TDS Fic.
Due to the complete and total DRAMA of the discovery of tds_rps by Wonkette, I felt compelled to write fic. Or at least have a total excuse for the unearthing of my dirty little pleasure of a fandom. Just as a warning, I pounded this out in a few hours and haven't had it betaed. Still, long live RPS, etc. Oh, and it's total schmoop, because my last (and only other) fic was a complete downer. Thus:
Title: Remedy
Author: rainjewel
Rating: R/NC-17
Pairing: Stephen Colbert / Jon Stewart
Warning: Could possibly be the schmoopiest schmoop EVER.
Disclaimer: I. Am. Making. This. Shit. Up. Stephen and Jon belong to themselves and all that jazz.
Summary: Stephen has a mixed reaction to Jon’s sudden cold at the end of Dec. 2004.
Monday morning Jon is late to the meeting.
Stephen attends meetings sporadically, less and less over the years because he’s just too damn busy. He rather hates them, content to work with one or two people at a time on a piece than with a dozen others peering over his shoulder. These meetings are more or less for Jon’s bits anyways, not his. Still, as the season wraps up at the end of 2004 he finds himself stuck on an arm of a couch, squished between the brick wall and an end table with five cups of coffee, none of them his. An intern, a smiley young brunette with stubby hands sits next to him and offers up a nervous smile. Stephen returns a kinder one as people file into the room to start the day. He thinks her name is Miranda, but he can’t remember for sure.
At the beginning of the meeting Ben eyeballs him from across the table. “What gives, Colbert? Why’re you here? Do you have a miracle piece?”
Stephen smiles. “That’s later this week. Right now I’m procrastinating.”
“Don’t tell me that,” Ben chastises. “Even if the boss man ain’t here.”
Which is the wrong thing to say. It’s not like Jon’s never missed a meeting before, but his absence is always a pronounced and elevated stress for the show’s atmosphere. Chuck whaps his pencil against the table with more energy than usual and Ben’s jokes don’t seem as piercing without Jon’s delivery behind them.
Chuck starts the meeting at 11:37 a.m., not waiting around any longer. Ben and D.J. listen to the other writers, infusing their own brand of humor into every piece. Stephen feels a light wave of nostalgia as he listens to the thoughts of others, remembering a time when he was there. Sometimes it’s nice to write in place of performing.
Stephen is getting up to leave as Jon walks in the door. The meeting is getting close to the discussion of interviews, a subject Stephen finds boring as hell. He’s beginning to remember why he only attends these meetings sporadically.
He rises from the couch, trying to not detract from the discussions. “Miranda” makes room for his legs as he slouches away, shuffling around the table. Stephen’s two steps away from the door when it suddenly swings wide, and Jon steps through holding a water bottle and a pen. Stephen catches the door and holds it. Jon stays in the doorway as everyone turns to look at him.
Normally when Jon is late for anything, be it a meeting or a hockey game, he freaks. Stephen has only witnessed it once, but he’s heard stories. It’s no secret that Jon’s a control freak, if a trusting one. Usually Jon bursts into whatever event he happens to be late for, hands flying as he tries to assess the situation. Should people be unwilling to immediately bring him up to date, they can be assured that a royal chewing-out will occur.
Stephen thinks on this as Jon remains in the doorway, motionless.
“Jon!” Ben exclaims. “You okay?”
Jon’s mouth quirks, a telltale sign that he’s about to crack a joke, but then it dissolves as Jon turns to the side and coughs.
“The baby…” Jon begins through the coughing, “Had a long…a long night.”
“Dude, you look awful,” D.J. remarks. Jon flips him off and takes a drink of his water bottle. “You look kinda sick.”
“A cold, yeah,” Jon says, voice scratchy. He walks through the door, finally allowing Stephen to close it. He glances at Stephen. “What are you doing here?”
Stephen doesn’t know whether to joke or not. He opts for the second choice, put off by the sluggish pull of Jon’s eyes and shoulders.
“Leaving,” he says. Slowly he slips around Jon, trying to not knock his thighs against Stewart’s ass in the cramped quarters. “Ben says I have to do some ‘work,’ or some such nonsense.”
“What a bitch, eh?” Jon remarks. He coughs again.
“You sound like you have whatever crap it was that Stephen had,” Ben says as Jon moves to take his seat. Ben looks up to Stephen, frozen in the doorway. “Ain’t right, Colbert? Were you coughing this much?”
Stephen smiles and looks away from Jon. “A day or two.”
“Enough!” Jon says, voice wheezing out. “Let’s get going. What I’d miss?”
Stephen pauses for a moment as D.J. begins recounting the bits they’ve all ready covered. Jon nods as he takes in the information, but Stephen can’t help but notice how haggard his face looks. Jon glances at him, and Stephen looks away and leaves.
~ * ~
The door to Jon’s office is closed but unlocked. Jon’s not one to lock his office when he’s in, but everyone still knows to knock. Everyone save Stephen, who slips into his office without warning. Jon’s head is on his desk, pillowed by his crossed forearms. Stephen can’t tell if he’s asleep or not, so he pads silently towards the desk.
“Jon,” he whispers. Nothing. A cold, irrational fist of worry balls in Stephen’s throat. A new father, Jon’s usually awakened by the slight sounds of night. Stephen reaches down and rubs the palm of his hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Jon,” he repeats.
Jon springs to life at the cool touch, silvered head rearing up. Jon is a smart man who doesn’t make any outrageous outbursts as he jerks awake. The only reason Stephen knows he’s startled Jon is the tension he senses through the thin fabric of Stewart’s shirt. Stephen shifts his touch to the base of Jon’s neck, gently kneading the muscles once, twice, and then dropping his hand. Jon does not turn around to make sure it’s Stephen.
“You caught me,” Jon says. Stephen smirks and “hmphs” in agreement. Jon tilts his head back, opening his face to Stephen.
“When did you get sick?” Stephen asks. “This weekend?”
“Something like that,” Jon says. He raises his arm and rubs a hand through his hair. Stephen walks around the desk, folding his arms across his chest. Jon straightens in his chair. “Really though, I’m fine.”
Stephen smirks, cocks his head to the side. “Good to know,” he says, low and guttural. He slides his hands across Jon’s desk over the many piles of paper, hunched close to the oak. “I mean, what with all this work you’d want to be in top shape.” At the word “shape” he snaps his eyes to Jon’s. Stewart’s eyes are dulled and grey, a sharp contrast to their usual stormy blue.
Stephen goes for the kiss anyway.
Jon’s lips are dry, rustling like crinoline when Stephen presses his mouth to his. Stewart closes his eyes, breathes in deep, and curves his cheek into Stephen’s hand as it cups his face. He does not open his mouth. Stephen feels irrationally infuriated by this, but doesn’t jerk away. Instead he skips his lips over Jon’s, moving to the corner of Stewart’s mouth as he gently kisses each tiny spot on Jon’s lips.
Jon only opens his mouth to say, “Wait.”
Stephen waits. Stephen waits standing up, his hands in his pockets, not kissing Jon.
“I don’t think…” Jon begins, his voice rasping harshly, “…I just think maybe we shouldn’t.”
“You’re really that ill?” Stephen asks, making sure he’s not joking. He stretches out a lanky arm and presses his hand to Jon’s forehead before Stewart can deflect it. Stephen can feel his brow furrow. “You’re burning up.”
