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Lipstick Boy

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"I'll be in London in three weeks, we can talk then..." Colin's fingers itched for one of the cigarettes some of the crew were smoking down the street. He stared out into the drizzle of mid-summer France as he listened and tried to feel less like he'd just been punched in the gut. "Look, no, no, no, I'm not saying that at all. I never said that... fuck."

He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth and held it as he leaned back against the wall. The replies on the other end of the line were clipped, hard, accusatory and he felt fucked open in all the wrong ways.

Bradley stepped out of the hotel and walked towards him. He waggled his phone, mouthed, "Mind?"

This side of the hotel was the only place with decent reception, come hell or high water. Colin shook his head at him and exhaled slowly. Then, when Bradley instantly delved into a conversation with full-body laughs and jokes on the phone to whoever, Colin tried to inch as far away as he could without standing out in the rain just for a pretence of privacy and decorum.

"I didn't say that," Colin said into the phone and listened to another barrage of complaints.

Flashback to happier times: February in London, ducking away from the stage door to walk a few streets down, drink too expensive wine, have someone pull off his beanie and push him up against the wall, losing the last adrenaline of the performance in a fuck.

Sunday mornings in bed, calling his mother and lying to her while he watched him make tea and toast, naked under the robes, a bit of a belly and nice-sized cock hidden under the folds. He'd look on, smiling, then push the tea towards Colin and they'd fuck for the rest of the day or talk plays, debauched high-end London connoisseur of the arts and Colin his objet du jour - no one had been complaining. For a few weeks at least until prior engagements cut into their time and Colin had got the 'sorry, busy' texts more often than not.

Memorable then, the days after the photoshoot for the French magazine when Colin had brought the first prints, feeling awkward and gawky in the chilled atmosphere in the flat until he'd slipped the photos on the table.

He'd asked Colin to pull on the sheer, grey dress that clung to his hips and his chest, begged a little and Colin had given in until fabric had shifted over his nipples and made him hard, tenting his crotch. Then he, not Colin, had reached down under the dress and pushed Colin's cock up and flat and rubbed his thumb across the damp spot forming through the fabric.

Colin had caught a glance of himself in the mirror, turned on and stripped to the core, prettier than he was at any other time. Pretty, full stop, when he'd never been before.

"You're beautiful," he'd said, gaze burning until Colin had flushed a dark red and tried to duck away but he'd made him look.

He'd had Colin kneel in front of him to apply the lip gloss and the eye shadow, style back the hair on the top of his head but leave the beard and the hair on his chest, so when Colin had caught sight of himself in the mirror he'd looked like a grotesque version of a girl, sexy if the wet slap of hand on cock was anything to go by.

Colin had posed, against the wall and on the bed, dress slipping up his hairy legs and thighs to the swell of his balls, the curve of his cock. He'd posed on his knees with two fingers up his arse, the dress pushed to the small of his back. Colin had posed through the click of photos and the quiet of video and had come with the 'you're beautiful' and the lips kissing the make-up off his face.

"I told you I wouldn't make it back to London before then," Colin said back in present time, while Bradley was simultaneously on the phone and having a conversation with Eoin down the road, something about the pub and football, shouting and laughing loudly.

"It's no one, someone from the shoot," Colin said but the phone line clicked into silence, leaving him with the ball of jagged wires in his chest, scratching him bloody raw between memories and things falling slowly apart.

"You all right, mate?" Bradley had a hand over his phone to mute his voice and looked Colin up and down before his attention got caught by the call again.

"Fine." Colin fake-grinned and stuffed his mobile into his pocket, then ambled out into the rain to clear his head.

When he came back to the hotel, drenched to the bone, most windows were dark, the 4am call that the crew was on leaving its traces in somewhat early bedtime.

"You look like shit, mate."

Colin dropped the key, bent down to pick it up again and fit it into the lock. "Thanks, man."

Bradley chuckled, standing in the hallway in t-shirt and boxers, naked toes curled into the carpet. "I've got a movie running if you want." It had been at least two years since their last time watching a movie in one of their rooms, back when they'd traded handjobs and fallen for each other a little... back before they'd grown up, too.

"Nah I'll just... long day tomorrow, you saw the sides."


"Yeah. Good night, yeah?" Colin let himself into the room and closed the door behind him, hearing Bradley's reply through the wood and the closing of his door down the hallway, the faint sounds of television gunfire that travelled through the quiet hotel.

He dragged himself out of his wet clothes and into the shower, then stood naked and damp in front of the full-length mirror in his room, cock soft over his low balls, nipples hard, collarbone showing a little too much underneath the specks of hair again these days.

Colin dragged out some of the clothes, a garish blue and pink bikini top and bottom and slipped on the bottom part of it, smashing his cock into the tight confines of the fabric. Then he pulled the top over his head, the straps already knotted in the back and dragged the small triangles of fabric over his chest.

