Sara (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scripted_sra) wrote2009-03-04 03:29 am
scripted_sra) wrote2009-03-04 03:29 am
Fake News (FPF) | Four Birthday Presents... | PG | Jon/"Stephen"
Title: Four Birthday Presents Stephen Never Received (And One He Did)
Fandom: Fake News (FPF)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jon/“Stephen”
Summary: How four birthdays might have changed Stephen’s life, and how one actually did.
Word Count: 1,020
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: Originally written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sailorptah. Thank you for the beta, Kelly.
i. May 13th, 1967
Stephen tore eagerly through the perfectly gift-wrapped present in front of him, desperate to find out what his mom had gotten him for his birthday this year. The wrapping paper, after putting up a valiant fight, finally conceded defeat, and Stephen opened the box carefully.
“It’s my old teddy bear, Stephen,” his mom was saying, as he picked up the bear out of the box. It was worn, but obviously well-loved and cared for. “When I was your age—whenever I was scared, I’d just hold onto him, and I’d feel better.”
Stephen, only three, hugged the bear close to him. He wasn’t even scared and it still made him feel better. “Thank you, Mommy!” he said happily.
ii. May 13th, 1977
Stephen hated detention. And on his birthday, no less! Stupid Miss Reynolds. It wasn’t like he’d fall asleep in class if they talked about something else besides books. English class was boring, and everybody knew that.
“I hear it’s your birthday today, Stephen,” said Miss Reynolds suddenly. She was seated at her desk, giving him the look she always gave him—critical, appraising, but something else, too.
Stephen shifted in his seat. “Yeah,” he muttered, looking down. “I’m thirteen.”
Miss Reynolds nodded, getting up from behind her desk. She walked over to her bookshelf, pulling something off one of the shelves before heading over and handing it to him. “I want you to have this,” she said. “I know you think you don’t like reading, but give it a chance. I think you’ll enjoy this book, anyway.”
Stephen took the book. The Hobbit, it read, and he glanced up at Miss Reynolds. “Thanks,” he said.
“You can go, Stephen.”
Stephen nodded, taking his backpack and the book and leaving the classroom. He spared one glance back at the room and Miss Reynolds before looking at the book curiously. Shrugging, he headed outside onto the school’s playground and sat under one of the trees, before opening the book and starting to read.
iii. May 13th, 1985
Stephen sat at the bar, drinking alone. Who needed stupid friends to celebrate, anyway? He was having plenty of fun on his own.
“What are you drinking?”
Stephen looked over to his right at the question, realizing the girl who had just sat down at the bar was speaking to him. He gave her a suspicious look. “Why?”
“I was going to buy you a drink. You looked kinda sad.”
He stiffened. “I’m not sad! It’s my birthday! I’m perfectly happy!”
“You’re drinking alone on your birthday?”
“Because I want to,” he snapped.
“Nobody wants to be alone on their birthday,” she said. “I’m Michelle. What’s your name?”
“Stephen,” he said, frowning a little. “Are you hitting on me?”
“You’re cute,” she allowed, smiling, “but not really. I just thought you might want someone to talk to. Do you?”
Stephen hesitated, eventually nodding slowly. “Yeah,” he said.
“Great. So what are you drinking?”
“Bourbon.”
“Bourbon it is,” she said, and ordered him another. “Happy birthday, Stephen.”
iv. May 13th, 1999
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been ten days since my last confession,” Stephen said, shivering just slightly in the confessional. He wasn’t cold—this simply wasn’t his normal church. There was no way he could honestly confess at the church he went to regularly.
“Tell me your sins, son,” said the priest.
“I keep—” He stopped, taking a deep breath. “I keep having these thoughts. Lustful, adulterous thoughts. About—” He hesitated. “About someone at work.”
“Have you acted on these thoughts?”
“No!” Stephen said, indignant. “I wouldn’t. I—I’m not like that. I just want the thoughts to stop! I keep praying and…” he trailed off.
