Fic: Out of Element, Jon / Denis
Fic: Out of Element
Author: Nakanna Lee
Pairing: Jon / Denis Leary
Rating: R
Word Count: 3,000
Summary: B/c the guys give us plot bunnies… From the 19 Aug 2002 TDS interview:
“When you and I were camping together…” -Jon Stewart
“Yes. You’re not supposed to talk about that in public.” -Denis Leary
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.
“So let’s recap,” Jon said. “You brought canned food but no can opener. Three leather jackets but no sleeping bag. A tent with a hole in it-”
“You fucking picked this weekend,” Denis said. He threw up his hands, then craned his neck to stare accusingly into the gray sky that continued its downpour. He had to yell over the sound of water striking the trees and leaves. “You ever, I don’t know, check the weather?”
“You brought a map that doesn’t have this area of the woods on it. You brought cigarettes and then left them outside to get wet-”
“I brought beer,” Denis interrupted, raising his brows. “I don’t want to hear this shit. What did you bring?”
“My sense of adventure.”
“Fuck off.”
Jon grinned as the water rolled down his nose.
Denis’ tent, with its ripped roof, not only dipped between the stakes but had ended up with an indoor swimming pool fit for worms, toads, and whatever other creatures washed into it. Jon’s, pitched crookedly beneath the outstretched arms of a large oak, at least was dry inside. Jon hoped Denis would only call him on the unfortunate weather-and not the fact that he’d suggested they quit hiking-“Man, are you fucking tired yet?”-right at the base of a small hill, the perfect place to encounter run-off.
They didn’t teach these things in Jersey. Or on the road. Or shoveling punch lines to comedy crowds. He’d somehow expected Denis to have a better handle on things, to show some innate toughness, but the Irish apparently were not equipped for trekking around the woods in late summer, their scattered mosquito bites drenched by a monsoon.
Denis swung his backpack off his shoulders and dumped it wherever it fell. Mud splattered. He scowled at Jon.
“What?”
“So are we going to at least try to open the canned food you brought?” Jon said.
“Oh, so now you want my food? Be my guest, smart-ass.”
Retrieving a rock, Jon unzipped Denis’ backpack and went to the first thing he grabbed. Beans. He smacked the sharper end of the rock down on one of the sides.
“What the fuck?”
“I’m using tools like our ancestors.”
“My ancestors did not look that stupid.”
“Shut up and get a fire started.”
Denis laughed, short and annoyed. “It’s fucking raining.”
Jon glanced up to see the water soaked through Denis’ hair, turning the artificial rusty brown into a dark, colorless mess. Rain streamed down his face and ran currents along the lines around his mouth. Denis frowned.
“I’m joking, man. Relax.” Jon gave the can one more slippery smack with the rock before conceding defeat. “I have granola in my bag, I’ll grab some.”
“Granola? Look at you with pussy health shit.”
“I have no problem eating it all by myself.”
Denis eyed him, then extended a hand. “All right. But only because I’m hungry.”
***
“This is a side of New York I never want to see again,” Denis said, tipping back his beer bottle.
Jon watched him enjoy a long swig. They were cramped in the dry tent-Jon had no issues with the small space; even stretched out, his legs had room. Denis, meanwhile, had spent the first five minutes inside the shelter bitching about the low ceiling, the alleged four-by-four foot area fit only for hooked-nosed midgets, and the sides that kept giving and rattling with each new pummel of rain.
“If we’re not going to sleep,” Denis had announced, “we’re going to drink.”
Jon had no qualms. He rarely did around Denis. The fun part was going along for the ride, riling him up, then letting the alcohol do its magic. He hadn’t said anything, but he was glad it was just the two of them.
“You,” Jon said now, blinking against a settling haze, “are the best drinking buddy ever.”
“No shit.” Denis went to move, his foot connecting with the pile of already downed bottles strewn at their feet. He snorted, wiping the back of his hand across his face. “See? A true fuck-up forgets the beer. I didn’t forget the beer.”
“That’s right,” Jon said. “And I never said you were a fuck-up.”
“You implied.” Denis said it like the word was very advanced and needed to be stated with a wave of his hand.
Jon looked around, blinking at their surroundings. One tent, one sleeping bag, Denis on his leather jackets, rumbling stomachs, nothing to smoke. Jon laughed.
