HARD AS HELL – WITH A VENGEANCE

HARD AS HELL – WITH A VENGEANCE

Summary – on the set of DIE HARD, two stars make a decision

Pairing – Alan Rickman/Bruce Willis

Rating – Hard R (okay, pretty smutty)

Disclaimer – This shit is totally false, never happened, and I don’t own Bruce Willis or Alan Rickman. Damn.

Author’s note – I mention the fact that Bruce is married, but I don’t know if he married Demi before or after the filming of DIE HARD, however, his bio says they were married in ’87, so it was around the same time, I suppose.





It’s after midnight on the set of Die Hard. Late 1987. There is fake broken glass everywhere and smoke and charred edges of plastic chairs and desks. The lights are blinking on and off as some technician tries to fix them, swearing under his breath amid a sea of restless irritable actors, extras, and others, all surrounding the director, the brooding God of this domain.

In a corner, Bruce Willis, newest face of action heroes stands popping caffeine pills and joking quietly to Bonnie Bedelia – another character and John McCain’s wife. She is giggly and cute and blushing a bit as she fluffs her neo permed hair, sort of flirting but not quite. Bruce’s eye keeps wandering to the mysterious villain of this piece, the British actor with the sonorous voice and furrowed blond brow. Bruce hopes no one notices his keen interest in this newcomer to Hollywood – even while he secretly hopes not to be upstaged by his formidable presence. Bonnie’s talking along with the low hum of sound equipment and the constant chattering is a nice backdrop for catching glimpses of the thin, seemingly shy other actor. Bruce wonders, pathetically, if they would ever be friends. If that other actor would ever let him get close enough.

Now, a make-up artist is touching up the “blood” on Bruce’s arm and shoulder, dabbing more “ash” onto his face as someone else sprays him with “sweat”. From where he stands with the others in the cast, Alan Rickman wears an indifferent expression. Bruce pretends to accommodate the make-up artist as he secretly steals glances. A man shouldn’t be that handsome, he muses, before silently chastising himself. Had he ever had a gayer thought in his life? Obviously Rickman sways that way (what other man would flinch so bad at the sound of a pretend gun?); and his elegance is just a bit over the top – a bit too effortless.

There is still work to be done on the set before they set up again for the scene, little odds and ends, little technical details. Bruce lights a cigarette and looks off into space, his mind wandering to places it shouldn’t and when he looks back to his side, he nearly chokes on a smoke ring. Alan is right at his elbow, and he smells like…well… like cinnamon and vanilla and musk. Bruce smirks a bit, to clear his thoughts.

“Hello.” Alan’s natural voice is like silk, Bruce has to admit- and not for the first time. Heavy, textured, deep silk, draped over him after having spoken one warm word of greeting.
“H-Hi.” Bruce clears his throat, angry at himself for choking. When the fuck did he become a stuttering adolescent? And why should this virtually unknown actor intimidate him? “You wanna smoke?” Bruce recovers enough to hand the British man a Marlboro.

Alan half-grins and shakes his head a bit. “Isn’t that something McCain might say?”

“Yeah.” Bruce makes a face. “Yeah, I think he does.”

Alan declines the cigarette with a casual wave of his hand. “I’m still mostly in character. I don’t know that it’s a good idea for us to do this… banter.”

Bruce nods, ignoring the pang of disappointment in his chest. “Right. Okay. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Alan straightens his suit as a make-up artist starts to powder his skin a bit and fix his hair. “Perhaps later we can do something.”

Bruce is embarrassed to be having this conversation – especially in front of the make-up girl. Truth is, later couldn’t come fast enough.

Finally, it’s nearing two a.m. and everyone on the set is beyond tired – especially considering they will all have to be back on the set at nine o’clock tomorrow. Bruce is irritable and the other actors are preparing to leave, trying to decide if they should go get drinks or just go home.

Alan is in wardrobe when Bruce gets there and again, the American is reminded of how attractive the other man is, wearing only khakis and a t-shirt. His beard is perfectly trimmed and his blond hair is mussed a bit. Bruce grins at him as he removes his own dirty shirt, handing it to the wardrobe girl and making eye contact with Alan. He wants to catch the other man’s eyes roving across his bare chest, fake sweat mixed with real. There’s soft dark hair along his sternum and down, very fine. Alan averts his eyes, pretending to be unaffected.

Neither man speaks while Alan laces shoe strings and Bruce pulls a football jersey over jeans. His face feels taut with make-up and he uses a damp cloth to get off any residue. Alan is kneeling, his hands taking care to make perfect knots before finally breaking the silence.

