Discretion

DISCLAIMER: This is fiction. I don't know these people, and I hope
they never see this. Let's call it...uh...satire. I'm making fun of
the institution of celebrity by writing obviously untrue stories
about public figures. That's legal, right?

1.

Tom Felton was Daniel Radcliffe's opposite in almost every way. Daniel was dark, and Tom was blond. Daniel was earnest, sincere and (though he hid it well) somewhat anxious, and Tom was laid back, sarcastic and always at ease. Daniel got along with everybody because he could usually figure out how they wanted him to behave, and Tom got along with everybody because everybody wanted Tom to like them. Tom had a kind of charisma about him, an air of effortless intensity.

In spite of these differences--or perhaps because of them--the two became friends almost immediately after meeting on the set of /Philosopher's Stone/. Daniel loved Tom's casual disregard for authority and his wicked sense of humor. Tom would sit behind Daniel during rehearsal, whispering dryly hilarious quips in Daniel ear at the most inappropriate moments so that he had to clap his hands over his mouth to avoid laughing out loud and interrupting a scene. In Tom's company Daniel found himself pulling stunts and playing pranks that he would never have dreamed up on his own. He had a shrewd suspicion that if Tom put his mind to it, he could convince Daniel to do anything. The idea was unsettling, but also pleasantly intriguing.

Daniel liked Tom. But it wasn't until the filming of /Prisoner of Azkaban/ that he realized he might like Tom a bit more than was appropriate.

It was silly and futile to indulge in these feelings. He was an actor, which meant that he didn't have the privilege of keeping his private life private. As long as he was playing a high-profile role in a children's series, he had to be very, very careful. His agent had been clear about the matter: it would be bad public relations for him to show any sign of sexuality whatsoever. He played a child, and his film played to children. So he was expected to behave like a child.

The unfairness of the situation made him seethe, but he had to admit that his agent was right. He couldn't even begin to imagine the media frenzy that would result if the tabloids discovered that he was gay. His parents would find out, and all his friends. The religious nuts in America would go on TV preaching hellfire and brimstone. It would be a circus.

He knew these things, but when Tom was around, he couldn't make himself care. Tom added a heady, erotic energy to Daniel's days, and next to the reality of Tom, vague fears about his career paled. He loved to watch Tom's quirky, ironic smile, the streamlined planes of his body, and the easy, sensual grace of his movements. He liked the little shiver of anticipation that moved through him whenever they spoke, even though he knew they would never do anything more than speak. He liked imagining what Tom's pale, flawless skin would feel like under his fingers. He wondered whether Tom looked as flushed when he was aroused as he did during their Quidditch scenes. He wondered what Tom's body looked like under his clothes. He liked returning to the hotel after a day of shooting with a head full of pleasantly indecent thoughts.

2.

The filming itself was going abysmally, due to Scotland's erratic weather. They were days behind schedule, and everyone was on edge. Everyone except for Tom, who seemed as careless and cool as always.

It was late afternoon when the clouds overhead finally thickened and burst. The techs cursed en masse and struggled to wrap their equipment in tarps, and the entire cast sprinted to the large tent next to the "Quidditch pitch." They weren't fast enough to save their costumes.

Daniel hurried out of the rain, shivering. Scotland weather was generally mild, but he was soaked to the skin. He took off Harry's glasses and wiped them on his wet Hogwarts robe.

"Look at Alan," Tom's breath was warm in Daniel's ear, his voice low and amused. Daniel felt his cheeks go warm. He turned to follow Tom's gaze. Alan Rickman was soaking wet, dressed in full costume, arguing heatedly with Alfonso Cuaron and a wet, angry cadre of production people. He looked more Snapish than Daniel had ever seen him.

Alfonso said something and put a hand on Alan's shoulder. Alan nodded, looking relieved, and Alfonso stood up on a chair and clapped his hands. The crowd quieted.

"Obviously we're not going to get any more shooting done today," Alfonso called, "so there's no reason for us to keep you here. We'll meet again tomorrow at 7:00."