“Well you did kind of fuck things up.”
“Not the important shit. Anyway.” Denis tossed the newest empty bottle into the pile with a clink, reaching across Jon for another. “You dragged me camping.”
“You agreed.”
“Because everyone else bailed on your Jewey ass, Mr. Jewey Jewman, so if you went hiking and bears ate you it would be on my conscience. Gimme a beer.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Denis.”
“Goddamn it, a beer, Jon.”
“You’re at least three a head of me. I need to ration it.”
“I will punch you.”
“I will punch you back.”
“Do it.”
“You do it.”
“I will-”
“You fucking won’t-”
Jon shoved his arm in the direction of Denis’ face. His elbow just caught his jaw. Jon stopped, surprised at the thudding clunk it made.
“Fucker, trying to break my teeth-?” Denis laughed, pushing Jon square in the chest. Jon scrambled, caught off guard, but the slickness of his soaked clothes and the sleeping bag did nothing for balance. Denis was still coming at him, his hair and bad tan flashing in his face, so he swung a fisted hand into his upper arms and tried to shove him off. Denis wrestled him onto his back, seizing his wrists and pinning him.
“Aha, fucker, I win,” Denis gloated. He laughed, and Jon considered how to tell him he was practically crushing him.
“You’re crushing me.”
“Good.”
“Not good. I die, you’re stuck here forever.”
“I have the map.”
“We’re not on it. Plus I think it fucking drowned with all the other shit that might be useful.”
“Like canned beans.” Denis paused. “Well. At least we have rocks.” He bit back a smirk, then cracked up.
Jon tried to fight down his own laughter. He gazed up at Denis, letting his eyes move slowly, suggestively, down his chest and lower.
“You know, from here,” he said, “I have the perfect angle to knee you in the balls.”
Denis was still laughing. “And my angle is perfect to fuck you.”
Jon grinned, but a small bell went off in the back corner of his brain. Even through the alcohol he heard it, a warning that made his giggle sit awkwardly in his stomach.
“Did you ever?” Denis said.
“Ever what?”
“Get fucked.” Denis was looking at him with interest, his eyes harsh and wet from drinking.
A pause dragged between them, the rain slapping at the outside of the tent and leaving them a muffled, drunken space of silence. Smirking, Denis dropped his hand to Jon’s groin and squeezed.
Jon made good on his promise and jabbed his knee between Denis’ legs. Howling, doubled-over, Denis rolled off of him and landed on his side.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Jon!”
He didn’t know what to say. Instead Jon laughed again and grabbed two more beers, rolling one to Denis as he recovered on the ground beside him.
***
Jon didn’t know what time it was. He mentally added ‘watch’ to the laundry list of things they’d forgotten. Outside things had gone dark hours ago, but the rain hadn’t stopped yet. The hot summer wind made the tent fluctuate sporadically, and Jon continued telling himself that he dug the stakes far enough into the ground. Curled on his side, his ears pressed to the sleeping bag he laid on top of, he could hear the water surging through the ground beneath the tent.
Denis hadn’t spoken for a while since announcing he was drunk, then stumbling around for a while trying to find the flap of the tent to piss. They’d laughed, Jon yelling at him to at least aim his dick downstream. It started thundering and scared the shit out of Denis. Jon considered Denis more coherent high than drunk. High, he was easily impressed and excitable; drunk, he was sloppy, clumsy, aggressive. The latter interested him.
They hadn’t brought flashlights either, so Jon blinked into the darkness, searching out shapes in the blurry, liquid state of his brain. It sounded like a fucking war zone outside. He rolled to his back, averting his eyes from the strange heaving of the side of the tent. Not that this hadn’t been a good idea, he thought to himself, but he’d had better. Ideas should take place inside, not out.
He heard Denis shifting and tried to tell if he was asleep yet or not. Very drunk at any rate. And quiet, which was strange. Jon froze, listening to the rustle of clothes against leather.
“Denis,” Jon said.
The moving stopped.
“Are you awake?” Jon asked.
“Go to sleep, fucker.”
“I can’t.”
“You’re like a two-year-old. Do I have to tuck your ass into bed?” Denis turned so his back was towards Jon. His shoulders hunched awkwardly, and his legs were bent at the knees, unable to fit inside the tent any other way. “Fucking stupid idea.”
