A Once in a Lifetime Encounter

The following story is utterly fictional. It's merely the ravings of a perverted fangirlish mind. I do not own anything regarding Mr. Alan Rickman.

A Once In A Lifetime Encounter
By Ami E. Bowen

It wasn't the first time I'd been to a play, but it might as well have been. As I sat, three rows from the stage, peering behind a woman with curling dark hair tumbling to her narrow, bared, shoulders, at the actor upon the stage, I felt as if everything around me had dissapaited until everything began and ended with his voice and the part he was so skillfully playing. When I'd first heard that my favorite actor, Alan Rickman, was coming to my hometown to do a benefit show for one of the charities he sponsored, I'd done all I could to obtain tickets.

I'd tried to get my best friend, Corrie, to come as well, but she took sick on the exact night of the play. Which, I thought, in retrospect, was a pity. She was missing a treat. Three hours later the cast emerged upon the stage for a final bow and the audience stood and cheered. I stood as well and clapped enthusastically. I heard someone mention that the actors were signing autographs backstage.

I followed the crowd backstage. I wanted to go and ask Mr. Rickman if he would sign something for me, but as usual, my shyness prevented me from approaching him. I took a seat on a folding chair instead and smoothing the wrinkles from my black skirt, was content to watch him from across the room, as he stood, talked, laughed and mingled with the common folk of the town.

Slowly, the crowd began to thin out and the actors wandered off into small groups, signing autographs and talking about the charity the proceeds of the play would go to. I saw several people draw out checkbooks from thier purses and wallets. I'd given as much as I could earlier, most of my money spent on the actual tickets. One un-used and un-refunded.

It was for charity, so I didn't think it was right to ask for my money back. I knew I should go and call for my ride home. It was getting late. Before I could stand up, though, a shadow crossed over me and I glanced up in time to see a very familar face smiling down at me, one thick brow raised slightly, "Are you waiting for an autograph?" he asked, with that silky, sexy voice of his.

I could only blink and stare. He looked so handsome dressed in a white silk shirt and black slacks. He hadn't changed out of his costume yet. I thought that the cape, draped seductively over one shoulder, particularily appealing. "Hey, what's the matter?" he teased, and touched my shoulder lightly, "Cat got your tongue?"

No, you have! I thought, feeling my face blossom into what I was sure looked like livid crimson blotches. Damn my fair complexion! "Um, no... I mean...sure...thank you!" Sure? Thank you? What the fuck, Ami? You sound...deranged! Ugh...

"I'm sorry," I said, as I handed him my playbook, and watched as he held it to a nearby wall to scrawl his name across the front in black ink before handing it back to me, "I didn't mean to sound all...fangirly..." I rolled my eyes at this and to my surprise, he laughed.

"Don't worry," he said, turning gracefully to wave at a group of people who were just leaving, "It happens more often than I'd like, actually." I'll bet! I thought, and he took a seat next to me in another of the metal chairs, of course it did. He was pretty much the star in several women's daily fantasies. Including, I thought with another blush, mine.

I was watching him through the corner of my eye, not knowing what to say to him. I'd never been good at public speaking or talking with people in real life very well. Online I was the most verbous person you'd hope to meet. I may have trouble with spelling and grammar, but I certainly wasn't shy! But, online was one thing. Real life completely another!

"Are you waiting for someone?" I heard him ask, and realized that we were suddenly nearly the only people left. Slowly, in groups or in twos, everyone had vanished. Save for a few people milling around a buffet table near the rear of the room.

"Not really," I said, shrugging, "I don't have any set curfew or anything, if that's what you mean."

He gave me a look and rose from the chair, "I know it's...a bit presumptious of me, but I'm on the way to a little get-together," I blinked again and waited, not ready to believe what he was saying, "And," he went on, "Since you don't seem to have any plans...how would you feel about coming along with me?" How would I...? Was he serious? I could only nod before he reached down to take my hand pull me to my feet.

"Sure!" I smiled, hoping I didn't appear too eager. After all, it wouldn't do for him to start thinking; "Oops, stalker material. Better ditch this one!" I followed him outside where his limo driver was waiting.

My town being the size it was, people pretty much kept to themselves. If a famous person showed up, most of the town members were polite enough to give him or her room to breath. A few women gawked as we climbed into the car, and I saw one teenage girl squeal at her friend about "Professor Snape" before the door closed on thier voices and the car began to inch forward. Seated next to me upon the plush velvet seat, Alan appeared relaxed and at ease. It was a totally differnt Alan Rickman than I was used to seeing him in interviews and sighted in public. He was still very...elegant, graceful, almost with a regal air.