“So, you’re most likely exhausted.” Alan wears a sober expression, cocking his head a bit. “Mister Leading man.”

Bruce snorts, eyeballing the other man, absently licking his lips. “Nah. Not exhausted. Not a leading man, either. Just a struggling actor who hopes like Hell this Die Hard shit is a cash cow.”

Alan smiles, considering the other man. “You Americans have such funny ways of putting it.” He regards Bruce. “I like it.”

“Well, at least I’m able to entertain somebody around here.” Bruce lets his eyes meet the other star’s hazel ones as they seem to morph from brown to green before his eyes, in the dimming lights.

Alan lingers there, unsure what to say, at a loss. “I don’t smoke, but I do drink – on occasion…” He hopes this is enough to warrant an invite.

Bruce has taken the bait. “Okay. How about the mini-bar at the hotel I’m staying at. It’s private – and secluded this time of night. I mean, I don’t think anyone will bother us.”

Alan nods slowly, wondering where this will lead.

In the taxi over, both men are fairly quiet. Bruce talks on the car phone to his wife, and Alan looks out the window, re-familiarizing himself with Los Angeles and its ever-changing landscape. He isn’t sure yet if he likes it here, but he will eventually get used to it.

The mini bar is quiet – and mostly empty, as Bruce promised. Alan seats himself next to Bruce and orders a vodka tonic as Bruce asks for a beer. They drink and make small talk and Bruce feels himself gravitating closer, attracted to the smell of the Londoner, attracted to his eloquence and mystery – and Alan, in turn, finds himself drawn to the Californian quality, the rugged, manly appeal of Bruce.

After the fifth vodka and tonic (and as the clock gets closer to four a.m.), Alan feels himself getting slightly dizzy – and not just from the drink. His body is tingling all over, and he has to resist touching the other man. Of course he knows he shouldn’t, but…

“Do you want to go upstairs?” Bruce whispers, closer to Alan’s ear than he should be – especially in such a public place, and Alan nods, slowly. The feel of his hot breath against his ear is enough to send him seeping down into the plush carpet.

Both men stand, and Alan, not for the first time, marvels in the fact that he and Bruce stand about the same height, around six-feet, quite tall for celebrity men.

The elevator ride is mostly silent, but filled with a certain tension that tugs both men to the point of snapping. Alan watches the numbers glow and change as they reach the luxury suite at the very top, and Bruce fidgets with the card key.

When the elevator stops, they get out, single file, and Alan follows Bruce to the door at the end of the hall. Bruce’s heart is pounding as he tries to fathom what he’s doing – or even what Alan might be expecting. Maybe they can watch some big screen TV – there must be a Lakers game on at this hour, right? Or maybe they could go over a scene from the film – or play charades or…

The door suddenly closes behind them with a soft click and the two men stand in the darkened room together, facing one another. Bruce shifts nervously from one foot to the other as Alan watches him, silently, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Do you want to kiss me, Bruno?” He finally asks in his deep accent.

Bruce hesitates only briefly at the sound of his nickname before pulling the other man to him and pressing his mouth to his, enjoying the feel of his facial hair against his cheek. Alan gasps softly as Bruce’s strong arm wraps around his narrow waist and tongues meet for the first time amid soft moans and gasps.

When Bruce pulls back, its only far enough to touch his nose to the other man’s somewhat larger one. Alan seems to be inside his own thoughts as his hands rest on Bruce’s strong shoulders.

“I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.” Bruce whispers, laughing, his face flushed from too much drink and too much arousal.

Alan lets himself be held in the embrace, marveling at the light in Bruce’s blue eyes, the mischief and boyish charm. He’s nearly ten years older than Bruce and worlds away culturally, but right now, they exist only inside each other. Alan has a feeling he could dictate what happens next, much as Hans Gruber would do. Instead, however, he smiles warmly, fluttering his lashes a bit – two parts nervousness and two parts coyness.

“It seems fitting that we should end up here. Like this.” Alan says softly, the rumble of his voice sending shockwaves of pleasure through the other man.

“How so?” Bruce exhales unsteadily, the smile melting off his face. “It’s insanity.”

“Yes,” Alan nods slowly, his hands absently kneading the muscle beneath the fabric of Bruce’s jersey. “Yes, and yet I could tell you wanted me. Correct me if I’m wrong…”

“What makes you the expert on me?” Bruce sounds slightly perturbed, but he does nothing to put space between them – in fact, he seems to have pressed closer.

