DVD Extras - London
Mar. 20th, 2011 02:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sonora_conejaPairing: Liam/Bradley
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Summary: A fill for this prompt over at the kink meme
This comment:
GUYS! Bradley Cooper was on The Graham Norton Show and so was Liam Neeson
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o6phsgzyFzQ @2.30 for adorable hugs.
The rest of the interview is hilarious too. B.Coop is so charming.
Led to this request:
They are SO comfortable with touching one another. No boundaries. Not a single one. There's not a even a hint of 'can I?'. They just do.
Will you? Will you please write the 'let's have a drink together' and then some 'I missed you like fire' sex?
Please?
Liam’s filming in London, Bradley’s in town, and they’re both on the Graham Norton Show. Afterwards, Liam takes Brad out, and somehow, they both wind up back at his apartment.
“Do I hear the patter-pat of enormous Oscar-nominated shoes? Yes, he’s here, please welcome the great Liam Neeson, everybody!”
Brad jerks a little bit on the huge red sofa, hearing that name.
Liam...
He’s been a little pissed about this all evening, actually. He just found out that Liam was going to be here, right before he went on. He had to deadpan about him earlier in the show, Graham asking him a bunch of questions about the man, and Bradley kept having to cover his slip-ups, keep his face blank, make sure the audience didn’t know what he was really thinking about - those hands, that cock, the way Liam sounds when he’s whispering I love you, Bradley...
And why the ever-loving fuck didn’t his agent mention that Liam was going to be on the same damn night as him? Why didn’t he know that Liam was going to be this close while he was in London? Why didn’t...
But then there he is, coming out of the back, coming round, and there’s absolutely nothing else right now, nothing but him.
Bradley’s on his feet in an instant, way before everybody else, probably drawing their attention, but fuck them.
They get handshakes. He gets a hug.
It’s awkward, far too much space between them, and Liam’s trying to say something to him he can’t quite make out, but Bradley doesn’t care. Being able to touch again, touch the man in any way... Even if he does have to get through the rest of this interview now, wanting nothing more than to have Liam kiss him senseless on national TV.
Liam’s sitting next to him, too. Just within arm’s reach. Brad can’t really help it if he reaches over a few times, casual, something between friends. He knows he’s got a big shit-eating on his face and the way he’s looking at Liam probably constitutes oogling, but he can’t help that either. He needs this, needs his man back, those hands, that cock, those whispered “little I love you”s...
He needs Liam.
But Liam’s pretty blank right now and he’s not really responding to anything Bradley’s doing or feeling. Just talks about that next Clash of the Titans movie he somehow got roped into filming and that last movie he did.
Nothing for Brad.
But he does lay a hand on Bradley’s knee, does give him a few little side glances, and the American actor feels his insides start to melt, all over again. It’s not much, but it’s more than enough.
Liam still wants him.
And Bradley sure as shit still wants Liam.
Even if, after the interview, he has to wait for a while. Liam had been talking to a couple different people, Brits that the younger man doesn’t recognize, but he doesn’t mind.
He’d wait forever, if it meant seeing this, Liam walking down the empty hallway towards him, a big, genuine smile on his face, arms opening, and Bradley rushes into all of that, letting his lover wrap him up in a longer, closer, better hug than they got on the stage.
"So," Liam rumbles as they break apart, rubbing that spot on Bradley's neck, the one that makes him limp and happy, every time, the place he always liked to bite, "what did you tell them about me?"
Oh, that's right. Graham had mentioned that to Liam, hadn't he, how he'd asked Bradley about Liam at the start of the interview. And the American feels his cheeks growing hot. Damn. That had been embarrassing.
"I told them you have big hands," he says softly.
"Big hands, lad? That's what came to mind for you?"
"I love your hands," he murmurs, pressing in again. "And I couldn't tell them about that kraken in your..."
Liam makes a face, and touches him, right under the chin, lifting him up for a better angle. "I really hate that term, lad," he says, no heat in the words.
"But it applies, doesn't it?" Bradley asks, and tilts up higher, knowing he's begging and not caring at all, fingers playing on Liam's shirt. "And I love that, too..."
"Sweet boy," the older actor says softly, and kisses him at last. A quick, fast little peck, their first kiss in so, so long...
Bradley's body reacts immediately, opening in invitation, but Liam's got a finger on his lips, holding him back. Public, he knows, and nods sadly. Backs down. Backs away. Awkward again. "So..."
Liam squeezes his shoulder in apology, and smiles, blue eyes alight. "Want to go get a drink, Bradley? I know a few good pubs..."
+++++
Turns out Liam doesn’t just know one or two good pubs.
He knows every pub in his neighborhood and a few others besides, each more crowded than the last, the beers all different and good, he says, but Brad’s pretty sure they’re going to get mobbed. Thankfully, Liam just guides him back out any time the squealing starts, and they finally end up at a place that’s fairly quiet. Down a side street, smaller, traditional, lots of little nooks, no looks from the other patrons, and Bradley collapses to their secluded little table in relief.
“Can’t take you anywhere, can we, boyo?” Liam asks, grinning over the top of his pint of stout.
Bradley leans back a little into Liam’s arm, loving how close their chairs are, how the older man’s got his hand settled possessively on the back of his. “I think they’re after you, Liam.”
“An Irishman’s hardly big news around here. But that dashing American actor, he’s entirely more...”
“I’m not that famous!” Bradley protests.
Liam’s leaning back a little, that faint, happy smile of his playing across his face. “You do draw the eye, darling.”
The younger man sips at his ale, feeling that blush steal back over him. He’s done a lot of things with a lot of women, and he knows exactly what he looks like, but there’s something about Liam complimenting him... “I’m not that.... whatever, I’m not.”
A hand closes down over his, but Liam’s still smiling. “How are things going, Brad? We haven’t had much time to talk lately...”
And Bradley relaxes into the details, all the little projects, script reads, the awards season and all that usually entails. They talk about their new movies, and Liam talks about his boys, back in New York, still at school and they both talk about how fucking unfair it is that the A-Team sequel hasn’t been green-lighted yet.
“So much left to do with those characters,” Liam muses, on his fourth glass now to Bradley’s second. “So many stories we could tell with them. I was looking forward to having them running around in New York.”
“That would be something,” Brad agrees, smiling as he thinks about Murdock flying a chopper through downtown, or Face getting to run a scam at one of those high-roller events. or BA and his van getting a bigger part this time... or Hannibal, and those cigars, and the way he and Face... “We gotta get the love scene in this time.” Liam chokes on his beer, and Brad slaps him on the back. “Face and Hannibal, finally expressing...”
“Hannibal and Face,” Liam corrects, coughing a little, and then grinning back. “Right in the middle of the mission, Hannibal has to remind that damn kid just who he belongs to. The audience is going to think they're going to get some rough sex, and it might start out that way, but Hannibal won't be able to help himself,” and Liam's voice drops an octave, utterly thrilling. "Hannibal's going to take him slow, make Face beg for every inch, kissing the brat as he does it, licking away the tears..."
“Well sure,” Bradley says with a little laugh. “Face wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Neither would Hannibal,” and Liam’s hand is on his thigh now, fingers stroking softly through the fabric of his pants. Their eyes lock. “Face is Hannibal’s boy. Anywhere. Any time. Always.” His hand squeezes. "They love each other so, you know."
Brad falters and gulps a mouthful of beer, just knowing he’s turning red again. “I don’t want to role-play right now,” he whispers.
“Nobody’s playing, lad,” Liam says, leaning in, voice low. He taps the table in front of Brad. “I mean every word.”
“Hannibal does have a thing for Face, doesn’t he?” the younger man jokes, staring at his glass, insides sliding around.
“Aye. But he doesn’t have what I have,” Liam murmurs, sliding that hand on Bradley’s thigh up a little, so close to his fly, trembling, just a little. “He doesn’t have you, love.”
“Oh, god, Liam,” he groans. The thought of all that repressed emotion Bradley can feel welling up in his lover right now, nearly drives him insane with lust. He needs Liam. Needs him right the hell now. Needs to remind Liam that he needs him, that he loves him, remind him of everything they can have together, everything they can share, everything that's always there, in every touch and kiss and...
And the older actor fishes a couple of notes from his wallet, leaving the little stack on the table as he stands, grabbing their jackets and Bradley’s scarf off their private alcove’s little hook. Shrugs into his own. “My flat’s not far from here.”
"Don't know if I can wait that long," he teases, biting his lip.
"Going to have to..."