But, he wasn't at all stuck-up. No, far from it. Not that he ever seemed snobbish in interviews or anything. He just seemed, more relaxed right now than I'd ever seen him before. As if he was only free to truly be himself off-camera and out of the sight of the public. In fact, sensing my nervousness, he leaned over and began to tell me some of the most off-color dirty jokes I'd ever heard until I couldn't help but crack a smile and, covering my face with my hands, I erupted into giggles.

"That's better," he said, once we'd stopped laughing, "We're not heading to a funeral. It's quite all right to laugh. Relax," he said, drawing one arm about my shoulder, "I won't bite you, you know!" Oh, that voice! How could he ask me to relax when he was doing things to me that even I couldn't explain. He asked my name then and I told him. Miracles of miracles not stumbling over my words! I had a really difficult time speaking out loud.

It was one of the reasons I was so much better at writing. It was easier to say what you wanted to say when you had time to think about it first. He drew away from me for a moment to look at me in the glow of the overhead light he'd switched on. I was wondering what he was looking at. "How old are you, exactly?" Oh, great. I was curious as to how long it would take before I was asked that question. The one question that everyone asks upon first meeting me. And, as usual, I couldn't help but give my standard response; "Guess."

"Well, I am hoping for my sake you're over twenty-one!" I smiled at this, and raised my dark brows, "Twenty-five?" he ventured and I shook my head. People have mistaken me for sixteen before. Between sixteen to early twenties. I looked extremely young and, depending on my mood, could behave either extremely young or my own age.

"Okay, I give up," he said, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture, his hazel eyes twinkling, "How old are you? And no lies! I know how you women are!"

"Okay, no lies," I agreed, "I'm thirty-one."

"I don't believe you," he said, as I knew he would. No on ever believed me when I told them my real age, "Seriously?"

I nodded, "Seriously. May thirteenth, Nineteen Seventy-Four. I could show you my ID if you'd like..."

"No, no," he laughed, "That's not nessesary. You're pretty lucky you know. When your my age you'll look years younger!"

How old was he? Oh, almost sixty. Right. Such a gorgeous man for being so old. Although, sixty wasn't really all that old, if I stopped to think about it. And he did carry himself very well, like a man much younger. I think it added to his attractiveness. He reached out to the seat in front of us and pressed a button. I watched with interest as a mini-bar opened up and he offered me something to drink. I smiled my assent and he asked what my posion was. Normally, I only drank once a year or so, at special occasions, so I was at a loss as to what to ask for. He seemed to sense my discomfort and told me not to worry.

"I'll just surprise you," he said, and I watched him move, mxing up the drinks with a careless, although, careful, ease. Once finished, he pressed the same lever, button or whatever it was, and the mini-bar disapeared back into the seat. He sat back and handed me my drink. I thanked him and took a sip from the tumbler he'd handed me. "Slowly!" he cautioned, watching me before downing his own shot with one fluid motion, "I might have made it a bit strong."

I didn't ask him what he'd given me. I didn't ask alot of things. It was enough to be here, so close to him, in the warmth of the car on this chilly October evening. I could really care less if we made it to the party or not. I only wanted this ride with him to never end. I drank a bit more and felt the heat rushing to my face again. Something that happened whenever I drank, and began to feel a little bit light-headed.

It was all right. I was still in complete control. It was hard to explain, but whenever I drank, no matter how much, I was always in control and I alway remembered everything that happened when I awoke the next day. In high school a boy tried to take advantage of me by getting me drunk. It didn't work. Not that I was suspecious of Alan's intentions.

He had too much class to ply a woman with drink in order to bed her. As if he needed to! The alcohol rushing through my limbs, I began to relax and to actually engage him in conversation. We talked about mindless things; the weather, the difference between British and American cultures, what type of music we enjoyed, hobbies.

In a moment of either bravery or utter foolishness, I confided in him how cute I thought it was to hear that he liked to daydream. I think the reason that touched me so much is because I am the same way. Only, with me, my daydreams often become stories or drawings. The time I was spending right here, right now, with him, seemed a daydream.

I don't know, exactly, how it happened, but I found myself blinking at him, smiling, my drink held halfway finished in my hand. I wasn't drunk, just a bit buzzed. I think the alcohol's effect enabled me to lose much of my shyness. I would never had reached out to stroke back his hair, exposing a distingushed widow's peak, from his brow, had I been completely sober. I thought he would move away from me, perhaps catch my wrist and place it back onto my lap.

To my utter shock, and I must say, excited pleasure, he smiled, asking me if that had eased my curiosity. Hardly, I thought, but shrugged, instead, starting to apologize for touching him without permission. It was rude of me, I knew. "And such a...fangirly thing to do," he said, using my word from earlier, and it took me a moment to realize he was teasing me, "Right?"

I nodded, and he took my glass, which was nearly empty by now, from my hand. "Are you all right?" he asked, and I was touched by his concern, "You didn't drink that too quickly, did you?"

