Coming Home
Sep. 19th, 2011 09:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sonora_conejaPairing: Liam/Bradley
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: very light overtones of D/s
Summary:
Bradley’s got an idea for their first night of living together, and Liam finds that he likes it very, very much...
Liam trudges down the hall, towards his New York apartment, going home, dog tired and cranky. Long day. Another long day. Trying to work with the editors, getting that disaster of a film, Wrath of the Titans, into some semblance of coherency.
He can't remember why he ever signed on to the first Clash of the Titans movie. Much less the second. Bloody stupid decision. The first one had been terrible, and for a while he'd thought that at least the price was right on this second contract, but then there had been the whole fiasco with the pictures and the American press and Bradley...
He sighs as he reaches his own door, home for right now. Bradley. His Bradley. They're out now, and all he wants, all he really wants, is to wake up next to the lad every morning, go to sleep with him every night, hear him laugh, see him blush, feel that body against his own...
But. No. He’s been stuck working on this damn movie, so alone. No family in London, no Bradley in New York. Hell, he even had to disappoint the lad on those Hangover re-shoots a few weeks ago, not able to fit in a quick trip back, and he'd lost the cameo as a result. There'd been speculation, pure foolish speculation, that he'd lost it because of their little revelation. Liam's fairly sure that's not true, but Bradley had been worried about it, judging from the panicked phone call the older actor had gotten.
What he wouldn't have given to be there at his boy's side at that moment, rather than half a planet away. It wasn't fair, isn't fair... Never enough time with any of the ones he loves. Never. Not with the boys, and not with Bradley. As soon as this damn pseudo-Hellenic actioner’s wrapped up, he’s got Battleship to start working on, other things....
At least he’d been able to make it to the premiere, though, he tells himself, trying to cheer up as he fumbles for his keys with tired hands.
At least they’d been able to lay some plans.
Plans he’d run by his children, who’d hugged him, told him it was going to be okay.
Plans he’d confirmed with Bradley the very next hour, the American sniffling suspiciously on the other end of the line.
Plans for tomorrow...
He sighs again.
Just not right now.
Not tonight.
The Irish actor finds his keys and unlocks the door. He wants a glass of wine, a shower and a wank, in that order. Wants to think about that delectable ass, that spine-tingling smile, that sweet, sweet laugh and blue eyes, the man who’s going to be joining him tomorrow...
That'll about do it, and smiles a bit as he tosses keys and jacket away, flipping on the kitchen light, going for...
But then he stops.
Then he freezes.
The lights are on.
Neither of the boys are home tonight. They’re both out on some camping trip in Vermont with friends. He’d wanted them here tomorrow, when Bradley will get here, to say hello, to understand, so that they wouldn’t come back to something foreign. They adore the American, they say, but Liam’s still worried. Their mother...
But why in the everloving fuck are the lights on right now?
Then he sees it.
Then he freezes.
Right there, on the kitchen tile, there's a soapy bucket and a scrub brush, almost comically large, held in a pair of rubber cleaning gloves, right at the end of a pair of clever hands he loves so much, some frilly lace and silk apron, a pale vintage blue spread wide on a lap, thin ties trailing down behind, flowing right between a set of perfect cheeks, if the way they’re falling is any indication.
But still...
"Bradley?" Liam breathes.
And those wondrous eyes, deep pools he could just sink into, snap up to meet his and from here, it's pretty easy to tell the lad's used some kind of dark eyeliner that sets all that mischievous sparkle there off sinfully well.
"Sweetheart, home already?!" the American exclaims, sitting back over his bare thighs, feigning shock. "And here I am not done with the floors..." Those eyes sink back to the bucket, for a moment, and Liam can't breath until that gaze comes back up. Until Bradley strips a glove off and plumps his hair, like he's readjusting a perm. "I did get the casserole in the oven a little late, the ladies came over for bridge..."
Liam doesn't quite connect the dots, not for a few seconds, as his lad strips off the other glove, preens a bit. And then he remembers, them teasing during the whole LA visit about Bradley being a live-in boyfriend, his house-husband, about earning his keep...
...if they lived together...
...the date they set for tomorrow...
