Author: Roxanne Title: Trilogy, Part One Series: 1/3 Pairing: Tom Felton/implied others Rating: PG-13? Disclaimer: Um, fictional? I don't own Tom Felton, surprisingly enough, although if he wants to sue me, he'll be gaining several vintage My Little Ponies and he can buy lots of fish with my fortune of approx. £10 in his hot little hand. Distribution: Just ask. Summary: Tom hates the limelight. Tom doesn't spend much time with Dan. He's a sweet kid, funny, and he clearly worships Tom, which is an ego boost, even though he's usually uncomfortable with attention - this rich famous boy, who Tom knows lots of girls at school fancy, think he's great. However, Dan is occupied almost all the hours of the day - if he's not rehearsing, he's studying, or being eyed protectively by his assistants, minder or parents, who look torn between stepping into the limelight themselves and locking their baby in a tower. Tom hates the limelight. When he was small, it was great fun acting - showing off and getting paid for it, meeting celebrities, travelling. But as he got older, he became more self-conscious. People at school took the piss. Girls, even. He wants to be cool, but more than that; he wants to be normal. He wants to smoke in the bike sheds, sneak into clubs, fish on the weekends. He doesn't get much press attention, which suits him. That's focused on the younger 'trio', the reason he avoids them (well, that and it doesn't look good to hang out with kids all the time, like a baby. And Rupert's a bit boring, Emma's obnoxious, and even Dan gets on his nerves with his shy and retiring crap. If you're that shy for fuck's sake, quit. Put your money where your mouth is, like me; thinks Tom, knowing perfectly well that none of them can leave 'til the films stop, no matter what they are reassured by their families and the crew.) Girls fawning over him because he's been in the films are mad, he thinks. His hometown treats him like nothing, which is the way he likes it. Honestly, these sad people, trading information over the internet on someone they know nothing about; makes him nervous, and he feels like they know it and hates them even more. At least he sticks to real people. He knows that for all his reticence, he's a little too eager to assert his maturity, to hang around with the big boys, the ones on the sideline, casual of the whole filming thing. His character is too big to really be one of the gang, but 'Draco' is also too minor to be part of the press junket that the self-styled 'Trio' constantly engage in, and for all his hard man act, he does want people to like him, and have someone other than the mumsy PAs to hang out with, when his ever present brother's absent. Tom teases him about getting a job and a life of his own, but it reassures him to have someone in his corner just for him, in case nosy reporters want to chat or the producers want to nag. He'd never call Chris an official assistant like Daniel, who has three, which Tom knows, embarrasses him, although Emma and Rupert are envious. But he and Chris know that the amount of time Chris spends there would probably qualify. Tom has three elder brothers, and what with the acting; he's used to dealing with boys over girls, adults over children. He watches from the sidelines sometimes, and sees Dan and Rupert mucking about and thinks about how immature they are at two years younger. The blokes at school'd laugh at them. A ging and a poncy Fulham stage school brat. He'd like a friend though, a proper one, on set. Occasionally he fishes with Jamie W and Josh, although their shorter schedule means that like their characters, they're a pair. Plus, all three of them know Tom is the more 'important' of the three. They probably think of him as the show-off - the child actor, the one with the most experience in the 'kiddie cast', as Alan refers to it patronisingly. He makes do with Sean, Jamie and Chris (confusing when he refers to him, but Christian's full name is a bit formal); although he knows they'll probably all be gone next year. So he's the baby again, listening intently as they joke around, satisfied with their secondary roles, actually pleased with the attention they get from screaming girls. This mystifies him. He's no poof (despite growing up around them - it's the norm in the acting biz, even nowadays), but squealing girls with their cameras don't do anything for him. He wanks off, of course, to porn (lots around to steal when you've got big brothers), girl porn before you get clever, mind. The odd picture of Angelina Jolie, too, if you must know. Perfectly normal. He's got off with girls too, sometimes when an obviously star-struck girl is giving him the eye, one in the grey area between filming PS and CoS when he could convince himself she'd never heard of him, despite her too coy questions