Alan shrugs. “Call it a hunch, I guess.” Then he pauses, his eyes lidded in the dim light. “This doesn’t have to go any further, of course…”

“Yeah, I know. So why do I want it to?” Bruce rubs experimentally against the other man, pelvis meeting pelvis, hips aligning. “Why do I want it to when I have a beautiful wife at home, and you have more facial hair than me – and I’m scared shitless I might actually like it? Why do I want it to?”

Alan exhales slowly, pursing his lips in thought, a gesture that makes Bruce that much hungrier for him. “I don’t think there’s anything to analyze here. The ramifications will come later, whether we consummate this or not. You’ll always be reading into it and... perhaps you should…”

Bruce looks past Alan’s shoulder, as if contemplating, even while he cannot deny the growing hardness in his boxers or the one pressing against him through the other man’s slacks. He licks his lips and tightens his grip on Alan’s slim waist, a subtle affirmation, and a decision.

The Londoner isn’t surprised to feel himself suddenly backed into the wall and kissed thoroughly, his tongue being sucked hard, hands holding firm to his hip. He shuts his eyes and lets himself be seduced by the fumble some, masculine hands, so unlike any lover he has ever had. He arches his neck and Bruce takes the bait, kissing tentatively, gently, before gnawing lightly, tugging skin between teeth. Alan gasps, a low moan in his throat, a sound that seems to ignite yet another fire inside the American.

“God, that fucking voice…” Bruce murmurs distractedly against Alan’s heated skin. “… It’s driving me in-fucking-sane…”

Alan’s lips curve upward as his hands slide expertly beneath Bruce’s jersey and start to gently caress the taut surface. “Your fucking body…” Alan grins. “…in-fucking-credible.”

Bruce chuckles against Alan’s neck as his hands, working independently, start to raise the shirt over Alan’s blond head. Alan lifts his arms to accommodate the shirt as Bruce tosses the garment to the floor, letting his eyes rove over the narrow torso in the dark with a silky trail of dishwater blond hair starting at the very center of his chest and disappearing all the way down into his khakis.

Without preamble, Bruce dips his head to taste the smooth skin of Alan’s chest, letting his tongue come out to swirl a powder rose nipple as Alan shuts his eyes and buries his fingers in Bruce’s dark hair.

“Do you like that?” Bruce whispers against the other man’s skin, and Alan can only nod and make a soft sound in the back of his throat. “You taste so good.”

Alan shivers and lets his hands fall down the shoulders, down the strong arms, down to the slim waist, resting against manhandles. He arches into Bruce’s caresses and slowly guides his hands around to gently cup the firm globes of his ass through denim.

Bruce pulls back to look into the darkening eyes, his hand against Alan’s neck, his thumb lovingly caressing the cheek beneath the beard. He seems to enjoy the feeling of hair against his digit as he half-grins. “Fucking insane…” He shakes his head, in awe of this unlikely coupling.

“Indeed…” Alan muses as he leans in and kisses the other man’s full lips, drawing the bottom between his teeth, and Bruce tugs the older man closer, pressing them pelvis to pelvis, grinding them closer, making Alan gasp into his mouth.

Without words, Bruce stops and starts to undo Alan’s khakis, curious of the subtle bulge there behind the zipper. Alan notices his hands are shaking slightly, and he rests a hand on his shoulder, silent encouragement.

Bruce releases him from his confines and brushes his fingers against the velvet length, taking great care and occasionally meeting the other man’s intense gaze.

“Do you like this?” Bruce asks in a breathy whisper.

Alan nods, slowly. “Yes – but you don’t have to be so gentle. I won’t break, you know.”

With those words hanging between them, Bruce grasps him in a closed hand and starts to pump up and down, tugging foreskin over the throbbing head, causing Alan to shut his eyes again and turn his face away, wincing in pleasure.

“Ahh… you do like this.” Bruce says, continuing to jack him off.

Alan bites his lip, barely able to speak. “And at the rate you’re going, cowboy you’ll find out just how much…very soon…”

Bruce uses his free hand to turn Alan’s face towards him so that he might devour his mouth while he strokes him up and down. He only stops to lick his hand, to give him better lubrication, before setting back to work. Alan leans back against the wall for support, neck arched for Bruce to kiss and drag his teeth along the slender surface. He’s groaning low in his throat as he feels that insistent tugging in his abdomen and he reaches up to pinch his own nipples as he feels himself start to burn with the beginnings of climax.

