Sara (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scripted_sra) wrote2009-03-04 03:11 am
scripted_sra) wrote2009-03-04 03:11 am
Fake News (FPF)/Sports Night | The Grand... | PG-13 | Dan/"Stephen"; Jon/"Stephen"; Dan/Casey
Title: The Grand Scheme Of Things
Fandom: Fake News (FPF)/Sports Night
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Dan Rydell/"Stephen"; Jon/"Stephen"; Dan/Casey
Warnings: Angst; references to angry!sex and drunken!sex and sex-in-general; a none-too-healthy relationship.
Summary: They were self-destructive boys with self-destructive habits who enabled each other in the flaming meteor of self-destruction that was their relationship.
Word Count: 1,436
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use. References 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.
A/N: Thank you for the beta, Abigail.
Some relationships were based on mutual understanding. Some relied on only the physical. Some required a deep, penetrating soul-search; others depended more on just deep penetration in general.
They walked the line between those categories, not cautiously, because neither Dan Rydell nor Stephen Colbert would or could or should ever be called cautious men. Sometimes they tipped over one way, or swayed the other, like a very drunk person trying to fool that smug smart ass officer with the sunglasses into thinking that he hadn’t been drinking.
They met at Dartmouth—yes, in college, where else could something like this occur?—when they were assigned as roommates. Stephen’s senior year, Dan’s freshman—they hardly expected much to evolve from it, not that Stephen would’ve used the word evolve.
Maybe they’d stay civil, possibly become acquaintances. Would they be friends? No, of course not.
They ended up a lot more.
*
There was alcohol involved in their relationship, a lot of it. Cans, bottles big and small—beer, cheap vodka, some flavored malted stuff that tasted a little too sweet but they drank it anyway, even a bottle of wine (god knew who had bought that).
They didn’t actually fuck, though, that first time. They kissed drunkenly, and Stephen mumbled how it was a bad idea, and Dan replied that it didn’t matter because they were so trashed, and for some reason that made Stephen break down completely, tears included.
It mattered, he reasoned, because he shouldn’t want it in the first place.
Dan told him flat-out that was bullshit, and Stephen glared, muttering out something about respecting one’s parents, managing self-righteousness even in his inebriated state.
Something about that made Dan snap, throwing the empty vodka bottle at the wall, where it smashed into a million tiny little pieces that fell to the floor with a pitter-patter like rain. Parents didn’t always deserve respect, he insisted determinedly.
Still in shock, Stephen said, Try telling that to my father.
Dan snorted, responding, I can’t even tell mine.
Then they looked at each other, through the haze of alcohol and anger and frustration and tears, and knew, just knew, in that same place in both of their guts, that they had something in common, something monstrous and very ugly.
It was the start of a beautifully fucked-up relationship.
*
Dan secretly envied Stephen’s force of personality, the way wherever he went, someone knew his name, knew who he was. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t always positive recognition; he had a core group of people who adored him, unflinchingly, blindingly, and Dan was in awe. How could all of those people like him, all without even knowing him? He wanted that ability.
Stephen secretly envied Dan’s easy going nature, and with it the way people would just approach him and talk to him and become his friends. While Stephen had a crowd of followers, he had no one he could actually talk to and share things with. Fans were nice, but sometimes, every so often, in the back of his mind, he’d want for a friend.
Dan didn’t know the painstaking effort that Stephen put into projecting the image that others bowed before, and Stephen had no idea about the hours Dan would worry about whether he was being too smarmy or sarcastic or some other obnoxious adjective.
There were lots of things they didn’t know.
*
Drunken sex was rarely good, and drunken first time sex was even worse: not knowing a person and their reactions made things slow-going, but intoxication made the attention that should have been taken impossible.
One mutual jerk-off session and two blowjobs later, Stephen and Dan lay sprawled across Dan’s bed, tired and satisfied because sex was like pizza—it could only really be so bad. They said nothing, didn’t look at each other, and just breathed heavily, eventually falling asleep.
When morning came, bringing sunlight through the window blinds, sobriety, and the hangover to end all hangovers, Dan and Stephen groggily looked at each other and made a tacit agreement to wait before worrying too much about the whats and the whys and the will-this-happen-agains?
Stephen moved back to his bed, and they didn’t talk about it for a week.
*
Their eventual talk was brief:
Should we do that again?
No.
We probably will.
I know.
*
They were drunk again the second time, but not the third or most of the times after that, and it turned out that sex between them could actually be pretty fantastic when they both weren’t blitzed out of their minds.
They also talked more when they were together sober, about things that were meaningless and things that were decidedly not: the latest game, dead siblings, why professors thought you only had one class, shitty fathers, how homework was evil, and the inexplicable need to be loved by everyone.
The topics flew into each other somehow, and the transitions made sense. They talked right before, during, and after, but only then, only in that situation. It was almost as though their intimacy needed to be kept contained, in every manifestation, or it would turn into something neither would ever be able to handle.
Both had doubts they were handling the scenario as it was, anyway.