"Don't want you to be a secret, Liam," he says softly. "Even if I understa..."
"I don't want you to be anyone else's, darling. Need you all to myself. I'm a selfish old man," Liam tells him gently, holding Bradley's jacket for him, helping him into it, and wraps his scarf around, smiling his private little smile.
“What?” the American asks.
“Just look at you,” Liam replies, and tugs him by the edges of the scarf, capturing his mouth. Another of those quick, too-quick, kisses, Bradley thinks, until a big hand presses him back against the wall. The kiss is harder this time, longer, more demanding, and Bradley opens up, parting and arching, letting Liam take anything he wants, everything he wants, everything, and he whimpers helplessly as that hand drops to cup his rapidly tenting erection through the layers and layers between them.
He's expecting it to stop, but his jacket's one of those knee-length things and it feels too good, far too good, for Bradley to protest when Liam's hand doesn't fall. And before he really realizes how far up his balls have drawn or where the heat in his stomach's spreading to, he feels himself let go, warmth spilling into his pant, coming like a goddamn teenager, and he doesn't care, doesn't care at all. This is what he needs. This is what he's been missing, all these months of separation.
“Love you, Liam...” he murmurs, boneless, as the Irishman slides back again, like he’s suddenly conscious of where they are, who might see. But Brad grabs out for him, and Liam doesn’t entirely move away.
Those big hands tug at his jacket collar instead, straightening it. “Love you too, Brad,” comes the quiet little response. “Come on, darling. Let’s get you home.”
And Bradley figures if anyone notices him walking funny as he leaves, weak, supported by one of Liam’s big hands around his shoulders, it’s all safe. It's okay. He has been drinking, after all.
The kiss that Liam plants on his ear right as they hit the front door, though, well, that might be a little more suspicious.
But that's okay, too.
+++++
The five minute walk back is hazy.
Between the feeling of Liam’s arm around him, little words whispered sweet in his ear, the cooling, sticky mess in his pants, and the tinge of alcohol in his system, Bradley’s can’t really concentrate on much of anything. But then there’s a building and there’s stairs and they’re on the second floor in no time, pushing into an apartment, into privacy, into a world that theirs and theirs alone.
“It’s not very big,” Liam says apologetically, and holds the door open for Brad.
He glances around. Looks like a one-bedroom, really, so yeah, small, but who gives a shit? “It’s big enough,” he replies and tosses his jacket and sportcoat away on a chair, turning around and watching Liam lock the door. That shit-eating smile, the one he never can quite turn off, is back again with a vengeance as the deadbolt slides home, and they’re alone, completely beyond the reach of the outside world.
Bradley looks at Liam.
Liam looks at Bradley.
And then there’s this clash that happens, Liam sweeping towards him like a tidal wave, and the younger man lets it him him full force, that power as mesmerizing now as ever before, carrying him back and down and away and apart. They hit the ground, hands frantic on each other’s clothing, buttons popping off Bradley’s shirt, a seam ripping on Liam’s, until both garments are somehow gone and the Irishman’s skinning Bradley free of his undershirt, his pants, underwear, shoes tearing off at the same time, one sock half-off now, lips tasting every square inch of skin as its revealed, everything too fast and yet too slow at the same time, and Bradley’s hard again.
He rolls them over, pinning Liam down, and a heated grin meets his gaze as he starts to lick a hot line down his man’s stomach, Bradley does, lips and tongue and teeth sending Liam into ecstasy, working towards that belt, those pants, white briefs that have no place in these proceedings, working them off, tossing it all aside.
His lover’s cock springs free, beautiful as it always is, huge and proud, the head swelling red and he mouths over this, hands stroking, trying to find the spot on that hipbone. Tries to remember where that little spot was, even as takes that cock deeper and deeper in, groaning around the taste of the man’s precum, feeling Liam shudder above him and fist those hands up in his hair.
He has to find that spot, that little place where Liam loves to be touched, the one that undoes him completely when they’re doing this. He can’t quite find it, that little button, and then...
“Oh, fuck!”
And Bradley’s head falls back against the hardwood, but it doesn’t hit and he realizes Liam’s hand is between him and the floor, Liam's long body curled up next to his own. “Sorry, darling,” his lover murmurs, and there’s a sheepish look on that handsome face as a hand closes down around Bradley’s erection, pumping lightly a few times. “It’s just been far too long...”
The younger actor reaches back, strokes those fingers, bites the inside of his lip. Shit, did he almost just screw this up? It has been too long, if he can’t remember what to do and when... “I love your hands,” he says instead, awkward, and is rewarded with a little smile.
Relief floods him. All is forgiven. And he smiles back.
“Just my hands?” Liam teases, turned in, brushing Bradley’s bare stomach with an open palm now, tickling that little line of hair running down under his navel. “Is that all you love about me, darling?”
“No!” Bradley says, grabbing for his lover’s hip and pulling them flush, worried for a split second that the other man’s going to get up or something. “No, Liam, no.” He dips a hand, feeling the soft skin on the rise of a hip, finds that spot again and is rewarded with a loud, happy sigh. “I love... I love everything about you, and these last few months... I’ve missed you so much...”
“It’s been far too long,” Liam agrees, and sighs again, laying a soft hand on Bradley’s cheek as the American keeps his thumb playing over that spot. “Far, far too long.” He kisses him. “What do you want, lad?”
“I want you...” he murmurs, and dammit, he’s blushing again at that ridiculous cliche...
The Irishman chuckles, though, and kisses him again, pulling them around so the American’s on top and he’s laying flat on his back. One big hand supports his head, the other stroking down Bradley’s naked thigh, nails scraping with just the right amount of friction. “How do you want me, Bradley, sweetheart, what do you want to do with me?”
He screws his eyes shut, lets that wave of desire wash over him as that light touch grows heavier, as his cock swells against Liam’s. “Like it’s going to start out rough...”
“Got that covered...”
“But it doesn’t go that way at all. You slow it down...”
“Make you take every inch, slow and steady...”
“Let me feel you...”
“Let me feel you. Deep and sweet and soft,” Liam slips a hand back around between his cheek, fingering that tightly puckered muscle, and a shiver runs through his whole body, heartbeat rising, remembering those old rhythms they always had together. “You’re like a glove, darling, a perfect fit, so warm, grasping around me...”
“Right where... right there, please, Liam...” he moans, rocking back onto that hand, wanting more, and Liam doesn’t tease, doesn’t deny him. Liam gives him exactly what he needs, pushing forward at the same time, and a groan goes through both men as that finger slides straight in.
“So tight,” Liam says, his voice like silk. “Tight and hot...”
“Ready for you, Liam,” he gasps against the intrusion, as his body clenches around it, readjusting to a sensation he hasn’t had in forever. “Always ready for you...”
“I want to make love to you, Bradley,” Liam murmurs in his ear, bracing himself up into a seated position as that finger delves deeper, and the younger man clings to him, wrapping his legs around.
"Liam..." he whimpers.
“Dear boy," Liam whispers back, husky, nothing but love in the little endearment. "Let me show you how much I love you...”
Bradley can’t form words right now, but they both know Liam doesn’t need to hear anything.
They both already know what the answer is.
The American shifts around for another kiss, heart absolutely melting to a puddle at those words, feeling Liam moving underneath him, wanting nothing more right now than to feel Liam moving inside of him. Wanting them joined. Wanting to be whole again. Wanting...
But his lover stops him yet again, and Bradley whines a little, resting his forehead against Liam’s. “What’s wrong, love?” he asks, uncertain now, and he runs a hand down that arm that’s holding them both up. “Am I...”
“Heavy?” Liam grunts. “Aye, you are that.”
And Bradley realizes they’re both sprawled out on the hard floor, that Liam’s probably exhausted from his day and most likely needs... “Oh, god, Liam, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t even thinking about that, I mean, your back, and I wasn’t...”
“Shh,” the older man chides. “You’re babbling, darling. No need. But let’s continue this in a proper bed, shall we?”
Bradley, somewhat chastised, stands, and offers Liam a hand up. “Your bed?” he asks.
And Liam doesn’t let go of his hand once he’s on his own feet, stroking over the back of it, playing with a vein there he’s always seemed to find particularly interesting. Then he lifts Bradley’s hand, opens his fingers and presses a kiss right in the center of that palm. The younger man gasps. “Our bed, love,” he says, and his voice is husky. “Any place I sleep, you’re no stranger.”
“I’ve never slept here,” he teases, voice hitching as Liam slides their joined hands up around his own shoulder.
