oh baby, you're young but that's okay. what's give or take nine years anyway?
WARNING! DirtybadwrongunderageRPF/S!!!
featuring....Dan Radcliffe.
Hard R. Read at your own risk.
Notes: for queenofalostart, because no one should have to deal with five hour traffic jams and roadside pee-ers. And because she enables so well.
All lack of Britticisms and other errors mine. First foray into anything HP related, so, well, I make no quality claims. Also, I've only read two interviews with the young Potterites, so this is pantseat flying at its best.
I almost titled this "Danwank," (and still think of it as such) but because I know how fond serialkarma is of my punning, I decided to go with the more formal title...
Perils, Pitfalls, and Puberty
It was Rupert who started it, Dan thinks, but he doesn't know who Rupert got it from. Probably from someone in that massive family of his that he always bragged about in the press when folks asked him how he was like Ron.
(Then again, maybe the answer was easier and he got it from the twins. Dan wouldn't put it past them.)
"It" was (at this moment, "it" being all sorts of shenanigans the three got into at any other moment, from going through scripts and enacting each others' roles in the most falsetto voices possible to hiding Emma's knickers in the freezer, until she started locking her trailer) coming up with a list of things that could *sound* sexual with the right wink, but really weren't, not quite. Until you put the "I swear to god" bit at the end. Then it always came out sounding wrongish, but in a rather good way. Sort of like putting "in bed" at the end of fortune cookies.
"If I had a pair of gardening shears, a bottle of aftershave, some petroleum jelly and a water snake..." Rupert intoned seriously, and paused for a moment, watching Emma and Dan as they lay faces up on the grassy hill, "I SWEAR TO GOD."
Dan knew this probably shouldn't be quite as funny as it was, but he still had to bite down on his fist to keep from choking in glee. Emma had already succumbed, and Rupert was beside her, giving her sharp whacks on her upper back, asking if she was all right.
Emma pushed Rupert's hand away as she sat upright, regaining her bearings. "Perfectly." She gave her light brown curls a brisk shake and wiped tears away from the corners of her eyes, then squinted. "But what do you do with the water snake, then?"
Dan and Rupert shot each other looks that Dan figured were supposed to mean "I can't believe she doesn't know," but, truth of the matter, Dan was finding things rather befuddling himself.
What DID you do with the water snake?
*
Dan knows that it probably isn't his fault that everything in the world seems so sexual lately. He's going-on fifteen, and it hadn't been so long ago that he'd watched Y Tu Mama Tambien (at Alfonso's urging), so he knew what was going on with men and women *mostly.* More than his alter-ego did, at least.
Dan's read all five books, two or three times in some cases, and by now he knows he's really not like Harry at all. Harry, for all intents, is clueless about sex, and he wonders if that’s what Hogwarts is really like or if Harry’s not as innocent-minded between the pages as Jo makes him seem. Then again, Harry didn’t even have his first snog until he was-what, fifteen? And his reaction had made Dan snigger-"wet"? Didn’t seem like the Griffindor fifth years were hiding late night dormitory shenanigans. There was really far too much almost-dying going on for that sort of thing. And even if there were shenanigans at Hogwarts, Dan thinks, sandwiched between the the perils that brought prompted bone-mending and life-restoring, they definitely weren’t of the perverted sort.
Despite the role he plays (or perhaps because of it), when it comes to Dan's mental list of things that are sexy (a list that has been added to exponentially in the past two years) 'death' is always firmly in the Not Sexy column.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione? Not. Sexy. Or perverted, really.
On the other hand, he, Rupert and Emma? Staggeringly so. (Perverted, that was, not sexy.) Dan's friends at home are of the same dirty sort, but since he sees them far less than he sees his two castmates, that's who he sort of goes by.
He's not a "kid." Dan knows this, and firmly believes that anyone who thinks fourteen-almost-fifteen is a kid had ought to know better, had ought to *remember* what it was like to be that old in the first place.
Yeah, so maybe he and Rupert do build cardboard mini-golf courses and futz about with comic books, and slack off (Rupert) and pretend they're in bands (Dan) but that doesn't mean they're *kids*.
One of the pitfalls of being fourteen, even a *famous* fourteen, was that adults seemed to forget that fourteen was old enough to *know* things, and even if you asked the right questions, they'd still look shifty like they were going to get in trouble, and avoid all the good answers.
So, he's left with his mates for information, which he thinks is mostly accurate, although he can't always be sure. But because he knows he's not going to get a straight answer from any of the grown-ups, Dan ends up asking Rupert the question later, when they're done playing "it"; after Emma has picked the leaves out of her hair and has walked out of earshot in the direction of the makeup trailer.
