"Confession" The Daily Show RPS Jon/Stephen NC17 Wordcount 1575
Title: Confession
Fandom: The Daily Show/The Colbert Report RPS
Pairing: Jon/Stephen
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 1575
Notes/Warnings:
Started over a year ago when I first got into the fandom and was struck by all the niceness
THIS IS NOT A NICE FIC! Contains Catholic!Stephen, Bad!Jon, verbal abuse, dubious consent, mentions of wives and family members, Catholic liturgy. And probably OOC-ness to boot.
Unbeta-ed.
In the Name of the Father, and of the Son
and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Stephen thought he’d made his peace with the Church, leaving the earnest altar boy behind in Charleston. He thought he could tell jokes that mocked the excesses of Catholicism and still believe in the core values of the religion. It was OK to think that what a woman did with her body or consenting adults did in private was none of his or the Pope’s business. He could even support John Kerry and not risk eternal damnation.
Every Sunday, he took Evelyn and the kids to St, Ann’s, where no one seemed to mind his latest “This Week in God” outrage, and he had a cordial relationship with Father Sloane.
Stephen had it all figured out, except for the guilt and shame that drove him to Saint Patrick’s Cathedral every Wednesday for confession. So much for the illusion that he could make fun of the Pope, vote Democrat, and still call himself a good Catholic. That charade had ended in Jon Stewart’s office.
Bless me Father for I have sinned, my
last Confession was one week ago. These
are my sins.
It was about the usual. Getting fucked by Jon, going down on Jon and screwing a production assistant in the stair-well. He wondered if the priests were getting bored with him.
How long had it taken Jon to size him up, he wondered. Was it at the first meeting when Jon had fixed Stephen with his heavy-lidded gaze? Less than a month after he took over from Craig, Jon had started inviting Stephen to help him “wind down” after the show. At first, there were just bull sessions that went on long into the night.
Jon would share bits of himself that made Stephen feel privileged to really know the new Daily Show anchor when the other writers and performers still found him an enigma. Little hints about his relationships with his parents, or intimations that all was not cozy at home with Tracy, or just tales from his life on the stand-up circuit. Sometimes Jon inquired about Stephen’s life, creating a feeling of emotional intimacy.
What happened next was inevitable, in retrospect, but a complete shock to Stephen at the time. The end of a long day, as if they weren't all long days. Jon, clearly exhausted, but still wired.
“Hey, Colbert. Come to my office. Help me unwind a little.”
Two beers from the small refrigerator. Stephen feeling honored to be Jon’s sounding board, relishing any opportunity to make Jon laugh. He’d thought nothing of Jon’s posture on the couch, leaning back with his legs spread.
When Jon said, “Man, I’m tense tonight. You know what would really take the edge off? A good blow job,” Stephen had just smiled. Such typical Jon. And then the escalation of the joke: “I mean, I could always jerk off, but I’d rather have someone do the work for me. You don’t mind helping out, do you, pal?”
It had been impossible to suppress the giggles. Jon could take one of these bits and stretch it forever.
“Jon, you are going to kill me if you keep that up. You look so serious.”
“I am serious.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Yeah. Right. I want you to blow me. Now.”
It had taken an eternity of seconds to absorb that Jon really wasn’t joking.
“Come on,” he protested. “I’m married.”
Jon just waved his own wedding ring in Stephen’s face as if to underscore the inanity of his response.
“I’m not asking you to cheat. Just help out a friend. You’re my friend, right. Tell you what, just a nice friendly hand job. Just like getting yourself off, only it’ll be me instead.”
He looked into Stephen’s eyes, somehow making him feel special and vulnerable at the same time.
“I…” Stephen didn’t believe it was happening then, still couldn’t understand why he hadn’t uttered a firm No and left. He told himself that if he had, it would have ended it there, but he didn’t and it hadn't. How could he walk away when Jon was cajoling, spreading his legs even wider, looking down at the evidence of what he wanted and forcing Stephen to look there too?
Stephen couldn’t move, couldn’t find a single glib word to turn this back into a joke. When he did move, it felt as though he were watching a movie of himself kneeling between Jon’s legs, unzipping his fly and reaching in to find Jon’s dick.