His hands shook when he applied a bit of lipstick and mascara and tried to twist the short hair into something feminine. He smoothed his thumb over the fabric and brushed back and forth over his nipple, trying to convince himself he still looked beautiful like this, not used up and burned out, but it wasn't quite the same when it was only his own whispers.

He took a photo of himself in the mirror, a coquettish twist to the hips that Colin knew he liked, his free hand cupping his flat chest. He added sorry and hit send on the e-mail, then sat on the edge of the bed waiting for the reply.

The church bell rang once, then twice, and eventually Colin set the phone aside and curled up on his bed for sleep, hand cradling his cock inside the frilly bikini bottoms, willing his mind to stop churning out thoughts that twisted his stomach to ugly knots.

The reply came two days later, a made the gallery Colin knew had been typed one-handed, and the cloud of dread dissipated for a few weeks as the shoot continued at its gruelling pace, bar the evenings at the pub and the impromptu footie matches during lunch Colin watched from the sidelines.

"We'll be going to that club Marie mentioned," Bradley said, standing with Eoin and Tom, Tomi and Rupert, barely getting the words out because he was still laughing at whatever story Eoin had told him.

Colin waved them off, and Bradley didn't spend too long protesting. Instead of the bar, Colin sat in front of his laptop on skype, getting himself off with a dildo up his arse and fingers twisted around his balls, shooting all over the skirt he wore, his tits encased in a lacy bra.

"You're beautiful," Colin heard through the connection, the reciprocal video not on, and Colin grinned at the camera, fucked out, arse clenching around the dildo as he sucked the come off his fingers and took it for as good as an I love you still.

They left France for Cardiff, a different hotel room, and the weather had taken a turn for the worse, but the shooting schedule remained gruelling.

I'll get in at 8 on Friday, Colin had texted on Monday when he'd bought the tickets, but as he sat on the train going towards London, he'd still not got a text back. He took a cab to the flat when no one waited at the station, paid the driver and rang the bell, backpack shouldered.


"Hey, it's me."

A pause, too fucking long without any words to unwind the worry in the pit of Colin's stomach, but the buzzer sounded and Colin pushed the door open and took the flight of stairs up.

"Hey," Colin said at the door and made to lean in for a peck hello but only met thin air and looked stupid with it.

They stood in the staircase. Music played in the flat, their fuck song, as he always said, deliberately dipping into the crude language which was unlike anything else about him. It makes me want to fuck you wide open, he always said as he pushed the dress up Colin's thighs and pressed his cock into him, bent him in half as he hummed along to the tune and stuck his fingers deep into Colin's mouth, fucking his lipstick-red lips. Now he filled the doorframe with his bulk, leaving no space for Colin to squeeze through.

Candles were lit, Colin could see the glow of them, and he wore the robe he always wore after a day spent in bed.

Colin moved forward to push past him into the flat, but he didn't budge.

"Look, we're done," he said instead. "I mean, with you being gone most of the time. It was good, don't get me wrong, you've got one hell of a pussy, but we both knew it was happening, yeah?"

Colin stared at him, split open underneath the jacket and shirt he wore, the lacy thong he'd put on under his jeans just for him, his shoes squeaking from the wet streets, the staircase smelling of staircase and the fuck music coming from inside the flat.

"What?" His throat was dry, mind whirling.

"Come on, Colin. If I wanted to wank to photos I could just go online." He laughed, hearty, like Colin was in on the joke. "I thought I'd texted you, but I guess not."


A lanky bloke appeared behind him, wearing the sheer, grey dress, one halter down his shoulder, love bites on his pecs, his nipples sore and peaked. They looked at each other, Colin with his hands in his baggy jeans, the jacket, the beanie pulled over his ears and the bloke who wore his dress.

The door and frame hid all the details (except for the cock of a hip, the brush of a hand, a bit of a promise what with the mood music and the candles and the fucking dress). He leaned against the frame, looking at Colin. "I'll be just a minute," he said, and the bloke wearing Colin's dress scampered off into the flat. "Sorry again, I thought you'd got the text." He shrugged. "Call me when you're back in London permanently, I'm sure we can work something out."

With that he closed the door in Colin's face and left him in the staircase, backpack on his shoulders, listening to the moan that came from inside the flat. He made his way out of the house entirely numb, walked out into the street and just kept on walking as evening turned into night in London. He ended up by the Thames, sitting on a bench, and tried to sort his thoughts past the immediate glare of near-physical pain, but every time he got close to a clear thought he could latch onto, he saw himself riding his cock as he fucked a dildo into his mouth, being called a pretty slut and dolled up for his entertainment for the night.

Colin snapped back to when he realised he was freezing his balls off and found a cab, went home to his cold flat he hadn't seen in weeks on end. The heating was off, and the fridge stirred to life on a few dried out onions and bottles of water. His sheets were musty but he slipped in anyway, barely bothering to undress.

He kept the panties on, the edges digging into his thighs, and fell asleep like that, swirling thoughts of nights he'd spent on his lap, curled into his bulk and letting him whisper endearments into his ear as he stroked his hand up and down his thigh and cradled his cock and balls while music played over the speakers.

