An Evening with Colin and Brad Rating – R Pairing – Col/Brad Summary – One night on the road, Brad confesses…sort of… Disclaimer – I really do apologize. I just got terribly inspired during the Akron show (especially after Colin grabbed Brad's … *ahem*…"privates"…) Anyhow, you know the drill: don't know, don't own, never happened, yadda, yadda, yadda. No copyright infringement intended, an original piece, no money made, no harm done. Pure fiction. Hotel Room in Richmond – One hundred-fifty dollars One hundred mousetraps – two hundred dollars An Evening with Colin and Brad – priceless Brad has a way of complimenting me in times like these. He's the big goofy frat boy type, and I'm sorta the opposite, not quite as confident, not quite as goofy, but actually I am. In a different way. Onstage, he's on fire, very personable with the audience, a raving lunatic at times and at other times, a serene show man, gathering ideas, moderating almost on a Clive Anderson type level, managing to rib the audience member as he takes suggestions from a slightly out of control crowd of upper middle class Whose Line fans, throwing out random suggestions…although, some of them I'm not so sure… Anyway, the point is, we have a certain camaraderie, he and I. I'm starting to know his touch very well, and I'm learning more about him everyday through his comedy style because Brad isn't exactly the sit down and discuss his life type of guy. He'd rather joke with you or scream at you or offer to buy you a beer. In this way, he's very male, very masculine even despite the types of jokes we do and the gay slapstick and the absent way he has of touching me, resting his hand on my shoulder or chest. I'm learning a lot about him. On stage together, we fall into a routine. He has his role, and I have mine, and it works so well neither of us knows we're doing it. It just happens and it feels so comfortable that I feel like we're just kidding around. At times, if I close my ears and pretend I don't hear the crowd bursting up with laughter, I could lose myself in the fantasy that we're still just practicing, alone together, being idiots in a hotel room. We smile at each other and get frustrated with each other and tickle each other with our hilarity and our insanity, and the crowd is like a whole other world, beyond the bright lights, beyond which we cannot see because we're so focused on this – and yet somehow so focused on the crowd. It's pure pandemonium and God, it's so addictive. After the show in Akron, he allows a few guests backstage, friends he knew from college, and I'm resting in an armchair, still coming down off my adrenaline high and nursing my sore feet. (Why do we do mousetraps anyway? Are we insane?) This is a very lovely theatre, though, recently restored, high, painted ceilings, very Phantom of the Opera - minus the chandelier, thank God. Several feet away, the sound of Brad's voice mingled with his male friends could lull me to sleep. It's a sound I'm used to, Brad's voice, deep and sure. Since I know there won't be any backstage visitors for me (these Akron people are such tightwads when it comes to security), I simply allow myself to drift off into a fantasy. It always begins the same, all of my fantasies. I'm underneath the lights, but when I open my eyes I always realize they aren't lights at all but the Tucson sun, bright but not hot, warm and inviting, kissing my pale Canadian skin, making me shiver. There is a hand behind me, but I don't need to see whose it is. I already know. And then, in the fantasy, he speaks. "Would you like to go swimming?" He always asks. "Nah." I always reply. "I burn easily." Then he always laughs at that - but affectionately. "Don't worry, Colin. You won't get burnt this time." And when his hand squeezes my shoulder, I am jostled awake by some kind of stirring around me. This time, though, here in Akron, Brad is standing over me, smirking. "I thought maybe you were wanting to skip the Richmond show." I'm sitting up, glancing at my watch. "Richmond?" He nods. "Virginia?" He nods again. "I told them you needed a few more minutes. Something about the ambiance here makes you sleep like a baby in the womb." I'm staring at him, eyebrows scrunched. "The womb? I don't know about that…" He makes a face. "Well, some other warm wet place then… come on, lets get out of here. Wave goodbye to the nice Akron security guard." I glance over at the tall older man who resembles lurch in a uniform. I can only smile wearily. Once on the road again, the driver merges into the onramp towards the freeway, and I drift easily, listening