lol your labia majora

YULETIDE YAYS!

sajee — Sat, 26 Dec 2009 01:10:48 GMT

YAY FOR YULETIDE!

See, I am a dirty dirty defaulter and deserve nothing but I got something anyway! Hooray! I promise to write many NYR so I can actually participate next year - hopefully somewhere with a computer and an internet connection. Fail me.

Anyway, because bad behaviour gets rewarded, I got an AMAZING Sports Night fic called Machiavellian Mistletoe which involves banter, kisses and pants.

Thank you, Yuletide author! Thank you!

Dear Yuletide Author . . .

sajee — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 10:37:08 GMT

Firsty, thank you for being made of awesome and signing up! This is my first year participating in Yuletide but I have loved it from afar for a long time and now I get to participate! Whee!

On to the business stuff.

General stuff: I'm not particularly squeamish so if you really want to go to porntown, I will be on that bus with you. I guess the things I don't really like reading about porn-wise - non-con, bloodplay, necrophilia, bestiality.

1. Bringing Up Baby
aka my most favourite film of all time omg.
My request details were: "Any. I love all the relationships in this film so anything that explores that is great. Het, gen, slash, femmeslash - any/all is good but bestiality is a big no, thanks."

I'm not trying to intimidate you re: my most favourite film of all time omg but it is and I just love everything about it. Whilst David and Susan are my epic OTP of all time, I really do love all the characters in this and the relationships they have with one another - I am very open to a story that isn't necessarily David/Susan focused. I have a real soft spot for the speed and wittiness of the dialogue so if you want to go that road, that's awesome but I don't expect everyone to be all up on how to script a 1930s screwball comedy.

2. Sarah Waters - The Little Stranger
aka creepy house is creepy.
My request details were: "Any. I loved the darkness and ambiguity of this book so something that plays off that would be amazing. Het, gen, slash, femmeslash are all good."

I'm a bit of a ditherer when it comes to Sarah Waters i.e. I loved The Night Watch and I was indifferent to nearly everything else. I did really enjoy reading The Little Stranger this year, though. I liked the darkness and the creepy undertones re: everyone's relationship with everyone and the house as the fourth (or fifth) main character. I imagined something gen with quite dark undertones but something OT3 with Faraday/Roddie/Caroline would also be lovely. (p.s. that OT3 doesn't have to be graphic or even fulfilled.)

3: Sports Night
aka PARTNERS!
My request details were: "Any. Banter, friendship, Casey and Dan's epic bromance etc are all A+++. Anything that evokes the style of the show is great for me."

Much like Bringing Up Baby, I love the relationships that everyone has with everyone in this show. I really love every and all pairings in this show! BANTER BANTER BANTER!

4. James Bond: Casino Royale Universe (2006-)
aka GUNS AND ANGST AND FACE CUTS AND BANTER

My request details were: "Any. Het, slash, gen, femslash - anything is a go here."

I have a real love for Daniel Craig's Bond. The hard-arse-ness and the vulnerability play off each other so well. I also love M! LOVE! Yuletide has opened me to the awesome possibilities of M/Bond but I love Vesper and Miss Fields and Camille and Felix and everyone.

I hope this helps! I realise it is pretty much a page of "I LOVE EVERYTHING!" but that is pretty much true for all these fandoms.

Good luck and thank you!

S-J

My Long Overdue Party Post!

sajee — Sun, 03 May 2009 12:44:52 GMT

18th April 2009. My Esther and I got all our lovely family and friends together and had a big party.

It was the best day ever. Everything was lovely, everyone looked amazing, the food was amazing.

It was a big lovefest and I'm pretty much the luckiest.

Enormous thanks to everyone who helped out in various ways, everyone who came and everyone who shared the love with us.

Biggest thanks to my Essie. <333

Most of these photos are of me. I'm incredibly vain. pee ess: how win are my shoes?!

Here are some thoughts about the day:

stephie's post

d's post

nett's post

essie's post (<---- this is the most important one!!!)

♥

Fic: another inch of your life sacrificed [Merlin AU]

sajee — Thu, 05 Mar 2009 12:15:43 GMT

Title: another inch of your life sacrificed [Merlin AU]
Rating: PG
Warnings: swears, very non-explicit sexy times, made up things about the SIS.
Disclaimer: Not true, not real. Made up lies about things that don't belong to me.
Summary: The problem with working for MI-6, Merlin thinks, is that all your co-workers are bloody spies.
Word Count: 1812
A/N: I feel I've dishonoured both Bond and Merlin. Are you happy now, reel_merlin? Well, are you?! Huge thanks and love to the fantastic dear_prudence for the beta and love. *smushes yer face*

The problem with working for MI-6, Merlin thinks, is that all your co-workers are bloody spies.
He and Arthur were bundled up into one of the standard issue black sedans before Merlin had even had the chance to ask Arthur why he's shot the nice man with the Canadian passport in the head. Merlin was nearly certain that Arthur had a very good reason and one that wasn't that he just enjoyed ruining Merlin's careful planning and research and schedules. He looks over at Arthur who is scowling out the window at passers-by and cradling his right hand in his left while he gently flexes it. Arthur seems to sense Merlin's gaze; he turns his head and gives Merlin a grim smile.

“Won't M be happy to see us so soon?”

He turns back to his window.

Stupidly, Merlin hadn't even begun to consider M's no doubt epic rage yet. All he wanted was an hour to debrief with his team — namely Arthur — to figure out what the fuck went wrong on what was meant to be a nice easy spot of recon.

* * *

They arrive at South Bank and are actually escorted into the lift — something which riles Merlin no end.

“We aren't children, for fuck's sake,” he mutters at the impassive agents. Arthur just gives him that grim smile again and they all stand in silence until they reach the seventh floor where Villiers is waiting.

“Pendragon, you now. Emrys,” he hesitates, “don't leave the building.”

Merlin stands there a little dumbstruck as Villiers leads Arthur to M's office. The door closes behind them and there goes his last chance of figuring out what happened before he's marched before M. He heads to his desk which has been buried under a sea of paperwork since they've been in Austria. He pushes as much as he can to the sides and rests his head in the space he's created. He closes his eyes and runs through the last 72 hours in his head. He's just reached the part where Arthur got totally smashed with the now-deceased Canadian when he hears someone walk up to his desk.

“Again, Emrys?”

Merlin sighs.

“I have no idea why this time. That's the difference.”

He raises his head and there's LeFay with yet another grim smile and two cups of coffee.

“Here.” She hands him the mug. “You'll need it before you face M.”

“Nothing is going to prepare me for that. In my six years of service, I have not once been prepared for a dressing down by M.”

Morgana shrugs.

“True enough.” She stands up for her perch on the edge of his desk. “Gwen and I are both around when you're done.” She heads off down the corridor.

Merlin gulps down the truly terrible coffee and starts gathering all the paperwork for this assignment.

After twenty minutes and one very furtive cigarette in the toilet, he's gathered together everything and is no closer to understanding why his agent decided to take out some fucking canuck. His phone rings.

“Emrys.”

“My office. Now.”

The phone goes dead.

* * *

“You're his handler.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“So, why don't you do your job and bloody well handle him? This is the third incident in the last four months and all on the one assignment. I know he is very good at his job but they must be extraordinarily daft to not realise that the same person has taken out three of their people. Soon, there will be nobody left for him to kill and we won't have any leads on the upper levels of the organisation. Fix it, Emrys.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“And your entire team is to stay in London for the next week.”

“Ma'am, I really think that -”

“If I find out that any of you have left the City of Greater London in the next seven days, there will be serious consequences.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Merlin turns and starts heading for the door.

“Emrys?”

“Yes, ma'am?”

“I will find out. I am a spy, you know.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

* * *

He heads straight to the locker-room on the third floor and finds Arthur squeaky clean and damp from the shower, doing up the buttons on his fresh shirt. He nods to Merlin and reaches for his tie.

“She seemed oddly attached to that Canadian and she hadn't even met him.” He's executing a perfect full-Windsor and meets Merlin's eye in the mirror. “She told me I was being reckless and rash and bunch of other words beginning with 'R'. I told her I was doing my job by ridding the world of scum. Do I need to shave?” He runs a hand over his chin. His left hand, Merlin notices.

“We've been grounded.”

Suddenly, this annoying, devil-may-fucking-care Arthur is gone and the serious, intense Arthur is back.

“But we'll lose everything. We have to get back out there as soon as possible.”

“We are all limited to London for the next week and after that is up to M's discretion.” Arthur looks shattered. “You've obviously killed someone important for a change.”