They'd talked about love in-between fucks.

The weekend left him tired and aching on hardly any food or sleep, only twisting nightmares and too many thoughts to count. He looked at the dress he'd brought from Cardiff, the skirt he'd worn during the last time they'd skyped, and felt sick at the thought of the photos and video he now had lost all control over.

The train back to Cardiff was packed with uni students while he sat against the window, arms curled around himself, and watched the country slip by outside. The hotel room in Cardiff was familiar in its bland-ness at least, but the words of the script kept swimming in front of his eyes when he tried to memorize lines for the shoot the next day.

Colin didn't text him again, even with all the texts he could send playing out in his mind, but there was too much pride somewhere tucked away underneath the grotesque crossdressing that had got him off like nothing else.

He didn't cry either, not much, only in the middle of the night, when the photos didn't appear on the internet and he stopped waiting for that shoe to drop.

"How dare you," Bradley said to one of the girls from make-up when Colin slipped into the trailer Monday morning and plunked into the chair. "I'm the perfect gentleman obviously."

Colin gave the girl who did his make-up a smile and tried to relax into the chair at the touch of brushes and powder to his face, fingers in his hair arranging it just so.

"Long weekend?" the girl asked him.

Colin met her gaze in the mirror and saw himself, the deep dark shadows stood in stark contrast to the paleness of his skin. He caught Bradley's glance, the frown on his face.

"Might've overdone it," Colin said and grinned, even as it dragged at the corners of his mouth.

Bradley widened his eyes in a 'you're shitting me' expression but Colin had nothing to reply to that that would explain anything. Bradley soon moved on talking about sports and the gig he'd been to while Colin closed his eyes and waited for the day to be over already.

The day went slow between rigging the cameras and lights for the various angles, too many people in a single shot.

Bradley stood on his mark next to Colin as the director reviewed the take. "Wait for it, she then looked at me, and then at Eoin, and basically said she'd rather not." He exploded into laughter.

"She would've though."


"She would've, with you," Colin said.

"Yeah, uh, not the point, mate."

Bradley glanced at him as if he was about to say something else but they called for silence for the next take and Bradley wiped the quizzing look off his face and became all Arthur, and Colin, well, he tried to slip into Merlin just so he'd forget about feeling dirty for a while.

The week dragged on. While he was on set, he waited for the end of the day so he could curl back up in his bed and chase the flickers of arousal at memories, only to feel sick about it. So he could check skype and see him on and debate ringing him, only to feel like a fuck-up about it. And before long, as the night tipped into the next day, he waited for work to start again so he could lose himself in his character's head and ignore his own existence.

The torture of the week gave way to the weekend before long. Colin made his way down the corridor back to his room with the spoils of a few bags of crisps, practically drenched from the downpour outside.

"Thought you'd left for London?" Bradley stood, keycard in hand, in front of his own door.

"I thought you had."

"Nah." Bradley leaned against the pillar, hair falling into his face, looking a lot like the bloke Colin had met four years ago when neither of them had known what the fuck they were doing, a lot like the bloke he'd blown behind the trailers and then swapped a few kisses with before they'd both moved on.

Bradley's phone went off and Colin nodded at him as he turned to his own room and slotted the card in, waving goodbye to Bradley in the hall.

The quiet night in turned into Colin pouring over old emails and chat conversations accompanied by the thrill of hot arousal at the memories and the sickening moment of being left out in the staircase like a discarded old toy. He had his hand on his cock, jeans pushed to mid-thigh, as he reread his instructions to put on a skirt and get dolled up, stand at the window of his lit room and have Cardiff see him, then take a photo of his arse and send it, before and after he'd given himself a good fuck with the dildo.

Then the knock at the hotel room door, and Colin practically flailed off the bed, and did up his jeans, tried to see if he'd left anything incriminating, sextoys or clothes or anything, before he went to answer the door.

"It's me!" Bradley shouted through the door just as Colin pulled it open. "It's me," he repeated in his inside voice, the grin on his face a little unsure.


"Sorry about earlier. My mum."


"Right... right." Bradley carded his fingers through his hair. "So you're here this weekend, and I'm here. And you've looked like shit all week."

"Cheers, mate."

Bradley looked tired, too, lips a little thin and gaze jittery and a worn around the edges, the schedule taking a toll on all their lives.

"Scratch that," Bradley said. "Couldn't stand looking at the walls of my room a moment longer."

Colin nodded for him to come in as he tried to remember how to fit himself around Bradley, how he'd done it in their first and second year before the cast had got bigger and they'd both grown into the people they were today.

"There's nothing on the telly either. I checked." Bradley plunked himself down on one of the chairs, fingertips drumming against the back of Colin's laptop.

"How’s your mum?"


"The phone call, your mum."

"Oh. Fine."

"Right." Colin looked around the room, the glimpse of one of his skirts from the dresser drawing his gaze, painfully aware of the colour and Bradley's proximity to all the gay shit secrets he probably really didn't want to know about him.

