Bradley and louis_garneau: Late Night Play
Players Only. The night after Bradley and Louis wake up together.
Bradley's really very glad that he'd had a chance to sleep in, a chance for a quick nap, and a chance on-set to work hard and focus on something besides Louis. It hadn't been easy, but work always centers him.
He'd had to explain himself--extensively--to Angel and Colin and even a few others in the cast, especially after telling them he'd be off again tonight. He can't blame them for their concern. He hasn't had more than a one-night-stand in the entire time they've been filming, so far.
Thinking over his friends' reactions, he makes his way through the streets to the now-familiar door of Louis's flat. The streets are quiet, it's nearly midnight, and the silence just adds to the anticipation building in his belly, the nerves singing through his body. He's half-hard already, has been since leaving set, and he takes a deep breath before knocking on the door.
"Coming!" Louis calls, padding down the steep coiled staircase to the front door. He's been here for a while, having managed to arrange his schedule and have Pierre take over the evening's training sessions. Marie had given him a look and even more of one when he'd said he wouldn't be in on Saturday, but he hadn't elaborated, simply told her he'd keep his cellphone on for emergencies. Still, he understands her reaction. He can't remember the last time he took a real day off.
He's smiling as he opens the door, having traded his suit for a pair of black jeans and a dark grey shirt, left open, his feet bare. "You made it," he says, ushering Bradley in, the door barely closed before he's got him up against the back of it, kissing him hard on the mouth.
"Yeah, I wouldn't--mmph!" Bradley can't even get the sentence out before Louis slams him back against the closed door and attacks his mouth. The gasp that leaves him is one of deep relief as he gets his hands inside that open shirt and touches skin, as he meets kiss for kiss, just as deep, just as needy. He hasn't been able to stop thinking about this, the way Louis makes his spine melt and his fingers tingle, and thank god, Louis isn't making him wait.
"God, fuck, been hard all day thinking about you," he breathes when Louis finally releases his mouth. "Can still feel it where you fucked me, it hurts so good, GOD, yes, please."
"I've been thinking of you too," Louis murmurs, and it's true. All through training, even with the most eager boys kneeling in front of him, he couldn't get Bradley out of his mind. Not that he'd tried very hard. He kisses him again, a little slower this time, tamping down the need, the urgency to enquire, "Have you eaten?"
"Yeah," Bradley says into the kiss, a little muffled. "Ate supper on set. I was almost too keyed up to eat, though. You've got me in such a state, I can't even believe it." He laughs at himself, and rubs his fully stiff and aching cock against Louis's convenient thigh.
"Then we should do something about that," Louis says, taking Bradley's hand and drawing him up the stairs. "Did you come up with a safeword?"
"'Arsenal'," Bradley tells him, holding tight to his hand and following him as closely as he can. "It's my least favorite football club," he explains off Louis's look. "Not likely to say their name in a moment of passion, am I?"
He lets a delicious shiver of nerves and anticipation prickle through him as they reach the flat. "Think I might need one, do you?" He hopes he doesn't sound as nakedly needy as he thinks he might.
"Well, I promised you a spanking, didn't I?" Louis murmurs, sitting down on the edge of the bed, Bradley drawn in front of him, his hands on the boy's legs, keeping him right there.
"You did," Bradley nods, his eyes avid on Louis, staying right where he's put, those hands hot on his skin through his jeans. He can see the hard bulge of Louis's crotch from here, and something loosens inside him. "You like this," he says. "You like it as much as I do, only from the other side." It's like a revelation. Louis isn't just humoring him, here. It's something he *wants,* just like Bradley does.
Louis nods. "Yes. I do. I like it very much," he says softly, wondering at Bradley's words. So hard and aching and wanting to get his hands on him he can barely breathe but knowing this is more important. "You haven't ever had someone want this from you before?"
Bradley glances at him quickly, from under his eyelashes. "Well...I've had a couple who seemed to like it okay, once they started," he answers slowly, wondering what had prompted the question. "But it wasn't something they really liked, I don't think. More like, they did it to please me. After a while I'd stop asking, of course. Just like anything, it's not much fun unless everyone's having a good time."
