Room Service
AUTHOR: knightsblack
PAIRING: Jon/Craig Ferguson; "Stephen" (briefly)Stephen/Jimmy Fallon
RATING: R. Not super hardcore R, but still, R.
SUMMARY: Hotels, ice cream, and strawberries, oh, my!
DISCLAIMER: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
AUTHOR’S NOTES: Lamest title ever, I know, and the story is just…unwieldy, cracky, smutty stuff. But it’s based off the sheer awesomeness that was last night’s TCR, as well as Craig’s monologue from his show last night because it seems to tie into this appropriately in spots and kinda kick-started the idea. Also, I make fleeting reference to this clip as well. So hopefully all that makes up for it.
Craig Ferguson stopped at the door to room 420. Forty-eight years old, and he still found himself chuckling at these things. He glanced at his watch. Right on the dot, just as the note had said. Craig: Liked your bit about motels last night. If you’re up for some fun, come to the Willow Inn* tonight at 9 pm sharp. -Anonymous.
Every other time he’d followed an invitation like that, he’d indeed wound up having fun, so he was intrigued. He rapped at the door and waited, slightly impatient.
When it opened, Craig was shocked to find Jon Stewart standing there. Jon gaped at Craig.
“Are you kidding me?!” they both cried in unison.
“What are you doing here?” Craig screeched, his hands flailing about, gesturing in Jon’s general direction. This was not who he’d expected.
“Forget that, what the hell’s with the outfit?” Jon’s voice squeaked. He tried hard not to laugh as he gave Craig, donned in a thin black tank top and red leather pants, a once-over. “Is this what you normally wear to a rendezvous?”
Craig turned about as red as the pants he had on. “If it’s at a cheap, out of the way fleabag motel, then yeah, ya bastard.” He shoved past Jon into the middle of the small, cramped room. The neon sign flashed in through the paper-thin curtains, illuminating the place in a stream of light. Which was a good thing, because had it not been for the sign advertising the motel’s name, Craig would have sworn someone had just put a bed, a tiny stand, and a TV fit for a junkyard that barely fit on the stand in his studio.
“So what are you doing here?” Craig repeated, glancing back at Jon.
Jon let out a sigh, giving a halfhearted shrug. “I’ve been in a bit of a funk after last night. Stephen and Jimmy-”
“Ah, right,” Craig cut him off, nodding knowingly, feeling a stinging sensation hit his stomach. “Yeah, one minute you’re exchanging Christmas gifts on your shows…”
“…doing tosses together…”
“…and then Ben and Jerry…” Craig spat out the names. “…get involved…”
“And it’s all over.”
“You thought there might be something there…” Craig replied wistfully.
Jon nodded, glum, tears threatening to form. He sniffed, allowing himself another moment of misery, before suddenly steeling himself. “So I’ve decided some payback’s in order.”
“And that’s why I was asked to come here?”
“Yeah. And it’s perfect, actually, ‘cause we do know each other, a bit, and I‘ve always…” A shy look crossed Jon’s face. “…liked you. And you’ve talked about me on your show...”
“Yeah, about how you took my Grammy!” Craig shot back, his stomach lurching at that last statement. He wasn’t going to mention anything about his long-held secret, small crush he’d had on Jon since the time he appeared on “The Daily Show”. Nope. No way. This was a short amount of time he had at this motel and he couldn’t spend the hour rambling on about the thoughts he’d had. Thoughts about that salt and pepper hair that almost nearly matched his, and the strangely pleasing thought of both men running their fingers through each other’s soft manes. Or how he finally understood why blue eyes were as appealing as people told him they were, or that bottom lip he wanted to nibble…
“Craig?” Jon’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
He snapped back to attention. “Yes?”
Jon’s eyes tried to avoid glancing downward towards the ever-tightening leather pants. “I-I was just wondering if you…uh…” He looked so adorable there, dressed all nice in his suit, bashful and twiddling his fingers.