about which school he goes to. His character in the films is embarrassing anyway, that's half the reason he's grown sick of acting. Wearing stupid costumes, shrieking and running around was a laugh when he was a kid; but he's aware now, of what people think, and how he looks; his spots; his stupid bleached gelled greasy hair; his skinny girlie limbs; his playing netball at school rather than football up until last year; his crooked teeth, which cause him to lisp into his teens; and his posh accent, which he works on modifying into a guttural Essex-style slur, but he knows his 'Surrey stockbroker belt' origins show through, and it's sound like a knobby poof or sound like an idiot, like he did on his DVD interview. He's a fairly late bloomer, only now, at the same rate as the kids two years younger damn it, getting taller. He's still uncomfortable around girls, tends to stutter. He worries about it, 'specially when it was in the paper. Maybe he hasn't learn to deal with women, only men, maybe he's a queer? But then queers are good at talking to women, so are the luvvies - look at Jason and Ken; calling everyone of either gender darling; and they're married! His brother's good at it too, but then he is gay - his brother, a fisherman, not an actor-type! He's read the statistics about it running in the family, worriedly. Or had them informally presented to him on the playground, with all it's attendant class: 'Hey, Tom, your bruvvah's one, yeah? Is it catching?' He knows his mates are only joking but it still creeps him out, and sometimes he looks at Chris with new eyes, and sees his too bright clothes, his too fluttery eyelashes, the way he smiles, and it's coming off him in waves, and what if it's coming off Tom, too? What if you add the acting; and the posh voice; and the pretty boy looks despite their teenage flaws (he tries to look macho in his promo shots, but his mum and the PA greet every photo with an affectionate 'Ah, he looks like an angel', even though he's told them to shut up God knows how many times); and the fact he's only kissed four girls even though he's relatively famous, but he's still a virgin; and the fact he made that stupid joke about loving Dan really, and he knows it's on the Internet, where anyone could see it, that's he's gay. And the way he follows Chris, Sean and Jamie around faithfully, making the his mum to worriedly remind him not to be so keen to grow up, while Jason cattily talks about romances on set to Alan, who laughs along because he hates everyone; and Chris, Sean and Jamie exchange looks; (he thought they were 'What a wannabe' looks, at the time, and just grinned awkwardly and probably foolishly) and get him to fetch the tea when the PA's on break. And the one time some bloke he didn't know winked at him, and why did he do that? Did he think Tom was one of them? Is it something he's doing, or does he just look like one? Aren't they supposed to be able to tell their own? Another time he typed in Draco Malfoy to a search engine and he found loads of pretend stories, too many to read them all, but stories about his character having sex with blokes, and there were pictures of him on the sites, in costume, staring at Dan, the way he's supposed to, it's his fucking job, and it's supposed to be a glare, is he as fucking shit as acting as he suspected, if they're getting it this wrong? Or are they getting it right and his view is the one that's fucked up? He typed in his name, too, and then, looking over his shoulder nervously, the word 'gay', and there are links, to stories and comments from girls (at least he assumes they're girls. God, he hopes so.) And they're talking about him. Tom. Not Draco, or his hairstyle, or the heated glares, or even Daniel, staring at his crotch like some fucking poof, oh he can see that's obvious, now he looks at their oh-so-fucking-carefully laid out evidence, what do they think, they're fucking detectives? God, have they not got jobs or lives of their own? Probably dykes, not hot ones like in the movies, but bitter ones, like The Mail's always ranting about; projecting their fantasies onto him. But his mum's always said women have their own special intuition. Of course, he knows fuck all about women, but then that's normal isn't it! He's fifteen ('almost sixteen' a nagging voice reminds him), for fuck's sake! He feels like they're all staring at him somehow, as he reads stories about he fucks Dan, and he can't tell anyone, in case they look at him more closely, in case they say 'You know, they might have a point, you've never been very good with girls, never even been very interested in them.' Or 'You can tell us or your brothers anything, Tom, if you're hiding something, or if there's anything that worries you.' And he absolutely can't tell anyone, even if they agreed that the stories