Louis smiles. He understands completely. "It sounds like you haven't found the right person to experiment with," he says, adding quickly, "before this." His hands sliding up Bradley's legs, pulling him closer, his shirt pushed up as he kisses the bare band of skin it reveals.
"Lucky me, then," Bradley answers, and it could be a joke but it isn't, he's entirely sincere. He lets his head tip back and his hips tilt forward, following the pull of Louis's hands, closing his eyes and soaking it in. The feel of Louis's mouth and breath on his belly, the firm hold of those hands, the way Louis had smiled before kissing him, like he understands and gets it and yes, Bradley thinks, he has *definitely* found the right person to experiment with now.
Louis continues kissing Bradley's stomach, one hand working his jeans open, the flaps back so there's more skin to kiss, lower and lower, his mouth moving over the curls at his groin, teasingly close to his cock.
"Oh," Bradley breathes out, shivering as he can feel a breath across the damp skin where his hip curves into thigh, and over his cock, and his knees buckle a little. He reaches out and rests his hands on Louis, one on his shoulder and one in that thick, silky black hair, holding himself up, balancing him against the desire to just tip over and let Louis have at him. Like a buffet or something. The image makes him smile and he opens his eyes, looking down, not wanting to miss seeing this.
Getting closer and closer to Bradley's cock, Louis takes his time, prolongs the tease, blowing over the tip and smiling as it jerks against his mouth. And then he's leaning back, eyes dark with the promise of more. "I want you naked," he says. "Undress for me."
"A striptease?" Bradley smiles down at him. "Gladly." He pulls his shirt off over his head with more haste than grace, but makes a bit of a show of getting his shoes off, then his trousers, one leg at a time, letting his hips twist more than they might, normally. When he's finally naked, he stands back in front of Louis, unashamed. He knows how he looks, and he's fully hard, cock standing proud and red out from his body. He's tense as a bowstring, too, wondering how this works, wondering how it'll all play out. Ready for anything.
"Beautiful," Louis murmurs, his own body reacting with appreciation to the show. He slides his shirt off and pats his lap with another smile, this one crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Get comfortable."
With a deep, steadying breath that he hopes hides the little tremble he's feeling inside, Bradley nods firmly and meets that gorgeous smile with one of his own. The way Louis is reacting is reassuring him, and he crawls awkwardly, inexpertly, into Louis's lap, squirming until he's in the right position. Arms on the bed beside Louis's thigh, legs sprawled on the other side, ass in the air. His face is probably flaming red again, he realizes, but he's too hard to care, too turned on and worked up and breathless to mind. He ruts his cock, just a little, against the rough denim Louis is wearing, and moans, deep and long. And he hasn't even been touched yet.
"You deserve to have someone who wants you this way," Louis says, running his hand over Bradley's ass, the unmarked cheeks, the slightly reddened hole between them eliciting his own softer groan. "Someone who wants to mark you, wants your pain and your pleasure..." he continues, rubbing over and over, his fingers dipping into the cleft, brushing against that tight pucker.
When Louis's hand first touches him, Bradley jumps a little, then settles, relaxing as he's petted and as Louis's words wash over him. They're almost hypnotic, or it feels that way, since as he's talking in that low, smooth voice, Bradley feels his eyes drift closed, his muscles unclench, his whole body and mind start to ease into acceptance. Surrender.
When Louis's fingers touch his hole, all he does is shiver and spread his legs a little wider, opening himself up, instinctively. He wonders vaguely if there will be marks. If he wants there to be marks. He thinks...he thinks he wants that, yes.
"That's it," Louis nods. "Relax for me. Here we go." One more rub of his hand before he lifts it, bringing his palm in hard across both cheeks.
Bradley shouts, hoarse and startled, his upper body lifting right up off the bed. It's a hot flash of pain, followed by a low simmer of some of the most intense pleasure--both mental and physical--he's ever experienced. He collapses back down, moaning, now, no words, just needy sounds. It's nothing like the half-hearted attempts of his few previous tries. This is very different and it feels even better than he'd fantasized.