Jon’s eyes are icy, and Stephen retracts his hand. “That,” Stewart says softly, “Is what my wife said.”
Stephen doesn’t want to make a scene. He tells himself that Jon isn’t feeling well, that Jon’s an adult, that he should just roll with the punches.
“Funny,” he says, cocking an eyebrow, “So did mine. She said I was working too hard.”
Jon seems to pale under his gaze and Stephen feels guilty (even though he’s right). Stewart runs his hands through his hair.
“It’s just that people are…well, just listen to what D.J. said,” Jon says.
Stephen stands still. “Samantha had the flu first, and I certainly didn’t fuck her in order to get sick.”
It’s a comment that Stephen immediately regrets. He watches Jon’s tired face tighten, and he braces himself for Stewart’s next comment.
“You know, I’m actually feeling quite all right,” Jon remarks. “Now, how’s your bit for Thursday coming?”
It takes a moment for Stephen to come back. “It’s perfect, except for graphics,” he replies through a hard smirk.
He spins on his heel and takes long strides towards the door, knowing Jon is staring at his legs. As he steps into the hallway, Stephen turns around towards Jon who is stubbornly glaring at him.
“Don’t work to hard. Wouldn’t want to see you sick,” he says, not sure how he means it. He shuts the door before Stewart replies.
Stephen goes home early this day.
~ * ~
Madeline packs a “lunch” for Stephen on Tuesday morning. Stephen feels stupid bringing a Lizzie McGuire lunch pail to the office but his daughter is the most beautiful girl on the entire planet, so he does it anyway. Madeline had insisted that it was the funniest joke ever and by the look on Ed’s face as Stephen strolls down the hall, she may be right.
“That’s it, you are officially the gayest straight man on the planet,” Ed says. Ed is slouched against his doorframe wearing jeans and messy hair; Stephen wonders if he’s been here all night.
“What’s that in your hand?” Stephen asks as he walks past, not missing a beat. Ed gives him a coy look.
“Lollipop,” he replies, and innocently raises the red candy to his mouth.
Stephen laughs so hard the lunch box rattles. He turns the corner down towards his office, pausing only to duck into meeting room. There he sets the lunch pail and a half gallon of milk in the refrigerator. He smiles, feeling deliciously naughty about stuffing Lizzie McGuire in an icy, dark hell.
“What’s with the lunch box?”
Jon’s voice grates through the room. Stephen jumps, spinning around so fast he smacks his head on the freezer handle. The blow knocks his glasses off his face, but Stephen’s too busy pressing his one free hand to his head to catch them.
“Jeez,” he manages, squinting at Jon’s rapidly approaching frame. “Shouldn’t you warn…”
Stephen trails off as Jon bends down and picks up his glasses from the floor. He doesn’t miss the creaky way Stewart’s body moves. He can’t help but think of last night, of the anger he felt at Jon’s stubborn lack of concern for his own well-being. He also can’t help but notice how he’s not angry anymore.
“Are you okay?” Jon asks, rising up. He sets Stephen’s glasses on the small table by the refrigerator, home to a coffee pot that might be older than Stephen himself. Stewart stares openly up past Stephen’s hairline. Jon reaches up and grasps Stephen’s forearm. “Let me see.”
Stephen acquiesces, hissing as he pulls his hand away from his head. His skull throbs, the air seeming heavier than sin.
“Well you’re not bleeding,” Jon says in his most professional voice.
“Of course I’m not,” Stephen replies. He places his hand back against his head and steps away from the refrigerator. Jon moves towards the coffee pot. “God, I’m an idiot.”
“No you’re not.” Jon picks up the glasses and holds them out to Stephen. “In fact,” he says, “I’m an idiot. I was really tired yesterday and a total prick. I’m sorry for being an asshole.”
Sick, Stephen feels like screaming. You were sick, not grumpy.
It’s really ridiculous-Jon’s stubbornness regarding something as trivial as a cold has only put Stephen more on edge. And yet, Stephen thinks, this is Jon, not some fucking child. He should be helping Jon with the extra workload, not nagging at him; but he also should probably not be fucking him either.
“I was an asshole too,” Stephen says. He takes the spectacles from Jon’s hand and slides them into place. “It’s just…”
“Yeah?” Jon prods. He is still holding out his hand. Stephen doesn’t know if this is the time or place to admit something like this, but he doesn’t think he has much of a choice.
Stephen dips his head, touching his brow with a few fingers before gathering the courage to-say something so stupid-speak.
“I just can’t help being worried,” he says, standing up. “I worry about you feeling well.” He shrugs his shoulders, unable to stop the embarrassed grin that crosses his face. “I mean, it doesn’t make sense, this is stupid-”
Which is when Jon does the stupider thing, wrapping his once outstretched hand around Stephen’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss. In the middle of the meeting room. It’s a quick, dry kiss, but Stephen feels the momentum behind it.
“Sweet Christ,” Stephen breathes as Jon pulls away. Stewart’s eyebrows fly up-it’s not every day that Stephen takes the Lord’s name in vain, a fact that has lead to many a joke but even more respect.
Jon shoves his hands in his pockets and looks up at Stephen with a gleeful (if tired) smile.
“What?” he growls, voice thick from illness. “You don’t honestly expect me to resist that, do you?”
Stephen regards Jon with a gaze he hopes is more sultry than goofy. “Only when I want you to,” he replies. Jon’s eyes spark, head tilting up towards Stephen’s. Stephen thinks for only a moment that this is a horrible idea, before leaning in for the kiss.
“Hey, what’s going on in here?” Ed’s voice booms throughout the room.
Jon’s reaction is lightening fast. “Wow, that’s going to be a big bump,” he says, hands grabbing Stephen’s face as he yanks it to the side. “This moron,” Jon orates, glancing towards Ed, “Smashed his head into the freezer door. That’s what you get for being tall.” Jon tsks, an action that turns into a coughing fit.
“Man Jon, you all right?” Ed asks, walking towards them. Stephen turns towards him, trying to shut off the adrenaline pumping through his system.
“Can you get some water, Ed?” Stephen asks.
“Sure thing,” Ed says, whirling around midstep and disappearing out the door.
Stephen turns to Jon, who is holding a fist to his mouth. “You bastard,” he says with a grin. “You know he’s going to give me shit about this for weeks now.”
“It could have been worse,” Jon says hoarsely. “I could have told him about the time you racked yourself on the bedpost while attempting a strip tease.”
There’s only a half-second pause before Stephen is able to reply, mostly due to the fact that his tongue seems to have folded itself down his throat and into his stomach.
“You most definitely have a fever, my friend,” he finally manages, raising a hand to Jon’s head. He glowers at Stewart. “I have never done such a thing.”
Stephen’s hand is still on Jon’s head when Ed walks back in through the door, but only because Jon’s forehead is violently warm. Stephen wonders at the heat in his palm, feeling his breath quicken.
“What?” Jon asks, voice thick and gruff. Suddenly it’s easier to focus on the brightness of Jon’s eyes instead of his tired face.
Stephen realizes right then that he’s in an amazing amount of trouble.
