cyus: (Merlin)
[personal profile] cyus
Title: Brannon
Pairing: Colin/OMC, Colin/Bradley, Colin/dog
Rating: NC-17
Contains: bestiality
Length: 3500 words
Summary: The drunken shags followed by weeks of guilt are wearing him down enough that he's just looking for a small break.
Notes: Written for Kinkspiration Round 1: Bestiality.

"You're liking this, hm?" The bloke's lips brushed Colin's ear. He settled on top of Colin as Colin laid back on a bed that wasn't his, in a room that wasn't his, while the low sounds of music and people drinking and laughing in the rest of the flat seeped underneath the closed door.

Plastered as he was, Colin arched into the touch when the bloke's hand slipped into his trousers, fingers brushing along his cock, needy and scrabbling and hot, and the laughter in the background became a drone as his body just wanted more. He leaned up and fastened his lips on the bloke's neck, leaned up further to push his mouth to the bloke's and his tongue inside, and the bloke gasped, cursed when Colin shifted his thigh up higher against the bloke's crotch.

They rutted against each other, moving erratically, then finding a rhythm and losing it again as Colin slid his hands under the bloke's shirt, down the back of his trousers, pulling him in closer, harder, when the bloke got his fingers around Colin's cock and jerked him slowly, fingers slipping with Colin's precome.

Everything curved around the edges when Colin opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, odd things standing out, someone's laughter peaking loud and then nothing, just the heat in his body and wanting to fuck up into the grip the bloke had on him, wanting to bury his face in the bloke's neck.


Colin's hand was sticky when he woke up, a bloke half on top of him, half off the bed. A bed that decidedly wasn't his. A few voices were still whispering outside the door. Colin shifted out from underneath the body, looked down himself with his fly open and his shirt pushed up, his boxers tacky with his own come from the inside and the bloke's come drying on the outside.
- Hide quoted text -

Bile pushed at the back of his throat but he swallowed it down and made it to the door, still feeling more trashed than not as he did up his trousers with one hand while holding onto the wall with the other as he made it out of the room.

A few people were still up and talking in a corner, others sleeping on couches and the floor, tucked in close together.

"You ok, Colin?" one of the girls called and he waved her off as he made his way through the room to get out, trying to ignore how the come pulled at his skin and made him feel like the lowest scum.

The cold air outside hit him hard, Glasgow's nights cold already at the end of September, freezing with just his jumper. Every time he blinked, the bloke's fingers were back on his cock, his mouth pressed to the bloke's lips again, their tongues touching, wet and slick and wanting all of it.

He made it to his own place, managed it into his room and onto his bed, and the room spun faster, fucking with his head as he tried to bury his face in the pillow and just forget about it all. Forget the things he wanted altogether.

Sin didn't mean shit as word, but it made his skin crawl now, made him want to slide off the bed and crawl to one of the churches, spend the night kneeling and begging because while sin was just a shit word thrown around by people who didn't actually believe, the feeling that he needed to get out of his own skin and be flayed bloody for another bloke's come on him, that meant more than letters ever could.


"When did you get in?" Colin asked, pulling off the jumper, brushing his hand through his hair to wipe away the snow.

Neil was leaning against the counter, beer resting against his thigh. "Last night? Last flight in."

"You didn't come to mass."

Neil snorted. "Needed the sleep more." He raised an eyebrow at Colin, and Colin shrugged as he pushed past Neil for the kettle. "I'm surprised you're still going..."

Colin ignored Neil staring at him from the side, ignored the things Neil didn't say or ask given those random moments from years ago when Colin had been stupid enough to say, 'what if...' a few too many times.

"They'd accept it, you know," Neil just said.

Colin laughed and in his head he had this big dramatic speech, with the right hard hand gestures and he'd practiced it in front of the mirror. None of the words came close to describing that he wanted to cut off his cock every single morning after it had spent the night rubbing off against a bloke. "It's not about them," he just said because his parents had never really been the problem.


Colin was sticking to some juice while his brother leaned against the wall with a pint, watching all the Christmas-holiday-returnees in their local. A few girls had different haircuts, a few blokes filled out more or thinner, a few missing, a few extras.

