Bit Funny (This Feeling Inside) - 6/6

2011-03-20T03:57:53Z

Part Five

“Angel, can I talk to you for a few minutes?”

It’s during a break in filming a couple of days later when Bradley pulls her aside. The rain started ten minutes ago and it doesn't look likely to dissipate any time in the near future, if the black clouds hovering directly overhead are any indication.

“Yeah, of course, Bradley,” Angel says, sidling up to him.

Thankfully the rest of the crew is a fair distance away, hovering under their own umbrellas and shelters. And with the rain pounding all around them, the likelihood of anyone overhearing their conversation is slim, by Bradley’s estimation.

“So, there's something I wanted to tell you.”

Angel nods. “All right. Well, I'm here and I'm listening, so go for it.”

This is sort of awkward, trying to have this conversation, even if Bradley is the only one who feels this way. He doesn't want to offend her, but it doesn't seem possible to share this particular information without doing just that. Still, he won't feel okay about everything until the truth is out in the open. “It's just... Last year, towards the latter half of filming series three, I'm not sure if you're aware or not. But, uh, Colin was on set. Quite a lot.”

Her eyes narrow into thin lines. “Isn't he usually on set most of the time?”

“Yes. He is. It's just that he was on set very frequently during times when he didn't need to be there. Specifically, um, when we were filming.”

Angel stares, unblinking.

“Romantic scenes,” Bradley clarifies, watching for any sign of a reaction. “He was on set while you and I were filming romantic scenes. In order to, uh, improve the sexual tension. Between us. You and I, I mean, not myself and Colin.”

Silence hangs between them, nothing but the pattering of raindrops on their umbrellas. And then Angel says, “Oh. That. Yeah, I knew about that.” Smiling as she does.

A sense of relief fills Bradley's chest, before he actually processes what she's just said. “Wait a second. You knew that Colin was on set because of me?”

“Yeah. Johnny pulled me aside at one point and explained that they were trying something a bit different and wanted to see how it went.” She shrugs, but her smile holds a sheepish tone that she can't quite hide.

“Why didn't you tell me what was going on?”

“Johnny asked me to keep it to myself, so it wouldn't bias his experiment.”

“He called it an ‘experiment’?”

“Well, no, not exactly. Those are my words.”

If that isn’t the most humiliating thing he’s heard in a long time, he doesn’t know what is. Then suddenly, a thought occurs to Bradley. “Did Colin know too?” He hadn’t mentioned anything about it, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t aware all the same.

Angel's eyes widen and she immediately shakes her head. “No. He definitely didn't. It was just me.”

That information comes as a relief to Bradley. “So, are you angry with me?”

“Why would I be angry?”

“Because I needed to have Colin in the room with me in order to produce chemistry between us. You're not insulted by that?”

“No, I'm not,” Angel says, reaching out to squeeze his arm affectionately. “To be honest, I think it's kind of sweet. It's not as if we don't have any chemistry. But of course it wouldn't compare when you're secretly in love with someone else.”

He's tempted to comment on that last statement, but they both know it's true, so there's not much point. “Look, I just wanted to apologise. And to let you know how much I respect and adore you. You know that, right? That I think you're great, Angel? Because you are. You’re really a wonderful friend and I thoroughly enjoy working with you.”

“Yes, Bradley. Stop being silly. I appreciate the apology, but it's not necessary. I'm not offended in the least, and you know that I adore you too.”

She reaches out to tug him into her arms, and he smiles as he wraps his free arm around her back. “Well, I'm glad. That makes me feel much better.”

“Great!” Angel is grinning at him when they pull apart, and he's grateful for having such an awesome friend and colleague in her.

A few minutes later, the rain starts to slow, and soon they're ready to film again, much to everyone’s surprise. As he goes back to his position, Bradley feels as if the final bit of weight from his shoulders has finally been lifted, and it feels really good.

Three Months Later

When Johnny requests a meeting with him out of the blue one day in mid-June, Bradley is absolutely certain that he’s finally figured out the truth about his and Colin’s relationship.

“What if he knows and he’s firing me for engaging in a romance on set?” he asks Colin, as they make their way inside the building that houses Johnny and the two Julians' offices.

“Then he probably would have called both of us in for a meeting, don’t you think?”

“That’s what he’d want us to believe, anyway. But if you think about it, this a clever strategy – divide and conquer. I bet he’ll fire me and then ring you up and try to do the same.”

Colin laughs loudly, shaking his head as though Bradley has gone made. “Bradley, don’t be ridiculous. First of all, there are a lot of romances that have happened on set. If Johnny fired everyone for that, we’d have a new crew and new castmates every other series. Besides, even if he did know about us, it isn’t as if it would be grounds for firing anyway. As long as we aren’t shagging in public when children are around, or making dirty bedroom videos that we sell online, I think we’re fine.”

Bradley’s ears perk up momentarily. “Dirty bedroom videos, you say? Are you into the kinky stuff, Col? I had no idea!”

He receives a smack on the arm and a good-natured chuckle for his efforts. “You’re an idiot. You know that, right?”

There is a brief pause in which he pretends to seriously consider it, before responding, “Yeah, but you love me anyway.”

“I do,” Colin says easily, tone affectionate. It sort of makes Bradley’s heart skip, even three months into their relationship. He seems to have that general effect on Bradley.

“Your meeting will be fine,” Colin continues with his reassurances. “I bet it has nothing to do with us at all. It probably has to do with that stunt you’re requesting to do on your own, or something along those lines.”

Colin Morgan, the voice of reason. Bradley shrugs, willing to concede the point for now, if only to quell the minor knot of anxiety in his gut.

Over the past several months, Bradley and Colin have kept their relationship a secret from virtually everyone else, save for Tony, Richard and Rupert, and of course Katie and Angel. The reactions at the time were interesting, to say the least. Richard had thrown out all kinds of kind words like ‘marvellous’ and ‘pleased’; Tony has dissolved into a fit of wheezy giggles, incoherent apart from saying ‘banter’ over and over, as if they were supposed to understand what that meant; and Rupert, well… truthfully, neither of them had intended on telling Rupert just yet. But then he’d caught them in a bit of a compromising situation, and it was sort of hard to explain away after that.

They’ve decided not to go public with anything just yet, and as such are keeping things relatively quiet. Unfortunately, they both know that it’s easier this way. The reality is that a romance between any of the primary cast members would bring about a great deal of media scrutiny. Add to that, the fact that they are the same gender, and the two most prominent faces on a show which has already garnered enough attention in regards to the ‘homoerotic subtext’ between Arthur and Merlin, and it is a potential public relations nightmare waiting to happen.

It shouldn’t matter at all, if they love one another and are happy, as far as Bradley’s concerned. But the media will exploit any relationship on set – especially one involving its two male stars – which sadly is still seen by some as being the opposite of ‘family friendly’, which Merlin is supposed to be. They have images to maintain, and while Bradley is less than pleased that this is how it has to be right now, he still knows it to be true. Which is why they keep it to themselves. For now, anyway.

“Look, Bradley. Even if Johnny or the Julians or Nancy from make-up know about us, it doesn’t change the fact that we’re not doing anything wrong. Johnny didn’t call you to his office to fire you, so stop worrying and show off that confidence that I know you possess.”

Reaching out, Colin takes one of Bradley’s hands in his, squeezing firmly before releasing it once more. If there weren’t other people milling about, Bradley would grab hold of Colin’s face and kiss him. But since there are, he settles for smiling tentatively before walking the rest of the way down the hall to knock on Johnny’s door.

“Oh, Bradley. I’m glad you’re here. Take a seat,” Johnny says as soon as he enters the room, gesturing at a chair directly across from his desk. Bradley sits.

But before he even has a chance to say anything, Johnny is talking again. “So, I’m sure you’re curious as to why I called you down here to meet with me. I want to start off by assuring you that you’re not in any sort of trouble. In fact, quite the opposite, actually.”

Bradley nods, feeling the tension drain from his neck and shoulders, and he permits himself to relax. “That’s good to hear.”

Leaning forward, Johnny folds his hands and smiles. “I wanted to let you know that I was reviewing the last two blocks of episode footage the other night, and I noticed that your scenes with Angel – particularly the ones in which Gwen has fallen ill – have greatly improved. In fact, I would almost be willing to say that they’re some of the best Arthur and Gwen scenes we’ve ever filmed on the show.”

Bradley blinks, not entirely sure he’s hearing this correctly. “Thank you.” It comes out more like a question than a statement.

“You should know that you’ve always done a great job, though, and normally I wouldn’t call you over here for something like this. But considering the conversation we had back last—” A thoughtful look passes over his face momentarily. “—December, was it? Anyway, I just wanted to follow up with you to let you know that everything is going well. Your scenes with Colin and Tony have also been great. Whatever it is that you’ve been doing, keep it up.”

“Thanks. That means a lot to me,” Bradley hears himself say, before he’s even fully processed the words.

“Yes, well, I thought you deserved to hear it.”

A hand clamps down on his shoulder, and Bradley wonders when, exactly, Johnny managed to sneak around the desk without him noticing. Either way, it’s clear that the conversation is over, and this is his way of subtly, or not so subtly, trying to tell Bradley that it’s time he leaves now.

Colin is waiting for him just down the hall, tucked in beside the lifts, when Bradley emerges from Johnny’s office.

“Well? Do we both need to go fix up our CVs and start applying for new jobs?” he asks with a playful smirk.

Bradley does his best to glare, but it’s sort of impossible sometimes, when Colin’s around. “No, I think we’re good.”

“So, what happened?”

Reaching out to press the ‘down’ button for the lifts, Bradley shoots Colin an incredulous look, still internally muddling over the conversation he just had. “Would you believe me if I told you that Johnny wanted to tell me that my scenes with Angel have improved considerably, and that whatever I’m doing seems to be working?”

“Whatever you’re doing, or who you’re doing?” Colin says, complete with a suggestive eyebrow waggle. Bradley sort of wants to smack him. So he does.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Morgan. This has nothing to do with you.”

“Are you telling me I should be worried about you and Angel now?”

The lift arrives, door opening to reveal an empty compartment, and they step inside.

“Well, I’m not sure. She’s a fairly decent snog, you know,” he teases, trying to look impassive as he strokes his chin thoughtfully.

Before Bradley even knows what’s going on, Colin’s crowding his space, one hand pressed against the wall at his back and the other threading through the hair at the back of Bradley’s neck.

“As good as me?” he whispers into Bradley’s ear, warm breath sending chills down his spine as Colin’s mouth descends on him. The kiss only lasts a few moments, but it is deliciously hot, tongue sweeping past Bradley’s lips instantly and invading the heat of his mouth with reckless abandon, kissing him passionately as he presses his upper body against Bradley’s.

The world seems a little hazy when Colin pulls away, just as the lift doors open to reveal the main lobby, and it takes a few seconds for Bradley is gather his bearings once again. Colin is wearing a shit-eating grin, clearly proud of himself, but he hasn’t won the war just yet.

Bradley’s already plotting his revenge – in the form of sexual torture, of course, because Colin’s actually quite a beast in the bedroom – as he wordlessly follows him out of the building. It isn’t until they’re a couple blocks away that Bradley sidles up to Colin, fingers accidentally brushing against his as they walk.

“You’re definitely a better snog,” Bradley says at length. He feels Colin’s hand twitch against the back of his own, but they both know it’s too big of a risk, being out on the street in public like this. People rarely pay them any attention, but neither want to have their secret revealed on the cover of The Sun after someone with a camera and fortunate timing catches them on film.

“That’s good. I was getting concerned there for a moment,” Colin jokes.

“I’m sure you were.” Bradley casts Colin a sidelong glance, bumping his shoulder affectionately.

They fall in sync, a comfortable silence stretching between them as they walk down the streets of London, and Bradley thinks that he’s truly content with his life right now. His career is going well, his personal life is great, and he’s just all around happy. Sure, he and Colin have been in a couple of major rows since they started dating – and when they fight, they really go at it – but they’ve always been able to resolve things relatively quickly. Plus, the make-up sex is amazing. In fact, it’s enough to make Bradley go hard just at the memories alone.

“You know,” Colin says, cutting through his thoughts then. “Maybe we should send some flowers or a fruit basket to Johnny or something.”

“Why?”

He shrugs a shoulder lazily. “Well, if it wasn’t for him and his unintentional meddling, we might never have ended up together.”

Bradley considers this for a moment. “Good point. In fact, maybe we should buy him a car.”

“Well, I don’t know that I’d go that far,” Colin says, laughing heartily as he catches Bradley’s eye.

But Bradley’s not so sure. He thinks that Johnny deserves at least a car, if not, perhaps, something even more extravagant like a boat or an airplane. Smiling, he reaches out and curls his fingers around Colin’s wrist, thumb brushing against the soft skin he finds there, despite the fact that there are people around, and is pleasantly surprised when Colin doesn’t immediately pull away.

Bradley grins before releasing Colin’s wrist and allowing his hand to drop back to his side.

Yeah. Definitely a car, he decides.

The End.

Fanfic - It's a Little Bit Funny (This Feeling Inside) - 5/6

2011-03-20T03:54:59Z

Part Four

Six hours later, Bradley is climbing into Beth's car as they head out for dinner. He doesn't even know why he called her, exactly. Perhaps convenience (though the drive she had to make from Bristol to Cardiff isn't particularly convenient by most people's standards), or perhaps because he knows Beth and feels comfortable around her. He doesn't quite fancy trying to pick up some random girl in a pub in order to make his lie slightly less of a lie, so this is the only logical solution he can think of. Either way, she'd been chuffed to hear from him and insisted on coming out that evening, which only makes Bradley feel like more of a prat.

They end up at a little café somewhere on the other side of the city, though Bradley has to actually look at the menu to remind him of the name.

“I’m really glad that you were available for dinner tonight,” Beth says as she opens her menu. “Truthfully, I didn’t actually expect you to contact me at all, but I’m glad you did.”

To be honest, he’s not sure what to say to that, so he opts for, “That’s good,” and buries his face in the menu, hoping that it doesn’t make him sound too aloof.

Several minutes pass in relative silence before their waiter arrives to take orders.

“What can I get for you?” he asks, pen and pad of paper in hand. Bradley tries not to notice the fact that their waiter is tall and thin, with a dark mop of scraggly hair and a pale complexion. He’s a nice-looking bloke in Bradley's perspective, and around his age too, it would seem. Though it figures, he muses sardonically, that he’d be served by the only bloke in the restaurant to remind him of the person he’s desperately trying to forget at the moment.

“I’ll have the fish,” Beth says, pointing to the item on the menu.

“Excellent choice,” the waiter replies, smiling broadly. “You have great taste.” There’s an air of flirtation in his tone, and if this had been a real date, Bradley might have made some comment about it. But as it stands, Bradley’s a little distracted by his uncanny resemblance to Colin. Or, maybe he’s just seeing what he wants to. The idea tugs painfully at his heart.

There is a lengthy pause before Beth nudges him under the table. “Bradley? What are you ordering?”

“Oh. Right.” He realises then that even though he’s been scanning the menu for the better part of five minutes, he hasn’t actually read a single world. There’s a surprisingly large selection of vegetarian dishes here, he can’t help but note.

“Um, I’ll have this,” he says, pointing at a random item, because it doesn't really matter what he picks. It’s all going to taste terrible – he already knows this – so what he orders is irrelevant.

“Very well.” The waiter hurries away after writing Bradley’s order down, leaving them alone again.

By nature, Beth has always been a chatty person, and thankfully tonight is no exception. In fact, it might even be more extreme than usual, considering the fact that they haven't actually sat down for any extended period of time since before the break-up. Bradley asks as many questions as he can think of in an effort to both keep her talking and simultaneously prevent the focus from turning to him, which seems to have the desired effect.

Nonetheless, he is still eternally grateful when their food arrives, though less so when he sees what he ordered. It’s a rather large salad of some sort. Though considering his lack of an appetite, this might be the perfect meal for him.

Beth continues prattling on while Bradley mostly picks at his food, pushing it around the plate and reorganising it more than actually eating anything. It has weird items in it – things Bradley doesn't think really belong in a salad – such as apples and dried cranberries. Since when do people put fruit in salad anyway? Unless you're making a fruit salad, of course, but there are definitely lettuce and onions in this. Bradley thinks Colin would probably love something like this salad, all healthy and lean and delicious. Well, Bradley can't say for certain what it tastes like, since he's only had a couple bites and those tasted like sawdust. But maybe he'd be willing to come back and try again. As it turns out, eating vegetarian isn't so bad after all, even if he still loves his steak. Though, the veggie burgers Colin made for him last November were surprisingly satisfying, and he's been forced to concede that perhaps Colin isn't completely mad when it comes to choosing this lifestyle.

“Bradley?”

The sound startles him and his head shoots up. “Yeah?”

“Are you all right?” Beth asks, brow furrowing in concern.

“I'm fine.” He blinks. “Why?”

“Because you've barely said two words all night,” she says. “You've spent the last five minutes pushing your salad around on your plate, and I sincerely doubt you've heard a single word I've just said. In fact, it sort of feels like I'm not even here at all.”

“That's not true,” he lies, then hopes that she doesn't call him on it.

“Okay, then tell me what I was just talking about.”

Well, shit. How the hell is he supposed to know? It's not that he hasn't been trying to listen to her, he just hasn't been able to maintain his attention for, well, the majority of the evening, truth be told. But damn it, he's made the attempt, and surely that has to count for something. Vaguely, a memory returns of something she's mentioned at some point this evening and he mentally crosses his fingers that it'll be enough to convince her that he's been listening at least somewhat.

“The trip to the States with your sister?” He shoots her what he hopes is a charming smile.

“Bradley, that was fifteen minutes ago.” Beth folds her arms and gives him a look. “What's going on with you? And don't you dare try and tell me that you're fine, because we dated for two years, and I know you. You are not fine.”

For a moment he wants to deny it, but similarly to Katie and Stephanie, once Beth gets an idea in her head, she's hard-pressed to change it without swaying evidence to the contrary. Seems to be a theme with the women in his life, it would appear. But even more than that, he rang Beth on false pretences, dragging her out for dinner in some ridiculous attempt to avoid the real issue of his feelings for Colin, and that's not fair. It wasn't fair when he called her, it wasn't fair when she drove all the way out here, it wasn't fair when she picked him up from the hotel, and it isn't fair now that they've been here for close to an hour and Bradley's done little more than spend the entire time with his mind anywhere but here. At the very least, he owes her the truth, or as much of it as he can comfortably share.

Instead of answering immediately, Bradley's gaze drops to land on his dinner plate, suddenly finding it fascinating. There's a cranberry attached to one of the apple slices. Bradley pokes at it with his fork, but they remain stuck. Maybe it's meant to be, that the fruit would stick together, clinging to one another in a vegetable world. Seems symbolic, somehow, Bradley muses. That, or he's looking for some existential sign that everything will work out in the end, that he'll be okay. Though admittedly, seeking explanations in salad doesn't exactly seem like the wisest, most informed way of obtaining the answers he needs.

“You're right,” he admits, sighing heavily. “I'm sorry. I never should have rung you up in the first place.”

“No, no, don't say that.” Beth reaches over and pats his hand gently, lips pulling into a smile. “If you're having a difficult time, then you need friends to help you through it, yeah? You know I'm here for you.”

That's the thing about true friends; they're there for you, even when you're behaving like an arse, and Bradley knows that he's lucky to have such great ones. That being said, telling Beth the truth is a risk, not just because he'll be laying out private details of his current love life to an ex, but because of who he is. Bradley knows he's not any more bloody important than the next person, but the reality is that there are certain hazards that come with his line of work, and this is the type of information that could potentially come back to haunt him if the media were to get wind of any of this. But the truth is that he trusts Beth, has known her for many years, and she's one of few people who knew and cared for him long before he became slightly more noticeable in the world. If he can't trust her with his secret, then he probably can't trust anyone.

“All right. I'll tell you. But this is just between you and me,” he says.

Beth nods solemnly. “Of course.”

So he tells her. Everything. In as much detail as he can handle sharing, because if he's doing this, then he's going to do it properly. At first, he tries to tell the story without giving away identifying information as to who he's fallen for, but that lasts for all of about thirty seconds before he's forced to start naming names, unless he wants to fabricate a whole new set of lies. Beth sits across from him, picking away at her food as she listens intently to his story, nodding and humming and commenting in all the right places. It's unclear to Bradley what she's thinking about the whole thing, at least from the perspective of having dated him for a significant period of time, but he doesn't sense any shock or condemnation, so for that he is grateful.

When Bradley's finished telling his story, he leans back in his chair expectantly, both anticipating and dreading what she's going to say about the whole situation. Oddly, he feels as though a weight has been lifted from his shoulders, even if he hasn’t exactly done anything to resolve the problem. But even talking about it, getting all of his thoughts and feelings out in the open, makes Bradley feel better. Beth’s eyes flitter away from his to focus on something over his shoulder, and he can tell by her distant, glazed-over look that she's lost in thought.

Finally, after what feels like hours, she leans forward and folds her hands.

“I’m sorry for all the distress this has clearly caused you,” she says, eyes filled with sympathy. “But I guess the thing that stands out to me is the fact that you’ve already condemned Colin without ever hearing his side of things. There could be hundreds of reasons why Colin didn’t tell you about the kiss, but you haven’t given him the chance to explain. And for that matter, you don’t even know with absolute certainty that he did snog anyone at all in the first place.”

Bradley supposes she makes a decent argument, but it’s not enough to sway him just yet. “Yeah, but Angel wouldn’t lie about something like that. She sounded convinced herself.”

“I’m not suggesting she lied, Bradley. All I’m saying is that you don’t know Colin’s side of the story. Are you really willing to just walk away from this without knowing for certain what it is you’re walking away from?”

In spite of the heartache he feels, that question isn’t difficult to answer. “Of course not. But what do I do if he’s not interested? What if I ruin our friendship by telling him everything?”

“It sounds like you might be doing a good job of that without talking to him,” Beth points out, and the truth of her claim stings just a little. “At least if you admitted your feelings, you’d finally feel some semblance of relief. And you don’t know how Colin will react. Maybe he feels the exact same way about you as you do about him and the whole thing was a big misunderstanding, but how will you ever know unless you do something about it?”

It’s a fair enough point, and for the first time, Bradley has to concede that she’s probably right. He hasn’t exactly been straightforward with Colin through all of this, and even if he is with Lila now, Bradley deserves to know that too.

“You’re right,” he admits, and is surprised by the ease with which the words come out of his mouth.

Their waiter returns to the table a few moments later with their bill in hand, looking mildly impatient. That’s when Bradley realises that it’s almost ten and they’ve been in the restaurant for over two hours.

“Do you want me to drive you back to your hotel?” Beth asks once he's paid their bill (it's the least he can do under the circumstances).

But Bradley shakes his head. “No. No, it’s okay. I think I’d rather walk.”

“Are you sure? It’s so far.” She frowns, propping her chin on her palm.

“I know. But I need some time to sort things out. Look—” Bradley gives her other hand a squeeze. “I’m so sorry for dragging you out here on false pretences, and then being the worst possible company I’ve ever been. It was a terribly rude and selfish thing for me to do, and I apologise for forcing you to put up with me.”

Beth waves a hand at him. “No, it’s fine. I meant it before when I told you that I was glad you’d given me a ring, and I stand by that. It was nice to see you again, and it’d be great if we could do this more than once every three years.” She smiles warmly at him. “Anyway, I hope everything works out all right for you in the end.”

She hugs him good-bye and carries on her way, and Bradley steps outside, preparing for a very long walk.

Rain pounds against the window of Colin’s flat, storm having really picked up since Bradley arrived. Thankfully, soaked though he may have been, he’d managed to miss out on the brunt of it. He watches the trails of raindrops forming patterns against the window pane distractedly as he finally reaches the end of his story.

Bradley swallows, tongue thick and nerves frayed as he risks a glance over at Colin, who has been listening to him recount every last detail of the past four months of his life with frightful honesty, and the idea that he's all but admitted to being in love with Colin makes him feel reckless and more than a little terrified. But in some ways he also feels a sense of relief, because the truth is finally out there. And even if Colin takes his heart, stomps it to the ground until there's nothing left, Bradley thinks that it probably can't hurt much worse than he's already been hurting.

“And so you spent the next three hours walking around Cardiff?” Colin asks with a mild sense of disbelief, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

“Er, yeah. Basically. I had a lot to think about,” he says and cards a hand through his hair. That is an understatement, but he doesn't consider it necessary to bore Colin with the details of every single fear and possible scenario that had tumbled through his mind in a never-ending cycle.

“Am I allowed to speak now?” Colin asks, fingers still slowly sliding back and forth across the back of Bradley’s hand in a deliriously distracting manner. How he managed to share this story in the first place without falling apart, he will never quite know.

He wants to say no, to keep living in this fantasy world where it’s still possible that Colin’s interested in him, but once he has his say then Bradley will finally have to accept reality, even if reality is not what he hopes it will be. But he didn’t come to Colin’s flat in the middle of the night to walk away again before he’s had a chance to at least respond to Bradley, so he pushes aside those worries in favour of giving Colin a chance to at least respond to everything he’s said.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Much to Bradley’s surprise, Colin pushes up off the sofa.

“Stand up,” he orders with a small gesture.

This can’t be good. Colin’s probably about to kick him out of his flat for being an idiot, tell Bradley that he’s sorry, but he just doesn’t feel that way about him.

“Colin, look,” Bradley starts, but he stands anyway. “I know what you’re going to say, and I just—”

But Bradley is cut off when Colin pulls him into a tight embrace, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and the other around his waist. It is so completely unexpected that for a moment, Bradley doesn’t even know how to react. However, when Colin buries his face into the crook of Bradley’s neck, it’s almost as if his body can’t help but respond, and he feels himself sink into the hug, hands fisting in Colin’s shirt. He has no idea what’s going on, but he simply can’t find it in himself to care. Colin’s fingers slip under Bradley’s shirt, rubbing soothing circles into his lower back, and the sensation sends a shiver through his body.

“Fuck, Bradley, I’m so sorry,” Colin murmurs into Bradley’s neck, giving him one more squeeze before reluctantly pulling back.

Bradley blinks, so many thoughts tumbling through his mind as to what Colin could be apologising for.

“Why?” he asks, as Colin indicates for him to sit again.

However, instead of returning to his spot on the sofa, Colin perches on the edge of the coffee table, sitting directly across from Bradley.

“Shit. I knew there was something going on. I knew and I— Well, I just assumed you'd talk to me when you were ready, but I shouldn't have left it for so long when it was obvious,” Colin sort of rambles, staring hard at his hands. ”I wish you'd come and talked to me sooner.” He shakes his head and curses again.

At this point, Bradley still has no clue as to what Colin's reaction means, exactly. Nor is he clear on whether or not Colin actually reciprocates his feelings or if he just feels guilty for not being honest and admitting the truth about Lila earlier. But at the very least, he hasn't been kicked out of Colin's flat, so he's hoping that implies he hasn't ruined everything by finally coming clean.

All the same, he needs to give them both an out, should Colin need it, because Bradley doesn't want to lose him, no matter how much the idea of Colin loving someone else stabs painfully at Bradley's heart. “I'm sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, but I'm sure I'll get over it in no time.” It's a lie, of course, but he feels compelled to say it anyway. ”Just needed to air things out, you know? And if you'd prefer, we can just pretend like this conversation never happened at all and go back to how things were before.”

He is aware, of course, that they've already done this dance before, and it didn't exactly have the desired effect, but he's sort of reached the point where all rationality has been taken off the table.

“Bradley, shut up. It's my turn to talk now,” Colin says, and reaches over to take one of Bradley's hands in his own.

Bradley swallows and nods, forcing himself to listen over the sound of his pounding heart, thrumming like a drum against his skull. Colin strokes his thumb over the top of Bradley's knuckles, and concentrating becomes even more of a challenge.

“I don't know how everything became so fucked up, but since we've wasted so much time already, I'm going to keep this short. I'm not dating Lila, I don't want to date Lila, and I never did.”

Bradley eyes him somewhat sceptically, even as he feels hope rising in his chest for the first time in days. “How is that possible? It seemed like you two were perfect for each other.”

“Just because we had a few interests in common? That's not enough to make a good relationship. She was a very sweet girl, and we hit it off right away, but only as friends.”

“Why?” The words leave his mouth before he can filter them out.

Colin shrugs one shoulder as heat rises in his cheeks for the first time. “Er, well I sort of had to tell her that I had, feelings. Very strong ones. For someone else. You don’t honestly believe that I just kissed you because it was New Year’s, do you?” he asks, staring purposefully at Bradley.

For a moment, Bradley forgets how to breathe. But he forces himself to take a step back before he loses control. “But what about that note you left for me on New Year’s Day?”

