Practicing Restraint

Practicing Restraint


Too many flowers in his trailer. Way too many – almost stifling. He pushes thick fingers through his gray blond hair and mimics reading some T.S. Elliot publication. His hazel eyes see the words all right, but don’t actually comprehend them. His mind is elsewhere, very far away. There is a long black strand of hair tangled in his fingers, and he shuts his eyes in dismay. “Snape’s hair.”
He mostly despises the character but puts damn near everything into the role – heart, soul, everything. It makes a difference. It really does.

Sun shines through the mini blinds casting horizontal shadows over the room, and he chastises himself, for possibly the hundredth time that day. There’s yet another premier party he doesn’t wish to attend, another red carpet he’d rather not walk, tons upon tons of fans he wishes he didn’t have to deal with – not today, at least. But it’s his job, and the fans really do care. They really do.

Emerging from his trailer, he meets his assistant who stands there wearing some weird conglomeration of Vera Wang and Tommy Hilfiger. These young people today have no concept of style, he muses before glancing down at his own rumpled khakis, angora sweater, multi-print scarf, and plain black blazer. No wonder the children love him so; he dresses like a damned clown. Frowning, he addresses the young woman wearing the walkie-talkie and backstage pass.

“Tony, I’d rather if there weren’t so many flowers in my trailer…” He speaks in a very polite European drawl. “…I can hardly breathe properly.”

“So sorry.” She says apologetic, then gets onto the walkie. “Less flowers for Mr. Rickman. Yeah. I told you that…yes. Whatever. Not so many fucking Lilies next time. Christ!” She glances at him, smiling. “Sorry about that. It’s taken care of.”

He nods, shoving hands in pockets and feeling ridiculous. If he could flee the scene, he imagines he could jump aboard a plane and be in Southeast Asia by tomorrow, and being in the air is better than down on earth, down here where the issues are. Then again, there would be media uproar if he went missing. Someone might wonder where he’d got to. He could leave a note…but who would he leave it with? Certainly not Tony, his newest assistant, the one with the weird bangles and boots up to her crotch. Wherever do they find these British Hollywood types?

When they get into the car, a 2006 Lexus of some sort (celebrities rarely go about in limos anymore), he sinks into the seat and tries to ignore Tony on the walkie-talkie, who occasionally barks things out in a semi-strong, semi-psychotic voice like:

“We’ll be arriving at the site in approximately forty minutes.” Or “I have already instructed them to have your fruit smoothie ready when we arrive, Mr. Rickman.” Or “Shall I ask the driver to turn down the air? Is it rather nippy? I believe it’s rather nippy.” And of course, the ever popular, “I’ll get right on it.” He shuts his eyes and wishes he didn’t have to be seen with her and tries not to imagine the cast of Harry Potter, already waiting, in their trendy clothes and their big waves and their sparkling cheesy smiles, and their quickly scribbled autographs. Only Tom Felton ever looks exhausted to be there, a wry smile on his heart-shaped face and frightened eyes. Mr. Rickman can certainly sympathize with that sentiment.

When they arrive at the entrance, he is glad for the tinted windows. Tony doesn’t rush him or bother him as he tries to get his head together, building up strength for this little walk and wave, trying to find the right smile to use, the right posture. Can’t come off as too intimidating, can’t be all weird or stiff or angry looking, can’t be Snape, he reminds himself. ‘You’re not Snape. You’re Alan.’

Getting out of the car, he smiles and waves, hearing the screams and applause and sort of filtering them in a special way, with special ears, used to the sound of folks calling out his name, knowing how not to turn to every single voice. He looks casual, tanned, blond, tall, a little disheveled. People know he’s not Snape. They know its Alan. In fact, some of the smaller kids don’t even know that much as their parents whisper in tiny ears, “See, sweetie! That’s that mean old professor Snape.” Alan smiles and walks down the red carpet, seeing Rupert Grint and Emma Watson up ahead, and not breaking his stride when he sees Dan Radcliffe because even though his heart stops briefly in his chest, and his face flushes hot, and a spark of electricity courses up his body, he continues on as if nothing has transpired, as if he is completely sane. After all, he is before the public, and they must never see what his reality is. They must never know this little tidbit from the private life of Alan Rickman. Thank the heavens for all that prior theatre training.