"You're still not on the telly," one of Neil's friends said to Colin. He stood a bit closer than the others, always had. He was down in London for most of the year, only visited the family for the holidays like all of them did, taking the plane back to Armagh for all of memories. They'd kissed last time in the loos, just dumb and drunk and Colin had given in to his cock wanting to be pressed close to something.

"Still learning," Colin replied and sipped, watched Neil laugh with one of the girls, tell a story that made the group around them laugh as well. One of the girls was leaning close and Neil was pushing closer right back. Envy sat hot in the pit of Colin's stomach as he watched them and tried to pretend he was interested in someone like her, the breasts and the vagina, imagined pushing his dick into wet heat but the idea left him cold and looking on.

"How is it though? Is drama school like they all say it is?" the bloke continued, oblivious.

"Like what?"

"Gay?" the bloke chuckled, drank from his pint. "Only reason I ever considered going." He sidled in closer, reeking a little of alcohol, and threw his arm around Colin's shoulder.

"I wouldn't know," Colin muttered, even as the pit of his stomach warred between a few flashes of arousal at the bloke's closeness and the immediate nausea and rushing feeling in his ears.

The bloke just laughed, then leaned in. "You know my parents are just round the corner, we could nip out just-"

"Piss off," Colin said and pushed away, setting his juice down next to Neil's elbow and nodded at him that he was leaving. When he looked over his shoulder just before he stepped out, the bloke still stared after him in confusion then shrugged and moved on.


"It's my birthday," Colin said, sounding a lot more mangled out loud than it did in his own head.

A moment later someone's dick was in his mouth.

A moment later he was having a stolen fag just to chase away the taste of everything that made him want to crawl out of his skin.


"Well they offered it to me, in London, so that's, yeah, that's pretty amazing," Colin said, sitting crosslegged at the end of the couch, fingers curled into the fur of Declan's dog Brannon. He smiled when Brannon shifted, half rolling onto his back to have his belly scratched. Tea balanced on the arm of the couch, they were sitting in one corner of the flat while most of the others had congregated around the Playstation and in the kitchen.

He'd be visiting his parents for the weekend and then London. Meetings, rehearsals, being on stage with a few brilliant people, the new year was starting to look up. After the party last night, the rest of his birthday had been this quiet affair, a few mates and a few of their friends, quieter than wishing, just a few hours before, that he'd throw up all the bullshit.

"Well exciting, I mean London, you know..." Declan laughed. "This isn't London here."

"Here's not bad though," Colin said, shifting down on the couch a bit, not quite hung over but bone-deep tired nonetheless. He cleared his throat. "I mean, I wouldn't have left here if I could've done acting here instead. I'd have stayed, really."

"You're mad, Cols. There's nothing here."

Colin smiled when Brannon turned his head and licked at Colin's fingers. Nothing here really meant no one here whereas Glasgow meant fucked up nights he only half remembered for the alcohol and where he wished for a complete blackout so he wouldn't feel like the lowest scum the next day. London would be, well, London, the same only worse more than likely and only worth it for the moments on stage. Here it only happened on New Year's. He could deal with New Year's.

"I like here," Colin said, quietly, voice half muffled by the sofa cushion as he squished his face into it. The dog popped its head up and nudged at Colin's cheek, then slid down again and moved fully on its back, arching into the touch of Colin's fingertips on its front.

"But you like acting more."

Colin nodded. Acting made it all worth it, disappearing entirely where he could do all kinds of outrageous things on stage and know he couldn't be judged for that.

Laura called for Declan to get his arse off the sofa. They kicked out some of the stragglers. "You sure you don't want to come with to replenish groceries?"

Colin waved them both off and made enough noises into the sofa cushion to sound suitably discouraging. The door closed behind them.

He still felt the bloke's fingers on his skin, and his fingers curled into Brannon's fur, trying to calm himself with the quiet, warm heartbeat under his fingertips. Brannon whined, panted when Colin continued petting him.