“Oh yeah,” Jon groaned, his voice lewd and sensual. It was shocking to hear Jon sound like that, maybe even more shocking than the fact that Jon reached into his jacket pocket and produced a small tube of KY Jelly. “Here, use this.”
Jon had been that sure of his acquiescence in this…the altar boy wanted to call it depravity. He was kneeling like a good supplicant, and getting, please, God, no aroused by the situation. He’d never touched another man’s body and it turned out to be awkward. The slippery lubricant was more a hindrance than a help in trying do this as quickly as possible so he could get away and then pretend he hadn’t done it. Hadn’t moved his hand up and down in a familiar rhythm. Hadn’t felt the heat transmitting from Jon's body straight to his own groin. Hadn’t been tempted to bend down and take the head in his mouth as though this were just another form of communion.
“Balls,” Jon grunted, “cradle the balls,”
This is so not happening, Stephen had told himself, while following the directions, fascinated by the smoothness of the circumcised head. He ran his thumb over it, producing moans and a series of hoarse commands. “Squeeze it. Harder. Harder. Now! Yes. Yes. Fuck! Yes!”
Stephen’s whole body was trembling as he felt Jon’s balls tighten, and then the sudden rush of stickiness on to his hands. He looked at Jon’s face, utterly relaxed, almost beautiful. Maybe he’d done the right thing, helping his friend out that way. It was OK. He’d be OK. And then Jon opened his eyes and smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile at all.
“Get a paper towel and clean me up.”
Stephen struggled to his feet and did so, wondering if he’d be able to drive home without puking and how he could possibly face Evelyn or himself ever again. Jon had stayed silent while Stephen wiped him off, but that horribly smug grin said everything, until he was just about to leave, still fighting the effects of nausea and self-hatred.
“Next time, you’ll suck me off.”
No, he’d thought. A thousand times no. There is no next time.
It took less than a week.
Back on his knees in the same spot in the same office. He couldn’t remember the details of how he’d gotten there. Only the fact that he’d committed a sin, by taking another man’s dick into his mouth, sucking and licking, relishing the fact that he was giving Jon pleasure, all the while hating himself. Especially when he heard Jon switch from incoherent groans and obscenities to words. Words aimed directly at him.
“You like this don’t you? You love sucking my cock don’t you? Such a good Catholic boy? You’re nothing but a fucking little faggot aren’t you? Come one, harder, take it deeper. You gonna tell your priest about this….you gonna tell him when you get your ass fucked by a Jew?”
Stephen tried to drown out the words. He focused on the hot, swollen flesh in his mouth, the smell, the taste, veins against his tongue, and the horror that again, he was aroused by this, including the verbal brutality.
Jon’s hips rose off the couch, pushing his cock deep into Stephen’s mouth. He gagged, tried not to lose control...and felt the oddest sense of...could it be pride, that he was able to hold on as Jon filled his mouth with hot fluid?
“You like that, don’t you? Come on, you little whore. Swallow. Swallow every fucking drop. Choir boy.”
He wanted to struggle, but Jon’s grasp on his head was too forceful. No place to run to. Nothing to do but submit, and not let himself know how happy he was to do so.
Stephen didn’t need to hear Jon’s voice to know what would happen next. Jon wanted to fuck him and Stephen was going to let him. He was already envisioning it when he went to bed with Evelyn that night. One more thing to feel guilty about. Or was it two?
O my God, I am heartily sorry
for having offended thee,
and I detest all my sins
because of thy just punishment,
but most of all because they
offend thee, my God
who art all good and deserving
of all my love. I firmly resolve
with the help of thy grace
to sin no more and to
avoid the near occasion of sin.
Amen.
Stephen walked down the steps of the old building, pulling his coat around him as he walked into the cold afternoon air. He felt clean, washed in the blood of the lamb.
He couldn’t wait to get back to work. There was a whole list of guests, some of them very attractive, lined up for the next month. He was sure there’d be at least one who’d be happy to come to his dressing room after the show.