He veers off and goes to stand near Mike Newell, the director, because the contract states that he never be filmed with Daniel Radcliffe outside of the closed set of Harry Potter unless under extreme circumstances to keep up a certain persona. In essence, the children might get scared. This is why he partially hates being on board for such a sensitive phenomena like Harry Potter. The innocence of children is something that should never be meddled with, and this is why he is glad for his superb training, his ability to keep the poker face and wear that damned Hollywood smile, taught to him during the filming of Die Hard, because no one would ever guess that he is in literal anguish right now, twisted from the inside. All because of Dan Radcliffe.

Inside the movie theatre, it is vast and rustic and huge and quite wonderful. As promised, his smoothie is ready for him at the counter, perfectly blended with berries and banana and neatly closed with a straw and a napkin. He asks the attendant for another napkin and she bursts out in tears, blubbering about how honored she is to meet him etc, etc. Alan actually feels overwhelmed as well and reaches across to hug her, fearful, for just an instant, that she might faint. She sinks against him, wetting his scarf with her tears of joy before the manager comes to push her into the back. Surely she’d been instructed not to make a scene such as this, but who can blame her? She’d been star struck. It happens to the best of us, right?

The seating in the theatre is always the same: The celebrities sit rather close to the front, in a closed off section, and select members of the public, some contest winners and various others sit a good deal away from them. Its as if they’re quarantined, and he is glad for this. He hears his name mentioned several times and has to literally tune it out or he’ll be on alert the entire time, anxious. Yes, there are several security measures in place, police, security guards for each individual star, etc. Nothing could happen here, but he is never comfortable in America. There’s just something insane about it that you don’t get in England, an uneasy feeling.

Perching himself next to the Die Hard star, Ralph Fiennes grins and offers Alan some of his popcorn.

Alan declines politely. “No. Thank you.”

“I feel really stuffy. Is it stuffy in here?”

Alan shrugs. “I honestly hadn’t noticed. I’m too busy hoping this will all end, soon.”

Ralph turns his dark handsome features on to Alan. “Hm. You sound like you could use a Valium. Do you get nervous?”

“No.” Alan replies, simply. “I don’t like watching myself on screen. It’s literally torture.”

Ralph has a soft chuckle at that. “Right. Well, that’s probably ninety-five percent of us, mate. Don’t worry.”

“Me in that godforsaken wig…” he muses to himself.

“Don’t worry, Rickman, we can whisper the entire time and disturb everyone. Hell, I’ll even throw popcorn. They’d never expect their Lord Voldemort of such shenanigans, eh?”

Rickman snorts, amused. “Actually, they might.”

Soon, the lights begin to dim, and Gary Oldman enters the isle from the other side, looking rather unlike the Sirius Black character he plays. He is wearing a Versace suit and a clean-shaven face, hair highlighted and short. Rickman notes how lovely he smells when he sits to the other side of him.

“Did I miss anything?” He asks in his pleasant voice. “Anything worth recalling?”

Both men shake their heads. “No. Nothing.” Alan replies in a deadpanned voice. “How was your trip?”

Oldman smiles, contentedly. “Oh. Good, I should say. My kids are here – someplace. Their mother was buying them confectionery treats.”

Fiennes has a chuckle. “You’ll regret that later.”

Oldman seems pleased as he replies. “Yeah. I know.”

When the film begins, Alan allows his eyes to wander in the dark. In seconds, he finds the child stars from the films, Emma, Dan, Rupert, Matthew Lewis, Tom, etc. Most of them are in the front rows, and he notices how close Tom and Emma sit, how they seems to be getting closer by the minute. Maggie Smith is nearby, speaking very very quietly into a cell phone, and Robbie Coltrane is a seat over from her, eating nachos and salsa. Michael Gambon is also nearby, speaking quietly to a very relaxed looking Jason Isaacs. Alan notes the beer bottle in Jason’s hand. God, how inappropriate.

