RPS: Isaacs/Rickman NC-17 for Telesilla

[ravenna_c_tan]

All right, here we have a little fic I started last night ad finished this morning when I was supposed to be doing something else. But you know, sometimes a story just wants to be DONE. This one I wrote for telesilla who wrote me a story as part of her 28 meme fic exchange. Only, as I pointed out, it wasn't an exchange unless I wrote something back.

Her request was for either Jason Isaacs/Alan Rickman or Lucius/somebody, and so this is a little bit of both, in its way. I've never read any Isaacs/Rickman before, so my apologies if it runs along too common a channel, but it seems like the quick way to get actors into bed...

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Title: Improvisation
Author: ravenna_c_tan
Rating: For mature adults only
Pairing: Jason Isaacs/Alan Rickman, with a little Lucius/Snape in the mix
Genre: Real People Fic
Summary: A little impromptu improvisation leads interesting places.
Disclaimer: This absolutely did not happen in real life. This fic is based entirely on fantasy of the author and not on any truth.
A/N: Written for telesilla in thanks for her 28 meme fic. It's my first real stab at a real-person scenario.

Improvisation

by Ravenna C. Tan

It started innocently enough. Don't these things always? This was just a bit of backstage banter, a little improv that day in wardrobe. Alan, of course, had worked on the first film, so he knew his way about, happy to show the rookie the way through the maze of Leavesden to the costume shop. They were changing his look for the second film, or so he told me with a laugh, "some new, improved wizard robes that will actually allow me to fly."

"While wicking away sweat?" I said, in my best commercial voice-over voice.

"Indeed."

So it was that some hours of fitting and prodding later, we were both in black, mugging in front of mirrors like schoolboys. Well, no, mugging is not the right word, because of course we were both trying to muster the most severe and serious looks we could. Very forbidding characters, after all. Dark. One might even say evil.

We were failing. I think it was Alan who sniggered first. Really, being an actor is sometimes just a complicated game of dress-up, and even on serious gigs laughter is infectious. Which made it a good moment to give my Lucius Malfoy voice a try.

"Really, Professor Snape," I drawled, leaning on the word "professor" as if I found it hard to believe he had earned the title, "such behavior unbecomes you."

God damn that Rickman. His face snapped into character like I had thrown a switch. "You may sit on the board of governors, Mr. Malfoy," he fairly growled, "but I do not answer to you."

Recall that the moment I heard of the Malfoy gig, I went and read all the Harry Potter books. No, not read. Devoured. I didn't eat, didn't sleep, that sort of thing. So I had quite a bit of background to draw on. I stepped close, pitched my voice conspiratorially, and whispered as his eyes met mine: "Oh no, you and I both know to whom it is you truly answer." I gripped his wrist in my fingers, but our robes hid this.

"You dare..." he hissed, his outrage so palpable I imagined I could feel the heat through the costume gloves. Oh, Alan is fun.

"Come, Snape, no need to be so prickly." Alan is a couple inches taller than me, but the Malfoy voice essentially says, no matter what the dialogue: I am better than you. I am your superior, and you will bow to me. Oh yes, that and I have a hidden agenda. "Not when we have... so much in common."

I then broke away, my body language nonchalant but my eyes still locked with his. "So tell, me, Professor, what is your opinion of my boy's progress at Hogwarts?" God, it was so easy, so much fun to just make that voice drip with all kinds of insinuations.

Alan is too good an actor to miss any of it. "Draco has earned high marks under my tutelage," he dripped back at me.

"Excellent. I shall expect you to take especial care with him, given our... mutual interests."

Rickman then bowed sarcastically to me. Don't ask me exactly how he made an otherwise completely proper bow sarcastic. It might have been the set of his shoulders. Or his narrowed eyes. Things a stage audience or even the camera could miss, but standing there in the room with him, one didn't.