“I want you everywhere I am, Brad.” Another big hand settles on Brad’s waist, chest to chest again, pulling him down the short little hall. “Want you with me.”
“I dream about you,” he admits, face burning at saying such a thing.
Liam negotiates them both around the doorjamb into the little bedroom, clean and simple and comfortable, hitting the light switch, a smile gracing his face. But he leaves as dim gold light floods the space, stripping the comforter down on the bed, throwing a few of the pillows off the bed, ass so wonderfully on display. “What do you dream about, you and me, lad? Anything we can try tonight?”
“As long as you hold me after...that’s what I dream, you holding me. So, hold me, Liam?” Bradley asks, loving the warm, blissful smile spreading across his lover's face. “Hold me in and keep me...”
“You’re mine, Bradley Cooper,” and Liam beckons him over, pulling him in tight. “And I’m yours. Remember? How could I not keep you?”
The fall’s not so far this time, and it doesn’t hurt or anything, both of them in the oh-so-soft sheets now, Liam on top where they both want him to be, Liam stroking his rock-hard shaft, then playing a little with the wiry hair there, moving again, fingers delicate against his inner thighs.
Bradley sighs and reaches out for his lover, following the planes of his long body, tracing light circles around his pecs. “I’ll never forget that.”
“I still want to remind you,” the Irish actor says softly, reaching for a drawer and coming back with a little white tube, somewhat dented, his other thumb rubbing right against the sensitive head of Bradley’s cock. “Let me remind you, love...”
“You cheating on me, Neeson?” Bradley breathes, only half joking, taking the tube right as Liam uncaps it.
This time, it's the older man's turm to blush. “It makes things easier when I’m... thinking about you.
“What do you think about me?” the younger actor asks gently, raising his hips and reaching for a pillow and shoves it in, keeping the slick away, arms overhead. “Come on, Liam, tell me...”
The Irishman adjusts the pillow, leaning over to nip along the lines of his neck, making Bradley squirm. And oh, Liam could make him come just from that, he thinks wildly, he really, really could...
“I think about how you taste when I kiss you, almost sweet, a little wild, the way all that passion swells up in you.” He palms Bradley’s cock again, adding more pressure this time, and Bradley whimpers. “I think about how you feel, like you were made to take me, how you always seem to pull me deeper, how I can lose myself in you, how goddamn giving you are, how fucking beautiful...”
“I think about you, too,” Bradley says, the showman in him unable to resist a dramatic little squirt of lube into his hand, the very slow and deliberate way he brings those slicked fingers down to his own tight entrance, the gasp he gives as he slides two in, and twists. Everything on display. Everything on offer. Everything for the taking, he wants to say, and oh how he does want to be taken. “How you fill me up, how you belong in me, how we fit so...”
The look on Liam’s face is pure, unadulterated hunger as he takes the lube away and pouring a little into his own hand, adding one of his own fingers to Bradley’s set, teeth worrying his ear now, lips kissing right below. He presses further back, exploring, looking for it, and Bradley can’t hold in the moans of pleasure at the feel of their fingers together, cocks sliding together, hot flesh, flushed skin, both of them, working in tandem.
Opening Bradley up.
Welcoming Liam in.
And then Liam finds his prostate and grazes it with the pad of his finger, again and again, a look of utter happiness on the older man’s face as this draws loud, desperate cries from the younger man. A “that good for you, sweetheart?” is murmured against his mouth right before another kiss descends and Bradley’s own fingers are pulled free, Liam’s gone as well.
The younger actor can’t do anything but groan, trapped so willingly in the kiss, an arm circling around his head, holding him just so. So Bradley lets his legs fall open as wide as they can instead, undulating up, his cock smearing a shining white trail up and across Liam’s belly, radiating need, begging with everything he’s got, until he feels a little chuckle rumble through him and a slight pressure at his entrance, one big hand guiding his ass just a little further up.
Bradley lifts.
And Liam starts sliding in, exactly where he needs to be.
It’s been a while since the younger actor’s taken anything but his own fingers or a dildo or that buttplug Liam gave him, and only ever then when he was desperate - nothing can really compare to the reality of this cock. This burns, but Liam’s moving achingly slow, just like he promised, groaning through it, time pulling out. An eternity of this, the breach, the pressure, the stretch, and Brad can feel himself tearing up as his body fights against him.
A strong hand, the one that’s not under the small of his back, rubs his belly, little soothing words whispered hot against his skin. Let me in, love, it’s okay, I’ll never hurt you, so tight, it's been so long, you’re doing so well, my beautiful boy, my boy... and with a relieved little gasp, everything shifts and the tension drains and there’s nothing but pure pleasure now.
Liam’s thighs touch his.
And the world funnels down until this is all that’s left.
Bradley descends into the sensation of it all. The way they’re both starting to sweat, Liam’s hands stroking the skin right behind his knees, guiding them up around his waist, the feel of lips on his chest and his neck and his mouth and back again, the glide of that column of flesh, in and out and in again, the small changes in angle as Liam finds that nub and hits it every time, his own cock, slick itself, trapped in that wonderful pressure between their bellies, the clench of orgasm fluttering awake deep inside, growing with every stroke, muscle working against his, working with his, everything in synch, everything coming together, everything coming apart...
Liam cries out and Bradley does too, practically at the same time, and he feels for the first time in far too long the hot pulse of semen, deep inside, driving away any cold thoughts of their long separation, and he’s coming too, in waves that never seem to stop, never wanting to stop, he never wants it to stop...
And there’s Liam, stroking his hair, nose to nose, sharing air, on their sides but still locked together, and Bradley tightens his legs, holding Liam’s softening cock in, wanting him, still wanting him inside, never wanting him anywhere else...
Words return, though, the little whispers of “I’m right here, darling, I’m right here, I’m not letting go, I’ll never let you go...” reaching him now. A tongue licks the salty trails off his cheeks, in between the little half-sentences, and Bradley realizes that Liam was right, that he did start crying, and the thought of that makes him laugh, and cling even tighter.
Liam's eyes are shining, wet, as he reaches across Bradley to unplug the lamp, casting the bedroom into darkness, pulling those cover up, carrying them away together into the night.
And in Bradley’s dreams, that night, Liam’s there. Holding on.
+++++
Bradley’s woken by the ringing of his cell phone.
For a second, it doesn’t quite register, and he’s reaching over to grab it off the hotel nightstand when he hits a warm, pliant body instead. Liam, flat on his stomach, snoring just a little, the sheets pooled down around his naked waist. And the American pauses. Screw his phone. How often does he get to watch his lover sleep? How many times do they ever get anything as safe, as theirs, as this?
But that phone’s not going to answer itself, he figures, and standing, stretching into the ache of last night, everything still stretched and open and warm. Bradley smiles and pads into the main little living room, retrieving his pants from where Liam stripped the damn things off him. The phone’s in the pocket.
He catches it on what must be the twentieth ring, noticing he’s got like five missed calls. “Hello?” he asks, rubbing a hand up over his face.
It’s his agent. She’s worried about him, that he didn’t come back to the hotel last night, and wants to make sure he didn’t get packed off by over-enthusiastic fangirls or Chechnen gangsters or something last night.
“Liam took me out for a drink,” he answers honestly, standing up because it would be a little difficult to sit down right now. “We got kind of drunk, I crashed at his place. No problem.” And his stomach tightens a little. “Why the fuck didn’t I know he was going to be on the show?”
She stammers an apology and something that Bradley doesn’t quite listen to, and tells he forgives her if she remembers to keep him up on this kind of thing in the future. She promises and asks where they can come to pick him up. Evidently there are things to do today. Like catch a flight back to the States.
Bradley glances into the bedroom, where Liam’s still sleeping, all alone, and he feels sick. Having to leave so soon... “Hey, look, I have no idea where Liam’s apartment is, so when he wakes up, I’ll call you. What’s the latest we can be at the airport?”
“Three,” she says.
Fuck, that’s only five and a half hours, Bradley thinks, glancing at the clock on the DVD player under the TV, and nods. “Okay, we might get lunch then.”
“Bradley...”
“If you’d told me, I could have met up with him yesterday and we wouldn’t have to be getting caught up today,” he tells her, and that’s that.
The actor takes the battery out of the phone and drops it back on his pants, yawning and stretching on his way back to the bedroom. He feels a little bad about the way he was just talking to his agent. She’s a nice lady, really, but he can’t believe she missed...