Not five minutes into the film, he excuses himself to go to the loo, having to step over Ralph’s legs. A security officer escorts him and clears out the rest room so that he may go in peace, but once the officer leaves him alone, he stands at a sink, splashing cold water onto his face, feeling claustrophobic. When he wipes it dry with his paper towel, he is shocked to see someone standing behind him at a stall, smiling. He swallows at the reflection of Dan Radcliffe who looks delectable in a pair of low-rise jeans and a Hard Rock café T-shirt. His dark hair is full and mussed, and his eyes (blue eyes, not green) are playful as they reflect the ceiling lights. He has his hands behind his back and he taps the toe of one of his trainers, as if waiting.
Rickman’s mouth goes dry, not for the first time this evening.

“Hello.” He manages, cordially.

“Hello.” Dan replies, watching with amusement the way Alan continues to nervously dry his hands on the towel.

There is a brief silence, crackling with tension, and then Alan speaks again, still looking at the reflection of the boy.

“I should probably get back.”

“You don’t have to.” Dan says, bringing his hands around to shove in his pockets, bringing the jeans suggestively down another fraction of an inch to expose a sliver of flat belly.

“Yes…” Alan clears his throat. “…well, I probably should...”

“Don’t go yet.” Daniel smiles shyly. He is aware of the older man’s attraction to him just like he is aware that the sun is shining outside. It’s just a given, and he knows how to work it. He licks his lips. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Alan continues to stare at the reflection. This isn’t good. They shouldn’t be here together. Anyone could walk in. Anyone could see them. The tension in the room is so hot it is literally tightening the air. “What’s on your mind, kiddo?” He manages, mentally chastising himself for throwing on that little endearment.

The faux pas isn’t lost on Daniel, who rolls his eyes and exhales unevenly. “I…I wanted to tell you that I…well…I…missed you.”

Rickman holds his breath, staring into the boy, feeling somehow safe with his back turned, even though he can’t stop gazing at that delectable reflection. Incredible how it can have such an effect on him at his age, and does this fetish, this boy, make him a sexual deviant? A dirty old man?
“I missed you too.” He finally whispers.

“We don’t get to talk much, and I…just…well…I wanted to spend time…together…”

Alan’s eyes are scrunched, as if in confusion. “Well, I’d like that too, but you know we can’t.” He says, quietly, the words falling off his lips involuntarily.

The sixteen-year-old takes a step closer to the older man. “Look at me? Please?”

Alan turns without further prompting, standing his ground though, unwilling to make presumptions.

Daniel looks absolutely edible, Alan notes with a wave of apprehension and guilt. He can literally imagine the boy spread out for him on a silver platter - no utensils needed, thanks. Its amazing to him that it never gets old, Daniel speaking to him in that soft voice, Daniel looking at him this way, with a spark of lust in his eyes and his pink mouth full and pouty – almost flirty. Daniel wanting him back. Alan doesn’t like to admit to himself that he has sampled the merchandise, tasted the goods if you will, but he can’t lie to himself. Its brought him nothing but agony for so long, but he has gone unspent, many a night, erect in his trailer, deliberately not thinking of Daniel. It simply isn’t good, and can only lead to bad things – for the both of them.

“If I told you I wanted you, would you think I’d gone mad?”

The boy’s words are so innocently spoken with a slight quiver in the man-child voice that Alan isn’t sure how to respond. He thinks he might be getting erect, but he’d rather wait for a verdict on that one…

“Yes.” He answers in his deep Welsh, English accent. “Yes, I’d think you had gone mad.” He even manages to smile a bit, hoping he doesn’t come across as patronizing or disinterested; on the contrary, he’d strangle any number of people for the chance to bugger this little angelic piece again, but he told himself it wouldn’t happen again, and he has tons of restraint. If he knows nothing else, he knows all about restraint – and bad ramifications can be a bitch – especially to a celebrity.