We went back to laughing after that. We did not see each other much during principal photography because of our shooting schedules. The invitation to dinner with him came after we had wrapped, but I was off to Los Angeles for some voice over work and had to pass. We chatted a bit at the premiere, nothing much, it's all a whirlwind of people and publicity and photography and no time to talk to anyone, like a wedding only worse. We saw one another in passing in LA and London, industry functions and the like, but never more than a quick hello, how's the wife.

I should point out that Alan's wife isn't actually a wife. He's had a long-standing relationship with a wonderful lady named Rima, and when I say long-standing I mean it makes my 22-year pact with my wife look like a fling. Rima and Alan have been an item since the 1960s. Perhaps its something of a sixties mentality that informed their partnership, as well, as they don't live together and I once read an interview with him in which he said "I think every relationship should be allowed to have its own rules. She's tolerant. She's incredibly tolerant. Unbelievably tolerant. Possibly a candidate for sainthood."

I'd say it was the quote that started me thinking, but the truth of the matter is I had never been able to get the image of his glare, the intensity in his eyes, out of my mind since that little tete-a-tete in wardrobe. The next time we had an opportunity to really talk was on the set for Goblet of Fire--since my character didn't appear in the third film--some three years later, and I found myself angling unconsciously to play a scene like that again. Don't get me wrong, the kids are wonderful, but an actor like Alan Rickman, one simply hungers to engage with him on that high plateau where the acting craft can go.

My chance came one evening at Leavesden. Once they would put me in the wig, of course, I wouldn't take it off until absolutely sure there wouldn't be another shot. Time-consuming to put it on, of course. And I took to carrying the cane, what the PAs affectionately called my "pimp stick," with me. With a whole gaggle of teen actors for the crew to wrangle I felt somehow responsible for my own props. Hence I was only half-costumed, no voluminous top robe, but coiffed with cane in hand, while hanging about waiting for my call.

There was a room they built on the set that was rarely used, that had been the Slytherin common room. The key thing about it was that had couches and chairs, and most of the adult actors took to using it as a de facto Green Room. Some of the chairs would disappear from time to time as they were re-used or re-dressed for other sets, but they didn't tear down the place so it became our place to hang about.

Alan was there, in full Snape regalia, chattering away on his cell phone to someone, as was Maggie, who chit-chatted with me a bit before a PA led her off for a bit of work. We did a lot of our solo shots in the evenings, when the kids were unavailable because of work rules.

Several minutes later Alan was still talking, and I began to feel a bit uncomfortable listening to his conversation, but really, where else was I to go, and his voice, well, you know how that voice carries.

When at last he flipped the phone shut and slid it into a pocket inside his robes, I just couldn't help myself. I laid the cane on his shoulder and said "Tut tut, professor, that Muggle contraption had best have a silencing charm on it."

He turned toward me, his eyes ablaze. No one does a slow smoulder like Alan Rickman, and what it looks like on screen is nothing to what it is like when you are face to face with him. "Lucius," he said, his voice rich with connection and antagonism both.

My mind raced. What was the connection between these two characters? I couldn't remember if the book ever said if they had known each other at school, but it was obvious they had both been Slytherins. I jumped on that. "So nice to see you here, at our old stomping grounds. Why, I remember your ... Slytherin hazing as if it were yesterday."

Something in Alan seized on that and I could tell he was going to run with it. This is why improv is so much fun, these near-telepathic moments one has with other actors. He drew himself up, yet seemed to shrink a bit at the same time as he said, with great reserve, as if hiding something, "My first year was a very long time ago."

I lifted his chin with the cane, as if I were the taller one. I have no idea where this next line came from. "You miss it, don't you."

Defiance, fire, but that flick of hesitation. "I do not."

Lucius Malfoy, the embodiment of dominance. I stepped closer. "You do. You miss me."

And Rickman, my god, his hand moved just a fraction toward me, then he balled it into a fist, dropped his eyes, and lied when he repeated the words, "I do not."

