Fandom: RPS [Primeval/Merlin]
Pairing: Ben Mansfield/Bradley James
Word Count: 2060
Disclaimer: If this actually happened, I would die of squee. But it didn’t. Please don't send ninjas to break my legs.
Summary: “Ok,” Bradley says, “That’s it, you do not get to visit this set again. You can fuck off back to Dinosaur Land.”
Author’s Notes: I’m fully aware that this interests no one in the world but me, since it’s badly written and Special Hell inducing. But seriously, have you seen the boys playing Frisbee together?! It’s adorable, and I’ve wanted to write this since before I even knew who Becker or Ben were, and I was just like “look at that sensationally pretty man who is apparently going to be in Primeval hanging out with Bradley James!” (Seriously, where do you think I got the name Captain Pretty from in the first place? I called him that because I was hardly going to remember “Captain Becker”, was I?) And also, it’s only a minute and a half of a video clip, and the guys spend a good third of it gratuitously touching each other. I’m only human, and ever so easily led.
Oh, and just in case anyone does actually want to read this, apparently Ben was auditioning for the role of Arthur when the casting people were all “hey, go be Captain Pretty instead”. So that’s what I’m going on about.
Within about three seconds of meeting Ben Mansfield, Katie loudly announces that she wishes he’d got the role of Arthur instead of Bradley, and then flutters her eyelashes a lot. Bradley good-naturedly calls her a long list of names, beginning with “hussy” and getting increasingly more slanderous, while she smirks at him with a humouring expression.
When Bradley finally runs out of expletives, Ben arches an eyebrow and remarks: “No wonder she prefers me.”
“Ok,” Bradley says, “That’s it, you do not get to visit this set again. You can fuck off back to Dinosaur Land.”
Ben doesn’t listen to him, which is generally how most people react to Bradley’s perfectly reasonable orders, like Colin does not get to talk at all on Thursday afternoons and no one is to bring up the missing video camera incident again. He’s too busy looking casually sexy in his military gear – he’s not wearing torture contraptions calling themselves boots on his feet, or irritatingly bulky chain mail – and flirting outrageously with Katie.
“You’re just sulky ‘cause I kicked your arse at Frisbee,” Ben says later, when Katie has fluttered off to shoot something in her scandalously lowcut and entirely historically inaccurate costume.
“You did not kick my arse at Frisbee,” Bradley protests. “It was raining, I had to go and keep my costume dry.”
Ben just looks amused, and slightly condescending. “Right,” he says, patting Bradley’s mail-clad arm, hand lingering just a little too long.
Bradley scowls, and can’t stop himself from saying: “Arthur would totally kick Becker’s arse in a fight.”
“Please,” Ben says, grinning, eyes lighting up with bemused competition, “Becker spent most of his life in military academies or actually in wars.”
“You should see me handle a sword,” Bradley says, and is slightly how ashamed of how blatantly flirtatious it comes out; he’s doing his best not to look like Katie, so that when he teases her mercilessly later she won’t call him a hypocrite. At least there are no witnesses.
Ben’s lips curl, just a little.
“Becker would shoot Arthur in the head from several feet away,” he points out, fingers stroking the thigh holster Bradley has been doing a very good job of not looking at because it makes his thought processes grind to an embarrassing halt.
“Arthur has Merlin, who is magical,” Bradley reminds him.
“And who would snap like a twig,” Ben adds cheerfully.
“I’m gonna tell Colin you said that,” Bradley says.
“Face it, Bradley, Arthur is going to die horribly.”
“Actually, I think Arthur is kind of magical and immortal.”
Ben’s grinning now, all white teeth and messy hair. “This is true. But I still kicked your arse at Frisbee.”
Since they’re filming pretty much next door to each other at the moment, and Bradley has a day off, Ben manages to sneak him into “Dinosaur Land” with very little difficulty.
After seeing Ben as Captain Becker, striding about giving orders in his impractically tight uniform and looking far too comfortable with massive guns, Bradley honestly cannot work out how any members of the Primeval cast and crew actually get anything done. He’s far too distracted, and the only good thing is that Katie and Colin aren’t here to take the piss out of him about his horrible horrible crush and how disgustingly obvious he’s being.