“You’re not like what?” the priest inquired.
“I keep having these thoughts about—about my boss,” Stephen said, voice only slightly above a whisper. “My male boss. But I’m not gay!” he added quickly. When the priest didn’t respond, Stephen continued, “He’s just...he’s so adorable. When he laughs, it’s this high-pitched, girly giggle, and when he smiles at me I just—” Stephen stopped, smiling to himself at the image of Jon’s grin. “And he’s so nice—too nice, almost. He threw me a birthday party today, and there was cake, and he got some frosting on his lip and—and I can’t stop thinking about him! Make it stop!”
“You’re not gay?” asked the priest, but this time he sounded slightly skeptical.
Stephen was affronted. “No! I—never! I’m as straight as an arrow! It’s a sin, besides!”
“My parish has several gay members,” the priest said, slowly, as if carefully considering how best to reply. “If you are gay, and you’re denying part of yourself—that, my son, is worse than being who God made you to be.”
Stephen didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t, instead doing something he was usually very against: he thought about it.
v. May 13th, 2008
Stephen Colbert was speechless. It didn’t happen a lot—ever, really—but that didn’t change the fact that he was. It possibly had something to do with the fact that Jon Stewart had just kissed him. “I—we—but aren’t you straight?” he finally managed, wanting nothing more than to have Jon kiss him again.
Jon smiled, wrapping his arms around Stephen and pulling him close. “Nope,” he said, and kissed him again.
Stephen kissed back this time, pushing Jon down onto the couch and straddling him. He felt Jon push off his jacket as they kissed. Head swimming, he pulled back once more. “I don’t understand. I thought—”
“Stephen,” Jon said kindly, kissing him softly. “I’ve wanted you for awhile now. I’ve had feelings for you for awhile now,” he told him. “What better time to finally tell you than on your birthday?”
Stephen looked into Jon’s eyes, finding a mixture of desire and kindness, and leaned in, kissing him fiercely. “I want you,” he choked out.
“I know,” Jon said. “And you can have me.”
Happy birthday to me, Stephen thought then, and that was it for awhile.
Fandom: Fake News (FPF)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jon/“Stephen”
Summary: How four birthdays might have changed Stephen’s life, and how one actually did.
Word Count: 1,020
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: Originally written for
sailorptah. Thank you for the beta, Kelly.i. May 13th, 1967
Stephen tore eagerly through the perfectly gift-wrapped present in front of him, desperate to find out what his mom had gotten him for his birthday this year. The wrapping paper, after putting up a valiant fight, finally conceded defeat, and Stephen opened the box carefully.
“It’s my old teddy bear, Stephen,” his mom was saying, as he picked up the bear out of the box. It was worn, but obviously well-loved and cared for. “When I was your age—whenever I was scared, I’d just hold onto him, and I’d feel better.”
Stephen, only three, hugged the bear close to him. He wasn’t even scared and it still made him feel better. “Thank you, Mommy!” he said happily.
ii. May 13th, 1977
Stephen hated detention. And on his birthday, no less! Stupid Miss Reynolds. It wasn’t like he’d fall asleep in class if they talked about something else besides books. English class was boring, and everybody knew that.
“I hear it’s your birthday today, Stephen,” said Miss Reynolds suddenly. She was seated at her desk, giving him the look she always gave him—critical, appraising, but something else, too.
Stephen shifted in his seat. “Yeah,” he muttered, looking down. “I’m thirteen.”
Miss Reynolds nodded, getting up from behind her desk. She walked over to her bookshelf, pulling something off one of the shelves before heading over and handing it to him. “I want you to have this,” she said. “I know you think you don’t like reading, but give it a chance. I think you’ll enjoy this book, anyway.”
Stephen took the book. The Hobbit, it read, and he glanced up at Miss Reynolds. “Thanks,” he said.
“You can go, Stephen.”