were sick, and the writers were wrong, even if they said 'They're mad, Tom, don't worry about them' or even if they said 'Look, they call all the others gay, too. Look, they do it to Dan, and Sean, and those actors, look, the ones in Lord of the Rings.' (Although, oh God, they probably are, all of them, it's like everyone he knows is, like they're surrounding him, infecting him.) Even if he knew they'd reassure him, he couldn't tell anyone that he saw them. Couldn't tell them that he read just the warnings, turned off the computer without even shutting it down properly, just yanking out the power cord, shuts himself in the bathroom, thinking about fucking men and men fucking him, although he doesn't know whether it's him or Draco, and he jerks off quickly, his face red, and afterwards looks at the mess all over his stomach and hand; and throws up on the pink fluffy toilet seat cover. He goes out that night, with the lads as always (he fleetingly considers this, but lets it go, surely hanging around with all girls would be gayer?) He gets slobberingly drunk, on beer and cheap cider they bribed Sammy's brother to buy from the local offie, (none of them dare try themselves since Tom was in The Sun for trying to get served while filming; but within reason, there's never anything Tom wants that he can't get, which they all know, and likely resent); drunk in the deserted park, sitting on the swings and smoking Benson and Hedges inexpertly. He gets red-faced (again), sweaty and slurry and pukes again before long, but doesn't care, and gets off with three girls that night, slappers who come down the park to have a spliff and giggle at the boys who inevitably slag them off but turn up every night like clockwork. His stinking breath in their hot mouths, tongue probing clumsily. They've had better, but ignore this, something's better than nothing, and this bloke is famous, if only in a very minor, Big Brother/Pop Idol kind of way. It's something to boast about at the pubs their elder sisters sneak them into. Afterwards they chew sweet strawberry flavoured Hubba Bubba and pass round Superking menthols - dire cigs, but they rid their mouths of the taste before they have to meet their boyfriends. Sammy high-fives Tom when he stumbles back over. "Alright, mate, three birds and it's only midnight." He peers over. "They're quite fit, actually." Tom grimaces, he feels sick - too much beer, and the last girl's strong perfume has turned his stomach. Steve chimes in "Yeah, was beginning to think you weren't into all that", and leers. The lads all laugh. Tom storms off, not bothering to take the girls' numbers or even say goodbye. Thankfully home is a mere street away, although his mum will be livid with him in the morning, when he's in a fit state to converse - about the state of her bathroom, for one. But for now, Tom lies on his bed, dustbin nearby, and thinks about when he can quit the fucking acting business he knows is to blame for all this, and can fish in peace. He likes to fish. It gives him time to sort out his thoughts. Author: Roxanne Title: Trilogy Part 2 Series: 2/3 Pairing: Rupert Grint/Tom Felton implied Rating: Um, PG-13? Disclaimer: Fact. Yup, the HP kids rang me and dictated their innermost feelings, knowing I would immediately publish them to the billions who daily scour my livejournal. In case you can’t tell, I’m being sarcastic. Those kids would probably never make out for my amusement. Selfish brats. Distribution: Just ask. Summary: Rupert likes a laugh Rupert acts for the same reason he does anything – it’s a laugh. He’s not ambitious like Emma or enthusiastic about ‘the craft’ like Dan. He tried for the part of Ron because he had red hair and his school had a sign up about auditions. If he’d had plans for the weekend, he wouldn’t have bothered, but his friend had broken his ankle so he had nothing better to do. Unlike Dan or Emma, he’s made another film since Harry. Although it sounded rubbish (even to Rupert, who’s aware that his tastes don’t match the other’s sophisticated choices – he loves American Pie, has it on vid; whereas Daniel earnestly waxs lyrical about Citizen Kane); he makes it because unlike the others, he can, and it sounds like fun. Daniel is already too big and too busy to make small silly British films, Emma wouldn’t coarsen her career with another children’s film, especially one with such lowbrow subject matter, and Tom refuses to put in anything more than the bare minimum as far as acting is concerned. Rupert likes Tom. He thinks he’s a snotty arrogant lazy tosser, but he likes him, nonetheless. Tom’s the eldest, the ‘big man.’ He hangs out with the older blokes and so obviously doesn’t give a toss about the fame thing. He acts jaded, like it's all a chore and he’s just waiting for the weekend, sometimes taking it too far in Rupert’s opinion and sounding like his dad moaning about Mondays at the office. He doesn’t hang around with the ‘trio’, probably thinks he’s too mature for larking about with ‘kids.’ He doesn’t seem to worry about his performance as they do, fretting over tiny intonations and gestures, and the directors leave him alone so maybe they think he doesn’t need the constant notes and changes they give the others. He turns up, pulling at his collar, making a big macho deal about the make up and hairstyling, then slouches off, not bothering to chat like Dan; who seems to be running for Miss Congeniality – Rupert sniggers at his own joke. But Rupert likes Tom. He’s impressed by him, thinks he’s cool. Tom’s an actor, but he’s not all sensitive and pretty like Dan. He likes rap, too; and he wears decent clothes, and the girls on set all fancy him (except Emma of course, who’d never slum it with someone less famous or classy than her.) Tom’s quiet, he’s not got a big mouth like Rupert, who can never shut up and babbles endlessly when he’s nervous. He’s not shrieky or eager like Emma and Dan, he doesn’t show off, like a kid, but lets the attention come to him. Rupert tries to copy that, that casual air, the slightly put-on Essex style drawl. Tries to calm down. Tom goes to the pub when the filming’s cancelled, not to the Green Room or local shops; and there he charms the bartenders into serving him, and smokes like a pro; not choking and holding it between his finger and thumb as Rupert did when he tried it. Everyone’s so fucking impressed by Tom. Jason blathers on about his talent, Dan clearly worships him, journalists who slate Rupert’s ‘mugging’ remain curiously silent. Tom breezes in, acts like a self-centred, unfriendly twat, then breezes out again. He’s so sure that acting, and everyone involved with it, is a waste of his time, and he shows it, even though they’re all there because they love it, because they want it to be their career. Except Rupert. He doubts his own box office appeal, can see small roles in British productions, cameos and character roles, perhaps a short-lived television series. He knows he doesn’t have the looks or talent to carry anything important, and a lifetime of playing the sidekick doesn’t appeal. He’d rather quit while he’s ahead, run out the door before he’s pushed. Scam some of the benefits – attention, money, ’til he finds something he wants to do permanently. Tom wants his hobby to be his career, wants to live it, in and out, every day. It’s impractical, obsessive and probably a stupid idea, and Rupert loves it. He’s as impressed by Tom as everyone else is, annoyingly enough. He wants what Tom has – that security. Rupert likes to laugh, but as his teachers and parents always remind him, the future’s just around the corner, and Tom at least, knows where he’s going and what his future’s full of. Tom has something else, too. He’s hot, somehow. It could be his attitude. Perhaps Rupert wants the only person who ignores him nowadays; maybe he’s tired of the easy way, the fun way. Maybe he wants a challenge, something (someone) difficult. It could be the slightly fucked up aura Tom gives off that makes Rupert want to peel him open and look at what’s inside. Rupert’s not queer, he’s fancied loads of birds, but nowadays it doesn’t really matter does it? Bi, straight, gay; you do what feels good, and Rupert thinks Tom would feel very good, running his bony fingers through Rupert’s bright hair, licking his freckles and putting his leg between Rupert’s, showing him what to do, losing his cool. He looks forward to the Prisoner shoot, when Ron’s broken leg means spare hours throughout the days, to hunt around the sets, make new friends. Maybe work what (who) he wants in his future. Author: Roxanne Title: Trilogy, Part Three Series: 3/3 Pairing: Daniel Radcliffe/Tom Felton Rating: Um, PG-13? Disclaimer: Fact. Yup, the HP kids rang me and dictated their innermost feelings, knowing I would immediately publish them to the billions who daily scour my livejournal. In case you can't tell, I'm being sarcastic. Those kids would probably never make out for my amusement. Selfish brats. Distribution: Just ask Summary: Daniel's a professional. Daniel's known he was gay since he was nine. It's no big deal to him. Everyone in the profession is, and his ultra-liberal, modern, trendy Fulham parents couldn't give a damn as long as he stays within the caste of SW1. It's not like he'll ever be bullied - he'll probably never go back to the public all-boys school he used to attend, which was exclusive and cushy. His family have money and he's an actor, which adds a little glamour to the tackiness associated with their new money, the bulk of which is now his earnings rather than inheritance. He's a millionaire (although of course it's all in trust for