Colin slid lower on the couch, head hanging over the edge to watch as Brannon moved into the touch of his fingers, unashamed and happy and not thinking even a moment about rights and wrongs and laden religious commitments.

"Shh," Colin whispered when Brannon gave a bark when Colin stopped for even a moment to slide off the sofa to the floor to be just a small bit closer. Brannon pressed against his side, head tucked near Colin's crotch, ears back as Colin kept petting him, slow strokes along his side, down the front, down to his belly.

Brannon leaned his weight into Colin, and Colin let him. Brannon's warmth soaked through his clothes as the sun disappeared and left the grey January afternoon light in the room.

"Yeah," Colin said as he slid sideways, stretched out on the floor along the length of the sofa, Brannon pressed to his front, nudging his head against Colin's chest every time Colin stopped touching him. Brannon's pants dampened Colin's shirt, tongue lolling against the fabric. Colin chuckled and kept petting Brannon, the quiet nice with just the two of them here, no one talking, and asking questions and waiting for answers, waiting for him to be charming and interesting and entertaining.

On the next brush down Brannon's belly, the back of Colin's hand nudged against Brannon's cock, furry, hot, and Brannon gave a whine, a jerk of his hips, got up and turned in a circle a few times.

"Fuck, sorry," Colin spat out as if the dog could understand him, drew his hand back, watching, then doing nothing much at all when Brannon laid down next to him again, closer, higher up. Colin listened into the quiet of the flat but there were no sounds, nothing of anything and he moved his hand down again, just curious, nothing else, dragging his fingertips along Brannon's furry dick.

The dog whined and pushed closer, legs scrabbling against the floor, and Colin closed his eyes, buried his face in Brannon's neck and moved his fingers until he was cradling Brannon's dick in his hand. Brannon pushed into the touch, moving hard, frantic, paws scratching along the wooden floor as he was looking for purchase. Colin thought about the nights drunk off his arse and sloppy lips and tongue with too much spit, how all the ways he shouldn't be doing this hammered inside his skull with every touch, every moan.

Brannon was pushing his dick into Colin's hand, and there were no thoughts, only the steady calm warmth, the beat of Brannon's hard, and the wet slide when the dick lengthened from the sheath, slipping against Colin's skin. Colin pushed a hand between their bodies, pressed down on his own cock and pushed up against it. He humped his hand, while keeping his grip tight around Brannon's cock, felt him swell, hot and hard, and as much as he strained to hear if anyone was close to turning the key in the lock, he couldn't stop now.

Brannon's come squirted from between Colin's fingers, dripping to his jeans and shirt, soaking the fur of Brannon's belly. Brannon whined and Colin let go off his dick, watched the dog trot off and lick himself in a corner.

Colin sat up, shivering with the sudden absence of Brannon's heat, and stared down at his hand, his clothes. "Fuck," he mumbled and waited for the kick in his stomach, that sudden feeling of the world tilting when he stood his hand into his trousers and felt his own come in his underwear.

The world didn't tilt, and when Brannon came back over to sniff at him, Colin petted him, absent-mindedly, and stared out the window at the snow.


They'd shaken hands the first morning; the first night, down at the pub, they had enough drinks to keep Colin where the bloke with a name, colleague in cursive underneath, could become a bloke without because everything else was blurring just as much.

"You've had a bit much," the bloke said, all blond and crooked smile, and Colin still pushed him up against a wall because London still did him in even when he tried to keep his dick where it wouldn't try to massacre him the morning after.

"Just enough," Colin said, and fumbled with the bloke's shirt, hot skin underneath, pressed just close enough to feel for the other's cock, then his own, close enough that the bloke said something about regrets and work the next morning and Colin was pushing just a bit further while his mind was offline and couldn't bother him with the thrum of wrongwrongwrong.

"I don't-" the bloke said, and moved out from underneath until Colin was hugging the ugly wallpaper and the thin wooden panelling. "Not like this, mate. Just..." And he said more, but Colin was only watching him with his shirt half undone and looking well aroused and wanting it.

The door to the pub opened and the breeze tugged at Colin's clothes, letting the guilt creep in on its heels and it claw its way under Colin's skin.