Stephen nodded, taking his backpack and the book and leaving the classroom. He spared one glance back at the room and Miss Reynolds before looking at the book curiously. Shrugging, he headed outside onto the school’s playground and sat under one of the trees, before opening the book and starting to read.
iii. May 13th, 1985
Stephen sat at the bar, drinking alone. Who needed stupid friends to celebrate, anyway? He was having plenty of fun on his own.
“What are you drinking?”
Stephen looked over to his right at the question, realizing the girl who had just sat down at the bar was speaking to him. He gave her a suspicious look. “Why?”
“I was going to buy you a drink. You looked kinda sad.”
He stiffened. “I’m not sad! It’s my birthday! I’m perfectly happy!”
“You’re drinking alone on your birthday?”
“Because I want to,” he snapped.
“Nobody wants to be alone on their birthday,” she said. “I’m Michelle. What’s your name?”
“Stephen,” he said, frowning a little. “Are you hitting on me?”
“You’re cute,” she allowed, smiling, “but not really. I just thought you might want someone to talk to. Do you?”
Stephen hesitated, eventually nodding slowly. “Yeah,” he said.
“Great. So what are you drinking?”
“Bourbon.”
“Bourbon it is,” she said, and ordered him another. “Happy birthday, Stephen.”
iv. May 13th, 1999
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been ten days since my last confession,” Stephen said, shivering just slightly in the confessional. He wasn’t cold—this simply wasn’t his normal church. There was no way he could honestly confess at the church he went to regularly.
“Tell me your sins, son,” said the priest.
“I keep—” He stopped, taking a deep breath. “I keep having these thoughts. Lustful, adulterous thoughts. About—” He hesitated. “About someone at work.”
“Have you acted on these thoughts?”
“No!” Stephen said, indignant. “I wouldn’t. I—I’m not like that. I just want the thoughts to stop! I keep praying and…” he trailed off.
“You’re not like what?” the priest inquired.
“I keep having these thoughts about—about my boss,” Stephen said, voice only slightly above a whisper. “My male boss. But I’m not gay!” he added quickly. When the priest didn’t respond, Stephen continued, “He’s just...he’s so adorable. When he laughs, it’s this high-pitched, girly giggle, and when he smiles at me I just—” Stephen stopped, smiling to himself at the image of Jon’s grin. “And he’s so nice—too nice, almost. He threw me a birthday party today, and there was cake, and he got some frosting on his lip and—and I can’t stop thinking about him! Make it stop!”
“You’re not gay?” asked the priest, but this time he sounded slightly skeptical.
Stephen was affronted. “No! I—never! I’m as straight as an arrow! It’s a sin, besides!”
“My parish has several gay members,” the priest said, slowly, as if carefully considering how best to reply. “If you are gay, and you’re denying part of yourself—that, my son, is worse than being who God made you to be.”
Stephen didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t, instead doing something he was usually very against: he thought about it.
v. May 13th, 2008
Stephen Colbert was speechless. It didn’t happen a lot—ever, really—but that didn’t change the fact that he was. It possibly had something to do with the fact that Jon Stewart had just kissed him. “I—we—but aren’t you straight?” he finally managed, wanting nothing more than to have Jon kiss him again.
Jon smiled, wrapping his arms around Stephen and pulling him close. “Nope,” he said, and kissed him again.
Stephen kissed back this time, pushing Jon down onto the couch and straddling him. He felt Jon push off his jacket as they kissed. Head swimming, he pulled back once more. “I don’t understand. I thought—”
“Stephen,” Jon said kindly, kissing him softly. “I’ve wanted you for awhile now. I’ve had feelings for you for awhile now,” he told him. “What better time to finally tell you than on your birthday?”
Stephen looked into Jon’s eyes, finding a mixture of desire and kindness, and leaned in, kissing him fiercely. “I want you,” he choked out.
“I know,” Jon said. “And you can have me.”
Happy birthday to me, Stephen thought then, and that was it for awhile.