~ * ~
Ben places a gag order on Jon at 1:23 p.m. It is an event that Stephen only hears about, but doesn’t actually witness. He still wishes he would have, but he’s too busy reviewing the Chanukah bit for Thursday. All he’s heard is that supposedly Jon didn’t take it well, Ben’s two steps from permanent grey hair, but at least Stewart has shut up for a while. Ed had thought this all amazingly hilarious.
Stephen feels very wary about what course he should take at the moment. If he goes to Jon now, he might lose his job, if not his head. However, the idea of Jon’s quick, scary-smart repertoire of insults being brought to its knees is the most seductive thing Stephen’s ever heard of. Jon, the man responsible for every single aspect of the show, silenced. Jon, Stephen knows, must be going absolutely fucking nuts.
Stephen cannot begin to describe how unfathomably hot that concept is.
Still, being a Catholic (ha!) and a supposed honorable man, Stephen tries to put that from his mind. As he arrives at Stewart’s office door, he reminds himself that he is a professional, a friend, and above all he had this idea far before Ben’s cute little, “gag” order.
Stephen opens Jon’s door. Stewart is strewn about the couch, asleep again.
He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t. Stephen should be concerned, for fuck’s sake. He had every intention this morning of taking Jon by the throat and force-feeding him chicken soup until he stopped being such a stubborn dick about this whole mess.
Stephen locks the door.
He pads over to Jon’s desk and sets down the mug in his hand. He keeps an eye on Jon, but Stewart doesn’t stir from his position on the couch. Jon is on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes and one shoe still stuck on his foot. The other is nowhere to be seen.
Stephen, very carefully, lifts one leg and plants his shin in the tiny strip of space between Jon’s hip and the back of the sofa. Stephen transfers his weight onto his bent knee and gingerly brings his other leg up onto the sofa, locking it against Jon’s thigh.
This time, Jon wakes with a start. His eyes burst open and he snaps his arms in front of his chest, defensive.
“Fucking hell,” Jon gasps, but his voice sounds more like a wheeze-high and barely there. Stephen grins.
“That’s twice I’ve caught you sleeping on the job,” he says. He bats Jon’s arms out of his way as he folds over, pillowing his hands just between Jon’s ribs and biceps.
“Good thing I’m the boss,” Jon grumbles. Stephen shivers at the deep rumble in Jon’s throat, thrilled at sound.
“Shh!” he commands, dipping his head into Jon’s throat. Stewart’s neck is sticky, undoubtedly sweaty from the sickness. “You’re not allowed to talk,” Stephen growls into Jon’s throat, tongue sweeping up as much salt as possible. He smiles as Jon’s body tenses, then skips a breath as Stewart’s hand curls around his waist, sliding across his lower back until it dips beneath his beltline. Jon’s hands are rougher than people would ever think, and Stephen squeaks as Stewart gropes his ass.
Jon giggles at the sound. Stephen cuts his laugh short, enveloping Stewart’s ear with his mouth, nibbling on the tender lobe. He puts his weight all on his left arm, hunkering down onto one elbow. His chest connects with Jon’s, the contact jolting electricity throughout his body. Jon grunts, and Stephen can’t help but slide his mouth around to swallow the sound. He brings his right hand up to cup Jon’s face.
“Wait,” Jon huffs between kisses, “Stephen, wait.”
Stephen stops, raising his head enough to look Jon square in the face. “The door is locked,” he assures, delicately caressing Jon’s temple.
“I have a show in two hours,” Jon begins. Stephen rolls his eyes and scoots a touch lower. “And if I sleep with you now…coupled with all the Nyquil I’ve had today I’ll be sleeping through that too.”
Stephen rises up, resting on his knees. He takes one of Jon’s hands and liberally covers it with kisses as he speaks. “You’re just worried,” he protests, “Of how you’re going to explain how you lost your voice.”
Stephen nimbly disentangles himself from Jon’s prone form, and treks the two steps to the desk. He picks up the mug he brought in earlier and turns around to Jon.
“I’m thinking that the excuse of ‘Oh, Stephen just had mind-blowing sex with me and I screamed myself hoarse because I’m his complete bitch’ wouldn’t go over well,” Stephen continues. He can’t help the grin that splits his face in two.
“How in the world did you go from nagging mother to sex fiend in a short couple of hours?” Jon rasps.
“Sit up and drink this,” Stephen commands.
“And right back to nagging mother it is.”
Jon sits up, body creaking. Stephen plops down at one end of the couch. He leans towards Stewart, who thankfully doesn’t question his motions. Stephen gently pulls Jon to him, placing Stewart’s back to his chest. He hands Jon the mug, freeing his hands up so that they can wrap around Jon’s waist.
“What is this?” Jon asks, shifting his weight as he settles against Stephen. “It smells really good.”
Stephen leans his forehead against the back of Jon’s skull. “It’s warm milk with a drop of almond extract and two lumps of sugar. It’ll rot your teeth but your throat will feel better.”
Jon takes a cautious sip. “Gross,” he declares, then lifts the mug to his lips again. Stephen quietly massages Jon’s shoulders and arms as he drinks, kissing his hairline whenever he wishes.
Eventually Jon finishes the milk, leaving Stephen to do the Right Thing, which in this case would be to leave, learn his lines for tonight’s show, and let Jon get some rest.
“Wake me in twenty,” Jon says then, voice still rough but smoother than before. He drops the mug, letting it clatter to the floor. Stephen grins as Jon tugs on his knees, then acquiesces, readjusting their positions until they’re both lying side by side, Jon pressed against the couch’s back and Stephen curled around his smaller frame.
“You’re the boss,” Stephen whispers, and sets the alarm on his watch.
~ * ~
The show goes wonderfully, a fact that Stephen attributes to Jon’s newfound charm (since when was mucus adorable, he’d like to know). Stephen doesn’t quite know what or why this is happening to him, but he’s very glad that the parka he wore tonight was so heavily padded he could’ve hid a flag pole in it.
He doesn’t get to see Jon after the post-tape viewing, and what little interaction they have is overshadowed by Ed’s immature and prickish comments. Stephen left the meeting steaming, perplexed as to how to inform Ed that he’s the gayest gay that ever gayed, and also that Samantha knows it.
So when Ben corners him in his dressing room and begs for him to come in tomorrow, you know, just in case, Stephen agrees on the terms that Ben call his wife, not him. Ben, who was threatened with a lifelong membership to Eunuchs Anonymous after fucking Stephen over once before by Emma, pales at this idea.
“Look,” Stephen explains, “Just tell her I’m staying late tonight, and then I’ll come in tomorrow afternoon instead of the morning. It’s a benny for her, I get to sleep in, and if you call it’ll sound more dire.”
Ben frowns at this idea, but eventually agrees. “Eventually” though, turns out to be nearly an hour of persuasion.
And so it is that Jon has left before Stephen has a chance to say goodbye. This causes Stephen to do what any irritated, sleep-deprived man would do-he decides it’s time for a well-earned meal. As it turns out, Stephen has all ready eaten his daughter’s lunch, and he’s very sure Jon has stolen his last Cup of Noodles because there isn’t a single cup to be found in his office. Jon, who keeps a healthy amount of potato chips and Power Bars hidden is file cabinet, is of course gone and his office locked.
