Sara (
scripted_sra) wrote2009-03-22 04:04 am
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Fake News (FPF) | Five Times Jon... | R | Jon/"Stephen"
Title: Five Times Jon Probably Needed To Tell Stephen No (But Didn’t)
Fandom: Fake News (FPF)
Rating: R
Pairing: Jon/”Stephen”
Content: References to a D/s-style relationship.
Summary: Sometimes Jon has trouble when it comes to telling Stephen no.
Word Count: 1,500
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: I had the first scene written for a little while, and then the title jumped into my head, which spawned the rest. Finally my brain let me finish it. These are Needverse snippets. Thanks for the beta, Kelly.
* ONE *
“Jon!” called Stephen, walking into the bedroom with purpose, carrying a tape measure. “I need to measure your cock!”
Jon, who had simply been sitting in bed, reading, blinked, lowered his book, and looked up. “…what?” he asked, pretty sure he’d misheard. That statement didn’t make any sense otherwise.
“I need to measure your cock,” Stephen repeated. “I think its eight inches but the stupid people online think I’m lying, so I want to make sure.”
“Um,” said Jon. How the hell did you respond to that? “Is there a reason you’re talking about my cock online?”
Stephen sat down on the bed. “It’s this forum I belong to. Someone started talking about circumcision, and how it was bad, or whatever, and I replied that was ridiculous because everyone knows circumcised cocks just feel the best.” He shrugged. “Then somehow we started talking about size. I told them you were probably bigger than them and they said I was lying.” Stephen sulked. “They’re just jealous.”
“Uh-huh,” Jon replied, wondering if perhaps he should monitor Stephen’s computer access more closely. “Can I make a suggestion?”
“I guess.”
“Why not just walk away? Who cares what they think?”
“Jon!” Stephen said, standing up suddenly, clearly indignant. Really, what had Jon expected with that? He should’ve known better. “I can’t! Then they’ll really think I lied!” He crossed his arms. “Now can I measure your cock?”
“Stephen, come on, who cares what a few strangers on the internet think...”
Oh, damn. There it was—that pout. It was the look that said, “How can you not give into this face? Do you have a heart of stone?” Would he ever get better at telling Stephen no?
Maybe. Eventually, anyway, some months down the road. It looked like he hadn’t quite gotten there yet.
* TWO *
Stephen looked down. “I’m sorry, Your Highness,” he said. “I just—I didn’t know how else to make money. Please don’t kill me. Please,” he begged, looking up, eyes pleading.
“What would you do if I agreed to spare you?”
“Anything, Your Majesty,” Stephen breathed. “Anything.”
The next line was supposed to be dramatic, but Jon couldn’t quite manage to deliver it; he started giggling helplessly. Stephen gave him a cross look, letting out an exasperated huff. “Jon! Stay in character!”
“Sorry, sorry,” said Jon hastily. “But, Stephen, come on, this makes me feel ridiculous,” he added, reaching up to fix the crown that had shifted slightly, now sitting haphazardly on his head. “Are the costumes really necessary?”
“You said I could pick the game tonight!” Stephen reminded him, as indignant as he could probably manage with his hands shackled behind his back. They rustled noisily with his movements.
“Yes, I did, didn’t I?” Jon said to himself, resigned. He stopped himself from shaking his head just in time; he had a feeling it’d be dangerous. Straightening his clothes—which were the most ostentatious robes he’d ever seen, so he made a mental note to ask Stephen where the hell he’d gotten them—he looked at Stephen. “What exactly do you want me to do again?”
“Start acting kingly!” Stephen said, rolling his eyes. “Remember, I’m your concubine. Order me around!”
“Don’t I usually do that? Why do we have to dress up in funny clothes this time?”
“It’s different this way. You own me.” Stephen looked like he would’ve crossed his arms defiantly had he been able. “Besides, it’s fun.”
“Whatever you say, Stephen. Whatever you say.”
“No, Jon!” Stephen said, annoyed. “Whatever you say! Got it?”
“Right,” Jon replied, sighing. It was going to be a long night.
* THREE *
Jon wasn’t entirely sure which set of eyes were more puppy-like: Stephen’s, or the eyes of the actual puppy he was holding. “Please, Jon!” Stephen said. “He’s so cute. How can we leave him?”