"I thought you were seeing someone in London?" Bradley helped himself to some of the crisps.

"Yeah. Not anymore."

Bradley cringed and Colin felt almost sorry. "Wrong topic?"



Colin shrugged and tried to ignore the newly raw scratches under his skin at the thought of someone else being beautiful for him now while he had the scraps of that existence, a few clothes and some make-up and the memories that made him feel terrible and aroused at the same time, that made him still put on the dress in the middle of the night and pose against the white wall as he imagined the bright flash and murmured encouragements.

They settled on a movie to watch, migrating soon from the chairs to the bed, getting into spinning ever more macabre storylines to end the movie until the credits rolled and none of their ideas had actually played out on the screen.

They'd never turned on the light and when the laptop screen went dark they were left in the dark grey glow of the lights of the city. Bradley sat with his thigh pressed to Colin's, the bed's covers messed up at their feet. They'd been here before, fingers dancing over thighs, rubbing over cocks, Bradley's first and only taste of cock as far as Colin knew.

Bradley cleared his throat but then didn't say anything, and Colin missed the bed in London, missed curling up against someone and pushed off from the bed, shivering in the cool air before he could start missing the nights from before that with the person who was right here.

"Right. I'll fuck off to bed, then." Bradley stretched as he got off the bed, shirt pulling up from his stomach, and Colin looked, and Bradley caught Colin looking but didn't say anything, only smoothed his hand through hair and gave a small grin. "I'd be up for something tomorrow. Just give me a knock, ok?"

Colin nodded. "Good night."

"Night then."

Colin curled into his bed when the door fell into the lock and pulled up a video of himself, the awkward sashay of his hips, him kneeling and his lips closing around cock, the hand pushing his hair back as he moaned at the sheer privilege of sucking someone off.

"Good little slut, come on, pull at your tits. Show us your tits," he said from behind the camera and Colin in the video pushed down the straps of his dress and pulled at his nipples.

I miss you, he texted after he came and shut down the computer, and by morning hated himself for crawling on all fours to the bloke who'd fucked him over, cock hard and begging for more, as if that was all he was good for.

He spent the weekend by himself, walking through parks and down to the bay, trying to figure out who he was without those weekends away and someone telling him he was beautiful. He got out the toys and the clothes, ready to chuck them out to never see them again, but couldn't.

Another week on the set, another text or two or three he regretted the morning after when he woke in one of his dresses, the crotch sticky, and after the last text had, stop texting in his messages.

He dreaded the weekend as much as he dreaded the week, too much time on his hands making it impossible to focus on much of anything, and for the first time since school he wanted to get black-out drunk to escape the roll of shame, arousal, shame in his stomach.

He dolled himself up Friday night, thick streaks of make-up until he didn't recognize himself in the mirror and tried to chase the good memories. He traced his fingers over his face, called himself beautiful in a throaty whisper and tried to believe it when clearly he'd been nothing special at all, easily replaced with someone a little more accessible.

He imagined the boy wearing his clothes, fucking himself on a cock Colin had sucked before, and felt downright pathetic when he had his phone in his hands again, took a picture of his face and sent it in a message.

The knock on the door pulled him from the roiling self-hate. "One minute," he squeezed out with a dry throat and went into the bathroom, scrubbing a wet towel over his face to get rid of all the make-believe paint when he was ugly shadows and sharp edges underneath. He pulled on a t-shirt and boxers and opened the door.

"I got a film. No, correct that, the film." Bradley pushed past him into the room and flopped down on Colin's bed. Colin's phone was still lit, face-up, on the bed, open on the photo of himself in deep-red lipstick, glittering eyeshadow and dark accentuating mascara.

Bradley looked at it, then at Colin, and Colin felt the heat of his scrubbed face, imagined it must be a dark, vivid red.

"Oh." Bradley turned the film over in his hands.

"It's nothing," Colin said, voice hoarse and catching on his vocal cords. He crossed the distance to the bed and reached to pick up the phone but Bradley's fingers caught his hip as soon as he was close enough and held him there.

Bradley reached up and traced his fingers over his face, across his lips and eyelids and when he pulled away the tips of his fingers glittered a little.

"It's nothing, okay," Colin said again, half asking, half begging, and feeling utterly naked.

"Pretty sure it's make-up," Bradley said, voice light but rasping over the vowels.

Colin rubbed the back of the hand over his mouth, only too aware of Bradley tracking his every move. Just then his phone vibrated with a text.

Bradley glanced down, then back up at Colin, eyebrows raised and eyes wide. "New boyfriend?"

Colin stared at the wall just above Bradley's head. "Ex." No need to look down and see that the text was scathing, Bradley's non-verbal response said it all.

"Hm." Bradley picked up the phone and slid the text away. He still had his fingers on Colin's hip, tips pressing warm against Colin's skin through the fabric of the shirt and the boxers. "Can I?"