I gripped him by the chin then, half-sorry I wasn't wearing the leather gloves at the time, and said "Open your mouth, little snake, and let me see the forked tongue that lets you speak such lies."

I had it easy. Lucius Malfoy has very little screen time and very little nuance to him. He is a one note character. But the Snape character, he's full of twists and turns and hidden motivations and this is exactly why they went and got Alan Rickman for the job. Jaw clamped tight, Alan brought his eyes up, and in them I saw him send Severus Snape through a thought process that included anger, resistance, thought of escape, and finally, submission. He parted his lips.

I kissed them with such force I may have bruised my own lip on my teeth.

When we broke apart, Alan cleared his throat and said, "Jason, are you busy later? Fancy a spot of dinner?"

It was some hours later we landed in the café quarter of Watford, in a white tablecloth sort of place just off the High Street that Alan seemed to know. We chit-chatted through a glass of wine, maybe two, over appetizers, but it was somewhere around the main dish that we arrived at the, ah, meat of the discussion. And I somewhat shocked myself by being the one to bring it up.

"I quite enjoyed our little improvisation today," I said, while busying myself with my fork and knife so I wouldn't have to look him in the eye just yet.

"I was about to say the same thing," he said, twirling a ruby-red cotes du rhone in his glass by the stem. "Those two characters are so much alike on the surface, yet their backgrounds are so different. I have to wonder almost if Snape's manner wasn't adopted from Lucius himself."

I hadn't thought of that. "If they were at school together..."

"And Lucius took him under his wing, so to speak." We had all read the fifth book by then, and some say that Jo Rowling had told Alan things about his character's future to inform his performance, though I had never pried. "Poor, greasy little half-blood, trying to make it in a magical boarding school. Did you go to boarding school, Jason?" The question caught me off guard but before I could answer it, he said, "No, wait, I don't want to know. But what do you think of my theory?"

"That Lucius Malfoy was Snape's role model? I could certainly believe it." We were looking at each other now. "I hope I didn't... go too far with it today."

"Au contraire, mon frere," he said. "It's a fascinating line of inquiry."

"Fascinating?"

"Intriguing." And his eyes lit up like a cat that has spied a mouse.

Now, recall if you will that Alan Rickman is nearly twenty years my senior, a hundred times as accomplished as an actor, and, as I said in my audition for the part of Louis in "Angels in America," I play all these tough guys and thugs and strong, complex characters, but in real life, I am a cringing, neurotic Jewish mess. To say he intimidated me would be to understate the case. This is the point where I would have normally turned the conversation back to boarding school or something. Law school.

But I didn't. I looked down my nose, Malfoy-like. "What time is your call tomorrow?"

"Not until two o'clock." His eyebrow arched. "And I already looked. You're not due in makeup until noon."

Someone was thinking ahead. I wanted to be sure, though. "And Rima is okay with it?"

"Quite. She knows how rare it is for me to find someone who isn't too afraid of me to... engage with me like this."

Well, at that point I certainly could not admit that I felt intimidated at all, could I?

He went on. "And your wife?"

I couldn't answer that, so I didn't. I folded my arms and tilted my head. "Narcissa does not dictate to me."

There was a hint of a smirk on his face before he settled into his Snape demeanor. "Of course not."

We didn't stay for dessert. I was incredibly rude to the waiter but left him a huge tip. I do not recall the trip to Alan's flat. Maybe because I wasn't really there. Lucius Malfoy was. Or maybe because all my brain was registering at the time was something on the lines of: That's Alan Bloody Rickman sitting next to you! Thank goodness for that icy Malfoy veneer.

I may have even sneered at him slightly, as we entered the bedroom. "So tell me, Professor," again I leaned on that word, "are you as eager as I am to renew our acquaintance?"

There it was again, that sequence, anger, resistance, no way out... submission. Careful words, tip-toeing through the minefield. "I... Thank you for your attention, Lucius."