He should’ve known bringing Stephen into a pet store was a bad idea. “I don’t think Sammy will like the invasion of his territory.”
Stephen huffed. “That cat just thinks he’s better than everyone.”
“Of course he does. He’s a cat.”
“Still,” Stephen said. “We need a dog. Dogs are big and powerful and manly and they don’t steal your side of the bed without a thought or decide to sleep on top of your head in the middle of the night.”
Jon bit back a laugh. The Sammy vs. Stephen war that had been going on since he’d brought the cat home hadn’t quite resolved itself yet, and he found it endlessly amusing. “They do, however, take a lot of effort, need a lot of attention, and cannot be gotten rid of the second you lose interest.” He gave Stephen a pointed look.
“I know that!” he said hastily. “And I’d take care of him.” He scratched behind the puppy’s ears, and he happily wagged his tail, seemingly content to allow this, and to stay in Stephen’s arms. Jon had to admit that it was really fucking cute.
“He does seem to like you,” Jon allowed, reaching out to pet him, which he also seemed to like.
“Of course he likes me. He’s not un-American, like your cat.”
“Sammy does actually like you, Stephen,” Jon said. “He just likes annoying you more.”
“Whatever, Jon,” Stephen replied dismissively. “Can we keep him? Please?”
Then he had both sets of puppy-dog eyes trained on him again, so he felt he couldn’t reasonably be blamed for giving in.
* FOUR *
Stephen pounced on Jon the second he walked in the door, kissing him heatedly, passionately, hands roaming, barely leaving him able to figure out what the hell was going on. “Stephen, Christ,” he said, groaning when Stephen started on his neck, hands groping his ass, eventually ending up on his knees in front of him.
“Can I, Jon? Please?” he begged, eyes dark with lust. His fingers were moving rhythmically over the bulge in his pants, and Jon decided that he really didn’t need to think right now anyway. He nodded, and Stephen beamed, proceeding to pull the zipper down with his teeth, and Jesus fucking Christ, Jon wasn’t sure what had made him so eager, but he made a mental note to ask so he could do it again. Of course, then Stephen’s mouth was on his cock, and the ability to make mental notes packed up, waved goodbye, and went on its way, leaving Jon to groan and scrape at the door behind him.
“Fuck, Stephen, so good,” he moaned, one hand threading through his hair, and then Stephen deep-throated him, making his hips jerk helplessly. He didn’t hold back, fucking Stephen’s incredible mouth, crying out loudly when he started humming around him, and desperately trying to muffle his sounds with his fist as he came hard not long after. Who the fuck would be able to last after that?
Stephen swallowed, leaning back on his knees and looking at Jon, who panted, “What did I do to deserve that?”
“The interview,” Stephen replied, eyes still dark. “So hot.”
Jon thought about telling Stephen that it wasn’t supposed to be, that it was supposed to be serious, but the way he was looking at him made him change his mind. It wasn’t like he could think properly anyway.
* FIVE *
Jon should’ve warned him, discouraged him, done something, because he’d known that it wouldn’t end well, Stephen telling his family about the two of them. Sure, sheer odds dictated that at least a couple of them would be happy for them, but logic dictated that most of them wouldn’t, considering Stephen himself.
He wound up getting a choked-up phone call from Stephen late at night, two days after he’d left—he’d insisted on going alone, something else that Jon kicked himself for giving in on—hiccupping as he told him he was at the airport, and would he please pick him up? Jon cursed silently to himself before agreeing, heading out still half in his pajamas.
When they got back, Stephen puttered around their apartment, unable to sleep and trying to pretend nothing was wrong, until the dam broke, around four in the morning. Jon held him as he collapsed. “I’m not crying!” Stephen repeated about five times every half hour, patently ignoring the tears streaming down his cheeks. “I’m not.”
Jon just nodded, holding him closer and running his hand through Stephen’s hair, murmuring soothing words of comfort, trying to make everything better. “I’m sorry,” he eventually told Stephen’s sleeping form, some two hours later, after the emotional exhaustion had finally taken its toll. “I fucked up,” he added, but that might’ve been more to himself than to Stephen. “I promise I’ll do better next time.”
Stephen, who had apparently not been completely asleep, opened his tired, half-lidded eyes to look at him. He was silent for a minute or so, eventually saying, “Don’t be stupid, Jon. You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.” Then he closed his eyes again, and Jon smiled, kissing him softly.