A thoughtful look passes over Colin’s face, and he turns away for a moment. “Oh. That. Well, I knew you’d managed to get yourself quite pissed that night and I didn’t want to hold you to something you didn’t want, when the hangover wore off.”

That couldn’t have been further from the truth, but how was Colin supposed to know that? Still, relief washes over Bradley at the knowledge that he hadn’t misinterpreted everything the first time around, and in fact had been correct all along. If only he’d been able to trust himself.

There is only one thing remaining, one final detail that needs to be sorted before Bradley can finally release the relief and joy that’s ready to burst in his chest. “But then why did you get together with Lila recently? I, uh, well, I overheard Angel and Katie talking about it, and Angel was under the impression that you’d gone on a date. And that you’d— um, that you’d kissed her.”

“Oh, Bradley,” Colin murmurs soothingly as he leans close and reaches up to brush his fingers against Bradley’s jawline. “There must have been some miscommunication between Angel and Lila, because it was never a date, and we both knew that. In fact, she was passing through and we thought it’d be fun to have dinner. Plus, I sort of wanted to get her advice on what to do about our date… get-together… whatever this night was supposed to be. She’s become a good friend in the last few months, so at least something came of Angel attempt at setting us up.”

“And the kiss?” Bradley prompts, trying not to sound too eager to have the final piece of the puzzle.

“After we ate dinner, in which she’d given me some very sage advice about what to do, I kissed her on the cheek as thanks. It never even occurred to me to tell you, because it meant absolutely nothing to me. It was about as romantic as kissing my nana.”

“Then what happened?” It sort of slips out, unintentionally. “With Lila, I mean? Why did she tell Angel you’d been on a date and kissed?”

Colin shrugs a shoulder, appearing unconcerned. “I asked her to keep what we’d spoken about to herself. I suspect she was just trying to protect me and assumed that Angel wouldn’t say anything.”

“But by pretending you’d been on a real date?”

“Not the wisest choice, I agree. But she’s not that type of person, I can assure you. Either way, I’ll talk to her about it.”

The sincerity is obvious, both in Colin’s tone as well as in his expression, blue eyes piercing Bradley’s, and he knows without a shadow of a doubt that everything he’d assumed about Colin and Lila had been completely incorrect. The realisation fills him with unfettered joy as his chest swells and his eyes well up with unshed tears. Relief doesn’t even begin to describe how he’s feeling at this very moment.

“I am such an idiot“ Bradley groans, burying his face in his hands, letting the weight of the truth settle fully over him. “God, Cols, I’m so sorry for the way I’ve been acting. Hell, I’ve been making Arthur look like an emotionally sensitive bloke in comparison. Arthur, Colin. So you know it has to be bad.”

“No, you’re not, Bradley,” Colin says, then taps his chin, smirking. “Well, maybe you’re kind of an idiot. But at least it didn’t last too long, yeah?”

Bradley can’t stop himself from smiling back, acceding with a single shoulder shrug. But then Colin’s face suddenly sobers as quickly as it’d brightened.

“But just so we’re completely clear, the person I’ve fallen for is you, Bradley, and no one else. There hasn’t been anyone else for a very long time.” It's no more than a whisper as Colin leans forward, a silent invitation through the warm exhale of breath, and Bradley can do nothing but fall into the gravity of his lips.

The kiss is eager, enthusiastic, as their mouths finally meet, the culmination of months of dreaming about this moment making it even better than his wildest fantasies. Colin opens his mouth to Bradley immediately, licking at his upper lip until he's granted access. Their tongues slide and dance against one another, playful, needy, teasing. Bradley's arms encircle Colin's waist, fisting in his shirt as he tries to pull Colin closer. There's too much distance between their bodies, and he needs to feel every part of him that he can. Without breaking contact, Colin shifts forward, adjusting himself so he's straddling Bradley's hips, one hand slipping beneath the front of his shirt and the other curling into his hair. Bradley shivers when Colin’s fingers brush across his chest, as heat continues to pool in his groin, and he knows he’s already painfully hard.

They continue for what feels like hours, tasting and touching and moving against one another. It is wet and hot and just a bit filthy, which is perfectly fine with Bradley. Fantastic, even. He could do this for hours, days, even months. Bradley’s hands roam around Colin’s body, exploring, wanting to touch as much as he can, before they finally settle on his arse, squeezing and pulling him down to meet the gentle thrust of Bradley’s own hips. The first time their cocks rub against one another, it is as though Bradley’s been set on fire, even with two layers of clothing between them, and he moans enthusiastically.

“Bradley, fuck— I need you, I need to taste, I—” Colin groans as his fingers slip to the waistband of Bradley’s sweats.

Before he even knows what’s happening, Bradley’s – no, Colin’s – sweats and boxers are pooling at his ankles, and Colin is kneeling between Bradley’s thighs, pupils blown wide and filled with such lust that the image alone is almost enough to make Bradley come. And then Colin is taking him in his mouth, and it is all Bradley can do to not thrust his hips forward with wild desperation. It’s almost too much to handle, as his head lolls back in pleasure, and Bradley has to focus on simply taking one breath, another, keep going, don’t pass out.

His hands instinctively move to fist in Colin’s hair, tugging, not enough to hurt but enough to show his enthusiasm. Colin’s hands come to rest firmly on Bradley’s hips, preventing him from thrusting too intently as he fucks Colin’s gorgeous mouth. Bradley’s breath is coming out in short stutters now, and he accidentally lets an obscenely loud moan slip past his lips that can probably be heard in every surrounding flat, and possibly even in the basement. He’s no stranger to this, but Colin is bloody amazing at it, and it’s never felt quite this incredible before. Colin’s tongue is doing all sorts of wicked things and Bradley thinks that if he were to die in this very instant, he would die happier than he’s ever been.

It doesn’t take long to develop a steady rhythm, especially with the sight of Colin sucking his cock flooding his vision, and he’s close, so close to coming, when suddenly Colin pulls off him with a wet pop, grinning lecherously from his perch between Bradley’s thighs. Much to his embarrassment, Bradley hears himself whimper, his entire body protesting the loss of contact acutely. He curses loudly.

“Not here,” Colin says, as if he can read every one of Bradley’s thoughts, and presses a soft kiss to the inside of Bradley’s thigh before standing. “Come on, let’s go.”

And then Colin is tugging Bradley off the sofa, leading him by the hand as he walks towards the bedroom down the hall.

They barely make it into the bedroom before Colin has Bradley pinned against the wall, hands sliding under his shirt and pulling it off in one swift, and impressively coordinated, motion.

“Wow, that’s—” Bradley starts, but he’s cut off by Colin’s lips pressing a bruising kiss to his mouth, and he promptly forgets what he was about to say.

In a matter of seconds, Colin’s tongue plunges into his mouth, both arms wrapping around his waist, and Bradley clutches at him, craving every touch, every sensation he can get. Slipping his own hands beneath the fabric of Colin’s shirt, he manages to pry their mouths apart long enough to remove the barrier between their chests.

They stand there pressed up against the wall, a mess of lips and tongues and hands, tasting and experiencing each other with unending enthusiasm. The kiss is hot and wild, a flurry of emotions driving every touch, and Bradley thinks that they could remain like this for the rest of their lives and he would be content.

“God, Bradley. Can I—? I want—” Colin groans, pressing further into him as he runs his tongue down the length of Bradley’s jaw and plants a wet kiss to his neck.

Anticipation rises in Bradley’s chest, sending a jolt of heat straight down to his groin.

“What do you want?” Bradley manages to force out as his head falls back against the wall, even as his fingers are clumsily fumbling with the button and zipper on Colin’s jeans.

One of Colin’s hands slips down the back of Bradley’s sweats, running over his arse and then dipping between the cheeks until Colin’s fingers brush against his sensitive opening, asking the question he hasn’t been able to verbalise. Bradley’s cock twitches and he nearly falls over with the realisation of what Colin is asking him for. The mere idea of Colin touching him, filling him in that way – fucking him open and reducing him to nothing more than a quivering mess – is enough to make him weak in the knees.

“Yes,” he breathes, without hesitation. “Yes, Col. Please.”

Colin pulls back just as Bradley manages to undo his jeans, and he whines a little when the pressure of Colin’s body against his own retreats. All he wants is to feel Colin’s cock in his hands, to wrap his fingers around him and see what kind of noises he can coax Colin into making.

Taking his hand once more, Colin leads them to the bed and gently pushes Bradley down into the mattress, climbing on top of him. Soft lips trail hot kisses down Bradley’s neck and chest, every touch and every caress burning into his skin, etching the memory of Colin’s mouth into every pore of his body. Bradley moans loudly, pleasure coursing through his veins, and his hands fist in the hair at the nape of Colin’s neck as his tongue moves in wicked ways against Bradley’s chest.

He stops at the waistband of Bradley’s sweats, nuzzling his face against Bradley’s cock, rock hard and straining against the constraints just barely containing him.

“God, Colin, just—” he forces out, overcome with desire and fighting every instinct in him that begs to thrust his hips up, seeking more friction. Colin simply smiles, chuckling lightly.

In a matter of moments, Bradley finds himself stripped of the last of his clothes as Colin is fumbling to remove his own jeans and boxers, both Bradley’s body and heart laid bare and open to whatever Colin wants.

“Have you ever done this before?” Colin asks, crawling back over to lie beside Bradley on the bed, a look of concern passing briefly across his features.

“Yeah, a few times,” Bradley says, though he’d be lying if he claimed he wasn’t slightly nervous. It’s been a very long time since his last time having sex with another man, though he feels oddly embarrassed at his own inexperience.

It must come across in his voice anyway.

“Don’t worry; I’ll take good care of you, I promise. You’re going to love it, but you just have to trust me, yeah?” Colin leans in and kisses Bradley softly, thumb brushing soothingly against his jaw before pulling back, and all of his anxiety instantly melts away.

“I trust you. Completely.”

“Good,” Colin says, beaming. “Good. I’m glad.”

With a mixture of reluctance and excitement, Colin rolls off of Bradley and makes his way over to the dresser, rummaging through it before returning to the bed with lube and a condom.

For a moment, Colin sits back, staring at Bradley with something resembling wonder, and Bradley takes this temporary pause to drink in the vision before him. Colin truly is a sight to behold – all lean muscle and sharp angles, dark curls a stark contrast against his milky skin, cock thick and leaking with pre-come. A crooked smile rests on his swollen lips, hair sticking out in unruly tufts, and eyes so dark with lust that Bradley can barely make out their usual luminescent blue. He’s perfect, Bradley thinks, and not for the first time does he wonder if he’s just stepped into a dream and could wake at any moment. But then Colin is kissing him again, hot and deliciously slow, as he lowers himself onto Bradley until every inch of their bodies are pressed together, nothing but skin on skin.

Eventually, Colin pulls away, reaching back for the lube as he coats his hand with a generous amount. Tentatively, he pushes Bradley’s legs apart, brushing his finger over his opening. Bradley shudders visibly, biting back a groan.

“Just relax, yeah? I’ve got you,” Colin assures him, free hand rubbing Bradley’s thigh encouragingly, and Bradley nods.

Colin’s finger continues to trace his hole, before pressing in experimentally. Bradley clenches for a moment before letting out a shaky breath, allowing the tip to slip in. After one more successful attempt, Colin’s finger slides all the way inside, pushing past the tightness as Bradley forces himself to relax. He takes his time, stretching him wide, one finger becoming two as he opens Bradley up. It feels foreign, but not unpleasant, burning with a slow ache that has him begging for more. A third finger joins the others until Colin’s hand is buried up to the knuckles, and Bradley is almost mad with desire.

“Colin… Col, I need you inside me. Now,” Bradley attempts to command, but it ends up coming out desperate and a bit strangled instead.

The sudden loss of physical contact is only satiated by the sight of Colin, preparing himself. Bradley holds back a moan as Colin rolls the condom over his swollen cock, slicking himself with the lube, hand moving deliciously slow. For a moment, Colin’s eyes close and his head tilts back, revealing the expanse of his neck – the muscles taut and inviting – and Bradley longs to press his lips there, sucking and biting until it bruises.

When Colin finally pushes the tip of his cock past Bradley’s entrance, Bradley’s breath hitches in his throat. It’s tight, so very tight, but he wants nothing more than to feel Colin fill him until there is no distinction between where his body ends and Colin’s begins. Colin moves slowly, easing carefully inside, pulling back and then pushing in further with each gentle thrust. Bradley’s hands reach for his hips, guiding the process along until Colin’s balls are pressed flat against his arse. Their eyes lock, a silent conversation passing between them, before Colin starts to move his hips with tender care.

The pace is agonisingly slow, until they establish a rhythm, adjusting to one another for the first time. But when Bradley begins to arch his back, encouraging Colin’s movements, he takes the hint, increasing both the speed and intensity of their pace. Shifting just slightly in order to alter the angle, Colin suddenly hits something in him that causes Bradley to cry out in pleasure.

“Fuck. Yes. Do that. Do that again,” Bradley begs, breathless.

“Gladly,” Colin says with a satisfied smirk, jerking his hips upwards in the same manner as before. Something explodes behind his eyes, and a litany of words - shitfuckyesthispleaseohgodyes - whirl through his mind in a never-ending loop. Bradley’s hands clutch at the sheets, knuckles white as they grasp the soft material.

Wrapping his legs higher around Colin’s waist, Bradley rolls his hips upwards to meet Colin’s thrusts as they become more erratic, more frantic, desperate. At this angle, he’s hitting that spot almost every single time, and Bradley feels himself slowly coming undone, pleasure soaring through him as Colin pounds into him with reckless enthusiasm. Panting heavily, a light sheen of sweat covers Colin’s body, dark hair clinging to his forehead as he quickens his pace, driving Bradley further into the soft sheets with every thrust. Bradley’s never felt so high, so utterly blissful in his entire life, and he never wants this to end, wants to stay like this in this moment forever.

Tugging Colin back down, Bradley kisses him with near bruising force, teeth clacking against one another before he softens the intensity, sucking Colin’s tongue into his mouth instead. Unexpectedly, he feels Colin’s hand wrap around his cock, tugging and stroking as he continues to thrust into Bradley, and he knows they’re both close now, so gloriously close.

He jerks his hips wildly once, twice, and then Colin’s coming with a strangled cry, the sound muffled only by Bradley’s mouth on his. A moment later, Bradley joins him, stars bursting behind his eyes as he comes harder than he can ever remember, Colin’s name on his lips as he strokes Bradley through the aftershock of his climax. Bradley is wrecked, utterly wrecked, feeling overwhelmed by the pleasure and joy he feels bursting from his chest.

Colin pulls out carefully, removing and tying the end of his condom before tossing it into the rubbish bin as he staggers to his feet. There is a bit of a dull pain as Bradley repositions himself, and he knows he’ll be tender come morning, but every second was worth it, and he’ll gladly offer himself up again and again. Slipping into the bathroom, Colin returns with a damp washcloth.

“Was that okay for you?” Colin asks, nervous little smile forming on his lips as he wipes the come from Bradley’s stomach. It is such a sweet and gentle gesture, so unexpected and touching that Bradley can’t help but reach up to run his fingers down Colin’s jaw affectionately.

“It was amazing,” Bradley whispers, gazing up at Colin with a look he’s sure reveals just how much of a love-sick sap he truly is.

The grin he receives in return is nearly blinding in its intensity. “I’m glad. I told you it’d be great, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.”

Colin tosses aside the cloth once he’s finished, and climbs back into bed beside Bradley. Reaching out, Colin pulls Bradley into his arms until his head is nuzzled in the crook of Colin’s arm, face resting on his chest. Content silence falls in the air around them, their breathing slowing as sleep begins to descend.

“You can’t imagine how long I’ve dreamed about doing this with you,” Colin whispers into the dark, lips pressing into Bradley’s temple like a soft caress.

Happiness washes over Bradley, even as he fights back sleep, filling him with a warmth that extends from his cheeks right down to the tips of his toes. “Me too. You have no idea.”

The last thing Bradley is aware of before falling asleep is the tightening of Colin’s arms around his shoulders as he settles comfortably in the embrace.

~*~

The shrill ring of a mobile phone is what eventually pulls Bradley from a very deep and very contented sleep. Flinging an arm out from under the warm bed covers, Bradley gropes blindly for his phone while simultaneously trying to remember when the hell he'd actually brought it into the room in the first place.

A vague memory of stumbling out to the loo sometime in the wee hours of the morning floats back to him. That must have been the point where he retrieved it, he decides. Now if only he could find the damn thing before it makes both of them deaf.

Finally – finally – his hand closes around the infernal device, and he fumbles with the buttons until he manages to hit the right one.

“'Lo?” he grumbles gruffly.

“Brad? Did I wake you?”

He tries not to groan. Really he does. But hearing his sister's perky voice, at who knows how early in the morning, is a little more than he's ready to put up with at the moment.

“No. I've been up for hours,” he deadpans.

“Ha ha, very funny. It's just past ten in the morning, you know. How are you still sleeping?”

“I had a late night.”

“Doing what?”

Bradley closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Exercise.”

Technically it's true. He walked for a good three hours yesterday evening. And then, of course, there was the sex. Which they may have had a couple more times throughout the night, much to Bradley's delight.

“Seriously? Who the hell stays up late exercising?” She continues to grumble to herself about Bradley's general ineptness, while he takes a moment to burrow further under the covers. Colin is a warm lump beside him and he instinctively leans back, seeking more contact.

“Anyway,” Bradley cuts in, effectively ending her rant. “Was there a reason you called and woke me up, or do you just live to torture me?”

“I do not live to torture you,” she says, scoffing loudly. “That's just a nice added bonus.”

“Steph,” he says in his warning tone of voice.

At his back, he can feel Colin shift, moving until he's pressed right up against Bradley from their shoulders down to their feet. An arm slips under his, wrapping around Bradley's waist, and he can't stop the content smile from forming on his lips as he entwines his free hand with Colin's.

“Fine. I'm sorry. I just needed to know if I left my mobile at your place when Mum and I visited the other day. I've looked everywhere for it, and that's the last logical place it could be.”

“I don't know. Maybe.”

“Well, can you go and check, please?” The exasperation in her voice is obvious, as if she thinks Bradley is a complete idiot.

“I'll check later, when I actually wake up, and get back to you, all right?” He hopes that's enough. It'd better be, seeing as how he's clearly not in the hotel and doesn't particularly fancy revealing his actual location to her. Though, now that he's thinking about it, he does recall seeing a foreign mobile sitting on the end of his sofa. He'd meant to ring her about it the other day, but had been rather distracted by everything else going on and it'd slipped his mind.

But of course, this would the one time when she absolutely can't wait. “No, I really need you to check right now. There's an important message I'm waiting for and I need you to read it to me.”

“Steph, come on,” he whines.

“No. Stop complaining and just haul your lazy arse out of bed and check for me. You can roll over and go back to sleep after.”

“It's not here,” Bradley lies, even though he knows she's not going to believe him.

“Yes, it is. It has to be. Just stop being so difficult, for once, and check for me. Please.”

He heaves a sigh. It's starting to look like he's not going to be able to weasel his way out of this one after all. “I can't, Steph.”

“You mean you won't. You know what—”

“No, I'm serious,” he interrupts. “I really can't get your phone for you right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because—” He chews on his bottom lip for a moment before spitting it out. “I can’t because I’m not at the hotel right now.”

“What are you talking about? You just woke up. Where the hell else would you be?”

“Out?”

She scoffs. “Out where?”

“At Colin’s flat?” he offers up as though it’s a question instead of fact.

There is a disturbingly long pause that follows, and for a moment, Bradley wonders if they were cut off. But then, he hears something resembling a snort, and his worries dissipate. “You spent the night at Colin’s and you were up late exercising… ?” There is another pause, and Bradley swears he can hear the very instant when his sister figures it out. “Oh! Oh, God. Shit, Brad, the visual images. I can’t even handle this. I think I need to bleach my brain. Did you have to tell me you were ‘exercising’?”

He tries not to take offense to her claim that him having sex with Colin is anything other than amazing, though he knows she’s referring to him having sex in general, which is understandable. He doesn’t exactly want to know about her sex life either, assuming she has one (which Bradley doesn’t even allow himself to consider, so obviously it must not exist). Naturally, it’s difficult to stop himself from laughing at her reaction, and even Colin chuckles softly into his neck, clearly having heard every word.

“I thought it was bloody fantastic, personally,” he says, grinning as she continues to sputter.

Colin presses a kiss to Bradley’s neck and pulls his hand free to start trailing his fingers lightly across Bradley’s chest instead. It causes Bradley to shiver and his cock to twitch in anticipation, never mind the fact that he’s been pointedly ignoring Colin’s erection poking prominently into his back for quite some time now.

“Ugh. Well, that was far too much information,” Stephanie says, once she manages to regain her composure, even though he’s barely provided her with any details whatsoever. “Anyway, I’m really happy for you, though. Glad you finally decided to man up and take what you wanted. Just, like, try not to be disgustingly obvious in front of me, all right?”

“Sure thing,” he says, holding back another amused laugh.

“Okay, so about my mobile…”

“Yeah, I’ll head back some time this afternoon and call you when I do. I think it’s on the sofa.”

“Great. Then I’ll talk to you soon.”

After he hangs up the phone and tosses it somewhere on the floor, Bradley rolls over to face Colin, tugging him closer and capturing his mouth in a wet, messy kiss.

“I assume you heard what she said about needing that message on her mobile?” Bradley murmurs when they break for air.

Colin grins wickedly, sneaking another kiss. “Mmm, yeah. Guess that means we’ve got a busy couple of hours ahead of us, yeah?”

Bradley rolls them over until he’s pinned Colin to the bed. Colin’s hair is sticking up in various places and he has the filthiest expression on his face. “I guess so,” he agrees with a matching grin, and presses their mouths together.

~*~

It takes Katie and Angel a grand total of three days to find out about Bradley and Colin’s newfound relationship.

It’s not as if they’re trying to hide anything, per se. But everything is still so new, and truth be told, they both sort of enjoy having this secret between just the two of them. They just want to wait for the perfect time to start telling people.

Which both would agree isn’t a mere few days into their romance. But, well, it has been a long-standing theory that Katie actually possesses superpowers, so they suppose it isn’t entirely impossible that she would find out about them. Especially when their behaviour is so blatantly obvious.

“Col, I swear if I have to spend another day doing nothing but fight scenes in full armour, I might just pass out. Every single muscle aches in my entire body,” Bradley whines, shifting on the too-small sofa in Colin's trailer to try and alleviate the pain.

They are curled up together on the couch on a short filming break towards the end of the day, Colin sitting at one end with Bradley’s head resting in his lap, the rest of the space filled with his stiff and sore body. Bradley’s finished for the day and out of his Arthur wardrobe, but Colin has one more scene to do before everyone can head back to the hotel.

One of Colin’s hands clutches tomorrow’s script while the other threads slowly through Bradley’s hair, gently massaging his scalp in a way that somehow seems to sooth his frayed nerves. It’s strange how affectionate Colin actually is, now that their relationship has progressed beyond that of just mates, but Bradley’s definitely not complaining.

“Are you sure it has nothing to do with the copious amounts of sex we’ve been having?” Colin teases. Bradley’s eyes are closed but he can practically feel the smirk forming on Colin’s lips, the smug bastard.

“Maybe it’s the combination of the two, but I don’t think I’ve ever had to do such intense fight scenes for this many days in a row.”

“Mmm, poor baby,” Colin says, fingers still kneading his scalp.

“Damn straight. Don’t they know I need this body for things other than being abused on set?”

Colin tuts disapprovingly. “We’ll have to talk to someone about that, then, won’t we?”

“Yes, we will.”

The sound of Colin's laughter does embarrassingly mushy things to Bradley's innards, and he smiles in spite of himself, feeling like a complete sap but not particularly caring.

“Roll onto your side,” Colin says, pressing lightly on Bradley's shoulder.

“Why?”

“Because I asked you to?”

Bradley huffs, but rolls over anyway, now facing the opposite side of the trailer as he settles back down in Colin's lap.

There is a brief pause while Colin flips another page of his script, before Bradley feels fingers playing at the neckline of his shirt. Then a hand slips between the fabric and his skin as Colin starts rubbing Bradley's back, tracing the curve of his spine and working his thumb into the knots at his shoulders, his touch firm yet soothing.

“What are you doing?” he asks, tentative, curious.

“You said you're sore, so since we don't have the time for anything extensive – never mind the fact that it's sort of risky – I figured this might help ease some of the pain. But you'll have to wait until tonight if you want a real massage,” Colin says casually, as though this is nothing significant. Bradley, on the other hand, thinks it's a ridiculously endearing gesture, and he loves Colin all the more for it. Plus, it feels fantastic, even if it's not doing a hell of a lot to alleviate his symptoms.

“God, you're amazing,” Bradley practically purrs, eyes slipping shut once more as he leans into the touch. “I can't believe I waited so long for this, to be with you.”

There is a little gasp, that sounds suspiciously feminine, and then, “Oh. My. God.“

Colin's hand stills instantly at the sound, as they both jerk their heads towards the intruder at the doorway to Colin's trailer.

Intruders, it would seem. Standing with a foot in the door is one Katie McGrath, Angel tucked in behind her shoulder. Both are staring, eyes wide and mouths literally hanging open as if they've just witnessed the most shocking sight of their lives.

“You two– you're–” Katie stammers out, pointing dramatically back and forth at each in turn, “Together?”

“Katie, be quiet,” Colin says, removing his hand from Bradley's back and gesturing them inside. “Come in here, and we'll answer your questions. Just don't start screaming where people can hear you.”

Bradley sits up as the girls hurry inside, faces alight with excitement and surprise.

“So, what happened?” Katie demands, the second they're all squished inside Colin's trailer and the door is closed. Apparently whatever they came to Colin’s trailer to discuss in the first place isn’t nearly as important as this.

Glancing over at Colin, he just makes out the slight nod of his head, indicating that he's all right with the girls knowing the story. So he does, giving them the shortened version.

When he's done, Angel is grinning like a proud mother, and Katie is nearly exploding with joy.

“So, you're really together, then? Like in a shagging each other's brains out sort of way?”

“Katie!” Angel scolds, smacking her on the arm affectionately. But she still gives them an eager look, as if she's dying to hear the answer as well.

“I refuse to answer the question due to the potential for supplying you both with incriminating evidence,” Bradley says, fully aware that he's done just that.

But when Colin reaches out to grab Bradley's hand, entwining their fingers, the squealing starts up again, and he thinks that maybe it isn't so terrible that they know the truth after all.

---------------

Continue to part six

Fanfic - It's a Little Bit Funny (This Feeling Inside) - 4/6

2011-03-20T03:44:33Z

Part Three

When morning arrives – or early afternoon, as seems to be the case – Bradley awakens to a splitting headache that pounds relentlessly against his skull. He groans, pulling the covers over his head, and allows his brain to think on what had happened the previous night, after he’d kissed Colin. He knows he’s in his own bed, but the details surrounding how he ended up here are still a bit hazy. Vaguely, Bradley recalls someone driving him home – Rupert, he thinks – but he’s quite sure Colin was there too.

Rolling to the side, Bradley tugs the comforter away from his face. On the nightstand, he finds a tall glass of water and a couple of paracetamols, which he gratefully ingests, though he knows he didn’t put them there in the first place. It isn’t until he places the cup back on the table that he notices the piece of paper underneath.

Pushing himself into a seated position, Bradley rubs the sleep from his eyes and grabs the note. A smile unconsciously slips onto his lips at the sight of Colin’s familiar scrawl.

Bradley,

You’re kind of a deadweight when you’re drunk and half asleep, in case you weren’t aware. Thankfully I still had your flat key. And Rupert’s assistance, because I don’t think the two of us would have made it on a bus or the Tube.

I’ve done you the favour of leaving a couple of paracetamols and some water for you, because I suspect you’ll need it come tomorrow. You’re welcome, by the way.

About last night… I know you had a lot to drink. Quite a lot, in fact, so if you want to pretend like nothing happened, no hard feelings or anything. I have an early flight back to Armagh tomorrow and you won’t be able to reach me for a couple of days (long story).

Anyway, Rupert’s giving me a funny look, so I should probably stop writing before he decides to make me walk back to the hotel. Feel better. We’ll talk soon.

Colin

Bradley blinks and reads the note one more time, just to be sure he understands exactly what it is that Colin has said. Obviously the first bit is self-explanatory, but it’s the third paragraph that throws Bradley for a loop. He sinks back into bed, the paper still clutched in his right hand.

There are only two real options here, he figures, after further contemplation. Either Colin thinks what they did last night was a mistake, and this is his way of gracefully backing out without insulting anyone, or he’s giving Bradley an out, a way to save face. Especially if he happens to believe that Bradley was behaving under the influence of alcohol, instead of under the influence of genuine feelings he has for Colin.

