fic: winning isn't everything (if Colin Morgan is the consolation prize) (original) (raw)

It's the end of a long day full of surprises. The London Expo is over, and Bradley and Colin are sharing a taxi home. Colin can't wait to have a lie-in tomorrow. Sadly, Bradley won't be experiencing the same luxury because he has to get up early for football, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. It's like waking up absurdly early to play Prince Arthur; Bradley never complains because he isn't exactly dragging himself out of bed, he's waking up to the best days of his life.

Now he and Colin are alone, Bradley wonders how long it'll take Colin to bring up Soccer Six...

"Why didn't you tell me about Soccer Six?"

Not terribly long, then.

"Didn't think it was your scene," Bradley replies a little awkwardly, staring out the taxi window.

"Bradley James in shorts? Sounds like my scene to me," Colin lives up to Katie's words as the "dark horse" of the cast.

Bradley had almost asked Angel and Katie if they wanted to share a taxi with them, but he's glad he didn't now because he's actually blushing. If Angel or Katie witnessed what was happening in this very taxi - some skinny, pasty Irish boy making him, Bradley James, blush - his reputation as, well, a god, of sorts, would be shattered. Something like over fifty girls - including full grown women - had made similar comments about Bradley wearing shorts all day. But when Colin hints he likes Bradley in shorts, he blushes like an idiot. Typical, is what it is. He hears the taxi driver chuckle at him in front, and Bradley glares back at him by means of the rear view mirror.

"You don't even like football," Bradley says, sparing a glance at Colin who - just Bradley's luck - is smiling at him with those precious cheekbones of his, and Bradley's glance turns into a lingering stare.

"I like you," Colin answers, as though that's a valid argument. And maybe it is.

"Yeah?" Bradley says, stomach flipping.

"Yeah." Colin tugs the aviators hooked onto the neck of Bradley's shirt. "You diva."

Bradley fakes an indignant gasp, grabs his sunglasses from his t-shirt and is moments from sliding them on when Colin plucks them from his hand.

"I think we've suffered enough prima donna Bradley for one day, don't you?" Colin slips on the aviators himself. They're far too big for his face, and Bradley resists the urge to giggle.

"Never," Bradley steals back his aviators, "wear sunglasses."

Colin looks at him questioningly, and Bradley really shouldn't say what he's thinking, but what has he got to lose? He's already blushed like a schoolgirl, it can't get any worse.

"You have nice eyes," Bradley tries to pass it off as a casual remark, and fails miserably. "You shouldn't cover them up."

Said eyes shine brighter than ever before. "I could say the same about you." Colin pauses. "But I won't."

Bradley scoffs with laughter. He can see the eyes of the eavesdropping driver crinkle in the mirror with a smile.

The taxi comes to a slow halt. Colin looks out the window and realizes they're at his stop. Bradley's almost tempted to tell the driver to spin around the block a few more times so he'll be with Colin longer, but they aren't paid well enough as actors to afford to do that, even if they split the cost of the fee between them.

"Thanks, mate," Colin says, handing the driver some cash. "Keep the change." He looks at Bradley. "Guess I'll love you and leave you now. But without the love part."

"You sweet talker," Bradley replies dully. "Get out of this taxi before I throw myself at you."

Colin grins, opens the door and steps out onto the pavement. Bradley slides across the seat and Colin leans down to say goodbye.

"See you tomorrow, then?" Bradley says.

Colin nods, and the way he's crouched down and Bradley's looking at him makes them appear like two lovers bidding farewell to one another, and the driver half expects a parting kiss between them. For a few moments Colin loiters, until he manages to mumble a goodbye, straightening. Just as he's about to close the door of the taxi, Bradley throws out there, "With a bucket and sponge?"

Colin leans down again and throws Bradley a playful smile. "Maybe if your team wins I'll give you a spongebath."

Bradley isn't use to such blatant flirting. When it comes to him and Colin, any flirting between them in the past has always been subtle (some would argue if it was ever really subtle). For example, telling Colin he had nice cheekbones, then covering it up with a comment about how "the ladies" would enjoy them. "The ladies" could enjoy them from afar, but if any got too close, Bradley wouldn't hesitate to kick a football at their face. Alternatively, another method of "subtle" flirting with Colin is by, well, bullying him. That method is particularly fun.