"No, I'm fine," I said, "I could do that whole 'finger-nose-walking-alphabet' thing for you, if you don't believe me...though, I know I'd mess up if I have to recite the alphabet backwards. Who made up that test?! Even completely sober I couldn't do that!"

"No, no," he said, "I just wanted to make sure..."

"Make sure?" I asked, feeling stupid. There was something in his tone that told me his mood had altered, he seemed more serious and his voice had lowered an octave.

"That you can't say I got you inhebriated before attempting to seduce you," he said, catching me totally off gaurd. It was the last, although admittingly I can't say I'd never thought of it, thing I'd have expected him to say to me. The very last! I didn't know what to say to this announcement and started slightly as I felt his hand upon my lap, his fingers squeezing the flesh of my thigh through the thin, dark material of my favorite skirt. "You're very attractive..." he said, near my ear, his breath a whisper to tickle my skin. I knew I was passable, where looks were concerned, but, I'd never have called myself 'very attractive'.

But, if Alan Rickman wanted to believe so, who was I gainsay him? I heard my own soft moan as he drew me towards him and nibbled lightly at the side of my throat. All I could think was, "Wow...this is totally...random..." But, oh, my god. His tongue was tracing cirlces near my ear as his hand began to drift beneath my skirt, drawing the fabric upwards to expose the peaches and cream of my thighs. I tensed and wondered if we should be doing this. He began to whisper in my ear words that made no sense, but which left me weakened and, yes, aroused. Anyone who's ever been a fan of his knows the things his voice, accent, and speech mannerisms could do to anyone listening.

I couldn't stop myself any longer. With a whimper, I gave into my own desires. After all when was I going to get another chance? This could never happen again, I knew. I drew my arms upwards around his neck and he lifted his mouth from my throat to capture my own in a soft, tender kiss that became more frenzied in a matter of moments. I met his kiss, skillful and experienced, with my own, less experienced one. My tongue joined his in a timeless dance of thrust and parry, trying to keep up with the pace he was setting. I was panting by the time we drew apart, my hair, which I had left down to fall to my waist, mussed, and my cheeks burning from either the drink or my growing feelings of sexual excitment. We looked at each other for a moment.

Just for a moment. Dark brown eyes to soft hazel. I reached out and clutched his shoulder, where the cape from the costume he wore on stage earlier fell across it, and pulled him to me for another heart-stopping kiss. I couldn't seem to get enough of his mouth, tongue and the taste of the drink on his breath. My fingers dug into the silk of his shirt and I wanted it out of the way. Feeling his own hands begin to carefully undo the buttons of my own raven-hued blouse, I groped at his own shirt until he took my hands and held them away from himself, "I really don't mind your eagerness," he said, "But, I don't think it would be appropriate to arrive at the party in torn clothing."

"So," I countered, breathing heavily, as he continued to unbutton my blouse, "You're going to change your clothes when you get there anyway, aren't you?"

"That's not the point," he said, and smirked at me, "Now, be quiet so I can get the rest of these bloody buttons...how many are there, anyway? Two hundred?"

"Now, who's the eager one?" I asked, and helped him with the rest. There were alot, I'd forgotten that this particular blouse, while dressy, was a major bitch to put on and take off. By the time we'd gotten to the last, I wanted to just rip the thing off and to hell with what people thought. But, I didn't want to give the tabloids anything to gossip about. And what gossip it would have been! "Strange young woman spotted emerging half-dressed from actor Alan Rickman's limo last weekend..." I cringed at the thought of something happening to threaten his personal life. I knew he'd want me to keep everything we did to myself. Of course, I was all ready planning to.

The only place I would ever think of sharing this encounter would be in my journal online, and in a friends' only post at that. Finally, he pushed my blouse off my shoulders and exposed the off-white bra I wore. "I was half expecting it to be black," he said, upon spying my undergarment. Yes, I had a penchant for dressing in dark colors. I would have been a goth if only I'd known how to angst better and not laugh so readily. If he was surprised that my bra was white, he was going to be knocked for a loop when he realized I wasn't wearing panties. I hardly ever did. It wasn't that I was being slutty or anything. I just normally didn't remember to put them on. Unless I was on my period or in a very short skirt, I never wore them.

I wriggled out of my blouse and tossed it aside. "Come here..." he said, softly, huskily, and guided me onto his lap with a press of his hand against my side. I shivered as I felt the hardness of his cock through his pants, and felt myself begin to dampen in response. I leaned back a bit as he kneaded my full breasts with his hands, bending foreward to slide his tongue across my nipples through the silky fabric of my bra.