“But he was no-one. He knew nothing.” Arthur's puzzled and, if Merlin didn't know him better, he'd say that Arthur was also a little distressed. “Send someone else, send Peredur if you must but get someone out there.”

“We're all grounded.”

“Well, what's the fucking point of me risking my fucking neck and going to all the bother of shooting people if we can't even use the fucking information that I get before I shoot them? Jesus Christ, Merlin. It's your fucking job to make sure I can get things done.”

“I'm well aware of what my job is. I thought perhaps you'd forgotten. You went off course. You sat there with me in that room and together we decided that this guy wasn't worth anything, we decided that you wouldn't shoot him and you fucking did it anyway because you can't stand to leave well enough alone.”

“Well enough . . . fuck you, Merlin. He was a fucking gunrunner who was working against us and he should have known that working for the drug dealers and gangsters would end badly. He was working for the enemy and I believe I was doing what I get paid for by shooting him in the head.”

Arthur's glaring at him and Merlin is pretty certain he's glaring at Arthur and whilst Merlin is still pissed at Arthur for shooting the Canadian without clearing it with him, it seems pretty stupid to yell at each other in the locker-room. Arthur seems to reach the same conclusion as he starts to gather his things.

“Let's go and get a drink.”

* * *

Merlin isn't entirely convinced that Arthur doesn’t have some sort of psychic connection with Morgana and Gwen and the fact that they are waiting for them in the foyer doesn't dissuade him from the notion. Arthur leads them all to some fancy wine bar, the sort of place Merlin tries to avoid when he’s off duty because they are always filled with people who remind him of the people he works with; glorified fakes. It is very Arthur though – all leather couches and glass surfaces and hundred quid bottles of wine and, as always happens with Arthur, crowds part, tables appear, a waitress with sparkling eyes arrives with a bottle of something ludicrously overpriced and Arthur just smirks at her and Merlin can tell they're in for the long haul. They drink glass after glass and the rest of their team arrives — Lance and Peredur and Elaine — and they all look angry and frustrated about being grounded and Merlin watches as Arthur goes to them one by one and does his thing, all flattery and reassurance and soon everyone is half-drunk and happy and are as social as a group of MI-6 employees ever really are with each other. Even Villiers appears to help drown their sorrows and everyone manages to not talk shop for a couple of hours and Merlin is starting to think that being grounded isn't the worst news they've had in a while.

Another hour passes and their numbers have dwindled and they are all beyond half-drunk now. Merlin keeps an eye on Arthur because it is hard to stop doing what you are paid to do and he's whispering something in the waitress' ear which is, no doubt, filthy from the way she's blushing. Arthur grins at her and Merlin just rolls his eyes.

He watches as Arthur follows her to the bar.

* * *

“I'm off.”

The final few — Elaine, Gwen, Tristan — look up at him and say their good-byes and Merlin finds his coat and starts the walk back to his apartment. It's not until he's at his front door that he sees the figure loitering in the hallway.

“Well, you took your time.” Arthur is not as drunk as he's acting, and he’s still worked up about the way this whole thing has ended up.

“I was unaware I had anyone waiting for me.” Merlin unlocks the door and motions Arthur inside. “I was unaware you even knew where I lived.”

Merlin's flat smells stale from the three months away and there's a large stack of mail on the sideboard and half his plants are dead because his neighbour Will is even worse at garden upkeep than he is. Merlin looks at Arthur and he looks out of place, like there isn't enough room for him. Merlin tries not to buy into the myth of Arthur, the myth of the MI-6 operatives but, on this occasion, Arthur is all those things and Merlin believes them all completely. Arthur looks at Merlin, puzzled and all Merlin can do is put the kettle on.

“Office work tomorrow then.” He feels the need to fill the silence that Arthur has brought with him. “Nice big piles of paperwork for all of us.”

Merlin turns and Arthur is right there behind him and he pushes Merlin back up against the kitchen bench and just stands there, blocking him in. Merlin studies his face and he can see that this is as far as Arthur will take this without Merlin doing something to signal his consent to pretty much the most ill-advised thing they could do. Merlin laughs softly.

“What?”

Merlin loops his arms around Arthur's waist and pulls him in, closing the space between them. “I'm not entirely certain this is what M meant when she told me to fix it.”

Books 2009

sajee — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 20:29:29 GMT

1. Avalon High - Meg Cabot (completed Jan 6)
2. M or F? - Lisa Papademetriou & Chris Tebbetts (completed Jan 7)
3. The Graveyard Book - Neil Gaiman (completed Jan 8)
4. The Not Quite Perfect Boyfriend - Lili Wilkinson (completed Jan 9)
5. Sugar Rush - Julie Burchill (completed Jan 13)
6. The Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald (completed Jan 16)
7. Murder on a Midsummer Night - Kerry Greenwood (completed Jan ??)
8. The Infinite Wisdom of Harriet Rose - Diana Janney (completed Feb 2)
9. Heartsick For Country - [put in eds., S-J!] (completed Feb 5)
10. The Yiddish Policemen's Union - Michael Chabon (completed Feb 11)
11. The Clocks - Agatha Christie (completed Feb 16)
12. The Mirror Crack'd From Side To Side - Agatha Christie (completed Feb 17)
13. Summerland - Michael Chabon (completed March 10)
14. Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist - Rachel Cohn & David Levithan (completed March 12)
15. The Stolen Lake - Joan Aiken (completed March 30)
16. I Play The Drums In A Band Called Okay - Toby Litt (completed April 8)
17. The Scandal Of The Season - Sophie Gee (completed April 13)
18. Knife - R.J. Anderson (completed May 16)
19. Casino Royale - Ian Fleming (completed May 18)
20. The Seance - John Harwood (completed May 19)
21. Naomi & Ely's No Kiss List - Rachel Cohn & David Levithan (completed June ???)
22. Cards On The Table - Agatha Christie (completed July 20)
21. Carribean Mystery - Agatha Christie (completed July ??)
22. Miss Marple's Final Mysteries - Agatha Christie (completed July ??)
23. No One Belongs Here More Than You - Miranda July (completed July ??)
24. The Book of Other People - Zadie Smith (ed.) (August)
25. A Short Gentlemen - Jonathan Canter (August)
26. Two Degrees West - Nicholas Crane (Sept)
27. The Little Stranger - Sarah Waters (Sept 26)
28. Pink - Lili Wilkinson (Sept 27)
29. Liar - Justine Larbalestier (Sept 29)
30. The Rehearsal - Eleanor Catton (Oct 5)
31. The Little Giant of Aberdeen County - Tiffany Baker (Oct 22)
32. How To Ditch Your Fairy - Justine Larbalestier (Oct 23)
33. The Poison Throne - Celine Kiernan (Oct 28)
34. High Jinx - Sara Lawrence (Nov 2) WORST BOOK EVER.
35. The Mag Hags - Lollie Barr (Nov 3)
36. The Push - Julia Lawrinson (Nov 6)
37. Skating The Edge - Julia Lawrinson (Nov 9)
38. Skullduggery Pleasant: The Faceless One - Derek Landry (Nov 12)
39. Once Upon A Time In The North - Phillip Pullman (Nov 25)
40. Censoring An Iranian Love Story - Shahriar Mandanipour (Dec 4)
41. Unpolished Gem - Alice Pung (Dec 8)
42. Maps And Legends - Michael Chabon (Dec 11)
43. Inspector Singh Investigates: A Bali Conspiracy Most Foul - Shamini Flint (Dec 22)
44. Derby Girl - Shauna Cross (Dec 23)

Re-reads
1. Black Powder War - Naomi Novik
2. Making Money - Terry Pratchett
3. Night Watch - Terry Pratchett
4. Empire Of Ivory - Naomi Novik
5. Victory of Eagles - Naomi Novik

Dull for you all but it will be updated (as long as I remember).

Fic: didn't meet because of fate but rather probability [Merlin RPF]

sajee — Thu, 18 Dec 2008 10:50:58 GMT

Title: didn't meet because of fate but rather probability [Merlin RPF]
Rating: R (maybe NC-17) for sexy times.
Warnings: RPF, swears, sexy times.
Disclaimer: Not true, not real. Made up lies.
Summary: Jeremy calls a wrap and Colin's off, smiling politely as people wish him a nice few days off, saying goodbye to everyone and jumping in the car that he has very sensibly organised because he is sensible and reliable, even if he is going on a holiday with the express purpose of fucking with continuity.
A/N: I don't even know; I liked it and then I didn't but it seems kind of ok again. I just don't know. ALSO, THERE IS ACTUAL SEX IN THIS ONE. And it was pretty much the most embarrassing thing to write ever. It is the first time I have every written anything with body parts and fluids and what-have-you so please excuse me if it isn't very good.
Huge thanks to nixwilliams and johnnypurple for reading, suggesting and hand-holding. And fuckersnaps. How could I forget those?