It’s all Liam can do to stop himself from rushing over there and gathering his lad and kissing him until he can’t think straight. The premiere had been one fucking long tease, out all damn night, no time for anything but a quick handjob for his boy in the shower, the morning he had to leave again...
But Bradley’s smiling at him with ever-darkening eyes, colored black by lust, a smile on his face, and everything about him is demanding that Liam get into gear.
The Irishman doesn’t have it in him to disappoint his boy. And Bradley loves these games almost as much as he does. So he affects an irritated posture and walks over, close enough to touch those caramel curls, which feel amazing tonight. Like they always do.
He frowns.
"I get home and dinner's not ready? What am I going to do with you?"
His lover's eyes go wide. "Don't be angry at me, honey," he purrs, and Liam can hear the laugh behind the little plea. "Can I get you a drink, your slippers..."
"A drink sounds lovely," the older man replies, and pats suggestively, right over his crotch, which has definitely begun to take an interest in the proceedings.
And Bradley drops all pretense of trying to clean, even though, actually, it looks like he did, and shuffles forward a little on bare knees. “Sweetheart?” he pleads, one hand on Liam’s knee. Like he’d not sure what he’s supposed to do. Like he does, but he doesn’t want to.
Right.
His lad, so eager for him, practically trembling with need, and he knows from experience that when Bradley wants to play, he wants to play. And always has the most wonderful games.
He can guess how this is going to go. How Bradley wants it to go. And he wants Bradley to have what he wants. Nothing ever less than that.
So he grabs a bit of soft, soft hair and jerks up. Not hard enough to hurt, but certainly hard enough to get the lad's attention.
“Open me up,” he orders, and hisses in relief, his rapidly swelling cock springing free.
“Sweetheart,” Bradley whimpers, almost like he doesn’t want it.
“You want to live in my home, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir, but...”
And fuck. The lad’s actually blushing. Liam feels his cock twitch, and tells himself to hold back, hold back, play the little game, give his boy what he needs...
"Make that drink to order, darling," he orders sternly, putting the faintest hint of growled disapproval into his words, taking himself in hand at the same time, holding the head just in front of that curve of trembling lip. "Exactly how I want it..."
He watches a delighted little shiver go through his younger lover, and then Bradley rubs his cheek, amazingly free of any stubble tonight, soft and smooth, across Liam's thigh. Nuzzling. "Of course, sweetheart. Silly me. How do you want it?"
"Slow," he orders, rubbing that first pooling drop of precum across the other shaven cheek. "Very slow."
Heated blue eyes lock with his, and Bradley's hands, beautifully soft hands, slide around to rest on the backs of Liam's thighs. And that mouth he loves so opens with a little happy lick of lips and a small sigh, sealing around his swollen cock with the softest of touches. That tongue swirls just right, light suction, faint and wonderful...
"Like that, darling, just like that," Liam gasps, trying to keep his voice even, and digs his hand tighter into his lad's hair, brushing lace and silk as he slowly, so slowly, starts feeding Bradley his cock, inch by agonizingly wonderful inch.
Bradley, submitting like he is, isn't passive right now, that need in the lad seeming to have grown exponentially since the premiere. Glad to know I’m not the only one. So fingers run up and down between the crease of Liam's ass and the tender skin behind his knees. Little moans, growing louder and louder, reverberate up through both men. And when Liam feels that clench at the top of Bradley's throat, he stops, letting up...
But the lad doesn't pull away No. He swallows Liam right down, impossibly tight muscles pulling and squeezing around him, a hand brushing up and around to cup his sac, rolling gently. Groaning his pleasure around his mouthful.
"Bradley, love, I'm going...shit, lad, don't..."
But his lover knows exactly what's coming and he dives into it, working harder, pulling orgasm from Liam, who comes with a choked shout, gripping the worktop behind him tight, a pair of strong arms wrapping around him adoringly, holding him up even as that clever mouth milks every last drop.
"Looks like you have your uses around here besides just cleaning," Liam grunts out when he's able, nerves still singing, Bradley laving every bit of skin he can reach with a hot, ready tongue. "That was very good, darling."