"You don't seem properly appreciative, Snape." Oh, I wished I had the cane. "I could go..."

"No!" Hunger battled back the resignation in his eyes--and even under all that I could see Alan egging us on, thrilled--as he dropped to his knees. My blood surged to see it. Let's see, it had been over two decades since law school and my brief bisexual experimentation phase. Probably not a coincidence that was when I got into acting and theater, as well. Still, I'd never had a man fall to his knees in front of me before, especially not because he was trying to ... show his appreciation for me. If I'd had any reservations about whether, physically, I could go through with this little scene, they were gone as my erection grew somewhat painful.

He undid my fly with trembling fingers and I didn't know if that was acting or real anticipation. It didn't matter. He freed my cock and ran his cheek along it reverently.

"Did you miss me?" I hissed, barely able to keep my eyes open and my character straight as he teased.

"Oh, yes," he answered, before enveloping me in his mouth.

I probably could have just let things play out from there, however they might, without us saying another word. But I was having too much fun and what he had said about needing someone who wasn't afraid of him had stuck with me. I let him suck me until I could barely hold back and then I slapped him across the cheek, his teeth grazing me slightly as we broke apart.

"Half-blood slut," I said. "Is that what I taught you? Get on the bed. Now."

He scrambled up, that wonderful antagonism flaring in his eyes, yet he obeyed.

"And get your clothes off." He began to strip and I watched, my arms folded. Alan Rickman has a body that most men his age would kill for, yet I could see the way the Snape character hid himself, or tried to. When he was most of the way undressed I pressed him back with one hand, the other trailing down his chest. "No, no, Severus. You hide nothing from me."

I slid my fingers lower and felt a jolt go through me as I came in contact with his erection. It was all those things you read about in tawdry books. Hot, hard, straining, throbbing, and so on. His whimper insured that I was as well.

The only difficulty now was that I, the inexperienced one, was in charge. Well, I had put myself there. In any improv the control flows back and forth and I wondered what turn of events might shift it from me to him without us breaking character.

Hmm. I shrugged out of the rest of my clothes, and then pulled him across my lap. "Do you remember your hazing, Severus?"

"Like it was yesterday," he said, recalling my line of earlier, trying to sound reluctant but either Alan's eagerness or Snape's was coming through very strongly.

"Little slut," I said, inspired. "Did you keep the paddle?"

"As a matter of fact, I did." He pointed to the bedside table as best he could from the awkward place on my knees.

I pulled open the drawer with my left hand. There were a few dog-eared tawdry novels, a bottle of lube, a blindfold, a few other implements, and a wooden paddle of what looked like some exotic hardwood.

I rubbed the paddle over his bare bottom with my right hand, and he moaned. "And do you remember how many you could take when you were younger, Severus?"

"I... I think it was fifty," he answered, his voice deliciously shaky.

"But you're older now," I breathed in his ear. "Surely you can take sixty?" Having never done this before, I had no idea if what I was asking was within reason, but if he would agree to fifty, could ten more be out of the realm of possibility? He could always beg me for mercy... my cock jumped at that thought, trapped under him as it was.

He merely nodded in assent, taut with anticipation, his own cock pressed into my thigh. I steadied him with my left hand and then swung the paddle with my right.

I wasn't prepared for how loud it was and I jumped in surprise as much as he did in pain. A silencing charm would have come in handy right about then. By the tenth stroke he was no longer able to keep his cries bottled in his throat, and by the thirtieth stroke he had begun to bellow. And this man can bellow. The bellow turned into a cry of "Lucius! Please!" around the fortieth stroke, and I slowed down, though I did not lighten up. I continued to lay them on, though I gave him a bit more time to process each one. His bum was glowing red and his whole body trembled.