"What would you do with a water snake anyway?" He tries to make it sound light, like he did the first time he asked Rupert what a "69" was, when he'd acted like he'd known but just had forgotten, and blushed when he'd found out the truth.
"Well, I don't know what you'd do with the water snake--or the aftershave, really, 'cos that stings. It's just the game, isn't it, who can come up with the best things? I mean, your willie's got to be awfully small to fit inside a water snake, even lubed up, right?"
Dan nods, eyes widening.
Rupert prattles on, "But you, with your rubber tubing, eggbeater, chocolate sauce and silk scarf..." Rupert stops, turns and grins at Dan, his red hair whipping in the breeze. "Now, that, that's brilliant. *That*, you could actually do something with."
"You think?" Dan quirks an eyebrow, cataloguing the information.
Rupert nods, shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he starts walking again. "Oh, definitely."
*
"It" wasn't all about sex. A list of random things, a phrase tacked on the end...couldn't be really. Except *everything* was about sex. Dan would hear things twenty times a day, twenty times an HOUR that would make him think about sex.
It feels like he talks to Rupert all day about sex. On the side lawn of "Hogwarts" while they dribble a football back and forth. Over the stall doors in the loo, the loud echoing of their voices making Dan's heart race. In the backseat of the limo on the way to the London premiere of the third film, while Rupert gleefully fiddles with the moonroof controls and in-seat stereo system. He even talks about sex with Rupert when the makeup girls are deftly applying the boys' powder and fake blood, and it doesn't escape his notice how they scrunch their noses and look at each other, as if they are saying "oh, how darling."
Dan didn't want to be darling. He wanted to fuck.
The fucking part was the hardest thing, because even if he wasn't as famous as Harry Potter, he was getting to be pretty goddamn famous in his own right, famous enough so the girls he knew from back home didn't seem interesting and the girls he met now too vapid.
Teen idols, apparently, were cursed never to get laid.
The mags like to speculate that there's something going on between him and Emma, but it's not true. He makes a face when he thinks of that, a nine-year-old boy face, nose wrinkling and head recoiling. They're his *friends*. They talk. Anything else would be like...like incest.
But even with the constant talking, and talking, between the dirty phrases and endless innuendo, there's no *doing*. Not for Rupert or Emma either since they're all around each other so often that Dan's sure he'd *know* if they were. Doing. Plus Rupert would probably tell him the second it happened, given that Dan has been around so long he's already watched Rupert pull back the elastic waist of his briefs and show off his first pubes; seen him tug the collar of his jumper to proudly display his first hickey, from a sixteen year old girl who called him "Ron" and then laughed giddily as he asked if he could phone. Rupert was thirteen.
But nothing's been going lately, he's sure, because they would have told him. He would have known. He would have *seen*. This sometimes makes him feel better. But not by much.
So, in the end, Dan settles for what he figures fourteen-year-old blokes have been settling for since the beginning of time. He lays flat in his bed, licks the palm of his hand and slides it under the elastic of his plaid boxers, and he thinks about the girls in the mags that some of the boys on set have brought in, hand exploring the length of his cock as it starts to get hard.
He thinks of the girls on the internet, in movies. He thinks of Luisa, in Y Tu Mama Tambien, which thank god he didn't have to watch with his Dad. He imagines the roundness of her breasts in a string bikini, out of a string bikini. His hand moves faster, up and down, he's fully hard now.
But most of the time, the pictures in his head flash to the people he knows. He thinks of Emma, her slim hips and how tall she's gotten, he thinks of holding her hand when he's Harry and she's Hermione, and even if Harry wasn't feeling anything maybe he was...he was.
He grips harder, rubs his palm in a circle over the tip, tongues a bead of sweat off his upper lip, clutches a pillow in his free hand.
Sometimes Rupert flashes in his mind, unbidden, talking about this and that and Dan imagines him in the scenarios they make lists of when they're all laying around and playing "it", with silk scarves and rubber mallets and orange tempera paints smeared on their fingers. His hips arch, thud gently against the mattress, he whimpers in the back of his throat.
Thinks of Emma again.
Emma, who has breasts now, not big ones but visible ones that he catches himself examining out of the corner of his eye when she's filming and he's on the sidelines. His throat clutches, he can't swallow, his fist pumping harder.
Rupert, smiling.
His stomach caves, his knee jerks involuntarily, his head lolls back. He forgets how to breathe.
Emma, her slim back, bones like wings exposed in a blue dress.
He bites the corner of his lip, presses the tongue against the roof of his mouth, his nose whistles and his hand is damp then stickyhot and he falls back onto the sheets, air rattling into and out of his lungs.
Dan doesn't remember who he was thinking of as he came. And if he does, he blocks it out like he's cast a spell.
