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Title: DVD Extras: In These Stones
Author:![[insanejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/ij-userinfo.gif)
lilithilien
Fandom/Characters: Merlin, Bradley/Colin
Word Count/Rating: ~2000 words/NC-17 for porn and language
Summary: Cavesmut. That is all.
Disclaimer: This is a complete lie, completely the product of my warped imagination, and bears no resemblance to any reality. (Although I did borrow dialogue from Colin Morgan's video diary for the beginning and the end. YES! They really did say that!)
A/N: I thought I was getting my life back, I really did. And then those DVD extras came out, and Bradley tells Colin to wait in a dark part of the cave and that he'll come back for him, and just what am I supposed to do with that?!! Many heart-shaped boxes of chocolates should be heaped uponsarcastic_jo for noting poorly executed porn logistics and all-around amazingness. (And yes, I know I'm using a Torchwood-related title, but ... the cave's in Wales, yeah, that's it!)
Colin: So which way is it to where I need to go?
Bradley: You need to go down there, mate. *points to dark deserted passage that is obviously not the way to go*
Colin: I need to go down there?
Bradley: Yeah, yeah, I'll catch you up later.
Colin: All right, see you later. Um ... it's a bit dark...
— from Colin Morgan's Video Diary, Merlin Series 1 DVD extras
"Um ... it's a bit dark."
Bradley's only messing about, he knows that, but the hand that suddenly lands on Colin's shoulder still startles him. It's black as a moonless midnight outside the camera's thin light, but that doesn't stop Bradley from latching onto him with a sure grip and pushing him backwards until he's pressed flush against the cave wall. Colin lands with a thud that doesn't quite knock the breath out of him, but almost.
"Maybe you should turn the camera off?"
"Oh." Colin had actually forgotten it was still in his hand. He's focused only on how the chill of icy-cold stones bleeds through his thin shirt and freezes his back but his front is completely on fire. "But I think I'm supposed to capture everything that goes on on-set."
"It's a family show, mate," Bradley growls in that low, feral way he has, the one that always makes Colin shiver. "Don't think they'll want to see this."
And then Colin feels hands clasp both sides of his face, strong and sure. They pull him forward until his gasp of surprise is swallowed by Bradley's lips. Open, warm, wet, they're heartstopping even in the dark. A tongue tasting of sweet coffee sneaks inside and silences the protests in his head. Fifty people are standing just a few feet away—fifty people bored from hanging about between takes, anxious for a little amusement and some ammo to store up for later—but Bradley is here, and his tongue is lush as it sweeps over Colin's teeth and steals his breath away, and for a moment it's easy to forget that anything else exists.
But then voices break through from the passage just behind them, too close for comfort, and at the sound of laughter Colin twists his head away. "You know Katie's right behind us?"
"Yeah, but she didn't bring her camera, I checked."
And in the mind of Bradley James that probably makes some kind of sense.
Actually, with Bradley nibbling his way down the side of Colin's neck, it's starting to make sense to Colin as well. He tilts his head to give Bradley more access; he can't move back much, really he can only turn his cheek against the frigid rock, but it's enough that Bradley attacks the job with renewed vigour. Colin probably never should have admitted to a neck fetish; between the abuse he's taken over that fecking neckscarf and getting slagged for vampire fantasies, Colin should probably regret it. But right now, with sharp teeth scraping over his Adam's apple, with a tongue laving the hollow of his throat, with the air chilling his skin after burning lips have vanished, he regrets nothing.
Bradley grinds against him, pressing so hard that Colin's sure the cave wall will surely have to give. Hands slide inside his jacket and sweep down his sides, hard and solid, and Colin can't help but smile even if they are stretching his costume horribly out of shape. Bradley does this every single time, holding him in a grip so firm, like he wants to make sure that Colin's real. If he's got a neck fetish, then he thinks Bradley's got one for the feel of Colin's ribs under his fingers. Back at the hotel this exploration might take hours, leaving Colin writhing and demanding fuck me already now dammit. Now Bradley moves more quickly but his hand's no less heavy; Colin groans in anticipation of what's to come.
Then a hand he can't see slithers over the point of his hipbone, down the crease of his thigh, insinuating itself between their bodies. Bradley's fingers spread and cup Colin's erection and squeeze, he fucking squeezes as he threatens, "I ought to just rip these bloody trousers in two." His voice is pitched low and dangerous again, and it's almost worth facing the wrath of Costume. Not like it'd be the first time.