“So, what do you think?” Ben asks, during a shooting break, smirk playing around his lips as though he’s waiting for Bradley to immediately start picking holes in the show and is quite good-naturedly prepared for this.
“I think there should be more sword-fighting,” Bradley informs him gravely.
“Funny you should say that…” Jason Flemying remarks on the way past, paper cup of coffee in hand.
“And me,” Bradley adds quickly. “There should be more me in this show.”
“I don’t know how we manage without you,” Ben says, attempting a serious expression that still crumbles into his practically ubiquitous grin.
Then he’s called back to shooting, and Bradley attempts to watch everything without having a humiliating expression on his face.
Later, they’re in Ben’s trailer. Bradley is irritated to find that Ben has a fridge he can keep things in, unlike Bradley’s hotel room in Pierrefonds, and they’re sharing a bottle of wine. Bradley’s had nothing but craft services coffee all day so he suspects he’s going to end up embarrassingly pissed embarrassingly quickly, and although he spends his entire life saying exactly what comes into his head without really thinking it through, generally while his co-stars give him pitying and/or bemused looks, he thinks maybe this is one situation where keeping his mouth shut would be a good idea.
Ben is smoking, and Bradley shouldn’t be distracted by the angle of Ben’s cheekbones every time he inhales, given that he works with Colin Morgan who is, when you get down to it, nothing but cheekbones with some legs attached. Ben’s out of costume – and Bradley is trying very hard not to miss the way the black t-shirt clings to Ben’s muscles – and his hair is flopping messily across his forehead, lips puckered around the cigarette butt. And Bradley is not staring. Really. He is not. staring. at. all. In between drags, Ben is relating his first days on the job; how his thigh holster kept falling off and how he felt like a total twat in front of all the rough tough actual army blokes; Bradley is laughing in all the right places and is just about managing to tell his own stories of navigating a cloak and a sword and how treacherous the combination can be, though he’s sort of doing it on automatic.
If Colin were here, he would be pissing himself.
Ben sucks the cigarette right down to the filter with a crackle of orange flames, then reaches forward to stub it out. Then he straightens up and gives Bradley a confused look, and Bradley belatedly realises that Ben stopped talking about a minute ago and is probably expecting some kind of response.
There are a little Colin and a little Katie in Bradley’s head, and they’re both laughing fit to cause themselves permanent injury. There’s also a little Angel, but although she’s looking sympathetic, her lips are twitching. And oh God, Bradley is definitely drunk.
“You’re quite a strange person, you know,” Ben remarks conversationally.
“I hear that a lot,” Bradley replies.
“I’m not surprised,” Ben murmurs.
Bradley is pissed and doesn’t even have Colin around to watch his back – Colin’s a good guy, fundamentally, and while he’d tease Bradley for ever, he’d get him out of this situation before the whole thing imploded – and Ben is grinning in tight jeans and a blue shirt with slightly too many buttons undone.
“Can I make an observation?” Ben asks, after a moment.
“You’ve already made one.”
“Can I make another one?”
Bradley sits back, sinking a little into Ben’s sofa, and waves a hand in a way that’s just a little regal and that he belatedly realises he’s stolen from Arthur. “Go ahead.”
Ben moves too quickly, and in a moment he’s straddled Bradley’s thighs, hands closing over Bradley’s shoulders.
Bradley blinks. “What the fuck was in that wine?”
Ben’s really smiling now, a shit-eating grin that lights up his whole face. He’s heavy, and has so many muscles that it’s kind of making Bradley want to run for the nearest gym and stay there for the foreseeable future.
“You,” Ben says, voice a low purr, “Do not get to visit this set again. You can fuck off back to Medieval Land.”
Bradley wonders if he is actually hallucinating and just how badly he’s going to be teased by Colin and Katie and Angel when he undoubtedly wakes up naked in a wood somewhere tomorrow with some kind of derogatory word written in Sharpie on his forehead.