*
Everything led to sex, with them, but never so explosively as when it was an argument.
They’d yell and scream at each other, because Stephen was an accomplished screamer and Dan was actually pretty decent at it when he tried. Both were passionate, and stubborn, both firmly believing the other was wrong and there was no way in hell they were backing down.
Backing down never happened. One would eventually grab the other, pushing him forcefully against the wall and crushing their mouths together. They’d moan and scratch and frantically press against each other, a mixture of pure rage and pure lust driving their actions.
It was always intense and over quickly, and then their argument was forgotten.
*
In the grand scheme of things, they weren’t good for each other: not in the long-run and, honestly, not even really in the short-run either. They were self-destructive boys with self-destructive habits who enabled each other in the flaming meteor of self-destruction that was their relationship.
Not being good for each other didn’t change the fact that, at the time, in those six months of that school year, it was a necessary thing, their friendship. It was a tool, a stepping stone, a giant cosmic lesson granted by the universe—something to be remembered for later use. They needed to know that there was someone else out there like them, someone else who wondered: Will I be good enough? What if I’m not? Will I ever understand this pain?
They couldn’t answer those questions then, and wouldn’t be able to for awhile, but this provided some notes they could reflect on before the final exam.
*
Years later, in a Duane Reade right near Union Square, Stephen and Dan turned into the same aisle in opposite directions and stopped, staring blatantly at each other.
In an instant, they were back in their old dorm room, the first day they met: Stephen in his well-worn-and-cared-for suit and Dan in his ratty old jeans and sneakers.
“Hi,” said Dan, shuffling his feet and feeling self-conscious.
“Hello,” said Stephen, torn between fear and excitement.
Then they were back in the store, blinking myopically at the other as they tried to work out what to say next.
“I’ve seen your show,” Dan offered.
“I’ve seen yours,” Stephen responded. “Jon loves it.”
“Jon...Stewart?”
“Yes.”
“Are you and he really—”
Stephen flushed, looking away. He’d gotten a lot better at being asked this question, but it still caught him off guard sometimes: all those years of fighting only to have it end up being pointless. “Yes,” he said, and then looked at Dan. “What about you and—”
“Yeah,” Dan confirmed, looking pleased and just the slightest bit embarrassed. “Who would’ve thought we would’ve both found people to put up with us? Not me.”
Stephen agreed.
It was that moment that they knew they’d both changed drastically—and for the better—and that they were both decidedly not the same young college students they once were.
This revelation made them both smile, just slightly. They bid each other fond farewells and made promises to keep in touch—false promises, of course, because they were each other’s pasts, and the past most definitely needed to stay ensconced in vague memories where it belonged.
They’d moved on from that. There was no need to go back.
Fandom: Fake News (FPF)/Sports Night
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Dan Rydell/"Stephen"; Jon/"Stephen"; Dan/Casey
Warnings: Angst; references to angry!sex and drunken!sex and sex-in-general; a none-too-healthy relationship.
Summary: They were self-destructive boys with self-destructive habits who enabled each other in the flaming meteor of self-destruction that was their relationship.
Word Count: 1,436
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use. References 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.
A/N: Thank you for the beta, Abigail.
Some relationships were based on mutual understanding. Some relied on only the physical. Some required a deep, penetrating soul-search; others depended more on just deep penetration in general.
They walked the line between those categories, not cautiously, because neither Dan Rydell nor Stephen Colbert would or could or should ever be called cautious men. Sometimes they tipped over one way, or swayed the other, like a very drunk person trying to fool that smug smart ass officer with the sunglasses into thinking that he hadn’t been drinking.
They met at Dartmouth—yes, in college, where else could something like this occur?—when they were assigned as roommates. Stephen’s senior year, Dan’s freshman—they hardly expected much to evolve from it, not that Stephen would’ve used the word evolve.
Maybe they’d stay civil, possibly become acquaintances. Would they be friends? No, of course not.
They ended up a lot more.
There was alcohol involved in their relationship, a lot of it. Cans, bottles big and small—beer, cheap vodka, some flavored malted stuff that tasted a little too sweet but they drank it anyway, even a bottle of wine (god knew who had bought that).
They didn’t actually fuck, though, that first time. They kissed drunkenly, and Stephen mumbled how it was a bad idea, and Dan replied that it didn’t matter because they were so trashed, and for some reason that made Stephen break down completely, tears included.
It mattered, he reasoned, because he shouldn’t want it in the first place.
Dan told him flat-out that was bullshit, and Stephen glared, muttering out something about respecting one’s parents, managing self-righteousness even in his inebriated state.
Something about that made Dan snap, throwing the empty vodka bottle at the wall, where it smashed into a million tiny little pieces that fell to the floor with a pitter-patter like rain. Parents didn’t always deserve respect, he insisted determinedly.
Still in shock, Stephen said, Try telling that to my father.
Dan snorted, responding, I can’t even tell mine.
Then they looked at each other, through the haze of alcohol and anger and frustration and tears, and knew, just knew, in that same place in both of their guts, that they had something in common, something monstrous and very ugly.