"Good." Louis slides his other hand to the back of Bradley's neck, cradling his nape, holding him in place as he slaps him again. And again. Alternating between cheeks now, his thighs tightening against Bradley's cock. Making sure the pain is balanced with pleasure.
The hand on the back of his neck is the final straw, and Bradley collapses completely, every last bit of tension gone. His cock is rubbing between Louis's thighs with every slap of his hand. His ass is fiery pain, his cock is blinding pleasure, and the two are so mixed that he can't tell them apart.
Harder and harder Louis's hand comes down on Bradley's ass, the skin turning redder and redder. The leg of his jeans is damp, precome seeping through the denim and he smiles, hard and aching himself. It's a good start but he's certain it can be even better. Slaps the inside of Bradley's thighs, hard and quick, before turning his attentions back to those gorgeous cheeks.
Tears prickle at Bradley's nose and eyes, unexpected and overwhelming, and he whimpers. Then cries out again, loud and raw, at the sharp sting against his inner thighs, so close to his hole and balls, the skin tender. He bucks hard against Louis's lap, then back up against the spanks that keep raining down. He's mindless now and just reacting to every sensation with blind animal lust and want.
The whimpers and cries are perfect but they're still not enough and Louis spanks Bradley that much harder, determined to leave him bruised, with marks he'll see and feel for days. Slaps the inside of his thighs again, the lightest of taps against his balls, then a harder smack against his hole, before his palm's connecting with those fire-engine red globes, watching them turn that shade which'll mean bruises, glorious, beautiful bruises.
The smacks on his balls and his hole are almost enough to make Bradley come, and then the slap against his hot, sore, smarting ass pushes him over. He screams, thrusting hard into Louis's thigh and coming, shuddering and crying out again and again as the spasms wrack through him, more powerful than he's ever felt, more than when he was being fucked, more than anything. Ever. He's sobbing with it by the time the aftershocks hit, but his legs are still spread. Still unconsciously begging for more on that tenderest of skin.
Good god. "Good boy. That's it." Louis is stunned, and Louis is not easily stunned. To have Bradley come like that, from this... It's beyond his wildest expectations. And it has him so incredibly hard it hurts. "Hands and knees now," he orders, already pushing Bradley into position, his jeans shoved open, the condom virtually torn from his backpocket and ripped open with still-tingling fingers.
The order hits Bradley, still stunned, right in the gut, and he's scrambling to get himself on his hands and knees, helped by Louis's hands. His hole is fluttering, clenching, and he arches his back low and spreads his knees and grips handfuls of the bedspread, bracing himself, offering himself up. "Yeah," he breathes, voice a broken rasp against the coverlet, eyes still closed and blissful. "Please," he begs, simply.
Louis has never put a condom on so quickly in his life, a low groan welling up from his chest at the sight of Bradley with his legs spread, offering himself up, at the please that spills from his lips. "Yes, yes," he whispers, the words thick with arousal and need as he lines up and shoves in, burying himself deep before he starts fucking Bradley hard, so hard, holding nothing back.
It's somehow even better, now. Now that he's come, he has nothing between him and the feel of Louis shoving into his body, stretching his still-tender hole, slamming into the tender skin of his ass. And he's being fucked harder than ever in his life, Louis's thrusts so furious and hard that he's being shoved up the bed. He screams again, unable to hold it back, and slams his hands into the headboard, bracing himself to take it, head hanging down. The pain is electric, sizzling through his body like a charge, clean and sharp and pure. He finds himself loving it, drowning in it.
And Louis is lost. Lost in the tight velvet heat of Bradley's body, in the way his hole clenches around him, pulling him in, in the way the pain ripples through his body, making him clench even harder, in the sound of his screams, in the way he's surrendered, in the way he knows no one - no one - has /ever/ had this from Bradley. And it's that last that has him shouting out his own pleasure as he comes so hard his whole world goes white with it.
Louis's orgasm feels like a benediction, a gift, a victory that Bradley doesn't understand what he's done to win. It's glorious to feel him pulsing into his body, the sharp jerks of his hips and the sounds he makes. And when he finally goes still, it's like they're hanging in this silent, still bubble of perfection. Everything hurts in the best way he's ever imagined. Louis is heavy and wonderful against his back. His face is wet with tears and sweat and he doesn't care, just knows that he's euphoric, high, buzzing and sparking and somehow more peaceful than he's ever felt.