“Everything alright, darling?” Liam’s sitting up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, dark hair tousled just a bit, those covers doing nothing to hide the morning wood he’s sporting. “Woke up and you were gone...”
Bradley bites his lip, smiling at the sight. “Just my phone...”
The older man holds out his hands for Bradley, who falls into them gratefully, letting himself be pulled back into bed, the two of them tumbling around each other, legs catching up in the sheets until Bradley’s flat on his back, Liam on his side, one big hand doing a circuit from the younger man’s groin up to his heart, and back down again.
He lifts his face for a kiss.
Liam never, ever disappoints him on this, and today least of all. It’s slow and sweet, hands gentle and lips easy, all those little things nobody else can ever, ever touch sparking alight in Bradley with every little movement, each little shift, and Liam pulls away slowly, catching his lower lip as he goes and holds Bradley’s face in both hands, thumbs playing with that spot his lips just left, teasing the stubble on his chin. “What’s wrong, love?”
“That was my agent, Liam,” he says slowly, not really wanting to say this, not wanting it to be true. “We’re flying out today and she’s freaking out because I wasn’t at the hotel last...”
“Leaving already?” Liam asks, voice neutral but grip tightening. “But you... you just got here...”
Bradley scoots up on his side, wrapping an arm under Liam’s, around his ribs, pulling them together. “I didn’t know you were in town, Liam, I swear, man. I would have worked it out, could have gotten us more time together...”
“Oh, Bradley,” and Liam kisses him again, fingers circling up his arm. “It’s not good-bye. It never is. Never will be. Not for you and me.”
“When are we going to see each other again, Liam? I... I don’t know how...”
“I know, I know, darling. I love you...” and Liam pulls Bradley on top of him, chest to chest, stroking up and down his sides, tickling his ribs. “I love you so...”
“Love you, Liam,” Bradley says, desperate, and presses both hands down on either side of his lover’s head, shifting just so for a kiss.
Liam’s hands, those big hand he loves so much, encircle his waist, holding him still even as he wriggles about, looking for the perfect angle, trying to memorize the feel of this, that mouth against his, the way his man tastes, how they seem to fill each other’s raw edges, the way Liam just flows into him, until there’s no separation, no separation at all, no distance between them...
Bradley feels himself being lifted, and he smiles against Liam’s lips as he’s drawn away. He rolls his hips back at just the perfect moment, reaching back behind him to catch that cock he loves so much in his hand, giving it a few good strokes, drawing a delicious little moan from the older actor right as he drops down.
The younger man sighs as he’s filled again, still slick and stretched from last night, and there’s nothing but pleasure in this, Liam’s hands still on his waist, guiding him as he starts to move.
It’s slow, this, a steady roll back and snap forward, both of them perfectly on beat with each other, working this together, neither man speaking, both wanting to drag it out as long as possible. Bradley can count on one hand the number of times they’ve been able to do this with each other, wake up in bed together and make love all over again in the morning, and he wants this to be as good for his lover as he can, really concentrating on that that squeeze, drawing in at just the right angle, rolling forward again at just the right moment, wanting it perfect, and Liam’s eyes are soft, hungry, full, staring up at him as they move together.
And then, when Bradley can feel the body beneath him getting so, so close, he reaches down with a trembling hand and hits that button, stroking the soft skin of the man’s hip just so.
He loves watching this. Loves being able to take this man apart so completely.
Liam gasps and Bradley grins broadly, tossing his head back and pressing, pressing exactly like he knows will... and there it is, Liam shuddering as his control breaks and everything tears apart and he’s flooded for a second time, floods him with that warmth that only Liam ever can.
Bradley milks the last drops, clenching through it, and slips off his half-senseless lover when he’s sure it’s over. Arranges them around each other just so, threading his fingers through sweaty strands of dark hair from the fine lines of that forehead, one shaky finger dipping to trace the laughlines, kissing a temple, feeling that light beard fighting to come in...
And Liam chuckles, the blue of those eyes like rain-washed sky. “What are you doing, Bradley?”
“Want to remember...” he murmurs. “Everything changes so fast...”
“Not you and me, my boy,” Liam says, nothing but affection in the way he catches Bradley’s hand and kissing the tips of his fingers. “Not this.”
“Liam...” he pleads, not knowing what he’s asking for, but definitely asking for something, and his lover just lays a soft finger on his lips.
“This doesn’t end, Bradley,” he says firmly and pulls them both up. “And if you’re going to get on a plane in a few hours, we need to get you a shower.”
“Heh,” the younger man says as they stand, rubbing himself up into position for another kiss. “What about my pants?”
“Yeah,” Liam replies with a grin and pulls Bradley by the hand, into the bathroom. “What are we going to do about those trousers of yours?”
“You are such a jerk, Neeson!” Bradley groans in mock-irritation. "Ruining my clothes..."
Liam slaps his ass, and throws him against the bathroom wall, hands slamming down on either side of his head, a feral little smile on that face as he takes Bradley, still hard, in hard. “And you, Cooper, are a total brat,” he growls.
Bradley smiles back. Another of their favorite games. Probably not the best choice right before a trans-Atlantic flight, but when’s the next time they’re going to get to do this? He lifts his chin, defiant, grinning.
“Bring it, old man.”
+++++
Three and a half hours later, after Liam puts Bradley through his paces in the shower and Bradley tackles Liam to the bedroom floor and they both end up making out on the sofa for what seems like an eternity, they manage to find clothes and shoes and jackets and the will to leave the snug little space. Getting a late lunch together, just like Bradley promised his agent.
He hates lying to people. But it still didn’t stop him from spilling half a beer on that stained area of his pants. Just in case he has to explain why he needs to change them before the flight. He doesn’t think anybody’s going to notice the couple of button missing from his shirt.
Liam takes him to one of those little ubiquitous fish and chips places run by a Pakistani family, chuckling at his wide-eyed excitement over the whole place. “American,” he tells the two men behind the counter, who clearly have no idea who they are, and Bradley doesn’t care if they’re all having some kind of weird European joke at his expense - it’s too damn cool that their battered cod comes in newsprint.
“Technically, I think it’s illegal for them to do that,” Liam comments about the paper cone full of greasy British goodness.
“You’re just pissy I’m not letting you put vinegar on it,” Bradley sniffs, and pushes his ass back against the door to open it.
They don’t have that much time, really, his people coming in about twenty minutes, but they stroll and nibble and chat, Liam pointing over towards a small park at the end of his neighborhood where the car’s got more than enough room to pick Bradley up. The Irishman leads him over to a low wall where they can watch the street.
Bradley makes sure he sits as close to Liam as possible, and Liam just smiles at him and lets an arm fall around his shoulders.
“The fries are good,” the American says, feeling awkward again.
“Chips, darling,” Liam whispers in his ear, and bites into one for emphasis.
“Let’s not get into that bullshit again,” Bradley groans, and pulls a leg up on the wall, turning his body into Liam’s, the older man grabbing last bit of cod. He can’t get too close, not out in a public place like this, and sure as hell not in broad daylight. “UK English and American English and...”
A car pulls up.
“It’s ten minutes early.”
Bradley feels helpless, casting a lost little glance towards Liam, sliding off the wall into the damp green grass. “I’m going to fire them all, I swear,” he grumbles, and balls up the now-empty paper
Liam catches him by the hand, taking it away, fingers stroking his palm, pulling him into an embrace, like the one yesterday on the show, close but not too obvious, friendly but intimate, so intimate... “Thank you,” he murmurs, their faces close.
“For what?”
“For waiting for me. For staying with me.”
“I can’t stay with you, Liam,” Bradley says desperately. “I want to, fuck, I want to be there, be...”
“Bradley, love, you are,” the older man says. “You are there. You’re always there. And we’ll figure this mess out, we will.”
And it’s insane, really. There’s no way they could ever do that, be out, be public, be a couple... but the way Liam’s looking at him, the way Liam’s stroking his hand, the conviction in his voice... and Bradley nods. “Really?”
“I love you. Never doubt that I love you...”
Bradley nods and licks his lips. “I love you, too.”
Liam lets go of his hand and touches his forehead, his scarf, trailing off and away. The last they’re going to get right now, and they both know it. “You need to go, darling.” He leans back, subtle, so expressive. “You need to go.”
“Soon?” he asks.
“Soon.”
Liam smiles, and Bradley smiles back, turns away, and just manages to blink the tears from his eyes, put on that trademark goofy smirk of his and stuff his hands in his pockets before he reaches the car.
We’ll figure this mess out, we will...