Oh, fuck it. Literally, Craig thought. He responded by striding over to Jon, grabbing his stunned face in his hands, and planting a big ol’ kiss right on his lips, which Jon happily reciprocated, their lips engaging in a bit of a tug of war.
“What’s with the strawberries?” Craig asked Jon afterward, nodding towards the small bowl of fruit next to the bed.
Jon glanced up at him (what was it with his attraction to taller men?), a deep blush spreading across his face as his fingers skimmed Craig’s hair. Thank god he hadn’t worn that horrid mullet wig, he thought. “Well, I heard you say last night that you don’t understand the use of strawberries during sex…I figured I could try and change your mind. Try a Stewberry, so to speak.”
Craig let out a loud guffaw at that word. “Jon, buddy, really, now-”
Before he could complete the thought, Jon had grabbed a strawberry out of the bowl and began prying Craig’s mouth open with it. Craig sucked on the tip for a few seconds, and then slowly sucked along the food until his lips had reached Jon’s fingertips, which also soon found themselves in his mouth as Craig held Jon’s hand steady. Jon hummed low, undoing his tie with his free hand.
A smirk crossed Craig’s face after he swallowed the strawberry, and he leaned forward to whisper into Jon’s ear. “I may need a bit more convincing.”
“…I can do that, I think…” Jon managed to say, his voice hitching at the sound of that rough, sandy accent tickling his ear. A long held fantasy come true.
As he said this, he felt himself being pushed back onto the bed, which was surprisingly more comfortable than it looked, his clothes slowly being discarded. He grabbed the remote to turn off the TV, which was tuned to CNN and which now had Anderson Cooper reporting on something or other, and Craig batted it away. “Leave it,” he muttered.
Jon suddenly gasped, and Craig noticed he was looking past him to the ceiling. He turned his head, and noticed there was a mirror on the ceiling. He turned back to Jon with a wicked grin. Perfect.
The two men shared a strawberry ‘Lady & the Tramp’ style as Jon rubbed his hips, his hands everywhere he could along the leather pants, causing Craig to unleash a muffled stream of curse words. Craig roamed a couple of the strawberries over nearly every inch of Jon’s body, his tongue and cold, wet mouth trailing along, and at one point did something involving a berry and Jon’s shaft that left him pretty well speechless. He responded by nipping Craig through his tank top. This back and forth continued until soon their clothing lay on the floor and they finally succumbed, making love as passionately as two people could in a room that Jon had only reserved for an hour.
Afterward, they dressed, and waited out the remainder of their time resting against each other on the bed.
“So who were you expecting to see here?” Jon asked, glancing over at Craig.
“Joel McHale. Or Geoff,” Craig deadpanned. Jon giggled loudly at this, before they resumed watching Anderson on TV, completely oblivious to the distant thudding just down the hall…
****
“…Jimmy…oh, God…” Stephen Colbert moaned as Jimmy Fallon’s tongue ran over the cool, creamy substance spread on his chest, grazing a sensitive spot in the process. To his surprise, the other Jimmy from his show hadn’t popped into his head once thus far, and for that he was thankful.
The bed creaked as the two thrust against each other, their bodies sticking together a bit as the other spots where vanilla ice cream and caramel syrup had also been licked clean earlier dried.
One of Stephen’s hands was still cold from briefly clutching the still frozen tub of his particular brand of ice cream, which now lay unopened and nearly gone on the nightstand, at one point, and he slid it down between the two of them, grabbing Jimmy firmly with slow, careful strokes.
“Say mine is better,” Stephen commanded hoarsely.
“Never!” Jimmy growled. And the next thing he knew, he found himself on his back, his wrists pinned above his head.
“Say it,” Stephen tried once again, his voice as forceful as he could make it.
Jimmy managed to wrestle his arms free, pulling Stephen in for a passionate kiss with one hand while managing to grab a small bit of chip and cone caught on the edge of both tubs nearby with the other. Switching positions once again, he placed one of each on Stephen’s chest, his teeth nipping and nibbling in all the right spots as he devoured the sweets.
