Chapter Text
"Rooster," Callie says, as she tips back her head to draw the last bit of her drink. "Are you aware that you have 17 missed calls and 45 text notifications?"
Bradley groans and buries his head in his arms. He's too drunk for this. "No, go away."
"Who is TJ," Nat asks, "and why is he calling you 11 times?"
"My stalker," Bradley says, burying his head further. "Or my landlord. Take your pick."
Nat snorts. "And you have 6 missed calls from — Amanda Shrager ?"
Bradley hums and turns away. He can ignore his best friend as easily as he can ignore his boss's assistant.
" Bradley ."
"Wha—oh, hey, ow!" Bradley sits up and moves his arm away from Nat's pinching fingers. "Ow, what?!"
She glares at him. " Why are you ignoring Amanda Shrager of all people?"
Bradley rubs at his arm where the skin has gone red. "It's private."
" Bullshit . Does it have something to do with why you're avoiding Hangman?"
"I'm not avoiding Hangman," Bradley mumbles, even though he very much is. Nat and Callie cross their arms and glare at him and Bradley swears under his breath before sighs. "Hangman asked that I provide fresh consent forms for this whole dom-sub thing with him. Amanda's been on me for providing them."
"So instead of filling in the forms, or looking for a place to live, you're here, having bottomless mimosas with us?"
He nods. "That's about it, yeah."
"And that's why you're avoiding Hangman like the plague?"
He flushes. "Yup."
It's a better reason than the truth, which is that ever since the photo shoot, Bradley has woken up each night, gasping "Hangman" into his sheets. His cock would be straining, red and angry and demanding until Bradley would wrap a hand around himself to give himself some much needed relief. Relief that would last only a few hours until he's visited by another dream and he would be forced to repeat the same process again.
Honestly, his dream-self is a bit of whore. And his dick is a traitor. The thing has no shame. No boundaries. No concept of friend or foe.
It only cares about the feel of Hangman's tongue when it devoured Bradley's mouth, the press of Hangman's abs against his back, the feel of Hangman's hard length against his hips and in his mouth, the small taste of pre-come he'd been able to discern through the cotton of Hangman's sweatpants…… and the way he'd stood between Bradley and Patrick, refused to do anything beyond checking angles. The way he turned down punishment angles, even though he was clearly unhappy with Bradley. The way his hands hovered above Bradley's neck and refused to touch.
He wasn't trying to be nice, Bradley would think to himself in his post-nut clarity. He wasn't . Bradley knows Hangman, and whatever his subconscious might think, Hangman wasn't trying to protect him or take care of him. But Bradley's dick did not care. He'd be back and gasping into his sheets again in a few hours. Afterall, Hangman had given him permission and that seemed to be enough.
"Really?" Nat asks, staring at him dubiously.
Bradley flushes some more and he nods. "Yup."
"Fine." She uncrosses her arms and reaches for the jug of mimosa. "Don't tell me. We'll just add it to the list of other things you shouldn't be avoiding — like finding a place to live before the end of the week."
Bradley groans and holds out his glass for a refill. "Don't remind me."
***
At the sigh of short blond hair heading straight towards him, Bradley Bradshaw turns tail and runs. The sound of footsteps follows him, however, and he frantically turns the handles on every door in the hallway and flings himself inside the first one that gives way.
" Shit ."
The sound of footsteps draws closer and Bradley turns to press his chest against the door, barely daring to breathe.
For the record, he realizes that he's being ridiculous in the measures he's taking to avoid Hangman. But what is he supposed to do? He could not, could not, could not, could not deal with seeing the man himself again. If his subconscious cooked up more Hangman-oriented sex scenarios for him in his sleep, he would masturbate his dick right off. It's never been a fear he had before and he works in porn for God's sakes.
A moment passes, then another, until finally the sound of footsteps fades away.
Still a bit suspicious, he cracks open the door a teeny-tiny bit to peek into the hallway. No one.
Cracking the door a bit more, he peers into the other end of the hallway. Also empty.
Bradley lets out a sigh of relief.
He's safe.
"Hiding from someone?"
Bradley yelps and twists around, knocking his elbow into the door.
"Hangman!"
Hangman stands across from him, his shirt barely buttoned, clearly having been caught in the process of getting dressed.
"But—" But I just saw you in the hall.
Hangman raises an imperious eyebrow at him. "Or were you that desperate to see me, you barged into my dressing room?"
Bradley frowns. "Your dressing—" He looks around the room, and, yup, it's a dressing room, alright, and judging by the pictures and the Austin memorabilia littering the room, one hundred percent Hangman's dressing room. His feet — or some other appendage — has betrayed him.
You shameless hussy, Bradley thinks at his dick.
Hangman steps closer to him and nods. "My dressing room, yes."
"Right."
Hangman takes another step towards him, and Bradley is reminded of a dream — three nights ago — of Hangman stalking towards him and pressing him against the door, a hand wrapping almost too tight around his cock.
"Is something wrong, Rooster?"