"God, no," Colin finally grunts, but it doesn't sound convincing even to his ears. To keep himself from giving in, he slithers his hands inside Bradley's jackets. He's all bundled up, a raincoat atop the long hunting coat that Arthur favours (and Colin fancies), but eventually Colin finds the band of Bradley's trousers and dips his fingers under. Over bare skin they glide, dragging the stretchy fabric over the swell of his arse, shoving them all in a bundle down broad thighs.
Bradley's a quick study, thank god for that, and in an instant Colin's leggings are pooled at his feet beside the camera. Colin tosses them aside, sparing a quick hope that they'll not get too mucky down there, but at the moment he can't be fussed. "Hurry up," he urges, feeling for Bradley's bum in the dark and yanking him closer. Hooking his leg around Bradley's calf helps too; a warm weight falls onto Colin, pressing him back against the stone until there's not an inch to spare. It freezes his bare skin and he yelps, trying to press his hips forward, but he's completely pinned against the wall.
"Impatient, are we?" huffs Bradley, and his laughter quakes across Colin's chest. Then he grips Colin's thigh and drags it higher even as he thrusts. At once everything slots into place—their mouths, their hips, their two erections standing side by side. And Colin really should be used to it by now because that's pretty much how it always is with Bradley but he's still overwhelmed, every single fucking time.
"Got any lube?" Bradley asks while sliding his hands to fit neatly around Colin's arse. They're scorching hot, those hands, with fingernails that cut into his flesh, that grapple at his cheeks and spread them wide. Colin presses back against the sharp bites, against the icy stone, against his incipient orgasm already coiling to strike, and it's a second before he realises he's supposed to answer.
"I've no pockets," he manages to choke out.
"Fuck."
Bradley groans out the word, raw and multi-syllabic, and there's any number of ways to interpret it. Colin knows which he prefers. "Yeah, do," he says. He's still stretched loose from this morning, when they'd very nearly missed the Mystical Van of Evil because Bradley was being such a tease. Colin pays him back now by spitting in his hand and slicking it over Bradley's cock; he loves how it seems to swell more with each stroke. "Do it anyway."
There's a pause just long enough for Colin to picture the dubious look. "You sure?"
"Oh yeah, deffo." He throws in a persuasive thrust of his hips for good measure, angling them just right to elicit another deep groan from Bradley. Colin swallows up the sound in his kiss, his lips reassuring, his tongue wanton, banishing any doubt that this is what he wants.
Fingernails dig eight half-moon trenches in Colin's bum as he's lifted, as he's opened up, as he's spread so wide that Bradley hardly need push; he slips inside like it's exactly where he belongs. Colin moans against Bradley's mouth as he sinks, gravity and lust dragging him down so swiftly that the sound's forced from his lungs, leaving him gasping and scrabbling at Bradley's shoulders with Bradley balls-deep inside. Hips start to pump into him, to slam into him. They lift him with each thrust, and Colin arches his spine to meet each one. The rough rock behind scratches and threatens to rip his jacket, but he reckons that even the cave's collapse couldn't diminish this intense feeling of being stretched so wide, being filled so completely.
"God that's so fucking… christ so tight… Colin fuck…" And for all Bradley's claims that he doesn't swear, Colin's heard him utter some positively filthy things, always when they're fucking and always when Bradley's about to come undone. Knowing it's because of him—that it's because he clenches his hole tight each time Bradley lifts him up, because he lets his muscles loose so Bradley slides right back in, deeper each time—makes Colin's climax surge.
Sloppy kisses and dirty words plastered across his throat help drive it even higher, and it's almost an afterthought that sends Colin reaching for his cock. It's almost too much, piling that sensation on top of everything else. It's like that one time his brother talked him into the parachuting thing, in that long moment when he stood at the edge of the plane and it was suddenly too much but not enough at the same time. For a second he hangs there on the edge, suspended between Bradley and the cave wall, and it's hard to tell which feels more solid as he rocks from one to the other. And then … and then it's just as easy as taking a step into thin air. Pressing his thighs tighter around Bradley, Colin lets himself go, feels himself fly, as his orgasm rockets through his every cell. Even though the cave is still dark as pitch his vision is filled with stars.