“I’m so close…” Alan breathes. “…Bloody fucking hell…don’t stop…”

Bruce grins at his partner, watching as the other man bites his lip and moans low in his throat as finally, he contracts and explodes, warm wetness coating Bruce’s fingers.

Alan collapses back against the wall, breathing heavily and Bruce tugs him roughly against his body, crashing their mouths together. Alan clings tightly, reaching between them to caress Bruce’s erection through his jeans, closing his hand around the bulge and squeezing.

“I’m going to taste you.” He murmurs, kneeling before Bruce and unzipping him without prelude. Bruce can only watch in silence, his breath coming faster as his anticipation mounts.

The American rests one hand on the Brit’s shoulder, angling his head to watch as he is brought out of his confines and caressed lovingly in large hands. It still all seems very surreal, distant and improbable. The older man starts to fondle the long organ in one hand and reaching beneath to cup the scrotum as Bruce shuts his eyes.

“Nice…” He moans softly. “… You’ve done this before, I take it…”

“You take it correctly.” Alan replies softly, kissing the swollen mushroom head, dipping his tongue into the slit, suckling it gently as Bruce shivers and clamps his hand on the other man’s shoulder.

“Shit…you’re so talented…”

Alan continues to lave with his tongue, swirling it around the head and suddenly gulping the man down his throat, letting the tip tickle his uvula as he acclimates himself to the depth. His gag reflex has long been banished, to be replaced with the ability to swallow cock as deep as humanly possible. Usually, Alan assumes ‘top’ role, but he is occasionally inclined to switch up – especially when face-to-face with a manly Brute like Bruce. He can be as flexible as need be.

“Ah God, fuck yeah…like that…shit… harder…” Bruce’s voice is a soft litany of swears and encouragements as he rests his hands on Alan’s head, starting to fuck the sweet mouth in earnest.

Alan, for his part, rests on his knees, one hand clutching Bruce’s scrotum carefully and caressing his own hardening member with the other. His mouth is perfectly capable of handling the rest. It fills his throat time and time again as he breathes through his nose and lets Bruce guide his head with his strong hands.

Shutting his eyes and making a tighter cavern with his mouth, Alan listens and feels for the sounds of Bruce nearing his precipice – and before long, he hears the telltale signs. Bruce starts to speed up, slamming his cock deep into his throat, gasping and gripping Alan’s hair in his fists, crying out and finally, finally spilling himself, all of himself down Alan’s throat, hot and creamy.

When he has spent himself completely, he releases his grip on Alan’s hair only to tug him up and crush his mouth to his, tasting the evidence of his own fulfillment, tangy and strong on the other man’s lips.

Alan is once again pressed into the wall, Bruce’s hands all over him, tugging brutally on his cock as Alan cries out, wincing in pleasure.

“God, Bruno…”

“Yeah…I want you to come hard…” Bruce bites hard on Alan’s neck, uncaring of any bruises he might leave, almost wanting to brand the man his.

“Harder….” Alan whimpers. “…. Faster, Bruno…. Faster….”

In a rare moment of ingenuity, Bruce lets go of the throbbing hot cock and kneels before it, looking up to Alan for affirmation before the Londoner nods, slowly, and Bruce takes him into his mouth, deeply.

Alan sinks back against the wall, letting himself be engulfed in the warm cavern of Bruce’s mouth, dizzy with ecstasy. It feels so good, and he lets his arms dangle at his sides, weak and unsteady, as Bruce sucks cock (his first cock) as if he invented the sport himself.

“I’m going to… going to come…Bruno…more, more…so close…going to…”

Bruce engulfs him deeply, sucking hard until he feels the tremors start and his mouth is filled with the bitter warmth of Alan’s resolution. He holds it in his mouth, getting used to the taste, before swallowing most of it and letting some of it dribble down his chin, just for fun.

When they are face to face again, Bruce takes Alan lovingly into his arms and kisses his mouth, caressing his damp blond hair, smoothing it away from his face and pressing their spent bodies close. He’s so overwhelmed with what has transpired, he closes his eyes and rests his head on Alan’s shoulder, letting the older man comfort him, stroke his hair, utter soothing words.

“I don’t think I can go back…” Bruce finally whispers against Alan’s shoulder.

Alan holds him in his embrace, smiling sadly. “I wouldn’t think you’d want to.”

Bruce’s blue eyes meet Alan’s hazel ones, and he gapes, as if this is the most obvious answer in the world and he was stupid not to have seen it before.

“I don’t.” he says simply. “I don’t.”

END