Colin stared at the small thumbnail squares upside down, the various photos of him in ever-new attempts at fixing all the broken pieces into something he'd look at. He nodded, then forced out a, "Yes," as Bradley's fingers slid down past his hip and curled around his naked thigh, thumb soothing back and forth, immediately and unashamedly physically intimate without apology. Colin didn't pull away.

He watched himself slide past, almost a video of progressively dressing and undressing, and flushed at the more explicit ones, the ones with his dick hard underneath a dress, a dildo up his arse or in his mouth, lips stretched red around it.

"You get off on it?"

Bradley didn't look up and Colin tried to read his tone, failed.

"Just, you didn't then when we... back then. Or did you?" Bradley asked.

"It just happened, with him."

"But you get off on it?"

"He likes it."

"Yeah." Bradley scoffed. "But you-"

"What's it look like?" Colin pulled away from Bradley's grasp.

"Looks like you get off on it," Bradley said and turned the phone around to Colin, streaks of come on a dress, his hole red and gaping a little, properly fucked out.

"Piss off."

Bradley, just sitting there on the bed, shirt tight on his shoulders and back, completely at ease with himself, rubbed all the sore spots raw all over again. Bradley, just sitting there on the bed, slipped back into his room like the two years in the middle had never happened, as well, while Colin tried his best to hold himself together and keep all the ugly edges covered.

"He says I'm beautiful like that." Colin instantly regretted the mocking twist on the word. "Said," he added, belatedly, quieter. "Said I'm beautiful like that. He's probably calling me other shit now."

Bradley slipped the phone onto the bed. It landed face down, hiding the secrets Colin didn't need anyone else to know. He looked at Colin without saying anything for a long while, fingertips skirting across the dvd box, then tapping.

"I'd've fucked the shit out of you looking like that."

Colin laughed. "Welcome to the club."

Bradley chuckled briefly, then shrugged. "I'd want to with you looking like this too though."

"Right." Colin shook his head. "Haven't seen you go for the awkward blokes the last two years."

"One," Bradley held up a finger, "one, they're not you. Two, you've still got no idea how ... beautiful you are, pardon the choice of word." He turned his fingers and flicked the V at Colin with a smirk before he leaned back against the headboard of Colin's bed. "Which one's your favourite?"

Colin was still caught by the first part of that and needed a moment until the question at the end fully sunk in.

Bradley nodded at the phone. "Not his, yours. Which one's your favourite?"

Colin picked up the phone and scrolled through the pictures himself, saw himself looking seductive and silly, hot and horrible, too fucking desperate and more often than not, like he was falling apart somewhere inside his own head. "This one," he said, settling on one of the black dresses that went to mid-thigh, thin straps, tight cut, something that moved every time he did and showed his legs and his chest.

Colin turned the phone around to Bradley, but Bradley shook his head.

"Show me?" He fiddled with the dvd case now, all of a sudden looking shy or turned on or both, lashes long and hair falling into his eyes. "You've got it, right? Would you? Show me?"

A car honked outside. Colin glanced at the half open wardrobe because, yeah, of course he had it. Just the thought of putting it on made him afraid he'd be tenting his boxers any second, but Bradley waited out his silence and his fidgeting, let the request hang in the air.

"You're not taking the piss," Colin said eventually.

"Fuck off."

Colin walked to his wardrobe and pulled out the dress, trying to forget the times he'd done it before under running dirty commentary. He looked over his shoulder to check if Bradley was even watching, and Bradley was, face intent. Colin pulled out the dress and held it up.

"Come here." Bradley beckoned him closer and reached to turn on the bedside table light, bathing the room in a yellowish glow.

Colin held the dress up to his chest, then dropped it in Bradley's lap, immediately feeling sexy as Bradley let out a small gasp. He gripped the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head, then shrugged out of his boxers. As he reached for the dress again Bradley stopped him, hand on his chest, and just looked him over. His gaze tracked over Colin's neck and collarbones and nipples, down to his stomach and cock, filling in, and thighs.

"No tits," Colin said. He didn't mention the choice words he'd heard for his chest.

Bradley raised an eyebrow at him. "I remember that much."

Colin remembered the feel of Bradley's dick in his hand, Bradley's mouth on his cock, the way they came back to filming series two and never picked up the loose ends of their thing, just moved on and past it.

"Always thought I should have taken photos."


"To have something to wank to."

"Fuck off." Colin pulled the dress from Bradley's lap, hiding the flush in his face, and the way it made his cock hard to think of Bradley behind a camera, Bradley directing him to pose and bend over and fuck himself on a dildo while he filmed, Bradley telling him to cram it all into his arse and how hot he looked stretched out and wide enough to take a fist, maybe.

The dress caught in all the ways it didn't usually. Colin tugged on it and smoothed it down, only stopping when Bradley’s fingers closed on his hip, scratching at a stain of dried come on the fabric.

"This turn you on?" Bradley asked, fingertips so fucking close to the outline of Colin's cock.

"Didn't know you'd gone blind, my condolences."

Bradley laughed and dragged the back of his knuckles along Colin's cock, then pulled him in closer until Colin had to kneel on the bed, knees on either side of Bradley's thighs and dress rucking up and straining under the stretch.