"By the way," Colin says, "Santiago already invited me."

And with that, he closes the door, leaving Bradley with his mouth open wide enough to catch flies.

"Who's Santiago?" the driver asks, turning in his seat.

"Ridiculously good-looking Chilean," Bradley replies distractedly, watching Colin punch the access code to the building leading up to his flat. "I didn't even know he was taking part..." His brain catches up with his mouth, reckoning confiding in a complete stranger is a bad idea. Then again, maybe it isn't, because strangers don't judge you.

Nonetheless, he doesn't feel like talking anymore; Colin's news has left him with a bad feeling in his stomach.

"Drive," Bradley tells the man in front, brusquer than he intended, and the driver twists in his seat and puts his foot on the gas.

***

"Nervous?" Colin asks Bradley the following morning as they walk up to the entrance of Stamford Bridge stadium together.

"I don't get nervous," Bradley lies, channelling Arthur. The fact that Colin will be watching him play makes him more nervous. It's only football - except you're not allowed to say that to the average male because it's like telling a child Santa doesn't exist: it only ends in tears and denial.

"Personally," Colin says in his favourite "incognito" outfit to blend in with football fans and Merlin fans alike: a dark hoodie, "I think you'd make a lot more money for charity if you posed for a nude calender."

"Well, I did ask Johnny," Bradley says sarcastically, "and he said it might ruin children's image of Prince Arthur."

"Enhance more like."

Bradley blinks at Colin. "You're disturbed. Remind me why I invited you again?"

"You didn't," Colin points out. "Santiago did."

"Oh yeah..." Bradley plans to have a word with Santiago about that.

Bradley should go get changed into his football kit, and Colin should go find a seat in the stands, but they're dawdling, and Colin is looking at Bradley's like he's debating to do something, and Bradley wonders what that something is...

It turns out to be a hug. A tight one. Blokes only hug other blokes in football clubs after a team scores a goal, and from where Bradley and Colin are standing, neither of them can see a football pitch, let alone a pair of goals. But Bradley doesn't care, because Colin's hugging him, and it's nice, really nice, and Bradley's arms come round Colin's back and Colin nestles his face into Bradley's neck and, well, this is turning into a bit of a cuddle, isn't it?

"G'luck," Colin mumbles, eventually pulling away from Bradley. He turns on his heel and walks in the direction of the spectator stands, and for the second time in two days Bradley is left staring after Colin bewildered.

The impact of Colin's hug makes Bradley forget what he's exactly doing there.

He looks down at the football boots in his hand, and it clicks.

"Footy," he reminds himself, heading for the changing rooms.

***

"So," Bradley says to Santiago on pitch. For the past five minutes he's been amusing himself by inventing new stretches. The majority of them seem to bear a theme: bending over. "You invited Colin, huh?"

Bradley really has to work on sounding casual (you'd think, being an actor, it would come easy to him) when he wants to interrogate someone without their knowledge, because Santiago looks like a deer caught in a headlights.

"Um..." Conveniently, Santiago's bootlace has come undone, and he crouches down, busying himself with that. "Yeah."

Anyone could have misconstrued Santiago's behaviour as one of a guilty man, but Bradley knows better.

"You have no idea what I'm talking about right now, do you?" Bradley says.

"Not a clue." Santiago stands up again with his hands on his hips. "Colin's here?"

Mr. Colin Morgan has been telling fibs.

Bradley smirks over at the stands.

***

The Inbetweeners lose at the semis, and Bradley wants to go home and have a good cry about it (or at least a good sulk - it's only football), but he has to wait for Colin first. He hangs around the entrance of the stadium doing keepie uppies with the football he received from a fan at the Expo.

"Fancy seeing you here," Colin says, finally emerging from the stadium.

"Small world, isn't it?" Bradley kicks up the football a couple more times before catching it and holding it under his arm. "What took you so long?"