Admittedly, Bradley has done some insanely stupid things when he’s been drunk in the past, but never once has he snogged a mate, using tongues no less, unless he was genuinely interested in pursuing something. Contrary to what some might think about him, Bradley also isn’t into one night stands. His mum raised him to respect women – and, well, men by extension – and he’s never been able to forget that message.

So really, Colin’s left him with a choice to make. He can pretend that nothing ever happened between them, or he can acknowledge what transpired last night. It seems unlikely that Colin will reject Bradley, at this point, considering his reaction to Bradley’s advances, which makes the note more protective, perhaps on both of their ends. But there’s an enormity to this situation, and there are immensely significant consequences to his actions from the previous night that are only now just beginning to manifest in Bradley’s mind.

He realises that he has a great deal to sort through. But it can’t be done with this pounding headache. So, with a sigh, Bradley places the paper back on his night stand and shuffles back under the covers, hoping that things will seem clearer when he next wakes.

~*~

When Bradley wakes up for the second time that day, it is to the sound of his mobile ringing shrilly in his ear.

Fumbling wildly for the phone, Bradley manages to grasp hold of it on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

“Brad?”

Oh, God. There’s only one person on earth who has permission to call him ‘Brad’, despite years of vehement protesting on his part. “Steph. What a pleasure.”

A snort filters through the line. “Don’t sound too excited to hear from me. Can’t a sister call her little brother?”

“You’re barely five feet tall, and less than two years older than me. I’d hardly call me your ‘little brother’.”

“Yes, well, now you’re just arguing semantics.”

Bradley can’t help but smile. He kicks the covers off and slips out of bed, padding across the floor towards the kitchen to retrieve some more water. Thankfully the paracetamol seems to have worked on his headache, though his sister is another story altogether. “Yeah. Right. So, not that I’m not thrilled to hear from you, but why are you calling, exactly?”

“Ooh, someone’s moody. Did you have a rough night or something? Too much to drink? Or maybe you couldn’t find anyone to ring in the New Year with you?”

Rolling his eyes, Bradley tries not to let his voice betray anything. He learned long ago to never give Stephanie any fuel to use against him. “My night was fine, thanks. It was great, even, if you must know.”

“Great? Glad to hear it. So… give me the details.”

Bradley makes a face. “Ugh, I am not sharing details with you. Why would you even want them?”

“Ah,” she says, sounding triumphant, “but that implies that there are details in the first place. So, who did you snog?”

“No one you know,” he says. Which technically isn’t true. Stephanie met Colin once, when she visited the set last year, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“Was it someone you just met then?”

Wow, she’s nosy. Not that this comes as a surprise, but he doesn’t exactly want to get into this with his sister, of all people. “No, it’s someone I know. Very well, if you must know.”

“Is it serious?”

“Steph! It was one snog. Stop making it out to be something more.”

“But you want it to be.”

“Why would you think that?” he asks carefully, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

“I can hear it in your voice. Besides, I’m your sister, and I can just tell these things.”

“And you’re also mad.” He’s not entirely sure why he’s denying anything. Everything she’s saying is true. But it’s complicated, so much more complicated than some bloke he met at a bar, or through his mates, and he needs to think through this more before owning up to anything.

“Yes, well, you keep telling yourself that. But I say you go for it, if you fancy this person. Just make sure it’s not someone you work with.”

Bradley’s blood runs cold at the words. “Why would you say that?” he asks.

“Because it rarely works out. I dated a co-worker once and it was great while it lasted. But then things became incredibly awkward after we broke up and I had to see him every single day. It hurt. I have yet to hear about a successful office romance.”

“But surely they can’t all fail?”

“Of course not. But the chances of it going well are slim.”

It feels like a kick to the gut, not because he isn’t already aware of this information, but because he is. And as much as Bradley would love to dismiss his sister’s claims as nothing more than biased drivel, he knows that she also might have a point.

“Yes, well, it’s not someone from work,” he lies. “But enough about me. How was your New Year’s Eve?”

Nearly ten minutes later, and several attempts at refocusing her attention – though admittedly Bradley is having a bit of a hard time concentrating himself – he finally manages to get her back to the original purpose of her call.

“Mum’s birthday is coming up next month, as you know, and I wanted to do something special for her. Throw a party. You can even bring your new flame.” Bradley groans, but it doesn’t stop her. “Anyway, are you in?”

“Yeah, of course. You know I’d do anything for Mum.”

“Great! I’ll be in touch. Later, Brad.”

Bradley sighs and walks over to the table, sinking into a chair, heart heavy and mind full of a million conflicting thoughts.

~*~

For the next two days, Bradley tries to sort out what the right decision is in regards to Colin. Usually he’s not one for such deep contemplation – either he wants something and acts on it, or acknowledges that it clearly isn’t appropriate and moves on. This, unfortunately, just happens to be one of those rare situations that doesn’t fit nicely into either category.

Sure, he wants to be with Colin more than anything right now. That fact isn’t up for debate. And maybe he’s jumping the gun here, but he suspects that a relationship with Colin could be absolutely incredible, especially since they’ve already learned to read and adjust to one another so well. But if they get involved and for some reason things don’t last until the end of the series, the atmosphere on set will go from fun and supportive to awkward and, well, not fun. And no doubt, Katie will find some way to make it out to be his fault, no matter what happens. Plus, it has the ability to jeopardise Merlin, and that’s an awfully huge risk to take, even if he sort of thinks Colin’s worth it anyway.

In the end, Bradley concludes that he doesn’t have the right to make this decision independently of Colin, because it concerns both of their lives. So he resolves to wait until they’re able to sit down and discuss everything in person.

When they finally connect again a day later, Colin starts has an announcement.

“I was offered a small role in a dark, independent Irish film, which was why I needed to fly home so quickly,” he says.

“That’s great! Congratulations, Col,” Bradley says, and he can’t help but feel pride welling up in his chest.

There is a pause, and then, “Actually, erm, well... I haven’t exactly said yes yet.”

Bradley snorts. “What’s holding you back?”

The silence that follows is telling. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why Colin might be hesitating, and something warm unfurls in his stomach at the implication. Of course, they both know he’s going to take the role regardless, but Bradley suspects that maybe Colin would feel better about it if he knew Bradley supported him in this.

“Don’t be absurd,” Bradley says. As much as he’s anxious to speak with Colin, to see him again even though it’s only been a few days, there is no way he would ever permit him to give up such an amazing opportunity. Even if it means that Colin will be tied up until the end of February. “You’d be a fool to pass up something like this.”

The beaming grin can be felt through the phone line. “Of course. Thanks Bradley.”

Unsurprisingly, they never quite get around to discussing the events of New Year’s Eve that day.

~*~

January passes by uneventfully, and then his mum’s birthday arrives at the beginning of February. He never intends on bringing Colin, even if he would have been available, but he can’t help but feel a bit lonely anyway. Stephanie takes the opportunity to hound him further on the subject of his mystery love interest while he continues to deny any knowledge of what she’s blathering on about. It isn’t until his mum seems to catch wind of their ongoing argument that he finally puts his foot down and refuses to discuss the matter further.

He talks to Colin at least once a week, though it’s usually for a limited period of time. Colin sounds like he’s running himself ragged, which comes as no surprise to Bradley whatsoever, but it’s clear that he’s having a great time filming this movie, and as much as he aches to sit down and talk to Colin right now, Bradley is glad he encouraged Colin to take the role.

“I’m done in two days, can you believe it?” Colin asks one evening, towards the end of February.

Bradley can. Time hasn’t exactly flown by in the same way it has for Colin, but he’s managed to keep himself busy with a few smaller projects – two audio commercials, a chat show interview and a charity event.

“I know. It’s hard to imagine that we’ll be back to filming again so soon.”

Truth be told, Bradley can’t wait. Not only to see Colin again, but also to get back to work. It’s been far too long.

~*~

The first thing Bradley does, before they even do the initial read-through of episodes one to three of series four, is meet with Johnny.

“You don't need to put Colin in my scenes with Angel any longer,” he says, feeling quite stupid for even needing to have this conversation in the first place, but he can't go into the next filming block without clearing the air first. “I'll be fine. It'll be great.”

He doesn't actually know if that's true or not. Especially given the fact that he wants Colin now more than ever, and the minor detail that he's also aware of his feelings, where he wasn't before. But maybe that will work to Bradley's advantage, if he can learn to control it now.

Johnny folds his arms and smiles, leaning back in his chair. “I hadn't intended to, so you have nothing to worry about.”

Maybe he’s over-reacting, but he's not one hundred percent certain he actually believes Johnny. Still, he's said what he needed to say, and at this point, all he can really do is trust that Johnny will keep his word. Besides, it won't be that difficult to figure out, if Colin starts randomly showing up on set again when he has no reason to be there otherwise. The one fear he has, though – and has had since he first found out what Johnny was doing – is of others figuring out what Johnny is trying to do, should he keep up with this plan. It would be nothing short of embarrassing for Bradley, but somehow he suspects Colin would be even more mortified than him about the whole thing.

“All right, excellent. That's great, thank you,” he says.

~*~

A nervous ball of energy twists in Bradley’s gut while he waits in the conference room for the arrival of his fellow cast mates. He would be lying if he claimed he wasn’t slightly more excited to see one specific person in general, even though he adores practically everyone on set. But then, if he’s honest with himself, this has probably been true for the last two series as well.

He can’t help but feel a sense of uncertainty as to what’s going to happen when they see each other again. The last time they were physically together, Colin was holding his hand, and Bradley was drunk, which ended up leading to one hell of a snog. But that was just over two months ago, and they weren’t surrounded by their co-workers and friends at the time. Who knows what will happen today?

Besides, there is no guarantee that Colin is still in the same place as Bradley about everything – and no concrete evidence that he ever truly was. (Of course, the whole ‘snogging him with tongues when Colin was clearly sober’ thing might argue to the contrary.)

Fortunately, he doesn’t have to wait long to find out the answer, as everyone taking part in the read-through that day somehow manages to arrive at the exact same time. Hugs and laughter and excited chattering fill the room as everyone greets one another. It feels like a family reunion.

Entirely by coincidence – or fate, perhaps it’s fate, Bradley thinks – Colin is the last one to make his way over to Bradley. For several seconds, neither says anything, but Bradley can feel the pounding of his heart, hear the way his own breath quickens just slightly in anticipation, and he shoves both hands into the pockets of his hoodie, fisting the material on the inside.

Colin is the one who speaks first. “Bradley. It’s good to see you again.”

His smile shifts, a little less wide but certainly no less fond. In fact, it feels more intimate and private. Bradley’s seen this smile directed his way before, but it’s only now that he wonders if perhaps it’s a smile that is meant for him alone, ridiculous as the idea might be. It makes his insides feel warm and squishy, and he likes the thought enough to continue to entertain it, regardless of its truth.

“You too, Col,” he says, and pulls Colin in for a hug.

It doesn’t last long, but there is no mistaking the way Colin squeezes him extra tight, and Bradley has to keep reminding himself that they are in public, that there are a room full of witnesses, and it’s enough to keep him in line. At least for now.

~*~

The first few days back at work are as hectic and stressful as ever. It's always a difficult transition to return to working twelve plus hour days and getting up at the crack of dawn for most of them.

Everyone spends the first couple of days filming during daylight hours, running lines and eating dinner together in the evenings (if they’re able), and retiring to bed as early as possible. So, Bradley supposes it’s not that surprising that he doesn’t actually notice Colin hasn’t been heading back to his hotel in the evenings like everyone else.

“Where are you going?” Bradley asks with raised eyebrows after dinner on the third evening. They’ve just finished eating and are heading back to the hotel in Cardiff. Except for Colin, who starts walking in the opposite direction instead.

Colin squints at Bradley in confusion, the light from the street lamp giving him an almost ethereal glow. “To my flat.”

“What do you mean ‘to your flat’? Since when do you have a flat?” Bradley folds his arms, trying to hide the surprise – and ultimately, the disappointment of realising they won’t be next to each other in the hotel any longer.

“Since the beginning of March. I just wasn’t able to move in until a few days ago. I told you about it, Bradley.”

“I don’t remember that.”

Colin eyes him as though he’s not sure if Bradley’s even being honest with him. He wishes this was all a ruse, but unfortunately it’s quite legitimate. “On our first day of filming?”

“You were there, Bradley,” Angel pipes in. “We all were. It was just after we finished eating that questionable dinner we’d ordered in from room service.”

Oh. Bradley vaguely remembers the conversation now. Or, more accurately, he remembers that they’d had a conversation, though he knows he couldn’t ever hope to recall the details. It’s possible that he might’ve been entranced by Colin’s plush pink lips – which is a terribly hard distraction to resist; he’s only human, after all – and instead of listening, merely began imagining the things those lips could do. It’s not as if he’s proud of himself for it, and it’d been a gruelling day of filming. Plus, he was still adjusting to having been Colin-less for the past two months. Though this doesn’t exactly answer his newly arisen question of why Colin decided to get himself a flat in the first place, and Bradley makes a mental note to find out at some point in the near future.

Of course, even Bradley realises that this is information best kept to himself, so he lies and says, “Oh yeah, right. I remember now. Must have slipped my mind. It’s been so busy these past few days, sometimes it’s impossible to keep track of myself, never mind everyone else.”

Katie’s eyebrows shoot up on her forehead, but thankfully she keeps silent, while Angel smiles and nods.

Colin shuffles a bit awkwardly from one foot to the other then, as if he knows he should leave but clearly doesn’t want to. After a few seconds, though, he seems to make up his mind. “Well, I should be going. Early start tomorrow. Good night, everyone,” he says, smiling at them all, though his gaze rests the longest on Bradley. And then with a wave, he’s off in the opposite direction.

As Bradley and the others walk back to the hotel, he feels a strange, longing urge to turn back and join Colin instead, and he concludes that he desperately needs to talk to Colin about everything as soon as humanly possible.

~*~

The following day, fairly early on in the afternoon when there is a slight lull in filming, Bradley manages to grab Colin and drag him away from everyone else for a few moments.

“Um, so I was wondering,” Bradley starts, and dear God how is it possible that he sounds this much like a girl already? “I was thinking that we should hang out the next time we both have a day off. Maybe continue with our X-Files marathon? Or plan another prank on the girls. And talk. About, uh… stuff. And, um, us. Yeah. If you want to, that is.” He cards a hand through his hair and shoots Colin his most charming, if not slightly abashed, smile, pretending all the while as if his cheeks aren’t just a bit warmer than they were a few minutes prior.

There is nothing but silence for several seconds as Bradley forces himself to continue breathing normally. But then Colin is grinning shyly at him, and his nervousness melts away once more. “All right. That sounds great, Bradley. Let’s do it as soon as we can, yeah?”

Unfortunately the next time they both have a day off at the same time isn’t for almost two weeks, because there are a large number of scenes they need to film together, in addition to their other independent scenes. Still, they’ve waited this long already. Two more weeks should be a piece of cake in comparison.

~*~

Two weeks, as it turns out, might actually be enough time for everything to go to hell.

It is lunch time on Friday and Bradley's day already isn't going that well. He's spent the morning filming a particularly draining emotional scene; usually he's able to pick himself up after without much difficulty, but then usually he has Colin around to help, and since he has the day off – the lucky bugger – Bradley feels a bit out of sorts.

He's drifting casually through the lunch line, not particularly excited by any of today's meal choices, when he hears the sound of giggling girls at his back. Tossing a glance over his shoulder, he notes Katie and Angel are sitting at a table off to the side and is suddenly glad of their presence. Sometimes their brand of inane, girlish chatter drives Bradley mad, but he has to admit that they can also be quite amusing at times, which is precisely what he needs right about now.

“They’re going on a date? Really?” he hears Katie say, her voice uncharacteristically quiet, as he walks up to their table.

He takes a seat, playfully shoving her out of the way while Angel smirks at them. Katie smacks him on the arm, but slides over anyway. “So, who’s going on a date?” he asks. It’s not that he particularly cares, but if a distraction is what he’s looking for, then obtaining set gossip from Katie and Angel is the perfect plan.

“Uh, no one,” she says, a little too hastily. “It’s not really all that interesting.”

“It isn’t that big of a deal, Katie,” Angel cuts in, shrugging casually. “I wasn’t sworn to secrecy, and I’m sure it’s fine if Bradley knows.”

“Yeah, but I doubt he’ll care.”

Angel narrows her eyes suspiciously at Katie, as if she’s trying to figure out what Katie’s angle is, but has no idea what it could be. Which automatically implies that there’s something more to this conversation that Katie obviously doesn’t want him knowing about.

If she’s trying to hide something from Bradley for whatever reason, she isn’t doing a very good job of it. “Well, now you have me curious. Who are you talking about?”

From his peripheral vision, he sees Katie tilt her head quickly, and Angel is still eyeing her curiously when she says, “Colin’s going on a date with my friend Lila. The girl I introduced him to at my New Year’s Eve party.”

Bradley swallows, then nods slowly as he takes in this information. He’s not jumping to any conclusions just yet. In fact, he refuses to. There’s probably just been some misunderstanding somewhere along the line.

“I’m sure they’re just going for a cuppa,” Katie says, and actually pats Bradley’s arm. He stares at her.

Angel blinks, and it’s almost as if they’re carrying on the conversation without any conscious awareness of Bradley’s presence. “Well, they’re going for dinner. That sounds like a date to me.”

Shrugging, Katie shakes her head. “Not necessarily.”

Bradley wants to point out that he agrees with her – and isn’t this a momentous occasion, when Bradley actually agrees with something that Katie’s said? – but he decides to keep his mouth shut and just listen.

“I know they’ve kept in touch since the party—” Angel is saying, and this is news to Bradley. He had no idea that Colin was still in contact with her. Not that it’s any of his business who Colin talks to, nor would he ever try and make it out to be, but he assumes Colin still would’ve mentioned something about that in the past two months. “Everything points to a date.”

Bradley still isn’t jumping to conclusions, because that’s not what he does. He’s just a little put off by all this information.

Unrelatedly, he’s also sort of lost his appetite.

“I should get going. Have a scene to prepare for,” Bradley says, scratching a bit awkwardly at the back of his neck before standing and taking his still full tray with him. “Thanks for letting me sit with you.”

Neither girl says a word as he walks away, but nonetheless, Bradley still can’t help but overhear Katie’s strained “Angel!” a few moments later.

~*~

That evening, as Bradley’s sitting on the hotel sofa watching Buffy episodes in an attempt to distract himself – honestly, how can anyone be upset while watching ’Once More, With Feeling’? – he is tempted to give Colin a ring, find out what he’s doing, even though he already knows.

Unconsciously, he finds himself wondering what’s going on, if they’re talking quietly over an intimate dinner, holding hands, Colin smiling brightly with those crinkles he gets in the corner of his eyes. Maybe he’s inviting her back to his flat after, because no one would know about it, and—

Bradley shakes his head of these thoughts and cranks up the volume.

~*~

Needless to say, he doesn’t sleep all that well, which makes for a quiet ride in the van the following morning. Usually the girls barely manage to keep their heads upright, while Bradley and Colin sing and joke around and are just generally energetic arses the entire time, but Colin doesn’t need to be on set until noon that day, and he has his own flat now, so he isn’t with them anyway.

Which is fine. Bradley hasn’t exactly figured out what he wants to say to Colin when he sees him, so in that respect, he can rest easy. So instead of trying to engage Katie and Angel in conversation, he merely pulls up the hood on his jumper, closes his eyes, and rests his head against the window.

At some point, they must assume he’s fallen asleep, because they start talking in hushed whispers in the back seat as if he can’t hear what they’re saying.

“Did you find out what happened last night with Colin and Lila?” Katie asks.

There is a brief pause, and then, “She didn’t give me many details, but she said their dinner went well.”

“So it was a date then?”

“Well, she didn’t say it was,” Angel admits, and Bradley has to force himself to keep his breathing even and slow, so as to not arouse their suspicions that he’s still awake and actually listening. “But she did say she finally got something she’s wanted for quite some time.”

“Which was?”

Bradley holds his breath, heart racing wildly in his chest.

“A kiss from Colin,” Angel says, and if he’s not mistaken, she almost sounds guilty.

Katie curses softly, and Bradley suddenly feels ill. How is it even possible that this is happening when everything seemed to make so much sense a couple of days ago? Tugging the hood further down his face, Bradley tries to pretend that this changes absolutely nothing, even though he knows that couldn’t be further from the truth.

~*~

Filming is fine throughout the morning – he’s primarily working with Eoin and Angel and is able to throw himself into the role – but everything changes when the afternoon rolls around and Colin arrives on set. They’ve recently begun filming the magic reveal, something both of them have been wanting since the beginning of series two, but it’s difficult for Bradley to be excited about any of it when he feels like everything is crumbling at his feet and he’s helpless to do anything to prevent it from happening.

“You have magic,” Arthur says, sword falling from his hand.

“Arthur, I… I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t. I had no choice,” Merlin says, his face twisted with guilt and regret.

“You lied to me, Merlin, for four years. You’re a sorcerer, and you never told me.” His voice is low, gruff, the betrayal written clearly across his features.

Merlin’s mouth opens and shuts several times in succession, as if he wants to say something but doesn’t know what. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I only ever wanted to protect you.”

“Get out of here,” Arthur demands, pointing in the opposite direction.

“Arthur—” Merlin protests softly. But Arthur can’t do this right now.

The director yells “cut”, and Bradley immediately backs away from Colin, because this all feels too real, is hitting too close to home for him.

He is stopped by a hand to his arm, and he has to force himself to meet Colin’s imploring gaze.

“Bradley, are you all right?” Colin asks, but the concern in his voice only serves to anger Bradley instead.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says curtly. “I just didn’t sleep well.”

And before Colin can say anything else, Bradley turns and walks away, trying and failing to ignore the dull ache sitting heavily in his chest.

~*~

That evening Katie and Colin are working late, which saves Bradley from having to engage in any sort of social interactions. It fills him with a sense of relief, because he doesn’t think he has the mental energy to fake it tonight. Instead, he orders room service, grabs a beer, and permits himself a night – just one – to wallow in self-pity.

Collapsing onto the sofa with a beer in hand, Bradley wonders when the hell everything went to shit. It doesn’t make any sense whatsoever, if he looks back on everything that has occurred in the past few months. He’s invested a great deal of time sorting through everything, and had been certain that he knew what was going on. Unless… unless there is an alternate way of interpreting everything, and suddenly, unexpectedly, a whole new picture forms in Bradley’s brain.

What if Colin had merely kissed him out of a sense of tradition, going with the flow of what’s expected on New Year’s Eve instead of because he truly wanted to? Not to hurt him, of course – because Bradley knows Colin wouldn’t ever do something like that to him – but just in the spirit of fun and celebrating. It was clear at the time – or at least it seems clear in Bradley’s memory – that Colin hadn’t exactly been repulsed by the idea of snogging Bradley either. The note, then, that Bradley found the next morning could very well have been the product of Colin trying to ensure this wouldn’t change their friendship, once the potential implications of his actions sunk in. It would also explain why he never brought anything up about that night, even once filming had started again. There’s nothing to talk about when it was just a friendly snog between mates, after all.

Angel’s already confirmed that Colin and Lila stayed in touch over the past couple of months, so it’s not unfathomable that he might have developed feelings for her in that time, even if they didn’t initially connect in that way. Clearly, she’s finally come to her senses and realised how incredible Colin is, and since Colin likely isn’t interested in him anyway, why wouldn’t he give her a chance? There is, of course, the matter of their “date” to discuss their relationship, and why Colin agreed to it if he has feelings for someone else. But then, perhaps he genuinely never even realised what Bradley meant in the first place and assumed they were just going to hang out like they always did.

To make matters worse, Colin’s been acting as if nothing has happened, as if nothing’s changed. But Bradley catches Colin watching him, looking at him like he’s worried, and there is definitely no sense of responsibility in his eyes when he does, which means that he doesn’t believe he’s done anything wrong. And he’s not the kind of bloke to mess around like that, so Bradley is forced to conclude that his earlier theorys holds even more weight, in light of the facts.

He flops back on the sofa with a frustrated groan, throwing an arm over his eyes. He is not going to cry over this. This is stupid and ridiculous, and nothing’s even happened to warrant such a reaction anyway. Bradley’s tough. This is just a harmless crush that he will find a way to overcome (except that it’s more than a crush, so much more, and he damn well knows it). He is not going to do this tonight, as much as he might like to, and that’s final.

Except for the minor fact that his body is putting up one hell of a fight, and this is the first time in as long as Bradley can remember that even Buffy can’t cheer him up.

~*~

Somehow, things don’t feel quite as awful the next morning, though it’s possible there are other factors interfering with his misery. Mostly that he doesn’t have to wake at the crack of dawn, and that his mum and sister are coming down to visit for a couple of days.

Unfortunately the whole purpose of them coming to visit is to watch Bradley film, which only adds another layer of anxiety to his already fragile state. The last time his mum had visited the set, he’d been incredibly nervous, and that was when he wasn’t a complete mess. He can only imagine how things might turn out today.

As it turns out, they’re still filming various scenes from the magic reveal and subsequent fall-out between Merlin and Arthur, and today happens to contain another one of those vitally important, charged scenes between them.

There are no difficulties during the first half of the scene, but towards the end, it begins to fall apart at the seams, and after the seventh terrible shot, the director stops filming to check in on him, as if things weren’t already bad enough as it was.

“Everything all right, Bradley?”

He nods, avoiding eye contact with virtually everyone around him. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. Let’s go again.”

“You sure?”

And all he can do is nod in response, while inwardly scolding himself for being so unprofessional.

“All right, then. From Colin’s line at the start of page thirty-two.”

Bradley hops in place three times, forcing himself to enter Arthur’s world and leave his own for a while. This is Arthur’s pain, Arthur’s hurt, Arthur’s betrayal, not his own. If he can just remember that, he thinks he just might be able to get through this.

“Look, Arthur, I know I’m just your servant, but you have to understand the position I was in.”

“You’re not—” Arthur swallows, and sucks in a shaky breath. How does he even begin to explain what this all means to him? “You’re not just my servant, Merlin. You know that.”

Arthur is crowding Merlin’s space now, one hand planted on the wall behind his head, shaking with frustration and hurt and something indefinable but distinctly there all the same. Merlin bites his lip, and stares at Arthur with sad blue eyes, brimming with unshed tears, and the sight makes his breath catch in his throat.

“You were my friend.”

Merlin’s fingers curl around his wrist like a whisper, the warmth of his touch like fire to Arthur’s skin. “I still am,” he says, voice barely audible over the thrumming of his heartbeat.

Arthur closes his eyes as he struggles to keep his emotions at bay. “But you betrayed me, and I don’t know how to deal with that. How can I trust you, when you’ve been lying to me for so long?”

“I never meant to hurt you,” Merlin says, voice breaking, and Arthur knows – somewhere deep down he knows – but that doesn’t make the betrayal any easier to bear.

They stand, staring at one another with such intensity that Bradley almost doesn’t hear the familiar “cut” he usually anticipates.

“Take five,” the director calls out then, and Bradley’s itching to run away so badly, but he knows he can’t. His eyes drift shut briefly, and he squeezes the bridge of his nose, already sensing the first signs of a wretched headache coming on.

When his eyes open once more, Colin is staring at him, and Bradley just knows he’s going to say something in that concerned and gentle manner that’s become one of the things Bradley simultaneously adores and loathes about him, but thankfully he is saved by his sister.

“I need to talk to you,” she says, grabbing onto his arm and pulling him in the opposite direction.

She drags him well across the set, nails digging painfully into his wrist until he finally wrenches free from her grasp and they stop.

“Ow, Steph! Was that necessary?”

As has been the case for nearly his entire life, she ignores the comment. “Oh, my God, Bradley, why didn’t you tell me it was Colin?”

Bradley’s hands fly of their own accord to Stephanie’s face as he attempts to cover her mouth. “Would you keep your bloody voice down?” he hisses. “Unless you want every person in a ten mile radius to hear you.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” she says, lowering her voice and grabbing onto his arm again. “But I was just surprised and excited. I had no idea it was Colin.”

“No idea what was Colin?”

“The person you fancy.”

Bradley blinks and tries to pretend they are not having this conversation. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, please. You two looked like you were about five seconds away from snogging each other’s brains out. I’m not blind, Brad. I have eyes.” She folds her arms across her chest, staring at him with a challenging expression on her face, as if daring him to deny it.

At that moment, Bradley decides it’s official: his life can’t possibly get any more miserable. For a few seconds he contemplates denying the claim anyway, but in the end he knows there is no point. She will hound him until he finally confesses anyway, so he might as well just come out with it and save them both the trouble.