You know, just to help him wind down.
Fandom: The Daily Show/The Colbert Report RPS
Pairing: Jon/Stephen
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 1575
Notes/Warnings:
Started over a year ago when I first got into the fandom and was struck by all the niceness
THIS IS NOT A NICE FIC! Contains Catholic!Stephen, Bad!Jon, verbal abuse, dubious consent, mentions of wives and family members, Catholic liturgy. And probably OOC-ness to boot.
Unbeta-ed.
In the Name of the Father, and of the Son
and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Stephen thought he’d made his peace with the Church, leaving the earnest altar boy behind in Charleston. He thought he could tell jokes that mocked the excesses of Catholicism and still believe in the core values of the religion. It was OK to think that what a woman did with her body or consenting adults did in private was none of his or the Pope’s business. He could even support John Kerry and not risk eternal damnation.
Every Sunday, he took Evelyn and the kids to St, Ann’s, where no one seemed to mind his latest “This Week in God” outrage, and he had a cordial relationship with Father Sloane.
Stephen had it all figured out, except for the guilt and shame that drove him to Saint Patrick’s Cathedral every Wednesday for confession. So much for the illusion that he could make fun of the Pope, vote Democrat, and still call himself a good Catholic. That charade had ended in Jon Stewart’s office.
Bless me Father for I have sinned, my
last Confession was one week ago. These
are my sins.
It was about the usual. Getting fucked by Jon, going down on Jon and screwing a production assistant in the stair-well. He wondered if the priests were getting bored with him.
How long had it taken Jon to size him up, he wondered. Was it at the first meeting when Jon had fixed Stephen with his heavy-lidded gaze? Less than a month after he took over from Craig, Jon had started inviting Stephen to help him “wind down” after the show. At first, there were just bull sessions that went on long into the night.
Jon would share bits of himself that made Stephen feel privileged to really know the new Daily Show anchor when the other writers and performers still found him an enigma. Little hints about his relationships with his parents, or intimations that all was not cozy at home with Tracy, or just tales from his life on the stand-up circuit. Sometimes Jon inquired about Stephen’s life, creating a feeling of emotional intimacy.
What happened next was inevitable, in retrospect, but a complete shock to Stephen at the time. The end of a long day, as if they weren't all long days. Jon, clearly exhausted, but still wired.
“Hey, Colbert. Come to my office. Help me unwind a little.”
Two beers from the small refrigerator. Stephen feeling honored to be Jon’s sounding board, relishing any opportunity to make Jon laugh. He’d thought nothing of Jon’s posture on the couch, leaning back with his legs spread.
When Jon said, “Man, I’m tense tonight. You know what would really take the edge off? A good blow job,” Stephen had just smiled. Such typical Jon. And then the escalation of the joke: “I mean, I could always jerk off, but I’d rather have someone do the work for me. You don’t mind helping out, do you, pal?”
It had been impossible to suppress the giggles. Jon could take one of these bits and stretch it forever.
“Jon, you are going to kill me if you keep that up. You look so serious.”
“I am serious.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Yeah. Right. I want you to blow me. Now.”
It had taken an eternity of seconds to absorb that Jon really wasn’t joking.
“Come on,” he protested. “I’m married.”
Jon just waved his own wedding ring in Stephen’s face as if to underscore the inanity of his response.
“I’m not asking you to cheat. Just help out a friend. You’re my friend, right. Tell you what, just a nice friendly hand job. Just like getting yourself off, only it’ll be me instead.”
He looked into Stephen’s eyes, somehow making him feel special and vulnerable at the same time.
“I…” Stephen didn’t believe it was happening then, still couldn’t understand why he hadn’t uttered a firm No and left. He told himself that if he had, it would have ended it there, but he didn’t and it hadn't. How could he walk away when Jon was cajoling, spreading his legs even wider, looking down at the evidence of what he wanted and forcing Stephen to look there too?
Stephen couldn’t move, couldn’t find a single glib word to turn this back into a joke. When he did move, it felt as though he were watching a movie of himself kneeling between Jon’s legs, unzipping his fly and reaching in to find Jon’s dick.