to the sound of Brad on his cell phone. He's always on his cell phone or on his computer, emailing or looking at swimsuit models. It's a shame, really. How he feels the need to be so convincing and he doesn't even realize it's overkill. He has so many wonderful qualities, as a performer and especially as a person. I let my eyes slide open and watch him drag a hand worriedly through his dark hair while he listens to the party on the other end. Since he's sitting just across from me, I reach over and touch his shirt, just enough to get his attention. He doesn't notice at first and then his eyes are on me. "Everything okay?" I murmur in a groggy voice. He seems momentarily startled until he remembers to raise his walls back up. His smile is then instantaneous – like a light bulb. He nods and waves his hand as if to say, "Oh sure. Everything is perfect. Thanks for asking." But I know him, and I know he's lying because even while he isn't yet comfortable divulging all his secrets, he reveals them in other ways, by the sit of his posture, by the nervous tapping of his foot, and the way his dark eyes shift beneath his heavy lashes. I let my hand fall back into my lap and close my eyes, hoping to arrive in Virginia at some point soon because I desperately need a shower and some sleep. The hotel is nice, and I brush past Brad and go into the room with the adjoining door and flop backward onto the bed. This is a move patented by my son who likes to ruin the springs in most of the furniture I buy, couches, beds, whatever. He loves to bounce and right now, I find it soothing and bitter sweet. I really want a shower, but the pull of sleep is stronger than the need to wash. The comforter smells nice, and I am burying my face in it, tugging it free of its severe tuck. The knock on my door startles me a little, and I stand, a little unsteadily, and go towards it. "Yeah?" I ask, testily. "It's me." Brads voice sounds far away. "You decent?" My smile is involuntary as I pull open the door. "Not decent – but I am dressed." He comes in, eyes rimmed in red, and I wonder if he's been smoking. Or crying. In his hand are two bottles. Once the door is shut, I examine him closely. "What's up?" He perches on the edge of my bed. "I couldn't remember if you prefer Vodka or Gin…so I brought up both." "Well." I shrug. "Usually Vodka. But neither tonight. It's already very late…or early…or whatever…" Brad's eyes meet mine, and he has a hint of his show face on, but it slowly begins to melt. "There was a lot of innuendo in tonight's show, huh?" I nod. "Yeah, but there's always innuendo. In every show." Brad laughs, a harsh, dry sound that makes me regard him. "There was a lot…" "What are you getting at?" I inquire, hoping I don't sound too forward. He shrugs, seems to retreat back into himself and takes a large swig of the gin, before I go towards him and take the bottle from his hands, screwing the top back on slowly. Now, he looks like a lost little boy who has just had his candy taken away. Then, his smile is back and he looks at the other bottle. "Y'know, the Russians were on to something when they made this stuff…" Reaching out, I take the other bottle from him and place them both on my desk and regard him closely. "What's up with you – and I don't want half-assed answers this time. I want the truth." He looks angry. "You know Colin. Don't play stupid." "I promise I'm not playing, Brad. I really have no clue." He snorts. "No clue? That's funny. I leave clues all the time." I make a face and fold my arms across my chest. "Well, since we're both adults here, I was wondering if maybe we could skip the games and just be direct for a change. I'm getting a little tired of trying to figure you out, week after God-awful week." Now, he looks as if he might start bawling, and I regret having been so blunt. He even wipes his eyes, and then he stands, and then he's kissing me, and I don't even know how he was able to close the gap between us so damn fast. The strangest part is that I'm letting him kiss me, and I'm liking it, and I'm kissing him back and my hand is buried in his thick black hair. "Okay." He says, when he breaks the kiss. "I'm sorry Colin. That was the stupidest thing I've ever done." He pauses. "Well…maybe second stupidest…" Listening to my inner voice as I feel my lips tingle, I shrug. "Okay. Well. We should forget that ever happened." He nods, but then he shrugs. "Yeah. Well. That's the thing, Colin. I don't think I can." "Well…" I'm putting space between us. "…you're going to have to try." He looks so pained. "I don't want to try. I want to kiss