“Colin?”

Colin sighs and looks up, shading his eyes with his hand. It's Jo, one of the production assistants. They've probably sent her over because no one else want to deal with him, with this, for the third day in a row.

“I have to ask you to move into the shade.”

Colin bites his tongue. She's just doing her job, he thinks and starts to gather his things together. He looks back up at her and smiles.

“Of course. I'll just move over here a bit.”

Jo looks relieved and that just makes Colin feel like shit because he thinks he's a pretty easy going guy most of the time. Anyone would be edgy after days of being told off for trying to get some vitamin D. He doesn't want to be that guy that everyone in the crew hates for being a brat but he just wants half an hour relaxing in the sunshine.

“AND STAY OUT, YOU PASTY FUCK!”

He looks over, looking for the culprit but, if he's honest with himself, he doesn't really need to check.

“Thank you, Bradley.”

Then there's that. Bradley is loving the whole “No sun for Colin” thing and is acting like it is the best joke he's ever heard. Even today, when Colin knows he's not being a pleasure for anyone to work with and everyone can tell that today this whole sun thing isn't funny anymore and Colin is going to freak out about it, there's Bradley being blithely unaware and still fucking with him.

* * * * *

The rest of the day is not good. He is not good. His performance is not good. It has, all in all, been his first Not Good day on this production and he's just absolutely wrecked. When they finally get back to the hotel, he goes straight to his room and checks his phone messages – his mum, Mariah, his agent. He knows he should really call his mum first but he's knows he'll get a talking to about his mood and attitude and, frankly, that sounds like a bit too much after today. He calls Lucy who only wants to talk tactics about the negotiations for the second season and starts going on about some back-up show about vampires which makes Colin want to weep because as cheesy as a re-telling of Merlin is, it has to be better than vampires. He tells her he'll think about it and hangs up. Colin's torn between calling Mariah and just going to bed because he's afraid that if he hears Mariah's voice and her rambling stories about their friends and being Ophelia, he just might cry. And that makes up his mind – he takes off his shoes and gets into bed.

* * * * *

He wakes up to the sound of his phone playing some French pop shit that Bradley has changed his ringtone to. He rubs his eyes and answers.

“Hello?”

“COLIN! COLINCOLINCOLIN! YOU FINALLY ANSWERED, YOU BASTARD!”

“Mariah? How much have you had to drink?”

“They were on their fucking feet tonight, Colin. It was magical.”

“Well done. You deserve it.”

“Ah, we all know it's not me that they're shouting for but . . . I just nailed it tonight. It felt amazing. It was almost as good as you and me, kicking arse and taking names.”

He laughs and the most intense homesickness he's ever had comes over him and he's having trouble not asking Mariah to get on the train and visit him. She's gone quiet and he's fairly certain she's just listening to him think.

“Colin. What's wrong?”

He takes a deep breath. His pride won't let him complain about the whole sunshine thing. “Today was not a good day for me.”

“Oh, Colin. I'm sorry. It happens sometimes.”

“Yeah. It's just . . . I don't want to fuck this up.”

“And you won't. God, you want to hear about fucking up . . .” and Mariah starts telling him about one of the early performances where she accidentally poked Patrick in the eye with her reeds.

By the time Mariah gets off the phone, it's two in the morning and Colin is feeling better and a little bit of Mariah's recklessness has rubbed off on him because he goes online and books himself a cheap flight and a room in a Spanish hotel. He's going to get a tan and the show can get fucked.

* * * * *

The rest of the week goes well and all the unpleasantness of the Not Good day is behind them . Colin's still fairly certain that most of the crew are keeping an eye on him and he's staying out of the sun and trying to keep on everyone's good side. He's got three days off in a row (God bless the French and their very strict union agreements), he's going to Spain, he's going to get drunk and, hopefully, he's going to shag someone he never has to see again. Jeremy calls a wrap and Colin's off, smiling politely as people wish him a nice few days off, saying goodbye to everyone and jumping in the car that he has very sensibly organised because he is sensible and reliable, even if he is going on a holiday with the express purpose of fucking with continuity.

* * * * *

When Colin finally stumbles into his room at the hotel, he's had an hour and a half in a car to some shitty regional airport in France, a surprisingly nuisance-free flight to another regional airport, a bus, a train journey and a longer than expected walk from the train station. He's absolutely stuffed but refuses to waste any of his downtime. He takes a shower, dresses up and heads out to find the least offensive bar where he can order in English.

He's knocked back two beers and has started his third when he realises that there is no one remotely attractive in the least offensive bar in Blanes. Sure, it's filled with people on package holidays but you'd think they could find one decent looking person to bring with them. Colin's not dumb – he knows his workmates set a ludicrously high standard for attractiveness but still . . . surely one person isn't too much to ask. The travel and the beer and the long work hours are catching up with him and he kind of wants to find his way back to his hotel and sleep but somehow that feels like giving up. He finishes his beer, orders another one in his barely passable Spanish and tries to look charming. Charming and easy – that's what he's going for.

* * * * *

Maybe it's just because he's really drunk but Colin finds it hilarious that in a Spanish town filled with tourists from all over the world, he's picked up a nice English boy called Tom. When Colin had seen Tom arrive in the bar with a group of friends, he though that Tom looked a bit like a rugby player – tall and broad and fit – and, it turns out, Colin is right. Tom isn't gay, he assures Colin as he's putting his hands down Colin's pants and he would normally never do this sort of thing. Colin finds that oddly reassuring because it seems unlikely that Tom will go to The Sun with his story about fucking Merlin while on a rugby team trip to Spain when the show starts. Also, Colin is a little too drunk to care. He finally manages to get his door open and he pushes Tom inside and slams it behind them. Tom pushes him up against the wall and starts biting at his neck and then it's all clothes and hands and mouths and Colin is feeling pretty fucked pleased with himself. Charming and easy. I have to remember that for next time, he thinks as he licks his hand and wraps it around Tom's cock.

* * * * *

Colin is lying in the sun next to the pool, listening to his iPod and reflecting on the fact this was his smartest plan ever when someone blocks his sun. He opens his eyes and hopes that it's some trick of the light. His eyes adjust to the brightness slowly and, no. There's Bradley grinning at him and holding a bottle of gin like it's a challenge.

“Get up, you lazy fuck,” Bradley shouts at him while gently kicking Colin with his foot, “And get out of the sun, you pasty Irish bastard.”

Colin closes his eyes and hopes that he's still drunk. He opens one eye and watches Bradley sit down at a table in the shade. A table with a ludicrously large umbrella. Colin groans – the universe is mocking him.

“Bradley, what . . . why are you on my holiday?”

Bradley gives him the look that he saves for when he thinks Colin is being particularly stupid.

“I'm making it awesome, obviously.” Bradley starts pulling lemons out of the pockets of his shorts and a knife and Colin is feeling a bit like he's being punished for something. “And I mean it about the sun. It would be a pity for your career to be cut tragically short after Johnny cuts you into tiny tanned little pieces. He'd do it too – he's nasty when provoked.”

Colin is slowly resigning himself to the fact that this is what his holiday will be now: Bradley. Bradley doing Bradleyish things in a whole new location with whole new people to offend. Colin sits down at the table and takes the gin and tonic Bradley pushes towards him.

“They have a bar, you know.”

“Bartenders never do it properly.”

“It's a gin and tonic, Bradley. What is there to fuck up?”

“I don't know, Colin, but they do and it pisses me off and so now I come prepared.”

“With lemons in your pants?”

Bradley looks at him for a moment with another of those looks and then grins. “Yep. Don't say that I didn't learn anything at Boy Scouts.”

Colin laughs at the idea of tiny Bradley in a Scout uniform and sips his drink. They sit there for a while, like it is the most normal thing in the world for your co-star to follow you on your holiday. Finally, Colin can't help himself.

“How did you know where I was?”

“You should know by now, mate. I read your email.”

“What?! Why would you do that?” Suddenly Bradley's offers to take his stuff back to the hotel don't seem that charitable.

“You get some really good ones. That one from Catherine about how 'you should fuck that blonde or send him my way' – that was a good one.” Bradley knocks back most of his drink. “She has got fantastic taste,” he says as he does something with his face. Colin thinks he is trying to wink saucily at him.

Colin is horrified. There were emails there that no one should really read – the one from Catherine was only the beginning of a two week long back and forth about who Colin should, can and has slept with whilst Catherine scored his choices. Colin probably wouldn't be so terrified except that Bradley is the most indiscreet person he has ever met.