Bradley believes every word.
And smiling gets a little easier.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Summary: A fill for this prompt over at the kink meme
This comment:
GUYS! Bradley Cooper was on The Graham Norton Show and so was Liam Neeson
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o6phsgzyFzQ @2.30 for adorable hugs.
The rest of the interview is hilarious too. B.Coop is so charming.
Led to this request:
They are SO comfortable with touching one another. No boundaries. Not a single one. There's not a even a hint of 'can I?'. They just do.
Will you? Will you please write the 'let's have a drink together' and then some 'I missed you like fire' sex?
Please?
Liam’s filming in London, Bradley’s in town, and they’re both on the Graham Norton Show. Afterwards, Liam takes Brad out, and somehow, they both wind up back at his apartment.
“Do I hear the patter-pat of enormous Oscar-nominated shoes? Yes, he’s here, please welcome the great Liam Neeson, everybody!”
Brad jerks a little bit on the huge red sofa, hearing that name.
Liam...
He’s been a little pissed about this all evening, actually. He just found out that Liam was going to be here, right before he went on. He had to deadpan about him earlier in the show, Graham asking him a bunch of questions about the man, and Bradley kept having to cover his slip-ups, keep his face blank, make sure the audience didn’t know what he was really thinking about - those hands, that cock, the way Liam sounds when he’s whispering I love you, Bradley...
And why the ever-loving fuck didn’t his agent mention that Liam was going to be on the same damn night as him? Why didn’t he know that Liam was going to be this close while he was in London? Why didn’t...
But then there he is, coming out of the back, coming round, and there’s absolutely nothing else right now, nothing but him.
Bradley’s on his feet in an instant, way before everybody else, probably drawing their attention, but fuck them.
They get handshakes. He gets a hug.
It’s awkward, far too much space between them, and Liam’s trying to say something to him he can’t quite make out, but Bradley doesn’t care. Being able to touch again, touch the man in any way... Even if he does have to get through the rest of this interview now, wanting nothing more than to have Liam kiss him senseless on national TV.
Liam’s sitting next to him, too. Just within arm’s reach. Brad can’t really help it if he reaches over a few times, casual, something between friends. He knows he’s got a big shit-eating on his face and the way he’s looking at Liam probably constitutes oogling, but he can’t help that either. He needs this, needs his man back, those hands, that cock, those whispered “little I love you”s...
He needs Liam.
But Liam’s pretty blank right now and he’s not really responding to anything Bradley’s doing or feeling. Just talks about that next Clash of the Titans movie he somehow got roped into filming and that last movie he did.
Nothing for Brad.
But he does lay a hand on Bradley’s knee, does give him a few little side glances, and the American actor feels his insides start to melt, all over again. It’s not much, but it’s more than enough.
Liam still wants him.
And Bradley sure as shit still wants Liam.
Even if, after the interview, he has to wait for a while. Liam had been talking to a couple different people, Brits that the younger man doesn’t recognize, but he doesn’t mind.
He’d wait forever, if it meant seeing this, Liam walking down the empty hallway towards him, a big, genuine smile on his face, arms opening, and Bradley rushes into all of that, letting his lover wrap him up in a longer, closer, better hug than they got on the stage.
"So," Liam rumbles as they break apart, rubbing that spot on Bradley's neck, the one that makes him limp and happy, every time, the place he always liked to bite, "what did you tell them about me?"
Oh, that's right. Graham had mentioned that to Liam, hadn't he, how he'd asked Bradley about Liam at the start of the interview. And the American feels his cheeks growing hot. Damn. That had been embarrassing.
"I told them you have big hands," he says softly.
"Big hands, lad? That's what came to mind for you?"
"I love your hands," he murmurs, pressing in again. "And I couldn't tell them about that kraken in your..."
Liam makes a face, and touches him, right under the chin, lifting him up for a better angle. "I really hate that term, lad," he says, no heat in the words.
"But it applies, doesn't it?" Bradley asks, and tilts up higher, knowing he's begging and not caring at all, fingers playing on Liam's shirt. "And I love that, too..."
"Sweet boy," the older actor says softly, and kisses him at last. A quick, fast little peck, their first kiss in so, so long...
Bradley's body reacts immediately, opening in invitation, but Liam's got a finger on his lips, holding him back. Public, he knows, and nods sadly. Backs down. Backs away. Awkward again. "So..."
Liam squeezes his shoulder in apology, and smiles, blue eyes alight. "Want to go get a drink, Bradley? I know a few good pubs..."
+++++
Turns out Liam doesn’t just know one or two good pubs.
He knows every pub in his neighborhood and a few others besides, each more crowded than the last, the beers all different and good, he says, but Brad’s pretty sure they’re going to get mobbed. Thankfully, Liam just guides him back out any time the squealing starts, and they finally end up at a place that’s fairly quiet. Down a side street, smaller, traditional, lots of little nooks, no looks from the other patrons, and Bradley collapses to their secluded little table in relief.
“Can’t take you anywhere, can we, boyo?” Liam asks, grinning over the top of his pint of stout.
Bradley leans back a little into Liam’s arm, loving how close their chairs are, how the older man’s got his hand settled possessively on the back of his. “I think they’re after you, Liam.”
“An Irishman’s hardly big news around here. But that dashing American actor, he’s entirely more...”
“I’m not that famous!” Bradley protests.
Liam’s leaning back a little, that faint, happy smile of his playing across his face. “You do draw the eye, darling.”
The younger man sips at his ale, feeling that blush steal back over him. He’s done a lot of things with a lot of women, and he knows exactly what he looks like, but there’s something about Liam complimenting him... “I’m not that.... whatever, I’m not.”
A hand closes down over his, but Liam’s still smiling. “How are things going, Brad? We haven’t had much time to talk lately...”
And Bradley relaxes into the details, all the little projects, script reads, the awards season and all that usually entails. They talk about their new movies, and Liam talks about his boys, back in New York, still at school and they both talk about how fucking unfair it is that the A-Team sequel hasn’t been green-lighted yet.
“So much left to do with those characters,” Liam muses, on his fourth glass now to Bradley’s second. “So many stories we could tell with them. I was looking forward to having them running around in New York.”
“That would be something,” Brad agrees, smiling as he thinks about Murdock flying a chopper through downtown, or Face getting to run a scam at one of those high-roller events. or BA and his van getting a bigger part this time... or Hannibal, and those cigars, and the way he and Face... “We gotta get the love scene in this time.” Liam chokes on his beer, and Brad slaps him on the back. “Face and Hannibal, finally expressing...”
“Hannibal and Face,” Liam corrects, coughing a little, and then grinning back. “Right in the middle of the mission, Hannibal has to remind that damn kid just who he belongs to. The audience is going to think they're going to get some rough sex, and it might start out that way, but Hannibal won't be able to help himself,” and Liam's voice drops an octave, utterly thrilling. "Hannibal's going to take him slow, make Face beg for every inch, kissing the brat as he does it, licking away the tears..."
“Well sure,” Bradley says with a little laugh. “Face wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Neither would Hannibal,” and Liam’s hand is on his thigh now, fingers stroking softly through the fabric of his pants. Their eyes lock. “Face is Hannibal’s boy. Anywhere. Any time. Always.” His hand squeezes. "They love each other so, you know."
Brad falters and gulps a mouthful of beer, just knowing he’s turning red again. “I don’t want to role-play right now,” he whispers.
“Nobody’s playing, lad,” Liam says, leaning in, voice low. He taps the table in front of Brad. “I mean every word.”
“Hannibal does have a thing for Face, doesn’t he?” the younger man jokes, staring at his glass, insides sliding around.
“Aye. But he doesn’t have what I have,” Liam murmurs, sliding that hand on Bradley’s thigh up a little, so close to his fly, trembling, just a little. “He doesn’t have you, love.”
“Oh, god, Liam,” he groans. The thought of all that repressed emotion Bradley can feel welling up in his lover right now, nearly drives him insane with lust. He needs Liam. Needs him right the hell now. Needs to remind Liam that he needs him, that he loves him, remind him of everything they can have together, everything they can share, everything that's always there, in every touch and kiss and...
And the older actor fishes a couple of notes from his wallet, leaving the little stack on the table as he stands, grabbing their jackets and Bradley’s scarf off their private alcove’s little hook. Shrugs into his own. “My flat’s not far from here.”
"Don't know if I can wait that long," he teases, biting his lip.
"Going to have to..."
"Don't want you to be a secret, Liam," he says softly. "Even if I understa..."