“You wanted in.”
“Shut up.” Denis sighed loudly, for show, then dropped off into silence again.
Jon waited a moment, then closed his eyes.
Later, rustling woke him again. He couldn’t tell if he’d been asleep-the darkness wove time into one indistinguishable piece. He wanted food and there was none, and he wanted to change out of his soaked clothes, wet interchangeably from the rain as much as his own sweat in the mugginess of the tent’s confined air. He was about to snap at Denis to stop fidgeting when Denis moaned quietly, his breath hitching.
Jon controlled his breathing, unsure. A steady, quick movement of skin against jeans confirmed it. Heat rising to his face, Jon shut his eyes and tried to block it out.
“Fuck yeah,” Denis murmured.
The fact that Jon’s stomach had turned to slush and his own groin started warmly stirring had nothing at all to do with his embarrassment. It was just awkward, to begin with, Jon thought. But if he moved Denis would know he was awake, listening, and that would make it worse for both of them.
Denis groaned, the sound rumbling in the back of his throat. Jon bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut.
It wasn’t like he’d never thought about Denis doing it before. He’d seen him naked plenty of times on the road, just like he’d seen the other guys. Once Jon wandered back to the hotel and found Denis in bed with a woman they’d met after the show, and Denis didn’t stop for a second.
“Uh, sorry-I’m just-I’m going-” Jon had stuttered, throwing his jacket on awkwardly.
Denis had said nothing. He’d just continued.
Later, driving in the car to the next show, he’d smacked Jon’s knee with the badly worn map with ketchup stains.
“Shit man, you should’ve stayed and enjoyed the show.”
Jon hadn’t been laid for two weeks and was pissed off.
Now this was different. Proximity for one thing. Jon had his back to him, but he could sense how closely they were in the tent. There was no where to go, no escape. Stumbling drunk out into the flooding midnight wilderness didn’t sound like a good decision.
Denis’ back suddenly brushed along Jon’s, sending a stricken chill through his chest. It turned to heat the second it hit his stomach.
“Come on,” Denis murmured. Jon could barely catch words, but they were there, under the intermittent gasps and moans. Fuck, Denis was loud. Even when he was trying to be discreet.
Jon snickered to himself. Discreet. That word didn’t belong in any sentence concerning Denis. He thought of his goading, his banter, his insults. Leather jacket, that wise-ass smirk, the way smoke looked coming out of his mouth as he fingered the cigarette with stubby nails.
Jon shivered despite the heat. He shifted, then regretted any movement of his waist immediately. Slowly, trying not to think about it, he let his hand drift lower and unzip his jeans, inch by inch, careful to reign in the sound.
He’d just taken himself in his hand when Denis moved loudly to his back. Jon jumped, feeling Denis’ entire side brush against his back again. He could hear the movement of Denis’ strokes, how each one changed his breathing. Fucking unfair, Jon thought. Annoyed, embarrassed, he shoved his back into Denis.
“Do it, yeah.”
Jon bit back a small moan he hadn’t expected. He pushed into his own hand as Denis returned the pressure.
Denis moved again and again, and Jon lapsed into thinking about him-his face, its contortions, all the sharp angles and sweat laced into his brow. He considered the alcohol swirling in his head-both of theirs-and closing his eyes, holding his breath, forced himself over to his back, too.
He and Denis laid side by side, their bodies touching from shoulder to waist.
Jon focused on his pace for several moments before finally glancing over. Denis’ eyes were crammed shut, his mouth half-open. He had his head pressed back, so that his throat pulsed at a strange angle and his Adam’s apple appeared jagged in its silhouette. Moaning, his nerves fragmenting into sparks, Jon risked looking downward, following Denis’ arms to his working hands. It was too dark to see.
“Come on,” Denis murmured again. Jon exhaled unsteadily, moving his hand to match Denis’ staggered breaths. “Do it, Jon.”
Jon froze, but by then it didn’t matter. He felt another hand wrap over his and resume the pace. Denis had turned into him, cramming his forehead into Jon’s shoulder, breathing hard against his skin.
Cursing, Jon tried to move out of the way, but Denis only increased the pressure of his strokes. His hand overlapped with Jon’s, their fingers mixing along Jon’s length. Denis dragged his teeth across his skin.