“Anyway, I saw you were coming to Spain and I knew why you were coming, you pouty sour-faced fuck and I thought I'd save you from yourself.”

Bradley starts making his next drink and Colin feels his wonderful holiday slipping away from him.

* * * * *

By two in the afternoon, Bradley is drunker than Colin has ever seen him.

“C'mon, Bradley. You need to have a lie down.” Colin is certain that Bradley weighing himself down on purpose. “For God's sake, Bradley, you have to help me out a bit here. Move your legs.”

Bradley mumbles something unintelligible and Colin finally gets him up the stairs. It occurs to Colin that he's drunk a third of a bottle of gin as well and didn't really think this through because he has no idea where Bradley's room is and he's propped Bradley up against the wall next to his own room.

“Bradley, where are you staying?”

“Fuck you, Morgan.”

Helpful as ever, he thinks and decides that the easiest thing to do at this point is to put Bradley to bed in his room and go back downstairs for a swim and some time in the sun without Bradley meddling. He opens the door and guides Bradley to the bed which has been made up with fresh sheets, something Colin is very grateful for. He goes into the bathroom and gets the bin and puts it in easy reach on the off chance that Bradley needs to vomit.

“If you're going to be sick, be sick in the bin, Bradley. If I come back and you've vomited in my bed, they are going to have to do some drastic recasting.”

* * * * *

Colin is drinking sangria, changing his email passwords on his iPhone and trying to forget about Bradley hijacking his holiday. He does like Bradley – he likes everyone in this cast, they have a lot of fun together – it's just that he was looking forward to some time where he didn't have to endure Bradley's constant talking and scheming and teasing. He was looking forward to being some random tourist who could do whatever he wanted, not Colin Morgan, serious actor. Colin starts making a list of pros and cons in his head. Con: Bradley is here on his holiday. Con: Bradley knows him and will make fun of the various things he gets up to on his holiday. Pro: Bradley is his friend and they have a laugh. Pro: Bradley is drunk and passed out (con: in Colin's) bed which means Colin can get back to the whole point of his holiday – having bunch of commitment free sex. He looks around the poolside bar and plans who he is going to do next.

* * * * *

She's nothing like the women he normally sleeps with. She's tiny and red-headed and German but there is something about her and it wasn't just the way she walked straight up to Colin and told him to come up to her room, or the fact that she's hitting pretty much every one of his Lola Rennt fantasies he's been harbouring since he was fourteen. Yes, he thinks as she's tugging on his lower lip, things are going to plan. They get through the door and she pushes him down on the bed and straddles his lap, grinding down on him. Gretchen demonstrates some pretty amazing multi-tasking skills as she manages to pull her top up over her head and unbutton his jeans at the same time. He pulls off his own top and starts fumbling with the clasp of her bra which seems to be a lot more difficult than any other bra he's ever dealt with.

“Oh, for fuck's sake,” he mumbles into her neck and she laughs quietly and nips at his collarbone as she reaches back and undoes the clasp.

“Jesus,” Colin gasps and he cups her breasts and starts rolling her left nipple between his fingers and starts licking at her right. She's making these breathy little noises that drive him mad and, just to see, he bites down and flicks the tip with his tongue. She arches back and moans and Colin takes the initiative, flipping them around so that she's lying down on the bed and he licks his way down her stomach. He unzips her jeans and hooks his fingers in the waistband of her jeans and her underwear and tugs. She wiggles her way out of her pants and her cunt is glistening and Colin slides two fingers into her damp heat and she shudders against him. He pulls her down so that she's sitting on the edge of the bed with her legs wide and he starts sucking on her clit, feels it swell against his tongue. She's laughing and moaning and telling him that he's quite good at that and Colin can feel himself blush which, when he thinks about it, is ludicrous because naked, between her legs, licking her cunt, seems like an odd moment to come over all shy.

* * * * *

Colin is feeling better than he has in months as he walks back to his room at three in the morning. Sex with Gretchen was the kind of sex he liked – fun and uncomplicated and no one minds that the object of the exercise is getting each other off as many times as possible and not gazing lovingly at each other when, chances are, you aren't 100% certain of each other's names. Colin had given her his email address and she'd just laughed at him but he insisted that any time she was in London or Cardiff or, fuck it, France, she should let him know. After all, in Colin's world, any girl who laughed gleefully as you fucked yourself on her fingers was a keeper. Even finding Bradley still spread out over his bed can't dampen his mood. Colin pulls off his shoes, elbows Bradley in the ribs to move him over and gets into bed.

* * * * *
Colin is still pretty much asleep when he feels someone settle in close behind him. The peaceful mood is ruined when that someone starts yelling directly in his ear.

“You fucking slag, Morgan. You got me drunk and took advantage of me. Well, I never thought you were that type of girl! My honour, Colin. What's to become of my honour?”

“What?” Colin asks, trying to make to make sense of what the hell is going on over the ringing in his ears and being manhandled onto his back by Bradley who is running his fingers over a very tender spot on Colin's throat.

“I'm not normally a biter, though. That's new.” Bradley looks very thoughtful and Colin has one of those moments where everything falls into place.

“Oh my . . . we didn't have sex, Bradley.”

Bradley look at Colin like he's mad.

“Um . . I'm fairly certain we did. I mean, we're in bed together, you appear to be covered in bruises all over and,” Bradley runs his hand over Colin's side and has a look on his face that means he is about to play his trump card, “you smell like sex.” Bradley is fucking purring in his ear and bites down on Colin's earlobe. Colin can feel his blush coming back and is more than a little horrified by this whole misunderstanding.

“For fuck's sake, Bradley!” Colin extricates himself from Bradley's clutches and pulls a t-shirt on. “We didn't have sex! You got blazing drunk, I brought you back here and —”

“You had your way with me.”

“No! Number one, we don't joke about sexual assault, Bradley! Have a bit of fucking class. Two, you were drunk, I left you here and went back to the bar. Three . . . there is no three,” Colin snaps as he goes and gets some water from the bathroom. He watches Bradley in the mirror and Colin feels resignation wash over him as Bradley still looks very skeptical. The awkward silence continues for a minute and then Colin sees Bradley push it all aside – his face is open again and he grins as he pushes Colin out of the bathroom.

“Well, OK then. I'm having a shower,” he says pulling off his shirt and closing the door, “and then you're buying me breakfast. You tart.”

Colin drops back down on the bed and rubs his eyes in frustration.

“Well, this is fucking excellent,” he tells the room.

* * * * *

“I don't blame you.”

Colin looks up from buttering his toast and watches as Bradley finishes off his bacon and eggs and, well, that just makes Colin feel queasy.

“Pardon?”

“I'm very attractive. You'd have to be blind not to see it.”

Colin rolls his eyes and starts to eat his toast.

“I am,” Bradley insists, “many people have told me so.”

“Be that as it may, Bradley, we did not sleep together. Unless you actually mean 'sleep' in which case, yes, we did. But there was no exchange of fluids.”

Bradley is looking at him closely and appears to come to some conclusion. “But you obviously had sex last night, slapper, and we woke up together. QED, motherfucker. Sex. Together.”

Colin is starting to wonder if this is some after-effect of too much gin. Bradley isn't stupid. . . well, isn't normally this stupid. Colin speaks very slowly. “Yes. I had sex. With someone else. Not you.”

Bradley waves over the waiter and signs for their food (using his room number, Colin notices). “You don't have to be ashamed of it, Colin. It had to happen sooner or later.”

Colin chokes on his juice. “I'm sorry, what?”

“Well, just look at me!” Bradley smirks at him as he jumps up. “C'mon, let's go and play tennis.”

* * * * *

Colin hates tennis. Weeks being forced to play in France – because Bradley hates French television and refuses to just go and sleep like a normal person – has convinced Colin that the only kind of tennis worth its while is the WiiSports kind.

“FUCK.”

“Out!” Bradley grins at him. “You know, you'd think you'd be good at this game. I mean, you've got the speed. You're just really shit at the rest of it.”

Colin squints at him and he's fairly certain that Bradley is actually trying to pay him a compliment. “Thank you, Bradley.”

“No problem.”

“Can we go back to the bar now? Tennis was not part of my holiday plans.”

* * * * *

They're sitting by the pool — “Under an umbrella,” Bradley insists — and Colin thinks that his holiday has worked out for the best. Bradley is reading a book in actual proper silence and Colin can't wait to tell Angel that Bradley managed to be quiet for a whole half an hour. He gets out his phone to text her the big news and it starts ringing. Bradley glances up and has the audacity to look annoyed by the noise so Colin gets up, finds an empty table and answers.

“Hello?”

“I hear you went AWOL.”

Mariah.

