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Colin sneaked away from the filming – it isn't as if he is needed for at least the next hour and a half (probably more because Bradley's got to do a scene with the locals and those always take up much longer than planned) and he really needs some time alone. Of course there's the trailer as well, but he shares it with Bradley and the make-up artists and people from costume walk by regularly, and he needs some private time. He could have gone to the toilet as well but it would mean silence and a hurry. 

So now he is on the top of the highest tower of Pierrefonds, the balustrade obscuring him from view while he is trying to catch his breath from the climb up. He is still wearing his Merlin costume, and the large warm coat he gets on set each day over it because it can get quite chilly up here.

When he leans over the parapet he can see the cast work in the castle's courtyard – he thinks he sees Bradley's blond head but he isn't entirely sure. He hopes not, because secretly he wants Bradley to have followed him up here. The chances are slim; slim enough to be impossible, in fact, but it doesn't keep him from thinking 'well, maybe'. 

Then he sits down on the stones. They are worn with age, the creases between them hardly to be felt anymore, and dust and dirt have gathered where the floor ends and wall starts. His back is leaning against said wall, he faces the sky if he leans his head back against it as well, if he opens his eyes. He's got them closed though, intently listening for the familiar footsteps on the stairs while he spreads his legs a little bit, shifts so his position is more comfortable. Rubs his hand softly against his groin, the feeling slightly dulled by the soft material of his costume's trousers but more than enough to feel good.

He revels in the feeling for a moment, thinking of nothing and only feeling the slight breeze against his face, toying with his hair. Then the memory of Bradley putting his hand to Colin's shoulder – only half an hour ago, maybe less than that – comes back to him. It's what brought him here in the first place; the shock of touch each time Bradley bumps into him, each time his fingers trail along Colin's hand when he wants the script or how they graze the shell of his ear when they are sharing earplugs and Colin's falls out because Bradley is bobbing his head along too enthusiastically.

Colin just wishes Bradley would enthusiastically bob his head in other situations as well. As it is though, far as Colin knows Bradley is straight, and Colin isn't, so Colin has to limit himself to wanks up in Pierrefonds castle. His initial idea was to come up here for something quick and then hurry back to the filming, perhaps to read through his script for the next scene, but he remembers his lines and not a lot of filming is going on. Besides that, he has both his hands on his thighs, still clothed, writhing and his breathing speeding up from the minor touches.

He undoes the laces, cursing them because it really is a lot more difficult than an ordinary button and zip, especially now his hands are trembling slightly. Then he slips a hand in, cupping himself through his underwear. It's probably obscene, the way he is sitting here in costume, about to have a good and long wank, but Colin can't bring himself to care. What if he is a bit kinky. What if he really wants Bradley to stop by, and strains his ears in the hope to hear footsteps. So what if it turns him on, has his cock throb under his hand so painfully he pushes his underwear out of the way and slams his head back against the wall with a rather painful thump as he curls his fingers around the shaft, one by one.

Colin starts moving his hand slowly then, his head still pressed against the wall and his eyes still closed. He fancies he can still feel the exact place where Bradley held his hand, how he would have slid that same hand down if there was more between the two of them. 

He knows the slight callouses well enough, mostly because of filming though. Well enough to imagine what they would feel like on his dick. He also knows Bradley's steps well enough to recognise them from afar though, and that thought wins over the direct touch. Colin speeds up his hand a little, swiping his index finger half over the head and smearing the pre come along the shaft. Bradley would look shell-shocked, no doubt, to find Colin sitting here like this. He imagines the blond man would start blushing and stammering, having difficulty to find a place to look at, other than Colin. And Colin would smile at him, bashfully maybe, but most likely very sure of himself. He'd continue stroking himself the way he is now, occasionally resting his hand at the base to squeeze his balls, his other hand either curled in a fist or clawing at his thighs for more sensations. If he had oil with him he would probably-

Colin gasps when he realises a slight drizzle has started to fall, hitting his scorchingly hot skin and the sensations are nearly overwhelming. Far below he hears the muffled shout of one of the directors, to tell the cameramen to stop filming. He speeds up his hand because the chances of Bradley walking up now aren't as slim anymore, it's an actual possibility.

Even though he doesn't have the oil, he slips his trousers off further, leaving him to sit on nothing but the coat - it is long enough – as he spreads his legs even wider. Then he wets his finger by sucking on it, his other hand still steadily working on his dick, and slips it past his dick, past his balls, to press rightthere.

Images of Bradley flash in front of him, some of them real and some of them conjured out of hope, and a new drop of pre come eases the slide of his hand more. He squeezes briefly, cocks his hips as he pushes his finger in until the first joint. Colin knows all too well he is gasping, hitching breaths as he tries to keep silent out of habit, and almost trying to crawl up the wall as he puts his feet flat on the stones, his hips stuttering because it is quickly becoming too much now. If he wants to last, he should- he wipes his thumb over the head during each stroke now- if he wants to last he has to stop now but he doesn't because he can't, and he can swear he can hear footsteps in the distance, not in his imagination but for real and then-

Then he is coming, shooting his load over his hand and the stones and he keeps moving his hand, but slows down more and more until he stills, strings of come treading between his fingers and dick and the floor, and some drops ended up on the coat and his costume but Colin is too busy catching his breath, his body rapidly cooling down, to notice any of these details.

Eventually he gets up, his knees trembling, and drags his costume back up with one hand as he carefully tries to avoid the mess he has left on the floor. Colin has to keep his other hand away from his body, cursing himself for forgetting tissues because he should have known better, really. It is hardly the first time.

He supposes, though, that if he can make it down the stairs and then quickly slip into the toilets, nobody will ever notice. It's just his luck that he has to run into Bradley on his way back down, their bodies colliding because Colin wasn't exactly looking where he was going, and his hand – well, his hand is used for support against Bradley's chest, leaving the wet imprint of his hand behind.