"I don't want you to be anyone else's, darling. Need you all to myself. I'm a selfish old man," Liam tells him gently, holding Bradley's jacket for him, helping him into it, and wraps his scarf around, smiling his private little smile.
“What?” the American asks.
“Just look at you,” Liam replies, and tugs him by the edges of the scarf, capturing his mouth. Another of those quick, too-quick, kisses, Bradley thinks, until a big hand presses him back against the wall. The kiss is harder this time, longer, more demanding, and Bradley opens up, parting and arching, letting Liam take anything he wants, everything he wants, everything, and he whimpers helplessly as that hand drops to cup his rapidly tenting erection through the layers and layers between them.
He's expecting it to stop, but his jacket's one of those knee-length things and it feels too good, far too good, for Bradley to protest when Liam's hand doesn't fall. And before he really realizes how far up his balls have drawn or where the heat in his stomach's spreading to, he feels himself let go, warmth spilling into his pant, coming like a goddamn teenager, and he doesn't care, doesn't care at all. This is what he needs. This is what he's been missing, all these months of separation.
“Love you, Liam...” he murmurs, boneless, as the Irishman slides back again, like he’s suddenly conscious of where they are, who might see. But Brad grabs out for him, and Liam doesn’t entirely move away.
Those big hands tug at his jacket collar instead, straightening it. “Love you too, Brad,” comes the quiet little response. “Come on, darling. Let’s get you home.”
And Bradley figures if anyone notices him walking funny as he leaves, weak, supported by one of Liam’s big hands around his shoulders, it’s all safe. It's okay. He has been drinking, after all.
The kiss that Liam plants on his ear right as they hit the front door, though, well, that might be a little more suspicious.
But that's okay, too.
+++++
The five minute walk back is hazy.
Between the feeling of Liam’s arm around him, little words whispered sweet in his ear, the cooling, sticky mess in his pants, and the tinge of alcohol in his system, Bradley’s can’t really concentrate on much of anything. But then there’s a building and there’s stairs and they’re on the second floor in no time, pushing into an apartment, into privacy, into a world that theirs and theirs alone.
“It’s not very big,” Liam says apologetically, and holds the door open for Brad.
He glances around. Looks like a one-bedroom, really, so yeah, small, but who gives a shit? “It’s big enough,” he replies and tosses his jacket and sportcoat away on a chair, turning around and watching Liam lock the door. That shit-eating smile, the one he never can quite turn off, is back again with a vengeance as the deadbolt slides home, and they’re alone, completely beyond the reach of the outside world.
Bradley looks at Liam.
Liam looks at Bradley.
And then there’s this clash that happens, Liam sweeping towards him like a tidal wave, and the younger man lets it him him full force, that power as mesmerizing now as ever before, carrying him back and down and away and apart. They hit the ground, hands frantic on each other’s clothing, buttons popping off Bradley’s shirt, a seam ripping on Liam’s, until both garments are somehow gone and the Irishman’s skinning Bradley free of his undershirt, his pants, underwear, shoes tearing off at the same time, one sock half-off now, lips tasting every square inch of skin as its revealed, everything too fast and yet too slow at the same time, and Bradley’s hard again.
He rolls them over, pinning Liam down, and a heated grin meets his gaze as he starts to lick a hot line down his man’s stomach, Bradley does, lips and tongue and teeth sending Liam into ecstasy, working towards that belt, those pants, white briefs that have no place in these proceedings, working them off, tossing it all aside.
His lover’s cock springs free, beautiful as it always is, huge and proud, the head swelling red and he mouths over this, hands stroking, trying to find the spot on that hipbone. Tries to remember where that little spot was, even as takes that cock deeper and deeper in, groaning around the taste of the man’s precum, feeling Liam shudder above him and fist those hands up in his hair.
He has to find that spot, that little place where Liam loves to be touched, the one that undoes him completely when they’re doing this. He can’t quite find it, that little button, and then...
“Oh, fuck!”
And Bradley’s head falls back against the hardwood, but it doesn’t hit and he realizes Liam’s hand is between him and the floor, Liam's long body curled up next to his own. “Sorry, darling,” his lover murmurs, and there’s a sheepish look on that handsome face as a hand closes down around Bradley’s erection, pumping lightly a few times. “It’s just been far too long...”
The younger actor reaches back, strokes those fingers, bites the inside of his lip. Shit, did he almost just screw this up? It has been too long, if he can’t remember what to do and when... “I love your hands,” he says instead, awkward, and is rewarded with a little smile.
Relief floods him. All is forgiven. And he smiles back.
“Just my hands?” Liam teases, turned in, brushing Bradley’s bare stomach with an open palm now, tickling that little line of hair running down under his navel. “Is that all you love about me, darling?”
“No!” Bradley says, grabbing for his lover’s hip and pulling them flush, worried for a split second that the other man’s going to get up or something. “No, Liam, no.” He dips a hand, feeling the soft skin on the rise of a hip, finds that spot again and is rewarded with a loud, happy sigh. “I love... I love everything about you, and these last few months... I’ve missed you so much...”
“It’s been far too long,” Liam agrees, and sighs again, laying a soft hand on Bradley’s cheek as the American keeps his thumb playing over that spot. “Far, far too long.” He kisses him. “What do you want, lad?”
“I want you...” he murmurs, and dammit, he’s blushing again at that ridiculous cliche...
The Irishman chuckles, though, and kisses him again, pulling them around so the American’s on top and he’s laying flat on his back. One big hand supports his head, the other stroking down Bradley’s naked thigh, nails scraping with just the right amount of friction. “How do you want me, Bradley, sweetheart, what do you want to do with me?”
He screws his eyes shut, lets that wave of desire wash over him as that light touch grows heavier, as his cock swells against Liam’s. “Like it’s going to start out rough...”
“Got that covered...”
“But it doesn’t go that way at all. You slow it down...”
“Make you take every inch, slow and steady...”
“Let me feel you...”
“Let me feel you. Deep and sweet and soft,” Liam slips a hand back around between his cheek, fingering that tightly puckered muscle, and a shiver runs through his whole body, heartbeat rising, remembering those old rhythms they always had together. “You’re like a glove, darling, a perfect fit, so warm, grasping around me...”
“Right where... right there, please, Liam...” he moans, rocking back onto that hand, wanting more, and Liam doesn’t tease, doesn’t deny him. Liam gives him exactly what he needs, pushing forward at the same time, and a groan goes through both men as that finger slides straight in.
“So tight,” Liam says, his voice like silk. “Tight and hot...”
“Ready for you, Liam,” he gasps against the intrusion, as his body clenches around it, readjusting to a sensation he hasn’t had in forever. “Always ready for you...”
“I want to make love to you, Bradley,” Liam murmurs in his ear, bracing himself up into a seated position as that finger delves deeper, and the younger man clings to him, wrapping his legs around.
"Liam..." he whimpers.
“Dear boy," Liam whispers back, husky, nothing but love in the little endearment. "Let me show you how much I love you...”
Bradley can’t form words right now, but they both know Liam doesn’t need to hear anything.
They both already know what the answer is.
The American shifts around for another kiss, heart absolutely melting to a puddle at those words, feeling Liam moving underneath him, wanting nothing more right now than to feel Liam moving inside of him. Wanting them joined. Wanting to be whole again. Wanting...
But his lover stops him yet again, and Bradley whines a little, resting his forehead against Liam’s. “What’s wrong, love?” he asks, uncertain now, and he runs a hand down that arm that’s holding them both up. “Am I...”
“Heavy?” Liam grunts. “Aye, you are that.”
And Bradley realizes they’re both sprawled out on the hard floor, that Liam’s probably exhausted from his day and most likely needs... “Oh, god, Liam, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t even thinking about that, I mean, your back, and I wasn’t...”
“Shh,” the older man chides. “You’re babbling, darling. No need. But let’s continue this in a proper bed, shall we?”
Bradley, somewhat chastised, stands, and offers Liam a hand up. “Your bed?” he asks.
And Liam doesn’t let go of his hand once he’s on his own feet, stroking over the back of it, playing with a vein there he’s always seemed to find particularly interesting. Then he lifts Bradley’s hand, opens his fingers and presses a kiss right in the center of that palm. The younger man gasps. “Our bed, love,” he says, and his voice is husky. “Any place I sleep, you’re no stranger.”
“I’ve never slept here,” he teases, voice hitching as Liam slides their joined hands up around his own shoulder.