“No. I had three days off so I'm taking a break. Much like you advised me to do, I believe.”

“In Spain?”

“What's wrong with Spain? They have lovely beaches and lots of facilities for a fun-loving tourist such as myself.”

“They have bars and bartenders and lots of drunken people for you to sleep with, you mean.”

Colin chuckles. “Shut up. I haven't slept with a single bartender.”

She laughs at him.

“So, you're happy?”

“Very.”

“That's my boy.”

“Anyway, I've got to be off. Just checking you weren't, you know, dead.”

“Thanks, Mariah.”

“It's all good, Colin.”

She hangs up and he heads back towards Bradley. The sun is hitting Bradley in just the right way and for a moment Colin is taken aback. No wonder they cast him as the once and future king, he thinks as he sits back down. Bradley looks back up with a questioning look and Colin just shakes his head — no, it's nothing — and Bradley goes back to his book. Colin keeps watching him and something occurs to him.

“Bradley?”

Bradley doesn't even look up.

“Hmm?”

Colin opens his mouth to start talking about everything that is happening here that they are ignoring – Bradley's appearance on his holiday, Bradley's insistence that they have (or will) sleep together, what the fuck ever they're doing – but changes his mind.

“What is it, Colin?”

“We've got a day left. Let's get drunk.”

Colin knows that Bradley's grin is going to lead him astray.

* * * * *
Colin is fairly certain that the way Bradley is licking salt of some guy's neck is probably isn't the sort of thing he should be photographing for posterity but he's also fairly certain that he can pass them onto Katie for Bradley-tormenting purposes and that's always good for a laugh.

Bradley comes back over to him and drapes his arm around Colin's shoulder and Colin can smell lemon and beer and cigarettes. Colin's fairly certain that he is also very drunk because this whole proximity to dishevelled and buzzed Bradley is making Colin half-hard and he needs to get out of there now.

“Gotta piss.”

“Eloquent as ever, you fuck.”

Colin doesn't like to think of it as 'hiding' in the toilets but more 'taking a breather'. He's got his phone in his hand and hesitating on whether he needs to call someone to talk this through. He's not this guy. He doesn't fuck around with people he works with. He's seen it end badly and he almost went through his own bad thing and he promised that it wasn't going to happen again.

“Fuckfuckfuck.”

He sends Katie the photos of Bradley, shoves his phone back in his pocket and heads back out.

* * * * *

Colin's on his way back to the bar when he spots a familiar rugby player in the crowd. Thank god, he thinks as he changes directions and heads over to Tom. Colin thinks it is a little sad the way Tom's eyes light up when he see Colin and, normally, Colin wouldn't take advantage of some closeted rugby player's half-crush thing but he's desperate and Tom is willing. He is with a group of his rugby-playing friends so Colin goes for subtle – he walks by Tom, raises his eyebrows and head out of the bar. He's leaning up against the wall of the shop opposite when Tom arrives five minutes later, grinning.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

And then Tom's sucking at Colin's neck which is really quite nice but Colin is also aware that they are standing directly in front of the bar. He grabs one of Tom's hands and pulls him into a slightly darker alleyway, pushes Tom against the wall and kisses him hard.

* * * * *

Colin's on his knees sucking Tom's cock when a familiar voice breaks in.

“Here you are.”

Tom's grip on his hair loosens and Colin pushes himself back.

“Yes, Bradley?”

Colin looks up and Tom is looking at him with absolute terror on his face.

“I was just wondering where you got to. I'm Bradley, by the way,” he says as he thrusts out a hand to Tom who continues to look terrified, “we work together. How do you know Colin?”

“For fuck's sake, Bradley. Leave him alone.”

Tom looks from Bradley to Colin and back to Bradley and then escapes as quickly as he can. Colin watches him go and is fairly certain that Bradley has just ensured that Tom is really not gay ever again. Colin turns back to Bradley who doesn't even have the decency to look embarrassed that he's interrupted Colin's holiday shag.

“Yes, Bradley?” he repeats.

“You left without me. I didn't know where you'd gone.”

“I was sucking someone's cock, Bradley. It was one of those things where I don't need your company.”

“You could have told me that's where you were going. You weren't there and I know how trusting you are and I thought maybe you'd been drugged and you'd wake up without a liver so I thought that I'd better save you from yourself because your liver is actually pretty important.”

Colin rubs his hand across his eyes, stands up and brushes the sand off his jeans.

“You've probably got the plague or some shit now.”

Colin sighs. “I'm fairly certain they don't have the plague in Spain, Bradley but your concern is touching. Also, I'm fairly certain you don't get the plague from sucking someone's dick.” He decides he's not drunk enough to deal with this right now. “I'm going back to my room.” He starts walking off.

“Oh. OK. I'll see you in the morning.”

“Yeah. Have a good night.”

* * * * *

He's getting out of the shower when he hears his phone receive a message. He finds his jeans in a heap on the floor and gets out his phone. Of course, it's Bradley.

sorry i interrupted your shag

Colin sits on the edge of the bed and debates whether or not he should respond. He knows that he should, that Bradley probably is sorry but Colin sometimes likes to let Bradley stew in his own stupidity. Fuck it, he thinks.

It's fine. I'd already fucked that one.

Colin finds some paracetamol and a glass of water and is settling into bed when his phone beeps again.

your taste sucks. he was fugly.

Colin laughs at that because of course an attractive, fit rugby player is fugly in Bradley's world.

He was fit, you fuck and you know it. You're probably looking for him right now. Don't let him suck you, he doesn't know what he's doing.

There isn't a response and Colin thinks he's taken it a bit too far. Hopefully Bradley won't remember this in the morning and Colin will be able to erase the messages off his phone before Bradley reads them again. He puts down his phone, takes the tablets and turns off the light. He's drifting off to sleep when his phone beeps again.

so you're actually gay then

Colin is fairly certain that only Bradley would want clarification after finding Colin sucking some guy's dick but it is a delightfully Bradley thing to do.

No. I fuck whoever I like.

No response. Well, thinks Colin, there's something fun to sort out in the morning.

* * * * *

Colin wakes to someone thumping on his door. He picks up his phone and sees that he's only been in bed for an hour. It is very, very early morning, still dark out. He gets up and opens the door. Bradley's standing there looking a lot worse than when Colin left him.

“Bradley.”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

Colin pulls Bradley into his room and guides him to the edge of the bed. Bradley flops down and Colin can feel Bradley watching him as he goes to get Bradley some water. He stands in the bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror – he looks tired and frustrated and lonely.

“Here. Drink this.”

He hands Bradley the glass and sits in the chair in the corner of the room watching Bradley gulping the water down. Colin thinks Bradley looks about twelve – confused and ruffled.

“I don't care you're gay.”

“Well, thank you for your permission, Bradley, but I'm not gay as such.”

Bradley focuses on him and starts to disagree but Colin is sick of this conversation because he's had it about a hundred times before.

“I'm bi and so that makes me greedy, closeted or imaginary depending on who you talk to. I like to fuck who I like to fuck. And it actually has nothing to do with you so whilst I'm glad to find out you aren't a bigot, I'm not sure why you woke me up.” Colin's a little bit embarrassed after his big queer pride speech but he was hoping to put this whole thing off until the morning and he gets snappy when he's tired.

Bradley just stares at him and Colin's heart sinks when he realises that this isn't going to be something that Bradley just fobs off, he's going to want to talk about it and analyse everything that Colin's ever said to him because he's Bradley and he's going to assume that all Colin wants is to fuck him and whilst that isn't exactly that far from the truth, Colin's not that stupid.

Bradley stands up and walks over to where Colin is sitting and holds out a hand. Colin isn't sure what Bradley's doing but apparently, because he's an idiot, he takes Bradley's hand. Bradley pulls him up out of the chair and then pushes him down on the bed and clambers on top of him. Colin feels his mouth go dry and can feel himself getting hard before anything has even happened. He feels like time's running slow and he is struggling to do or say anything.

“You're so thick, Morgan.” Bradley has one hand in Colin's hair and the other is moving over his chest and Colin can hear his breath growing ragged.

“I'm not dumb, Colin. I know when someone wants to fuck me. Which, admittedly, is most of the time.” Bradley leans down and fucking purrs in Colin's ear. “But you had to be honourable or some shite. Think of how much fun we could have been having if you hadn't been so fucking thick.” With that Bradley bites down hard on his collarbone and Colin can hear himself making a fairly embarrassing noise.

“See, what you've got to understand, Colin, is that I really want you to fuck me. I've wanted you to fuck me since we met, even when you looked like a fucking junkie. Didn't matter – still wanted it. And you've been down here, having some sort of fucking crisis, sleeping with half of fucking Spain when all you had to do was fucking ask.” Bradley attaches himself to Colin's neck again and, with that, Colin feels like things are moving at their normal speed again.