After all, it's just...he's almost fifteen. *Everything* is about sex. Sometimes even your best friends.
--finis--
featuring....Dan Radcliffe.
Hard R. Read at your own risk.
Notes: for queenofalostart, because no one should have to deal with five hour traffic jams and roadside pee-ers. And because she enables so well.
All lack of Britticisms and other errors mine. First foray into anything HP related, so, well, I make no quality claims. Also, I've only read two interviews with the young Potterites, so this is pantseat flying at its best.
I almost titled this "Danwank," (and still think of it as such) but because I know how fond serialkarma is of my punning, I decided to go with the more formal title...
Perils, Pitfalls, and Puberty
It was Rupert who started it, Dan thinks, but he doesn't know who Rupert got it from. Probably from someone in that massive family of his that he always bragged about in the press when folks asked him how he was like Ron.
(Then again, maybe the answer was easier and he got it from the twins. Dan wouldn't put it past them.)
"It" was (at this moment, "it" being all sorts of shenanigans the three got into at any other moment, from going through scripts and enacting each others' roles in the most falsetto voices possible to hiding Emma's knickers in the freezer, until she started locking her trailer) coming up with a list of things that could *sound* sexual with the right wink, but really weren't, not quite. Until you put the "I swear to god" bit at the end. Then it always came out sounding wrongish, but in a rather good way. Sort of like putting "in bed" at the end of fortune cookies.
"If I had a pair of gardening shears, a bottle of aftershave, some petroleum jelly and a water snake..." Rupert intoned seriously, and paused for a moment, watching Emma and Dan as they lay faces up on the grassy hill, "I SWEAR TO GOD."
Dan knew this probably shouldn't be quite as funny as it was, but he still had to bite down on his fist to keep from choking in glee. Emma had already succumbed, and Rupert was beside her, giving her sharp whacks on her upper back, asking if she was all right.
Emma pushed Rupert's hand away as she sat upright, regaining her bearings. "Perfectly." She gave her light brown curls a brisk shake and wiped tears away from the corners of her eyes, then squinted. "But what do you do with the water snake, then?"
Dan and Rupert shot each other looks that Dan figured were supposed to mean "I can't believe she doesn't know," but, truth of the matter, Dan was finding things rather befuddling himself.
What DID you do with the water snake?
*
Dan knows that it probably isn't his fault that everything in the world seems so sexual lately. He's going-on fifteen, and it hadn't been so long ago that he'd watched Y Tu Mama Tambien (at Alfonso's urging), so he knew what was going on with men and women *mostly.* More than his alter-ego did, at least.
Dan's read all five books, two or three times in some cases, and by now he knows he's really not like Harry at all. Harry, for all intents, is clueless about sex, and he wonders if that’s what Hogwarts is really like or if Harry’s not as innocent-minded between the pages as Jo makes him seem. Then again, Harry didn’t even have his first snog until he was-what, fifteen? And his reaction had made Dan snigger-"wet"? Didn’t seem like the Griffindor fifth years were hiding late night dormitory shenanigans. There was really far too much almost-dying going on for that sort of thing. And even if there were shenanigans at Hogwarts, Dan thinks, sandwiched between the the perils that brought prompted bone-mending and life-restoring, they definitely weren’t of the perverted sort.
Despite the role he plays (or perhaps because of it), when it comes to Dan's mental list of things that are sexy (a list that has been added to exponentially in the past two years) 'death' is always firmly in the Not Sexy column.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione? Not. Sexy. Or perverted, really.
On the other hand, he, Rupert and Emma? Staggeringly so. (Perverted, that was, not sexy.) Dan's friends at home are of the same dirty sort, but since he sees them far less than he sees his two castmates, that's who he sort of goes by.
He's not a "kid." Dan knows this, and firmly believes that anyone who thinks fourteen-almost-fifteen is a kid had ought to know better, had ought to *remember* what it was like to be that old in the first place.
Yeah, so maybe he and Rupert do build cardboard mini-golf courses and futz about with comic books, and slack off (Rupert) and pretend they're in bands (Dan) but that doesn't mean they're *kids*.
One of the pitfalls of being fourteen, even a *famous* fourteen, was that adults seemed to forget that fourteen was old enough to *know* things, and even if you asked the right questions, they'd still look shifty like they were going to get in trouble, and avoid all the good answers.
So, he's left with his mates for information, which he thinks is mostly accurate, although he can't always be sure. But because he knows he's not going to get a straight answer from any of the grown-ups, Dan ends up asking Rupert the question later, when they're done playing "it"; after Emma has picked the leaves out of her hair and has walked out of earshot in the direction of the makeup trailer.
"What would you do with a water snake anyway?" He tries to make it sound light, like he did the first time he asked Rupert what a "69" was, when he'd acted like he'd known but just had forgotten, and blushed when he'd found out the truth.