“It’s that obvious?”

“I hate to admit it, but yeah. Though I am quite skilled at picking up on these things.”

If that’s supposed to somehow make him feel better, it fails. Quite spectacularly. He scrubs a hand down his face, heaving a melancholy sigh in the process.

Thankfully, she gives him a moment before asking, “So, uh, are you two like a couple now, or what?”

“No. No, Steph. Just, no. We’re not.” It feels as though someone is rubbing salt into his wounds, still all too fresh, and he’s a little surprised at the emotion that seeps into the words. What he wouldn’t give for this conversation to end right this very second.

“How come? Is it because—Oh, shit.” Stephanie’s eyes widen as realisation dawns on her. “Is it because I told you that you shouldn’t get involved with someone you work with? Because, yeah, it’s not always the best idea. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t necessarily give it a chance either, yeah?”

Bradley shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair, belatedly remembering that make-up will pitch a fit if he messes it up. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

That feels like a terribly unfair question. How can he explain things without really coming right out with it? “Complicated in that I don’t want to talk about it. Something happened, and, uh, yeah. I don’t think he’s interested in me, and I don’t want to risk ruining our friendship.”

“You don’t think he’s interested, or you know he’s not?”

The question leaves him with a sour taste in his mouth and he scrunches his nose up in annoyance. “Well, I don’t know with one hundred percent certainty, but I’m quite positive he doesn’t.”

“I take it you haven’t actually chatted with him about any of this then?” she asks, as if it is the most logical thing in the world, and Bradley wonders if maybe it is.

“Chatted?” he parrots.

“Yeah. Like what you and I are doing right now. I know it’s such a foreign concept, but surely you’ve heard of it before?”

Bradley makes a face. She can see he’s clearly stressed out about this, so how does she react? By poking fun at him, naturally. The joys of having a sister, Bradley muses wryly to himself. “Of course I know what having a conversation is. We do it all the time.”

“Just not about anything important, I guess?”

He decides not to respond to that one.

“So, let me just clarify what you’re telling me, then,” Stephanie continues, when it’s apparent he’s not going to comment. “You two snogged on New Year’s Eve, you haven’t talked about it since, something mysterious happened, and now – without bothering to check in with him at all – you’ve decided that he’s not interested and instead you’re going to pine from afar like a lovesick sod?”

“I—” Bradley starts, but he doesn’t know where to go with this, because fuck, she’s painfully right, so he clamps his mouth shut instead, casting his eyes to the ground in embarrassment.

“That’s what I thought,” Stephanie says. She pats his arm gently, and the action is surprisingly soothing on his frayed nerves. “You both are such blokes. It’s your life, so do what you want, but seriously, I think it would do you a world of good to just talk to him. Try and clarify whatever it is that has you convinced he’s not interested in you. Because much as I don’t really want to think about you kissing anyone, you both looked more than ready and willing, from what I saw.”

But before Bradley has a chance to respond, the director is calling them back to their places, and he’s suddenly grateful for it. Still, he can’t help but admit that she’s given him some very important things to consider.

~*~

The next day, they decide to do the whole tourist thing, even though Bradley doesn’t particularly consider himself a tourist any more. His mum provides him with an update on every single member of their extended family – much to Bradley's chagrin – and Steph even has mercy on him and lays off on the talk about Colin, attempting to distract him instead.

Halfway through the day he receives a text message from Beth, of all people: hey! gonna b in bristol tomorrow 4 a week visiting a friend. i'm close, if u wanna have dinner. let me know.

It seems like an odd twist of fate, but he's not reading too much into it. He sends back a quick reply – good 2 know. i'll see how things go. have fun w/your friend! – before promptly forgetting about it.

Despite the pleasant day off, Bradley feels a rush of anxiety that night before going to bed, after seeing his mum and Stephanie off. He's managed to go for more than five minutes at a time without thinking about the situation with Colin a few times throughout the day, but that was only due to the thorough and constant distraction that was provided by Stephanie and his mum. But tomorrow he's back to work, filming scenes with Colin virtually all day long, and he has no idea how he's going to survive the day, stave off the hurt that grips his heart every time he lays eyes on him. Bradley knows that it will get easier in time, but right now... right now it's still so raw.

He does know that Stephanie is probably right in that he needs to talk to Colin. But he's a bloke, and blokes don't usually talk about their feelings. It's sort of the way it's always been. So the notion that seems so logical to his sister is actually quite foreign to him. The problem is that his evening with Colin is only two nights away, and he has to sort some of this out before then, unless he wants to end up looking and feeling like a complete and utter arse.

Lunch ends up being the first and potentially only time they have an opportunity to talk. And thankfully, Katie and Angel are nowhere to be seen, which will make the whole thing easier, despite the fact that there is nothing remotely easy about this. The one concern he has is about bringing up this situation in a natural way, because he knows that Colin will see right through him.

Thankfully, Colin inadvertently opens the door almost immediately after they sit down.

“So, how was your day off? Did you have a good visit with your mum and sister?” Colin asks as he digs into his salad.

Bradley nods. “Yeah, it was fine. Though it reminded me why I usually only spend time with them in small doses. Can't handle much more than that.”

“I know what you mean. Family can be a pain in the arse. But we only get one, so we have to learn how to deal with them somehow, yeah?” Colin says companionably. Either he hasn't noticed Bradley's tension all morning long or he's choosing not to comment on it, though Bradley suspects the latter to be true. Colin's been watching him with a careful eye for the past several days, hovering and occasionally asking questions like he knows something is up, but has no inkling as to what it could be. It would almost be sweet, in a way, if it didn't make everything that much more frustrating.

“Yeah. It's a lifelong process for some, I hear,” Bradley says, trying and failing to throw some humour into his tone. In spite of that, Colin smiles knowingly at him.

And it’s nothing really, just the simple upward pull of his lips, but Bradley’s heart flutters in his chest at the sight anyway, and he knows that he needs to get this conversation over and done with as soon as humanly possible.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Bradley forces the question from his mouth. “How about you? You had a good day off as well?”

Colin squints at him in confusion. “I was here yesterday.”

“I know,” Bradley says, and takes a deep, calming breath. Unsurprisingly, it does little to help with his frayed nerves. “But you were off a few days ago and we never talked about it. Did you do anything interesting?”

Shrugging, Colin swallows a bite of his salad before saying, “Not really. I had a nice lie in, went out for a walk and bought a few books.”

“What books did you buy?” It’s not so much that he cares as that he doesn’t want to jump too quickly into finding out about the date, or whatever it was, with Angel’s friend. Colin lists them all off, but Neil Gaiman is the only author he actually recognises.

“Did you do anything else?” Bradley presses in as nonchalant a manner as he can muster. So far this isn't going as well as he'd hoped.

“Had dinner with a friend.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bradley tries to sound casual, as if he had no idea and this is the first time he's ever heard this information.

Colin nods and stabs at his salad. “Yeah.”

“Is it a mate from drama school, or…?”

“No, just a good friend.”

Bradley holds back a frown, wondering how far to push this. He decided prior to having the actual conversation that he wasn’t going to come out and just ask Colin about the kiss with Lila, because it can only make him look mad, or worse – jealous. And if Colin doesn’t reciprocate his feelings, then he’s going to have a great deal of explaining to do. What he wants, what he truly desires, is for Colin to tell him about the kiss of his own volition. Because somehow, if he does that, Bradley feels like it will still be okay, even though there is nothing objective he’s basing this belief on.

“So you just went out for dinner then? Anything interesting happen?”

“While out for dinner?” Colin stares at Bradley, a bit perplexed, assessing. “Not really. We just ate and talked.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Our lives.” Colin’s expression clouds over. “Bradley, what’s with all the questions? Why are you so interested in this?”

Bradley folds his arms and glares down at his lunch. “I’m not. It’s nothing. I just—”

“What?”

He sucks in a breath. “Is there anything you wanted to tell me?”

Colin’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead in an alarmingly accurate imitation of Gaius, clearly confused. “Such as…?”

And there is his answer. It’s clear that Colin isn’t going to budge on this without Bradley flat out asking him about Lila. There’s probably an implication buried somewhere in this information, but he’s too upset to sort through any of it at the moment.

“Nothing. Never mind, it’s okay. I was just wondering,” Bradley says, and cringes at the way his voice wavers just slightly.

“Bradley—”

“It’s nothing, Colin. Don’t worry about it,” Bradley tries to assure him, even though he feels like he’s been punched in the gut.

They finish their meal in relative silence, and while it’s obvious that Colin wants to say something, Bradley is grateful that he remains quiet, because he doesn’t want to break down right now, here at work.

~*~

Bradley manages to stumble through the rest of the day and the following morning in a haze. Somehow, he’s able to pull himself together with the reminder that he has a job to do and numerous people counting on him, and filming goes surprisingly well, all things considered.

Thankfully, the afternoon’s schedule involves Bradley and Colin filming separate scenes, and for the first time in the four years he’s been working on Merlin, Bradley’s grateful for it.

As soon as their last joint scene has been filmed, Bradley makes to sneak away and avoid lunch – he doesn’t have an appetite anyway – but Colin manages to catch him before he’s able to make his escape.

“I know you have to go,” Colin says, running a hand through his hair, “but I just wanted to make sure we’re still on for tonight?”

Bradley bites his lip. He certainly hadn’t forgotten, but he can’t help but wish that maybe Colin had. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re on. But I’ll probably be late.”

He has no idea why he says it. He doesn’t have any other plans, no reason why he shouldn’t be there on time, but there is a tiny part of him that wants to go down fighting, even if he’s the only one who knows that’s what he’s doing.

Colin’s face scrunches up. “Why?”

There is a pause, in which his brain considers the various options, but even he’s surprised at the words that leave his mouth. “Because I have a date.”

~*~

He doesn't have a date. Obviously he doesn't. The lie is ridiculous and absurd and he has no idea why he'd even say such a thing. It is a defensive, knee-jerk reaction and Bradley regrets the words the instant they leave his mouth. But the damage is already done, already out there, and he can't help but feel a twinge of guilt at the startled – and slightly hurt – expression that falls across Colin's features. No matter how shitty he feels, hurting Colin never once factored into the equation.

There is a part of him that wants to take it back, to admit that he was lying and that he doesn't have a date. But that will only open the floor to all kinds of questions that he's neither ready nor willing to answer.

Before Colin can say anything, Bradley mutters a few words under his breath that may have been something along the lines of, “I have to go” before hurrying past him and walking away as quickly as possible.

---------------

Continue to part five

Fanfic - It's a Little Bit Funny (This Feeling Inside) - 3/6

2011-03-20T03:39:13Z

Part Two

Following his conversation with Katie, Bradley decides that he needs to figure out what, exactly, might have happened. Contrary to what she thinks, Bradley knows that he is not an idiot. He just needs time to process things every now and then, and considering how much this whole recent situation has thrown him for a bit of a loop, he thinks it's perfectly reasonable that it takes slightly more time to figure it all out.

But it takes very little time and effort for him to actually piece together what Katie was implying during their conversation and the suggestion leaves this weird, tight feeling in his chest that he can’t quite describe. Still, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. It’s merely one idea amongst many others, and Bradley is determined to prove to himself that there’s more than one logical conclusion to reach.

The best solution – or at least the first one Bradley thinks of – is to make a list of all the different possible reasons as to why Colin might've been on set with them. He's not that much into the idea of lists himself, but Colin swears by them, and since this sort of has to do with him, Bradley figures that’s reason enough to give it a try.

Reasons why Colin may have been there during filming
1) Merlin's scenes were significantly reduced for those episodes
2) Colin could have finished filming faster than everyone else and came to watch
3) Filming for an Arthur & Merlin scene could have been next (or immediately beforehand)
4) Colin committed a horrible atrocity and now Johnny feels the need to keep an eye on him at all times

Bradley chuckles at that idea, then decides to run with it some more, and, just for fun, adds:

5) Colin is actually a secret undercover agent, sent to spy on either me or Angel

He stops, then, and re-reads the list a couple of times, mentally running through the other available options. There are other more legitimate options still remaining – Katie's immediately jumps to mind – but Bradley finds that writing them out is far easier said than done. At the same time, he knows that this whole process would be rather pointless if he didn't consider all the potential options, and so with a measure of reluctance, he gives in and jots down the following:

6) Colin could have been present to increase the sexual tension between Angel and me
7) The whole thing is simply a coincidence and nothing more

There is one more possibility, but even the thought of writing it out makes Bradley blush and roll his eyes at himself, because not only is it supremely ridiculous, there’s also no way the producers would ever know this piece of information. Plus, it would require Colin’s presence during virtually every scene of his, and obviously that isn’t the case, even if they do end up spending the most time with one another during filming. All the same, if he plans to consider every possibility, then this should probably also be included.

8) Scenes are easier to film for me when Colin's around

Bradley cringes at the words, because it makes him feel so unbelievably stupid. Still, for whatever reason, it’s true. Some of his most difficult scenes have been filmed with Colin, and even his mere presence has made it somehow easier, something about his calm, supportive nature seems to give Bradley that little extra kick at times, just when he needs it.

Purposely pushing the thought aside, Bradley moves onto the next step, which involves going through the list and crossing off the least likely options.

Number 8 is the first to go, seeing as how it’s impossible for any of the producers, directors or crew to know that this is true, never mind that they don’t have the kind of budget that would allow one of the stars to constantly hang around the set without working. Besides, even if somehow it was a remote possibility, it would need to extend to every single scene he films, and it doesn’t. He crosses it off.

Unfortunately, amusing as they may be, 4 and 5 are off the list, since they’re not even remotely in the category of ‘realistic’. They are both removed with immense sadness.

Number 1 seems unlikely, seeing as how Merlin is the title character, and Bradley recalls him having quite a significant role in all three episodes. He strikes through that one as well.

Bradley thinks that number 2 might be a reasonable explanation if it’d happened once or twice throughout a season. But considering the frequency with which Colin appeared on set, the likelihood decreases significantly, and he crosses that off next.

Three isn’t necessarily impossible, though doesn’t quite match up to Bradley’s memories, but he leaves that on the list anyway.

When he’s done going through every option, only three remain –

Reasons why Colin may have been there during filming
~~1) Merlin's scenes were significantly reduced for those episodes~~
~~2) Colin could have finished filming faster than everyone else and came to watch~~
3) Filming for an Arthur & Merlin scene could have been next (or immediately beforehand)
~~4) Colin committed a horrible atrocity and now Johnny feels the need to keep an eye on him at all times~~
~~5) Colin is actually a secret undercover agent, sent to spy on either me or Angel~~
6) Colin could have been present to increase the sexual tension between Angel and me
7) The whole thing is simply a coincidence and nothing more
~~8) Scenes are easier to film for me when Colin's around~~

– and of those three, only two seem genuinely, realistically viable.

It doesn't take long for the implications of that to sink in, and if it turns out to be true that they're playing off of Bradley's sexual tension with Colin in his romantic scenes with Angel – as Katie so fondly seems to believe – then Bradley knows that he might be forced to figure out why that is… and that suddenly feels like a frightening idea.

Shaking his head to clear it of any worries he might have – he still doesn’t know anything concretely, after all – it becomes obvious that it’s time to move into stage two of his plan: calling Johnny Capps directly to find out what’s going on, because if anyone would have the answers, it would be him.

~*~

It takes Bradley four days of playing phone tag with Johnny to finally get through to him. Bradley requests a face to face meeting, but Johnny is so bogged down by work that the best he can offer right then is a phone conversation, and it's certainly better than sitting around stressing over this, so of course he agrees.

“So, Bradley, what can I do for you?” Johnny asks when they connect at last.

“Um, well...” Suddenly, it feels like such a stupid reason to be bothering him, and Bradley has a moment of panic. He can just see it now – Bradley asks him the question about Colin and Johnny bursts out laughing. His laughter is followed by the calling in of all the executive producers in order to share how delusional Bradley is, and they will proceed to mock his daftness, which will be promptly followed by a drastic cut to his screen time. Soon he'll barely have any scenes with Colin, and then he'll rarely appear on screen at all, and they'll make Arthur even more clueless than before, and eventually some evil magical being will just kill him, and Bradley will be out of work and he'll have to turn to begging for money on the streets and—

“Bradley?” Johnny says, cutting right through the stream of madness racing through his overactive imagination.

Right. Yes. He's still on the phone, and Johnny's still waiting for him to say something. He runs a hand through his hair and gets up to grab a glass of water. ”Sorry.”

“That's all right,” Johnny says. What he doesn't say but is clearly implied is, 'I'm a busy man, so if you have something to talk with me about, you might want to do it soon.'

Bradley takes a calm, steadying breath and braces himself for the conversation, pulling a glass out of his cupboard. “Okay, so, I was wondering if you’d seen the Merlin episode that aired about four weeks ago? Where there was that, uh—”

“Editing error?” Johnny interrupts, sounding confident. “Yeah, I heard all about that. Is this why you rang me?”

“Er, yes. Well, sort of.”

“Obviously that wasn’t supposed to happen, but sometimes editing buggers things up. It didn’t bother you, did it?”

It’s a far more complicated question than Bradley knows how to answer, in all honesty. It isn’t that particular mistake that has him concerned, but it’s certainly the starting point. “No, I’m not upset. But I just… I don’t understand where that scene even came from.”

“Ah, I think I understand. Look, Bradley, when I asked you and Colin to do that run-through, I had no idea anything was being recorded until I looked back at the day’s footage and discovered it.”

And that’s fine; it’s fair. But it still doesn’t explain how the scene even made it into the final stage of editing at all. “But why was it even there in the first place?”

Johnny lets out a small sigh, and Bradley thinks that can’t be a good sign. He sinks heavily into one of the kitchen chairs, setting his glass of water down on the table, as yet untouched. “It ended up in final editing because it felt more authentic than what you and Angel had filmed. Perhaps due to the time constraints we were under that day, or the emotions required from you both in earlier scenes, I don’t know. But what I do know is that an accident ended up producing the results we were seeking, and as executive producer, my job is to put together the best programme that I can, using all available resources.”

To be honest, Bradley’s not sure if he’s just been insulted, or possibly Angel has – maybe both of them – and he feels compelled to press this point further. “So, wait, are you telling me that you had to use footage shot with Colin because I wasn’t able to produce the same level of chemistry with Angel?” Try as he might, he’s not entirely successful with keeping the incredulous tone out of his voice.

Bradley likes Angel. A lot. She’s one of the loveliest people he’s ever met and he truly enjoys spending time in her company. She is far less frightening than Katie, and when Colin and Bradley prank her, she just laughs and sends a few glares their way before moving on. Plus, she’s a great listener and friend. So naturally, this idea doesn’t sit well in his stomach for that reason alone, never mind any of the other implications it brings to the table.

“It’s not quite that simple, Bradley. But in some ways, yes, that’s exactly right.”

“Are you trying to imply that I don’t have chemistry with Angel?” he demands, feeling a little hysterical all of a sudden, for reasons that have little to do with Angel.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying at all.”

Bradley blinks back confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“Sometimes actors have off days, or off scenes, where for any number of reasons, things just don’t go quite according to plan.” Silence fills the line, and then, “On that particular day, your run-through with Colin produced the effect we were looking for, so we decided to use that to our advantage. It has absolutely nothing to do with your acting abilities or your chemistry with Angel.”

Relief – and maybe, oddly, a touch of disappointment, even though that reaction is nothing short of ludicrous – washes over him. Unfortunately it is a short-lived relief, when he remembers the other incriminating evidence.

“I suppose that makes sense. But then it still doesn’t explain why something similar happened the next week, in that throne room scene during episode eleven. Or, for that matter, why I can recall Colin being present during the filming of virtually every scene I had with Angel in that whole filming block.”

The little startled cough that Johnny emits tells Bradley that he hadn’t been expecting him to figure that out, never mind confront him about it, and the fact that he clearly wasn’t imagining things in the first place means that he can also cross off number 7 from his list. Only two remain now, and it doesn’t take a genius to do the maths on that one.

Laughing just a bit guiltily, Johnny says, “I guess you caught me.”

It occurs to Bradley that actually confirming his suspicions about Colin's presence during the filming of these scenes could have some fairly significant consequences, and he wonders, perhaps, if it might have been better to simply speculate than to seek the actual truth. Still, it's a bit too late now to back out, considering Johnny's on the phone and he's already essentially asked the question. It is equally likely that the answer would have plagued Bradley until he knew, so in the end, regardless of what the results may indicate, it's probably best that he knows the truth.

Before he can change his mind, Bradley blurts out, “Has Colin been on set during my scenes with Angel to improve the chemistry between Arthur and Gwen?”

An enduring silence fills the space between them, and Bradley feels his throat tightening in nervous anticipation all of a sudden. It feels like hours before he finally answers.

“In some ways. But it was more of an experiment, really. To see if we could put a bit of a different twist on that dynamic…”

Johnny is still talking, but Bradley suddenly can’t hear anything beyond ’in some ways’, which means ’YES’ in his mind. The rest of Johnny’s words blur into one continuous stream of nonsensical babble as his brain struggles to process what this all means. He has a feeling that he is on the cusp of discovering something important, but he can’t quite seem to grasp it just yet, and that merely adds to his frustration.

“—I’m sorry I kept it from you, but I hope you can appreciate why. It’s really nothing to be concerned about, though,” Johnny is saying. But it’s only when he finally stops talking that Bradley realises he’s waiting for some sort of response.

“Yes, well, that’s uh… that’s fine. Thank you for explaining,” he manages to force out, feeling a tad ill.

“It’s my pleasure. Now I’m expected in a meeting, so I have to run. But don’t hesitate to phone me again if you have any other questions. Have a wonderful holiday season and enjoy your time off.”

It isn’t until he hears the click through the line that Bradley realises the conversation is actually over.

It takes Bradley almost a minute to finally end the call from his line, still immobilised by the shock of the revelation from Johnny. He finds himself staring hard at the full glass of water still sitting on the table in front of him, noting for the first time how dry his throat actually is, and somehow manages to bring the cup to his lips. He downs the whole thing in one long gulp, feeling an odd sort of thrill at the way the short-term lack of oxygen makes his head spin.

So then, Katie was right, Bradley muses eventually, when the ability to think coherently returns. He feels as though he should be angry with her, but he can’t seem to muster up the energy. Besides, if he’s being logical, she only planted the idea in his head. She didn’t actually come up with the plan in the first place.

Many things about the conversation with Johnny are bothering Bradley. Out of everything, however, he can't help but focus on the fact that they used his fake run-through with Colin in what was supposed to be a romantic scene with Angel. It wasn’t a mistake that the run-through had aired, only that the truth had been discovered, and that fact is equally bothersome to him.

Sure, Bradley likes Colin. In all truthfulness, he adores him. They'd had a bit of a slow start, neither quite sure of the other, but willing to give it a shot and see what happened. But once Bradley learned how to interpret Colin's Irish brogue and navigate his dark sense of humour, they'd quickly moved from awkward intrigue to best mates. It additionally worked well for their on-screen dynamic, as their real life relationship ran parallel to the characters for the first half of the first series.

So what if he stares at Colin with unabashed affection sometimes? Colin is one of his best mates and quite possibly one of his favourite people in the entire world, and Bradley’s secure enough in himself to not be afraid to show that openly. So what if Colin's smiles elicit a grin from Bradley in return every single time they are aimed in his direction? Colin has a warmth and friendliness about him that inadvertently draws others to him. And almost without fail, if Colin is sad, then so is Bradley. So what if sometimes he is filled with the desire to ruffle Colin’s hair and feed him warm cookies, because Bradley’s noticed that he could probably afford to add a few pounds to his lean frame? Just because he occasionally finds himself watching Colin for a little longer than strictly necessary, sometimes distracted by the way the light hits Colin’s cheekbones, or how it seems to turn his eyes an even deeper shade of blue—

“Stop it,” Bradley scolds himself out loud. He leans forward, folding his hands in his lap and resting his forehead against the smooth tabletop.

All right, so fine… Bradley is willing to accede that maybe it’s possible he is closer to Colin than his other mates, a little more attached. But isn’t that only to be expected, given how much time they spend with one another? And it isn’t as if they just film Merlin together and that’s the end of it; in fact, it’s typical for Bradley and Colin to spend the vast majority of their free time together in the evenings and when they have days off as well. It has even been arranged that whenever possible, they both are given their breaks at the same time.

So, then, naturally, it’s not inconceivable that some of their scenes might have a flavour of “romance” to them, given the closeness of their off-screen relationship. Surely it doesn’t mean that Bradley has feelings for Colin. Does it?

Against his better judgement, Bradley decides to use the internet to his advantage by watching anything he can get his hands on – series one video diaries, joint interviews, this past series’ ’Colin and Bradley’s Merlin Quests’, behind the scenes segments from series two, and the road trip special. (He takes special care to avoid reading any of the comments left by YouTubers after accidentally scrolling through a few of them while watching the first video. The last thing he needs is to add fuel to this particular fire.)

Nearly two hours later, Bradley clicks pause on the last of the quest videos, the evidence laid out before his very eyes. He's always been aware of what some of the fans think about Arthur and Merlin’s – and even his and Colin’s – relationship, and he's more than happy to support them in their enjoyment of the show through whatever means they find satisfying. But never once before has he actually witnessed or truly understood where the claims of the “homoerotic subtext” have come from. Until now, that is. Because if Bradley didn't know himself – well, he might also be inclined to think that there was something more there, between him and Colin, if the way he gazes at Colin is any indication.

It is beginning to look, Bradley thinks, as if he is completely buggered.

~*~

“So, what's the crisis?” John asks with an uncharacteristically sympathetic smile as Bradley pulls open the front door of his flat an hour later.

“I never said there was a crisis,” Bradley argues, backing out of the doorway to permit him to enter. “I just asked if you wanted to come over and have a few beers.”

John shucks his boots and reaches for a hanger out of the hallway closet for his coat. “Well, when you invite me over and then insist I need to cancel any other plans immediately, should I have them, I'm sort of forced to come to the conclusion that there's something going on.”

Bradley chooses to ignore the comment. Instead, he treks into the kitchen and retrieves four beers from the fridge. There is no way he can have this conversation without a small helping of liquid courage. John, for his part, follows wordlessly behind Bradley until they’re seated in the living room, each with a beer in hand.

The first time Bradley speaks again isn’t until he’s nearly finished off his first drink, thoughts careening wildly like a tempest in his mind. He takes a final sip of the beer before setting the bottle down on the coffee table, suddenly fascinated by the condensation on the outside, as if it is the most amazing sight he’s ever beheld.

“How do you know if you—um, if you fancy someone?” he finally manages to ask.

It is such a stupid question, he knows, and Bradley can feel his whole body tense the second the words leave his mouth, muscles coiling tightly. But it’s also a necessary one, because this is something he has to sort out. Right this instant.

“You think you fancy someone?” is the first thing out of John’s mouth, curiosity apparently getting the better of him.

Bradley’s eyes dart up to meet John’s gaze as he watches Bradley with interest, and Bradley finds that he can’t maintain the contact without feeling utterly exposed.

“Yes. No. Well, maybe. Er, I don’t know. But I think I might? I just…”

“It’s okay, mate,” John interrupts. “I’ll help you figure it out.”

“Thank you.” Bradley takes this opportunity to open another beer.

“Now, you know I’m no expert or anything, but let me ask you a few questions. First of all, do you enjoy spending time with this person?”

That is an understatement. “Yes. Quite a bit.”

John ducks his chin. “Okay, good. Let’s keep going with this. Would you rather spend time with this person than your other mates?” – That goes without saying, so he nods – “Do you find yourself noticing their physical, uh, attributes?” – If that other night at the pub with Colin was any indication, then he has to say yes – “Do you spend an excessive amount of time thinking about this person?” – He’s never really stopped to consider it before, but now that he is, he’s forced to admit that he does think about Colin. A hell of a lot – “Have you ever brought yourself off to the thought of this person—”

“John!” Bradley squawks in horror, cutting him off, face turning red even though he very much hasn’t.

“Sorry, sorry, just asking,” John says, raising his hands in surrender, though he doesn’t look nearly as contrite as Bradley thinks he should. “All right, so last question: Have you imagined yourself being with this person in a romantic way? Or if not, could you?”

It is the ultimate question. In a lot of ways, at least during the eight months of the year when they are filming Merlin, Bradley and Colin spend so much time together that they could almost, in theory, be in a relationship of sorts. Minus the sex, of course. It also isn’t altogether uncommon for either of them to fall asleep in the other’s room. But Bradley can honestly say he’s never explicitly thought about being with Colin – both in the physical and the life partner sense, despite noting his own general attraction to his co-star. He’s always just assumed that it was a natural consequence of working so closely with someone on a television series. Nothing worth dwelling on.