Daniel allows himself a small chuckle, and Alan doesn’t need any more confirmation. Definitely getting erect…

“Listen…ahh…I should get back.”

Dan places a hand on Alan’s arm. “No. Wait.” He blushes. “I know I sound like an idiot…”

“Not at all.” Alan reassures him, savoring the heat of his hand through the blazer.

“…I mean, I know you want to…”

Alan smiles warmly, not thinking of the throbbing between his legs but rather on the fact someone could come in at any time.
“We really should be getting back.”

Dan hesitates for an instant before nodding, resigned. “Right. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Alan exhales, slowly, then gasps as Dan unexpectedly reaches up to lay a gentle kiss on his surprise parted mouth, and they sink into the kiss, allowing themselves this guilty pleasure before Rickman has the presence of mind to push the boy gently away.

Putting several feet between them and licking his lips, he wags a finger and gives him a mock-angry glare. “Don’t…do that.”

Daniel grins, slyly. “You didn’t used to mind so much.”

“Right. Well. Things are different now. There are too many risks, and we’re not in London anymore.”

“Yeah – but I’m older now. Wiser.”

Rickman snorts. “Yeah, I bet.”

As Alan starts to go, Dan stops him again. “Meet me later – in my hotel room.”

Alan grins. “I don’t think you need me to tell you what a horrible idea that is.”

Daniel makes a face. “You talk as if you don’t want me.”

“I honestly don’t.” Rickman lies with superb efficiency. The boy almost looks hurt before he notices the pink tips of the older man’s ears. How he manages to localize a blush in this fashion boggles the mind. Still, Daniel knows he can call the bluff with a little bluff of his own.

“You’re the only adult I can talk to – really talk to – without feeling like some stupid little prat. And that’s all I want to do is talk.”

Of course, Rickman isn’t buying this, but the sentiment is heartfelt nonetheless.

“I appreciate your candor…” he refrains from touching the boy – even though it aches not to. “…still, someone will be along, looking for us, and most likely they will be members of the press…”

“All right…all right then, meet me later – in the bar…”

Alan rolls his eyes, moving towards the exit.

“…We can talk there…” Daniel persists. “…it won’t be weird. Everyone will be there…”

“Ahh…we’ll see.” Alan has no intention of meeting the boy; rather, his plan is to stay as far away from him as humanly possible lest he slip up and find his prick sheathed to the hilt between those glorious pink lips. God, that always felt so good…
With a half wave, he brushes by the boy, careful to conceal the evidence of his arousal, pushing painfully against his trouser fronts.


Much later, Alan is in his hotel room, having a most disturbing dream. He is seated at the head of the long table, in a plush office, surrounded by the Warner Brother’s legal team and trying to dispel the rumor that there is ‘something’ between he and the young Harry Potter star. But it is difficult to formulate a decent response with the boy kneeled between his legs, beneath the table, sucking gently on the head of his cock.

He wakes with a start, a cool bead of sweat sliding between furrowed brows and down his nose. His erection is hard as steel, but he must practice restraint. Always restraint.

Yes, he’d gone down to the hotel lobby, smoozed with the big wigs and chatted pleasantly with the few remaining co-stars of his, the ones who hadn’t had flights to catch or other pressing obligations, joked with the younger stars, ordered three wine spritzers, etc. Only at the final hour did he find an appropriate moment to openly talk with Dan – and that was only under the condition that Rupert and Oliver Phelps was in the small group, along with Jason Isaacs and a few others. Dan had caught his eye and smiled behind his non-alcoholic cocktail as Alan had pretended not to notice.

Then, finally, as the crowd began to disperse Dan had asked that Alan thumb wrestle him, (obviously code for something, Alan figured) and proceeded to show him the neat trick he could do with his belly button. Alan had surmised right then and there that someone had been giving these kids drinks, and he had felt the dull ache of shame tugging within him because he could be called just as guilty, wanting to steal the young man away to his room and screw out his teenaged brains.