"...when you're sober, yeah?" the bloke said, smiling.

When he was sober he fucked his lines, couldn't look at him, and spent an hour in front of the toilet bowl waiting to throw up. Life didn't manage dramatic moments quite that well though and when he left the loos, under the looks of pity and cooing, he didn't even have the taste of bile to make him feel cleaner.


"They're not feeding you enough down there," Laura said.

Declan laughed and heaped more of the pasta on Colin's plate. Brannon was under the table, lying clear across Colin's feet, stretching up every once in a while to push his nose along the inside of Colin's thighs. Colin flushed every time but spread his legs further for it anyway, calmer now than he'd been all throughout filming.

Declan and Laura were telling him about the old cinema and the family living next to it, while Brannon pushed his nose clear against Colin's crotch and Colin reached for his collar and kept him there for just a moment hips flexing to push up until Brannon whined and Colin released the collar, exhaling hard with another twitch of his hips.

They spent the night with some games, something stupid on the television, and Colin made up his bed on the sofa when Laura left and Declan told him good night.

"Hey," Colin said into the darkness, lights out as he stripped down and sat on the sofa.

The sound of paws on wooden floor and then a weight on the sofa next to him, Brannon pushing in close, all fur and heat.

"I missed you," Colin said, feeling immediately foolish and biting the inside of his cheek. Not that the dog cared about his stupidity, not that anyone was listening. "You been a good boy the last year? Better than me, eh?"

Colin laid down and pulled Brannon down with him, brushing along Brannon's back, then side once, before inching down between his legs, fingers finding Brannon's cock and Brannon's cock finding the tight heat of Colin's fist. They both slid down sideways, tangling limbs, to push and grind against each other. Colin had the fingers of his free hand up his arse, spreading and turned before he managed to have second thoughts about this kind of shag, held his breath until Brannon scrabbled around and mounted him, front paws scratching over his back, wet cock brushing over his arse until Colin reached back and guided him in, then pressed his face into the pillow to muffle the sighs and moans.

Brannon whined, even gave a few barks that Colin tried to shush, pushed his arse back instead. They didn't have to talk, there was no etiquette and no expectation, no kisses and no questions and no disappointment. Brannon battered his arse, cock thrusting into his hole until he'd forced his knot in and Colin knelt there and took it and no one knew a thing about it.

He came, his arse still open around Brannon's cock, and still sucked the come off his hand when Brannon had already jumped off the sofa and decided the middle of the night was a great time to play with his squeaky toy. He showered, but even on the plane home, come was still leaking from his hole.


"Colin! Colin- Colin..." Bradley stood in front of him, another corridor, but they'd been having an awful lot of last times the last month already. Everyone had got tired of saying it, even thinking it, but now they were down the line and the last scene was a standard pick up from one of the first episodes, an angle they'd forgotten the first time around.

Colin stood up, stretching from his crouch against the wall.

"Will you be sober tonight?" Bradley asked, half-conversationally when they walked to the set (for the last time).

Colin startled, his throat instantly tight. "Doubt it," he said through it.

Bradley chuckled, shrugged as he walked towards his mark. "Good," he said with a grin and they went through the scene.

Half an hour later and they wrapped with a few cheers, more sadness, shoulder claps and hugs and the 'there's still the wrap party' promises.

Closer to midnight, the wall had become Colin's new best friend and the world was spinning around its axis.

"There you are," Bradley said, and then he said not much else, just pressed against Colin and pushed him against the wall, kisses a bit too wet and body a bit too big and too handsy, asking too much when he grabbed one of Colin's hands and put them to his own waist. "You're not that out of it, are you?"

"Just enough," Colin replied, or tried, when he reciprocated with a bit more spit and a few more movements and something that had them in Bradley's room the blink of an eye later, him naked, Bradley still dressed but exploring, as he said, and Colin was tired of exploring already. Bradley looked him over, looked at him naked.

"You've done this before, right?" Bradley asked and said, "you're liking this, yeah?" and his hands roamed over Colin's body, touching him everywhere, kisses, bites, his cock, Colin's cock.