you again. You have soft lips, and I like your hands on me. It made me all gushy." He is using his stage voice, being goofy and being real all at once. It confuses me, but not as much as my desire to take him up on his request. "You've been drinking. You taste just like Jack Daniel's." He smirks. "Maybe. But I knew I wanted to kiss you long before tonight." I'm startled by his words. Even though a part of me suspected Brad might not be completely straight, I never would have guessed he'd be attracted to me – and even more, I never expected to enjoy it. I never let myself go that far with it. Not consciously anyway. And yeah, I've seen him in his boxer briefs and I've caught glances of him coming out of the shower and considered the dark hair in the center of his chest as he lay sleeping with a magazine draped over his face. Sure, he's an attractive man, but I know plenty about getting involved with someone you work closely with – and it never works out for very long. Especially if you let yourself fall, like I've done in the past. "Go to your room and sleep it off." I tell him, quietly. "In the morning, you'll have a better perspective, and you'll be sharp for the show." "No." He says in a soft voice. "Don't brush me off like that, Colin, it's pathetic. I'd rather if you just told me to fuck off than …" "Okay, then. Fuck off. I'm going to bed." He stands there while I push the comforter down and kick off my shoes. "You know you feel it too." He says behind me. "That's why you're acting like this. Because you're afraid." I turn to him. "And what, pray tell, am I afraid of? Kissy face? Footsie? Pretending with you? None of that, Brad. Been there, done that. I'm just tired. That's all." "Do you have feelings for me?" He asks, surprising me with his directness. I feel my face begin to flush and I find I am unable to meet his intense stare. "No." I lie. He snorts. "And you call yourself an actor…" "What do you want me to say?" I'm weary. He shrugs. "I dunno. The truth? Maybe?" Without much coaxing, I shrug and surrender. "Okay. I like you a lot, Brad. We've gotten closer, and I enjoy working with you, and I oftentimes fantasize about you and me at a Tucson resort – which is odd because I've never been to Tuscany…but I digress…I…sure…I think you're handsome…sexy…etcetera…but I've been in this situation before, and…I know things always turn out badly, and you and I have a good thing right now, and I don't want to blow it, so would you… please…go to your room, go to sleep…stop pestering me with this… please? I'm exhausted. I really am…" He lowers his head, like someone who has been defeated, and he looks absolutely, boyishly lost. Taking pity on him, I sigh and pull him into my arms and kiss his forehead, right beneath his dark bangs. His skin is so warm and I am drawing on that warmth, being sucked into it. My lips travel down to his eyes, now suspiciously damp as I kiss each lid, down to his nose, kissing the tip as he chuckles behind closed lips, a low rumbling sound between a laugh and a moan. And then, I'm kissing his lips even though I tried with all my might to resist them and their addictive sweetness. I promise I did. When his lips part, I let my tongue flow forward to touch his and the bolt of desire shoots up my spine like pure electricity, several hundred volts. His hands are still at his sides, and I wrap my arms around his waist, tugging him closer (he's like a huge, living, breathing, teddy bear, responding in his own way to my advances). I feel like a pervert, like I'm having my way with him even though I am merely reacting to him, practically devouring his mouth. And now Brad seems to be getting into it, licking the roof of my mouth, letting his tongues traverse along my teeth, lying against my tongue, making me inanely hot, making me incredibly hard. Pulling him forward until the backs of my knees bump against the bed, I sit and pull him down with me, him over me. Its awkward, but I love this, drinking in his scent and his feel, making his mouth swollen. I haven't had so much fun necking since first meeting my wife – and even then, I don't remember being so painfully erect. Brad's knee brushes me there, and I gasp into his mouth. Could this be a mid-life crisis? Somehow, I arrange us on the bed so that I am half draped over him and half next to him, pushing my hand beneath his shirt to let my fingers tangle in his dark chest hair, then over to a nipple. I don't know what I'm doing, and it feels like I might later regret it, but I can't seem to bring myself to stop. He feels like putty in my arms, lying there, watching