"Oh god," he murmurs, tongue thick in his mouth, turning his head and sinking down from his knees to lie flat, all his strength gone.
Louis nods, still panting heavily, fully in agreement. He eases out and collapses beside Bradley, one hand running over his back, petting him as the other quickly gets rid of the condom. "Mon dieu," he whispers, shaking his head, chuckling softly, turning on his side to look at Bradley after a moment. "Are you alright?" he asks, pressing close, his mouth brushing over his cheek, the taste of salt on his lips.
"Not...quite sure," Bradley admits, shivering a little as he rolls over and curls close to Louis. "I don't...I'm not...I don't even know what that was." Eyes closed, he buries his face in Louis's neck, trying to calm his still-unsteady breathing. "I've never felt anything like that," he admits, raw and honest.
"I know," Louis whispers, pulling the covers up around them and holding Bradley close. "And it's okay to be confused, or feel disoriented, shaky, sort of spacey after." He kisses Bradley's temple. "Don't rush it. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. We can talk about it if you want or wait until later. Anything you want to do is okay. Sleep, whatever." Another kiss. "Do you want me to get you some water or anything?"
"No," Bradley blurts, wanting more than anything for Louis *not* to leave this bed right now, even though his mouth is incredibly dry. "No, just...stay. For a little while. I, um. Spacey. Right." His thoughts are all a jumble, but he still feels that strange euphoric calm, and every time he moves, the shock of pain from his ass tingles through him. "Hurts. I like it. What's up with that?" He's genuinely confused and curious, and has no filter in place just now, to keep him from just asking.
"You're a masochist," Louis explains, keeping his voice soft and low, his hand moving gently, so gently over Bradley's skin. "You get pleasure from pain when it's sexualized, and you're submissive, which means you also find pleasure in giving up control, in offering up that pain to someone else." He's not sure how much of this Bradley is taking in, but he can always repeat it later; right now the most important part is keeping the boy calm and comfortable and feeling good about what they've done.
"Oh." Bradley lets this new information, stated so matter-of-factly and calmly, work its way through his pleasure-drugged mind, slowly. He turns it over and over, but can't find anything wrong with what Louis clearly knows so definitely. He's a masochist. He's submissive. Part of him breathes a huge sigh of relief at the *knowing,* finally, why he wants what he does. Most of him isn't awake enough to really process it at all yet. "And there's nothing...wrong, right, with that? Nothing strange, I mean. You seem to be taking it well." He's still speaking slowly, carefully, not quite back on-line but slowly getting there.
"There's nothing wrong with that, or with you, at all," Louis says, brushing his lips across Bradley's forehead. "All human sexuality's on a spectrum and you and I - we're simply on a different end of that spectrum to most people, but I assure you, despite what others might have you think, our wants, our needs, they are normal. Simply a different kind of normal."
"Okay, good," Bradley says, drowsily. All this touching, exactly what he instinctively knows he needs right now, is building trust in Louis with every gentle stroke of his hand and shift of his body. He can believe what Louis is telling him, it feels right. He doesn't feel broken or wrong, and it makes sense, the spectrum bit. Now that he knows how completely brilliant it is, he doesn't know how much he'd care even if it *were* wrong, but it's good to hear otherwise, anyway.
He tries to moisten his lips with his dry tongue, and fails. Finally opens his eyes, blinking, fighting to focus. "Think I'll take that water now if that's okay," he croaks.
"Of course. Hold on." Louis slides out from under Bradley and pads into the kitchen, filling a large glass pitcher with water and bringing it and two glasses back to the bed. He sits down on the edge and pours one glass, helping Bradley to sit up so he can take a few sips. "Slowly..."
Even though he wants to gulp like a man coming back from the desert, Bradley obeys, taking small sips and smiling as the water cools and refreshes him, waking him up yet a little more. When he's done, he sit up straighter, though gingerly keeping his weight on the outside of one hip, and runs a shaking hand through the tangled strands of his hair.