"How'd you feel the first time?"

"Like this?" Colin burned with the shame and arousal, with the pure sex of it and the edge of being too exposed and too ridiculous and waiting for the other person to laugh except they never did. "Like I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, like it looks shit like this, like I should shave but I'm not... it wouldn't be the same if I did."

"Yeah." Bradley ran his hands up Colin's thighs, fingertips buried in the hair there, skating close to his crotch but then smoothing up the outside of his dress to his chest. He rubbed his thumbs over Colin's nipples, made them stand erect and hard underneath the fabric.

Bradley threaded his fingers into the short hair at the back of Colin's neck and leaned up, kissing him hard, tongue pushing past Colin's lips and eating up the half-moan and the bit of spit and the utter surprise, and Colin let him. Colin kept his fingers by his side and let Bradley feed on the kiss, nip on his lips and push his tongue in deep again.

"Hm, nice," Bradley said when he pulled away and leaned back again. Seeming almost like an afterthought he pulled one of the dress halters over Colin's shoulder and let it dangle, leaving Colin's nipple bare. "You should get that one pierced." Bradley rolled the nipple between his fingers.


"Just a thought."

Colin clenched his fingers into fists, wanting to touch himself, or Bradley, he wasn't terribly picky now, but not sure if he was supposed to. His cock was hard, tip rubbing against the fabric of the dress.

"You like getting fucked?" Bradley skirted his fingers down the slick fabric of the dress, pressing it cool against Colin's skin wherever he touched.


"You like fucking yourself with toys?"


Bradley pushed the hem of Colin's dress up and revealed his cock underneath. "You like being watched doing it?"

"Fuck off."

Bradley's fingertips were close enough to Colin's cock that he thought he could feel the heat of them on his skin. Bradley stopped though, just short of touching him, and glanced up through his hair. "That a yes then?"

Colin thrust his crotch out looking for some contact, but Bradley didn't let him, only leaned in close again, stubble brushing against Colin's cheeks, breath damp on Colin's ear.

"Touch yourself while I watch," Bradley said, like they'd never left whatever they'd had years ago.

"No." Colin clenched his fingers into Bradley's jeans.

"You're dribbling for it, mate," Bradley whispered and Colin looked down. The precome clung to his foreskin. Bradley took his cock in the lightest grip and slipped the foreskin back, exposing the damp tip. "Come on, yeah?" He untangled Colin's hand from his jeans and curled his fingers around his own cock for him like he needed the guidance on the simplest of things. "Now, let me watch."

Colin kept his gaze on Bradley's intent face as he gripped himself a little tighter and moved his fist over his cock, hips pushing him through the circle of his palm and fingers. "Fuck." Colin tried to hold back the moan, but Bradley was hard in his jeans, bulging the fabric, just for this, and more than anything, that was the ultimate turn-on.

"Where do you have your stuff?" Before Colin could answer, Bradley had already reached for the drawer in the bedside table and pulled it open to a few dildos, a few condoms, the make-up and some clamps and toys that had featured heavily in some of Colin's skype sessions but that he could do without.

Bradley grabbed the lipstick. "Keep it up," he said, but grabbed Colin by the chin. He pulled off the cap of the lipstick with his teeth and spit it out, then touched the stick to Colin's lips. "I'm probably shit at it but you can show me how it's done later, yeah?"

The slick slide on his lips made Colin pump himself harder, arousal kicking in hard now as Bradley tightened the grip on his chin and Colin tried to not move too much.

"Won't try the rest now, you'd never hold still enough."

Bradley set the lipstick aside and palmed himself through his jeans. He curled one hand around Colin's arse and pulled in him tighter, made him shuffle forward until his knees were stretched even wider and Bradley could push his bulge, rough with the denim, up against Colin's balls.

Colin tightened his grip on his cock, tasting the lipstick with a swipe of his tongue and let Bradley direct the thrust of his body. Bradley cupped his chest like tits, even mouthed the words, then slid his hand down Colin’s back to his arse again and worked the material of the dress up until the material pooled around Colin's waist.

"You didn't used to trim," Bradley said, glancing down at Colin's pubes.

Colin hated the heat in his face, hated that Bradley could make him feel this exposed and bared with hardly any effort, hated that he got off on it. He moaned, then tried to catch himself from doing it again and failed. "I didn't know what the fuck I was doing."

"I wasn't your first." Bradley laughed, then opened his lips and let some spit slip from his mouth and drip to Colin's cock.

Colin slid his fingers through it and mixed it with his own precome for more slickness, pleased when Bradley's breath caught at the sight of it.

"I like it. Like that you didn't shave the rest." His fingers moved to cradle Colin's arse, pads of his fingertips tickling over Colin's hole. "Lube? On second thought..." He pushed his fingers into Colin's mouth, not even asking first, eyes wide and focused, muscles tight under his t-shirt.