He gets an innocent smile and Bradley wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, exaggerated and sensual. "Will that be enough, sweetheart? Can I stay? Please? Don’t turn me out..."
Trying to keep that stern exterior, Liam reaches down, taking his lover’s hand and drawing the younger man up against him.
He can feel Bradley's erection through the thin blue silk of that apron, and can't resist one little tug, keeping that wonderful material between them. His lover whimpers and Liam takes a mental note to make use of that later. Something new for the lad, no doubt, and he slides the lace ties up, pulling them, most certainly right over his tight, tight entrance...
Something for later, that. And how wonderful will that be?
"I don't know," Liam considers as he plays with the delicate lengths. "Did you remember to dust?"
Bradley's eyes go wide with mock fear, and Liam shakes his head, reminding himself to kiss the lad stupid once they're done. It's nights like this that he's reminded just how much he loves this man in his arms. So sweet, so giving...
"Better get to that before dinner, don't you think?" Liam growls, not serious at all, starting to crack now.
“Oh, please, sweetheart, don’t make me, don’t...”
...don’t make me wait.
Liam sighs, like it’s a huge imposition. “I suppose...” And he slides one big hand around in the silk, slick across all that needy flesh.
It only takes a minute, or so it seems, far too short a time, working his lad’s cock through the apron, listening to all those delicious little sounds, feeling hands work against his shoulders, his waist, lips at his neck, open and gasping for more, bringing Bradley to the brink and over it, feeling the spreading wetness, watching the blue silk go as dark as his lad’s eyes, that expression of pure, wanton, unconscious bliss on that handsome face, holding him up, listening to his heart beat. Beat after beat, slowing again to its familiar, steady rhythm.
The wet silk against his leg shifts.
And Bradley laughs.
Laughs that sweet, wonderful laugh, and the older actor can’t hold out any longer. He swings his lad around, dancing without any music at all, a few tight little whirls in the kitchen, slowing into a long, slow, sweet kiss right there in the middle of the wet kitchen floor, his lover’s arms around his neck, his own hands wandering across bare skin he knows well, hat he’s going to know so, so much better. So soon.
“Mmm,” Bradley moans happily and lays his cheek on Liam’s shoulder. “I know I’m a day early, but...”
“Only by a few hours,” Liam replies, smoothing down some of that thick, beautiful hair. “I think I can forgive you for it.”
“Wanted to play one more time,” the lad says, nipping at his ear. “I wanted to play before some old, rich, lecherous man takes me back to his home...”
There’s the faintest hint of uncertainty in the words. And this is the thing he loves about Bradley, the thing he wishes he could see lifted from him, that edge of insecurity, how he never seems to feel like he’s good enough. Even though he is.
Even though he’s everything.
“Aye, and he is going to keep you there,” Liam soothes. “Keep you there and never let you leave. You’ll never be out of his sight again, never out of his thoughts...”
“He’s never out of mine,” and Bradley’s looking at him again. Placing an open-mouthed kiss, right on his neck.
Liam hugs him closer. Oh yes. He wants this with him, wants this near him, wants this in his life. His man, his beautiful, beautiful man....
The oven beeps.
“Did you really make dinner?” he whispers, surprised.
“Mac and cheese,” the American lad confirms, and pushes back a little, maddeningly sexy in that apron. Where did he get that apron, anyway? Liam wonders. How’d he know he look so good in it? “It’s my mom’s recipe. Like, the only thing I know how to make.”
He grins at the lad, slapping his ass firmly and pushing him back. Back in character. The demanding, overbearing husband. “Then you’re going to have to work on that. No house-husband of mine is going to...” and he trails off, realizing what he just said, watching Bradley, hoping like hell he hasn’t actually betrayed that one little desire that’s been growing in the back of his brain, the one he can't voice, just can't, not right now. Maybe never. Maybe someday...
But the lad looks lost in the game again, and thank god for that, so he finishes, “...leave me hungry when I get home from work. You understand me?”
Bradley smiles at him, nothing registering there at all. Nothing to say that the American took that statement for what it might, hopefully, someday, when he’s ready for it, to be. “Should I set you a place at the table, my love?”