"I, um." He can't really find words, and can't quite meet Louis's eyes, either. Remembering how he'd screamed, fallen apart, begged for more like that. "That was...new. Good. Really good. Very new." It's weak, but he's British, and a man, to boot. He can't be expected to talk about emotions, just like that, now that he's out of that strange fugue he'd fallen into as soon as Louis's hand had smacked his ass the first time..
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Louis says, smiling a little into his own glass as he takes a sip of water. "I certainly did," he adds, watching Bradley, the blush in his cheeks, flushed straight through to his chest. And knowing it's time for a change in subject. "So, you have tomorrow off?"
"Yeah. Saturdays, off nearly every week unless we're doing reshoots or we're behind schedule," Bradley leaps on the new subject. "Gives us a chance to relax and recover, if we've been doing fight scenes or Colin's blown his voice out again, whatever." In this case, having the skin of his bum blistered by Louis's hand. And isn't this going to be fun to try to hide from his cast-mates?
"And you? Do the people who run posh resorts take weekends, or is it your busiest time?" He's genuinely curious. Louis has said so little about his work.
"They're not really resorts," Louis says, finally correcting the misunderstanding. "We do have a few more resort-like properties for our members, in the Caribbean, the Alps, but the castle, the places in the States, they're more clubs - like the old gentlemen's clubs, only private, both genders, and there's not really a busier time, except for when we're," merde, "training new employees..." He takes another sip of water. "I hope I'm not being presumptuous but I did have Marie clear my schedule..."
"No, that's, that's good, that's great," Bradley hastens to assure him, his whole face breaking out in his smile. "I did invite you to come play football with us, after all. Though, um, I might be sitting this one out. Standing this one out, rather." He shifts, and winces. "I don't suppose you have any pain meds in this great big place, do you? I don't really want to, but I think I'd best get a head start on some of these aches."
Louis nods, reaching into the bottom drawer of the nightstand for the first aid kit he keeps there. "I have paracetamol, ibuprofen, these have codeine.." he says, opening the case and rifling through the pill bottles. "Do you have any allergies?"
Bradley blinks at the fully-stocked med kit that Louis magicks up out of his bedside table. Looks like the man never has to be without his pain meds, or plasters, or antibiotic cream, or...he's seen stranger things in bedside tables, yes, but this is just plain odd.
He shakes his head, dismissing the thought. "Ibuprofen. And no, no allergies, but if I take anything with codeine right now I'll be in a coma for the night. I think I need a wash and more water before that happens, so I'll stick with the ibuprofen, thanks."
Louis shakes out two ibuprofen into Bradley's palm and refills his water glass, the first aid kit put back in the drawer. "Do you want help getting into the shower?" he asks. Or with washing up. Although god knows where that would lead. Probably with more washing being needed.
"Stocking up for the war, are we?" Bradley jokes, then off Louis's blank look, tips his head towards the drawer as he swallows the pills. "The kit, in your drawer? Looks more like a medic's bag than the sort of thing you see in a bedside table. Anyway, cheers. I think...I think if you help me get into the shower, we might never get out, and then we'd be right back where we started."
He starts, slowly and carefully, easing himself out of Louis's embrace; as little as he wishes to do so, he's sticky and sweaty and desperately needs a moment to clear his head. Process.
"There are fresh towels on the rack," Louis points out, frowning a little, thinking about what Bradley just said. "Washcloths under the sink." He guesses it is fairly strange to have such an extensive first aid kit right there, beside the bed. Which means there are all sorts of places and things with which he could slip up. Especially with this level of intimacy. He sighs, then frowns again as his phone rings. Marie. He adores her, but you would think he could have one night off.
"Okay, sounds good," Bradley says, waving off Louis's frown. "It's perfect timing, really. I shower, you talk on the phone..." he winces as his feet hit the ground and he straightens up, gingerly, shaking himself all over like a dog, trying to loosen everything up. Hot water sounds like heaven. He can only imagine what his ass looks like right now.