me with parted mouth and hooded eyes, breathing deeply, smiling slightly. "Shit, Colin…" His hand finally reaches up to cradle my head and bring my mouth down to his. "…hands…so good…" I laugh at his spot on, cave man impression before sucking on his bottom lip and tongue and letting my hand drop down to his package, resting on the hard bulge beneath his jeans. He trembles visibly and I start to move my hand along the denim-covered length. Yeah, I've done this before – not with him – but with people. Brad is so male and so perfect, like a huge adolescent, goofy and seemingly inexperienced. But I also know of his depth and maturity, his sensitivity. He pulls me down for another kiss, and I grip the head of his cock through denim, making him shudder. "Unzip me." He groans. "Touch me, Colin." "Should I? Should we?" He nods, holding my arms in his firm grip. "Yes, Yes, God, yes!" "What do you like?" He smirks through his passion. "What you're doing minus my fucking pants…" without another word, I'm unzipping him and pulling him into the open. He's big and long, and I lick my lips to keep from salivating. Ten minutes ago, I only wanted sleep. Now, I want nothing more than to take him into my mouth. Instead, I dance my fingers tentatively along the shaft, trailing along the veins and down to the base, where he has a thick dark nest of pubic hair. Our eyes link, and he reaches up to touch my face. "Do whatever you want, Col." He says softly. "Anything." Smiling, I bring my mouth to his for a chaste kiss before bending my head to touch my lips to his cock head. It's fat and spongy and I give it a few little kisses, making him gasp. Then I lick his slit, dancing my tongue all around the head before taking it completely into my mouth. Brad shudders and cries out, his voice reverberating off the walls. Liking this sound, I continue to please him in this way until I get lost in doing it, relaxing my mouth and throat and taking him deep, trying desperately to ignore my painful arousal. God, he tastes like heaven. In another instant, though, I feel him tensing beneath me. "It's about to happen, Colin…Oh God…" Instead of moving my mouth away, I keep it there, keep him inside my throat and suck hard on him until he's shooting his sweet essence into me, moaning loudly. "Oh God, Colin…Colin…" He's trembling, head thrown back, arm draped over his eyes. His other hand is on my shoulder, squeezing. When I let him slip from between my lips, I smile slightly and raise my eyebrows. I don't want him to know I already feel terrible about what we've just done, even though I loved every minute of it. I'm plopping down on the bed beside him, and he rolls over to kiss my face, my chin and lips. His hand is on my head, cradling it as he does this, and I feel so badly that I can barely stand to face him. We've just crossed a threshold into bad territory – I know this because I have that sense of impending doom that has come over me only one other time in my life. "What have we done?" I whisper to him. He sighs, eyes drifting closed as his hands seem to come alive, massaging my chest through my shirt. "I don't know, but you think we could patent it?" It angers me that he could take this so lightly. "I don't know, Brad… for some reason, I can't seem to find the funny in this." Now his eyes open and he regards me, his hands dropping on the bed between us. "Gee, Colin. Lets not be a downer or anything." "I knew this was a mistake…" He snorts as I stand and start to pace. "Wow, this coming from a man who still has the taste of my giz on his lips…" "I know. I know. A little late for regret." Now he's just staring at me, resting on his elbows on the bed. No. I think he's actually GLARING at me. "You're such a neurotic asshole, you know that? You're so scared of history repeating itself all the time..." "Lets just drop it." I manage in a feeble voice. "I feel bad enough." "No." Brad is up, out of bed, standing in front of me with his jeans pushed down around his ankles and his shirt disheveled. His hair is standing every which way, and if I weren't so distraught, I'd probably be laughing. "You're not going to do this to me." With that, he pushes me backward onto the bed, and I find myself suddenly sitting on the edge. "Are you going to man-handle me?" I inquire lightly. "Is that the plan? Cause if so, please try not to injure my face. Fans in Richmond will wonder about that…" "Shut up." Brad grumbles before pushing me down onto my back and kissing my neck. Hard. "What the hell are you doing?" I murmur as his teeth start nibbling my ear-lobe. "Stop…" "You don't