A final, very light bite on a nipple, followed by a flicker of tongue and a chilled breath, was enough to make Stephen’s mind completely forget everything else. A gutteral noise escaped as he was sent over the edge, his body visibly writhing. After a few moments, Jimmy followed.
The two lay there a few minutes as they regained their senses. Laying in the dimmed room, it slowly dawned on them - as incredible as this was, somehow…they thought it would be better.
****
Shortly after 10 pm, Jon and Craig left the motel together, making plans for the weekend before going their separate ways. Jon had replaced his suit jacket with a leather one, and some shades. Craig, however, freely walked to his car, having left his original disguise in there once he’d arrived and seen how dead the motel was. He felt much better now, and it looked as though Jon did, too.
Not long after, Stephen and Jimmy were driving away from the motel, an uncomfortable, awkward silence filling the car.
“So…” Jimmy finally spoke up.
“Sooooo…” Stephen echoed, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
“This was…great, and everything…”
Stephen nodded, not sure exactly what to say in response.
“But I can’t deal with the competition. It’s just not my way. I wasn’t like that with Cra-with other TV people.” Jimmy took a deep breath. “So, I’m thinking, maybe…” He stole a quick glance at Stephen. “Maybe we should just stay friends after all.”
“Sounds fine to me,” Stephen agreed, trying to keep his voice steady. Jimmy, feeling this settled things, shifted in his seat, leaned against the window, and closed his eyes.
Staring blankly at the road ahead, Stephen thought maybe he should do a toss with Jon again sometime soon.
*Name of a motel in my town. Needed something to call it, not that it really matters. Also, that story in Craig’s monologue said that luxury hotels were taking their cues from cheaper ones that did this, and a cheap motel just seemed more suited to this story, so…yeah.
Also, shoutout to bendingsickle-her post in the Thursday OT during the TCR discussion inspired the last sentence.
PAIRING: Jon/Craig Ferguson; "Stephen" (briefly)Stephen/Jimmy Fallon
RATING: R. Not super hardcore R, but still, R.
SUMMARY: Hotels, ice cream, and strawberries, oh, my!
DISCLAIMER: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
AUTHOR’S NOTES: Lamest title ever, I know, and the story is just…unwieldy, cracky, smutty stuff. But it’s based off the sheer awesomeness that was last night’s TCR, as well as Craig’s monologue from his show last night because it seems to tie into this appropriately in spots and kinda kick-started the idea. Also, I make fleeting reference to this clip as well. So hopefully all that makes up for it.
Craig Ferguson stopped at the door to room 420. Forty-eight years old, and he still found himself chuckling at these things. He glanced at his watch. Right on the dot, just as the note had said. Craig: Liked your bit about motels last night. If you’re up for some fun, come to the Willow Inn* tonight at 9 pm sharp. -Anonymous.
Every other time he’d followed an invitation like that, he’d indeed wound up having fun, so he was intrigued. He rapped at the door and waited, slightly impatient.
When it opened, Craig was shocked to find Jon Stewart standing there. Jon gaped at Craig.
“Are you kidding me?!” they both cried in unison.
“What are you doing here?” Craig screeched, his hands flailing about, gesturing in Jon’s general direction. This was not who he’d expected.
“Forget that, what the hell’s with the outfit?” Jon’s voice squeaked. He tried hard not to laugh as he gave Craig, donned in a thin black tank top and red leather pants, a once-over. “Is this what you normally wear to a rendezvous?”
Craig turned about as red as the pants he had on. “If it’s at a cheap, out of the way fleabag motel, then yeah, ya bastard.” He shoved past Jon into the middle of the small, cramped room. The neon sign flashed in through the paper-thin curtains, illuminating the place in a stream of light. Which was a good thing, because had it not been for the sign advertising the motel’s name, Craig would have sworn someone had just put a bed, a tiny stand, and a TV fit for a junkyard that barely fit on the stand in his studio.