At that point, he’d politely taken his leave, ignoring the whispered pleas. Sure, he’d wanted it – still does, in fact, but…it would never be enough. Of this, he is quite certain. Like now, for instance, the soft rapping on the door. The neon lights on the hotel clock radio reads 3:04 a.m.

Alan opens his door to see a disheveled Dan standing there in the corridor, red eyed, barefoot and wearing flannel pajama pants and a white T-shirt. For an instant, they simply regard each other, sleepy and disoriented but unwilling to turn round and snuggle back into bed for a discontented night before heading back to their respective places and eventually meeting up again for the filming of Order of the Phoenix. But it would never be the same…it never is.

Fearful of onlookers, Alan peers anxiously down the hallway before quickly tugging the boy inside. His expression can only be described as extreme irritation, even while his blondish hair stands ridiculously on end, but also he feels a sense of deep relief at seeing the boy he’d thought, for just an instant, might not come.

“Took you long enough.” He grumbles, hands nervously twiddling at his sides. “Thought maybe you’d changed your mind.”

Dan seems to realize where he is and smirks. “You didn’t seem to give a shit, earlier. I started to wonder if I existed.”

“You know the situation, Daniel…”

“I love it when you call me that…” the boy comes closer, smirking. “…I wish you’d address me that way in public, as if you wanted me to bend over your knee…”

Alan exhales and watches as the boy comes close enough to touch. “I’m so tired of this angst. Can we just get on with it?”

Dan grins. “Oh. Well. In that case…” He flings off the T-shirt and stands there with a bare chest, pale and long and narrow. Hairless and smooth; and Alan can only stare. He hasn’t changed much in a year – not since last wrap party slash premier party. Alan can remember taking him then, how eager and wanton he’d been, so open and needy. He hadn’t dared speculate as to the cause then, why a fifteen year old celebrity would be interested in him, a man old enough to have been his grandfather…or perhaps, a family friend of his fathers’, a colleague. Alan shivers and runs a hand along the boy’s torso, currently savoring the details of fingers against each little bump of rib, not very pronounced, but still, somehow, virginal and young. Luckily, the boy has built up a little muscle mass over the past year, but Alan assumes this is all in the boy’s cock. The outline of it in pajama pants seems much larger than last year, almost fully grown, Alan notes, and already making a little wet spot where the head tries to poke through…

“Come here.” He pulls the boy into his arms and nuzzles his neck, glad, at least, for the fact that the boy is nearly as tall as he is, only a little bit off.

Dan wraps his arms around the older man, trying to push his pelvis against his, trying for contact. Alan, on the other hand is remembering the boy, how he felt that first time as compared to how he feels now, so taut and so eager both times – only this time, so much more sure of himself.

“Missed you…” Dan whispers against the tanned older neck, “…missed you, Alan…”

Alan almost wells with emotion before getting a reign on himself. This doesn’t mean as much as he’d like it to. This is still Dan Radcliffe, and this encounter is still unacceptable, no matter how you slice it… The end result could land both of them in the unemployment line (and at least one of them in prison) should they be found out – and Alan takes all this into consideration as he presses himself against the Harry Potter star. It just shouldn’t feel so good…

Alan takes the boy’s mouth with his own, parting wide his lips to really taste him and feel his tongue working in his mouth, licking and teasing. His arms are around him, holding him close, feeling the teen’s cock brush his through two layers of flannel.

When they part suddenly, they both gasp for breath as Alan speaks in his deep voice, thick with arousal. “Come sit with me.” He breathes, taking the boy’s hand to guide him. “On the recliner.”

Daniel’s eyes light up and he grins through his lust. “Oh. I like that idea.”

First Alan seats himself on the plush leather recliner, and Dan settles himself on the man’s lap, facing the same direction, his back to Alan’s front. He rests back against the older man, his head resting back against his shoulder as Alan’s hands come up to caress his belly and chest, dragging fingers along the soft expanse of skin and both hands up to tickle nipples. Dan’s eyes shut as his hips begin a slow rhythm against Alan’s crotch.

“Do you like this?” Rickman inquires softly, lips brushing Dan’s ear.