"Bonsoir, Marie," Louis answers, watching Bradley slowly make his way to the bathroom, and hoping the boy will have enough sense to overcome any false sense of pride and call for him if he needs help. ^No, you're not interrupting anything. Not right now at least. What do you need?^
The hot water is both a blessing and a curse; it's like fire on the sensitive skin of his ass, and he yelps and jumps, before forcing himself to just stand there until he can adjust. After that, it's brilliant, washing away sweat and come and the tears he's not really thinking about right now.
He'd come apart at the bloody seams. A few firm slaps had had him a shivering, shaking, moaning wreck, and he is still wrapping his mind round the fact that he adored every second. That he's already craving more. He wonders if this is some kind of strange addiction, or if Louis has cast some kind of spell on him...then laughs off his own imaginings as he washes the shampoo out of his hair.
When he makes it out of the washroom, towel around his waist, Louis is still on the phone, still half-naked, but looking rather irritated, now. Bradley raises a curious eyebrow at him.
Louis holds up a finger to indicate he won't be much longer. ^I'm not coming back tonight,^ he says, keeping his voice fairly low, although he highly doubts Bradley can understand much of what's being said. ^Have Pierre detain him in his room until his master can get there.^ He sighs and rolls his eyes, shoving a hand back through his hair. ^Well, we're not babysitters and we're certainly not jailers, so if the boy doesn't want to be there, his master will have to take care of him.^
Bradley scrubs at his wet hair with another towel, not-really-listening to Louis's conversation (it's all in rapid-fire French that he has no hope of understanding anyway), but wincing a little at the tone, all long-suffering exasperation. He wouldn't want to be the person putting that expression on Louis's face, that's for sure.
Finally as dry as he's going to get, he drifts into the kitchen. All that kinky sex has made him hungry, and he opens the fridge, browsing through its contents like he's at home.
Seeing Bradley start going through his fridge makes Louis smile a little, but he sighs again, listening to Marie explain how the boy is freaking out and refuses to be calmed and that Pierre's English is not up to the task of talking the boy through his meltdown. ^What about Anton?^ he asks. ^Has he gone back to L.A. yet?^
He waits for a moment while Marie checks, walking over to the kitchen and pointing out the Parma ham in the fridge, the vegetables in the lower bin and the cheese and fresh bread in the upper cupboard. All the makings of a huge sandwich. He also opens the lower cupboard and points out the stash of potato chips and beer, ruffling Bradley's hair before he turns back to the phone. Wonderful. Anton is still there. ^Have him talk to the boy. Move him to another room, one of the VIP rooms if you need to, and let him know he won't be touched until he talks with his master.^
It's rather cool to have Louis's attention, even for something as small as pointing out the makings of a truly epic sandwich, and Bradley grins his thanks, even as he can hear an agitated voice through the cell phone start up again as Louis walks away. Poor guy can't get a night off.
Slipping into his boxer-briefs first--nothing rougher than that, ta very much--he's contemplating the merits of the strong brown French mustard vs. the mayonnaise, when Louis finally hangs up, with a firm "au revoir" that even Bradley can understand.
"Always on call, hey?" he calls sympathetically. "Here, come have some of this, I've made too much for just me."
"No, thank you. I ate earlier," Louis says, pulling out a couple of chairs from the table. "But I will watch you." He grins. "And you can hand me one of those beers."
"Absolutely," Bradley gets him one, and goes to sit at the table, and hesitates. When he's not thinking about it he can forget, but the moment he sits, he's more than a little worried about what will happen.
Still. He needs to practice, for tomorrow. Gritting his teeth, he slides into his chair.
It's surprisingly not too bad. A low burn of heat that's kind of...nice, actually, and an ache that's far enough under the surface that it's not like he's sitting on sunburn, or something like that.
"Won't lie, that one had me a bit worried," he says, with more than a little relief as he settles in and hands over the beer. "I've had bruises before, on my tailbone even, but nothing quite like this." The more he treats it like a bizarre sporting injury, the less strange and scary it feels.
"Are you regretting it?" Louis asks, twisting off the cap and taking a long swig, the better to calm his irritation with work.