Colin slid his tongue over and around Bradley's fingers, then tried to press up against them when Bradley held his tongue down to push just a little deeper. Colin sucked, tried for his fuck-me face to give Bradley something for his effort and Bradley grinned back, rubbing his thumb against Colin's sticky lips.

"Fuck, you're loving it," Bradley said, hips thrusting up against Colin's crotch as Colin ground down against him. He pulled his fingers from Colin's lips. "Now be good about this, no holding back, yeah?"

Bradley was so close, his lips practically brushing against Colin's, catching on the lipstick, as he reached around. Colin felt the spitslick tips at his hole.

"You want these? Come on, show me," Bradley whispered.

Colin tried to push back against them and still roll his crotch against Bradley, all the while listening to Bradley's breathless chuckles. Sweat prickled under his arms and in the small of his back. "Please," he said. "Just put them in, fuck them into me."

"Hmm. What's the biggest you've taken? You had a fist up here? A bottle? Ice cubes?"

Colin's mind flickered through the sensations, some experienced, some only fantasized about as Bradley pushed his fingers into him.

"I'll do it all to you, you know. I get to do all that shit to you now, and you'll be fucking loving it." Bradley grabbed for the lube, and Colin's arse got a hell of a lot wetter a moment later when Bradley squeezed another finger in. Too hard and too fast and just good enough for a harsh straining burn.

"Fuck." Colin's arms cramped with the motion of his hand on his dick, his thighs trembled with the strain of holding himself up in an awkward position.

"I'll have you bend over for me, showing off your hole, dress falling down over your head as I have a slow, fucking pleasant wank just watching you standing there and doing that for me. I'll paint you up and cover you in come, make you say the shittiest, dirtiest things to the camera and you'll love it."

Colin stripped his cock harder, leaning in against Bradley's chest until Bradley's lips were right at his ear and he was warm and solid underneath him, his fingers pumping away at Colin's hole.

"You'll wear a bra under your shirts. You'll layer it the fuck up, Morgan, so no one can see how much you're a slut for it, and you'll come just from me making you parade up and down in the room, pulling at your nipples until they stand out red and sore." Bradley rolled Colin's nipple between his fingers again, tightening until Colin cried out and tried to muffle the sound against Bradley's neck. "Maybe I'll dress you up and take you out, show you off as my girlfriend with the hair on your chest and the fur on your legs making all the lads check you out and wonder who the fuck you are. You'd get to suck me in the cab home. It'd be a treat, wouldn't it?"

Colin twisted his palm across the head of his cock as Bradley added another finger to his arse, coming closer with the bullshit dirty talk that still made him imagine every single scene. People looking on as he had no chance to pass for a girl and still let Bradley take him out in a dress, the way Bradley would reach over during dinner and palm his cock, how he'd slide to his knees in the back of the cab and have Bradley fuck the shit out of his mouth.

"Nice. Getting there, hm?" Bradley murmured.

Colin's pace stuttered, faltered, then picked up again and Bradley's voice turned into the background murmur that dragged him higher and harder and fucked deep into him amongst the wet squelching in his arse.

"Mess the dress up even more. It's your favourite. You like it like that, don't you, Colin? You fucking love it like that."

Colin needed another few strokes across the head, balls pulled tighter against his body as he ground them down against Bradley's crotch, and he came, shooting out over Bradley's shirt and jeans, his own dress and his fingers. He milked the come from his cock, dragging it out of himself as Bradley's chest vibrated with quiet, pleased laughter, smug bastard that he was.

"Shit," Bradley said when Colin relaxed against him, fingers still firmly up Colin's arse. Colin clenched around them and shuddered with the rest of the pleasure still coursing around his crotch and arse. He could easily just put his head to Bradley's chest now, close his eyes and breathe in him and just have him here.

Colin reached down and opened Bradley's jeans, fighting with the buttons, then his boxers until he got them pushed down far enough to get at his cock. He leaned down and pressed his lips to it, reaching around to his arse to keep Bradley's hand there when Bradley made to pull his fingers out, then mouthed along the length until he drew it fully into his mouth.

"Fucking shameless," Bradley muttered, leaning over his back to keep fucking him with his fingers. "You'd do it in the make-up trailer, wouldn't you? I'd put you in a bra and some nice panties, pink, yeah? And I'd open my trousers and you'd just drop down for it, let the girls do my make-up while you're between my legs trying to choke yourself on my cock with how much you want it."

Bradley's cock pulsed in Colin's mouth, getting harder and leaking salty-bitter fluid down Colin's tongue that he swallowed down. This was nothing like their nights in the hotels before, the ones that started at 2am and ended later, the ones they didn't talk about in front of the crew, the ones that had them quiet and furtive while Colin was figuring out what the fuck he wanted and Bradley was just happy to fuck something.

"Nice." Bradley sighed and set an easy pace, fucking his cock into Colin's mouth steadily, going deep, then trying to go deeper and Colin choked a little, gunk coming from his mouth but he went to take it all in a second and a third time until his nose was pressed to Bradley's pubes and his chin to his balls. Bradley thrust his cock up into his mouth and spread his fingers in Colin's arse and Colin had never felt so fine with it before as the straps of the dress cut into his shoulders and the loose fabric was bunched somewhere around his stomach.

