To be fair, Bradley hadn't set out to read about Colin sucking his cock. In point of fact, he'd merely been googling himself--as you do--when the link had appeared. It wasn't even the first link. It'd been fairly far down the page, after IMDb, Wikipedia and half a dozen YouTube interviews.
That probably made it worse, he decided, furrowing his brow. That made it seem like he'd gone looking for it. But he hadn't. Truly. He'd just wanted to keep up with what the fans were saying about him. All right, so maybe he'd had a bit of a rough night, and maybe he wasn't feeling his best, and maybe it was the ultimate in pathetic narcissism to go see if strangers on the internet thought you were a bit of all right. He'd admit that. But so long as they were saying it, what was the harm in reading?
Trouble was, they were saying a great deal more than that. And most of it seemed to involve Colin. Colin, and his cheekbones. Colin, and his lips. Colin, and his apparently bluer than blue eyes. (Bradley had blue eyes, too, thank you very much. Where were the odes to them?)
And then there were the ones who were talking about he and Colin together. Like that. Not just as mates. As mates. As in mating. Not that blokes could expect anything to come of it but sticky sheets, a sore arse, and a good time, but still. Mating.
Why did so many of them seem to think his greatest aim in life was to get a shot at Colin's bum? It was a nice enough bum, he supposed, though it wasn't always easy to tell. Not in the baggy clothes Colin preferred--or wore because he couldn't find anything slim enough to fit, Bradley had never asked because he was a bloke, for God's sake, and it wasn't a question blokes asked each other. But he'd seen Colin changing a time or two, and his arse was pleasing enough. That didn't mean he'd spent any time thinking how it would feel to cup it in his hands.
And yes, he supposed Colin's lips were rather full and always red...probably because Colin spent so much of his time chewing on them, a disgusting habit. Bradley'd tried to get him to stop, but Colin had just stared at him like he was mental.
Which was another thing. How could he possibly be interested in a relationship with someone who clearly thought Bradley was off his rocker half the time? Bradley was brilliant--if he did have to remind everyone himself--and he needed someone who would recognize and respect that. Not call him a wanker and throw used tea bags at him.
So why did all these girls seem to think they were made for each other?
And why did do many of them seem to think Colin's cock was longer? Bloody unfair, that, they'd never seen either of them. He'd have to talk Colin into doing a nude scene, and do one of his own, just to retain his honor. And set the record straight.
Still...they did tend to make him a good shag. At least they were getting that part right. They obviously thought Colin had more experience than he really must, but he was willing to forgive the Irishman his fictional prowess, since Bradley's matched it.
And they both seemed to have the stamina and recovery period of Greek Gods, he decided, raising his eyebrows as he skimmed a story that had them both coming at least eight times in one night. He looked down at his lap, then back at the screen, shaking his head. Not very likely, but flattering.
The whole thing was absurd. Blatantly absurd. He'd never wanted to suck Colin's neck and roll ass up for him. Colin was a mate, a friend. And a coworker, and wouldn't that just be the height of bloody ridiculous, to fall for him? What happened to Arthur and Merlin, if he and Colin started shagging behind the scenes?
Well, according to half the stories he found, it'd be a step in the same direction, but still.
He clicked another link, determined it would be the last. All the details in the story were wrong--the scene described had been filmed on the set in Cardiff, not in France, Katie hadn't been there that day, and Colin definitely hadn't eaten a chicken salad sandwich for lunch. But the details paled, when it turned to Colin pushing Bradley up against the wall of Arthur's bedroom, stripping the prince's breeches from him, and swallowing his cock.
Bradley swallowed, feeling his face turn red. Of course, he was embarrassed by the ridiculousness of this, that was all. And it was warm in here.
And apparently his trousers were too small.
Oh bloody hell.
He closed his eyes, trying not to picture the scene, trying not to see Colin smiling up at him from Merlin's clothing, trying not to hear the teasing Irish voice he knew so well. But it was a losing battle, and in his mind those lush, red lips wrapped around the head of his cock, sliding slowly, slowly down.
Bradley let out a soft breath, rubbing his open palm across the raised ridge of his trapped erection. He wasn't doing this. He wasn't wanking to porn on the internet, porn about him for Christ's sake. He wasn't.
Except he totally was.
Licking his lips, he slowly slid his zip down, sliding his hand into his jeans, taking his cock in hand. Colin's mouth would be warm, his fingers cold, chilled as they so often were. The contrast would feel incredible, Bradley was sure of it...and he could see the wicked glimmer of mischief in Colin's eyes, imagine how teased and tortured he would be by the boy so many people seemed to mistake for sweet.
Colin was an evil bastard, and Bradley knew it.
He whimpered, stroking his cock again, and then jumped, as the door opened behind him, with no knock to announce the intruder. The tall, thin, blue-eyed Irish intruder, whose mouth was doing considerably less filthy things in reality than in Bradley's mind.
"What're you reading?"