Stephen decides he has no choice but to steal Ed’s endless supply of Lunchables. All of them. He retreats to his office and piles the boxes until they reach as high as the desk, then carefully slits the cellophane so that he can steal only the cheese squares and crackers from each package. Thus he is able to make mile-high mini-cheese sandwiches after nearly half an hour of determined stacking.
Stephen decides that he will never, ever, buy these for his kids. Also, Ed needs someone to cook for him.
Stephen finally abandons his Lunchable tower at 9:30 p.m. and begins to consider actual work for the final touches on his Thursday segments.
At precisely 9:35 p.m., Stephen thinks of a fantastic joke, which is when he hears a knock at his office door.
“Are you in there?” comes the hoarse inquiry. Jon.
Stephen positively bounces out of his chair and opens the door. Jon looks up at him from the hallway, taking in Stephen’s rolled-up shirtsleeves.
“You’re working?” he asks, incredulous. He peers around Stephen, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “And stealing all of Ed’s Lunchables?”
“Someone stole all my Cup of Noodles,” Stephen retorts, defending himself. He pauses, reflects on Jon’s pale face at his door. “Why in the world are you back here anyway? You should be at home in bed!”
“Fuck,” Jon whispers, voice gone from the show. He’s not looking at Stephen, but staring down the hall with his hands firmly on his hips. “If you’re going to do that mothering thing of yours again, I’m leaving.”
Frustrated sarcasm catches in Stephen’s throat, and he’s glad Jon’s not watching him. “I’m just concerned,” he says neutrally, extending an arm to curl around Jon’s bicep. “That’s all.”
They wait a moment. Stephen thinks of a million things to ask. Jon thinks of a million biting remarks.
“Oh fuck it,” Stephen finally says. He tightens his grip on Jon’s arm and yanks him inside his office. Jon stumbles into the room, stepping to the side as Stephen locks the door behind them.
Jon then takes control. It’s something that he does sometimes, usually when he’s stressed or doesn’t want to talk. For being a regular chatterbox Jon loves to skirt the bigger issues.
Jon grabs Stephen by his shirtfront (the tie’s been gone since…well, Stephen can’t remember), pulling him in for hungry kiss. It’s Stephen’s turn to stumble now. He places his hands on Jon’s shoulders, then slides them up Stewart’s neck as he curls into the kiss. Jon moans, and Stephen takes the opportunity to part Stewart’s lips with his tongue.
“You taste cheesy,” Jon comments, breaking the kiss. “If this is what Ed tastes like, it’s not a surprise he doesn’t get any dates.”
“Ed doesn’t get any dates because he’s a) going after Samantha, a married woman, and b) a flaming homosexual,” Stephen growls. He pushes Jon back towards his office chair. “And besides,” he continues, pressing on Jon’s arms until the smaller man sits, “You taste like cough syrup.”
“Mmm…” Jon murmurs. His blue eyes watch Stephen as he kneels down before him. “I like the cherry kind.”
Stephen strains upward from his kneeling position, burrowing in between Jon’s thighs. He kisses Jon deeply, slyly sliding a hand beneath Jon’s sweater and the t-shirt beneath it. He feels Jon’s cock twitch against his belly as his fingers skirt around one raised nipple.
“Cherry, eh?” Stephen says against Jon’s mouth as they break for breath. “You taste like a five-year-old.”
Jon pulls his head back, eyeing Stephen with a knowing grin. Stephen stops his one-handed dismantling of Jon’s belt.
“If you make any jokes regarding my religion I will walk out of this office right now,” he says in his very best correspondent voice.
Jon immediately puts on his puppy face, a trait that Stephen alternately applauds and curses. It’s a beautiful comedic feat, but it’s also certain death for one Mr. Stephen Colbert.
Stephen retaliates by examining the complete clusterfuck he has made of removing Jon’s pants. Returning to a lower position where he has a better angle, Stephen makes quick work of Jon’s belt, pants, and boxers. He tries to not look at Jon until he commands him to lift his hips off the chair. Only then, once he has Jon’s complete attention, he delivers dry, teasing to kisses to both of Jon’s inner thighs, slowly working his way up until he hears-
Jon, growling, “Stephen, please.”
-and then Stephen quietly takes Jon into his mouth, shivering from the gravelly sound of Stewart’s wrecked throat.
Jon’s head tips back right on cue, like it has a thousand times before, and Stephen strains to hear soft gasp of air that escapes Stewart’s open mouth. It’s these little quirks that Stephen lives for. There’s something scary and intoxicating about the fact that Stephen has lost the ability to concentrate on sucking Jon off. He knows where to put his hands, when to lick and when to suck. His ministrations have now come second to all the little tells Jon has-he loves the tension in Stewart’s belly, the taut motion of Jon’s hips as he tries to hold back his thrusts. The hand that eventually slides to cup the back of Stephen’s neck, fingering his hair; the exact rhythm and sound of Jon’s panting breaths; the warning, guttural sound of his name just before Jon loses it, orgasm spilling out and into Stephen’s mouth.
Stephen pulls back, swallows, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He rises up again, easily crushing into Jon’s chest as Stewart reaches for him, holding on for moment as his body lazily calms.
“Come on,” Stephen whispers after a few minutes have passed. He rises to his feet, catching Jon’s hands as they go to pull up his clothes. “Let me,” Stephen insists, piercing Jon with a no-nonsense look.
Jon, sleepy-eyed but trying for nonchalance, waves a hand. “Do what you will, then.”
Stephen pulls Jon to his feet. He then bends over, and slowly begins redressing Stewart, sliding his hands up and down Jon’s legs as he does so. He hears Jon sigh above him, feels his hands upon his back.
As soon as Stephen finishes cinching Jon’s belt, Stewart takes him by the jaw with two hands, cupping his face as he rises up on tiptoe to gently kiss Stephen’s mouth. Stephen feels a breathy moan break through his lips, and can’t help the slight blush that still colors his cheeks.
“What are we going to do about this?” Jon growls, easily bending Stephen’s neck so that his head rests on Stewart’s shoulder. One left hand, stronger than either of Stephen’s, cups his erection, and again Stephen lets a small gasp escape him.
Stephen recovers quickly. He ducks his head into the dip of Jon’s neck and bites down on Stewart’s throat.
“You’re the boss,” he growls. Jon laughs, a rumbling, raspy sound.
“My office has a couch,” Stewart suggests, punctuating each syllable with a stroke to Stephen’s now blindingly painful arousal. Stephen nods into Jon’s shoulder, and Stewart takes the lead on their rather hurried trek down the hall.
As they pause in front of Stewart’s office door, Jon fumbling for keys, Stephen spots an empty bowl of Cup of Noodles in the trash can at the end of the hall.
“You owe me a meal,” he declares as Jon slips through the door. Stewart smirks, and drags him into the room by the belt.
“I’ll order breakfast,” Jon says, slamming the door behind him. Stephen leans in, looming over Jon as only he is allowed to do.
“Or you could just have me,” Stephen offers, unable to wipe the smirk off his face. Jon raises an eyebrow, then kisses Stephen with a mouthful of teeth. Stewart then shoves him back towards the couch, growling low in his throat. Stephen can’t help laughing as Jon lays him down on the cushions and crawls on top of him much like he had done this very morning.
“Oh laugh now,” Jon rasps, “But you get to explain to Ben tomorrow why I’m late to the meeting.”