It was the start of a beautifully fucked-up relationship.
Dan secretly envied Stephen’s force of personality, the way wherever he went, someone knew his name, knew who he was. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t always positive recognition; he had a core group of people who adored him, unflinchingly, blindingly, and Dan was in awe. How could all of those people like him, all without even knowing him? He wanted that ability.
Stephen secretly envied Dan’s easy going nature, and with it the way people would just approach him and talk to him and become his friends. While Stephen had a crowd of followers, he had no one he could actually talk to and share things with. Fans were nice, but sometimes, every so often, in the back of his mind, he’d want for a friend.
Dan didn’t know the painstaking effort that Stephen put into projecting the image that others bowed before, and Stephen had no idea about the hours Dan would worry about whether he was being too smarmy or sarcastic or some other obnoxious adjective.
There were lots of things they didn’t know.
Drunken sex was rarely good, and drunken first time sex was even worse: not knowing a person and their reactions made things slow-going, but intoxication made the attention that should have been taken impossible.
One mutual jerk-off session and two blowjobs later, Stephen and Dan lay sprawled across Dan’s bed, tired and satisfied because sex was like pizza—it could only really be so bad. They said nothing, didn’t look at each other, and just breathed heavily, eventually falling asleep.
When morning came, bringing sunlight through the window blinds, sobriety, and the hangover to end all hangovers, Dan and Stephen groggily looked at each other and made a tacit agreement to wait before worrying too much about the whats and the whys and the will-this-happen-agains?
Stephen moved back to his bed, and they didn’t talk about it for a week.
Their eventual talk was brief:
Should we do that again?
No.
We probably will.
I know.
They were drunk again the second time, but not the third or most of the times after that, and it turned out that sex between them could actually be pretty fantastic when they both weren’t blitzed out of their minds.
They also talked more when they were together sober, about things that were meaningless and things that were decidedly not: the latest game, dead siblings, why professors thought you only had one class, shitty fathers, how homework was evil, and the inexplicable need to be loved by everyone.
The topics flew into each other somehow, and the transitions made sense. They talked right before, during, and after, but only then, only in that situation. It was almost as though their intimacy needed to be kept contained, in every manifestation, or it would turn into something neither would ever be able to handle.
Both had doubts they were handling the scenario as it was, anyway.
Everything led to sex, with them, but never so explosively as when it was an argument.
They’d yell and scream at each other, because Stephen was an accomplished screamer and Dan was actually pretty decent at it when he tried. Both were passionate, and stubborn, both firmly believing the other was wrong and there was no way in hell they were backing down.
Backing down never happened. One would eventually grab the other, pushing him forcefully against the wall and crushing their mouths together. They’d moan and scratch and frantically press against each other, a mixture of pure rage and pure lust driving their actions.
It was always intense and over quickly, and then their argument was forgotten.
In the grand scheme of things, they weren’t good for each other: not in the long-run and, honestly, not even really in the short-run either. They were self-destructive boys with self-destructive habits who enabled each other in the flaming meteor of self-destruction that was their relationship.
Not being good for each other didn’t change the fact that, at the time, in those six months of that school year, it was a necessary thing, their friendship. It was a tool, a stepping stone, a giant cosmic lesson granted by the universe—something to be remembered for later use. They needed to know that there was someone else out there like them, someone else who wondered: Will I be good enough? What if I’m not? Will I ever understand this pain?
They couldn’t answer those questions then, and wouldn’t be able to for awhile, but this provided some notes they could reflect on before the final exam.
Years later, in a Duane Reade right near Union Square, Stephen and Dan turned into the same aisle in opposite directions and stopped, staring blatantly at each other.
In an instant, they were back in their old dorm room, the first day they met: Stephen in his well-worn-and-cared-for suit and Dan in his ratty old jeans and sneakers.
“Hi,” said Dan, shuffling his feet and feeling self-conscious.
“Hello,” said Stephen, torn between fear and excitement.
Then they were back in the store, blinking myopically at the other as they tried to work out what to say next.
“I’ve seen your show,” Dan offered.
“I’ve seen yours,” Stephen responded. “Jon loves it.”
“Jon...Stewart?”
“Yes.”
“Are you and he really—”
Stephen flushed, looking away. He’d gotten a lot better at being asked this question, but it still caught him off guard sometimes: all those years of fighting only to have it end up being pointless. “Yes,” he said, and then looked at Dan. “What about you and—”
“Yeah,” Dan confirmed, looking pleased and just the slightest bit embarrassed. “Who would’ve thought we would’ve both found people to put up with us? Not me.”
Stephen agreed.
It was that moment that they knew they’d both changed drastically—and for the better—and that they were both decidedly not the same young college students they once were.
This revelation made them both smile, just slightly. They bid each other fond farewells and made promises to keep in touch—false promises, of course, because they were each other’s pasts, and the past most definitely needed to stay ensconced in vague memories where it belonged.
They’d moved on from that. There was no need to go back.