The next morning Colin thought he could still taste the bloke's come in his mouth. He dressed haphazardly, tossing on clothes because the room seemed to small, his skin too dirty for this. His skull was breaking at the seams with hang-over and all the things he shouldn't be doing.

Later he got a text, then a longer email, a few phone calls.

Later he was on a plane out home.

"We wrapped, it's strange," he said to Neil.

"You'll still see him around," Neil replied, grinned knowingly as if he actually knew anything.

"I need a few days," he told his parents when the walks around town kept leading him to churches and the hours spent there didn't make him feel any better.

"Any time," Declan said when Colin stood at his doorstep with a bag and five years in London, three years in Glasgow having left their claw marks all over him.

Brannon nuzzled close in hello and Colin crouched down and buried his face in the dog's fur, said hello back.

Date: 2011-10-18 11:41 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Holy shit, seriously. It's hot but so wrong but so weirdly in character for what my tortured view of fic!Colin is. I haven't seen self-loathing but also acceptance done so well in fic in a long time. I don't know if you wanted to hear that or not.

Colin flushed every time but spread his legs further for it anyway, calmer now than he'd been all throughout filming.

So parts like the above were dirty and fucking hot.

They didn't have to talk, there was no etiquette and no expectation, no kisses and no questions and no disappointment

parts like this were so beautiful it made my heart ache. Cause it's true even if you're not into dog fucking.

Date: 2011-10-21 06:36 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Last time I wrote bestiality fic I got the 'it's so romantic' and 'aw there is so much love between them' so yeah, nah, that works for me. I tend to read bestiality fic that doesn't give much in way of explanation but while writing it, this whole religious guilt thing came around. Figured I might as well use it, and yeah, glad to hear it works in that context and Colin's needs and desires are believable as such.

Date: 2011-10-19 02:06 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Wow. Bleak and sad and grey - the self-loathing and self-punishment in this. Disturbing and magnetic - but that's what you were going for.

matches my mood perfectly.

Date: 2011-10-21 06:37 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
That was pretty much what I was going for, and I'm glad to hear it works in this.


Date: 2011-10-19 02:32 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
This was soooo messed up and complicated. I love the odd pile of guilt that Colin was here, not comfortable in his own skin, not able to forgive himself (accept himself) and to find an outlet for his sexuality that (ironically) did not make him feel guilty.

It has an odd sort of logic to it with not 'sharing' the experience with another person being somehow acceptable...

But I gotta say, you love to leave the reader with a punch in the gut. That whole B/C scene? raised my hope that maybe... but um, no.

Well done, Nick. very hot. (and worth the ache this tinhatter felt in her belly.)

Date: 2011-10-21 06:40 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I originally had a different ending planned, where B/C end up together and B knows nothing about C's sexual past, but a year down the road Colin is all, "So hey I was thinking... we should get a dog?" and end it there, so it likely wouldn't have been any less gut punchy.

But yeah, I wanted to keep it raw and emotional and a bit broken and fucked-up. I personally prefer my bestiality/dog fucking fics with less backstory and more sex, but oh well. :/

Thanks for reading though, Maggie.

Date: 2011-10-19 02:49 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
fuck that was good thanks mate

Date: 2011-10-21 06:33 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Cheers. Thanks mate

Date: 2011-10-19 03:02 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
The self-loathing and the desire to hide that side of himself away are so strong in this the bestiality almost comes as a logical consequence.

I never thought this would work for me but it really does.

Date: 2011-10-21 06:34 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Glad it works. I wssn't sure about it when I wrote it, thought it might be a tad too contrived, but happy to hear it still works. Cheers, thanks man.

Date: 2011-12-13 09:33 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
This is a great, albeit uncomfortable story. I loved the sparse, sharp look into Colin's internally generated homophobic self-loathing. The bestiality really worked as a mechanism to separate from his guilt-ridden human mind and spirit long enough to satisfy what his animal flesh forces him to crave.

Colin stood at his doorstep with a bag and five years in London, three years in Glasgow having left their claw marks all over him.

Really great line to sum up the story.


cyus: (Default)

November 2012


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