“Sure thing,” Stephen agrees as Jon begins unbuttoning his shirt, imagining the look on Jon’s face when he shows up later than anyone else.
~ * ~
Title: Remedy
Author: rainjewel
Rating: R/NC-17
Pairing: Stephen Colbert / Jon Stewart
Warning: Could possibly be the schmoopiest schmoop EVER.
Disclaimer: I. Am. Making. This. Shit. Up. Stephen and Jon belong to themselves and all that jazz.
Summary: Stephen has a mixed reaction to Jon’s sudden cold at the end of Dec. 2004.
Monday morning Jon is late to the meeting.
Stephen attends meetings sporadically, less and less over the years because he’s just too damn busy. He rather hates them, content to work with one or two people at a time on a piece than with a dozen others peering over his shoulder. These meetings are more or less for Jon’s bits anyways, not his. Still, as the season wraps up at the end of 2004 he finds himself stuck on an arm of a couch, squished between the brick wall and an end table with five cups of coffee, none of them his. An intern, a smiley young brunette with stubby hands sits next to him and offers up a nervous smile. Stephen returns a kinder one as people file into the room to start the day. He thinks her name is Miranda, but he can’t remember for sure.
At the beginning of the meeting Ben eyeballs him from across the table. “What gives, Colbert? Why’re you here? Do you have a miracle piece?”
Stephen smiles. “That’s later this week. Right now I’m procrastinating.”
“Don’t tell me that,” Ben chastises. “Even if the boss man ain’t here.”
Which is the wrong thing to say. It’s not like Jon’s never missed a meeting before, but his absence is always a pronounced and elevated stress for the show’s atmosphere. Chuck whaps his pencil against the table with more energy than usual and Ben’s jokes don’t seem as piercing without Jon’s delivery behind them.
Chuck starts the meeting at 11:37 a.m., not waiting around any longer. Ben and D.J. listen to the other writers, infusing their own brand of humor into every piece. Stephen feels a light wave of nostalgia as he listens to the thoughts of others, remembering a time when he was there. Sometimes it’s nice to write in place of performing.
Stephen is getting up to leave as Jon walks in the door. The meeting is getting close to the discussion of interviews, a subject Stephen finds boring as hell. He’s beginning to remember why he only attends these meetings sporadically.
He rises from the couch, trying to not detract from the discussions. “Miranda” makes room for his legs as he slouches away, shuffling around the table. Stephen’s two steps away from the door when it suddenly swings wide, and Jon steps through holding a water bottle and a pen. Stephen catches the door and holds it. Jon stays in the doorway as everyone turns to look at him.
Normally when Jon is late for anything, be it a meeting or a hockey game, he freaks. Stephen has only witnessed it once, but he’s heard stories. It’s no secret that Jon’s a control freak, if a trusting one. Usually Jon bursts into whatever event he happens to be late for, hands flying as he tries to assess the situation. Should people be unwilling to immediately bring him up to date, they can be assured that a royal chewing-out will occur.
Stephen thinks on this as Jon remains in the doorway, motionless.
“Jon!” Ben exclaims. “You okay?”
Jon’s mouth quirks, a telltale sign that he’s about to crack a joke, but then it dissolves as Jon turns to the side and coughs.
“The baby…” Jon begins through the coughing, “Had a long…a long night.”
“Dude, you look awful,” D.J. remarks. Jon flips him off and takes a drink of his water bottle. “You look kinda sick.”
“A cold, yeah,” Jon says, voice scratchy. He walks through the door, finally allowing Stephen to close it. He glances at Stephen. “What are you doing here?”
Stephen doesn’t know whether to joke or not. He opts for the second choice, put off by the sluggish pull of Jon’s eyes and shoulders.
“Leaving,” he says. Slowly he slips around Jon, trying to not knock his thighs against Stewart’s ass in the cramped quarters. “Ben says I have to do some ‘work,’ or some such nonsense.”
“What a bitch, eh?” Jon remarks. He coughs again.
“You sound like you have whatever crap it was that Stephen had,” Ben says as Jon moves to take his seat. Ben looks up to Stephen, frozen in the doorway. “Ain’t right, Colbert? Were you coughing this much?”
Stephen smiles and looks away from Jon. “A day or two.”
“Enough!” Jon says, voice wheezing out. “Let’s get going. What I’d miss?”
Stephen pauses for a moment as D.J. begins recounting the bits they’ve all ready covered. Jon nods as he takes in the information, but Stephen can’t help but notice how haggard his face looks. Jon glances at him, and Stephen looks away and leaves.
~ * ~
The door to Jon’s office is closed but unlocked. Jon’s not one to lock his office when he’s in, but everyone still knows to knock. Everyone save Stephen, who slips into his office without warning. Jon’s head is on his desk, pillowed by his crossed forearms. Stephen can’t tell if he’s asleep or not, so he pads silently towards the desk.
“Jon,” he whispers. Nothing. A cold, irrational fist of worry balls in Stephen’s throat. A new father, Jon’s usually awakened by the slight sounds of night. Stephen reaches down and rubs the palm of his hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Jon,” he repeats.
Jon springs to life at the cool touch, silvered head rearing up. Jon is a smart man who doesn’t make any outrageous outbursts as he jerks awake. The only reason Stephen knows he’s startled Jon is the tension he senses through the thin fabric of Stewart’s shirt. Stephen shifts his touch to the base of Jon’s neck, gently kneading the muscles once, twice, and then dropping his hand. Jon does not turn around to make sure it’s Stephen.
“You caught me,” Jon says. Stephen smirks and “hmphs” in agreement. Jon tilts his head back, opening his face to Stephen.
“When did you get sick?” Stephen asks. “This weekend?”
“Something like that,” Jon says. He raises his arm and rubs a hand through his hair. Stephen walks around the desk, folding his arms across his chest. Jon straightens in his chair. “Really though, I’m fine.”
Stephen smirks, cocks his head to the side. “Good to know,” he says, low and guttural. He slides his hands across Jon’s desk over the many piles of paper, hunched close to the oak. “I mean, what with all this work you’d want to be in top shape.” At the word “shape” he snaps his eyes to Jon’s. Stewart’s eyes are dulled and grey, a sharp contrast to their usual stormy blue.
Stephen goes for the kiss anyway.
Jon’s lips are dry, rustling like crinoline when Stephen presses his mouth to his. Stewart closes his eyes, breathes in deep, and curves his cheek into Stephen’s hand as it cups his face. He does not open his mouth. Stephen feels irrationally infuriated by this, but doesn’t jerk away. Instead he skips his lips over Jon’s, moving to the corner of Stewart’s mouth as he gently kisses each tiny spot on Jon’s lips.
Jon only opens his mouth to say, “Wait.”
Stephen waits. Stephen waits standing up, his hands in his pockets, not kissing Jon.
“I don’t think…” Jon begins, his voice rasping harshly, “…I just think maybe we shouldn’t.”
“You’re really that ill?” Stephen asks, making sure he’s not joking. He stretches out a lanky arm and presses his hand to Jon’s forehead before Stewart can deflect it. Stephen can feel his brow furrow. “You’re burning up.”
Jon’s eyes are icy, and Stephen retracts his hand. “That,” Stewart says softly, “Is what my wife said.”