really want me to." He says in a muffled voice. "Besides, I happen to know that you have a little problem you can't fix on your own." My eyes shut involuntarily. "I'm sure I can fix any problem I have…w-without you…" Suddenly, his hand is beneath my boxers, grabbing and tugging my erect cock. I hear myself cry out from some place far away and he is straddling my hips, stroking up and down the hard length with both hands which are suddenly very slippery with saliva, and I am dying, so close already to the edge, I feel a deep sense of falling… "Uhhnn…" I'm moaning to him as my abdomen gets that warm feeling. Then, he's bending over me, kissing my mouth and murmuring to me. "I want you to fuck me Colin." My eyes fly open, and I'm looking up into his brown orbs. "What did you say?" "You heard me." He says, lying flat on his stomach next to me. "I want you inside me…unless you don't want to…" For a moment, I hesitate, thinking of the horrible ramifications of this, him hating me, me hating him, us falling in love, us falling out of love…it all seems so frightening, but my cock is harder than its been in a while and despite everything, I'm still a red blooded man with needs. Without further adieu, I'm tugging his hips upward so that he's on his knees, and I'm preparing him with two fingers, then three…then I'm poised at his entrance, ready to plunge inside. "Are you ready?" "Do it…" He whispers. "…Christ…" In another instant, I'm buried inside him, bending forward to kiss the pale area between his shoulder blades. "Oh, God…" He hisses, pushing back against me. "...Colin…" I must admit, it's surreal. I'm afraid to move for fear of it being over too soon, but I'm also a little confused. Why does he respond so easily to me? Why is he so hot for me? Why am I so close to coming? My hands are stroking up and down his back as my hips rock a steady rhythm against his. My eyes are closed as I let my fingers eventually find his hair and drag through the thick darkness, then come back down to grasp his hips, then his erection. Not long after, we're coming together, trembling and tumbling back to earth. I never would have imagined this scenario. Never would have pictured myself and Brad in this role – aside from the platonic fantasies I've been having as of late. Now, my come is deep inside him and his inside me, and the thought of it makes me a bit emotional. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. We're side by side, moments later, and Brad leans over to kiss me on the lips. When he pulls back, my eyes are open and we're staring at each other in wonder. "Do you think anyone will notice?" He inquires softly. My eyes flutter closed as he touches my chest, twirling the dark hair around his fingers. "Notice what?" My voice sounds a bit hoarse. "That we've had sex?" He chuckles, letting his fingertips lightly brush my nipple. "Yeah." I shrugs one shoulder. "I don't think so. Unless they're extremely intuitive." Brad makes a soft sound of protest. "Everyone picked up on you and Ryan so many moons ago." The mention of his name makes me wince, but I trudge onward, bravely. "Yeah. Well. We weren't exactly subtle, were we?" For several moments, there is a heavy quiet that falls over the room, and I am afraid to see the expression on his face. Even though I've had many relationships over the coarse of my time knowing Brad, none of them has affected me more than the relationship with Ryan – especially the way it ended. Not even my marriage. Next thing I know, Brad's lips are ghosting across my head, his hands cradling my face. I have no choice but to open my eyes and look at him. "This will be nothing like that." Brad says, gazing into my eyes. "I can promise you that." I nod, slowly, having no choice but to trust his words. I don't know if he means the wonderful part or the part about the emotional turmoil. Deciding not to harp on it, I simply force it out of my mind and pull him into my arms. He has a nice smell – like phantom traces of musk and good vodka, very male and very comfortable. My face is buried in the warm place where his shoulder meets his neck and his hands are trailing lightly up and down my sides. The late, late moon is giving over her bright light to the deep purple indigo of too early morning, and I disentangle myself from him only long enough to dim the lamp. Our stomachs are pressed and thighs are aligned, and I let him roll me onto my back as he begins to kiss my neck, gently, so gently. It doesn't take long before we have begun our sacred dance again – and it's a good thing too. I was already beginning to miss it. END