He grabs a fistful of Bradley's hair, tugs, bringing Bradley's head up so that he can kiss him properly. Colin bites gently on Bradley's bottom lip and then Bradley's right there, just grinning that fucking grin at him and Colin feels his own grin form and then Bradley is practically shoving his tongue down Colin's throat and Colin can hear his heart racing. He cups Bradley's jaw and rubs his thumb over the stubble and thinks yes, this. Bradley pulls back and his pupils are huge and his lips are swollen and wet and he's panting and Colin can't think of a time when Bradley has been more attractive. Colin awkwardly wriggles out from under Bradley, sits up and pulls Bradley's t-shirt off and runs his hands over his chest. Bradley sighs happily and closes his eyes but they fly open again when Colin starts licking his left nipple.

“Oh fuck, Colin.”

Colin pushes Bradley back on the bed and unbuttons Bradley's jeans. It's a team effort to get Bradley out of his pants and then there's his cock and Colin grins at Bradley who is lying back, too worked up to do anything. He licks the very tip of Bradley's cock and laughs quietly when Bradley makes a noise somewhere between a gasp and a moan. He takes Bradley's cock in his mouth and Colin's world focuses down to the weight and heat of Bradley moving against his tongue and lips and Colin starts to suck Bradley's cock in earnest and Bradley starts thrusting awkwardly into his mouth so he reaches up and grips Bradley's hips hard and that seems to get Bradley even more worked up. Bradley's hands are in Colin's hair and tugging which makes Colin moans just a little and obviously the vibration does something right because Bradley's panting and writhing and moaning combinations of “fuck” and “yes” and “Colin”. Colin very gently runs his teeth along the underside of Bradley's cock and that's enough – Bradley is coming hard and Colin has the bitter taste of come in his mouth and Colin swear he can feel Bradley melting into the bed.

Colin gives one of Bradley's thighs a hard nip and then licks at the spot until he feels Bradley half-heartedly tugging at his shoulders. He moves back up the bed and Bradley kisses him deeply, wraps his hand around Colin's leaking cock and Colin feels himself thrusting like some teenager. Colin gasps as Bradley starts to twist his hand on the upstroke and Colin breathes “harder” into Bradley's mouth and Bradley is more than happy to comply, pulls hard and fast until Colin is keening and biting his lip and that's when Bradley is obviously psychic because he hits one of Colin's sure-fire kinks when he starts whispering filthy things into Colin's ear. And, well, of course Bradley would be mouthy in bed.

“C'mon, Colin, come for me. I'm fairly certain you're close, the way you're moaning like a fucking tart, not that I'm complaining, it's making me hot just listening to you. You were so fucking good at sucking my cock and we're going to do that a lot when we get back to France. Think of all the time we have to spend together anyway and when I suck your cock, you're going to want me to be on my knees sucking it all the fucking time and I'll do it.”

Colin can taste blood where he's broken the skin from biting his lip too hard and he's so close and it doesn't matter that Bradley is rambling nonsensically because it is just the sound of Bradley's voice that is making him crazy.

“Yeah, sucking my cock was lovely and all, Colin,” Bradley whispers in Colin's ear, “but I really wanted you to fuck me.” Colin groans as he comes all over Bradley's hand and he opens his eyes to see Bradley fucking beaming with pride.

“Well, that went well,” Bradley states as he wipes Colin's come off his hand onto the sheets.

Colin is too spent out to respond properly, just reaches back to get a pillow, shoves it under his head and fights his way under the covers. He closes his eyes and feels Bradley move in next to him as he continues to rabbit on about how fantastic it was that they finally had sex.

“Colin? That went well, yeah? I mean, I certainly had a good time and the way you just came all over my hand implies that you were blown away by my good looks and charm.”

Colin grinning but he's trying to hide it from Bradley because Bradley does not need any more boosts to his ego. He makes a non-committal noise which, with Bradley being Bradley, he takes as agreement and keeps on about how it was about time for this to happen and then he calls Colin thick again and, well, that's it. Colin rolls over so he's looking Bradley in the eye.

“Bradley. Shut up.”

Bradley looks outraged and starts to say something. “I'm just talking -”

“No. Shut it. You are going to stop talking so that I can go to sleep. I'm going to get some rest so that in the morning I can fuck you. A lot.”

Bradley looks at him, grins and then mimes zipping his lips shut.

“Good boy.”

* * * * *
The cab pulls up out the front of their hotel and Colin is muttering merci as he grabs his bag and jacket and gets out of the car.

"OI! WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?"

He looks up and Angel is grinning down at him, waving like a loon. He laughs and waves back at her.

"I got you a present!"

"Awesome! Your room in ten minutes! I want presents!"

"Present, Angel. Singular."

There's a knock at the door and then he's smothered by Angel and Katie asking questions, poking him in the ribs, wanting to know where the fuck he absconded to. He ignores their questions by giving them the ugly flamenco dolls which they both promise to keep forever and then there's silence which Colin finds very suspicious. Katie looks at him a little too innocently.

"Anything interesting happen on your holiday, Colin?"

"Nope."

"Really?"

"Yep."

Katie hmms at him and narrows her eyes. He tries to look as innocent as possible. They all sit there in uncomfortable silence for a minute or so until Angel starts laughing and Katie is grinning and calling him a fucking liar and Angel passes him her phone and there's a very compromising photograph of him, naked and asleep with Bradley leering at the camera and Colin can't help but laugh.

Katie walks over and slaps him across the back of the head.

"You're a slapper, Colin. I always knew it."

Fic: An Anchor So Sure [Merlin RPF]

sajee — Mon, 01 Dec 2008 12:32:38 GMT

Title: An Anchor So Sure
Rating: PG (I'd guess)
Warnings: RPF, swears.
Disclaimer: Not true, not real. Made up lies.
Summary: He hands Colin a bottle and starts rummaging through Colin's fridge. Colin looks down and blinks. “Bradley, I'm not drinking a bottle of cooking sherry.”
Other: I don't know what is with the emo. It just kind of happened whilst writing the EPIC SPAIN fic.
Thanks to nixwilliams and johnnypurple for the awesmoe beta and dear_prudence and daniel_bethany for being awesmoe! ILU, Sunday arvo Merlol team.

They don't get picked up for a second season and so it's time to go back to London and spending all his time at auditions and making nice with writers and show runners and casting agents. When he gets back to his flat, everything is covered in a layer of dust and that's what makes Colin really angry about the whole thing. He was looking forward to having another year mapped out without the all the shit that acting is about – competing with your friends for the same roles, being expected to enjoy every demeaning audition for a guest role in one bloody episode of some show that probably won't even air for it's full season. He knows that he has it better than pretty much everyone else because even though they've axed his show, people are going to know who he is. He still wants to yell and scream and hit things and it is all because of that stupid layer of dust.

* * *

He tells Lucy he's only interested in stage work at the moment and she laughs and tells him that he's going to go to every bloody audition she can find him, stage or not, because this is his chance to bank on the show and that makes Colin unspeakably sad because he doesn't want to use the show like that. Which, in turn, makes him feel unspeakably stupid because that's what the show was for.

* * *

It's the start of December and Colin's trying to decide if he should back to Ireland to see his family or if he can convince them he has to stay in the city. He doesn't really want to go home – there're friends who he doesn't really think of as friends anymore and family and, more than anywhere else, people calling him Merlin because it seems that everyone in Armagh has nothing better to do with their time than comment on his career. He wants to stay in London where people don't notice him and he can drink at the pub and see a couple of mates and come home and watch Doctor Who. All in all, a proper Christmas.

* * *

He catches up with Angel at a pub near her place and they share audition stories and make fun of each other and it feels a little bit like being in Cardiff. She looks at him and her smile is sad.

“You know it wasn't your fault, right?”

He feels sick and can't answer, just takes a sip of his beer and shrugs.

“Oh, Colin.”

They finish their drinks and she tells him to stay in touch and asks where he's going to be for New Year.

“Ireland.” He's not quite sure why he's lying to her.

“Too bad. I'm inviting everyone to mine.”

“Yeah, too bad.”