“Love you,” he said, and Stephen smiled—albeit just slightly—too.
Fandom: Fake News (FPF)
Rating: R
Pairing: Jon/”Stephen”
Content: References to a D/s-style relationship.
Summary: Sometimes Jon has trouble when it comes to telling Stephen no.
Word Count: 1,500
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: I had the first scene written for a little while, and then the title jumped into my head, which spawned the rest. Finally my brain let me finish it. These are Needverse snippets. Thanks for the beta, Kelly.
“Jon!” called Stephen, walking into the bedroom with purpose, carrying a tape measure. “I need to measure your cock!”
Jon, who had simply been sitting in bed, reading, blinked, lowered his book, and looked up. “…what?” he asked, pretty sure he’d misheard. That statement didn’t make any sense otherwise.
“I need to measure your cock,” Stephen repeated. “I think its eight inches but the stupid people online think I’m lying, so I want to make sure.”
“Um,” said Jon. How the hell did you respond to that? “Is there a reason you’re talking about my cock online?”
Stephen sat down on the bed. “It’s this forum I belong to. Someone started talking about circumcision, and how it was bad, or whatever, and I replied that was ridiculous because everyone knows circumcised cocks just feel the best.” He shrugged. “Then somehow we started talking about size. I told them you were probably bigger than them and they said I was lying.” Stephen sulked. “They’re just jealous.”
“Uh-huh,” Jon replied, wondering if perhaps he should monitor Stephen’s computer access more closely. “Can I make a suggestion?”
“I guess.”
“Why not just walk away? Who cares what they think?”
“Jon!” Stephen said, standing up suddenly, clearly indignant. Really, what had Jon expected with that? He should’ve known better. “I can’t! Then they’ll really think I lied!” He crossed his arms. “Now can I measure your cock?”
“Stephen, come on, who cares what a few strangers on the internet think...”
Oh, damn. There it was—that pout. It was the look that said, “How can you not give into this face? Do you have a heart of stone?” Would he ever get better at telling Stephen no?
Maybe. Eventually, anyway, some months down the road. It looked like he hadn’t quite gotten there yet.
Stephen looked down. “I’m sorry, Your Highness,” he said. “I just—I didn’t know how else to make money. Please don’t kill me. Please,” he begged, looking up, eyes pleading.
“What would you do if I agreed to spare you?”
“Anything, Your Majesty,” Stephen breathed. “Anything.”
The next line was supposed to be dramatic, but Jon couldn’t quite manage to deliver it; he started giggling helplessly. Stephen gave him a cross look, letting out an exasperated huff. “Jon! Stay in character!”
“Sorry, sorry,” said Jon hastily. “But, Stephen, come on, this makes me feel ridiculous,” he added, reaching up to fix the crown that had shifted slightly, now sitting haphazardly on his head. “Are the costumes really necessary?”
“You said I could pick the game tonight!” Stephen reminded him, as indignant as he could probably manage with his hands shackled behind his back. They rustled noisily with his movements.
“Yes, I did, didn’t I?” Jon said to himself, resigned. He stopped himself from shaking his head just in time; he had a feeling it’d be dangerous. Straightening his clothes—which were the most ostentatious robes he’d ever seen, so he made a mental note to ask Stephen where the hell he’d gotten them—he looked at Stephen. “What exactly do you want me to do again?”
“Start acting kingly!” Stephen said, rolling his eyes. “Remember, I’m your concubine. Order me around!”
“Don’t I usually do that? Why do we have to dress up in funny clothes this time?”
“It’s different this way. You own me.” Stephen looked like he would’ve crossed his arms defiantly had he been able. “Besides, it’s fun.”
“Whatever you say, Stephen. Whatever you say.”
“No, Jon!” Stephen said, annoyed. “Whatever you say! Got it?”
“Right,” Jon replied, sighing. It was going to be a long night.
Jon wasn’t entirely sure which set of eyes were more puppy-like: Stephen’s, or the eyes of the actual puppy he was holding. “Please, Jon!” Stephen said. “He’s so cute. How can we leave him?”
He should’ve known bringing Stephen into a pet store was a bad idea. “I don’t think Sammy will like the invasion of his territory.”