"No," Bradley says, frank and a little raw, still. "No, definitely don't regret it. It was...something else. I didn't even realize..." he trails off, shaking his head, and takes a big bite of his sandwich. He cuts his eyes at Louis, and finds himself staring a little at the working of muscles in that long throat as he swallows. "You did, though," he points out. "You knew just what to do, didn't you. You...have you done this sort of thing? Often, I mean?"
Louis weighs the truth against what might be too much of a white lie later on, and settles for a compromise. "I know what I'm doing, yes. I've identified as a dominant most of my life," he says softly, "and I enjoy playing that way."
"I can tell you enjoy it," Bradley says, flashing him a quick grin. "It...made me enjoy it. Knowing you were. Even after I'd come. I'm awfully glad you *do* know what you're doing, since I've no bloody clue."
Louis grins back. "Well, you can either stumble through with someone else who doesn't know what they're doing or you can end up with someone who's experienced teaching you. Personally, I preferred having a mentor."
"Like losing your virginity," Bradley laughs, nodding. "You always want to be sure you're doing it with someone who knows a hell of a lot more about it than you do, otherwise you end up with a great deal of fumbling, and someone inevitably gets an embarrassing sprain."
"Or you end being scared of trying it again," Louis says, taking another sip of beer. "Speaking of which, how old were you?"
Bradley has to swallow his mouthful before he can answer. "Fifteen. There was embarrassing fumbling *and* a sprain, but it didn't put us off from trying again the next week. Thank god. A year later I tried it with a girl--not bad, she was just missing some important bits, you know?--so. Those were my firsts." He smiles, a little nostalgically. "Things were a little simpler, then."
"Your first was another boy?" Louis smiles. "That's unusual from what I've heard, although I've actually never been with a woman..."
"Never?" Bradley knows there are probably plenty of men who haven't, but for some reason, it surprises him, with Louis. As if he's having trouble imagining him *not* having done something in bed. "Not even to see what the fuss is all about? And, well, I knew right off I was queer as anything, it wasn't exactly a surprise."
Louis laughs, shaking his head. "Never. I can appreciate them like fine artwork, but sexually, I have absolutely no response, no reaction."
"Huh." Bradley nods at that. "When I was sixteen I'd've fucked anything that held still long enough, probably. The libido never really went away, I just got a bit choosier with my partners, is all." He sends a flirty little look Louis's way. "Lucky for me, or I'd have been off with some tosser on my day off, instead of accidentally breaking into your secret compound."
"When I was sixteen I was at an all-boys boarding school and I did fuck anything that held still long enough," Louis laughs, thinking of the wide swath he and Josh had cut through the school's numbers. "But yes, I'm glad you're choosier. You said you don't usually have sex with them though..."
"No, I don't," Bradley admits, finally setting down what's left of his sandwich and wiping his mouth with the napkin. "It's...intimate, for me. It makes me feel funny, if it's done right. Well, I mean, a good proper fuck, and that's not something I want to do with just anyone. I always thought there was something wrong with me, but you said...submissive. I think, maybe, that's what it is?" He looks to Louis for confirmation.
"It could be," Louis nods. "If you find yourself in what's called subspace when you're being fucked - the whole thing where you feel like you're flying, floating, where you feel sort of like you're under water, or just under, then yes, that's probably it. It's a very vulnerable state to be in, especially with someone you don't know or who doesn't understand it and can't respond to you or your needs properly."
Bradley's face lights up like someone's turned a switch. "There's a name for it? Seriously? That's brilliant. I've...sometimes had to pretend I was sleeping. Had a few blokes laugh at me. Shove me off, that kind of things, which is pretty much why I don't fuck anymore...not unless it's someone I click with. Who I can...trust." It's a lot to admit, but there's something about Louis he's trusted since the very beginning. He'd never have gone on that date, otherwise. He's no fool. But this...the way he feels around this incredible man, it's something unique in his experience. "Thank you," he says simply. Thanks for the information, for taking care of him after, for making it good, and he hopes Louis understands.
"You're welcome," Louis responds, smiling. "I'm glad you felt you could trust me, especially after how we met. I thought I got a certain vibe from you, but my intuition isn't always entirely accurate. Not to mention that I would have asked you for dinner anyway," he adds, knowing it's the truth, that he'd taken one good look at this man, his smile, that mouth, those eyes, and known he had to find out more.