“So what are you doing here?” Craig repeated, glancing back at Jon.
Jon let out a sigh, giving a halfhearted shrug. “I’ve been in a bit of a funk after last night. Stephen and Jimmy-”
“Ah, right,” Craig cut him off, nodding knowingly, feeling a stinging sensation hit his stomach. “Yeah, one minute you’re exchanging Christmas gifts on your shows…”
“…doing tosses together…”
“…and then Ben and Jerry…” Craig spat out the names. “…get involved…”
“And it’s all over.”
“You thought there might be something there…” Craig replied wistfully.
Jon nodded, glum, tears threatening to form. He sniffed, allowing himself another moment of misery, before suddenly steeling himself. “So I’ve decided some payback’s in order.”
“And that’s why I was asked to come here?”
“Yeah. And it’s perfect, actually, ‘cause we do know each other, a bit, and I‘ve always…” A shy look crossed Jon’s face. “…liked you. And you’ve talked about me on your show...”
“Yeah, about how you took my Grammy!” Craig shot back, his stomach lurching at that last statement. He wasn’t going to mention anything about his long-held secret, small crush he’d had on Jon since the time he appeared on “The Daily Show”. Nope. No way. This was a short amount of time he had at this motel and he couldn’t spend the hour rambling on about the thoughts he’d had. Thoughts about that salt and pepper hair that almost nearly matched his, and the strangely pleasing thought of both men running their fingers through each other’s soft manes. Or how he finally understood why blue eyes were as appealing as people told him they were, or that bottom lip he wanted to nibble…
“Craig?” Jon’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
He snapped back to attention. “Yes?”
Jon’s eyes tried to avoid glancing downward towards the ever-tightening leather pants. “I-I was just wondering if you…uh…” He looked so adorable there, dressed all nice in his suit, bashful and twiddling his fingers.
Oh, fuck it. Literally, Craig thought. He responded by striding over to Jon, grabbing his stunned face in his hands, and planting a big ol’ kiss right on his lips, which Jon happily reciprocated, their lips engaging in a bit of a tug of war.
“What’s with the strawberries?” Craig asked Jon afterward, nodding towards the small bowl of fruit next to the bed.
Jon glanced up at him (what was it with his attraction to taller men?), a deep blush spreading across his face as his fingers skimmed Craig’s hair. Thank god he hadn’t worn that horrid mullet wig, he thought. “Well, I heard you say last night that you don’t understand the use of strawberries during sex…I figured I could try and change your mind. Try a Stewberry, so to speak.”
Craig let out a loud guffaw at that word. “Jon, buddy, really, now-”
Before he could complete the thought, Jon had grabbed a strawberry out of the bowl and began prying Craig’s mouth open with it. Craig sucked on the tip for a few seconds, and then slowly sucked along the food until his lips had reached Jon’s fingertips, which also soon found themselves in his mouth as Craig held Jon’s hand steady. Jon hummed low, undoing his tie with his free hand.
A smirk crossed Craig’s face after he swallowed the strawberry, and he leaned forward to whisper into Jon’s ear. “I may need a bit more convincing.”
“…I can do that, I think…” Jon managed to say, his voice hitching at the sound of that rough, sandy accent tickling his ear. A long held fantasy come true.
As he said this, he felt himself being pushed back onto the bed, which was surprisingly more comfortable than it looked, his clothes slowly being discarded. He grabbed the remote to turn off the TV, which was tuned to CNN and which now had Anderson Cooper reporting on something or other, and Craig batted it away. “Leave it,” he muttered.
Jon suddenly gasped, and Craig noticed he was looking past him to the ceiling. He turned his head, and noticed there was a mirror on the ceiling. He turned back to Jon with a wicked grin. Perfect.