"I was getting Omid Djalili's autograph," Colin says like a fanboy.

"Not a complete waste of a day, then." A sigh leaves Bradley's mouth. "Je suis loser has never applied more than it does now."

Colin's supposed to disagree and say how brilliantly Bradley played and how unfair it was that they were up against a team with an ex-pro footballer for a goalie, but there are enough people in the world to tell Bradley that. So all Colin ends up saying, with a teasing shrug, is: "Pretty much."

"Thanks," Bradley scowls, and Colin rolls his eyes and comes closer to him.

"Is there anything I can do?" Colin asks the pouting blond. "You know, to make you feel better?"

"Well," Bradley says, perking up considerably. "There is one thing..."

Colin puts his hood down with a coy smile and rests one hand on Bradley's waist, the other on Bradley's shoulder, before his fingers slide upwards to cup Bradley's neck. Then, Colin tilts his head and brushes his lips over Bradley's, and Bradley makes a noise at the back of his throat mixed between a moan and a swear word. Caught up in the kiss, Bradley drops his football, which rolls away forgotten, sliding his hands into the back pockets of Colin's jeans, urging him closer.

A sudden blare of car horns makes them spring apart, and they look over at the commotion on the road that dared interrupt them.

The commotion is, of course, all Bradley's fault. His football has rolled into the middle of the road, causing a mini traffic jam. Colin watches amusedly as Bradley runs over to save the day, Prince Arthur style.

"Sorry!" Bradley says over half a dozen car horns, collecting his ball. He spots a driver make a rude gesture at him through his windscreen. "Alright mate, there's no need for that!"

In the course of time, peace is restored and Bradley wanders back over to Colin, clutching his football possessively. He'll never let it out of his sight again. Same goes for Colin.

"Heroes never get a day off," Bradley says with an exaggerated sigh.

"I don't think it counts as an act of heroism if you caused the problem in the first place," Colin is quick to point out.

"Yeah, well..." Bradley tries to think of a good comeback, and then remembers something. "You told me Santiago invited you to make me jealous," he pretends to sound cross.

Colin looks at Bradley as though to say, what of it? "Did it work?"

"That's not the... well, yes," Bradley admits embarrassedly.

Colin knows exactly how to make it up to Bradley for lying to him. "There's a consolation sponge bath waiting for you at my place," he says, kissing Bradley one more time.

Seconds later, the toots of car horns start up again, and Colin pulls away from Bradley with a sigh. "Bradley," he groans, because he let go of the football again.

"Sorry," Bradley says sheepishly, chasing after the football a second time. It's Colin's fault, really. Something about his kisses make him incredibly clumsy, not to mention his hands prefer holding Colin's arse rather than a football.

In the middle of the road, Bradley bends down to pick up the ball, when a foot drops down on top of it. Bradley looks up into the surly face of a ten year old chav.

"Excuse you," Bradley says with a dirty look.

"I've got your ball," the kid states the obvious. "Where's Merlin now?"

Bradley wonders if it would be moral to punch a ten year old in the face.

"Merlin's here," a voice says darkly by Bradley's side, making him jump out of his skin. Colin holds out his hand the way Merlin does, his stare menacing. "Give him back his ball before I set you on fire."

The kid squeaks in fear, kicks the ball towards Bradley and promptly runs away.

There's a story to tell at next year's expo, Bradley thinks.

"And once again, Merlin saves Arthur's bacon," Colin says smugly, dusting his hands together.

"Cheers, Merlin." Bradley thinks about meat, as he so often does. "Do you have bacon at your place?"

Does Colin, despite being a vegetarian, stock his flat with several kinds of meat in case Bradley drops round? "I do."

"Let's go," Bradley opens the door of the nearest taxi, and Colin climbs in.

Their taxi driver happens to be the same driver that took them home yesterday. He seems pleased to see Bradley and Colin together again.

"Santiago out of the picture, then?" the driver grins.

Colin looks sternly at Bradley. "What's he talking about?"

"Um... don't ask," Bradley says, aiming a throat-slicing gesture in the driver's direction. "Drive." Bradley remembers his manners this time. "Please."