Stephen doesn’t want to make a scene. He tells himself that Jon isn’t feeling well, that Jon’s an adult, that he should just roll with the punches.
“Funny,” he says, cocking an eyebrow, “So did mine. She said I was working too hard.”
Jon seems to pale under his gaze and Stephen feels guilty (even though he’s right). Stewart runs his hands through his hair.
“It’s just that people are…well, just listen to what D.J. said,” Jon says.
Stephen stands still. “Samantha had the flu first, and I certainly didn’t fuck her in order to get sick.”
It’s a comment that Stephen immediately regrets. He watches Jon’s tired face tighten, and he braces himself for Stewart’s next comment.
“You know, I’m actually feeling quite all right,” Jon remarks. “Now, how’s your bit for Thursday coming?”
It takes a moment for Stephen to come back. “It’s perfect, except for graphics,” he replies through a hard smirk.
He spins on his heel and takes long strides towards the door, knowing Jon is staring at his legs. As he steps into the hallway, Stephen turns around towards Jon who is stubbornly glaring at him.
“Don’t work to hard. Wouldn’t want to see you sick,” he says, not sure how he means it. He shuts the door before Stewart replies.
Stephen goes home early this day.
~ * ~
Madeline packs a “lunch” for Stephen on Tuesday morning. Stephen feels stupid bringing a Lizzie McGuire lunch pail to the office but his daughter is the most beautiful girl on the entire planet, so he does it anyway. Madeline had insisted that it was the funniest joke ever and by the look on Ed’s face as Stephen strolls down the hall, she may be right.
“That’s it, you are officially the gayest straight man on the planet,” Ed says. Ed is slouched against his doorframe wearing jeans and messy hair; Stephen wonders if he’s been here all night.
“What’s that in your hand?” Stephen asks as he walks past, not missing a beat. Ed gives him a coy look.
“Lollipop,” he replies, and innocently raises the red candy to his mouth.
Stephen laughs so hard the lunch box rattles. He turns the corner down towards his office, pausing only to duck into meeting room. There he sets the lunch pail and a half gallon of milk in the refrigerator. He smiles, feeling deliciously naughty about stuffing Lizzie McGuire in an icy, dark hell.
“What’s with the lunch box?”
Jon’s voice grates through the room. Stephen jumps, spinning around so fast he smacks his head on the freezer handle. The blow knocks his glasses off his face, but Stephen’s too busy pressing his one free hand to his head to catch them.
“Jeez,” he manages, squinting at Jon’s rapidly approaching frame. “Shouldn’t you warn…”
Stephen trails off as Jon bends down and picks up his glasses from the floor. He doesn’t miss the creaky way Stewart’s body moves. He can’t help but think of last night, of the anger he felt at Jon’s stubborn lack of concern for his own well-being. He also can’t help but notice how he’s not angry anymore.
“Are you okay?” Jon asks, rising up. He sets Stephen’s glasses on the small table by the refrigerator, home to a coffee pot that might be older than Stephen himself. Stewart stares openly up past Stephen’s hairline. Jon reaches up and grasps Stephen’s forearm. “Let me see.”
Stephen acquiesces, hissing as he pulls his hand away from his head. His skull throbs, the air seeming heavier than sin.
“Well you’re not bleeding,” Jon says in his most professional voice.
“Of course I’m not,” Stephen replies. He places his hand back against his head and steps away from the refrigerator. Jon moves towards the coffee pot. “God, I’m an idiot.”
“No you’re not.” Jon picks up the glasses and holds them out to Stephen. “In fact,” he says, “I’m an idiot. I was really tired yesterday and a total prick. I’m sorry for being an asshole.”
Sick, Stephen feels like screaming. You were sick, not grumpy.
It’s really ridiculous-Jon’s stubbornness regarding something as trivial as a cold has only put Stephen more on edge. And yet, Stephen thinks, this is Jon, not some fucking child. He should be helping Jon with the extra workload, not nagging at him; but he also should probably not be fucking him either.
“I was an asshole too,” Stephen says. He takes the spectacles from Jon’s hand and slides them into place. “It’s just…”
“Yeah?” Jon prods. He is still holding out his hand. Stephen doesn’t know if this is the time or place to admit something like this, but he doesn’t think he has much of a choice.
Stephen dips his head, touching his brow with a few fingers before gathering the courage to-say something so stupid-speak.
“I just can’t help being worried,” he says, standing up. “I worry about you feeling well.” He shrugs his shoulders, unable to stop the embarrassed grin that crosses his face. “I mean, it doesn’t make sense, this is stupid-”
Which is when Jon does the stupider thing, wrapping his once outstretched hand around Stephen’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss. In the middle of the meeting room. It’s a quick, dry kiss, but Stephen feels the momentum behind it.
“Sweet Christ,” Stephen breathes as Jon pulls away. Stewart’s eyebrows fly up-it’s not every day that Stephen takes the Lord’s name in vain, a fact that has lead to many a joke but even more respect.
Jon shoves his hands in his pockets and looks up at Stephen with a gleeful (if tired) smile.
“What?” he growls, voice thick from illness. “You don’t honestly expect me to resist that, do you?”
Stephen regards Jon with a gaze he hopes is more sultry than goofy. “Only when I want you to,” he replies. Jon’s eyes spark, head tilting up towards Stephen’s. Stephen thinks for only a moment that this is a horrible idea, before leaning in for the kiss.
“Hey, what’s going on in here?” Ed’s voice booms throughout the room.
Jon’s reaction is lightening fast. “Wow, that’s going to be a big bump,” he says, hands grabbing Stephen’s face as he yanks it to the side. “This moron,” Jon orates, glancing towards Ed, “Smashed his head into the freezer door. That’s what you get for being tall.” Jon tsks, an action that turns into a coughing fit.
“Man Jon, you all right?” Ed asks, walking towards them. Stephen turns towards him, trying to shut off the adrenaline pumping through his system.
“Can you get some water, Ed?” Stephen asks.
“Sure thing,” Ed says, whirling around midstep and disappearing out the door.
Stephen turns to Jon, who is holding a fist to his mouth. “You bastard,” he says with a grin. “You know he’s going to give me shit about this for weeks now.”
“It could have been worse,” Jon says hoarsely. “I could have told him about the time you racked yourself on the bedpost while attempting a strip tease.”
There’s only a half-second pause before Stephen is able to reply, mostly due to the fact that his tongue seems to have folded itself down his throat and into his stomach.
“You most definitely have a fever, my friend,” he finally manages, raising a hand to Jon’s head. He glowers at Stewart. “I have never done such a thing.”
Stephen’s hand is still on Jon’s head when Ed walks back in through the door, but only because Jon’s forehead is violently warm. Stephen wonders at the heat in his palm, feeling his breath quicken.
“What?” Jon asks, voice thick and gruff. Suddenly it’s easier to focus on the brightness of Jon’s eyes instead of his tired face.
Stephen realizes right then that he’s in an amazing amount of trouble.
~ * ~
Ben places a gag order on Jon at 1:23 p.m. It is an event that Stephen only hears about, but doesn’t actually witness. He still wishes he would have, but he’s too busy reviewing the Chanukah bit for Thursday. All he’s heard is that supposedly Jon didn’t take it well, Ben’s two steps from permanent grey hair, but at least Stewart has shut up for a while. Ed had thought this all amazingly hilarious.