“Set two,” he replies, and kisses him again. Hard.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: very light overtones of D/s
Summary:
Bradley’s got an idea for their first night of living together, and Liam finds that he likes it very, very much...
Liam trudges down the hall, towards his New York apartment, going home, dog tired and cranky. Long day. Another long day. Trying to work with the editors, getting that disaster of a film, Wrath of the Titans, into some semblance of coherency.
He can't remember why he ever signed on to the first Clash of the Titans movie. Much less the second. Bloody stupid decision. The first one had been terrible, and for a while he'd thought that at least the price was right on this second contract, but then there had been the whole fiasco with the pictures and the American press and Bradley...
He sighs as he reaches his own door, home for right now. Bradley. His Bradley. They're out now, and all he wants, all he really wants, is to wake up next to the lad every morning, go to sleep with him every night, hear him laugh, see him blush, feel that body against his own...
But. No. He’s been stuck working on this damn movie, so alone. No family in London, no Bradley in New York. Hell, he even had to disappoint the lad on those Hangover re-shoots a few weeks ago, not able to fit in a quick trip back, and he'd lost the cameo as a result. There'd been speculation, pure foolish speculation, that he'd lost it because of their little revelation. Liam's fairly sure that's not true, but Bradley had been worried about it, judging from the panicked phone call the older actor had gotten.
What he wouldn't have given to be there at his boy's side at that moment, rather than half a planet away. It wasn't fair, isn't fair... Never enough time with any of the ones he loves. Never. Not with the boys, and not with Bradley. As soon as this damn pseudo-Hellenic actioner’s wrapped up, he’s got Battleship to start working on, other things....
At least he’d been able to make it to the premiere, though, he tells himself, trying to cheer up as he fumbles for his keys with tired hands.
At least they’d been able to lay some plans.
Plans he’d run by his children, who’d hugged him, told him it was going to be okay.
Plans he’d confirmed with Bradley the very next hour, the American sniffling suspiciously on the other end of the line.
Plans for tomorrow...
He sighs again.
Just not right now.
Not tonight.
The Irish actor finds his keys and unlocks the door. He wants a glass of wine, a shower and a wank, in that order. Wants to think about that delectable ass, that spine-tingling smile, that sweet, sweet laugh and blue eyes, the man who’s going to be joining him tomorrow...
That'll about do it, and smiles a bit as he tosses keys and jacket away, flipping on the kitchen light, going for...
But then he stops.
Then he freezes.
The lights are on.
Neither of the boys are home tonight. They’re both out on some camping trip in Vermont with friends. He’d wanted them here tomorrow, when Bradley will get here, to say hello, to understand, so that they wouldn’t come back to something foreign. They adore the American, they say, but Liam’s still worried. Their mother...
But why in the everloving fuck are the lights on right now?
Then he sees it.
Then he freezes.
Right there, on the kitchen tile, there's a soapy bucket and a scrub brush, almost comically large, held in a pair of rubber cleaning gloves, right at the end of a pair of clever hands he loves so much, some frilly lace and silk apron, a pale vintage blue spread wide on a lap, thin ties trailing down behind, flowing right between a set of perfect cheeks, if the way they’re falling is any indication.
But still...
"Bradley?" Liam breathes.
And those wondrous eyes, deep pools he could just sink into, snap up to meet his and from here, it's pretty easy to tell the lad's used some kind of dark eyeliner that sets all that mischievous sparkle there off sinfully well.
"Sweetheart, home already?!" the American exclaims, sitting back over his bare thighs, feigning shock. "And here I am not done with the floors..." Those eyes sink back to the bucket, for a moment, and Liam can't breath until that gaze comes back up. Until Bradley strips a glove off and plumps his hair, like he's readjusting a perm. "I did get the casserole in the oven a little late, the ladies came over for bridge..."
Liam doesn't quite connect the dots, not for a few seconds, as his lad strips off the other glove, preens a bit. And then he remembers, them teasing during the whole LA visit about Bradley being a live-in boyfriend, his house-husband, about earning his keep...
...if they lived together...
...the date they set for tomorrow...