But for a few seconds, while he’s being granted the opportunity, Bradley takes a moment to imagine what it might be like, in theory, to actually be with Colin – to wake up every morning tangled up in each other, to grab his hand and entwine their fingers as they stroll down the street, to feel Colin’s mouth meld with his own as they kiss, to go on a holiday together, to feel the swell of Colin’s erection beneath his hands, to steal secret smiles and touches and kisses between takes on set, to watch the ecstasy splayed across Colin’s face as he comes from Bradley’s touch, to laugh and to fight and to simply love…

At the heat that is beginning to pool in his groin, Bradley knows he finally has a definitive answer, though how it has taken so long to figure it out, he thinks he might never know. More importantly, however, is what the hell does he do now, with this new, overwhelming information?

“So, who is she?” John eventually asks, breaking the heavy silence that has fallen in the room.

Bradley ducks his head, keeping his eyes fixed on his feet, silent. Every few seconds he has to remind himself to keep breathing.

“…Or he?” John ventures a moment later. It’s no secret to any of Bradley’s friends that he’s experimented with blokes before, though has not, as of yet, been in a long-term relationship with a man.

Bradley knows that John’s speaking, but he can’t quite process what he’s saying over the roar of his own internal dialogue. One fact races over and over in his mind: There’s a reason… There’s a reason why some people think that Arthur and Merlin are in love, a reason why Johnny decided to use that particular scene in the show, a reason why Bradley can and will spend all of his time with Colin, if he is able to.

“Fuck,” Bradley says, at length, when the enormity of this revelation finally hits him like a punch to the gut. “Fuck.“

Both of John’s eyebrows dart to his hairline, and he looks mildly alarmed all of a sudden. “What’s wrong? I’m sorry if I offended you. I shouldn’t have asked who you fancy. It’s none of my business.”

Groaning loudly, Bradley buries his face in his hands, a sick feeling washing over him that has nothing to do with the alcohol he’s just consumed, and before he can stop himself, he hears the words tumble from his lips: “I think I might be absolutely and utterly besotted with Colin Morgan.”

~*~

The rest of December flies by, and before Bradley even knows what’s happening, Christmas arrives. He spends the holidays with his family back in Devon, which turns out to be quite the experience. Bradley has a tendency to try and avoid spending too much time in the same room as all of his extended family, as they like to poke and prod into his personal life as if it’s their business whether or not he is seeing anyone or has plans to settle down somewhere more permanent. He knows they only ask because they care, but he’s growing steadily tired year after year of their meddlesome questions.

But because it means so much to his mum that she have her son home for the holidays, he finds he can never resist. Besides, he barely sees his sister these days, so it’s nice to have an excuse to hassle her for several days in a row, like he used to when they were small.

He also spends the vast majority of the time trying to not think about Colin. Naturally, it is a massive failure. It also doesn’t help that he receives a text message from him just after dinner on Christmas day, saying: Merry Xmas, Bradley. I hope your holidays are great. He forces himself to wait at least half an hour before responding, and if anyone notices the stupid grin on his face the remainder of the evening, they keep it to themselves.

Though every once in a while for the rest of the night, his mum shoots him an inquisitive look, even though she doesn’t say a word, and Bradley wonders if maybe she suspects something after all.

~*~

When he receives a phone call from Katie a couple of days later, he knows that it can’t lead to anything good.

“So, Angel and I are hosting a New Year’s Eve party. You should come. And by ‘should’, what I really mean is that we’ll expect you there. Feel free to bring a date or friend or whoever you like, though. Also, Colin’s apparently going to be in town, so he’ll be there too, which should be all the more motivation.”

There are so many things to respond to in that brief statement that Bradley doesn’t know where to begin. Since when do Angel and Katie host parties together? Why does she expect him to simply drop any other plans he’s made? How does she know Colin’s going to be in London? And most importantly – why didn’t Colin tell him he was going to be here for New Year’s? (He ignores the other question of why his heart starts fluttering in his chest the instant Katie mentions Colin’s name, because the answer to that is sadly obvious.)

Bradley thinks all of these things in his head, but the only word that manages to make its way out of his mouth is: “Okay.”

“Excellent, we'll see you then.” He jots down the information onto a scrap of paper before hanging up the phone.

He has a bad feeling about this.

~*~

Bradley makes the conscious choice to go to the party on his own, tempted as he is to ring Colin beforehand and suggest they go together. But the reality is that he’s not entirely sure how he’s going to react to seeing Colin again, now that he’s aware of his newly discovered feelings for his co-star, and he figures it’s probably safer to meet him there instead. Hopefully having other people around will prove to be a good buffer, should anything become awkward.

The house – which is apparently Angel’s parents’ place – is larger than he expects. It looks beautiful from the outside, so he can only imagine what it will be like inside. Others before him seem to just walk right in, so Bradley follows suit and does the same, a bundle of nerves coiling in his belly in anticipation as he grabs the door handle and pulls it open.

Not surprisingly, Bradley finds Katie, Angel and Colin all standing together just past the front entrance.

Bradley manages to make his way into the house and close the door before he nearly stops dead in his tracks at the sight of Colin. It’s not as if he’s wearing anything all that out of the ordinary, but Bradley will be damned if Colin looks anything short of unbelievably sexy. He’s wearing a black short-sleeved t-shirt over a white long-sleeved shirt, with well fitted dark blue jeans. His hair is short and tousled, as if he’s just run a hand through it a few times. The sight of Colin shouldn’t make him react this way – he hadn’t expected to respond to him quite like this, since the revelation happened, even if it makes sense – but Bradley can barely keep his jaw from dropping, and he’s grateful for the dark lighting, which hides the flush that instantly stains his cheeks.

His only saving grace happens to be the fact that Angel and Katie have noticed him, and are rushing to embrace him as though he’s the long lost brother they’ve never met.

As soon as they finally release him, Bradley realises everyone is waiting for his reaction to Colin. Not knowing what else to do, Bradley smiles broadly at Colin and pushes down his embarrassment and nervousness to clap him on the shoulder, squeezing briefly. “Nice to see you again, mate,” he says.

“You too,” Colin replies, grin bright.

They spend a few minutes catching up and updating each other on what they’ve been up to since filming ended. At some point, Katie notices an attractive bloke and she and Angel start giggling and whispering about him. Which opens up the opportunity for Bradley and Colin to talk.

“So, how’s the cooking coming along? Have you tried any new recipes since I left, or are you back to being a carnivore again?” is the first thing Colin asks. He makes it sound like some sort of criminal act.

Bradley chuckles. “Oi! I’m offended, Col.” He places a hand on his heart dramatically, which elicits a laugh from Colin. In all honesty, he’s done both, though he’s yet to sort out why he’s still eating vegetarian meals at least three times a week, in spite of the fact that he still greatly prefers meat. Thankfully, Colin doesn’t push the issue.

“Hey, so, before I forget,” Colin says, reaching into his pocket and fishing around, “I thought I should return the spare key to your flat. Guess I must have forgotten.”

This is, of course, the exact moment when Katie decides to start listening in on their conversation again, and before he can even reach out to grab the proffered key from Colin's hand, Katie is flailing about with a wild look in her eyes.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, what? Hold on one second. Are you trying to tell me that Colin has a spare key to your flat, Bradley? Have you two been rooming together without telling us?” She looks positively ecstatic, eyes wide and lips curved into a mischievous smirk, and dear God could she possibly speak any louder?

“Katie, shut up or the whole party's going to hear you,” Bradley scolds and rolls his eyes. “And no, we're not rooming together. Stop making everything sound so sordid all the time.”

Angel chuckles softly into the back of her hand, trying to mask it as a yawn, but Bradley knows better. Still, it's Katie who's causing him trouble at present, so he keeps his focus trained on her.

“Please. No one here cares that much about you.” She waves her hand dismissively. ”So, why does Colin have a key to your flat?”

“Because he was staying in London at the end of November and you know how expensive hotels can be. Thought I'd save him the hassle and offered to share my flat for a week.”

“Well, that was awfully kind of you,” she says, even though her tone of voice seems to directly contradict her words.

“Yes, it was.”

“I bet you were a terrible flatmate. Probably made poor Colin sleep on the floor and live in your filth and eat animals.”

“Hey! I resent that!” Bradley exclaims, affronted. He folds his arms across his chest and tries to pout.

“He was a great host, actually,” Colin jumps in then, and Bradley holds back a groan. While he appreciates the fact that Colin's clearly trying to defend his honour, he really sort of wishes he'd also just keep his mouth shut around the girls. If you give them even the tiniest detail, they'll run with it for months. As it is, they've probably already given Katie enough ammunition to last the duration of filming for series four. “He gave me the bedroom, didn't charge me anything, and even made vegetarian meals for us in the evenings.”

“And my place was spotless, I tell you,” Bradley adds, with the hope of distracting Katie from the other information that was just shared with her.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t work. “You mean to tell me that Bradley cooked vegetarian dinners for you? If that isn’t the sign of true—” at Bradley’s fierce glare, however, she pauses, “—friendship, I don’t know what is.”

“I made the food for both of us. I had to cook something for myself anyway, Katie,” he retorts, and fights the urge to stick his tongue out. Luckily for everyone, Bradley is far more mature than that. (He’ll just wait until she can’t see him.)

“I think what Katie is trying to say,” Angel interjects, since she can probably see where this is leading, “is that you did a nice thing for Colin, and we’re both really happy to see you again.”

Everyone knows, of course, that this is not what Katie was trying to say, but it seems to defuse the situation before it gets out of hand, so no one complains.

“Thank you, Angel.” Bradley smiles gratefully at her, and she reaches out to squeeze his arm. “It’s great to see you too.”

It seems like more people are arriving, so thankfully, Angel drags Katie away to tend to her hosting duties, leaving Bradley alone with Colin.

Which would be wonderful, if Bradley's heart wasn't racing and his thoughts spinning out of control. God, how had he never noticed how utterly gorgeous Colin was before tonight? Those full, pink lips and striking cheekbones, begging to be touched; the strong line of his jaw and— Bradley mentally shakes himself, forcing the thoughts from his mind. Now is not the time or the place to be indulging such things, especially not with Colin standing right in front of him.

Not quite knowing what to do all of a sudden, which is incredibly frustrating for Bradley, he slings an arm around Colin’s shoulder and leads him towards the food table. “So, tell me, how was Christmas with your family? I’ve no doubt it was far more enjoyable than mine.”

~*~

Bradley should have known this was all going too well, after joking around and chatting with Colin for the better part of an hour. He’s even managed to calm down and behave almost as a normal person might. He should have suspected that something would mess everything up. He just sort of never anticipated that it would be Angel, of all people.

“Hey, Colin, I know you didn’t sign up for this when you agreed to come to the party, but one of my good friends is here tonight, and I thought you two might hit it off,” Angel says, by way of greeting after she corners them at the food table a short while later.

Bradley feels his heart plummet to his feet and he actively resists the urge to frown. This is not a welcome bit of information at all.

“Oh?” Colin asks, both eyebrows darting to the ceiling in an uncanny imitation of Gaius.

“Yeah, I know you’ve probably heard that so many times before, but I promise you she’s a great girl; funny and smart and sweet. You two have a lot in common, actually.”

“Which all basically means that she has a lovely personality but isn’t anything to look at,” Bradley lets slip, quite by accident.

“Bradley!” Angel gasps, and reaches out to smack his arm. “That is so rude. And she’s quite beautiful, actually.”

He tries not to groan, biting his tongue, for once.

“So, what do you say, Colin?” Angel asks with a hopeful little grin. “No pressure. But just give her a chance. She’s fantastic, I promise.”

Bradley doesn’t realise he’s holding his breath at all until he hears Colin’s, “Erm, sure, I guess so.”

And this is the moment when Bradley knows that the night is about to get worse.

~*~

Unfortunately for him, it does just that, because Angel’s friend, Lila, is both beautiful and incredibly charming. And it’s obvious that Colin thinks so too, if his content little smile is any indication. She apparently loves all that indie music stuff that Colin adores so much, is a vegetarian, and her favourite actor is Sean Penn. Bloody fantastic, Bradley thinks. Could they have any more in common?

When Colin politely excuses them with an apologetic smile a few minutes later, Bradley feels just a bit like crying, even though he knows he’s being pathetic.

He decides to head over to the alcohol table instead, since that might be the only thing that will get him through this evening, now that Colin’s been accosted by some beautiful girl that might as well be his future wife.

~*~

An hour passes with no sign of Colin and Lila, and Bradley is beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol in his system, which is particularly bad, since Katie has found Rupert and apparently decided that he and Bradley need to be hanging out this very instant.

“I don’t get what’s so great about blondes,” Bradley mutters, mostly to himself. “And what’s so terrible about chicken or beef or pork? Honestly, who eats like that anyway?”

“I definitely agree with you about the blondes,” Katie says, trying to interject her thoughts, almost as if she were trying to demonstrate some form of compassion for him, but Bradley barely hears her.

“I’m perfectly fine here all by myself. Don’t need anyone to keep me entertained. I can have fun without him. Hell, I can find my own blonde. I should do that, see how much he likes it.”

Rupert eyes Bradley warily and turns an inquisitive expression on Katie. “What’s with him?”

She shrugs nonchalantly, taking another sip out of her glass. It’s some brightly coloured drink that Bradley has no doubt looks girly but is actually quite potent, knowing Katie. “Not entirely sure, but I would guess he’s upset over the fact that Angel set Colin up with one of her friends.”

“Cheers to that,” Bradley says, and then thinks that he really needs to shut the hell up right about now.

“Oh. Okay, then,” Rupert says, at length, as though he understands.

But he certainly doesn’t sound like he understands. Though, in all fairness, neither does Bradley.

~*~

Several drinks later – far more than he should be consuming in such a short period of time – Bradley isn't feeling so hot. In fact, he feels downright awful -- tired, overheated, light-headed, and maybe just a bit lovesick. He’d only intended on having a couple of drinks to lighten up. (He's also lost track of both Katie and Rupert at some point over the past hour, though he’s unclear on the details.) This is not what he expected. Closing his eyes, Bradley slumps against the wall at the end of a hall he’d managed to stumble to, grateful for the fact that no one seems to have noticed his presence. This hallway is slightly less crowded than the living room where all the action is, but he's still having a hard time breathing, as if he's suffocating on his own air.

Bradley tries to force his mind to focus on something else, anything else, something that is not Colin – where he is, who he's with, and especially not what he might be doing with said companion – but he can't do it, much as he desperately wants to. Stupid Angel and her stupid friends. Stupid Katie for not doing anything to actively prevent this even though she seemingly knew about it from the start. Stupid Lila and her pretty blonde, non-ginger hair. Stupid Colin for looking enthusiastic and eager to 'get to know her'. But mostly, Bradley just thinks that he himself is the stupidest of them all for ever believing he could keep his crush on Colin under control in the first place. He knew this would be a bad idea, coming to this party, and now he's alone, pissed, and feeling right miserable.

This is ridiculous, that Bradley should be so upset about Angel setting Colin up with one of her friends at all. It's not as if Bradley has laid any claim to him. And it's sure not as if Colin even has a clue as to how Bradley feels about him. Hell, Bradley only just came to the realisation himself a few weeks ago. They're at a New Year’s party, and he should be having fun, making new friends and trying to find someone to kiss when 2011 rolls in. But instead, he's wallowing in a pit of his own self-induced sorrow, like some pathetic lovelorn fool. Bradley knows that he's going to have to learn how to deal with watching Colin date other people, without resorting to alcohol, if he ever hopes to survive the next couple of years. Or just tell Colin how he feels. But somehow that seems like too big of a risk, without any inkling of whether his affections may be returned. It's not just their friendship that could be in jeopardy, but the show as well, and the simple fact of the matter is that Colin means the world to him. Right now, Bradley would far prefer to suffer in silence than lose Colin as his best mate, much as this whole situation is pure shite.

For a brief moment, Bradley considers getting another drink, but when he attempts to push away from the wall, the world starts spinning uncontrollably, and Bradley decides that staying here after all is just as suitable an option. Perhaps if he remains glued to this spot for another couple of hours, enough people will leave or pass out that he can just crawl his way out the front door without alerting anyone.

While he's thinking about how his life suddenly took a turn for the worse, someone bumps into his side, probably on their way to the loo. If it’s even down this hall. He’s not all that sure, to be honest.

“Sorry,” Bradley mutters absently, keeping his eyes closed and head resting against the wall, arms folded protectively across his chest.

“Bradley?”

The voice nearly stops his heart in his chest.

“Colin?” he asks, prying both eyes open and forcing himself to glance over at Colin, afraid of what he might see – swollen lips, ruffled hair, clothes in disarray. Thankfully, he looks relatively intact, though that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

“What are you doing down here by yourself?” Colin asks, sounding concerned. They’re so close, too close. Bradley feels his pulse begin to race.

Bradley isn’t quite sure how to respond to that. Somehow he thinks, ’I came to wallow in my own self-pity because I drank too much with the intention of trying to forget the fact that you were off with some beautiful girl doing God knows what’ won’t go over all that well. Instead he settles on a half-truth. “Too many people in the living room. I needed to get away.” There may or may not be a bit of a slur to his voice, though he can’t quite tell.

Colin frowns, eyeing him suspiciously. “How much have you had to drink?”

Does he honestly expect Bradley to do maths? Now? He’s not even sure he can form coherent sentences, never mind do something as complicated as maths. “I don’t know. A lot?”

And then, to make matters worse, Colin’s hands are suddenly on him, at his shoulder and one on his forehead, and Bradley is trying to ignore the way Colin’s touch sets his skin on fire, makes his breath hitch involuntarily in his throat, because he’s not operating on all systems at the moment, and doesn’t want to do anything that he might regret later.

“You’re burning up, Bradley,” Colin says, brushing a piece of damp hair from Bradley’s forehead as he removes his hand. “Let’s get you outside to cool off a bit. It’ll make you feel better, yeah?”

Colin takes a couple of steps forwards, and really, Bradley wants to follow, but he just doesn’t think he can move quite yet. “I’ll be there in a few minutes, I promise,” he says, allowing his head to fall back against the wall.

“No, you should come now, Bradley,” Colin insists, moving back into his personal space. And then Bradley feels a warm hand curl around his own, gripping it firmly. Bradley’s eyes widen in shock as he stares down at his hand cradled in Colin’s, and he thinks he might actually pass out right then and there.

But Colin simply smiles at him with that little smirk that always makes Bradley grin in return – and now makes his heart flutter ridiculously in his chest – and Colin tugs gently on Bradley’s hand. “I’ll help you. Come on, let’s go.”

Bradley follows obediently after Colin, sticking close to his side, and for a while, he wonders if he's fallen asleep and is in some sort of wonderful dream, because the Colin Morgan he knows is not a hand-holder, nor is he particularly physically affectionate. But this Colin is still grasping Bradley's hand firmly in his own, leading them through the very open and very public house, seemingly unconcerned with whether or not anyone notices. It's not as if they're flaunting their joined hands, but neither are they doing anything to hide the fact, and it would certainly be easy enough for someone to glance down and see the evidence for themselves.

The thought sends a thrill down his spine, and in a moment of alcohol-induced courage, Bradley decides to test the waters a little, knowing he has a ready excuse to fall back on, should this all go horribly wrong. As they wend their way through the crowd in the living room – honestly, how is this house so large – he shifts his hold on Colin’s hand, entwining their fingers in the process. It feels both exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure, and he holds his breath in anticipation of Colin’s reaction.

For his part, Colin barely reacts at all. He glances down quietly at their hands, hesitating for a mere fraction of a second, before he continues to guide Bradley through the throngs of people towards the front door. Bradley feels triumphant, and leans into Colin, resting his cheek briefly against Colin’s shoulder.

The cool air outside hits him like a slap to the face, but Bradley can finally breathe again, and he gulps in air greedily, not caring how ridiculous he must look. There are a surprising number of people out on the front deck, but Colin manages to guide them towards a couple of unoccupied chairs off to the side, away from most of the activity.

“Here, sit down,” Colin instructs, gently prying his hand from Bradley’s in order to guide him into the chair.

“Thanks,” Bradley says. It is a cool evening, but everything feels so much colder now that he’s not pressed into Colin’s side, clutching at his hand. He feels the loss immensely.

Neither says anything for a few minutes, simply sitting in their cold chairs, instinctively leaning into one another ever so slightly.

“So, what happened?” Bradley asks, at length. He's not sure he even wants to know the answer, but better to find out now, while he's drunk enough to handle the news, than when he's recovering from a hang-over.

Colin furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”

“With Lily. Or Lila. Or whatever her name was. Is. Er, what happened with her?”

The question is supposed to come across as casual, maybe even disinterested, but the way Colin's staring at him right now, he suspects that plan backfired.

“Nothing,” Colin says slowly, hesitantly, as though Bradley’s just sprouted wings right before his eyes.

“Nothing,” Bradley repeats, but he is still unconvinced. “Define 'nothing.' You've been with her for more than two hours. You must have done something.”

There is a long pause, and then, “I don't work like that.” His voice is soft, sounding almost a little hurt at the implication, and Bradley instantly feels guilty.

“I know. That's not what I— I didn't mean it like that.”

Colin nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay. Okay, that’s good.”

It's starting to snow, just a light dusting of white powder against a dark backdrop, but even though there is a chill outside, it still doesn’t feel cold enough for snow somehow. Still, the sight creates such a beautiful atmosphere, like something you’d see in one of those cheesy Christmas specials on TV that everyone claims are corny, but still makes them cry anyway. Not that Bradley knows anything about that, of course.

He knows he should leave well enough alone, but he still doesn’t know exactly what happened, and that’s not something he can let go of just yet.

“So, did you— did you guys snog, then?”

“Bradley!”

“We’re mates, right? Mates talk about these sorts of things,” Bradley says in defense, holding up both hands in surrender.

Colin regards Bradley with confused curiosity, and something else that Bradley can’t quite decipher. Shaking his head, Colin leans forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. “What part of nothing did you not understand?” he asks quietly.

“I might be a little bit pissed. ‘m not processing things like normal.”

This elicits a chuckle from Colin, and he looks over at Bradley with a smile. “Yes, clearly. Well, if you must know, nothing happened. We talked; that’s it.”

“Really?” Bradley’s heart does a little flip in his chest at the news, but he manages to push down the excitement long enough to show some semblance of concern. “How come? Was she really boring? Not a fan of Merlin? Did you find out she’s secretly a ginger?”

Colin knocks Bradley’s knee with his own, laughing lightly. But just as quickly as the mirth appears, he seems to sober. “No, she was nice. A very sweet girl, in fact. Just— not right for me.”

There’s something more there, something Colin’s not telling him. Even in his inebriated state, he knows Colin well enough to know that. But there is a finality to his tone, one that says there’s nothing else to discuss here, don’t ask, so Bradley decides to drop it. Besides, he has the answer he wants, and he can breathe easier, knowing that Colin hadn’t done anything with that girl, even as his brain reminds him that there will be others in the future.

“So, what were you doing in that hallway by yourself?” Colin asks then, staring out towards the street.

Bradley shrugs casually, even though Colin can’t see him. “I wasn’t feeling well,” he says. It’s mostly true. Besides, the truth is really embarrassing, especially now that he knows he had nothing to be stressed out about to begin with.

“Were you drinking by yourself, then?”

“No!” Bradley immediately retorts. But then, when Colin tosses another glance over at him, he amends the answer to, “Well, not the whole time.”

Colin seems to consider this. “Did you have fun tonight?” he asks, eventually.

“Not really. But I am now,” Bradley says, before his brain has time to filter the response, and if it weren’t for the temperature outside, he’s quite sure he’d be blushing red hot.

A fond smile is turned on Bradley as Colin leans back in his chair. “I’m sorry I abandoned you, though. We both should be piss drunk right now, instead of just you.”

“It’s all right,” Bradley says, and this time he means it. Because now that he has Colin’s full attention again, nothing else really matters any longer.

Someone yells outside that it’s almost New Year’s, and that the countdown is about to begin, which causes a round of cheers to erupt on the porch.

“You cold? You want to go inside?” Colin asks then.

But Bradley shakes his head. “No, I’m good. I’m fine. How about you? You don’t need to stay out here with me if you’re cold.”

“Nah, I’m good. It was too hot in there anyway,” Colin says. Bradley tries to ignore how red the tips of Colin’s ears are, because clearly he’s making the choice to remain outside with Bradley, and selfishly, he doesn’t want Colin to leave.

A few minutes later, everyone starts counting down the seconds until 2011 finally descends upon the world. All around them, on the deck and inside the house, people are cheering and drinking and throwing around New Year’s wishes, but all Bradley can focus on is Colin – beautiful, wonderful Colin, who is sitting out in the cold of his own volition because Bradley is an idiot, and watching him closely, intently.

Bradley swallows thickly, trying to find his voice above the dull roar in his head.

But Colin is the one who speaks first. “Happy New Year, Bradley,” he says with warmth and affection, holding his gaze steadily.

Bradley rubs his hands together, as much to stave off the cold as to keep them from doing something inappropriate. “Happy New Year, Col. Oh, and happy birthday!”

Something heavy hangs in the air between them, this sizzling tension that is unspoken but has been present since Colin first took his hand inside, and Bradley is feeling reckless. He wants… well, he wants a lot of things. But right now, what he really wants is to feel Colin’s lips against his own, to run his hand down the side of Colin’s face, to hold him in his arms. But it’s risky. It’s so damn risky – New Year’s tradition or not – and Bradley’s already pushed the limits enough tonight as it is. What he needs is a sign, an indication that Colin won’t shove him away and refuse to speak to him ever again.

“Bradley—” Colin says huskily, and then a pink tongue peeks out to lick his lips nervously at the same time that his gaze drops just slightly.

And it is enough of a sign, enough confirmation that this might not be the worst idea he’s ever had. Before reason can kick in, Bradley closes the distance between them, pressing his mouth to Colin’s. It is nothing more than the soft brush of lips at first, Colin frozen against him, and Bradley thinks that maybe this was a terrible plan after all. But just as he’s about to pull away and cut his losses – sputtering an apology and making some joke about the alcohol taking possession of his brain – he feels Colin’s hand brush against his jaw, and then he’s responding, with enthusiasm.

Bradley instinctively reaches out until he touches fabric, twisting his fingers into Colin’s shirt and tugging him closer, knees knocking as they twist and lean further into one another. The kiss is soft and gentle, tentative, but eager at the same time, and when Colin’s tongue darts out of his mouth to run along Bradley’s bottom lip, he readily opens his mouth to Colin’s heat, shuddering with pleasure.

It all lasts far too quickly for his liking, and when they pull apart, panting and breathless, foreheads pressed against one another, Bradley has no idea what to say, where to even begin.

But the decision is taken away from them when the distinct sound of Katie’s voice calling their names pulls them back into reality, and as she, Angel and Rupert descend upon them with hugs, excited chatter and New Year’s greetings, the only thing his mind can process is the sensation of Colin’s lips against his own, and how he needs to experience that again as soon as possible.

---------------

Continue to part four

Fanfic - It's a Little Bit Funny (This Feeling Inside) - 2/6

2011-03-20T03:34:16Z

Part One

The first thing Bradley does when they arrive is give Colin a tour of his flat.

“You realise I’ve been here before, right?” Colin points out, about thirty seconds into the grand tour.

It’s true. He has been to Bradley’s. Twice. But this is entirely different. Then, he was just stopping by briefly; now, he’s staying for an extended visit. There are things he needs to know – like where the towels are kept, how to work the faucets on the shower (because they can be a royal pain in the arse), and other such important information.

Bradley huffs, folding his arms as he turns to stare at Colin. “I’m not sure what your point is.”

Colin quirks a shoulder, grinning. “I have no point, I was just saying…”

“There are things you need to know while you’re rooming at Chez Bradley. For example, what will you do if you want to watch a DVD with surround sound and I’m not here? Or if you’re in the shower and suddenly the water is scalding and you don’t know how to fix it? Do you really want to find out what that feels like, Colin? Do you?”

The amused bark of laughter is answer enough.

Giving himself a mental pat on the back, Bradley leads Colin down the hall to the bedroom. “You can throw your luggage wherever you like, but I cleaned out a drawer for your things there—” he points to said dresser drawer, “—and you can hang whatever you want in the closet.” He’d made some extra space there as well.

Colin smiles appreciatively at him, dropping his bags at the foot of the bed, then gets this uncertain look about him. “Thanks, Bradley. That’s really kind of you. But are you sure you don’t want to sleep here instead? I can sleep on the sofa. I mean, I’m already putting you out as it is—”

But Bradley holds up a hand, putting a stop to that line of thought immediately. “Like I told you two days ago, the sofa is comfortable, and I wouldn’t have offered my flat if I didn’t want to. So from this point on there’s no more discussion about it, all right?”