Stephen feels very wary about what course he should take at the moment. If he goes to Jon now, he might lose his job, if not his head. However, the idea of Jon’s quick, scary-smart repertoire of insults being brought to its knees is the most seductive thing Stephen’s ever heard of. Jon, the man responsible for every single aspect of the show, silenced. Jon, Stephen knows, must be going absolutely fucking nuts.
Stephen cannot begin to describe how unfathomably hot that concept is.
Still, being a Catholic (ha!) and a supposed honorable man, Stephen tries to put that from his mind. As he arrives at Stewart’s office door, he reminds himself that he is a professional, a friend, and above all he had this idea far before Ben’s cute little, “gag” order.
Stephen opens Jon’s door. Stewart is strewn about the couch, asleep again.
He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t. Stephen should be concerned, for fuck’s sake. He had every intention this morning of taking Jon by the throat and force-feeding him chicken soup until he stopped being such a stubborn dick about this whole mess.
Stephen locks the door.
He pads over to Jon’s desk and sets down the mug in his hand. He keeps an eye on Jon, but Stewart doesn’t stir from his position on the couch. Jon is on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes and one shoe still stuck on his foot. The other is nowhere to be seen.
Stephen, very carefully, lifts one leg and plants his shin in the tiny strip of space between Jon’s hip and the back of the sofa. Stephen transfers his weight onto his bent knee and gingerly brings his other leg up onto the sofa, locking it against Jon’s thigh.
This time, Jon wakes with a start. His eyes burst open and he snaps his arms in front of his chest, defensive.
“Fucking hell,” Jon gasps, but his voice sounds more like a wheeze-high and barely there. Stephen grins.
“That’s twice I’ve caught you sleeping on the job,” he says. He bats Jon’s arms out of his way as he folds over, pillowing his hands just between Jon’s ribs and biceps.
“Good thing I’m the boss,” Jon grumbles. Stephen shivers at the deep rumble in Jon’s throat, thrilled at sound.
“Shh!” he commands, dipping his head into Jon’s throat. Stewart’s neck is sticky, undoubtedly sweaty from the sickness. “You’re not allowed to talk,” Stephen growls into Jon’s throat, tongue sweeping up as much salt as possible. He smiles as Jon’s body tenses, then skips a breath as Stewart’s hand curls around his waist, sliding across his lower back until it dips beneath his beltline. Jon’s hands are rougher than people would ever think, and Stephen squeaks as Stewart gropes his ass.
Jon giggles at the sound. Stephen cuts his laugh short, enveloping Stewart’s ear with his mouth, nibbling on the tender lobe. He puts his weight all on his left arm, hunkering down onto one elbow. His chest connects with Jon’s, the contact jolting electricity throughout his body. Jon grunts, and Stephen can’t help but slide his mouth around to swallow the sound. He brings his right hand up to cup Jon’s face.
“Wait,” Jon huffs between kisses, “Stephen, wait.”
Stephen stops, raising his head enough to look Jon square in the face. “The door is locked,” he assures, delicately caressing Jon’s temple.
“I have a show in two hours,” Jon begins. Stephen rolls his eyes and scoots a touch lower. “And if I sleep with you now…coupled with all the Nyquil I’ve had today I’ll be sleeping through that too.”
Stephen rises up, resting on his knees. He takes one of Jon’s hands and liberally covers it with kisses as he speaks. “You’re just worried,” he protests, “Of how you’re going to explain how you lost your voice.”
Stephen nimbly disentangles himself from Jon’s prone form, and treks the two steps to the desk. He picks up the mug he brought in earlier and turns around to Jon.
“I’m thinking that the excuse of ‘Oh, Stephen just had mind-blowing sex with me and I screamed myself hoarse because I’m his complete bitch’ wouldn’t go over well,” Stephen continues. He can’t help the grin that splits his face in two.
“How in the world did you go from nagging mother to sex fiend in a short couple of hours?” Jon rasps.
“Sit up and drink this,” Stephen commands.
“And right back to nagging mother it is.”
Jon sits up, body creaking. Stephen plops down at one end of the couch. He leans towards Stewart, who thankfully doesn’t question his motions. Stephen gently pulls Jon to him, placing Stewart’s back to his chest. He hands Jon the mug, freeing his hands up so that they can wrap around Jon’s waist.
“What is this?” Jon asks, shifting his weight as he settles against Stephen. “It smells really good.”
Stephen leans his forehead against the back of Jon’s skull. “It’s warm milk with a drop of almond extract and two lumps of sugar. It’ll rot your teeth but your throat will feel better.”
Jon takes a cautious sip. “Gross,” he declares, then lifts the mug to his lips again. Stephen quietly massages Jon’s shoulders and arms as he drinks, kissing his hairline whenever he wishes.
Eventually Jon finishes the milk, leaving Stephen to do the Right Thing, which in this case would be to leave, learn his lines for tonight’s show, and let Jon get some rest.
“Wake me in twenty,” Jon says then, voice still rough but smoother than before. He drops the mug, letting it clatter to the floor. Stephen grins as Jon tugs on his knees, then acquiesces, readjusting their positions until they’re both lying side by side, Jon pressed against the couch’s back and Stephen curled around his smaller frame.
“You’re the boss,” Stephen whispers, and sets the alarm on his watch.
~ * ~
The show goes wonderfully, a fact that Stephen attributes to Jon’s newfound charm (since when was mucus adorable, he’d like to know). Stephen doesn’t quite know what or why this is happening to him, but he’s very glad that the parka he wore tonight was so heavily padded he could’ve hid a flag pole in it.
He doesn’t get to see Jon after the post-tape viewing, and what little interaction they have is overshadowed by Ed’s immature and prickish comments. Stephen left the meeting steaming, perplexed as to how to inform Ed that he’s the gayest gay that ever gayed, and also that Samantha knows it.
So when Ben corners him in his dressing room and begs for him to come in tomorrow, you know, just in case, Stephen agrees on the terms that Ben call his wife, not him. Ben, who was threatened with a lifelong membership to Eunuchs Anonymous after fucking Stephen over once before by Emma, pales at this idea.
“Look,” Stephen explains, “Just tell her I’m staying late tonight, and then I’ll come in tomorrow afternoon instead of the morning. It’s a benny for her, I get to sleep in, and if you call it’ll sound more dire.”
Ben frowns at this idea, but eventually agrees. “Eventually” though, turns out to be nearly an hour of persuasion.
And so it is that Jon has left before Stephen has a chance to say goodbye. This causes Stephen to do what any irritated, sleep-deprived man would do-he decides it’s time for a well-earned meal. As it turns out, Stephen has all ready eaten his daughter’s lunch, and he’s very sure Jon has stolen his last Cup of Noodles because there isn’t a single cup to be found in his office. Jon, who keeps a healthy amount of potato chips and Power Bars hidden is file cabinet, is of course gone and his office locked.
Stephen decides he has no choice but to steal Ed’s endless supply of Lunchables. All of them. He retreats to his office and piles the boxes until they reach as high as the desk, then carefully slits the cellophane so that he can steal only the cheese squares and crackers from each package. Thus he is able to make mile-high mini-cheese sandwiches after nearly half an hour of determined stacking.