“Oh yeah,” Jon groaned, his voice lewd and sensual. It was shocking to hear Jon sound like that, maybe even more shocking than the fact that Jon reached into his jacket pocket and produced a small tube of KY Jelly. “Here, use this.”
Jon had been that sure of his acquiescence in this…the altar boy wanted to call it depravity. He was kneeling like a good supplicant, and getting, please, God, no aroused by the situation. He’d never touched another man’s body and it turned out to be awkward. The slippery lubricant was more a hindrance than a help in trying do this as quickly as possible so he could get away and then pretend he hadn’t done it. Hadn’t moved his hand up and down in a familiar rhythm. Hadn’t felt the heat transmitting from Jon's body straight to his own groin. Hadn’t been tempted to bend down and take the head in his mouth as though this were just another form of communion.
“Balls,” Jon grunted, “cradle the balls,”
This is so not happening, Stephen had told himself, while following the directions, fascinated by the smoothness of the circumcised head. He ran his thumb over it, producing moans and a series of hoarse commands. “Squeeze it. Harder. Harder. Now! Yes. Yes. Fuck! Yes!”
Stephen’s whole body was trembling as he felt Jon’s balls tighten, and then the sudden rush of stickiness on to his hands. He looked at Jon’s face, utterly relaxed, almost beautiful. Maybe he’d done the right thing, helping his friend out that way. It was OK. He’d be OK. And then Jon opened his eyes and smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile at all.
“Get a paper towel and clean me up.”
Stephen struggled to his feet and did so, wondering if he’d be able to drive home without puking and how he could possibly face Evelyn or himself ever again. Jon had stayed silent while Stephen wiped him off, but that horribly smug grin said everything, until he was just about to leave, still fighting the effects of nausea and self-hatred.
“Next time, you’ll suck me off.”
No, he’d thought. A thousand times no. There is no next time.
It took less than a week.
Back on his knees in the same spot in the same office. He couldn’t remember the details of how he’d gotten there. Only the fact that he’d committed a sin, by taking another man’s dick into his mouth, sucking and licking, relishing the fact that he was giving Jon pleasure, all the while hating himself. Especially when he heard Jon switch from incoherent groans and obscenities to words. Words aimed directly at him.
“You like this don’t you? You love sucking my cock don’t you? Such a good Catholic boy? You’re nothing but a fucking little faggot aren’t you? Come one, harder, take it deeper. You gonna tell your priest about this….you gonna tell him when you get your ass fucked by a Jew?”
Stephen tried to drown out the words. He focused on the hot, swollen flesh in his mouth, the smell, the taste, veins against his tongue, and the horror that again, he was aroused by this, including the verbal brutality.
Jon’s hips rose off the couch, pushing his cock deep into Stephen’s mouth. He gagged, tried not to lose control...and felt the oddest sense of...could it be pride, that he was able to hold on as Jon filled his mouth with hot fluid?
“You like that, don’t you? Come on, you little whore. Swallow. Swallow every fucking drop. Choir boy.”
He wanted to struggle, but Jon’s grasp on his head was too forceful. No place to run to. Nothing to do but submit, and not let himself know how happy he was to do so.
Stephen didn’t need to hear Jon’s voice to know what would happen next. Jon wanted to fuck him and Stephen was going to let him. He was already envisioning it when he went to bed with Evelyn that night. One more thing to feel guilty about. Or was it two?
O my God, I am heartily sorry
for having offended thee,
and I detest all my sins
because of thy just punishment,
but most of all because they
offend thee, my God
who art all good and deserving
of all my love. I firmly resolve
with the help of thy grace
to sin no more and to
avoid the near occasion of sin.
Amen.
Stephen walked down the steps of the old building, pulling his coat around him as he walked into the cold afternoon air. He felt clean, washed in the blood of the lamb.
He couldn’t wait to get back to work. There was a whole list of guests, some of them very attractive, lined up for the next month. He was sure there’d be at least one who’d be happy to come to his dressing room after the show.
You know, just to help him wind down.