And Dan is incapable of answering properly, so he simply nods unevenly as he continues to gyrate, eyes fluttering shut.

“Do you want more?” Rickman is relentless, speaking in that incredible voice, driving Dan insane with need as the boy dry fucks his erection, sliding it back and forth between his ass cheeks. Alan has finally given up on his plight for restraint. It ain’t gonna happen – at least not tonight. He reaches inside the boy’s pajama pants and starts to stroke the long thin cock, juicing the pre-cum out, stroking him in both hands as Dan murmurs some unintelligible phrases akin to: “Alan, Alan, yeah, like that…missed you so much, touch it, touch me, rub it, stroke it, harder, take me, fuck me, Alan, Alan, Alan…”

The older man chuckles softly against Dan’s neck as he uses expert hands to drive him to the brink and back again, several times, ignoring everything and anything else except this moment. He could harp on the fact that he lives for every premier party just so that he may secretly lust after Dan, secretly hope for an encounter such as this and eventually make it real. He strokes the tender hard cock in time to each breath he takes, each blink of his eyes, each heartbeat inside Dan, beating through him as well. He shifts his hips, having a love/hate relationship with this fucking flannel, wishing he was inside already, clenched inside the warm silky tight walls, letting Dan drive them both to completion – but he can wait.

“Daniel…” Alan whispers and Dan jerks as a jolt of electricity courses through him just at the sound of his name as spoken by the incomparable Alan Sidney Patrick Rickman…Dan could come just from that, but he reaches down to still Alan’s hands, unwilling to come this way.

When he stands, their hands are frantic as Alan pushes the pants down over Dan’s hips and Dan reaches blindly around to free Alan, needing his hot meat nestled between his ass cheeks, thick and raw. Bending over his lap, Dan takes Alan into his mouth, salivating on the hard shaft and getting it all wet while Alan shuts his eyes, a flush coloring his face and neck as he is given the impromptu blow job, and then Dan is positioning himself as he was before, on Alan’s lap, his back to his front as he lowers himself onto the wet prick. They both gasp as Dan is slowly filled, and then he starts to move up and down, moaning loudly as it builds up intensity.

“Oh God…Alan…Oh God…fuck! Fuck me…”

Alan reaches one hand around to tweak the boy’s nipple and the other to cover his mouth. Unlike J. K. Rowling’s wizard world, there are no silencing charms, and there are plenty of people who don’t need to hear Dan Radcliffe moaning Alan Rickman’s name. It just wouldn’t make for good publicity.

Alan has very little to do now, just lie back and relax as Dan starts to bounce up and down on his hard staff, letting it fill him time and time again, riding him as though he were a stallion, slamming hips down hard enough to crack bones, and wiggling sensuously after each down thrust. He lets his hands drop down to the armrests as Dan takes to whimpering softly.

“Daniel…” Alan tosses back his head, perspiration covering him in a fine sheen as he rests hands on the boy’s hips, feeling like a man who’s drowning in heaven, a sea of sweetness. The sweat has dampened his blondish hair, making it flop onto his forehead with each motion. The boy is so tight and yet so accommodating, so energetic and amazing. Alan’s fingers, getting idle, come up to caress the boy’s pecs, hands encompassing them until his fingers tighten on the hard little nubs and begin rolling them between thumb and forefinger. It almost thrills him that they could be found out, it titillates him that someone might wonder why the boy is filled to the brim with semen, not his own.

Finally, he starts to masturbate the boy again, loving the feel of foreskin between his thumb and forefinger as he tugs it up and over the head of that glistening red cock. Dan moans low in his throat as he thrusts upward, thereby impaling himself time and again on Alan’s rod. When Alan, in turn, jerks his hips forward, he also marvels in the sound of Dan crying out. And then he pulls the boy’s face around so that they may share a deep, sloppy kiss, tongues tangling fiercely as Dan starts to come, shuddering and shooting his load up and onto his own chest and belly, coating Alan’s hands.