Stephen decides that he will never, ever, buy these for his kids. Also, Ed needs someone to cook for him.
Stephen finally abandons his Lunchable tower at 9:30 p.m. and begins to consider actual work for the final touches on his Thursday segments.
At precisely 9:35 p.m., Stephen thinks of a fantastic joke, which is when he hears a knock at his office door.
“Are you in there?” comes the hoarse inquiry. Jon.
Stephen positively bounces out of his chair and opens the door. Jon looks up at him from the hallway, taking in Stephen’s rolled-up shirtsleeves.
“You’re working?” he asks, incredulous. He peers around Stephen, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “And stealing all of Ed’s Lunchables?”
“Someone stole all my Cup of Noodles,” Stephen retorts, defending himself. He pauses, reflects on Jon’s pale face at his door. “Why in the world are you back here anyway? You should be at home in bed!”
“Fuck,” Jon whispers, voice gone from the show. He’s not looking at Stephen, but staring down the hall with his hands firmly on his hips. “If you’re going to do that mothering thing of yours again, I’m leaving.”
Frustrated sarcasm catches in Stephen’s throat, and he’s glad Jon’s not watching him. “I’m just concerned,” he says neutrally, extending an arm to curl around Jon’s bicep. “That’s all.”
They wait a moment. Stephen thinks of a million things to ask. Jon thinks of a million biting remarks.
“Oh fuck it,” Stephen finally says. He tightens his grip on Jon’s arm and yanks him inside his office. Jon stumbles into the room, stepping to the side as Stephen locks the door behind them.
Jon then takes control. It’s something that he does sometimes, usually when he’s stressed or doesn’t want to talk. For being a regular chatterbox Jon loves to skirt the bigger issues.
Jon grabs Stephen by his shirtfront (the tie’s been gone since…well, Stephen can’t remember), pulling him in for hungry kiss. It’s Stephen’s turn to stumble now. He places his hands on Jon’s shoulders, then slides them up Stewart’s neck as he curls into the kiss. Jon moans, and Stephen takes the opportunity to part Stewart’s lips with his tongue.
“You taste cheesy,” Jon comments, breaking the kiss. “If this is what Ed tastes like, it’s not a surprise he doesn’t get any dates.”
“Ed doesn’t get any dates because he’s a) going after Samantha, a married woman, and b) a flaming homosexual,” Stephen growls. He pushes Jon back towards his office chair. “And besides,” he continues, pressing on Jon’s arms until the smaller man sits, “You taste like cough syrup.”
“Mmm…” Jon murmurs. His blue eyes watch Stephen as he kneels down before him. “I like the cherry kind.”
Stephen strains upward from his kneeling position, burrowing in between Jon’s thighs. He kisses Jon deeply, slyly sliding a hand beneath Jon’s sweater and the t-shirt beneath it. He feels Jon’s cock twitch against his belly as his fingers skirt around one raised nipple.
“Cherry, eh?” Stephen says against Jon’s mouth as they break for breath. “You taste like a five-year-old.”
Jon pulls his head back, eyeing Stephen with a knowing grin. Stephen stops his one-handed dismantling of Jon’s belt.
“If you make any jokes regarding my religion I will walk out of this office right now,” he says in his very best correspondent voice.
Jon immediately puts on his puppy face, a trait that Stephen alternately applauds and curses. It’s a beautiful comedic feat, but it’s also certain death for one Mr. Stephen Colbert.
Stephen retaliates by examining the complete clusterfuck he has made of removing Jon’s pants. Returning to a lower position where he has a better angle, Stephen makes quick work of Jon’s belt, pants, and boxers. He tries to not look at Jon until he commands him to lift his hips off the chair. Only then, once he has Jon’s complete attention, he delivers dry, teasing to kisses to both of Jon’s inner thighs, slowly working his way up until he hears-
Jon, growling, “Stephen, please.”
-and then Stephen quietly takes Jon into his mouth, shivering from the gravelly sound of Stewart’s wrecked throat.
Jon’s head tips back right on cue, like it has a thousand times before, and Stephen strains to hear soft gasp of air that escapes Stewart’s open mouth. It’s these little quirks that Stephen lives for. There’s something scary and intoxicating about the fact that Stephen has lost the ability to concentrate on sucking Jon off. He knows where to put his hands, when to lick and when to suck. His ministrations have now come second to all the little tells Jon has-he loves the tension in Stewart’s belly, the taut motion of Jon’s hips as he tries to hold back his thrusts. The hand that eventually slides to cup the back of Stephen’s neck, fingering his hair; the exact rhythm and sound of Jon’s panting breaths; the warning, guttural sound of his name just before Jon loses it, orgasm spilling out and into Stephen’s mouth.
Stephen pulls back, swallows, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He rises up again, easily crushing into Jon’s chest as Stewart reaches for him, holding on for moment as his body lazily calms.
“Come on,” Stephen whispers after a few minutes have passed. He rises to his feet, catching Jon’s hands as they go to pull up his clothes. “Let me,” Stephen insists, piercing Jon with a no-nonsense look.
Jon, sleepy-eyed but trying for nonchalance, waves a hand. “Do what you will, then.”
Stephen pulls Jon to his feet. He then bends over, and slowly begins redressing Stewart, sliding his hands up and down Jon’s legs as he does so. He hears Jon sigh above him, feels his hands upon his back.
As soon as Stephen finishes cinching Jon’s belt, Stewart takes him by the jaw with two hands, cupping his face as he rises up on tiptoe to gently kiss Stephen’s mouth. Stephen feels a breathy moan break through his lips, and can’t help the slight blush that still colors his cheeks.
“What are we going to do about this?” Jon growls, easily bending Stephen’s neck so that his head rests on Stewart’s shoulder. One left hand, stronger than either of Stephen’s, cups his erection, and again Stephen lets a small gasp escape him.
Stephen recovers quickly. He ducks his head into the dip of Jon’s neck and bites down on Stewart’s throat.
“You’re the boss,” he growls. Jon laughs, a rumbling, raspy sound.
“My office has a couch,” Stewart suggests, punctuating each syllable with a stroke to Stephen’s now blindingly painful arousal. Stephen nods into Jon’s shoulder, and Stewart takes the lead on their rather hurried trek down the hall.
As they pause in front of Stewart’s office door, Jon fumbling for keys, Stephen spots an empty bowl of Cup of Noodles in the trash can at the end of the hall.
“You owe me a meal,” he declares as Jon slips through the door. Stewart smirks, and drags him into the room by the belt.
“I’ll order breakfast,” Jon says, slamming the door behind him. Stephen leans in, looming over Jon as only he is allowed to do.
“Or you could just have me,” Stephen offers, unable to wipe the smirk off his face. Jon raises an eyebrow, then kisses Stephen with a mouthful of teeth. Stewart then shoves him back towards the couch, growling low in his throat. Stephen can’t help laughing as Jon lays him down on the cushions and crawls on top of him much like he had done this very morning.
“Oh laugh now,” Jon rasps, “But you get to explain to Ben tomorrow why I’m late to the meeting.”
“Sure thing,” Stephen agrees as Jon begins unbuttoning his shirt, imagining the look on Jon’s face when he shows up later than anyone else.
~ * ~