“Shit, Denis-”
“Shut up. I want to make you.”
Jon bucked despite the panic that flooded his system. Denis’ mouth and hands were overwhelming, large and strong, taking the speed of orgasm out of Jon’s control. Stifling a groan, he tried to shove Denis’ touch out of the way. It was too much, happening too fast, the tight curl of his fingers and the swiping of his thumb-
Unable to free himself, Jon reached over and grabbed a hold of Denis in revenge. He got a yell in a second, as he fumbled to acclimate himself to the foreign angle but confusingly familiar sensation. Denis’ hand on Jon went limp, giving Jon just enough time to shove his grasp away and then crawl over top of him.
“Don’t,” Jon said, keeping Denis’ touch away. He gave him a harsh stroke, preventing any coherent sound from leaving Denis’ mouth. Their eyes met briefly, sharp and anxious and intense, before Denis closed his, tilting his head back, swallowing.
Jon wanted to make him fall apart. Break him down. Jon wanted to win out. Feeling his nerves surge with the alcohol humming in his head, he ducked his head and slipped Denis into his mouth.
The muffled shouts came from a distance. Jon tried ignoring the sudden revolt of his own stomach, the second-guessing that urged him to back out now. It was funny how some things could feel both too late and too soon. He closed his eyes, breathing unsteadily through his nose, practically choking on the sharp, strange scent, and moaning around Denis until he could feel the tenseness build in his legs and stomach and release itself, suddenly, shockingly, into Jon’s mouth. He reached down for himself and blearily discovered the mess he’d already made.
Shaking, Jon sputtered and wiped his sleeve across his face. Denis was groaning, breathing hard as if injured. Numb, senses scattered, Jon crawled to the front of the tent and let himself out into the dark. The rain had stopped, and thin, sickly beams of moonlight fell through the trees. His knees sank in mud. He looked around, blinking at the flooded camp. Rocks were strewn, their backpacks gone. He turned to his left and vomited.
***
A kick to the base of his foot jostled Jon awake.
He rubbed at his eyes, back complaining of its hunched posture against a tree where he’d slept. Looking up into a white sun he saw Denis throwing on his backpack, still damp with dried mud speckled across it. The tent was already packed up.
Around them the ground’s mud was left in weaving currents, like some giant fingers had made swirling designs across the area. Intermittent drops of rain fell from the tree tops and landed on rotting leaves. One hit Jon’s head, cold. He rose to his feet.
“What time is it?” Jon asked.
“Well,” Denis said, readjusting their gear, “judging from the sun’s placement in the sky and the direction of the wind and temperature, I’d say it’s we-don’t-have-a-fucking-watch.”
“Thanks.”
“Yeah.”
Jon shook out his shoulders, wincing at his cramped muscles and the rumbling in his stomach. At least his piercing headache distracted him from other pain. He glanced at Denis as he crossed camp to retrieve his own bag, where it had washed yards away. Around it lay the wasted, unopened canned food.
“It’ll probably only take us half a day to get out. Now that it’s not raining.”
“Yeah.” Denis kept his back to him. “Do you still have water bottles?”
“They’re in here.” Jon grabbed two from his backpack and tossed one to Denis, who snagged it out of the air and took a drink.
Jon stood still, waiting. His sneakers sank into the earth, and he began moving in Denis’ direction towards drier ground.
“You sleep all right?” Denis said suddenly.
Jon shrugged. “Uh, yeah. Fine.”
“Outside?”
“Let’s go.”
“Jon-” Denis grabbed him by the shoulder before he could walk past.
Jon surveyed his face quickly. He was only looking for signs of anger, and saw none. He couldn’t read any further.
“I’m not saying anything,” Jon said. “I won’t.”
Denis nodded, then gave Jon’s shoulder a push with his hand. Jon had just started walking when Denis seized him again. He twisted Jon to him and slammed their mouths together, his hands jumping up to Jon’s hair to hold him still.
When he pulled away, Jon could taste the blood in his mouth from where his own teeth cut in the inside of his lip. The pang of metal died on his tongue, sliding silently down his throat.
“We don’t talk about this,” Denis said. “Ever. All right?”
Jon considered, but there was really nothing to think about.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “We won’t.”
end