him until he hits eighteen - his parents are no fools) which buys a lot of tolerance, and although the upper-class aren't famed for their compassion, being a queer is trivial nowadays. His parents will likely get understanding nods and the suggestion that perhaps he didn't play enough rugby, preferring the costumes of the school plays. He'll look at them proudly, grateful for their tolerance, smiling a little at their naivety - the rugger buggers were the most oblivious at school. Acting macho while they wrestled together on the common room sofas, playing 'Bundle', a game in which the entire point is to jump on top of an unsuspecting male 'bundling' him, sometimes thirty on top of each other, crushed together, sweating. Comparing dick size in the showers, jerking each other off at night when everyone (of age - Daniel just watched in awe and a little fear, his small face pressed against the starched pillow, eyes wide) is homesick and horny. He wonders if they know the definition of 'homoerotic'. Despite his awareness of his sexuality, Daniel's never really been interested in anyone. He thinks his type would probably be small, effeminate. He never felt an attraction to any of the rugby players; too hairy, bellowing constantly. He thinks they'd be rough. He imagines his type would be someone along the lines of Alfonso or David, touchy feely men, sensitive men. Men who are intelligent, who would tell him how they feel about him rather than muttering incoherently. Men who stroke his arm and tell him how talented he is, giving him shivers, rather than tongue-tied men who stroke his cock with battered hands. He imagines. He doesn't like hero worship though, no one who's really 'famous' does; he believes, and as 'Harry Potter' he certainly qualifies. The only stars he sees flaunting their many fans, are the ones between the pages of The Sun, soap stars and ex-boyband members. He sneaks guilty peeks at the paper during tea breaks in the Green Room - his parents prefer The Telegraph, with The Mail on Sunday as a weekend treat. He sympathises with Tom, who hates attention more than the rest of the cast, even shy Bonnie; and characteristically delayed his promotional interview as long as possible, before appearing, smirking, as if to say 'What was all the fuss about?' Of course, he then mumbled all the way through it. Daniel thinks Tom should be more professional, however. Daniel enjoys a quiet life, too; but he recognises the nature of the game, and he pays now for the quiet life he'll have, the career as a famous director. Daniel loves the business, but he prefers to be on the other side of the camera, the voyeur, looking in, telling others where to stand. The one who receives the acclaim, but avoids the spotlight. He's friendly to everyone. He has all the contacts he needs for when the films are finished, and he's been promised a place at London's best film school whenever he wants to take it. There are better teachers in LA, but Daniel doesn't want to press his luck. He has a name here, he's done theatre and the classics, he's got respect, which doesn't travel well to the US, who turn out android style assembly lines full of Haley Joel Osmonts. Daniel was trained, British style, for the stage, and he's aware that this doesn't impress the critics as much as the more understated American actors, who seem to emerge from the womb with perfect white teeth and a propensity for remembering their lines. Daniel would prefer to let the fuss of the boy wizard die down, and make his comeback with the skills he'll be remembered for. Daniel thinks Tom ought to be as ambitious. Certainly, he's not as talented or as well-known, but with more effort, he could be have a career in television or brush up on his skills with a term or two at Sylvia Young's. Daniel thinks, with malicious humour, that Tom would suit Eastenders - learning his lines for the day, a cup of tea, then attending the latest D-list bar with a Page Three girl. He's definitely not fit for the stage. For their first rehearsal, they'd done warm-ups and he'd looked uncomfortable just rolling up. Daniel wonders how he'd cope with the singing and modern dance that accompanies most theatrical lessons, and giggles at the idea of Tom in a leotard. Tom doesn't even think about characterisation. Daniel has developed Harry's instincts, so he feels he knows how Harry would react in any given situation. The first week they joined the cast, they were each told to bring an item in that is of importance to their character, and explain why and what it means to them. Daniel spoke emotively for ten minutes about the wand he picked up down the joke shop, mentioning canonical references to the text. Tom brought a rock. A rock he mumbled about for about ten seconds before sitting down, thankfully. Then at the break, he lit a