A sigh of relief moved through the crowd. Daniel turned to look for Tom, but the older boy had disappeared. He shrugged, disappointed. Well, he might as well head for his trailer and change into something dry. He hesitated at the edge of the tent before plunging back into the rain. His costume couldn't get any wetter, could it?

"Daniel!" Tom jogged up behind him, panting slightly. The rain had turned Tom's hair dark blond and plastered it to his forehead. His gray eyes sparkled mischievously, and his lips were turned up in that coy Draco Malfoy smirk. "Robbie said he'd bring us down to the pub, if we want to go. Are you in?"

"Yes!" Daniel felt himself grinning. He squinted at Tom through the downpour. "I just need to change--I've got an umbrella in my trailer--"

"We're meeting in the parking lot by Robbie's truck. Do you know what it looks like?"

Daniel nodded.

"Great. I bet you're loads of fun after a few pints." Tom grinned and took off toward his trailer.

Daniel stopped in his tracks, staring after Tom. Then he shook himself and hurried toward his own trailer, suddenly very eager to get to the pub.

3.

Things did not work out as planned. Tom didn't ride with Robbie after all--he got a ride with one of the technicians (a snide intern with unnatural-looking black hair and a face full of metal). Rupert had been fighting a miserable cold for the past week, so Robbie made a detour to drop him off at the hotel.

Tom was already at the pub when Robbie, Emma and Daniel arrived. He was sitting at a table with three of the techs, laughing, his damp hair falling strikingly across his eyes. He didn't look up when Daniel came in.

The bartender took one look at Daniel and Emma and shook his head.

"Sorry kids." Robbie shrugged.

"That's ridiculous," Daniel hissed to Emma. "How old does he think we are?" Emma didn't look happy either.

"There's no reason to stay here if he's not going to serve us," she said.

"Well, there is the company," Robbie said. Emma folded her arms.

"As if we don't see enough of you during the day," she said. Robbie laughed loudly, but Daniel couldn't bring himself to join in.

"Fine," Robbie said, "I'll take you two back to the hotel, if that's what you want."

Daniel was silent all the way back to the hotel. His face burned. Tom was sitting in the pub, cool as you please, drinking with the adults, while Daniel was dismissed like a child. The world seemed to think that he was 4, rather than 14. He was too young to drink. He was too young to get laid. It wasn't fair.

There was only one thing to do, he thought, slamming the door of his hotel room and locking the deadbolt behind him. And that was to raid the mini-bar.

An hour and three rum-and-cokes later, he was feeling much better. He liked rum, he decided. He liked rum a lot. Rum came on suddenly and strong; it was a hard, harsh feeling, very different from the cheerful, creeping drunk he associated with beer.

He smiled. He was drunk. So there! The fucking bartender could take his fucking beer and shove it up his fucking arse! In fact--

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

Daniel froze, his heart beating wildly. Play it cool, he told himself. Pretend you're not here. Relax. He flipped off the TV (an old episode of The Young Ones had been blaring at top volume) and set the remote on the nightstand.

There was another series of knocks, louder this time.

"Dan, are you there?" Tom's voice, slightly muffled through the door. Daniel sat bolt upright.

"Um, yes!" he leapt to his feet, glancing at the mirror framed on the wall across from the bed. His hair was still damp, but at least the rain had washed out the Harry Potter 'do. He was wearing sweat pants and a ratty Sonic Youth t-shirt, which made him look younger than ever. Well, there was no time to change now. He picked up his drink and crossed to the door, a bit unsteadily.

Tom filled the doorway, one hand braced against either side of the frame, high above his head, leaning forward. Something in his smile made it difficult for Daniel to breathe. There was something unbelievably exciting about the way Tom was looking at him, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, teeth worrying at his lower lip, damp hair falling across his pale forehead. Daniel smiled, warmth spreading through his body. He was no longer angry at all.

"Can I come in?" Tom drawled. Without waiting for an answer, he pushed past Daniel and collapsed on the double bed. Daniel closed the door behind him.

There was a short silence.