It’s all Liam can do to stop himself from rushing over there and gathering his lad and kissing him until he can’t think straight. The premiere had been one fucking long tease, out all damn night, no time for anything but a quick handjob for his boy in the shower, the morning he had to leave again...
But Bradley’s smiling at him with ever-darkening eyes, colored black by lust, a smile on his face, and everything about him is demanding that Liam get into gear.
The Irishman doesn’t have it in him to disappoint his boy. And Bradley loves these games almost as much as he does. So he affects an irritated posture and walks over, close enough to touch those caramel curls, which feel amazing tonight. Like they always do.
He frowns.
"I get home and dinner's not ready? What am I going to do with you?"
His lover's eyes go wide. "Don't be angry at me, honey," he purrs, and Liam can hear the laugh behind the little plea. "Can I get you a drink, your slippers..."
"A drink sounds lovely," the older man replies, and pats suggestively, right over his crotch, which has definitely begun to take an interest in the proceedings.
And Bradley drops all pretense of trying to clean, even though, actually, it looks like he did, and shuffles forward a little on bare knees. “Sweetheart?” he pleads, one hand on Liam’s knee. Like he’d not sure what he’s supposed to do. Like he does, but he doesn’t want to.
Right.
His lad, so eager for him, practically trembling with need, and he knows from experience that when Bradley wants to play, he wants to play. And always has the most wonderful games.
He can guess how this is going to go. How Bradley wants it to go. And he wants Bradley to have what he wants. Nothing ever less than that.
So he grabs a bit of soft, soft hair and jerks up. Not hard enough to hurt, but certainly hard enough to get the lad's attention.
“Open me up,” he orders, and hisses in relief, his rapidly swelling cock springing free.
“Sweetheart,” Bradley whimpers, almost like he doesn’t want it.
“You want to live in my home, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir, but...”
And fuck. The lad’s actually blushing. Liam feels his cock twitch, and tells himself to hold back, hold back, play the little game, give his boy what he needs...
"Make that drink to order, darling," he orders sternly, putting the faintest hint of growled disapproval into his words, taking himself in hand at the same time, holding the head just in front of that curve of trembling lip. "Exactly how I want it..."
He watches a delighted little shiver go through his younger lover, and then Bradley rubs his cheek, amazingly free of any stubble tonight, soft and smooth, across Liam's thigh. Nuzzling. "Of course, sweetheart. Silly me. How do you want it?"
"Slow," he orders, rubbing that first pooling drop of precum across the other shaven cheek. "Very slow."
Heated blue eyes lock with his, and Bradley's hands, beautifully soft hands, slide around to rest on the backs of Liam's thighs. And that mouth he loves so opens with a little happy lick of lips and a small sigh, sealing around his swollen cock with the softest of touches. That tongue swirls just right, light suction, faint and wonderful...
"Like that, darling, just like that," Liam gasps, trying to keep his voice even, and digs his hand tighter into his lad's hair, brushing lace and silk as he slowly, so slowly, starts feeding Bradley his cock, inch by agonizingly wonderful inch.
Bradley, submitting like he is, isn't passive right now, that need in the lad seeming to have grown exponentially since the premiere. Glad to know I’m not the only one. So fingers run up and down between the crease of Liam's ass and the tender skin behind his knees. Little moans, growing louder and louder, reverberate up through both men. And when Liam feels that clench at the top of Bradley's throat, he stops, letting up...
But the lad doesn't pull away No. He swallows Liam right down, impossibly tight muscles pulling and squeezing around him, a hand brushing up and around to cup his sac, rolling gently. Groaning his pleasure around his mouthful.
"Bradley, love, I'm going...shit, lad, don't..."
But his lover knows exactly what's coming and he dives into it, working harder, pulling orgasm from Liam, who comes with a choked shout, gripping the worktop behind him tight, a pair of strong arms wrapping around him adoringly, holding him up even as that clever mouth milks every last drop.
"Looks like you have your uses around here besides just cleaning," Liam grunts out when he's able, nerves still singing, Bradley laving every bit of skin he can reach with a hot, ready tongue. "That was very good, darling."