Colin nods, raising both hands in surrender. “Okay, fine. I won’t bring it up again. Thank you.”

With that out of the way, Bradley carries on with the tour slash instruction session.

“You can help yourself to anything in the fridge,” he says, pulling it open. “I’m not sure if I have anything you want, exactly. I, uh, went shopping this morning. I picked up a bunch of vegetables, except for the ones you’re allergic to, of course, and, um, that tofu that I think you said you liked, though it might be the wrong kind—”

He stops, glancing over at Colin, and reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, suddenly feeling a bit awkward, though he’s not sure why. Colin is staring into the fridge, expression unreadable, so Bradley does what he’s best at and keeps talking. “And I bought some soy milk, though I also have real milk, because I can’t live without it, but obviously that’s not for you. Oh, and, like, those fake eggs, ‘cause I know you can’t eat real ones, but I make a fantastic omelette, so I thought maybe you’d like to try it while you’re here…? Or, uh, you could just go out and buy stuff that you actually eat, because I’m not really good with the whole vegetarian thing…”

Bradley trails off, then, fully aware of the fact that he’s now rambling, and Colin hasn’t said anything yet. Probably because he’s trying to figure out a way to tell Bradley that he’s an idiot, without being rude, because Colin’s much too polite to tell Bradley straight out that he doesn’t know the first thing about being a vegetarian, even though he’s spent three years listening to Colin talk about what he eats and doesn’t eat. He should know something about this by now, should’ve done some research before he went shopping.

A hand on his arm pulls Bradley out of his self-deprecating reverie and his gaze darts up to meet Colin’s.

“No, this is great, Bradley. You’ve really—You have basically everything I would’ve thought to buy. I didn’t expect you to do this. I— thank you.” His voice is thick, and something about the way Colin’s looking at him fills Bradley with an unexpected warmth that travels from his feet all the way to the tips of his ears. He finds that he likes it. It feels familiar, and pleasant, especially because he’s made Colin happy. And has actually done something right.

Bradley smiles and shuts the fridge door. “I imagine you’re probably tired and hungry, so I was thinking we could maybe grab some take away and watch a movie or something tonight?”

Colin nods. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Half an hour later, they’re seated comfortably on either end of Bradley’s sofa, food spread out on the coffee table and Labyrinth starting up in the DVD player. Bradley didn’t even have to work to convince Colin that it would be a brilliant idea to watch it. He always knew there was a reason he liked Colin, not just for his dark sense of humour and easy friendship, but also for his obviously amazing taste in films. Toby and John could learn a few things from him, that's for sure.

Just before the movie starts, Bradley’s mobile buzzes and he notices a text message from John: hey! u busy? we’re going to the pub 2nite for mike’s bday. let me know.

He contemplates the idea for all of five seconds before deciding against it. He should probably ask Colin what he wants to do, but considering he needs to be up early to meet with that friend of his tomorrow morning, Bradley sort of assumes that he won’t mind staying in. Also, for completely selfish reasons, Bradley would prefer to just spend the night in, catching up with him. They haven’t even really spoken in over a month. Besides, Bradley’s mates can turn into complete idiots when they’re pissed, and he sort of wants to keep Colin away from them in that state.

He fires a quick response back – sorry, can’t. busy, but thanks for the invite – before starting up the movie.

They both chuckle when Sarah starts crying about her bear Lancelot. “We should make Santiago watch this, the next time he’s on set,” Colin suggests with a grin, and Bradley can do nothing but agree. You can never watch Labyrinth too many times, if you ask him. Plus, Santiago has a good sense of humour; he’d probably enjoy it.

Just after Jareth appears on screen, there is a knock on Bradley’s door.

Colin turns to look at Bradley, raising an eyebrow curiously. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No,” Bradley says, shaking his head. Reluctantly, he pauses the movie and goes to see who's shown up at his flat, unannounced.

“John?” Bradley blinks, staring at his friend standing on the other side of the doorway. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at the pub celebrating Mike’s birthday or something?”

John shrugs casually and smiles. “I am, but your flat happened to be on the way, and I thought I’d see if I could change your mind and drag your arse out with us.”

“I suppose that text where I told you I was busy didn’t get through that thick skull of yours then?” Bradley asks, folding his arms and shooting John a pointed stare.

“You don’t look busy,” John says, attempting to peer over Bradley’s shoulder in one of the most completely obvious moves Bradley’s ever seen.

“I am.”

“You have a girl in there?” he asks suddenly, smirking, and wiggles two eyebrows suggestively.

Bradley laughs heartily, shaking his head. “Not exactly.”

“Hey, Bradley, what’s going on?” Colin’s voice wafts in his direction, and Bradley turns his head at the same time that Colin rounds the corner.

“Ahhh, now I see,” John says, voice laden with innuendo, but he’s clearly taking the piss. Bradley reaches over and punches John in the shoulder. Hard.

Before John has a chance to say anything else stupid, Bradley steps back away from the doorway and proceeds with introductions. “Colin, this is my idiot friend, John from school. John, this is Colin.”

“Nice to meet you, mate,” John says, extending his hand.

Colin accepts, shaking it firmly. “Likewise.”

“So, how long are you in town?”

“At least a week, possibly longer,” Colin replies. “Bradley kindly offered to let me stay with him while I’m in London.”

“That doesn’t sound like the Bradley I know.”

Bradley’s expression sours, and he narrows his eyes at John. Colin simply laughs. “Hilarious, mate,” Bradley growls, though he’s grinning too. “So, what are you doing here again?”

“Well, I wanted to see if you could join us at the pub, but since you’re so busy, never mind.”

“You’re more than welcome to go out if you want, Bradley. I don't mind at all,” Colin says, before Bradley even has a chance to get a word in. “I need to be up early tomorrow, so I think I'll stay in. But I brought several books and now that I know how to work the DVD player I think I'll be just fine on my own.”

Of course Colin would tell him to go out while he stayed in for the night, alone. It is so very typical of Colin. He's the kind of bloke that'd offer someone the last bite of his sandwich, give a person the shirt off his back if it was needed, or stay up an extra few hours to help someone (mainly Bradley) with their lines, even if he had to be up at five the next morning to start filming. He's one of the most selfless people Bradley has ever had the pleasure of knowing and it's one of the numerous things Bradley adores about him, even if he is hesitant to use the words 'adore' and 'Colin Morgan' in the same sentence outside of his own mind.

“Thanks, mate, that's kind of you to offer,” Bradley says, patting Colin on the back, twice, jovially. “But I'm not going to go to the pub and leave you here. Not only is it rude, but we have prior plans anyway.”

“What plans?” Colin looks confused.

Hitching a thumb in the general direction of the living room, Bradley says, “Take away, movie, remember?”

“Ah, yes. Right. Didn't realise that counted as 'plans'.”

“It does,” Bradley asserts with a sage nod.

John takes this opportunity to insert himself back into the conversation. “What movie are you watching?”

“Labyrinth,” Colin says, and very clearly tries not to laugh when John's face scrunches up in obvious displeasure.

“He's managed to talk you into watching that, has he?” John wonders, sounding simultaneously awed and amused. “You're a stronger man than I.”

Colin merely shrugs, smiling shyly, hands burying in the pockets of his hoodie. “I don’t mind, actually. We’ve watched it before. Once you take into consideration the year in which it was made, and remember that it’s supposed to be a bit of a ridiculous fantasy movie, then it really is quite entertaining.”

“Plus, David Bowie,” Bradley feels the need to add.

Raising both hands for a second before shaking his head, it’s clear when John finally accepts that he’s lost this round. He and Colin are a force to be reckoned with, so powerful that not even five David Bowies could touch them. Well, that and the fact that John’s smarter than he looks sometimes, and knows how to pick his battles.

“Your loss. I’ll be out getting pissed and having a blast, thank you. Have fun watching that ridiculous film,” he says with a grin, giving them both a teasing salute before sauntering off down the hall.

“Oh, we will,” Bradley calls after him, not because it’s the least bit necessary but simply because he enjoys driving John mad.

They return to the television and continue watching the movie, Bradley quoting along with nearly everything Jareth says, and the two of them either singing along to the songs or making up their own lyrics, when it seems more entertaining (which is virtually the entire length of the movie). By the time they’re finished, Bradley’s sides hurt from laughing so much. In fact, he can’t remember the last time he had this much fun.

“Only you could make watching this terrible movie that enjoyable,” Colin says, and Bradley knows there was a jab somewhere in there, but he’s too distracted by the compliment to care all that much.

They smile dumbly at each other for a moment – because what else is there to say to that, really? – before Colin glances down to check the time on his watch. “It’s not that late, but I told Nick I would meet him first thing in the morning, and by the time I take the Tube…”

Bradley nods in understanding. “Of course. I’m knackered myself actually, so I’m sure I’ll be going to sleep soon as well.” There’s something else he wants to say or do, something else he had planned since the morning, but now he can’t for the life of him remember what it was.

“Well, good night,” Colin says with a smile, after nearly a minute passes and neither of them make any attempt to move.

Bradley returns the smile automatically, like it’s a natural response. “Good night.”

Colin disappears from the living room and is likely halfway down the hallway when Bradley suddenly remembers. “Col?”

A beat, and then, “Yes?”

“Hold on one second.” Jumping up off the sofa, Bradley retreats to the kitchen, meeting Colin at the bedroom doorway a minute later.

“Here,” Bradley says, depositing the object in Colin’s waiting hands.

“What’s this?” Though it’s obvious, when Colin extends his fingers and peers down at what rests in his palm.

“Keys to my flat,” Bradley says simply, and tries to ignore the little unexpected flutter in his heart that appears when Colin meets his gaze, just a touch of uncertainty in his eyes. “Since you’ll be off doing your thing and I’ll be off doing mine. That way I don’t have to stay home, and you don’t have to stay away until I return. Makes the most sense, wouldn’t you agree?”

Colin nods, understanding lighting up behind his eyes, which seem even bluer than usual, if that’s possible. “Oh, okay. That’s probably a good idea, thanks.”

“Of course it is. It was my idea, after all,” Bradley says, folding his arms and smirking arrogantly.

“Yes. The epitome of brilliance. Bradley James. Right,” Colin deadpans, and Bradley laughs heartily in response. Colin’s just jealous, that much is painfully clear.

“You only wish you were as fantastic as me,” he says, nudging Colin’s ankle with his foot, and Colin’s gaze immediately drops to the source, briefly, before meeting his eyes once again.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to get through the day,” is Colin’s only reply, and unfortunately, Bradley isn’t sure how to argue with that.

Fingering the keys, Colin eyes them curiously, as though he’s having some deep, secret thoughts, and then finally shoves them into the pockets of his jeans. “Thanks, Bradley. Night.”

“Good night,” he says, a moment too late, to the door gently closing in his face.

It feels significant, somehow, Bradley handing over the spare set of keys to his flat, even though it’s a gesture born entirely of necessity and nothing more. Still, some weird part of his brain feels that this is a good thing, and at this hour, he isn’t too inclined to try and argue with it.

~*~

As it turns out, Colin is actually a fantastic house guest. He’s quiet in the morning, cleans up after himself, actually hangs his towel to dry after taking a shower, and unlike Bradley, never leaves the refrigerator door open or the lights on unnecessarily, even if he’s going right back into the room in a couple of minutes. Of course, he eats a surprisingly large amount of food – more than Bradley remembers, anyway – and occasionally forgets to lock the door when he leaves, but all in all, it’s a pleasure to have him around.

Within the first several days, a pattern begins to emerge. Colin leaves first thing in the morning, but starts a pot of coffee for Bradley so that it’s ready when he wakes up. An hour or so later, Bradley finally hauls his arse off the sofa – sometimes it takes him a long time to fall asleep on the couch, despite what he’d told Colin – and downs a cup or two of coffee before starting his day. It usually consists of running errands, visiting friends, playing sports at the gym, or sending e-mails that border on harassment to his agent about finding him a script for the new year.

Sometimes, partway through the day, if his sleep that night was particularly poor, Bradley will take a quick nap in his own bed. It sort of smells faintly of Colin – even if he hasn’t occupied it for very long – but this doesn’t particularly bother him. All he usually needs is twenty minutes and he’s feeling much better.

By the time Colin arrives back at the flat, it’s usually just following dinner time. Bradley is most definitely not a chef, but he’s always prided himself on making real meals when he’s at home as often as possible. The only difference this time is that he’s using all vegetarian items. He’s not especially fond of tofu, but seeing as how he needs to make something anyway, it feels pointless to cook a separate meal specifically for Colin. Therefore Bradley does the only logical thing and decides to use the week to experiment with an online vegetarian cookbook he finds.

They typically eat dinner together – complete with feedback from Colin about the meal; thankfully Bradley’s cooking abilities have passed every day so far – and then they spend the evening hanging out.

On Monday they go to a nearby park, then design and race through obstacle courses using trees, bushes, swing sets, and even sometimes dogs or other people in the park (who are less than impressed, usually). By the end, Colin is beating Bradley three races to two, but he’s determined to have a rematch before Colin leaves to rectify that situation.

On Tuesday they decide to see The Social Network, even though they’ve both already seen it. Therefore, they spend the vast majority of the time commenting on Justin Timberlake’s rugged good looks (well, that’s mostly Bradley), how Jesse Eisenberg is incredibly awkward but still does an amazing job in the role, and how little actually occurs in the movie in terms of plot. There might also be some – okay, a lot - of discussion about how awesome Andrew Garfield is, though that’s largely Bradley (again). It’s possible that they piss off a few people around them, but in the end they’re having too much fun to really care.

Wednesday night’s plans revolve around prank calling Katie, which takes over an hour to plan and only three minutes to completely fuck up. Even disabling the caller ID on Bradley’s mobile does nothing to help maintain their anonymity. Unfortunately – or fortunately, depending on your perspective – Katie only figures out that Bradley’s involved, and threatens to exact sweet, sweet revenge. She hangs up before Bradley can add Colin to her hit list, but somehow he doubts she’d believe him anyway. Those damn Irish always stick together, Bradley’s noticed.

However, Thursday evening ends up playing out quite differently than the other nights.

It’s more than two hours earlier than usual when Bradley hears the careful clicking sound of his front door unlocking, followed by the shuffling of someone entering the flat. Having just finished showering, Bradley pulls a t-shirt over his head so he’s fully clothed – he double checks beforehand just in case, because wouldn’t that be embarrassing? – and makes his way towards the front entrance.

“Colin!” he says in surprise. “What are you doing back so early?”

“There wasn’t as much to do today as expected.” It isn’t much of an answer, but Bradley supposes it probably doesn’t matter. Colin shrugs noncommittally, tossing his rucksack beside the pile of shoes on the floor and makes his way into the kitchen, a brown paper bag in his left hand. Naturally, Bradley follows.

Glancing at Bradley over his shoulder, Colin eyes him in amusement. “Nice hair,” he remarks with a smirk, setting the bag down on the kitchen table.

“What’s wrong with it?” Bradley grumbles good-naturedly, reaching up to run fingers through his still damp and obviously un-styled hair.

“Nothing,” he says, and Bradley will be damned if Colin hasn’t perfected the art of feigning innocence down to the most minute detail. He does it so well, it should almost be illegal. Except for the fact that over time, Bradley has learned when Colin’s taking the piss and when he’s being genuine, so at least he’s able to suss out the difference now.

“Well, you returned earlier than anticipated, so it’s not my fault that I didn’t have time to make myself gorgeous for your arrival,” he says, layering on as much sarcasm as he can muster and grins devilishly at Colin.

It doesn’t appear to faze Colin whatsoever. Waving a hand around aimlessly, he says, “Nah, you’re always gorgeous.”

The comment is so natural, so casual, that Bradley almost misses what Colin’s just said. Except that he doesn’t. It’s instantly obvious that Colin is teasing him, if the mischievous smirk is any indication, but even still, Bradley feels heat pooling in his belly for just the briefest of moments anyway.

There are so many possible ways to respond to a comment like that, but he decides to go with cocky arrogance, because it’s the only thing that feels appropriate. “Damn right. I’m bloody fit.”

Colin chuckles loudly, voice filled with a mirth that warms the room, and it’s then that Bradley actually notices the extra item Colin’s brought in with him.

“What’s in the bag?” Bradley asks, folding his arms across his chest and eyeing it curiously.

“Oh, right!” Colin reaches out for the bag, picking it up and holding it out to Bradley. “There’s this tiny little restaurant a couple of blocks from the theatre where we’ve been ordering lunch every day, and I thought you might enjoy the food, so I brought something back for us. Figured you’ve done enough cooking the last few days and I should probably return the favour.”

“You didn’t need to do that,” Bradley says, taking the proffered bag, noting for the first time the delicious smell wafting from inside, and he’s suddenly immensely curious as to what it contains. Setting the bag on the counter, Bradley opens it and begins to rummage through the contents, almost immediately surprised by what he finds.

“Burgers? Are these vegetarian?” he asks, raising both brows.

Colin shakes his head. “No, they’re real. Or, um, real for you. Genuine beef burgers, just how you like it.”

There’s a dirty joke somewhere in there, Bradley knows, but he’s too distracted at the moment to pull one together.

“Seriously?” Bradley says, excited, sounding like a child on Christmas all of a sudden. It’s only been four days that he’s gone without meat, but apparently that’s long enough. “It smells great.”

Colin shuffles his feet and looks at Bradley with a sort of bashful awkwardness. “Er, I obviously haven’t tried them myself, but I hear that they’re incredible. If you like that sort of thing,” he says, and then scrunches his face up as though even the mere thought of anyone eating meat is disgusting, though Bradley can that tell he’s joking. Mostly.

“Thanks, Col,” he says, feeling genuinely touched. “But what are you going to eat?”

“There’s a salad hiding in the bottom of the bag somewhere for me. I also bought both French and yam fries. I figured we could share.”

Even though Colin’s arrived back at the flat earlier than anticipated, all of Bradley’s errands for the day are finished, so they decide to move straight into their evening plans: marathoning series one of The X-Files.

Over the past three years, they’ve managed to make it through Buffy, Angel, both the original and the American versions of The Office and all the Doctor Who episodes and specials since David Tennant took on the role. In another life, Bradley thinks that he might’ve also made a fantastic television critic.

While Colin pops the first disc into DVD player, Bradley scans the episode list for the entire first series.

“Can you believe some of these episode titles? ‘Deep Throat’, ‘Squeeze’, ‘Gender Bender’?” Bradley chuckles to himself. Honestly, they make it too easy sometimes.

“Very mature,” Colin retorts, but he can’t quite hide his own smirk. “Is your mind constantly in the gutter, or does it just visit frequently?”

“Did I say anything about the titles being sexual euphemisms, Colin?”

“Big word, there. You know what it means?”

Bradley tries not to scoff. “Of course I do. And you never answered my question, which I assume means that your own mind was in the gutter as well.” He tsk, tsk’s Colin, shaking his head and shooting him a look of mock disapproval.

“You know what they say about assuming,” Colin shoots back, before settling back against the sofa and tossing the DVD remote in Bradley’s general direction.

As it turns out, the pilot episode is just as bad as most pilots tend to be, filled with overly cheesy dialogue, awkward first interactions, some terrible acting by a few of the guest stars, and a bit of a ridiculous storyline. Still, while Bradley has always appreciated action and close friendships to romance, he enjoys the bathrobe scene perhaps a bit too much.

“Wow, getting naked in the first episode. How’s that for sexual tension?” he jokes, but Colin just laughs and waves a hand at him to be quiet.

However, by the time they’re four episodes in, Bradley is starting to believe that he could really end up enjoying this show. The effects aren’t fantastic, but considering this was the early '90s, Bradley decides to let it go. The storylines are fun, and he’s enjoying the paranormal aspect of things. Plus, the dynamic between Mulder and Scully is nothing short of intriguing. He knows firsthand how important chemistry and a strong dynamic between the leads on a programme can be.

Partway through the fifth episode, Bradley decides he has the characters completely figured out. “Scully won’t go on that date,” he predicts, casting Colin a sidelong glance.

“What makes you think that?”

“Because she fancies Mulder. Somehow something’s going to stop that date from happening, trust me,” he says sagely.

Colin’s brows furrow. “You can’t possibly know that. You’re just making things up based on the little you know about the show.”

“Well, don’t they end up shagging eventually?”

“I think so.” Colin squints thoughtfully. “But it’s only five episodes in, Bradley.”

“Fine. But be prepared to apologise to me when I’m right,” he says, stretching his legs out and leaning back against the cushions.

By the time the episode finishes, Bradley is gloating. “See? Told you Scully wouldn’t go on that date. She’s head over heels for Mulder. She wouldn’t date someone else when she fancies another bloke. Goes against her style,” he says, in a display of true maturity. But that’s what Colin gets when he tries to doubt Bradley’s superior observation skills.

Colin merely rolls his eyes. “Yes, well, aren’t you a genius?”

“I quite thought so.”

Neither moves to grab for the remote to start the next episode, but Bradley is still startled when Colin suddenly says, “We should go out somewhere, get some drinks or something, yeah? Nick doesn’t need me tomorrow, so we have all evening. I think we should get out for a while, get some air.”

That certainly hadn’t been expected, but Bradley isn’t opposed to the idea either. And he supposes he could benefit from getting out of the flat for a bit too. “Er, I guess so. Where did you have in mind?”

Colin shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. Didn’t you say there’s a pub close by that you and your friends like?”

~*~

Fifteen minutes later, they find themselves tucked into a booth at the back of the pub, both nursing a beer. It’s a relatively large pub, which helps to afford them some privacy. It’s not as if Bradley is recognised on a daily basis when he’s out in the city; in fact, he still manages to remain in relative obscurity while in public, save for the odd moment here and there when a group of people – often girls, as luck would have it – spot him and come over to say hello. Still, the frequency of being recognised has increased as the popularity of the show rises.

And even though when they’re out in public together and no one notices Colin, for some strange reason, when the two of them are in the same place at the same time, the likelihood that Bradley will be noticed increases exponentially. He has yet to figure out how this works, but he finds himself being spotted with a much higher frequency when he’s in Colin’s company, even though half the time Colin isn’t even noticed immediately.

So, needless to say, Bradley is grateful when they manage to find a small booth to keep them relatively hidden from everyone else who happens to be out drinking that night. And for a while, they even remain unnoticed. But of course, with Bradley’s luck, it doesn’t last nearly long enough.

It happens after he sends Colin up to the bar to get a third round of beers.

“Bradley James? Is that really you? Wow, it’s been so long!”

Dragging his gaze away from the bar, Bradley jerks his head over to the source of the sound and is immediately met with the sight of Elizabeth ( Beth) Miller, a girl he’d dated for just over two years prior to accepting the role of Arthur on Merlin. She still looks exactly like how Bradley remembers her – tall, with dark wavy brown hair that hangs just past her shoulders, wire-rimmed glasses framing her face and dressed from head to toe in what was probably designer everything. Ever the fashionista, but one of the most down-to-earth girls Bradley’s ever met.

“Beth,” he says with a smile, rising to greet her properly with the hug he knows she’s waiting for.

This is certainly an unexpected surprise, though not an unpleasant one. Their break-up had been mostly amicable at the time. Beth is several years younger than Bradley, but neither had been ready to even start thinking about settling down back when they’d been dating. They’d been discussing the idea of taking a break from one another just prior to his audition for Merlin, and the day following that, they mutually decided to end things. Beth wanted to go to university and she wanted Bradley to concentrate on his career without being ‘tied down’ to someone. They’d promised to keep in touch, but hadn’t, though Bradley knows he’s mostly to blame for that.

“It’s been a while, but it’s great to see you. You’re looking good,” he says honestly.

“Far too long,” she agrees. “Weren’t you supposed to give me a ring? Did you forget about me after becoming a big, famous star?”

Bradley blinks. He knows that she’s joking, but alternately, she’s also completely correct, and he feels a small stab of guilt. Even though the break-up had been mutual, he’d still been hurt by the whole thing. But before he can find the words, Beth bats playfully at his arm.

“I’m just teasing, don’t worry. You’ve been busy, so I’ve seen, and I could’ve just as easily rung you up myself, but I didn’t.” She shrugs.

Smiling sheepishly, Bradley ducks his head for a moment anyway. “I suppose so. I meant to phone you, but I obviously never did, so I’m sorry.” He meant it, too. Or at least he did now.

Laughing lightly, Beth waves her hand dismissively. “Let's call it even? We're both to blame?”

“Sure, all right.” Bradley nods, relieved. “So, how have you been? What have you been doing these past few years?”

Beth reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, a perfectly manicured nail gliding against her scalp. Again, just how he remembers her. “Oh, you know, just finishing up at uni. It's been busy, but hopefully I'll be finished within the next year or two and will finally be ready to enter the workforce.”

“That's great,” he tells her with a smile. “Hopefully the last stretch won't be too difficult for you. You're finishing your law degree still, I assume?”

“I am,” she confirms, pride evident in her voice.

Bradley is poised to ask how Beth's family is doing – specifically her brother, whom Bradley got on with quite well, back when he and Beth were dating – when out of the blue she interjects with, “You know, maybe it's fate that we ran into one another here.”

“What do you mean?” he asks dumbly, though he suspects he knows exactly where she might be going with this.

“Well, I was just thinking about you the other day. Some of the fun times we had, so it seems significant that we both ended up here at the same time, wouldn’t you say?”

Bradley bites down on his tongue to prevent the automatic response he wants to give, which he assumes probably won’t be received overly well. Instead he says, “You’re right, we did have a lot of great times in the past. Perhaps this is fate’s way of helping old friends catch up.”

That answer seems to please her, even though Bradley’s not fully sure what he even just said. “Are you involved with anyone right now?” she asks, head tilting to the side as she folds her arms loosely across her chest. Sure enough, he was right.

Something uncomfortable unfurls in his chest. “Erm, no. It's sort of hard, what with working on Merlin for eight months of the year. I barely have time to sleep, let alone date anyone.”

It's technically the truth, mostly, but it's also equally an excuse, and he bloody well knows it. If he truly wanted to date, he could find a way to make it work, somehow. Granted, their filming schedule is hectic and he works ridiculously long hours during the year. Still, it's nice to have handy when he's trying to fend off unwanted affections from fans (or even acquaintances), or defend himself against his mum's questions about when he's going to 'find somebody nice to settle down with'. Beth is a lovely girl and it's not that he's opposed to the idea of dating her again – they had some incredible times when they were younger – but he just can't envision himself with her right now, at this time in his life, even though he doesn't exactly have any logical reason for the decision, save for the feeling in his gut.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bradley can see Colin making his way back over to the table with their drinks, and he feels something like relief well up inside him.

“Hey, Bradley,” Colin says carefully once he arrives, glancing between Bradley and Beth, and shooting him a silent question with his eyes. Colin grips both mugs, holding them close to his chest a bit uncertainly, as if unsure whether he should stay or go.

“Colin,” Bradley says with a wide smile, and reaches out to take one of the drinks from his hands as he gestures towards Beth with the other. “This is Beth. She’s an old friend of mine.” Colin quirks an eyebrow at the name curiously, but Bradley gives him a pointed stare that he hopes says: ’Not now.’ Before Colin has the opportunity to open his mouth, Bradley continues. “Beth, this is Colin—”

“—Morgan,” Beth finishes, eyes widening in obvious realisation. “Yeah, I know. I’ve seen the show. I’m a huge fan. How nice to meet you.” She holds out her hand.

“You too.” He accepts the proffered limb, shaking it firmly.

Both turn to Bradley then, as if they expect him to say something. Except, he’s not sure what, precisely, they want from him.

Thankfully, Beth saves him from having to say anything. “Well, I don’t want to interrupt, so I suppose I should be on my way.”

“You don’t want to stick around for a while? I can make myself scarce,” Colin offers, but Beth shakes her head. Bradley lets out an internal sigh of relief at her response for reasons he’s not quite certain of.

“No, that’s all right. I’m meeting up with a few friends myself, so I really should go find them. But it was nice to meet you,” she says to Colin. And then, to Bradley she adds, “Give me a ring when you have some free time, all right? Might just be fate after all.”

With that, she turns and strolls away.

“So, that was the infamous Beth, was it?” Colin asks as they slide back into the booth.

“Yeah.”

“She seems nice.”

“She is.”

Colin gives him a look. “So, what did she want?”

Suddenly Bradley is beginning to regret telling Colin all about Beth a few years back, instead of just leaving well enough alone. Of course, at the time, he never could have foreseen that Colin might actually meet her. He takes a long swig of his beer, relishing the faint buzz it thankfully provides him with as it slides easily down his parched throat.

“Nothing. She just saw me and came over to say hi. That’s it.