Stephen huffed. “That cat just thinks he’s better than everyone.”
“Of course he does. He’s a cat.”
“Still,” Stephen said. “We need a dog. Dogs are big and powerful and manly and they don’t steal your side of the bed without a thought or decide to sleep on top of your head in the middle of the night.”
Jon bit back a laugh. The Sammy vs. Stephen war that had been going on since he’d brought the cat home hadn’t quite resolved itself yet, and he found it endlessly amusing. “They do, however, take a lot of effort, need a lot of attention, and cannot be gotten rid of the second you lose interest.” He gave Stephen a pointed look.
“I know that!” he said hastily. “And I’d take care of him.” He scratched behind the puppy’s ears, and he happily wagged his tail, seemingly content to allow this, and to stay in Stephen’s arms. Jon had to admit that it was really fucking cute.
“He does seem to like you,” Jon allowed, reaching out to pet him, which he also seemed to like.
“Of course he likes me. He’s not un-American, like your cat.”
“Sammy does actually like you, Stephen,” Jon said. “He just likes annoying you more.”
“Whatever, Jon,” Stephen replied dismissively. “Can we keep him? Please?”
Then he had both sets of puppy-dog eyes trained on him again, so he felt he couldn’t reasonably be blamed for giving in.
Stephen pounced on Jon the second he walked in the door, kissing him heatedly, passionately, hands roaming, barely leaving him able to figure out what the hell was going on. “Stephen, Christ,” he said, groaning when Stephen started on his neck, hands groping his ass, eventually ending up on his knees in front of him.
“Can I, Jon? Please?” he begged, eyes dark with lust. His fingers were moving rhythmically over the bulge in his pants, and Jon decided that he really didn’t need to think right now anyway. He nodded, and Stephen beamed, proceeding to pull the zipper down with his teeth, and Jesus fucking Christ, Jon wasn’t sure what had made him so eager, but he made a mental note to ask so he could do it again. Of course, then Stephen’s mouth was on his cock, and the ability to make mental notes packed up, waved goodbye, and went on its way, leaving Jon to groan and scrape at the door behind him.
“Fuck, Stephen, so good,” he moaned, one hand threading through his hair, and then Stephen deep-throated him, making his hips jerk helplessly. He didn’t hold back, fucking Stephen’s incredible mouth, crying out loudly when he started humming around him, and desperately trying to muffle his sounds with his fist as he came hard not long after. Who the fuck would be able to last after that?
Stephen swallowed, leaning back on his knees and looking at Jon, who panted, “What did I do to deserve that?”
“The interview,” Stephen replied, eyes still dark. “So hot.”
Jon thought about telling Stephen that it wasn’t supposed to be, that it was supposed to be serious, but the way he was looking at him made him change his mind. It wasn’t like he could think properly anyway.
Jon should’ve warned him, discouraged him, done something, because he’d known that it wouldn’t end well, Stephen telling his family about the two of them. Sure, sheer odds dictated that at least a couple of them would be happy for them, but logic dictated that most of them wouldn’t, considering Stephen himself.
He wound up getting a choked-up phone call from Stephen late at night, two days after he’d left—he’d insisted on going alone, something else that Jon kicked himself for giving in on—hiccupping as he told him he was at the airport, and would he please pick him up? Jon cursed silently to himself before agreeing, heading out still half in his pajamas.
When they got back, Stephen puttered around their apartment, unable to sleep and trying to pretend nothing was wrong, until the dam broke, around four in the morning. Jon held him as he collapsed. “I’m not crying!” Stephen repeated about five times every half hour, patently ignoring the tears streaming down his cheeks. “I’m not.”
Jon just nodded, holding him closer and running his hand through Stephen’s hair, murmuring soothing words of comfort, trying to make everything better. “I’m sorry,” he eventually told Stephen’s sleeping form, some two hours later, after the emotional exhaustion had finally taken its toll. “I fucked up,” he added, but that might’ve been more to himself than to Stephen. “I promise I’ll do better next time.”
Stephen, who had apparently not been completely asleep, opened his tired, half-lidded eyes to look at him. He was silent for a minute or so, eventually saying, “Don’t be stupid, Jon. You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.” Then he closed his eyes again, and Jon smiled, kissing him softly.
“Love you,” he said, and Stephen smiled—albeit just slightly—too.