Bradley looked like he lost himself in it, the fingers in Colin's arse going a little slack as he went to grip the side of Colin's face, his ear, to fuck him down on his cock. "You're loving it, just take it. Missed your mouth on me, missed doing this. Fucking wanking bastard, you could've had this fucking years ago."

Colin swallowed around the cock in his mouth, pressed his tongue up against it when it slid out and swirled it around the head, then took it down again. He let Bradley press his cock down his throat as he slipped his hand from Colin's arse and twisted those fingers into Colin's hair, then curl his hand around Colin's neck until the air got a bit tight, then a bit tighter, coughed around the cock when Bradley let him up for a breath before he pulled him down to fuck deep again.

Bradley went harder, and faster, then jerked his hips up and pulled Colin's head down and came down Colin's throat, not even asking if Colin would rather spit than swallow, just taking it for granted, and Colin had no objections whatsoever. Colin spluttered through half of it and sucked down the rest, the inside of his mouth coated in slimy come when Bradley moved his fingers from Colin's head and let him suckle through the last of it before Colin let the cock slip from his mouth.

Colin slipped from the awkward spread over Bradley's thighs to kneel on the bed next to him, brushing at his mouth and face and hair, picking at his dress. He smoothed the fabric down his thighs, probably a bit late playing at chaste when his mouth and throat hurt and his arse was wet and open with lube. The awkward moments after, when sex cleared and Bradley's voice wasn't the backdrop to just wanting to fuck himself open, Colin breathed through them and tried to make do with the quiet in the room.

Bradley leaned back against the headboard of the bed, face nearly blank as he tracked Colin's movements.

"He's right, you're hot like that," Bradley said, gaze moving from Colin's head down his body to his knees. Colin smoothed the dress over them, the black hair over knobby bones looking all kinds of awkward.

"Yeah well..." Colin trailed off and shrugged.

Bradley pushed away from the head board and knelt in front of Colin. He grasped the hem of Colin's dress and pulled it up, forced Colin to move with it until he dragged it over Colin's head and dropped it over the side of the bed. He looked around, then shrugged, and angled for the corner of the blanket. He gripped Colin's chin in his hand, held him when Colin wanted to pull the fuck away, and rubbed the blanket over Colin's sore lips. When he dropped it again, Colin's lips felt raw and the blanket was covered in tacky lipstick.

Bradley leaned in and kissed him, slow, a small peck with closed lips as he skirted his fingers down Colin's shoulders, over his collarbones and ribs, down to his stomach and hips, down to his soft, sticky cock and thighs.

"You're fucking beautiful like this too, though, and he's a fucking bastard that he never told you that."

Colin scoffed when Bradley's words tried to burrow under his skin and settle there, looked down at the bed between them.

"No, you don't get to-" Bradley wrestled out of his shirt and jeans, nearly toppling off the bed until he got his socks and boxers off. "That's me yeah, there's too much here, and fuck-all here," he pointed at his stomach and his crotch, at his chest and his face. "And that's that. And that's you, and you're fucking beautiful to me like this or if you want to wear a dress and get your hole fucked up and hear all the crazy shit I come up with."

"You fucker," Colin muttered, the words tugging at the ball of raw shit in his chest that had been scratched open again and again.

"If you want me to leave and then maybe I can drop by during the night and we'll not talk about it again, I'll take it, okay, but I'd be good with this, too. Watching some shit movie and then getting to fuck you because you want it and if you want it in make-up I'd be up for it. But you're so fucking gorgeous just being you, he was a twat that he didn't see it."

Bradley's words faded into silence and his harsh, impassioned breathing.

"Fuck you with the speeches," Colin said, looking at Bradley naked in front of him, face a little red with exertion and maybe embarrassment, but he met Colin's eyes right on, chin pushed forward like he just dared Colin to disagree. "I'm not chucking you out." He paused and looked over to the desk. "Still got lines to run."

"Ah piss off," Bradley said, but he lost some of the tension as he leaned back.

"I'll go for a shower first though so you got time to... clean that up and think of how you're going to explain that to room service." Colin nodded at the edge of the blanket, the lipstick twisted into the sheets underneath and the globs of lube on the mattress.

He went to the bathroom to step under the shower, both to get rid of the stickiness of things all over him and the bit of the sore feeling, to just have a few minutes to collect himself and find himself and put himself back together again.

"You won't send him any more photos," Bradley said when Colin was at the doorway. "He doesn't fucking deserve to see you like that anymore. If this..." he gestured between them, "if this works out or not, but don't give him any more to tear you down."

Colin hesitated then nodded, trying to figure out what he'd do with his nights now if waiting like an idiot on skype was out.

"You can send them to me though," Bradley called through the closed door over the first spray of water from the shower.

"Fuck off," Colin shouted back and laughed and let the water wash over him, taking that one moment just for himself.