* * *

Suddenly, it is New Year. His parents aren't happy but understand why he's stayed in London and he's not spoken to any of his friends for the past two weeks because he's told them he's in Ireland. He's done nothing but read and watch DVDs and ignore his phone ringing. He's just finished re-watching the last episode of the Gilmore Girls when someone buzzes up from the street. He walks over to the intercom to see who it is on the tiny screen. Whoever it is has their back to the door now and is pulling their phone out of the pocket of their enormous coat. Colin isn't certain but has his suspicions which are fulfilled when his mobile starts jangling away in his hand and looks down to see the terrible picture Bradley took of himself come up on the display. Colin quickly puts the phone down on the bench and panics. If he doesn't let Bradley in, Bradley will do his most terrible Marlon Brando impersonation that got them all in a lot of trouble in France and Colin likes this apartment, he doesn't want to be forced to leave because his friends are loud and stupid. If he does let Bradley in, Colin will most likely be miserable and Bradley will be infuriating and chances are everything will end badly. Bradley is holding down the buzzer now and keeps redialing Colin's number. It's only a matter of time before he starts ripping his t-shirt up.
Colin takes a deep breath and buzzes Bradley in.

* * *

He opens the door and Bradley is standing there looking at Colin like he's got some sort of disease.

“And where the fuck have you been?”

“Happy New Year to you too.”

“No, fuck you. You don't get anything until you explain why you're locked in the dark like some fucking emo kid and why you told everyone you were in Ireland when we all knew you weren't. You're not as clever as you think. I mean, I'd be better at hiding than you and that's saying something. And not coming to Angel's, that's a low blow man. Fucking not on.”

“I just wanted some time to myself.”

“Well, boo fucking hoo. You're shit and you have to drink this bottle of what the fuck ever I picked up on my way out the door and then you have to come back with me and you'll be paying for a cab because it is fucking cold out there, man and I'm not getting chilblains because I had to come and drag your skinny arse to a fucking party.”

He hands Colin a bottle and starts rummaging through Colin's fridge. Colin looks down and blinks.

“Bradley, I'm not drinking a bottle of cooking sherry.”

“You weak bastard. Or is it because you're such a sad fucker, that you've already drunk three bottles today. Isn't that what you depressive types do?”

Colin can feel any goodwill he was building towards this plan scatter and he sits back down on his couch. Colin listens as Bradley makes himself something in the kitchen and he wishes he hadn't let him in.

“Oi, motherfucker. We're not doing any more of this moping shite. It's done. And no amount of self-inflicted penance you do is going to change that.”

Colin looks up and Bradley is just there, in front of him, eating some horrific looking sandwich that looks like it has banana and cheddar and pickled onions in it and Colin isn't sure where Bradley found pickled onions in his fridge because he can't stand them.

“This isn't a bad place, you know. Too much of your pretentious shit, though.” Bradley is looking around and Colin realises that Bradley's never been here before.

“Who gave you my address?” Colin asks, even though he's got a fairly good idea of who it might have been.

“The lovely Mariah. She's been worried about you and you've been fobbing her off and, man, is she pissed at you.” Bradley laughs at him and Colin's fairly certain at he just got sprayed with bits of banana. Bradley pops the last bit of sandwich in his mouth and rubs his hands together.

“Ok, Mopey. Let's get this show on the road.” Bradley pulls his mobile out of this pocket and starts ringing cab companies trying to get them a car. “Drink your sherry,” he tells at Colin and starts charming some poor sod at the other end of the phone line.

* * *

Apparently there are no cabs. No cabs ever. Colin isn't really surprised as it is New Year but Bradley is strangely angry about it and is desperate to get back to Angel's before midnight.

“We could take the bus.”

“Fuck that. The buses will be full of drunks who will vomit on us.”

“What a charming picture you paint.” Colin goes and gets them beers out of the fridge. “We could walk.”

Bradley just looks at him and Colin shrugs. Bradley calls Angel and tells her that whilst he has saved Colin from his own stupid, they can't get back to her place. He gets off the phone and takes a sip of his drink.

“I honestly don't think she cared. She says that we should have a good night and can I please return her cooking sherry later in the week.” Bradley shakes his head. “Apparently, she cooks with it.” He looks absolutely puzzled.

“I've got beer and gin before you ask.”

“Good man. Let us begin then.”

* * *

It's nearly midnight and they've somehow finished the beer. Bradley is in charge of concocting something out of whatever there is in the flat and the gin.

“You've got champagne here, you fucking liar.”

“No.”

Colin stands up and feels his head spin.

“Oh, it's got a dinky little card and everything. 'To Colin, Congratulations. -'”

“We can't drink that!” Colin can't really believe he's getting worked up over a bottle of champagne.

Bradley looks at him with concern which is a first because Bradley never looks concerned about anything.

“Was this for the second season?”

Colin nods and feels like shit.

“They believed the press. Last time any of us do that.”

Colin looks at Bradley and he has the same look that Angel had when they met in the pub. Bradley picks up the bottle from the bench and leads Colin back to the sofa. Colin has never seen Bradley look so serious out of character and Colin's starting to feel like an idiot for not having faith that his friends would still be his friends after he lost them all their jobs. He puts his head back and looks at his ceiling.

“Colin. You've got to let it go. We're all good.”

Colin looks at Bradley who is right up in his personal space and, all of a sudden, it feels like they are having a very different conversation.

“We're all still mates, aren't we? You don't just abandon your mates.”

Bradley is staring at him with drunken intensity and Colin is staring back at this different Bradley who is concerned with Colin's well-being and suddenly it hits him that this isn't really new, this Bradley, and Colin starts to think that maybe he's an idiot. He watches as Bradley realises that Colin realises that Bradley is maybe a little bit in love with Colin and has been for a long time and then he leans across and kisses Bradley but pulls away almost immediately. Bradley is holding very still and looks a little bit terrified.

“Um . . . ” Colin's scared that maybe seven straight seasons of Lorelai and Luke has fucked up his ability to tell the difference between friendship and, well, whatever this might be. He's started to convince himself that he's just fucked everything up even more when he's suddenly on his back on the couch with Bradley on top of him and everything is Bradley who is actually much better at this whole kissing thing than Colin would have thought even if he does taste like pickled onions. Bradley's working his hand up under Colin's shirt and Colin hears himself make an embarrassing little whimpering sound.

“You fucking little tart. I should have known you were easy.”

Colin laughs, stands up and grabs Bradley's wrist.

“Let's drink that fucking champagne and, if you're lucky, I'll let you suck my cock. That might cheer me up.”

I wrote fic. LOLOLOLOLOL.

sajee — Tue, 18 Nov 2008 12:32:45 GMT

So, there's this:

Title: The One Where Bradley Talks. A Lot.
Rating: PG (Fuck, I don't know. There's a lot of swearing and no smut. Make up your own rating.)
Warnings: RPF, swears.
Disclaimer: Not true, not real. Made up lies.
Summary: Bradley never thought there’d be a time in this age of wifi and iPhones and PornoTube where he’d be forced to play ping pong for fun.
Other: I don't write fic. This is my first ever RPF, first writing in about 5 years, longest piece of fic I've ever written. Epic win, Merlin. Epic win.
Big enormous love to nixwilliams for the beta, yo.

Bradley feels awful for even thinking it, but the thing is that France is fucking boring after weeks on fucking end and being stuck in the middle of fucking nowhere surrounded by the French. The French and insane bloody Richard Wilson who keeps pelting ping pong balls at Bradley’s head just because he’s won every single game of table tennis they’ve played (and Bradley never thought there’d be a time in this age of wifi and iPhones and PornoTube where he’d be forced to play ping pong for fun.) Oh, and bloody Tony Head who won’t shut up about what a fucking scam shooting in France is. And it is, but Bradley is so bored that he’s asked Angel to teach him how to knit and she just raised her eyebrows at him and told him that she doesn’t know how to knit and when he protested that she’s a girl, she just shook her head, muttered something about “a lost fucking cause” and walked off. To make it worse, fucking Colin is there being all serious and Colin-like and constantly going about this thing like it’s a serious fucking job and he has to be this perfect acting guy. He’s always so focused and serious and so, so fucking professional that it makes Bradley want to vomit.

* * *

“I’m bored.”

“Shut up, Bradley.”

“But I’m bored.”

“Shut up.”

“Come and play ping pong with me.”

“I’m busy.”

“Jesus, Katie, you’re reading OK!”

“Yes, I am. I’m reading about how much a diva you are.”

“But I’m adorable, right?”

“Shut up.”

“You’ve totally love me and you've got a thing for me.”

“Bradley, if it weren’t for the fact that throwing my drink in your face while you’re wearing that would get me in trouble with Costume, I’d being doing that. Imagine that.”

“Fine. Don’t play ping pong with me.”

