Pundit Kink Meme
The Pundits Kink Meme, 2.0
For The Daily Show, The Colbert Report, MSNBC, CNN, even FOX is fair game. :)
The Rules:
1. Choose a pairing.
2. Choose a kink. If none come to mind, see this list for inspiration.
3. Your comments should be anonymous! Before you read any further, click anonymous or log off.
4. Didn't I tell you to log off?
5. For every request ( Read more... )
John supposed that he did have good timing (something Colbert was notorious for, only on a much higher level,) not to blow his own horn, but that, coupled with a growing professional relationship with Mr. Stewart, did not make him the replacement of one Mr. Colbert.
Maybe fucking the boss did. Rather, being fucked.
And why shouldn’t they, aside from the tabloids that would have an absolute play day, the hoards of women that lined outside of the studio screaming either in disappointment that one of the most eligible bachelors in New York was possibly gay (John had never asked) or screaming in joy over a fantasy fulfilled. Neither of them were decrepit, no matter what Jon said; they were both single, and they both had perfectly working equipment.
So, why shouldn’t they?
The election was just has hard on comedians as it was on everyone else. John remembered that night well, when they had first began, one of the many nights in which he had stayed late at the studio to work, disheartened by the cries of the masses still ringing in his ears. While walking the halls of the studio to clear his head, he’d bumped into Jon, who was carrying two bottles of beer and the stale smell of smoke.
“Apparently, I’m not the only person here that could use one of these.”
“No, you’re not,” John said with a laugh, too tired to be either surprised at the fact that someone else was still in the building or the impromptu gift from his boss.
John didn’t remember exactly how he had come to rest on the couch on the inside of Jon Stewart’s office, a gentle hand grazing the inside of his knee on upward, but he had trouble forgetting his in indecision at either holding searching blue-grey eyes and envying an enticing bottom lip being tortured by teeth as part of the concentration process, as Jon cupped and carefully squeezed erection in his palm.
“Is this all right?” Jon asked in a sinfully low voice, next to his ear, his lips brushing, and then closing on its lobe, soon to be joined by a tongue.
It had taken John a while to find his voice, only to have his words break in the back of his throat and come tumbling from his lips a moan, as his entire body flushed from embarrassment at its slightly higher pitch and arousal.
Jon’s hand didn’t stray any further, but it didn’t move, either. Just when John’s trapped erection became almost painful, his zipper was released and Jon was slipping to his knees. From there, Jon Stewart had made quite possibly the most convincing argument for “why it doesn’t matter that we’ve gone onto third base on the first date” non-verbally.
From the warm hand palming and rolling his balls to the other with a firm hold on his shaft as a tongue did wicked, wicked things to him, applying just the right amount of pressure on the up-lick to the very top of his head and mouth providing firm suction, bobbing along, John knew that he was absolutely done for.
Jon Stewart was everything that Jason Jones had whispered what he had assumed to be slanderous things about in his ear during those times he’d come into his office, before Rob had told him to, “for the last time, get the hell out and go back to your wife.”
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