"Had fun at the pub, then?" Daniel asked. He hesitated for a moment, then set his drink on the nightstand and dropped onto the bed beside Tom, lying barely a foot away from the other boy. A distant voice in Daniel's brain warned that this was probably a very bad idea. He ignored it. Perhaps the rum was making him reckless. Perhaps he was tired of doing what other people told him to do.

"It was all right." Tom shrugged. "I can't believe they wouldn't serve you, with Robbie ordering."

"Robbie could have wiped the floor with that guy." Daniel's tongue seemed thicker than usual, as if he were speaking through a mouthful of novocaine. "I would've been scared not to serve me." He was absurdly pleased when Tom laughed.

Tom twisted around to face the headboard, plumping up the stack of pillows behind him. His shirt rode up a little, exposing a pale strip of flesh to the yellow lamplight.

"Want to watch TV?" he asked.
"Sure." The remote was on the nightstand, wasn't it? Daniel reached for it blindly, still reclining, his hand fumbling across the surface of the nightstand and nearly knocking over his drink.

"Here, let me." Tom leaned over Daniel and picked up the remote. The hem of his sleeve brushed the bare skin of Daniel's arm, and Daniel shivered. Tom paused, his face inches from Daniel's. He sniffed, and his face split into a grin. "Is there booze in that drink?" he asked.

Daniel shrugged, grinning back. Tom was so close that he could feel the other boy's breath, warm and damp and smelling of beer. Tom narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but then changed his mind and leaned back against the pillows. Now his body was only inches from Daniel's, so close that Daniel imagined he could feel the heat building between them.

Tom clicked to a rerun of "Friends," and they watched in companionable silence. This was…/nice/. Comfortable. Daniel was slightly dizzy, and the alcohol was pleasantly warm in his belly. Tom was vividly present beside him; he was aware of the other boy's every movement, of the planes and angles of his body and the rhythm of his breathing. He was slouched against the pillows in one of his glorious, unconscious poses, cool and enigmatic like a blond, elfin James Dean. Daniel chuckled at the image.

When their shoulders brushed together, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Tom's skin was warm through the fabric of their shirts. Daniel shivered as Tom shifted against his arm. He glanced quickly at Tom, smiling, and Tom smiled back. There was no awkwardness, only a feeling of warm excitement in his belly, a feeling of possibility.

The room shifted a little around him. Maybe he shouldn't have had so much to drink. When had Tom moved his arm against Daniel's? Or had Daniel moved his arm against Tom's? It didn't seem to matter; all he cared about was the warm, rough feeling of skin against skin. Tom's eyes were sparkling, and his cheeks were slightly flushed.

Daniel didn't feel any trepidation or anxiety, not so much as a flicker of discomfort, when Tom slid lower on the pillows and rested his head on Daniel's shoulder, his right leg flush against Daniel's left. In fact, it was the most delicious feeling in the world. The warmth of the alcohol merged with the warmth of Tom's body and seemed to crackle under Daniel's skin. He couldn't wipe the grin off his face. Tom's body felt so intensely /real/ against his. It seemed perfectly natural to let his head drop to one side, so that his cheek rested against Tom's hair (still damp, but warm, and very soft). Perfectly natural that his arm had somehow found its way onto the other boy's thigh, massaging the long, lean muscles as they tightened and relaxed under his fingers. Perfectly natural to turn his head and brush his lips against Tom's smooth forehead.

Tom tasted sweet and salty and warm, and his skin felt much more vivid against Daniel's lips than it had against his cheek. Daniel inhaled deeply. Tom smelled of soap, clean sweat and bready beer.

Tom made a soft, contented sound, and his skin slid under Daniel's lips as he turned his face upward. Then, suddenly, his mouth was flush against Daniel's.

He heard himself sigh, and then he was lost, dizzy, spinning in the darkness behind his closed eyelids, drowning in Tom's smell, his warmth, the smooth slide of muscle under skin. He pressed his mouth against the soft lips, letting his tongue twine with Tom's, overwhelmed by waves of heat shuddering and surging through his body.