“Fine. I won’t.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

* * *

The more Bradley thinks about it, the more frustrating Colin’s professionalism becomes. Colin refuses to fill Richard’s trailer wiith ping pong balls. Colin refuses to call Tony ‘Giles’. Colin refuses to go into town with Bradley to try and buy pot of some dodgy French stoner. All in all, Colin refuses to do all the sorts of things that Bradley had been lead to believe that co-stars did with one another. They were young and talented and hot (because whilst Bradley was sometimes a bit slow, he was not blind) and they were meant to be causing havoc through the French countryside, hot cynical French people falling at their feet and all that business. Instead, Colin was off perfecting his bloody craft and Bradley was bored.

* * *

“I’m going to have a party.”

“Really.”

“Yes, I am and if you don’t pretend to be the least bit interested, you’re not invited.”

“Empty threats, Bradley. Empty threats.”

“Well, shut up. Everyone is invited except you.”

“What time and where?” Katie yawns as she flicks through her copy of Tatler.

“9pm, the usual place.”

“I’ll let people know.”

* * *

Someone has brought along pretty much the worst red wine Bradley has ever drunk in his life but he knocks back his drink all the same. He looks around and is content. Everyone is here. Everyone is drinking. Someone had balls enough to visit the dodgy French stoner and had scored some spectacularly bad pot. Richard has cornered some poor French crew member and is rabbiting away at him in his Richardish way, Angel is refilling Michelle’s glass and looking at her with look that was not suitable for children, Katie and Colin are deep in conversation about something. Yes, Bradley is pretty fucking content. He goes off to find something more palatable to drink.

* * *

“You know, Bradley, it’s bad to have a party before an early morning call. Also, I am an old man and you shouldn’t have forced me to drink so much.” Tony has a slightly bleary look on his face, overfilled glass in one had and a joint in the other.

“Ok, Tony.” Bradley is very stoned and needs to get away from equally stoned Tony Head.

“Also, you really are a terrible ping ponger. Pinger. Ping pong player. And if you tell my wife, I’ll kill you.”

“Tell her that I’m bad at pingpong?”

“That I looked a Katie’s breasts.”

“Jesus, Tony, get a fucking grip. Why would you tell us all that? And stop looking at Katie’s tits.”

“If only I could, Bradley.”

Katie doesn’t even look up, just salutes them both with her bottle of beer and goes back to ranting at Santiago about everything that is just wrong about Heroes and the reasons why she’d rather watch Midsomer Murders than that piece of juvenile, masturbatory, comic book geek fantasy. Santiago looks as concerned as he ever looks, which is not very.

Bradley shakes his head and realises that no-one in this cast should ever be allowed to smoke weed.

* * *

It’s 1 a.m. and Bradley is feeling very chilled out, very zen, very, very honest. He weaves his way through all the people and finds Colin.

“Do you know what you you are?”

“Hello, Bradley.”

“You’re just so fucking professional.”

“Um . . . thanks.”

“With your professional face. And your veganism.”

“I’m not a vegan, Bradley.”

“Yes, you are. I know a professional vegan when I see one.”

This conversation isn’t going at all the way Bradley planned. He was going to tell Colin that whilst he admired Colin’s professionalism, he (Colin) also needed to loosen the fuck up and wreak havoc with him once in while. Would letting Bradley kick his arse a Guitar Hero occasionally really stop him from doing his job? No, it would not. Unless his job was playing Guitar Hero. In which case, how did he get that job? Is there an opening for Bradley in the professional Guitar Hero circuit? How many hours a day does he practice? Bradley realises that he's been standing there not saying anything for a good few minutes and that Colin is looking at him like he needs some sort of help.

"Was there anything else, Bradley?"

And then Bradley realises that Colin was obviously in the middle of a conversation with Angel and Michelle (who are looking very happy with each other's company and, at the same time, put out by Bradley's interruption) and, well, that just sends Bradley's imagination to a place that it didn't really need to go right now.

"Um . . . no?" he mumbles and stumbles off to have a few minutes alone to think about all the threesomes he's not having.

* * *

Bradley is sitting outside by himself drinking a beer and thinking about Colin. Not in a moony lovestruck sort of way but in a manly, concerned about his working relationship sort of way. Bradley thinks it is the solitude that finally drives him mad and makes him ask Katie for advice.

"Katie?"

"What, Bradley?"

"Katie, why doesn't Colin ever play Guitar Hero with me?"

"Why on earth should I know that?"

"Because you are so amazing and all-knowing and you have great boobs."

"Bradley."

"Yes, Katie."

"Stop looking at my boobs."

"You let Tony look! That's unfair!"

"They're my boobs, Bradley and I've decided that you aren't allowed to look."

Bradley half-heartedly pouts and decides that he needs to move the attention away from Katie's boobs (because, honestly, they get almost as much screen time as he does and he's not sure how he feels about being upstaged by boobs he's not allowed to look at.)

"I mean, I'm a good guy, right? I'm funny and good looking and I can dodge ping pong balls! He's just stupid with his stupid face. Who'd want to go and have a threesome instead of hanging out with me?! I'm more awesome than any threesome and Angel is 10000 years older than him and if she thinks I'm not going to make fun of her for that, then she is very wrong. There will be mocking and laughter and possibly photographs!"

And for the first time ever, Katie actually stops what she's doing and looks at him, properly. "Oh my fucking god, you fucking moron."

Bradley isn't used to the full force of Katie's attention and feels like it was a very foolish thing to let happen. "What?"

Katie sighs and looks put upon. "You're just fucking stupid and, apparently, you are suddenly in primary school." She puts on a surprisingly good imitation of Bradley's own accent and starts ranting: "Why won't the cool kid hang out with me? I'm totally awesome and I have my own television in my room and I'll buy him some salt and vinegar crisps."

Bradley looks aghast. "Stop that! It's not like that at all!" Even though Katie has managed to tap into seven year old Bradley surprisingly well. "I just want him to relax and let us have some fun sometimes. He's so serious. Everything is about how good he has to be."

And that's when Katie actually smacks him across the back of the head. "The fucking show is called Merlin, you fucking idiot!" Bradley looks sad and starts rubbing the back of his head while Katie continues on her rant. "If Colin doesn't do well, we don't have jobs unless they change the name of the show to Morgana's Boobs which is unlikely because they probably can't air that show at half seven on a Saturday night. Colin feels like everyone here is waiting to see if he's going to fuck it up. He feels like he can't fuck around being an idiot, getting everyone stoned and filling Richard's trailer with ping pong balls and I know that was you and so does Richard so I'd been on my guard if I were you. Also, you are too stupid to be allowed to live."

Bradley is feeling pretty stupid now but has to have the last word. "Can't have the show without Arthur. And I'm better looking."

Katie rolls her eyes and walks away, grabbing the beer out of Santiago's hand on her way past. When she's half way across the room, she stops, turns and shouts "I don't think they're having a threesome, Bradley."

"Oh my god, Katie. Nice to see you can be discreet. And besides, you can't know that."

"Well, Colin is standing behind you."

Bradley closes his eyes and grimaces. "Well, fuck."

* * *

"Hello."

Colin just looks at him like he's trying not to laugh in Bradley's face, and then a whole fuckload of words start coming out of Bradley's mouth.

"It wasn't so much that I thought you wouldn't be, I mean, I guess when I say "better looking", it's purely in the sense that I'm blonde and people like blonde but I guess that they probably also like whatever you are too. Not that I'd know. I'm not sure how much of our conversation you heard but I didn't mean that you were boring. In fact, I don't think I even used the world boring - just professional and really when you think about it, being called a professional is pretty much the highest compliment one actor can give another actor. I mean, people are always saying that Gary Oldman is such a professional and no one really says "that Gary Oldman, he was such a drug addict" or whatever. I mean, no one thinks Rob Lowe, professional. They think Rob Lowe slept with a 16 year old and taped it and that's not very professional. So really, it was me complimenting you. Yes. You're really not boring. You're like, I don't know, a sphinx or something. Something filled with mystery. A mystery filled mythological creature. That's you. Not that you look like the sphinx because you have a nose - "

"Jesus Christ, do you ever shut the fuck up?"

"Yes! I understand quiet. Peace and solitude and all that bullshit. You want me to be quiet, I can be quiet as a fucking mouse."

And then Bradley finds himself up against a wall with Colin's teeth nipping at his lips and Colin's leg between his thighs and Colin's hand pressed up against his cock and, suddenly, everything is coming up Bradley.

"Wha-"

"No."

"But-"

"Shut up."

"What-"

"Bradley," Colin murmurs in his ear, "if you don't shut up and let me take you back to my room now, you'll never get to hear me tell you about all the very unprofessional things we can do together." Colin extricates himself from Bradley and walks off.

Bradley bites his tongue and follows Colin. This is going to be so much better than table tennis.

AHAHAHAHAHAHA. Lulz.

sajee — Sun, 23 Oct 2005 02:47:19 GMT