"Come, now, Severus, you can do it. For me." I was stroking his back now with my free hand between wallops, encouraging him to hump my leg even as I was preparing to hit him again. "Ten more, now." And I began to count them backwards, his shivering increasing after each stroke, his back arching and his hands clawing at my other leg, until we reached the last one, and he came in great spurts against my skin, bellowing once again, and then falling limp.

"On the bed," I said, ignoring the spunk and wanting my own release soon. His reddened skin beckoned as he crawled onto the bed and I flattened him, face down, licking at his welted cheeks and making him moan all the more. Then I licked him in the crack between the heated globes and he pushed back to meet my tongue.

"I... you... please..." he said, his voice sounding like he was losing the ability for coherent speech. "I want all of you."

The intent of the statement was clear, at least. "Shall I use this potion?" I said, fishing the lube from the drawer and almost laughing.

"You'll find everything you require in the drawer." So, not quite speechless after all.

I took the hint, retrieved a condom from the drawer and rolled it on, then picked up the bottle of lubricant once again. I poured some into my hand--hmm, it did have a nice scent--and slicked myself with it. Then I put a bit more in the trough between my index and middle fingers and worked them into him. The sound he made I can neither describe nor duplicate. It made me say, again, "You missed me, didn't you."

"Yesss...."

Mounting him took a moment of thought on my part as I figured the best way to angle myself. I ended up with one leg between his, one crooked up, one hand on his hip and the other guiding my cock.

He made that sound again. Or maybe that was me, guttural, needy, in ecstasy.

I let my hands slide up to his shoulders now that I was sheathed, and I rocked experimentally. We both groaned. I repeated the motion with greater surety. And I'm not entirely sure when it happened, but we passed out of scene, and there I was, fucking the living daylights out of Alan Rickman. Who was loving every moment of it, I might add.

As I came close, I think I even said "Alan," to him, and his response was to clench me even tighter and send me, howling, over the edge, slamming into him with enough force to knock the headboard against the wall and make me see stars.

I was surprised to find myself trembling as I pulled out of him. I said something inane like "Oh, my."

And he gathered me into his arms and held me, then he kissed me on the hair and said "Thank you. Oh, thank you so much for that."

"Why does 'you're welcome' seem like a wholly inadequate response?" I asked, pressing my cheek happily against his chest. "Thank you. Now if only I could stop shaking."

"It often happens to me after a very intense scene," he said. "Bloody inconvenient when you need another take."

"Yes," I said, a leadenness starting to replace the trembling in my muscles. Then I felt a sudden jolt. I pulled back to look at his face.

"Let me guess," he said, an amused smile on his face. "You've just had the thought, 'oh my god, I just buggered Alan Rickman.'"

"That and I just realized, what am I going to tell Emma?"

A look of sympathy crossed his face. "Has the possibility never been broached with her?"

I started to laugh, not sure I could really explain what was funny. "Oh, back when I did that thing with Charlize Theron, we had talked about it, actually."

"The one where you played a drag queen?"

"Yes, that's the one. And she did kind of encouraged me to ... experiment." Though she hadn't exactly said to do this. Still, I felt she would understand. "But how am I going to tell her that it's you. She's going to die of shock. She absolutely adores you."

"Well, that should be a sight easier than telling her you got it on with some actor she despises, then, eh?" He began to shift on the bed to peel back the covers and get underneath. "You'd better get under here, too, unless you're thinking of going off to call her, now."

"No, I think that had better wait until morning, at the very least."

His voice was serious as he pulled me close again. "I do sincerely hope that she agrees. Because I would very much like... a second take." He kissed me on the forehead then.

As I said, it started innocently enough.


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[Author's Note: To clear up a bit of confusion a reader had, because the subtext of the whole conversation in the slytherin common room and then in the bedroom later was unclear to her: as soon as the two men begin talking about "hazing" it's likely they are both thinking about spanking or paddling. As far as we know, there's no hazing at Hogwarts, but there is in other British boarding schools, and it's something two British adults would be familiar with.]