A wild keening sound reels him back, that and Bradley's final deep thrusts that feel like some last ditch effort to crawl up inside him. Colin's arm tightens around his shoulders as he rides out the last frantic rhythm. Even after it shudders to stillness, Bradley stays levered against him like he couldn't stand otherwise, which is probably true. Colin's own legs quiver as he tries to make them work again. He thinks it's probably best not to demand too much at first; lining his body up long against Bradley's is quite enough, with the cold rock imprinted on his back feeling oddly comfortable now. These caves have harboured centuries of secrets, Colin thinks suddenly. Now he and Bradley have joined this history of bandits, lovers, and refugees, forgotten by all save these watchful stones. Maybe nothing as legendary as King Arthur, but it makes Colin press a smiling kiss into Bradley's cheek anyway.
Bradley rouses his head at that. Although Colin can't see him, he can well imagine his blue eyes sated with bleary contentment. "Wow, that was…" he pants.
"Yeah," agrees Colin without hesitation.
Bradley digs out tissues from his pockets—"always prepared," Colin teases; Bradley's jacket rustles as he makes either the Scout sign or a two-fingered salute—and then shifts away as they dress. Colin shivers, feeling a lot colder now bundled up in clothes than he did while the cave's chill leeched into his half-naked body.
"They think you're mucking about in here," comes his voice from near the cave entrance. Colin thinks they know exactly what they're doing in here, but he lets Bradley continue. "So if you turn on the camera in the dark and stumble around a bit they'll never suspect a thing." There's more rustling as Bradley moves around in the dark, no doubt demonstrating the stumbling that he wants Colin to do. Pitching his voice oddly high, he crows, "Colliiin."
Colin nearly drops the camera as he cackles. "You're completely mad, you know that?"
"Colliiin… follow my voice, Colliiin…"
"I can't see a thing," Colin laughs, but he does—follow, that is. Following Bradley has become a habit he can't break. Not that he's tried very hard.
And then he turns the corner and shadows disappear into light. "Oh, wait a minute, there we go."
"This is the way," Bradley says, suddenly back to his serious self.
"This is the way, actually." Taking his place two steps behind Bradley, Colin slips out of history and back into Merlin. Only these stones will remember they were here.
~~~ The End~~~ 
Author:
lilithilienFandom/Characters: Merlin, Bradley/Colin
Word Count/Rating: ~2000 words/NC-17 for porn and language
Summary: Cavesmut. That is all.
Disclaimer: This is a complete lie, completely the product of my warped imagination, and bears no resemblance to any reality. (Although I did borrow dialogue from Colin Morgan's video diary for the beginning and the end. YES! They really did say that!)
A/N: I thought I was getting my life back, I really did. And then those DVD extras came out, and Bradley tells Colin to wait in a dark part of the cave and that he'll come back for him, and just what am I supposed to do with that?!! Many heart-shaped boxes of chocolates should be heaped upon
sarcastic_jo for noting poorly executed porn logistics and all-around amazingness. (And yes, I know I'm using a Torchwood-related title, but ... the cave's in Wales, yeah, that's it!)Colin: So which way is it to where I need to go?
Bradley: You need to go down there, mate. *points to dark deserted passage that is obviously not the way to go*
Colin: I need to go down there?
Bradley: Yeah, yeah, I'll catch you up later.
Colin: All right, see you later. Um ... it's a bit dark...
"Um ... it's a bit dark."
Bradley's only messing about, he knows that, but the hand that suddenly lands on Colin's shoulder still startles him. It's black as a moonless midnight outside the camera's thin light, but that doesn't stop Bradley from latching onto him with a sure grip and pushing him backwards until he's pressed flush against the cave wall. Colin lands with a thud that doesn't quite knock the breath out of him, but almost.
"Maybe you should turn the camera off?"
"Oh." Colin had actually forgotten it was still in his hand. He's focused only on how the chill of icy-cold stones bleeds through his thin shirt and freezes his back but his front is completely on fire. "But I think I'm supposed to capture everything that goes on on-set."
"It's a family show, mate," Bradley growls in that low, feral way he has, the one that always makes Colin shiver. "Don't think they'll want to see this."