“Didn't look like nothing to me.”

Bradley tries not to roll his eyes at the implication. “You're ridiculous, Colin. Just because I happened to be talking to an ex-girlfriend, doesn't automatically mean anything was going on.”

Apparently, the words don't penetrate Colin's thick skull. “So, did she ask you out on another date?”

“No,” Bradley instantly responds. Then he stops, and corrects himself. “Well, not exactly. I think she was about to, but then you showed up.”

“Oh, I'm sorry!”

“Don't be. I wouldn't have said yes anyway.”

Colin reaches out to flick the back of his hand, and Bradley tries not to jump in surprise. “Why not?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs absently, and then downs the last of his beer. “We don’t have time for dating with the kind of schedules we have during filming.” Belatedly, Bradley remembers that Colin might be the one person for whom that excuse won’t work.

For a second, Colin looks like he’s about ready to say something, but then, he appears to check himself. “Yeah, that’d be difficult. But it wouldn’t be impossible if you really wanted it, and we both know that. I don’t think you’ve dated anyone since we first started working together.”

“So?”

Colin shrugs, fingers tapping idly on the table. “I’m just saying. If you wanted to date her, now might be a good time to start, since we have lots of time from now until filming for series four begins.”

And suddenly, out of nowhere, Bradley feels just a little irritated by Colin’s insistence on talking about this.

“I would’ve said no because I don't want to, plain and simple. Beth was great, but she’s my past. Things are different now than they were back then,” he asserts, sounding more frustrated than is strictly necessary. But there it is. He's said it now, and Colin can make of that what he will.

Something unrecognisable flashes in Colin’s eyes briefly before he smiles, placating, and kicks Bradley’s foot lightly under the table. “Easy there. I was just winding you up, yeah? No hard feelings.”

And then Bradley is feeling like an idiot, because he’s being silly about the whole thing, and the last thing he wants is to upset Colin in any way. “I know, don’t worry. I’m sorry for over-reacting.” He has no idea why he’s getting so defensive all of a sudden. It’s not that important.

“So, how come whenever we’re out together, I’m the one who always gets recognised?” Bradley whines then, as much to put voice to the question he’s had sitting at the back of his mind as it is to change the topic entirely. It’s not that he’s uncomfortable with talking about Beth, per se. He just wants to look towards his future, not get sucked back into memories from his past.

Colin lifts a single shoulder and shoots him a lazy grin. “I don’t know. Maybe because you’re so damn loud all the time? You probably call all the attention to yourself purposefully, trying to steal my glory.”

“You don’t even like being recognised, so you can’t pull that card on me, Morgan,” Bradley points out helpfully, especially since it’s true. He’s become so much more comfortable with being in the spotlight since Bradley first met him, but Colin would still rather remain hovering around in the background, if he could. And then, remembering the first part of that original comment adds, “Also, I’m not that loud.”

“Then it must just be the appeal of your stunning good looks that draws the crowds,” Colin suggests, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Bradley grips the mug of his beer tightly, laughing with more enthusiasm than he feels. “Yeah, right. Whatever you say. And don’t sell yourself short. I hear the women screaming ’oh, Colin, you’re so hot, Colin, we love you so much Colin, swoon, swoon, swoon’ when we’re at any sort of fan event.” He uses his best high-pitched, screaming female fan voice, and is quite proud of how accurate he sounds.

And Bradley will be damned if Colin isn’t looking slightly embarrassed by his comment. “Heh, well, then maybe I’m just better at hiding than you are.”

Colin tilts his head back then, gulping down the rest of his beer, and Bradley finds his eyes are inadvertently drawn to the bob of his Adam’s apple as Colin swallows, suddenly mesmerised by the way it dips and rises. Curious eyes trail up his long neck to the strong line of Colin’s jaw, his beer-moistened lips, the sharp angles of his cheekbones—

“Bradley?”

Blinking sharply, Bradley’s eyes dart back up to meet Colin’s inquisitive gaze, and he is grateful for the dim lighting in the pub that hides the unexpected heat he feels pricking at the back of his neck all of a sudden. “Yes?”

“You don’t look too well. D’you think we should head back to your flat now? Continue watching X-Files, yeah?”

He’s definitely had enough alcohol tonight, Bradley decides. Maybe a bit too much. Swallowing heavily, he nods, trying not to look as guilty as he inexplicably feels. “Sure, yeah. That’d—that’d probably be a good idea. Yes, let’s do that.”

~*~

By the time late Saturday afternoon rolls around, they’ve managed to finish the entire first series of The X-Files, and Bradley feels like he might go a bit cross-eyed if they watch anything else.

So instead, they take a break to have a vegetarian cook-off. Even though Bradley knows he’ll lose – because he’s not even that much of a cook to begin with, never mind having to make meals without meat – he still puts forth a valiant effort. While there’s no impartial judge to decide who won, they both agree that Colin’s vegetable casserole is better than Bradley’s vegetarian lasagne. But Colin still eats two helpings, so Bradley thinks that he must have done something right.

They end up destroying Bradley’s kitchen, and it takes nearly two hours to clean everything up, but he hasn’t had this much fun cooking in a long time, so it seems worth the effort.

“We should watch Merlin together,” Colin suggests a little while later. He’s sprawled across Bradley’s sofa, one arm slung over his eyes, the other dangling off the edge of the cushions, and feet hanging over the end of the couch.

Just managing to pry himself off the floor, Bradley crawls over to Colin and pokes at his feet. “Yeah, fine, but you need to shove over. I’m not staying on the floor.”

With an exaggerated groan, Colin moves just enough for Bradley to squeeze in beside him, and Bradley very pointedly ignores the way Colin’s toes accidentally brush against his thigh. More than once. Turning on the TV, he flips through the channels until he lands on BBC One, just in time.

Almost unconsciously, Bradley finds himself paying extra attention to any scenes where Arthur interacts with Gwen. He knows he’s probably being silly and just a bit paranoid, but he can’t help but wonder. He hasn’t even formulated any sort of concrete theories to coincide with his unidentified suspicions, just feels like a bit of extra vigilance might not be a bad thing.

Every time Arthur and Gwen appear in the same scene, Bradley pays careful attention, trying to see if there is anything off about the scene, or remember if Colin happened to be there. But he doesn’t notice or recall a thing that might be suspicious. Of course, he is also notorious for having a terrible memory, so it might not be the most reliable of indicators.

They only half pay attention to the actual episode, talking throughout – sharing stories from set, reminiscing or poking fun at themselves. It’d be the sort of commentary that the producers would scold them for, but the fans would probably love.

“Well, that was fun,” Colin says at the conclusion of the episode.

“Bloody fantastic,” Bradley retorts, smiling over at him. Relief settles in his chest with the knowledge that the last two weeks must have just been a coincidence after all.

“Hey, do you remember when they were rearranging the set during the filming of one of the corridor scenes, and you tripped and fell backwards because you didn’t realise they’d moved that bench closer?” Colin asks, accidentally toeing Bradley again.

“Hey, mate, keep your stinky feet to yourself, yeah?” Bradley grumbles good-naturedly, glaring at the offending limbs, and then, “Oh yeah. I landed flat on my arse. That was embarrassing.”

“But hilarious. Don’t forget hilarious.” Colin laughs and pulls his knees up to his chest, smiling so brightly that Bradley can’t really find it in him to be annoyed.

He reflects on his memory of that incident, chuckling to himself, when suddenly something dawns on him, mid-thought. “Wait, wasn’t that a scene I was filming with Angel?”

Colin shrugs. “I dunno, maybe?”

“Then why were you there?” He narrows his eyes at the same time that the uncomfortable feeling returns, settling deep within his chest.

“No idea, Bradley. But I definitely remember you falling on your arse.”

And now that he’s really thinking about it, Bradley definitely remembers that he was filming with Angel, and that Colin was there. Of course, Colin’s presence on set doesn’t necessarily mean anything at all, but considering his recent discoveries, Bradley strongly suspects that something else is going on here, though he’s not so sure he even wants to find out what it is.

~*~

Colin leaves the following Tuesday, and Bradley tries not to think about the fact that they might not see one another again until the new year, because the idea of going another six weeks without seeing him is highly unpleasant.

With a wide grin and a squeeze to Bradley’s shoulder, Colin boards his train, while Bradley tells himself that the tightness in his chest is a normal response when saying good-bye to all of his mates.

That evening, Bradley's flat feels decidedly empty, and he tries very hard not to dwell on that fact. The reality is that he's enjoyed having Colin around, and living by himself does get lonely at times. Bradley's always been a social person – surrounding himself with family and friends whenever he has the opportunity – and while he does need the down time every now and then, he hasn't fully grown accustomed to living on his own. A few years ago he might have imagined himself moving in with Beth, but those days are long gone now.

While channel surfing a short while later he sees a commercial advertising the next episode of Merlin, and he’s reminded once again of The Situation (as he’s just now started referring to the Colin-being-present-in-all-of-his-scenes-with-Angel thing).

There are a million different ways Bradley could choose to utilise his time, but in the end he spends the next several hours going back over the last three episodes on his laptop with a fine-toothed comb. By the time he’s finished, there is only one conclusion that can be drawn: Colin was present for the filming of every single Arthur-and-Gwen scene, but only twice was actually part of the scene in question.

Which means… Well, Bradley’s not exactly sure what it all means, but there’s no doubt that this extends far beyond mere coincidence. Especially since he can’t recall a single incidence of the opposite occurring – when Angel watched an Arthur-and-Merlin scene, or when Katie was present during an Uther-and-Arthur scene. But even if they'd had, it was most definitely not a regular occurrence.

The entire thing is very peculiar, and something about it just doesn’t sit right in Bradley’s stomach. It’s probably nothing, except that it might be something, and once Bradley gets an idea in his mind, it’s hard to let it go.

~*~

Two full days pass and Bradley’s desire to figure out what’s going on finally gets the best of him, so he decides to seek out a second opinion. Naturally, since he can’t ring up Colin and is hesitant to discuss it with Angel, he turns to Katie.

This, unsurprisingly, turns out to be a rubbish idea.

“Bradley James, I can see your name on my call display,” is how she greets him, with all the warmth of a lion stalking a gazelle just before it attacks. It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. “I swear to God, if you’re calling to prank me again, I will send your picture to the Irish mafia and put a hit out on you.”

That seems a touch extreme, even for Katie, and several sarcastic responses immediately come to mind: ’Nice to hear from you too, Katie’, ‘How’ve you been since we last spoke?’, ‘Keeping busy now that we’re on break?’ But of course, he doesn’t say any of them, because fighting Katie with sarcasm is about as productive as fighting a fire with a match.

“There’s no such thing as the Irish mafia,” he points out.

“How do you know?”

“Colin would have told me if there was.” Not that it’s ever come up, mind, but he’s sure Colin would have if such a thing existed.

“Are you confident about that? You know how we Irish stick together, and we never reveal our secrets to our English enemies.”

Laughter spills from his mouth at that, and Bradley shakes his head in disbelief. “’English enemies’, Katie? Really?”

She can’t help but chuckle in return before quickly sobering. “Yes, well, either way – is that a risk you’re willing to take?” He can almost see her smirk, wicked and smug, and inwardly grumbles.

“Yes,” he mutters at length, but in a manner that seems to imply the exact opposite.

A beat passes, and then, “So why did you actually call, now that we’ve established that you’re not trying to prank me and wouldn’t dare risk it?”

Bradley sighs with exaggerated exasperation. “Maybe I don’t want to tell you any longer, after you insulted me.”

Another peal of laughter ripples through the line. “Oh, please, Bradley. What are you, ten years old? Besides, the last time you called, it was with the intent of pulling a practical joke on me, so you can hardly blame me, can you? You obviously called me for a reason, so let’s hear it.”

If it wasn’t for the fact that he genuinely did want her opinion – because when she wasn’t being an evil harpy, she actually gave moderately good advice – he would hang up, just to prove a point. However, seeing as this wasn’t a topic he could ask his non-Merlin mates, Angel and Colin were out of the question, and it felt like far too silly of a reason to ring up Richard or Tony, Katie was his best bet.

“Have you ever, er, hung around the set and watched a scene being filmed that you weren’t in?” Bradley asks, at length.

“Um, yeah. Once or twice, I think. Maybe more, when I haven’t been filming a scene myself, but not all that often.”

“Okay, but you’ve never, uh, been on set for, like, several similar scenes you weren’t a part of before, have you?”

“Bradley, what are you on about? What does this have to do with anything?”

Suddenly he’s feeling a little dimwitted about the whole thing. “Er, well, it’s just that—Have you been watching Merlin the last few weeks?”

“No, but I heard there was some editing error a few weeks ago. My mum called me to ask about it the next day. Said she went online to see if she could find anything out. You probably don’t want to know what some people were saying…”

No, he is quite certain that he doesn’t.

“So I guess you know that Colin was in that scene for a few seconds before it cut back to Angel, then?”

“Yes, hence my previous comments. I’m not even going to ask how that happened—”

“Yeah, so, anyway,” Bradley interrupts, before she does start talking about things he doesn’t particularly want to hear right now, “I’ve been watching the show and I couldn’t help but notice that Colin’s been present during the vast majority of the scenes with Angel and myself.”

“And this is significant why?”

“Because he wasn’t in any of those scenes. Or, well, he wasn’t in most of those scenes. And yet he was still there while we filmed. Don’t you find that a bit odd?”

Silence fills the line for far longer than Bradley is entirely comfortable with.

“I don’t know, I suppose it’s sort of strange. But you’re often filming together, aren’t you? Maybe you had a scene together immediately beforehand or immediately after?” Katie suggests.

“Perhaps.” But he doesn’t believe it’s that simple. Besides, the argument still doesn’t stand if it won’t generalise to other situations and cast members, which, as far as Bradley can recall, isn’t the case.

“Maybe he came by to watch you film?”

“But that many times?” It seems unlikely.

“You said Colin’s only around when you’re filming Arthur-Gwen scenes?”

Didn’t he already say that? Is she not listening to a word he’s saying? “Yes…”

“Then maybe they’re trying to ramp up the sexual tension in those scenes?”

Bradley nearly drops his mobile. “What? Katie, that doesn’t even make any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense, actually. Have you ever even watched the show before?”

Bradley tries not to roll his eyes, though the effect isn't exactly as strong when she isn't there to witness the full extent of his exasperation. ”Clearly I have.”

“Well, despite the fact that you act like one most of the time, you're not an idiot, Bradley.” He opens his mouth to protest the affront to his character, but she doesn't give him the opportunity. “If you don't know what I'm talking about, then I'm not going to tell you. This is the kind of thing that you shouldn't have to be told.”

“You sound like my mum now, Katie. Come on, don't be absurd.”

“I'm not. I'm not even saying that I'm right. But if you can't possibly understand why having Colin around in your scenes with Angel to increase the tension is a logical conclusion to reach, then that's not my problem.”

What Bradley truly doesn't understand is how Katie can be so thoroughly frustrating. Why does she feel the need to talk in riddles instead of just helping him figure this out, like he asked? Glancing down, he notices that his left fist is clenched so tight that the knuckles are turning white, and he forcefully relaxes his hand, laying the palm flat against his thigh instead.

Clearly, things are not going as planned, so Bradley decides that it’s time to pull out his backup plan. “Ka-tie,” he whines pathetically, “why are you being so cruel to me?”

Without a beat passing, she says, “Stop that. Whining won’t work with me. But come on, Bradley, think about it. This isn’t that difficult of a concept.”

So he does. Because Katie is right about one thing – Bradley is not an idiot. Or, at least, mostly not. After about a minute, he arrives at a conclusion, though he’s still not quite sure how everything fits together. “Is this because Colin and I have good chemistry or something?”

Katie makes a noise which seems to resemble approval. “You’re getting there.”

“But what does that have to do with my scenes with Angel?”

The heavy sigh he receives in return is enough of an indication that he hasn’t responded favourably. “Are you really that dense? I thought you were getting somewhere. Honestly, sometimes I wonder about you, Bradley.”

“Thank you for that wonderfully kind feedback. Good to know I can count on you to boost my self-esteem.”

“Look, I’m sure you can figure it out if you just take some time,” Katie suggests, voice softening just slightly. “Or, you know, you could just phone up Johnny and get the information straight from the horse’s mouth, if you’re so convinced there’s some conspiracy going on.”

That seems like the wiser option, at this point. Katie has been no help whatsoever. “Well, I’m glad I decided to call you, Katie. Thanks so much for everything,” he says with as much sarcasm as he can muster (because at this point, it doesn’t matter any longer if he pulls the sarcasm card with her).

Katie simply laughs, though not unkindly, and it should annoy him immensely, but it actually serves to quell his annoyance instead. Stupid Katie and the power of her stupid laugh. “It’s not that big of a deal, Bradley. But feel free to give me a ring again once you sort things out, should you need someone to talk to.”

“Yeah, I will,” he says, even though he probably won’t. “Take care, and stay in touch.”

“Thanks. You too, Bradley. Bye.”

Probably, Bradley thinks after hanging up his mobile, he should have called Rupert instead.

---------------

Continue to part three

Fanfic - It's a Little Bit Funny (This Feeling Inside) - 1/6

2011-03-20T03:12:19Z

It’s a Little Bit Funny (This Feeling Inside)

To be honest, Bradley is not entirely sure when this all happened, how he somehow ends up standing outside Colin’s flat at one o’clock in the morning, drenched from head to toe from the thunderstorm raging outside. The image – this entire scenario – is so utterly cliché that Bradley almost wants to laugh.

But he doesn’t laugh, because there’s probably only so much madness Colin Morgan can handle at any given time from Bradley, and he thinks he’s already gone far past his quota in the last few weeks. Everyone has their limits, after all.

Several moments pass after he rings the buzzer, and then several more, before Bradley starts to think this was a bloody fucking stupid idea. It’s a Friday night, so either Colin got sick of sitting around the flat by himself and is out somewhere with friends, or he’s sleeping, and Bradley’s just gone and woken him up. Neither option leaves Bradley feeling very good. He shakes his head in frustration, making the decision to leave, just get the hell out of here as fast as he can and save whatever face he has left, but he is stopped in his tracks as the door pulls open to reveal an extremely puzzled-looking, and very much awake, Colin.

A single eyebrow arches high on his forehead. “Bradley?” He squints, and then adds, “How did you get into the building?

Bradley shoots him a sheepish smile. “I, uh, snuck in with some bloke. From the fifth floor, I think. He was too pissed to even notice me.”

“Glad to know this place has such good security.”

“Yeah, you might want to talk to someone about that,” Bradley jokes, playing absently with the frayed cuff of his sweatshirt.

Colin’s other eyebrow joins the first, and he graces Bradley with a hesitant smirk himself before gesturing towards Bradley’s hapless appearance. “What happened to you? Why are you all wet?”

“Would you believe I’ve been walking in the rain for the past hour?”

A thoughtful look passes over Colin’s face, like he truly doesn’t even know what to make of Bradley sometimes, but he moves away from the doorway finally to allow Bradley to step over the threshold. “If you were anyone else, I might not. But I can honestly say that there’s not much you could do to surprise me any longer.”

Just you wait until you hear what I have to say, Bradley thinks, but he doesn’t voice it. Instead, he presses the door closed behind him and toes off his trainers awkwardly. He’s trying not to drip water everywhere, but it’s sort of difficult, what with him being rain-soaked and all.

“Uh, mate, do you think...?”

But Colin is already one step ahead of him, retreating down the hall even before the words have left Bradley’s mouth, and returning a couple of minutes later. “Here. Dry yourself off. You can put on the clothes at the end of my bed,” Colin says as he hands a towel to Bradley.

Bradley accepts the towel and attempts to mop up as much water as he can before hurriedly making his way to Colin’s room and snatching the spare clothes from the end of his bed. Once Bradley is changed and significantly drier, he joins Colin in the kitchen, trying very hard not to think about the fact that he is wearing Colin’s clothing. It has his scent – all musky with faint hints of his eco-friendly detergent – and it causes Bradley’s breath to catch in his throat.

“You want some water or tea or something?” Colin asks, even as he’s already filling a kettle, scratching the back of his head a little awkwardly.

“Only if you’re making something,” Bradley replies, shooting him an appreciative look.

A heavy silence fills the room as Colin quietly prepares some tea for them. He must be wondering what Bradley’s doing here, and is well within his right to do so. Bradley has been acting madder lately than he ever has before, and that’s saying something. Considering the last conversation they had, Bradley’s grateful Colin didn’t send him back out into the rain straight away, and he is instantly grateful for Colin’s ceaseless patience and endless understanding.

“So, not that a late night visit isn’t appreciated,” Colin finally says, breaking the silence, and smiles despite the concern that is playing across his features. “But why are you here?”

He sets down a coffee mug filled with tea in front of Bradley, exactly how he likes it – of course Colin knows; he seems to know everything about Bradley – and takes a seat across the table from him, waiting expectantly.

For a second, Bradley blanches, again thinking this was all a terrible mistake. It’d seemed like a brilliant idea a few hours ago, but now? Now he’s certain it isn’t. But he knows exactly why he’s here, and considering the fact that he’s sat at Colin’s kitchen table, wearing his clothes and drinking his tea, the least he owes him is an explanation.

So before he can stop himself, Bradley blurts out the words, “I have more chemistry with you than I do with Angel.”

In all the numerous scenarios that had played through Bradley’s mind on his hour-long trudge through the rain about how he was going to start this conversation, he can honestly say that this never once factored into the equation.

Colin eyes Bradley as though he suspects Bradley might finally have stepped over the edge for good this time. “What are you on about?”

Since he’s feeling a bit like an idiot and would like a moment to recover, Bradley does the only logical thing he can think of, and takes a large gulp of his tea. Which is, of course, still quite hot, and he can feel the liquid burn as it slithers down his throat. He mentally adds this decision to his ‘Not Actually As Brilliant As I First Thought’ list, which has grown quite lengthy over the past several months.

“Bloody hell,” Bradley sputters, clutching at his neck. He shakes his head a few times as if that will do something to soothe the pain. It doesn’t.

“Did you forget that tea is hot?” Colin asks, voice a mixture of concern and gentle exasperation, even as he’s already on his feet, retrieving a glass of cool water for Bradley.

The water is gratefully accepted, and Bradley downs the entire cup in one go. “No, I’m just an idiot,” he says, offering a cautious smile in return.

“Clearly,” Colin replies, but he’s looking at Bradley with something resembling fondness, and it makes Bradley’s heart flip in his chest for a moment before he shoves the thought aside.

“Maybe we should go and sit in the living room instead?” Colin suggests with a shrug. “I have a feeling we might be here for a while, yeah?”

“Er, maybe,” Bradley says and follows Colin dumbly down the hall, tea still in hand even though he thinks his throat won’t be able to handle any more of it right now.

They each take a spot on opposite ends of the sofa, angled towards one another, and Bradley throws his left arm over the back of the sofa casually.

Setting his tea down on the end table, Bradley clears his throat and attempts to muster up the courage he needs to tell Colin everything he came here to tell him.

“So—” is as far as he gets before silence takes over again, and he feels a bit like a coward.

“So. You were saying something about chemistry?” Colin prompts when Bradley doesn’t say anything for several moments. He feels fingers brush against the back of his hand then, unsure if it is a tap or a caress (he’s probably projecting, he reminds himself), and Bradley’s gaze darts up, first to the spot where Colin’s touching his hand, then to Colin.

Almost instantly, Bradley feels his face warm, as if he were a schoolgirl with a crush, and he finds he can’t hold the gaze. It merely serves as yet another reminder that he is right and truly buggered. Subtlety has never been Bradley James’ strong suit, and for a second he wonders if Colin could figure out everything running through his mind without even having to utter one word.

Swallowing the lump of anxiety in his throat, Bradley forces himself to soldier on, hoping it will become easier once he actually starts talking.

“Um, yeah. Er, I suppose I should just start at the beginning,” Bradley says, purposefully picking out a spot on the sofa to focus his attention on, as looking at Colin for any length of time right now might be a bit more challenging than his tired and distracted brain can handle.

The beginning. Figuring that out will be a little on the tricky side, seeing as how everything sort of happened out of order. But he’s pretty sure he can trace the start back to the one night when the pieces began to slowly fall into place, even if he didn’t know at that time where it would lead him.

Four Months Earlier

It is the second Saturday in November, and Bradley has plans to get together with a couple of his mates from high school. They haven't seen one another in months now, due to the hectic filming schedule required while working on Merlin, and Bradley is glad for the opportunity to see them again. The third series wrapped up just over a month ago but Bradley has barely had any time to enjoy the break. Promotional events, interviews, visits home, and then catching a cold have taken up most of his time.

Everything was going fine for the last week until Bradley somehow managed to contract the stomach flu, or food poisoning – possibly both – the day prior, and his social plans aren’t looking too promising any longer.

Rolling over, Bradley blindly fumbles around his night table, trying and failing to locate his mobile. On the third try he manages to close fingers around the familiar device, and quickly punches in the number he’s been avoiding dialling all day. It’s still a few hours before they are supposed to meet up at a nearby pub, so that should give them enough time to make new plans, if need be.

Settling back against the pillows, Bradley waits for someone to answer, praying that the sudden churning in his stomach will hold off for a few minutes. The thought of racing to the loo while John hears him retching through the line isn’t an overly appealing one.

The phone is picked up on the fourth ring. “Bradley! About time I hear from your sorry arse. I was beginning to think you were going to cancel on us tonight.”

Even though this is very much not his fault, Bradley feels guilty anyway. “Actually, about tonight...”

“Shit, don’t tell me you are cancelling. Toby and I haven’t seen you in months, mate.”

Bradley sighs, swiping a hand down his face. “I know, and believe me, I’d rather not.” He proceeds to explain the situation, in graphic detail, until it begins to make his own stomach roil over again, and he decides it might be wise to prevent instead of encourage another run to the loo.

After John lays into him for being unnecessarily descriptive, he switches tactics and offers up an alternative suggestion. “Why don’t we just come over to your flat instead?”

There really is no arguing with logic like that. So that’s how, just over three hours later, Bradley winds up wrapped in a blanket on his sofa, looking slightly better than death warmed over, Toby and John making themselves comfortable while keeping a safe distance from him.

They spend the first hour chatting and catching up, Bradley enjoying the company of friends he’s spent far too little time with over the past couple of years, but it quickly becomes apparent that Bradley won’t last long in the state he’s currently in.

He makes one failed attempt at trying to convince them to watch Labyrinth. Bradley considers it his ‘feel good film’, perfect for taking away all manner of illness, but apparently his so-called friends don’t agree.

“Let’s just see what’s on the telly,” Toby suggests instead. Bradley pouts. They wouldn’t know a good movie if it kicked them in the arse. But he is too weak to fight them on this, so he reluctantly acquiesces.

Somehow they wind up watching the latter half of Strictly Come Dancing -- and Bradley’s not one to judge or anything, but he sort of thinks this is actually quite a lot worse than Labyrinth -- and it’s immediately clear that none of these celebrities can compare to the awesome power of David Bowie.

Bradley manages to watch the dances without heaving, which he considers to be a feat in the end. He realises then that Merlin is scheduled to air next, and makes to change the channel.

“Oi, mate! What are you doing?” Toby cries, reaching to snatch the remote from his weakened grasp.

“You don’t seriously want to watch this, do you?”

“Course we do, right, Johnny?”

John looks a bit surprised, but quickly recovers. “Sure. We want to see the reason you haven’t had time for us over the past eight months,” he adds with a laugh.

Bradley wants to argue, but in the end he decides it isn’t worth the effort, and they settle down to watch Merlin.

The episode is good, and it's one that Bradley hasn't seen yet. In fact, the only episodes of the series he's managed to watch thus far were the first two that were aired at the BFI screening in September, and the two others for which he provided commentary. Long hours and hectic days of filming multiple episodes at once have blurred the lines between the different scenes, so it's nice to actually see the episode in its final form.

Bradley has two thoughts almost instantly. The first is that Merlin is sad far too frequently for Bradley’s liking. It’s bad enough sitting through take after take after take of Colin crying while Bradley is lying on the ground and can’t do anything about it. But when he’s in tears almost every other episode, it just gets to be a bit much. This first scene happens to be one of Merlin’s more emotional moments, and Bradley has a sudden flashback of having to completely ignore him. Again.

The thought that immediately follows, though it isn’t expressly related, is just how much he actually misses everyone. It’s great to have a break from filming, but over the past three years, the cast and crew of Merlin have become like family, and seeing his co-stars on screen again makes Bradley wish they were there with him, all of a sudden.

Shaking his head, he returns his scattered thoughts to the episode on the screen. It doesn’t take long to get drawn into the plot, as it is one of the more intense episodes of the season, and even Toby and John seem to be enjoying themselves, if the random comments are any indication.