He noticed, dimly, hazily, that he wasn't hard; he was too drunk to get hard, he was too drunk to be anything but sloppy and fumbling. He thought that he should be embarrassed, but when he reached for the emotion, it wasn't there. There was only sensation; he was swimming in sensation, and every nerve ending felt flooded.

He was getting dizzier; the world around him seemed to waver and sway, but he was warmer, more comfortable than he had ever been in his life. He felt himself pulling Tom back onto the pillows, tucking his face into the curve of Tom's neck and muttering, "'m sorry." Tom chuckled, shifting languidly in his arms.

"I'm drunker than you are," he said, but Daniel didn't believe him. "Next time let's try this sober."

Daniel smiled as he drifted into unconsciousness to the rhythm of Tom's heart beat.

5.

Daniel was not smiling when he woke up the next morning. Slivers of pain were needling their way into his head, tugging him into consciousness. He groaned.

"Daniel," Tom said softly, "wake up."

Daniel's eyes snapped open. He was suddenly wide awake, his head aching, his mouth so dry that his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. His stomach heaved.

For a moment his mind stayed sluggishly empty, getting used to the unpleasantness coursing through his body. Then the events of the previous night came rushing back. He closed his eyes. /Oh no/. A sinking feeling of horror filled his belly, precipitating another wave of nausea. He clutched his stomach miserably.

"Here, take these," Tom thrust two white tablets and a glass of water into his hands.

"Thanks," Daniel croaked. He popped the pills into his mouth and gulped the water, which felt wonderful on the parched skin of his mouth and throat, but made him dizzy with nausea when it hit his stomach. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. So this was a hangover. Frankly, this he could do without. How was he going to get through the day feeling like this? The mind boggled. And--oh hell, he didn't know what was worse: the fact that he had hooked up with Tom, or the fact that he couldn't make himself regret it.

Tom stood up. His clothing was rumpled, and his eyes were bloodshot and puffy.

"We have to be on the set in an hour, so I should probably go back to my room and get changed," he said. He hesitated. "Do you want to hang out again tonight? Without the booze?"

"I--" Daniel began, and something caught in his throat. He willed himself to speak, but nothing came out. He reminded himself of all the reasons that doing anything like this again was a bad idea. "I can't," he finally mumbled, staring at the floor. Something constricted in his chest.

"Oh." Tom sounded genuinely surprised, and a little hurt. Daniel looked up quickly. For the first time in their acquaintance, there wasn't a hint of amusement or irony on Tom's face. Daniel stared. Tom looked away.

"Well," Tom said. His face shifted back into its usual lines, his mouth turning up into the small, ironic crescent that seemed to be his default expression. "I guess I'll see you on the set, then."

"No," before he knew what he was doing, Daniel was standing up, putting a hand on Tom's shoulder. His headache protested with a sharp jab to his temple. "Wait. I'm--" he cast about for words, desperate to justify himself. "I'm not supposed to be--to see anyone. It could be bad for my career--"

The moment he said it, he realized how it sounded: lame and silly and awful and /juvenile/.

Tom's gray eyes met his mildly, as if to say, "...and?"

He couldn't come up with a way to answer the question. His mind floundered for a moment, and then, abruptly, became very calm.

Life was all about taking risks, wasn't it? He wasn't a child. He could be careful. /Fuck/ his agent, he thought succinctly, and smiled.

"--so we'll have to be discreet," he continued. Tom's smirk spread into a genuine smile.

"I don't know if you noticed, but I'm also an actor. I've been in several movies--you may have heard of the Harry Potter films? The boy in the title role is a twat, but the movies are--"

Daniel grabbed Tom around the waist and wrestled him onto the bed.

"Say that again, will you?" He was grinning so hard that his face hurt, and he couldn't stop, despite the shooting pain behind his eyes and the hints of nausea twisting through his gut. Suddenly, getting through the day with a hangover from hell didn't seem impossible. In fact, nothing seemed impossible.

"Let go of me! Go take a fucking shower!" Tom said, but he was still smiling. Daniel let Tom go and reluctantly stood up. He was certain he would feel better after breakfast. Hell, he felt better already.

"Tonight," Daniel said, "in my room? After dinner?"

"I'll be there."

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