And then Colin feels hands clasp both sides of his face, strong and sure. They pull him forward until his gasp of surprise is swallowed by Bradley's lips. Open, warm, wet, they're heartstopping even in the dark. A tongue tasting of sweet coffee sneaks inside and silences the protests in his head. Fifty people are standing just a few feet away—fifty people bored from hanging about between takes, anxious for a little amusement and some ammo to store up for later—but Bradley is here, and his tongue is lush as it sweeps over Colin's teeth and steals his breath away, and for a moment it's easy to forget that anything else exists.
But then voices break through from the passage just behind them, too close for comfort, and at the sound of laughter Colin twists his head away. "You know Katie's right behind us?"
"Yeah, but she didn't bring her camera, I checked."
And in the mind of Bradley James that probably makes some kind of sense.
Actually, with Bradley nibbling his way down the side of Colin's neck, it's starting to make sense to Colin as well. He tilts his head to give Bradley more access; he can't move back much, really he can only turn his cheek against the frigid rock, but it's enough that Bradley attacks the job with renewed vigour. Colin probably never should have admitted to a neck fetish; between the abuse he's taken over that fecking neckscarf and getting slagged for vampire fantasies, Colin should probably regret it. But right now, with sharp teeth scraping over his Adam's apple, with a tongue laving the hollow of his throat, with the air chilling his skin after burning lips have vanished, he regrets nothing.
Bradley grinds against him, pressing so hard that Colin's sure the cave wall will surely have to give. Hands slide inside his jacket and sweep down his sides, hard and solid, and Colin can't help but smile even if they are stretching his costume horribly out of shape. Bradley does this every single time, holding him in a grip so firm, like he wants to make sure that Colin's real. If he's got a neck fetish, then he thinks Bradley's got one for the feel of Colin's ribs under his fingers. Back at the hotel this exploration might take hours, leaving Colin writhing and demanding fuck me already now dammit. Now Bradley moves more quickly but his hand's no less heavy; Colin groans in anticipation of what's to come.
Then a hand he can't see slithers over the point of his hipbone, down the crease of his thigh, insinuating itself between their bodies. Bradley's fingers spread and cup Colin's erection and squeeze, he fucking squeezes as he threatens, "I ought to just rip these bloody trousers in two." His voice is pitched low and dangerous again, and it's almost worth facing the wrath of Costume. Not like it'd be the first time.
"God, no," Colin finally grunts, but it doesn't sound convincing even to his ears. To keep himself from giving in, he slithers his hands inside Bradley's jackets. He's all bundled up, a raincoat atop the long hunting coat that Arthur favours (and Colin fancies), but eventually Colin finds the band of Bradley's trousers and dips his fingers under. Over bare skin they glide, dragging the stretchy fabric over the swell of his arse, shoving them all in a bundle down broad thighs.
Bradley's a quick study, thank god for that, and in an instant Colin's leggings are pooled at his feet beside the camera. Colin tosses them aside, sparing a quick hope that they'll not get too mucky down there, but at the moment he can't be fussed. "Hurry up," he urges, feeling for Bradley's bum in the dark and yanking him closer. Hooking his leg around Bradley's calf helps too; a warm weight falls onto Colin, pressing him back against the stone until there's not an inch to spare. It freezes his bare skin and he yelps, trying to press his hips forward, but he's completely pinned against the wall.
"Impatient, are we?" huffs Bradley, and his laughter quakes across Colin's chest. Then he grips Colin's thigh and drags it higher even as he thrusts. At once everything slots into place—their mouths, their hips, their two erections standing side by side. And Colin really should be used to it by now because that's pretty much how it always is with Bradley but he's still overwhelmed, every single fucking time.
"Got any lube?" Bradley asks while sliding his hands to fit neatly around Colin's arse. They're scorching hot, those hands, with fingernails that cut into his flesh, that grapple at his cheeks and spread them wide. Colin presses back against the sharp bites, against the icy stone, against his incipient orgasm already coiling to strike, and it's a second before he realises he's supposed to answer.
"I've no pockets," he manages to choke out.
"Fuck."
Bradley groans out the word, raw and multi-syllabic, and there's any number of ways to interpret it. Colin knows which he prefers. "Yeah, do," he says. He's still stretched loose from this morning, when they'd very nearly missed the Mystical Van of Evil because Bradley was being such a tease. Colin pays him back now by spitting in his hand and slicking it over Bradley's cock; he loves how it seems to swell more with each stroke. "Do it anyway."