Now, it is Alan’s turn to fuck as if his life depended on it, and he slams himself up, up, up nudging the sweet place inside Dan, friction building up such heat that he bites his lip to keep from screaming. And then he comes, shooting what feels like pints and pints into the young celebrity, continuing to pound that sweet ass until he can do nothing more but collapse against the cushion. Dan slumps back against him, heart beating so fast inside his chest it feels as if it might burst, and Alan rests a hand on his sternum, fascinated by the strong drumming.

After several long minutes of resting in this position, Dan shifts a bit, letting Alan slip from his body and they both gasp at the loss of contact. They continue to lie against one another, though, until they fall asleep this way, with Dan curled on Alan’s lap.


When morning comes, they are disoriented and cramped. Not to mention slick and sticky and cold.
“Should have slept in the bed.” Alan murmurs to an exhausted Dan in a groggy voice. “Are you alright?”

Daniel touches his face as they right themselves. “Yeah. I’m fine. Yourself?”

Alan shrugs, looking somewhat putout, combing a hand through his messy blond mop. “I’m fine.”

Daniel brushes a hand across his own unruly dark hair. “So, what’s that look? Are you throwing me out already?”

Alan makes a pained face and speaks in a quiet voice. “Not throwing you out, exactly, but…well…you already know what I’m going to say…” Dan nods, slowly as Alan continues. “…and someone is most likely looking for you, but if they ask, tell them…”

“I spent the wakeful hours in the spa, reading magazines, etc…”

“Good boy.” Rickman says, finding the small white T-shirt and pulling it over the boy’s shaggy head. “Listen, Daniel, you know how I feel about you.”

Dan nods, his large eyes round and sad but with that ever present youthful glint. “Yes. I know how you feel about me.”

“And you also know how plagued I’ll be with guilt for having done this.”

Dan pulls on his pants and laughs softly. “Guilt is shite. I wouldn’t have let you leave without at least one good fuck, anyway.”

Alan makes a face. “You’re such a foul mouth.”

Daniel rolls his eyes before reaching up to pull the older man into a deep embrace, kissing his mouth full on and slipping his tongue inside, deepening the kiss with every passing second. Again, Alan ends it first, holding the boy by the shoulders, at arm’s length.

“It’s difficult enough carrying this experience around with me on a daily basis; having your taste on me all day will only make it worse.”

Dan nods, slowly. “I love you, Alan.”

Alan looks pained as he shuts his eyes. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”

Dan nods. “I know, but it’s true.”

“Yeah, I know.” Rickman is resigned. “I know you do.” When he opens his eyes, Daniel is already making his way towards the threshold and opening the door a crack.

“I want to call you.” He tosses out. “I need to…”

Alan shakes his head. “No. You can’t. Just…just leave now.”

Dan’s eyes are like mirrors, reflecting the pain the older man feels at having to part. “But I don’t think I can go this long again, and on the set of Harry, I think I’ll go insane having you so close. Have you seen the script? We have so many scenes together this time…like a ton!”

Alan doesn’t seem to hear the words. “Just go, Daniel. We’ll…we’ll talk… later.”

“When? A year from now at the next premier?”

Alan doesn’t respond right away because he doesn’t know what to say. They stand there, the silence stretching on and on, from two different perspectives. Alan feels the weight of their affair getting heavier and heavier as the years pass, and Dan continues to get needier and needier – not only because he deserves it, but because he truly loves the older man and wants more time together. Instead of coming together, though, meeting in the middle, it is unspoken that the arrangement will not change. Alan will continue to pretend he isn’t completely wrapped around the boy’s little finger, and Dan, for his part, will pretend he is a good clean little boy, the exact type of boy any good mother would want for her daughter. And all the while, he’ll spend his free time having a good wank as he remembers his times with the older man, as he scurries off to his trailer after their Harry/Snape scenes, riddled with angst, and the audience will never know that the tension is all too real.

Wordlessly, Daniel goes out the door and down the hall towards his own room, leaving a suddenly very cold and lonely Alan Rickman to his thoughts. Yet again, his iron will has failed him. He must admit to himself and to every nagging thought he has ever ignored; yes, he is in love.


END