"Well, I don't know what you'd do with the water snake--or the aftershave, really, 'cos that stings. It's just the game, isn't it, who can come up with the best things? I mean, your willie's got to be awfully small to fit inside a water snake, even lubed up, right?"
Dan nods, eyes widening.
Rupert prattles on, "But you, with your rubber tubing, eggbeater, chocolate sauce and silk scarf..." Rupert stops, turns and grins at Dan, his red hair whipping in the breeze. "Now, that, that's brilliant. *That*, you could actually do something with."
"You think?" Dan quirks an eyebrow, cataloguing the information.
Rupert nods, shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he starts walking again. "Oh, definitely."
*
"It" wasn't all about sex. A list of random things, a phrase tacked on the end...couldn't be really. Except *everything* was about sex. Dan would hear things twenty times a day, twenty times an HOUR that would make him think about sex.
It feels like he talks to Rupert all day about sex. On the side lawn of "Hogwarts" while they dribble a football back and forth. Over the stall doors in the loo, the loud echoing of their voices making Dan's heart race. In the backseat of the limo on the way to the London premiere of the third film, while Rupert gleefully fiddles with the moonroof controls and in-seat stereo system. He even talks about sex with Rupert when the makeup girls are deftly applying the boys' powder and fake blood, and it doesn't escape his notice how they scrunch their noses and look at each other, as if they are saying "oh, how darling."
Dan didn't want to be darling. He wanted to fuck.
The fucking part was the hardest thing, because even if he wasn't as famous as Harry Potter, he was getting to be pretty goddamn famous in his own right, famous enough so the girls he knew from back home didn't seem interesting and the girls he met now too vapid.
Teen idols, apparently, were cursed never to get laid.
The mags like to speculate that there's something going on between him and Emma, but it's not true. He makes a face when he thinks of that, a nine-year-old boy face, nose wrinkling and head recoiling. They're his *friends*. They talk. Anything else would be like...like incest.
But even with the constant talking, and talking, between the dirty phrases and endless innuendo, there's no *doing*. Not for Rupert or Emma either since they're all around each other so often that Dan's sure he'd *know* if they were. Doing. Plus Rupert would probably tell him the second it happened, given that Dan has been around so long he's already watched Rupert pull back the elastic waist of his briefs and show off his first pubes; seen him tug the collar of his jumper to proudly display his first hickey, from a sixteen year old girl who called him "Ron" and then laughed giddily as he asked if he could phone. Rupert was thirteen.
But nothing's been going lately, he's sure, because they would have told him. He would have known. He would have *seen*. This sometimes makes him feel better. But not by much.
So, in the end, Dan settles for what he figures fourteen-year-old blokes have been settling for since the beginning of time. He lays flat in his bed, licks the palm of his hand and slides it under the elastic of his plaid boxers, and he thinks about the girls in the mags that some of the boys on set have brought in, hand exploring the length of his cock as it starts to get hard.
He thinks of the girls on the internet, in movies. He thinks of Luisa, in Y Tu Mama Tambien, which thank god he didn't have to watch with his Dad. He imagines the roundness of her breasts in a string bikini, out of a string bikini. His hand moves faster, up and down, he's fully hard now.
But most of the time, the pictures in his head flash to the people he knows. He thinks of Emma, her slim hips and how tall she's gotten, he thinks of holding her hand when he's Harry and she's Hermione, and even if Harry wasn't feeling anything maybe he was...he was.
He grips harder, rubs his palm in a circle over the tip, tongues a bead of sweat off his upper lip, clutches a pillow in his free hand.
Sometimes Rupert flashes in his mind, unbidden, talking about this and that and Dan imagines him in the scenarios they make lists of when they're all laying around and playing "it", with silk scarves and rubber mallets and orange tempera paints smeared on their fingers. His hips arch, thud gently against the mattress, he whimpers in the back of his throat.
Thinks of Emma again.
Emma, who has breasts now, not big ones but visible ones that he catches himself examining out of the corner of his eye when she's filming and he's on the sidelines. His throat clutches, he can't swallow, his fist pumping harder.
Rupert, smiling.
His stomach caves, his knee jerks involuntarily, his head lolls back. He forgets how to breathe.
Emma, her slim back, bones like wings exposed in a blue dress.
He bites the corner of his lip, presses the tongue against the roof of his mouth, his nose whistles and his hand is damp then stickyhot and he falls back onto the sheets, air rattling into and out of his lungs.
Dan doesn't remember who he was thinking of as he came. And if he does, he blocks it out like he's cast a spell.
After all, it's just...he's almost fifteen. *Everything* is about sex. Sometimes even your best friends.
--finis--