Reaching around, he unhooked it and it drooped from my body, allowing my breasts freedom. Instinctively I tried to cover myself. I thought my breasts were too large. Too...much. But, he gently pushed me back and began to suck and nibble upon first one and then the other, causing my pink-tipped nipples to grow rigid and soft, sweet sounds to escape from my throat. As I ground my hips against his own, I felt his hands drawing my skirt up higher until his hands touched the bareness of my ass. I caught the surprised expression which flicked across his face as he lifted his head from my breasts and said, quickly, "Don't ask!" before he could.

Knowing that the driver couldn't see, nor hear us...or at least, I hoped that was the case...he moved me from his lap and eased me down upon the seat. Thank goodness the limo's seats were large. My legs parted as he settled himself between them, and I met his mouth with my own passionatly, feverishly, my hands trying to be everywhere at once. He trailed a series of wild, nibbling kisses across my chest, paying homage to both of my breasts until they were aching from his attention, downwards to flutter across my stomach. I felt his hair brushing my thighs a moment before he parted my wetness with a finger and dipped the tip of his tongue between the folds of my womanhood. I cried out and bit my lip, throwing my head back against the seat as he swirled his tongue across my clitoris, sucking and biting gently.

I couldn't stop myself from moaning loudly as I felt his tongue replace his fingers and he pressed it inside of my warmth. I writhed against him continued to taste me, sucking at my juices as I drew nearer to climaxing by the moment. Before I could come, however, he pulled away from me and, still stroking my sex tenderly with one hand, began to whisper within my ear all the silly little endearments women want to hear from a man.

I must admit that, when it comes to Alan Rickman, he could have been reciting nursery tales. I felt myself clinch against the finger he'd pushed back inside of me, his other hand still stroking my clitoris, coaxing me to orgasm. I felt myself peaking and came with a sudden, body-shaking scream, trembling on my way back down, only to peak again as he had not stopped touching me; huskily telling me, over and over, that he wanted me to come again...and again...

I was panting. Drenched in persperation. My inner thighs were dripping with the evidence of my passion, and it was all I could do to think straight. Even though I'd reached orgasm at least four times all ready, a major feat for me, I knew, when twice was alot, I knew I wanted more. I needed more. I reached for him, groping for him until he laughed and seemd to take pity on me. He sat up a bit to undo his pants and I watched him pull his out his rock-hard cock. And, ladies and gentlemen, I am not going to tell you if he wears boxers or breifs in real life... You'll just have to use your imagination. Evil, I know. Wrapping my legs about his waist, I pressed my heels against his ass.

I grabbed him by the lapels of his shirt, which was still partway on him, the dark cape having been tossed to the floor of the car moments before, and jerked him roughly down upon me. He reached between us while sucking on the side of my neck, to position himself at my enterance. Entering me slowly, I cringed a bit due to the fact that I knew I was a tight fit, but he was gentle, for which I was thankful, raining kisses down upon my face to help the transition.

I was not a virgin, of course, but any time you have sex with someone for the first time, regardless of previous experience, it's going to be frightening. "Are you all right?" Alan asked me, and I nodded, shivering, bucking my hips to meet his own before he relented, and with a groan, sunk deep within my core. I convused around him, squeezing involuntarily as he began to be move inside of me, gently at first, and then faster, eagerly.

As he pumped harder, he pressed my knees upwards to gain the deepest entery and I began to scream, cry and whimper all at the same time, my hands tugging first at his hair, then at his shoulders, then clutching his face as I drew upwards to taste his mouth once more. He grabbed my hands and pinned them above my head, slowing his pace as he turned from my mouth to dip his face into my hair near the side of my throat. I could hear his ragged breathing as I continued to meet his thrusts with my own. Biting down hard, suddenly, upon my neck, he sped up his thrusts and I felt him stiffen above me, his teeth digging into my skin as I felt him find his release within my body.

As our mingled fluids seeped from my orafice, he breathed heavily against my ear and I slowly felt myself drifting back down to earth. I began aware of the limo slowing down and he sat up, reaching down to hand pick up my discarded bra. He handed it to me and I took it without comment. We dressed in silence, I used a few napkins from the mini-bar to clean up with. "We seem to have arrived," I nodded, feeling the car's movement cease, and he said, "Ready?"

Not in a million years, I thought, running my fingers through my hair. But I nodded, knowing I must look a sight with my eyes all wide and my cheeks all flushed. But, at least I was presentable; clothing wise. "As ever," I answered, just before the limo door was opened from the outside and the sounds of tinkling laugher and clinking glasses met my ears. He stepped out of the car before me and leaned down to offer me his hand.

I took it and he drew me from the limo, turning to greet someone rushing towards him with a hug and a peck on the cheek. Afterwards, I drifted away from him at the party, content to sit on the sidelines and watch, warmed by glow of the party, the drink I'd been offered upon arriving and the sheer magic of the evening. An evening that I knew, no matter how old I became, or how senile, would remain with me as my once in a lifetime encounter.

~Fin~