Ben’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline. “You really don’t have a brain-to-mouth filter, do you?” he asks, laughter threaded through his voice.
“So I’m not hallucinating?”
“Not that I know of.”
Bradley frowns. “Then why have I got to fuck off back to Medieval Land?”
Ben leans closer, hair flopping over his forehead and getting in his eyes. “Because you’re distracting,” he all but breathes.
This is why Bradley tries his best not to drink on an empty stomach. He flails as best he can while pinned down by several stone of muscle-y fucking gorgeous actor, and makes a small confused noise.
“Don’t you want to know why you’re distracting?” Ben asks softly, all teeth and bright dark eyes.
“I know I’m distracting,” Bradley replies, “I get told it several times a d-ay…” His voice cracks and fails as Ben slides forward just a little, denim rasping against denim.
“Bradley James, you haven’t been able to keep your eyes off my arse all day,” Ben says, voice soft but firm.
Bradley opens his mouth to protest – something along the lines of lies! all lies! – but a glare from Ben has him closing it again.
“It’s been impossible to concentrate,” Ben adds, still drawing the words out slowly. “Fucking impossible.”
Bradley refuses to let this turn into bad pornography and so does not in any way do something like breathe are you going to punish me? Ben’s lips are curved, eyelashes casting dark shadows down his cheeks, and his hair has fallen over his face in a way that makes Bradley want to reach up and brush it back. He tries to restrain himself, but utterly fails, and before he knows it locks of Ben’s soft, dark hair are tangled around his fingers. Ben catches Bradley’s hand, pulling it down, guiding it… oh. Oh. Bradley finds himself with a handful of Ben’s arse, heat bleeding through his jeans. He gives an experimental squeeze and Ben lets out an interesting little sound between his teeth.
“Happy now?” he asks, slightly breathless.
Bradley’s grinning now, the sort of grin that usually makes Colin roll his eyes at him, but Colin mercifully isn’t here.
“No,” he says, laughter shuddering in his voice, “Not yet. I’m a greedy bastard, you know.”
“So I’m gathering,” Ben replies, “Looks like I’ll have to try harder.”
Bradley tries to reply but Ben’s mouth crashes down on his, warm and wet and tasting of smoke and wine until Bradley is absolutely lightheaded. He pulls Ben closer, teeth digging into his lower lip, and decides that he doesn’t care if this is actually some kind of very strange hallucination, it’s definitely too fucking awesome to try and break out of.
Ben’s smoking a post-coital cigarette, hair a wreck, mouth an interesting shade of friction red that Bradley sort of wants to film just so he can keep it forever, only he doesn’t have his camera with him and then he’d probably have to have some sort of explanation for-
“Do you ever shut up?” Ben asks, sounding just like he does when he’s playing Becker, though his eyes are crinkled with amusement.
Bradley shrugs. “Not really.”
It occurs to Bradley that it’s very late and tomorrow he’ll be expected to get up and do things like walk around and form actual sentences, and when he proves himself incapable of doing those things, he’ll have to come up with an excuse, and knowing him he will probably actually say something along the lines of I’ve been shagged senseless by Ben Mansfield, and then Katie will give him that “Oh God, Bradley’s talking” look and Angel will get all giggly and he’ll probably turn around to find Colin’s captured the whole horrible admission on video camera and he’ll be smirking behind the lens.
He manages to keep this entire train of thought in his head and feels very smug about the achievement.
Ben finishes his cigarette and lies back down, just-been-fucked smile playing around his lips, the fingers of one hand idly carding in Bradley’s hair.
“Maybe,” Bradley begins, with no idea what he’s really saying but then that isn’t anything new, “Maybe a fight between Becker and Arthur would end in a draw.”
Ben rolls over, fluidly covering Bradley and smiling down at him before catching his mouth in a kiss that tells Bradley that tonight is in no way over and that he is going to be utterly useless on set tomorrow.
“Well,” Ben murmurs, eventually pulling back, “Until the rematch, anyway.”