The rain falls like a melody in France and it makes the air warm with moisture. Colin places his arm amongst the drops from where he stands under shelter, feels the water smooth across his skin and chill his bones.
A cold hand against the small of his back and a breath of are you alright mate against his ear and he reclaims his hand, wipes the water off onto his costume and smiles at Bradley. He nods, affirms normality and ignores the pull in his stomach when he sees the way that Bradley’s hair is damp and sticking to his forehead.
Bradley curls a hand around Colin’s wrist, tugs gently because they have to film again soon and Colin does not resist. There is a smile on Bradley’s face, small and secretive, and Colin ducks his head because it is looks like that got him into this situation in the first place and avoidance has always been his specialty.
Colin’s hotel room is small and bland and he likes it that way, because cosy reminds him too much of home. Except when Bradley is in the room is feels like home anyway, and it feels like every dusty corner and shadowy crook now has this light, this air of gold and this sense of sunshine.
It’s a stupid analogy, he tells himself, but when Bradley laughs the atmosphere glows with happiness and Colin’s breath stutters slightly.
It’s stupid, he asserts again, but futility has a pseudonym and it sounds suspiciously like that laugh.
They are on set and it is nearing midnight. Everyone is exhausted and Colin is too, but they need to finish this set before anyone is allowed to go to bed.
Bradley sidles up next to him, nudges an elbow faintly against his ribs. “It’s infectious,” he whispers and Colin laughs at the allusive air of mystery, looks at him sideways and smiles tenderly, tentatively, waits for Bradley to make sense.
“Yawning,” Bradley eventually clarifies, and Colin hums in assent as he moves forward to take his place in the scene. Infectious, he thinks. Yeah, that’s probably it.
In the fourth week they finally get a day off and Bradley suggests they go into the town. Colin is dubious as to what the hell there is to even do in Pierrefonds but Bradley just taps his temple with a knowing look and Colin is forced to laugh in his face.
They end up in a small pub in the middle of nowhere, too far away from the hotel and they just laugh at their idiocy and buy some drinks.
Except some drinks turn into too many drinks and when they stumble outside at 3am Bradley pushes Colin against a wall in a grungy alley and kisses him. Colin kisses back, of course he does, like he even had a choice, and his mind blanks of everything but the feel of Bradley’s muscles underneath his palms and Bradley’s thigh in between his legs.
The hotel is too quiet when they get back, and the sound of their ragged breaths as the fall their way up the stairs to their rooms sounds deafening in the silence.
Their kisses are heady, with no finesse or rationality, and when Bradley reaches behind Colin to open his hotel door and pushes against him as they stagger into the room attached to one another by lips and hands and accord it just feels right.
Neither one asks what the hell they are doing, and really it is doubtful that either one of them really cares in that moment, and when Bradley pins Colin’s hands above his head and whispers finally into the indent of Colin’s lips, Colin lets go and stops trying to avoid.
(In the morning it will not even be awkward. Colin will wake up and kiss Bradley into the mattress, will spread a palm against his chest and tangle a hand into the hair at the nape of Bradley’s neck. Bradley will push back against him with all the fervour of a man who has finally been given air, and Colin will laugh into the heavy air between the mouths. “We’re stupid,” he will note, and Bradley will nod faintly in agreement until they both remember that they are here, now, and that is all that matters.)