cigarette, mindful of the other's awe, and grunts about how 'stupid' the exercises were. Daniel seethed. However, Daniel makes an effort to get on with everyone, smiling for the photographers with extras and adults alike - there are no small parts, only small actors. And Tom, dedicated actor or not, plays well with him. Their scenes have a certain energy - he'd call it chemistry if he wasn't still at the age where that sounds vaguely dirty. Tom doesn't try to take the spotlight, he wants it less than Daniel, which is a shame because objectively, he could attain the heartthrob status, take the heat off Daniel. It's not like Rupert can, despite his enthusiasm; (Tom and Dan are the old hands, child actors who've seen it all and are amazed that the others still get excited at photo-calls or interviews) or Emma could, despite her ambition. Daniel is practical at assessing appeal, he's learned to be after multiple rejections for being the wrong type or size or shape; and Tom has a certain something. Logically, he's no different from the council estate bunch that Rupert hangs out with - bleached, spots, crude features, the posturing bad boy on camera and off. But something holds Daniel's attention, and that's rare, in a world that's his for the taking, ready to change the channel, the wallpaper, anything he's not happy with. Here's something that annoys him, something he can't get rid of, under his skin. (He knows that if it were to come down to a choice between them, Tom'd be back to fishing by the weekend, but he also knows that he shouldn't push his weight around while he waits for the endless Harry films to finish.) Here's something that excites him, makes him tense, makes him think, like the flights and the press and the job used to. And Tom's fascinated by him, too. Daniel's an only child who's spent his life with adults, and he doesn't miss a trick. Perceptiveness is an essential part of an actor's repertoire, and he can see Tom eating his heart out for him, obsessing over him. He knows his own appeal, naturally, but he thought Tom would tend towards the big breasted blonde bimbos, as unsubtle as his hair. Daniel's small, his features are feminine, his voice is gentle. What does Tom want from him? Does he want to rough him up, slap him around, show him he's no better than anyone else, teach him some quaint fisherman wisdom? Daniel sneers. Is he afraid of girls, does he think he's getting the next best thing, a trial run with this posh brat who can blush on cue when asked about girls, who hasn't fucked or been fucked but would be tight as a girl and would probably moan like one, too? Tom may be the eldest, likely the more experienced (Daniel knows not to mess around, his image relies on his innocence and people have a way of remembering teenage sweethearts or fuckbuddies when those partners are splattered over the paper); but he doesn't know who he's dealing with. Dan gives him teasing hints for a while; talking in the interviews they all watch in the Green Room at the beginning of each week, about how much he enjoyed the duelling scene he and Tom shared, how well they get on; checking him out blatantly on camera, safe in the knowledge that at 13 and with another boy, no-one's going to be picking up any vibe they're willing to share. Tom bats back, referring to him as a 'mischievous child', but he's out of his league. He's in the wrong profession, he works with his body, not his mind. His tongue isn't adept at twisting words, hiding their meaning; and when he jokes that they love each other really; Dan raises his eyebrows at the camera and smirks as Tom once again gets embarrassed and colours. Daniel's the one who's embarrassed when Tom shoves him against his trailer, up in Scotland. Hardly professional, anyone could see, even on a rainy day when there's no-one and nothing but sheep around, and Tom's spent the day drinking in the nearby pub with the elder boys, whose company he obviously craves. Perhaps he's underestimated Tom, or pushed him too far, he wonders as he shares his nervous pants. He notes with interest that Tom's eyes are watering as he sticks his tongue down Dan's throat, then into his ear. He's not as smooth as Dan has expected, his fingers shake as he pulls Dan towards him by the collar and his mouth muffles whatever Dan was going to say. He was going to protest, of course. He's the one with the power here, and Tom had better not forget it. He's not the one who's wanted this so desperately, who's had some pathetic crush; his mind races vindictively. He's in charge, as always. Tom's fingers curl around his wrist, until the point of pain, until he'll be bruised black tomorrow, and Dan has the biggest hard-on he's ever had. He gasps, and Tom smiles against his mouth. If he'd given him a moment to think, he would have objected. Really.