Bradley swallows and shakes his head. "All — all good."
But Hangman frowns, eyes running over Bradley. Bradley is reminded of another dream — four nights ago — Hangman standing back and running eyes over him as he asked Bradley to put on a show for him.
"You okay? You're looking flushed." A hand comes up to Bradley's forehead and Bradley is reminded of yet another dream — the second one, two nights ago — of that same hand slapping against his ass as Hangman snarled obscenities into his ear. The hand drops away. "You don't seem to have a fever."
"N—no, I'm okay, I just — was hiding from someone."
Hangman frowns. "Who?"
"Um." You . "Amanda."
Understanding crosses Hangman's face. "Ah. I take it you haven't given her your new consent forms yet, then?"
Bradley doesn't answer, but Hangman tsks his disapproval at him anyway. Bradley is reminded of — Jesus he's half-hard just standing in front of the man.
"Bradshaw—"
A dream. Just last night. "Bradshaw, get on your knees."
"I'm allowed to think about it!" Bradley says and Hangman looks startled. Bradley takes advantage of his surprise and steps away. "I shouldn't be rushed into this — it's — it's an important decision!"
For a moment, Hangman stares at him.
Bradley takes a breath, ready for his next argument, when Hangman cuts him off with a nod. "You're right," he says, "If you need time, you need time. We shouldn't be pushing you into an answer."
He steps back, and Bradley feels himself begin to breathe again. Sort of. It would help if the scent of Hangman wasn't all around him, or his perfect chest wasn't right in front of Bradley's eyes.
"I'll tell Cyclone to back off," Hangman says, nodding to himself. His hands come up to his shirt, buttoning it up the rest of the way and Bradley mourns the loss of his view. Lucky whoever had been shooting with Hangman.
"Wait a minute," Bradley says, a thought suddenly occurring to him. "We aren't doing shoots anymore until this whole mess is sorted out. Who the hell were you shooting with?"
Hangman smirks as he turns to look at himself in the mirror. "Jealous, Bradshaw?"
Bradley scoffs. "You wish. But why the fuck am I getting blue-balled when you get to get your rocks off?"
He's so deprived his subconscious brain has settled for dreaming about Hangman, and yet Hangman is able to get off whenever he wants?
"Jonsey had to pull out of a shoot," Hangman says as he runs his hand through his hair. "They asked me to fill in since everyone else was booked, but they said they won't be airing it 'til after we shoot our scenes. They might have asked you, Bradshaw, if you hadn't been AWOL."
"Oh."
Hangman looks up from where he's fixing his collar to smirk at Bradley again. "Yeah, oh . You might want to make your presence known so you'd get picked again." His gaze drops meaningfully to Bradley's crotch, where his cock is still more filled than Bradley would have liked it to be. "Going by that hair-trigger you're on, looks like you might need it."
Bradley flushes from his toes to his hairline. "That's not— that's—"
Hangman shrugs his sputtering explanation off. "Hey, I'm not judging, but you know the easy solution is that you get our thing out of the way, and then you're back to your regularly scheduled porn, right? You're not helping your situation by avoiding things — you're just drawing the whole situation out."
Seriously, why is everyone on me about that? He huffs. "Easy for you to say. You get to dom. I'm the one who's supposed to sub."
Hangman straightens up and turns away from the mirror, frowning. "What's wrong with subbing?"
Bradley scoffs. "Nothing, if you don't count the pain, the humiliation, the loss of control and making yourself an embarrassing spectacle."
"It's not supposed to be embarrassing, Bradley," Hangman says softly and Bradley jolts at the use of his name. Hangman stares back at him, green eyes sincere and imploring. "Not if you don't want it to be. It's supposed to be good . To take care of you and give you what you need."
Heat pools in his stomach at the words. At the idea of being cared for. And if Hangman — with those hands and that chest and that voice — is the one doing the caring….
Bradley swallows slowly. "If — if it's so good then, why don't you sub and I'll dom?"
Hangman opens his mouth then immediately cuts himself off and clears his throat. "It was Cyclone's choice."
"Yeah, right," Bradley says, with another scoff. "I'm sure he won't be swayed at all if you tell him you want to switch it up."
Hangman opens his mouth again and closes it before he nods. "Fair enough." He nods at the door. "You can feel free to hide out here, but I need to go."
Bradley nods and steps away from the door. He frowns when he notices what Hangman is wearing for the first time. "What are you all dressed up for?"
Hangman grins as he reaches for the door knob. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Seriously, it's not like a conference or something, is it?"
"It's not a conference," Hangman confirms as he opens the door and steps through. "You might need to wait for work to get your rocks off, but some of us are perfectly capable of finding our own entertainment."
"Are you going on a date ?"
Hangman pauses and leans back, halfway away from the door, to smirk at Roo. "Jealous now , Roo?"
Bradley scoffs. "Of course not."
Hangman laughs and then the door is swinging shut behind him, leaving Bradley glaring at the space he'd just vacated.
Jealous . Of Hangman? Give him a break.