There's a pause just long enough for Colin to picture the dubious look. "You sure?"
"Oh yeah, deffo." He throws in a persuasive thrust of his hips for good measure, angling them just right to elicit another deep groan from Bradley. Colin swallows up the sound in his kiss, his lips reassuring, his tongue wanton, banishing any doubt that this is what he wants.
Fingernails dig eight half-moon trenches in Colin's bum as he's lifted, as he's opened up, as he's spread so wide that Bradley hardly need push; he slips inside like it's exactly where he belongs. Colin moans against Bradley's mouth as he sinks, gravity and lust dragging him down so swiftly that the sound's forced from his lungs, leaving him gasping and scrabbling at Bradley's shoulders with Bradley balls-deep inside. Hips start to pump into him, to slam into him. They lift him with each thrust, and Colin arches his spine to meet each one. The rough rock behind scratches and threatens to rip his jacket, but he reckons that even the cave's collapse couldn't diminish this intense feeling of being stretched so wide, being filled so completely.
"God that's so fucking… christ so tight… Colin fuck…" And for all Bradley's claims that he doesn't swear, Colin's heard him utter some positively filthy things, always when they're fucking and always when Bradley's about to come undone. Knowing it's because of him—that it's because he clenches his hole tight each time Bradley lifts him up, because he lets his muscles loose so Bradley slides right back in, deeper each time—makes Colin's climax surge.
Sloppy kisses and dirty words plastered across his throat help drive it even higher, and it's almost an afterthought that sends Colin reaching for his cock. It's almost too much, piling that sensation on top of everything else. It's like that one time his brother talked him into the parachuting thing, in that long moment when he stood at the edge of the plane and it was suddenly too much but not enough at the same time. For a second he hangs there on the edge, suspended between Bradley and the cave wall, and it's hard to tell which feels more solid as he rocks from one to the other. And then … and then it's just as easy as taking a step into thin air. Pressing his thighs tighter around Bradley, Colin lets himself go, feels himself fly, as his orgasm rockets through his every cell. Even though the cave is still dark as pitch his vision is filled with stars.
A wild keening sound reels him back, that and Bradley's final deep thrusts that feel like some last ditch effort to crawl up inside him. Colin's arm tightens around his shoulders as he rides out the last frantic rhythm. Even after it shudders to stillness, Bradley stays levered against him like he couldn't stand otherwise, which is probably true. Colin's own legs quiver as he tries to make them work again. He thinks it's probably best not to demand too much at first; lining his body up long against Bradley's is quite enough, with the cold rock imprinted on his back feeling oddly comfortable now. These caves have harboured centuries of secrets, Colin thinks suddenly. Now he and Bradley have joined this history of bandits, lovers, and refugees, forgotten by all save these watchful stones. Maybe nothing as legendary as King Arthur, but it makes Colin press a smiling kiss into Bradley's cheek anyway.
Bradley rouses his head at that. Although Colin can't see him, he can well imagine his blue eyes sated with bleary contentment. "Wow, that was…" he pants.
"Yeah," agrees Colin without hesitation.
Bradley digs out tissues from his pockets—"always prepared," Colin teases; Bradley's jacket rustles as he makes either the Scout sign or a two-fingered salute—and then shifts away as they dress. Colin shivers, feeling a lot colder now bundled up in clothes than he did while the cave's chill leeched into his half-naked body.
"They think you're mucking about in here," comes his voice from near the cave entrance. Colin thinks they know exactly what they're doing in here, but he lets Bradley continue. "So if you turn on the camera in the dark and stumble around a bit they'll never suspect a thing." There's more rustling as Bradley moves around in the dark, no doubt demonstrating the stumbling that he wants Colin to do. Pitching his voice oddly high, he crows, "Colliiin."
Colin nearly drops the camera as he cackles. "You're completely mad, you know that?"
"Colliiin… follow my voice, Colliiin…"
"I can't see a thing," Colin laughs, but he does—follow, that is. Following Bradley has become a habit he can't break. Not that he's tried very hard.
And then he turns the corner and shadows disappear into light. "Oh, wait a minute, there we go."
"This is the way," Bradley says, suddenly back to his serious self.
"This is the way, actually." Taking his place two steps behind Bradley, Colin slips out of history and back into Merlin. Only these stones will remember they were here.
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