"I mightn't've said yes...well, maybe I would have, you're that gorgeous," Bradley admits, realizing he's flushing with the praise and glancing down, feeling oddly shy. "But probably wouldn't have done...what we did. If you hadn't had a vibe about you, too. Like you're someone I could trust to take care of me if...you know. Things got intense. Maybe it's those great big bloody shoulders you've got," he grins, suddenly, tone changing to a tease. "Or your eyes. You've got smiling eyes. Very trustworthy, that."
Louis sits there for a moment then crooks a finger at Bradley, beckoning him across the table.
Puzzled but trusting, Bradley stands--carefully--and moves around the table until he's standing right in front of Louis. He quirks a questioning brow at him, but doesn't ask. Just waits.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to bite you. Not right now," Louis clarifies, eyes sparkling. "I simply want you closer." He reaches out for Bradley's wrist and gives it a gentle tug, pulling him to sit on his lap.
"Oh. Well, that's all right, then," Bradley says lightly, though inside he's shivery again, at this simple intimacy. He fits perfectly on Louis's lap, just the right height to lean back comfortably against his shoulder, to curl up in the cradle of his thighs and body and make himself comfortable.
He sighs, and relaxes, letting himself go limp, trusting Louis to hold him.
Holding Bradley feels right, incredibly right, and Louis wraps his arms around him, enjoying the closeness. "I want you to know that I'm willing to talk about anything you want," he says softly, more concerned than he's ever been about misstepping with anyone. "Your fantasies, the things you've read about, any questions you might have. I'm also willing to do almost anything you're interested in trying. But I also want to get to know you. I don't want you thinking that I've seen this thing in you and that it's all I'm interested in. I want to know more about your work, your friends." Usually so composed, he finds himself struggling to explain, his excellent grasp of English still not enough for the nuances of what he wants to convey. "I don't usually do this. Sex, yes, but wanting more - on one hand I don't want to scare you away by being too serious, but I also don't want you thinking this is only a fling for me."
Bradley turns his face into Louis's chest. He can hear the tension and the struggle in his voice, and finds himself wanting to do what it takes to make sure this man knows that he understands. That he feels the same way.
"If it were just a fling," he answers quietly, "I'd not be here at all. We'd've had a nice bit of play in the bed and gone our separate ways, and I certainly wouldn't be spending my evening in your lap. Or keeping my brain awake after 2 am, trying to make sure I don't say the wrong thing. Of course, it sounds like you're doing the same thing as me, there."
He tips his head back so he can meet Louis's eyes, and smiles into them. "Sounds like we'd better just figure it out as we go, yeah? I want the same thing as you. I want to see how you play chess and see if you can teach me how without me wanting to kick the board over or something, and I want you to meet my mates, so I can show you off. 'Course, it doesn't hurt that you can help me. It's been bothering me for ages, this thing, I didn't understand why I was different, and now I do, a little, and it's amazing. So, yeah."
He cocks his head. "I think that's the most I've said in one go, without a script, in years."
Louis laughs. "Well, I tend to say lots but very little of it personal," he says, giving Bradley one kiss and then a second for good measure. "And now that you've reminded me of the time, we should probably see about getting some sleep. If you're sitting out the football game, are we still watching or should I come up with something else for us to do?"
"I've got to be there for the match, even if it's just our Saturday pickup game," Bradley insists. Then kisses Louis back, just because he can, long and lingering. "I won't be able to resist playing, either, sore bum or no, but you can give it a miss if you like and we could meet up after. Whatever suits you best."
"No, no, if you're going to play, I want to be there." How could he resist? "But for now, bed. I'll be there in a minute."
"Okay. Have a nice shower." Bradley kisses him again, light and quick, and slides off his lap. "Bed it is, for me." He yawns, unexpectedly, then shakes his head as he stretches. "Great sex, great food, I can't believe I'm still awake. Just shove me over if you need to, I don't think a bomb would wake me." He grins at Louis, and heads off straight to bed. He knows he'll be asleep before his head even hits the pillow.
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