The two men shared a strawberry ‘Lady & the Tramp’ style as Jon rubbed his hips, his hands everywhere he could along the leather pants, causing Craig to unleash a muffled stream of curse words. Craig roamed a couple of the strawberries over nearly every inch of Jon’s body, his tongue and cold, wet mouth trailing along, and at one point did something involving a berry and Jon’s shaft that left him pretty well speechless. He responded by nipping Craig through his tank top. This back and forth continued until soon their clothing lay on the floor and they finally succumbed, making love as passionately as two people could in a room that Jon had only reserved for an hour.
Afterward, they dressed, and waited out the remainder of their time resting against each other on the bed.
“So who were you expecting to see here?” Jon asked, glancing over at Craig.
“Joel McHale. Or Geoff,” Craig deadpanned. Jon giggled loudly at this, before they resumed watching Anderson on TV, completely oblivious to the distant thudding just down the hall…
****
“…Jimmy…oh, God…” Stephen Colbert moaned as Jimmy Fallon’s tongue ran over the cool, creamy substance spread on his chest, grazing a sensitive spot in the process. To his surprise, the other Jimmy from his show hadn’t popped into his head once thus far, and for that he was thankful.
The bed creaked as the two thrust against each other, their bodies sticking together a bit as the other spots where vanilla ice cream and caramel syrup had also been licked clean earlier dried.
One of Stephen’s hands was still cold from briefly clutching the still frozen tub of his particular brand of ice cream, which now lay unopened and nearly gone on the nightstand, at one point, and he slid it down between the two of them, grabbing Jimmy firmly with slow, careful strokes.
“Say mine is better,” Stephen commanded hoarsely.
“Never!” Jimmy growled. And the next thing he knew, he found himself on his back, his wrists pinned above his head.
“Say it,” Stephen tried once again, his voice as forceful as he could make it.
Jimmy managed to wrestle his arms free, pulling Stephen in for a passionate kiss with one hand while managing to grab a small bit of chip and cone caught on the edge of both tubs nearby with the other. Switching positions once again, he placed one of each on Stephen’s chest, his teeth nipping and nibbling in all the right spots as he devoured the sweets.
A final, very light bite on a nipple, followed by a flicker of tongue and a chilled breath, was enough to make Stephen’s mind completely forget everything else. A gutteral noise escaped as he was sent over the edge, his body visibly writhing. After a few moments, Jimmy followed.
The two lay there a few minutes as they regained their senses. Laying in the dimmed room, it slowly dawned on them - as incredible as this was, somehow…they thought it would be better.
****
Shortly after 10 pm, Jon and Craig left the motel together, making plans for the weekend before going their separate ways. Jon had replaced his suit jacket with a leather one, and some shades. Craig, however, freely walked to his car, having left his original disguise in there once he’d arrived and seen how dead the motel was. He felt much better now, and it looked as though Jon did, too.
Not long after, Stephen and Jimmy were driving away from the motel, an uncomfortable, awkward silence filling the car.
“So…” Jimmy finally spoke up.
“Sooooo…” Stephen echoed, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
“This was…great, and everything…”
Stephen nodded, not sure exactly what to say in response.
“But I can’t deal with the competition. It’s just not my way. I wasn’t like that with Cra-with other TV people.” Jimmy took a deep breath. “So, I’m thinking, maybe…” He stole a quick glance at Stephen. “Maybe we should just stay friends after all.”
“Sounds fine to me,” Stephen agreed, trying to keep his voice steady. Jimmy, feeling this settled things, shifted in his seat, leaned against the window, and closed his eyes.
Staring blankly at the road ahead, Stephen thought maybe he should do a toss with Jon again sometime soon.
*Name of a motel in my town. Needed something to call it, not that it really matters. Also, that story in Craig’s monologue said that luxury hotels were taking their cues from cheaper ones that did this, and a cheap motel just seemed more suited to this story, so…yeah.
Also, shoutout to bendingsickle-her post in the Thursday OT during the TCR discussion inspired the last sentence.