“You been working out, mate?” Toby teases, partway through. “Arthur seems to spend a lot of time shirtless.”

Bradley glances around for something to throw at him, but the only items he finds are either too lightweight to cause any damage, or too heavy to be considered safe. He settles on making a rude gesture instead, though it doesn’t quite bring the same level of satisfaction.

While this is one of the few episodes this series that has a strong focus on Arthur and Merlin, there is an important scene featuring Arthur and Gwen towards the latter half of the episode that helps to set up a plot point that will continue until the end of this series. While Bradley sometimes questions the way that the dynamic between them has been written – only in that it feels inconsistent at times, and that both he and Angel agree there is no need to rush this romance – he has to admit that he quite fancies the way this particular scene came out in the end.

Arthur has been injured after being knocked unconscious while out with Merlin – and really, Bradley thinks that there's only so much longer they can keep using that plot device before people start thinking the future king is suffering from a mental affliction of his own – and he is being tended to by Gwen in his chambers later that evening.

“This really isn’t necessary, Gwen,” Arthur says, watching her as she finishes cleaning the cut on the side of his head.

“I know,” she says with a smile, “but while you’re running around looking after everyone else, who’s looking after you?”

“I don’t need anyone to look after me.”

A tiny smirk forms on Gwen’s lips. “Well, you might want to tell that to your head, sire,” she says, gesturing to his injury.

Arthur lifts a shoulder and stares at Gwen, a fond expression on his face. “Well, someone has to take care of Merlin. He’d walk himself off a cliff without noticing if I wasn’t around.”

Gwen places the cloth on Arthur’s table, turning back to face him. She chuckles softly, knowingly. “And this is just one of the many reasons why I know you will make a fantastic king someday. You don’t just rule the people, you care about them, too.”

They stare at one another in silence as the camera focuses on Arthur’s face. He is smiling gently, and it is filled with warmth and affection. “I may care about the people,” Arthur says, “but there are some who mean slightly more to me than others.” He shoots her a significant look, implication hanging in the air.

And then the shot changes as the camera pulls away, revealing Arthur, as he gazes affectionately at—

“Merlin?!”

Bradley’s eyes widen, mouth falling open of its own accord, and he wonders what the hell just happened.

The entire moment lasts no more than a few seconds, and as the shot cuts away once again, Arthur is standing across from Gwen as he always should have been. But it’s most definitely enough time for people to notice, and there is no doubt that they will notice.

John is the first of the three to speak again. “What was that?”

“I don't know...” Bradley shakes his head, at a complete loss.

“Why was Merlin there?” Toby asks.

That’s what Bradley would like to know. There’s something niggling at the back of his mind, something related to this particular scene, but he can’t quite grasp it.

“I wish I knew,” is all Bradley can think of to say. “But it looked like a different scene. Maybe they made an error when putting the final product together.”

He shrugs casually, hoping his friends will take his word for it, even as the words ring false in his own ears.

“Maybe it was a projection,” John suggests, gesturing between the television and Bradley, “implying that Arthur has other people on his mind than just Gwen?” The knowing glance he shoots Bradley is annoying enough, but when the arsehole starts to wiggle his eyebrows, he runs the risk of being punched instead. Even with the stomach-flu-slash-food-poisoning bringing down his normal strength and abilities, Bradley thinks he could still take John on if need be.

Toby blinks, as if he's entirely lost, confusion clear. “I thought Arthur was in love with Gwen.”

“He is,” Bradley says uncertainly.

“That's not what the internet thinks,” John adds, continuing to smile mischievously, like he knows a special secret that nobody else does.

If looks could kill, John would have died five times over already. Unfortunately, they can’t, much to Bradley’s chagrin. “Don’t you bloody start talking about that.”

“Why not? It’s true, isn’t it?”

“What are you two on about?” Toby interjects, still as lost as before.

John either doesn’t see or chooses to completely ignore the venomous warning glares coming from Bradley’s direction, though he suspects the latter to be true, the little wanker. “Seems like there are a lot of people online who think Arthur and Merlin are shagging.”

“No fucking way. You’re taking the piss,” Toby accuses, eyes widening dramatically.

“Why would I lie about that? Do you have any idea what pops up when you google ‘Merlin and Arthur’? Never mind what’s on the fan websites.”

“What’s there?” Toby sounds far too eager, which seems to only fuel John’s fire.

Warmth seeps up the back of Bradley’s neck, because he knows exactly what’s there and what some people think when they watch Arthur and Merlin interact, and it’s not really the sort of conversation he wants to be having with two of his best mates while he’s sick.

“Stories, pictures and conversations about Arthur and Merlin being in love and snogging and shagging, and things like that.” Their old English teacher would weep if he heard a sentence containing that many ‘and’s. In fact, Bradley sort of wants to cry right now too.

“Why the hell were you even online searching for information about Merlin in the first place?” Bradley jumps in before Toby can respond, hoping to salvage the conversation before it spirals completely out of control, though it’s nearly there already.

John shrugs, folding his arms across his chest. “I was bored one night so I decided to see what kind of things people were saying about you on the internet. Sure as hell didn’t expect what I found, I’ll tell you that much, mate.”

“I’m well aware,” is all Bradley says. He is grateful, then, for the stomach flu, which gives him a ready excuse, should anyone ask why he appears flushed.

Toby stares at them both, forehead crinkled, dumbfounded expression still plastered across his face. “So you mean to tell me that people think Arthur and Merlin are, like, gay? With each other?”

God, Toby is an idiot, Bradley can’t help but think. Thankfully he’s a loyal friend with a kind heart and a face that women seem to adore, because he sure doesn’t have a hell of a lot else going on for him.

“Yes. Some of the fans think that Merlin and Arthur are more than just friends,” Bradley explains, his tone distinctly long-suffering. “But that’s not true on the actual show.”

“Then what was that all about?” Toby gestures towards the TV, which is now displaying the ending credits. So much for finding out how the rest turns out, even though Bradley technically knows.

“Like I say, it was probably just an editing error in post-production. It happens all the time.”

It’s a lie. This has happened on occasion in the past, but this is by no means a frequent occurrence. And especially not with something quite this obvious. But Toby and John won’t know that. Besides, it wasn't anything inappropriate, but it's likely that the BBC will still be receiving a lot of calls anyway. Bradley doesn't permit his mind to contemplate how a certain subsection of their fanbase will, in all likelihood, explode over this whole mistake, while another may react the opposite way.

John raises an eyebrow sceptically. “That's quite the error,” he points out, and Bradley would like to smack him for being so bloody obnoxious this evening. Then again, perhaps he deserves it for being such a terrible friend, most of the time.

Nevertheless, Bradley is forced to agree. “Yes, well, what do you expect me to do about it?”

“Nothing. I’m just making a point.”

He’s not certain he even wants to know what that point is, and is thankful when Toby doesn’t ask for more details.

Miraculously, the conversation eventually manages to steer itself away from Merlin, the editing error, and the ‘gay debate’ – and Bradley is both amazed and eternally grateful that the topic managed to remain solely on Arthur and Merlin, never once drifting in another logical direction. Though Bradley quickly loses steam from that point on, exhaustion kicking in while his mind simultaneously remains focused elsewhere (though he’d rather not provide details).

Another hour and a half passes, and by that time, Bradley has all but passed out on the end of his sofa.

“I think we should probably go home,” John finally suggests, taking pity on Bradley’s sorry state. “You look beyond knackered.” No one disagrees.

Somehow Bradley manages to drag himself up off the sofa and see his friends out with the promise of going to the pub in a week or two, when he’s feeling rested and healthy again. Stumbling back to his bedroom, Bradley is barely able to shuck his jeans and t-shirt before nearly collapsing into his bed, and he is sound asleep by the time his head hits the pillow.

~*~

Sunlight streams through the curtains, filling the room with a warm glow, when Bradley finally opens his eyes, the last wisps of his dream floating away into oblivion as he regains consciousness.

The first thought dancing around at the forefront of his mind has to do with Colin, though it’s vague and unclear, and he chalks it up to memories of the editing error from last night’s episode of Merlin. Speaking of which, he resolves to give Colin a ring later to see what he thought of the whole thing.

Bradley takes several minutes to simply enjoy his lie in, and the fact that he hasn’t had to run to the loo to vomit since late yesterday afternoon. Eventually he climbs out of bed, padding across the room to the bathroom, stumbling into the shower. He takes a ridiculously long time, even for him, taking joy in the fact that he has no place to be today.

By the time he wanders into the kitchen nearly an hour later, his stomach – almost as if on cue – begins to growl, indicating for the first time in two days that it actually desires something that won’t immediately come right back up again.

Half an hour later, Bradley has managed to eat a bowl of soup and his stomach hasn’t protested once, so he considers the whole endeavour a relative success.

Bradley’s mum calls him on his mobile just as he finishes washing the dishes (and wouldn’t she be proud of him right now).

“Hello, Mum,” he says into the phone with a smile, wandering back into the bedroom.

“Hi, love, how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. Even ate some soup today.”

“Isn’t it a bit early for that still, Bradley?”

He does his best not to roll his eyes, biting back the sarcastic remark he wants to make. No matter how old Bradley gets, his mum never seems to be able to stop mothering him. “I haven’t eaten real food in over two days. I was hungry. It’s fine, but thank you for your concern.”

Of course, she can’t quite let it go just like that, so Bradley endures a few more pointless questions and does his best to reassure her that he’s not going to die.

They talk about his sister and her latest shenanigans for a few minutes before she gets to the real reason she called, apparently. “So I was watching Merlin last night, and I noticed something interesting.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bradley settles back against the pillows in his bed, trying not to smile too much. It is the same thing every Sunday – his mother calls to tell him she saw him on the show, and to talk about whatever random thoughts she might have. He strongly suspects he knows what she’s going to say today, though.

“Yeah. I noticed partway through that you cut your hair.”

Bradley blinks. In all honesty, that was not what he’d been anticipating at all. In fact, he’s amazed she even noticed something that insignificant. He can’t remember if that’d even happened, but his mother has yet to be wrong about something like this, so he trusts that she’s probably correct in her assertion.

“Are you serious, Mum? Of all things to pay attention to, you noticed that my hair was trimmed?”

The shrug is almost audible through the phone line. “I can’t help that I pay attention to details about my baby.”

Bradley groans. “Mum, please don’t say things like that.”

“Why not? I know you’re a grown man, but that doesn’t make me any less proud of you, or any less of a mum.”

And really, what is he supposed to say to that?

They talk for a few more minutes, Bradley learning that she’d missed the last fifteen minutes of Merlin, and for some really odd reason, he feels relief, even though there is no logical reason for the reaction. When she finally hangs up, Bradley feels worn out again and considers taking another nap.

Instead, he makes his way over to his laptop, sinking into the desk chair and flipping open the cover. It doesn’t take long for Bradley to find a download link to the previous night’s episode, and after a moment’s hesitation, he clicks on it. He can’t seem to get that editing error out of his mind, and for some inexplicable reason, Bradley feels the need to re-watch it in order to figure out what scene was accidentally spliced into the original one.

While he waits for the download to finish, Bradley checks his e-mail, and finds that he has four. The first is from John, making sure he’s still alive and inviting him to a party tonight, if he’s up for it. Bradley closes the e-mail and moves onto the next, both of which happen to be junk mail. After deleting them, Bradley is pleasantly surprised to see an e-mail from none other than Colin.

To: bradleydotjames@gmail.co.uk
From: colin_i_morgan@gmail.co.uk
Subject: Hey!

Hey Bradley,

Just wanted to let you know that I’ll be in town next week. If you have some free time we should go to the pub or see a film or something. Let me know.

Colin

Bradley smiles to himself and immediately clicks the ‘reply’ button.

To: colin_i_morgan@gmail.co.uk
From: bradleydotjames@gmail.co.uk
Subject: Not very creative, Morgan.

Hey Col,

Are you asking me out? How very bold of you. My schedule these days is quite hectic, but I’m sure I can manage to squeeze you in somehow. Give me a ring when you get into town.

Looking forward to it,
Bradley

He stares at that last line for a few seconds before determining that it sounds a little too eager, and decides to delete it instead.

The download finishes, and Bradley opens up the episode on his laptop, scrolling through to the scene in question. He watches it twice before pausing right after the shot zooms away to reveal Merlin standing in Gwen’s place. Something is still bothering him about this scene, and he’s determined to figure out what episode this is from. Their positions in the room are almost exactly the same as Arthur and Gwen’s were, but that’s not entirely odd. A great number of scenes are filmed in Arthur’s chambers, and that doesn’t help narrow things down.

What does stand out, however, are the two goblets and a flower-filled vase resting on the table just behind Merlin’s arm. Those are props that are not regularly in Arthur’s chambers. In fact, Bradley is quite sure that they were only present for that particular episode. And the only other Arthur and Merlin scenes in this episode were outside of Arthur’s chambers. Which means that this scene must, in theory, be the same as the Arthur-Gwen one. But that doesn’t make any sense, and Bradley can’t figure out why they would’ve filmed the same scene twice but with different people, especially when it was written specifically for Gwen and Arthur.

He ponders this notion for quite a while, coming up with nothing. And then, Bradley remembers.

~*~

It is the last major scene to film for the day, but unlike Angel, Bradley needs to stick around to finish up a couple of night-time reshoots with Colin. He’s tired just thinking about it, as it’s been an exhausting week of shooting, both physically and mentally. The current scene is run only once before the director, Paul, puts a temporary halt to the shooting.

“Take five,” he says, rushing across the room without further explanation.

Bradley raises a brow, noticing in that moment that Angel is been carted off somewhere – probably to make-up or wardrobe or something, even though she seemed fine a moment before – and shrugs.

“We need to make some adjustments to the camera angles,” Paul announces, out of the blue a few minutes later.

He is about to go find something to drink, since this issue apparently isn’t about to be resolved in the next thirty seconds when he is stopped by someone yelling at him. “Stay in place, Bradley. We're making some changes to the camera angle and lighting, and we need you to hold your spot while we do that.” So he does as he's told.

Many boring minutes later, and Paul is grumbling at several people simultaneously about something that Bradley doesn’t particularly care all that much about. It’s at this time that Bradley notices Colin making his way onto the set, presumably finished with his own individual scenes for the day. He is about to call out to him, but apparently isn’t quick enough.

“Colin!” Paul gestures him over from the side of the room. “I need you to step in for Angel for a second.”

They share a bemused look, but Colin is ever the consummate professional, and he merely shrugs and makes his way over to Bradley, completely unfazed. Someone wrangles them into the proper positions and gives them firm instructions to stay put.

“Not that I'm complaining or anything,” Bradley says, loudly, to no one in particular, “but isn't there a bit of a height difference between Angel and Colin? If you're trying to adjust the cameras and all that, I mean.”

Nothing but silence meets his protest, and Colin, who seems to find this terribly amusing, snickers. “I think I could probably pass as Angel, yeah?”

Bradley scratches his chin with mock thoughtfulness. “Well, you're not quite as pretty–” His words are cut short by a shove to the shoulder.

“Ow! No rough-housing, Morgan. Sometimes the truth hurts.”

“Or you’re just a big baby,” Colin points out ever so helpfully, mischievous glint in his eyes.

Their argument is promptly interrupted by the director again. “Can you guys run the scene please?”

Colin blinks. Bradley snorts incredulously, turning to stare at Paul. “You do realise that Colin isn’t actually in this scene, right?”

“Yes. But do it anyway. We’re pressed for time.” He waves a dismissive hand at them. “Bradley, just say your lines, and Colin, ad-lib.”

And that is that, apparently. Paul moves with lightning speed back to the other side of the room and in less than a minute, he seems ready to begin.

Colin leans in close. “Should I be holding your hands?” he whispers teasingly.

“You wish,” Bradley says with a grin, poking him in the ribs for good measure. But then he remembers himself and takes a moment to get into the correct frame of mind, even if it is just a run through with the wrong person.

“Okay, take this seriously and we’ll get the test done in one shot,” Paul calls out. “And… action!”

“This isn’t really necessary, Gwen,” Bradley says, mentally trying to superimpose Angel’s face onto Colin’s, with little success.

“I’m quite certain it is,” Colin replies.

“I don’t need anyone to look after me.”

“Yeah, no one except Merlin, that is.” Colin’s lips pull up into a tiny grin, and Bradley has to fight to keep from laughing.

By the time they finish the lines, Bradley is so absorbed in what he’s doing that he is almost surprised when he hears, “Cut! That was perfect, thanks.”

Funny how he'd forgotten about that, Bradley muses. So they’d recorded this little practice scene and it somehow ended up accidentally airing. Interesting… Very interesting.

~*~

The week ends up flying by – reviewing offers from his agent for a couple of projects in January, playing football with some of his mates, reading a book he’s had sitting, untouched, on his night stand for months – so much so that Bradley has almost entirely forgotten about the weird editing error from last week’s episode of Merlin. Friday is the only day this week he doesn’t have any definite plans, and decides that a lie in is in order. Unfortunately, that doesn’t quite happen, the shrill ring of his mobile jolting him awake at practically the crack of dawn. Even without the distinct ring tone Bradley has programmed into his phone, he knows there’s only one person who could be calling this early.

“Hello?” he mumbles sleepily into the phone, not even trying to pretend he was already awake.

‘’Lo, Bradley. Did I wake you up?” The sound of the familiar Irish brogue, full of genuine concern, unconsciously pulls Bradley’s mouth into a wide smile.

“Nah. I’m always up before the sun rises,” he jokes, yawning into the back of his hand and reaching over to flick on the bedside lamp. The light is nearly blinding. Bradley quickly shields his face with an arm.

“It’s not that early. But I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Sorry.”

“Not a problem. What can I do for you?”

“Just wanted to let you know I’ll be in London on Sunday. I’ll be sticking around for a week or two. I promised a friend I’d help out with a stage production he’s putting on, so it’s hard to say right now how long he’ll need me.”

Bradley’s ears perk up at ’a week or two’. “Where are you staying?”

Colin shrugs. Not that he can see it, but sometimes Bradley just knows these things. “Some expensive hotel, since most of the rest are full, it would seem.”

The words are out of his mouth before he even has time to process them. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can stay with me.”

“Nah, I couldn't impose on you like that, Bradley.”

“It's not an imposition. I wouldn't have offered if I didn't want you to.”

“Yeah, but I'm messy and I wake up early. I can't put you out for more than a week.”

Bradley eyes the state of his flat and bites back a laugh. From the looks of things, that shouldn’t be a problem. “You are not messy, Colin. I've seen your hotel room. I'm the one you should be concerned about.”

There is a lengthy pause, and Bradley can almost hear Colin's mind changing. “What about the hotel reservations?”

“Cancel them. You shouldn't be charged if you give them two days’ notice, right?”

“I suppose not,” he says, reluctantly, and then, “but you only have one bed.”

This time, Bradley does laugh. “I can sleep on the sofa.”

“That can't be comfortable.”

“It's fine. In fact, when I first moved in I didn't even have a bed. Had to sleep on it for more than two weeks before my bed finally arrived. It was great!” And okay, so maybe it's a slight exaggeration – he'd only slept there for five or six days, at most, and it certainly wasn't the best night's sleep he'd ever had. But Bradley won't stand for Colin staying at a hotel and paying money when he could just as easily spend the week at Bradley's flat instead. Colin is the most courteous person Bradley's ever met, and he knows there won't be any issues with them rooming together. Plus, he has to admit that he's been feeling a bit lonely as of late. It'll be nice to have some company again, and it doesn't hurt that said company happens to be one of his best mates.

“Well, I don't know...”

“Colin.” He is using his 'imploring' voice. It usually works well on unsuspecting victims, and particularly so with Colin, though he has yet to do research to determine why that is. Katie often refers to it as his 'whining' voice instead, but she’s really a demon in disguise – of this, Bradley is entirely convinced; he has a large collection of evidence to support the claim – so there is little weight given to anything she has to say on the matter anyway.

A long-suffering sigh filters through the line, and that is all the confirmation Bradley needs to know that he's won this battle.

“As long as you’re sure,” Colin says finally.

“I definitely am,” he says, full of barely concealed excitement. Bradley has spent the vast majority of the past year with Colin and yet he can’t help but look forward to seeing him again. “Now, tell me what time your train arrives Sunday.”

~*~

On Saturday evening, Bradley has nothing better to do, so he decides to watch Merlin again. He considers it a wise decision, especially given the colossal error from last week’s episode.

Everything is fine, at first – nothing out of the ordinary – and Bradley finds himself relaxing. Not a thing to worry about this week. But then that all changes as the episode nears the end. Often Bradley isn’t all that fascinated by the throne room scenes, but he thinks that something occurs in this one that is important for the future of Arthur and Merlin’s friendship, and he can’t help but want to pay attention.

Uther and Arthur are discussing the result of a recent battle, in front of some members of the council. Arthur is outlining what happened and how he and Merlin managed to escape.

It’s obvious that Arthur is watching someone across the room, the way his eyes continually drift away from Uther. Bradley knows that Arthur is watching Merlin, because he happened to be there at the time, but the audience is still none the wiser. The scene progresses, and by the end of it, Arthur’s lips pull up into a small smile as he’s still staring across the room. Bradley is suddenly filled with the intense desire to find out who Arthur is eyeing, even though he knows, and he feels silly for getting so caught up in his own show.

And then, Bradley receives his second consecutive surprise while watching the show. Arthur is still smiling in a way that looks almost private when the shot cuts away to the opposite end of the room. But instead of cutting to Merlin, the camera cuts straight away to Gwen. Who, during the filming, wasn’t even standing near Merlin, though the audience wouldn’t know that from the way it was filmed.

But Bradley is thoroughly confused, yet again. He knows with absolute certainty that he’d been watching Colin the whole time, as he’d been directed. It didn’t even really make sense in context of the scene to cut to Gwen, and yet that’s exactly what’d happened. This isn’t something that Bradley would normally even pay attention to, but after last week’s obvious error, he finds he can’t help but pay a bit more attention than usual, and for good reason, it would seem.

Of course, it’s equally possible that he’s simply remembering wrong and jumping to ridiculous conclusions. After a while he decides that he’s probably over-reacting and chooses to forget about the whole thing. It’s not really that important, after all.

Besides, Bradley has more pressing things to think about. Namely, the arrival of his guest the following day, and what he’s going to need to do in preparation.

~*~

Bradley wakes up early Sunday morning with two main goals in mind. The first is to clean his flat from top to bottom so that it can be presentable for Colin. Which is not to say that he lives in utter filth – his mother raised him better than that – but it's been far too long since he's done any sort of thorough clean, and now seems as good a time as any to accomplish that task.

It takes more than two and a half hours, but Bradley is feeling pleased with himself when he finally finishes cleaning, and rightfully so. He's vacuumed, dusted, swept, mopped, cleaned every inch of the bathroom, done the laundry, and even emptied out the spoiled food in the fridge. He flops back onto the bed with an exhausted sigh – which he's made, by the way, for the first time in close to a month – throwing one arm over his eyes while the other flings a rag haphazardly across the room into the dirty laundry basket.

He permits himself ten minutes to rest before setting out to accomplish goal number two: grocery shopping. Bradley’s fridge isn’t exactly equipped for the likes of a vegetarian – and one who’s highly allergic to everything delicious, if you ask him – so he’s made a list of some of the things he hopes will be all right for Colin to eat. Bradley hasn’t exactly kept track of every little thing that Colin likes (or won’t eat), but he knows his allergies at least, so that should logically be a decent place to start.

By the time he returns from the Tesco, it’s nearly time to pick up Colin. After putting away the food and double-checking the train schedule one last time, Bradley heads out to retrieve his house guest.

The station is busy, which is not much of a surprise, and Bradley just hopes that Colin remembers not to take a taxi, that Bradley was planning on picking him up. It would appear that his train arrived just after Bradley did.

He keeps his eyes peeled for his lanky, dark-haired friend amidst the crowds, wondering if a large ’Colin Morgan’ sign might have been a smart idea. Of course, then it would’ve drawn a great deal of attention to the two of them, and Bradley’s quite sure Colin wouldn’t appreciate that too much.

A minute later, Bradley spots him, and is filled with unexpected relief, and a little bit of excitement. As Bradley pushes through the crowd – because he doesn’t think Colin’s actually seen him yet – he briefly contemplates how to greet him. It is not a new debate. Bradley is very physically affectionate with his family and friends; he always has been. But Colin is a little more reserved, only touching Bradley to get his attention or if he gets really worked up about something. The first time they’d reunited after working together on series one, Bradley had enveloped Colin in a bear hug. Colin had patted his back awkwardly until Bradley finally pulled away, smiling in his typical tolerant manner, but it was obvious hugs weren’t really Colin’s thing.

“Colin! Col!” Bradley calls out, waving his hands back and forth without particularly caring that he looks like a fool.

It takes a second or two, but it becomes obvious when Colin notices him finally, waving back as they continue to make their way towards one another.

There are a few options actually. He could hug Colin anyway, and blame it on the excitement of seeing him again. Except Bradley had tried that last time without much success, so perhaps it isn’t the best plan. He could shake Colin’s hand, but that just seems too bloody formal. Besides, Bradley doesn’t greet his mates like that. Then there’s always the tried, test and true method of a firm clap or punch to the shoulder, but that idea isn’t overly appealing to Bradley either. It feels too… Arthur-ish. Not Bradley James-like at all.

“Hey, Bradley,” Colin says, interrupting his thought process as they finally come face to face for the first time in nearly six weeks. It feels both like an eternity and no time at all has passed, if that’s possible.

They stare at each other for several silent seconds, smiling widely, and just when Bradley decides he’s going to go for the manly half-hug, consequences be damned, Colin does something that throws Bradley completely for a loop. He wraps his arms around Bradley and pulls him in for a hug. A real hug, one arm around his waist and the other across his shoulders. Bradley is so surprised that he forgets to react for a moment, but he rectifies it as quickly as possible. This might be the only time Colin is initiating a hug between them, and he’s determined to take advantage of it.

The whole thing ends rather quickly, and when they pull apart it’s possible that Bradley might be grinning like an idiot, because he kind of adores Colin far too much for his own good, but Colin doesn’t seem to care, so neither does Bradley.

Wrapping an arm around Colin’s shoulders – and he’s incredibly grateful when Colin doesn’t shove him off – Bradley steers them towards the car park. “So, how was your trip?”

---------------

Continue to part two

Fanfic - Before the Sun Breaks Another Day (17/17)

2011-03-04T00:35:10Z

Title: Before the Sun Breaks Another Day
Authors: accordingtomel & adelagia
Summary: Three months after her disappearance, Morgana returns to Camelot with a hidden agenda, but she's not the only one keeping secrets, and a series of unintended revelations forces her, Merlin and Arthur on an intertwined journey of revenge, redemption and love.
Pairings: Merlin/Arthur, Leon/Morgana (elements of Uther/Morgana, Arthur/Gwen)
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers/Warnings: Everything up to and including 2x13
Chapter Word Count: 10,547
Total Word Count: 109,724
Disclaimer: Not ours. No money is being made. Please don't sue.
Authors' Note: YAY!!! We're finally finished!! It's almost hard to believe! *squee* We've been working on this for over a year, which a crazy notion in and of itself, but it feels AMAZING to have reached the end, at long last! In an effort to keep this authors' note somewhat coherent, we want to discuss a few of the things we're particularly excited about. For one, the fact that this thing developed so organically. We had this idea in the beginning of where we wanted the fic to go, but as the characters developed and the storylines progressed, we went through massive changes in the story, because our original plan just didn't work any longer. We're both quite pleased with how that all turned out, though, and we feel that this fic was better because we allowed the characters to dictate it instead of the other way around. And obviously, we're both thrilled about Leon's role in this. Originally, we had him playing a very small role, and then somewhere along the line, he became a significant aspect of the fic, which was incredibly exciting. Our only regret about starting this before series 3 began filming was that we couldn't include Gwaine, since he is awesome! Anyway, we also need to send out a most sincere thank you to our wonderful beta/Brit-picker, ravenflight21, for being awesome and for committing to something when she probably had no idea what kind of investment it would involve. (Though in all fairness, neither did we, at the time.) Also, we need to say a HUGE thank you to the amazing people who were reading along as we posted, providing us with encouragement and support and laughing and crying in all the right places. Your feedback was such an immense joy, and we thank you for that!
Previous Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen

Chapter 17a and 17b at melting_pot_inc

MASTER POST

Fanfic - Before the Sun Breaks Another Day (16/17)

2011-02-06T03:04:29Z

Fanfic - Before the Sun Breaks Another Day (15/17)

2011-01-16T05:35:52Z

Fanfic - Before the Sun Breaks Another Day (Chapter 14)

2010-12-23T00:55:56Z