“I want you everywhere I am, Brad.” Another big hand settles on Brad’s waist, chest to chest again, pulling him down the short little hall. “Want you with me.”
“I dream about you,” he admits, face burning at saying such a thing.
Liam negotiates them both around the doorjamb into the little bedroom, clean and simple and comfortable, hitting the light switch, a smile gracing his face. But he leaves as dim gold light floods the space, stripping the comforter down on the bed, throwing a few of the pillows off the bed, ass so wonderfully on display. “What do you dream about, you and me, lad? Anything we can try tonight?”
“As long as you hold me after...that’s what I dream, you holding me. So, hold me, Liam?” Bradley asks, loving the warm, blissful smile spreading across his lover's face. “Hold me in and keep me...”
“You’re mine, Bradley Cooper,” and Liam beckons him over, pulling him in tight. “And I’m yours. Remember? How could I not keep you?”
The fall’s not so far this time, and it doesn’t hurt or anything, both of them in the oh-so-soft sheets now, Liam on top where they both want him to be, Liam stroking his rock-hard shaft, then playing a little with the wiry hair there, moving again, fingers delicate against his inner thighs.
Bradley sighs and reaches out for his lover, following the planes of his long body, tracing light circles around his pecs. “I’ll never forget that.”
“I still want to remind you,” the Irish actor says softly, reaching for a drawer and coming back with a little white tube, somewhat dented, his other thumb rubbing right against the sensitive head of Bradley’s cock. “Let me remind you, love...”
“You cheating on me, Neeson?” Bradley breathes, only half joking, taking the tube right as Liam uncaps it.
This time, it's the older man's turm to blush. “It makes things easier when I’m... thinking about you.
“What do you think about me?” the younger actor asks gently, raising his hips and reaching for a pillow and shoves it in, keeping the slick away, arms overhead. “Come on, Liam, tell me...”
The Irishman adjusts the pillow, leaning over to nip along the lines of his neck, making Bradley squirm. And oh, Liam could make him come just from that, he thinks wildly, he really, really could...
“I think about how you taste when I kiss you, almost sweet, a little wild, the way all that passion swells up in you.” He palms Bradley’s cock again, adding more pressure this time, and Bradley whimpers. “I think about how you feel, like you were made to take me, how you always seem to pull me deeper, how I can lose myself in you, how goddamn giving you are, how fucking beautiful...”
“I think about you, too,” Bradley says, the showman in him unable to resist a dramatic little squirt of lube into his hand, the very slow and deliberate way he brings those slicked fingers down to his own tight entrance, the gasp he gives as he slides two in, and twists. Everything on display. Everything on offer. Everything for the taking, he wants to say, and oh how he does want to be taken. “How you fill me up, how you belong in me, how we fit so...”
The look on Liam’s face is pure, unadulterated hunger as he takes the lube away and pouring a little into his own hand, adding one of his own fingers to Bradley’s set, teeth worrying his ear now, lips kissing right below. He presses further back, exploring, looking for it, and Bradley can’t hold in the moans of pleasure at the feel of their fingers together, cocks sliding together, hot flesh, flushed skin, both of them, working in tandem.
Opening Bradley up.
Welcoming Liam in.
And then Liam finds his prostate and grazes it with the pad of his finger, again and again, a look of utter happiness on the older man’s face as this draws loud, desperate cries from the younger man. A “that good for you, sweetheart?” is murmured against his mouth right before another kiss descends and Bradley’s own fingers are pulled free, Liam’s gone as well.
The younger actor can’t do anything but groan, trapped so willingly in the kiss, an arm circling around his head, holding him just so. So Bradley lets his legs fall open as wide as they can instead, undulating up, his cock smearing a shining white trail up and across Liam’s belly, radiating need, begging with everything he’s got, until he feels a little chuckle rumble through him and a slight pressure at his entrance, one big hand guiding his ass just a little further up.
Bradley lifts.
And Liam starts sliding in, exactly where he needs to be.
It’s been a while since the younger actor’s taken anything but his own fingers or a dildo or that buttplug Liam gave him, and only ever then when he was desperate - nothing can really compare to the reality of this cock. This burns, but Liam’s moving achingly slow, just like he promised, groaning through it, time pulling out. An eternity of this, the breach, the pressure, the stretch, and Brad can feel himself tearing up as his body fights against him.
A strong hand, the one that’s not under the small of his back, rubs his belly, little soothing words whispered hot against his skin. Let me in, love, it’s okay, I’ll never hurt you, so tight, it's been so long, you’re doing so well, my beautiful boy, my boy... and with a relieved little gasp, everything shifts and the tension drains and there’s nothing but pure pleasure now.
Liam’s thighs touch his.
And the world funnels down until this is all that’s left.
Bradley descends into the sensation of it all. The way they’re both starting to sweat, Liam’s hands stroking the skin right behind his knees, guiding them up around his waist, the feel of lips on his chest and his neck and his mouth and back again, the glide of that column of flesh, in and out and in again, the small changes in angle as Liam finds that nub and hits it every time, his own cock, slick itself, trapped in that wonderful pressure between their bellies, the clench of orgasm fluttering awake deep inside, growing with every stroke, muscle working against his, working with his, everything in synch, everything coming together, everything coming apart...
Liam cries out and Bradley does too, practically at the same time, and he feels for the first time in far too long the hot pulse of semen, deep inside, driving away any cold thoughts of their long separation, and he’s coming too, in waves that never seem to stop, never wanting to stop, he never wants it to stop...
And there’s Liam, stroking his hair, nose to nose, sharing air, on their sides but still locked together, and Bradley tightens his legs, holding Liam’s softening cock in, wanting him, still wanting him inside, never wanting him anywhere else...
Words return, though, the little whispers of “I’m right here, darling, I’m right here, I’m not letting go, I’ll never let you go...” reaching him now. A tongue licks the salty trails off his cheeks, in between the little half-sentences, and Bradley realizes that Liam was right, that he did start crying, and the thought of that makes him laugh, and cling even tighter.
Liam's eyes are shining, wet, as he reaches across Bradley to unplug the lamp, casting the bedroom into darkness, pulling those cover up, carrying them away together into the night.
And in Bradley’s dreams, that night, Liam’s there. Holding on.
+++++
Bradley’s woken by the ringing of his cell phone.
For a second, it doesn’t quite register, and he’s reaching over to grab it off the hotel nightstand when he hits a warm, pliant body instead. Liam, flat on his stomach, snoring just a little, the sheets pooled down around his naked waist. And the American pauses. Screw his phone. How often does he get to watch his lover sleep? How many times do they ever get anything as safe, as theirs, as this?
But that phone’s not going to answer itself, he figures, and standing, stretching into the ache of last night, everything still stretched and open and warm. Bradley smiles and pads into the main little living room, retrieving his pants from where Liam stripped the damn things off him. The phone’s in the pocket.
He catches it on what must be the twentieth ring, noticing he’s got like five missed calls. “Hello?” he asks, rubbing a hand up over his face.
It’s his agent. She’s worried about him, that he didn’t come back to the hotel last night, and wants to make sure he didn’t get packed off by over-enthusiastic fangirls or Chechnen gangsters or something last night.
“Liam took me out for a drink,” he answers honestly, standing up because it would be a little difficult to sit down right now. “We got kind of drunk, I crashed at his place. No problem.” And his stomach tightens a little. “Why the fuck didn’t I know he was going to be on the show?”
She stammers an apology and something that Bradley doesn’t quite listen to, and tells he forgives her if she remembers to keep him up on this kind of thing in the future. She promises and asks where they can come to pick him up. Evidently there are things to do today. Like catch a flight back to the States.
Bradley glances into the bedroom, where Liam’s still sleeping, all alone, and he feels sick. Having to leave so soon... “Hey, look, I have no idea where Liam’s apartment is, so when he wakes up, I’ll call you. What’s the latest we can be at the airport?”
“Three,” she says.
Fuck, that’s only five and a half hours, Bradley thinks, glancing at the clock on the DVD player under the TV, and nods. “Okay, we might get lunch then.”
“Bradley...”
“If you’d told me, I could have met up with him yesterday and we wouldn’t have to be getting caught up today,” he tells her, and that’s that.
The actor takes the battery out of the phone and drops it back on his pants, yawning and stretching on his way back to the bedroom. He feels a little bad about the way he was just talking to his agent. She’s a nice lady, really, but he can’t believe she missed...
“Everything alright, darling?” Liam’s sitting up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, dark hair tousled just a bit, those covers doing nothing to hide the morning wood he’s sporting. “Woke up and you were gone...”