He gets an innocent smile and Bradley wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, exaggerated and sensual. "Will that be enough, sweetheart? Can I stay? Please? Don’t turn me out..."
Trying to keep that stern exterior, Liam reaches down, taking his lover’s hand and drawing the younger man up against him.
He can feel Bradley's erection through the thin blue silk of that apron, and can't resist one little tug, keeping that wonderful material between them. His lover whimpers and Liam takes a mental note to make use of that later. Something new for the lad, no doubt, and he slides the lace ties up, pulling them, most certainly right over his tight, tight entrance...
Something for later, that. And how wonderful will that be?
"I don't know," Liam considers as he plays with the delicate lengths. "Did you remember to dust?"
Bradley's eyes go wide with mock fear, and Liam shakes his head, reminding himself to kiss the lad stupid once they're done. It's nights like this that he's reminded just how much he loves this man in his arms. So sweet, so giving...
"Better get to that before dinner, don't you think?" Liam growls, not serious at all, starting to crack now.
“Oh, please, sweetheart, don’t make me, don’t...”
...don’t make me wait.
Liam sighs, like it’s a huge imposition. “I suppose...” And he slides one big hand around in the silk, slick across all that needy flesh.
It only takes a minute, or so it seems, far too short a time, working his lad’s cock through the apron, listening to all those delicious little sounds, feeling hands work against his shoulders, his waist, lips at his neck, open and gasping for more, bringing Bradley to the brink and over it, feeling the spreading wetness, watching the blue silk go as dark as his lad’s eyes, that expression of pure, wanton, unconscious bliss on that handsome face, holding him up, listening to his heart beat. Beat after beat, slowing again to its familiar, steady rhythm.
The wet silk against his leg shifts.
And Bradley laughs.
Laughs that sweet, wonderful laugh, and the older actor can’t hold out any longer. He swings his lad around, dancing without any music at all, a few tight little whirls in the kitchen, slowing into a long, slow, sweet kiss right there in the middle of the wet kitchen floor, his lover’s arms around his neck, his own hands wandering across bare skin he knows well, hat he’s going to know so, so much better. So soon.
“Mmm,” Bradley moans happily and lays his cheek on Liam’s shoulder. “I know I’m a day early, but...”
“Only by a few hours,” Liam replies, smoothing down some of that thick, beautiful hair. “I think I can forgive you for it.”
“Wanted to play one more time,” the lad says, nipping at his ear. “I wanted to play before some old, rich, lecherous man takes me back to his home...”
There’s the faintest hint of uncertainty in the words. And this is the thing he loves about Bradley, the thing he wishes he could see lifted from him, that edge of insecurity, how he never seems to feel like he’s good enough. Even though he is.
Even though he’s everything.
“Aye, and he is going to keep you there,” Liam soothes. “Keep you there and never let you leave. You’ll never be out of his sight again, never out of his thoughts...”
“He’s never out of mine,” and Bradley’s looking at him again. Placing an open-mouthed kiss, right on his neck.
Liam hugs him closer. Oh yes. He wants this with him, wants this near him, wants this in his life. His man, his beautiful, beautiful man....
The oven beeps.
“Did you really make dinner?” he whispers, surprised.
“Mac and cheese,” the American lad confirms, and pushes back a little, maddeningly sexy in that apron. Where did he get that apron, anyway? Liam wonders. How’d he know he look so good in it? “It’s my mom’s recipe. Like, the only thing I know how to make.”
He grins at the lad, slapping his ass firmly and pushing him back. Back in character. The demanding, overbearing husband. “Then you’re going to have to work on that. No house-husband of mine is going to...” and he trails off, realizing what he just said, watching Bradley, hoping like hell he hasn’t actually betrayed that one little desire that’s been growing in the back of his brain, the one he can't voice, just can't, not right now. Maybe never. Maybe someday...
But the lad looks lost in the game again, and thank god for that, so he finishes, “...leave me hungry when I get home from work. You understand me?”
Bradley smiles at him, nothing registering there at all. Nothing to say that the American took that statement for what it might, hopefully, someday, when he’s ready for it, to be. “Should I set you a place at the table, my love?”
“Set two,” he replies, and kisses him again. Hard.