Bradley bites his lip, smiling at the sight. “Just my phone...”
The older man holds out his hands for Bradley, who falls into them gratefully, letting himself be pulled back into bed, the two of them tumbling around each other, legs catching up in the sheets until Bradley’s flat on his back, Liam on his side, one big hand doing a circuit from the younger man’s groin up to his heart, and back down again.
He lifts his face for a kiss.
Liam never, ever disappoints him on this, and today least of all. It’s slow and sweet, hands gentle and lips easy, all those little things nobody else can ever, ever touch sparking alight in Bradley with every little movement, each little shift, and Liam pulls away slowly, catching his lower lip as he goes and holds Bradley’s face in both hands, thumbs playing with that spot his lips just left, teasing the stubble on his chin. “What’s wrong, love?”
“That was my agent, Liam,” he says slowly, not really wanting to say this, not wanting it to be true. “We’re flying out today and she’s freaking out because I wasn’t at the hotel last...”
“Leaving already?” Liam asks, voice neutral but grip tightening. “But you... you just got here...”
Bradley scoots up on his side, wrapping an arm under Liam’s, around his ribs, pulling them together. “I didn’t know you were in town, Liam, I swear, man. I would have worked it out, could have gotten us more time together...”
“Oh, Bradley,” and Liam kisses him again, fingers circling up his arm. “It’s not good-bye. It never is. Never will be. Not for you and me.”
“When are we going to see each other again, Liam? I... I don’t know how...”
“I know, I know, darling. I love you...” and Liam pulls Bradley on top of him, chest to chest, stroking up and down his sides, tickling his ribs. “I love you so...”
“Love you, Liam,” Bradley says, desperate, and presses both hands down on either side of his lover’s head, shifting just so for a kiss.
Liam’s hands, those big hand he loves so much, encircle his waist, holding him still even as he wriggles about, looking for the perfect angle, trying to memorize the feel of this, that mouth against his, the way his man tastes, how they seem to fill each other’s raw edges, the way Liam just flows into him, until there’s no separation, no separation at all, no distance between them...
Bradley feels himself being lifted, and he smiles against Liam’s lips as he’s drawn away. He rolls his hips back at just the perfect moment, reaching back behind him to catch that cock he loves so much in his hand, giving it a few good strokes, drawing a delicious little moan from the older actor right as he drops down.
The younger man sighs as he’s filled again, still slick and stretched from last night, and there’s nothing but pleasure in this, Liam’s hands still on his waist, guiding him as he starts to move.
It’s slow, this, a steady roll back and snap forward, both of them perfectly on beat with each other, working this together, neither man speaking, both wanting to drag it out as long as possible. Bradley can count on one hand the number of times they’ve been able to do this with each other, wake up in bed together and make love all over again in the morning, and he wants this to be as good for his lover as he can, really concentrating on that that squeeze, drawing in at just the right angle, rolling forward again at just the right moment, wanting it perfect, and Liam’s eyes are soft, hungry, full, staring up at him as they move together.
And then, when Bradley can feel the body beneath him getting so, so close, he reaches down with a trembling hand and hits that button, stroking the soft skin of the man’s hip just so.
He loves watching this. Loves being able to take this man apart so completely.
Liam gasps and Bradley grins broadly, tossing his head back and pressing, pressing exactly like he knows will... and there it is, Liam shuddering as his control breaks and everything tears apart and he’s flooded for a second time, floods him with that warmth that only Liam ever can.
Bradley milks the last drops, clenching through it, and slips off his half-senseless lover when he’s sure it’s over. Arranges them around each other just so, threading his fingers through sweaty strands of dark hair from the fine lines of that forehead, one shaky finger dipping to trace the laughlines, kissing a temple, feeling that light beard fighting to come in...
And Liam chuckles, the blue of those eyes like rain-washed sky. “What are you doing, Bradley?”
“Want to remember...” he murmurs. “Everything changes so fast...”
“Not you and me, my boy,” Liam says, nothing but affection in the way he catches Bradley’s hand and kissing the tips of his fingers. “Not this.”
“Liam...” he pleads, not knowing what he’s asking for, but definitely asking for something, and his lover just lays a soft finger on his lips.
“This doesn’t end, Bradley,” he says firmly and pulls them both up. “And if you’re going to get on a plane in a few hours, we need to get you a shower.”
“Heh,” the younger man says as they stand, rubbing himself up into position for another kiss. “What about my pants?”
“Yeah,” Liam replies with a grin and pulls Bradley by the hand, into the bathroom. “What are we going to do about those trousers of yours?”
“You are such a jerk, Neeson!” Bradley groans in mock-irritation. "Ruining my clothes..."
Liam slaps his ass, and throws him against the bathroom wall, hands slamming down on either side of his head, a feral little smile on that face as he takes Bradley, still hard, in hard. “And you, Cooper, are a total brat,” he growls.
Bradley smiles back. Another of their favorite games. Probably not the best choice right before a trans-Atlantic flight, but when’s the next time they’re going to get to do this? He lifts his chin, defiant, grinning.
“Bring it, old man.”
+++++
Three and a half hours later, after Liam puts Bradley through his paces in the shower and Bradley tackles Liam to the bedroom floor and they both end up making out on the sofa for what seems like an eternity, they manage to find clothes and shoes and jackets and the will to leave the snug little space. Getting a late lunch together, just like Bradley promised his agent.
He hates lying to people. But it still didn’t stop him from spilling half a beer on that stained area of his pants. Just in case he has to explain why he needs to change them before the flight. He doesn’t think anybody’s going to notice the couple of button missing from his shirt.
Liam takes him to one of those little ubiquitous fish and chips places run by a Pakistani family, chuckling at his wide-eyed excitement over the whole place. “American,” he tells the two men behind the counter, who clearly have no idea who they are, and Bradley doesn’t care if they’re all having some kind of weird European joke at his expense - it’s too damn cool that their battered cod comes in newsprint.
“Technically, I think it’s illegal for them to do that,” Liam comments about the paper cone full of greasy British goodness.
“You’re just pissy I’m not letting you put vinegar on it,” Bradley sniffs, and pushes his ass back against the door to open it.
They don’t have that much time, really, his people coming in about twenty minutes, but they stroll and nibble and chat, Liam pointing over towards a small park at the end of his neighborhood where the car’s got more than enough room to pick Bradley up. The Irishman leads him over to a low wall where they can watch the street.
Bradley makes sure he sits as close to Liam as possible, and Liam just smiles at him and lets an arm fall around his shoulders.
“The fries are good,” the American says, feeling awkward again.
“Chips, darling,” Liam whispers in his ear, and bites into one for emphasis.
“Let’s not get into that bullshit again,” Bradley groans, and pulls a leg up on the wall, turning his body into Liam’s, the older man grabbing last bit of cod. He can’t get too close, not out in a public place like this, and sure as hell not in broad daylight. “UK English and American English and...”
A car pulls up.
“It’s ten minutes early.”
Bradley feels helpless, casting a lost little glance towards Liam, sliding off the wall into the damp green grass. “I’m going to fire them all, I swear,” he grumbles, and balls up the now-empty paper
Liam catches him by the hand, taking it away, fingers stroking his palm, pulling him into an embrace, like the one yesterday on the show, close but not too obvious, friendly but intimate, so intimate... “Thank you,” he murmurs, their faces close.
“For what?”
“For waiting for me. For staying with me.”
“I can’t stay with you, Liam,” Bradley says desperately. “I want to, fuck, I want to be there, be...”
“Bradley, love, you are,” the older man says. “You are there. You’re always there. And we’ll figure this mess out, we will.”
And it’s insane, really. There’s no way they could ever do that, be out, be public, be a couple... but the way Liam’s looking at him, the way Liam’s stroking his hand, the conviction in his voice... and Bradley nods. “Really?”
“I love you. Never doubt that I love you...”
Bradley nods and licks his lips. “I love you, too.”
Liam lets go of his hand and touches his forehead, his scarf, trailing off and away. The last they’re going to get right now, and they both know it. “You need to go, darling.” He leans back, subtle, so expressive. “You need to go.”
“Soon?” he asks.
“Soon.”
Liam smiles, and Bradley smiles back, turns away, and just manages to blink the tears from his eyes, put on that trademark goofy smirk of his and stuff his hands in his pockets before he reaches the car.
We’ll figure this mess out, we will...
Bradley believes every word.
And smiling gets a little easier.
