Sara (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scripted_sra) wrote2009-09-14 01:03 am
scripted_sra) wrote2009-09-14 01:03 am
Fake News (FPF) | Needing To Catch A Breath | NC-17 | Jon/"Stephen"
Title: Needing To Catch A Breath
Fandom: Fake News (FPF)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jon/"Stephen"
Summary: Stephen's reaction to Jon's interview about health insurance.
Word Count: 590
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 a![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fakenews_fanfic Open Thread.
“I just wanted to say, that even though you're a tax-and-spend, bleeding-heart liberal, and you're in favor of socialism,” Stephen started, climbing into the car that would take them back their apartment, “that was so awesome.”
Jon quirked an eyebrow. “You watched it?”
“Only by chance,” Stephen said nonchalantly. “I just so happened to be online, and I accidentally typed The Daily Show's website into my address bar, and then I inadvertently clicked on the full interview. I didn’t mean to watch the whole thing.”
“Ah, I see,” Jon said, trying to hide his amusement. “That’s a lucky coincidence.”
“Normally you’re so polite,” continued Stephen obliviously, sliding closer to Jon and toying with the buttons on his shirt, “but you really nailed that lady. I told you being respectful of the other person is no way to win an argument. It’s about time you finally listened to me.”
“I was trying to be polite,” Jon protested. “She just—she kept talking to me like I was five. It got annoying.”
“You didn’t beat her over her stupid head with her giant binder,” Stephen pointed out. “That’s something.” His hands drifted over Jon’s chest, steadily moving lower. “I bet some people found the whole thing really hot.”
Jon smirked at Stephen. “Were you one of them?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jon,” he said imperiously, sliding off the seat and kneeling on the floor of the car in front of him. His hands worked at Jon’s pants’ button and fly even as he was saying, “I’m used to seeing people nailed. I do it almost every day.”
“Right,” said Jon, though it was more like a moan, because Stephen took that opportunity to snake a hand inside his pants, squeezing his cock expertly.
“Even if it was masterful,” Stephen added, freeing Jon’s rapidly-hardening cock, his eyes obviously asking permission. Jon nodded, almost imperceptibly, and Stephen leaned down, pressing his lips to the head, abruptly taking it into his mouth. Jon groaned, bringing a hand to Stephen’s hair—noting, briefly, that it had grown back to the point where he could get a good grip on it again. He rested his other arm along the seat he was on, squeezing at the cushion and throwing his head back as Stephen bobbed up and down on his cock, working him frantically. When his hips lifted, almost involuntarily, Stephen took it in stride, deep-throating Jon with apparent ease.
“Fuck, Stephen,” Jon groaned, lifting his head to watch him, grip on his hair tightening when Stephen moaned around his cock. He cried out at the sensation, nails biting into the seat cushion, and then there was humming, and Jon knew he was done for. Stephen was too good at this. “So fucking good,” he gasped, fighting a losing battle to hold onto his control, just as Stephen sped up his movements, the intensity of the vibrations through his cock increasing, and his hips jerked once, twice more and he came hard, muffling his cry of Stephen’s name with his fist.
Stephen licked him clean, pulling off and wiping his mouth before tucking him away and sitting back down next to him on the seat. Jon wrapped a lazy arm around him, and Stephen nuzzled against his neck. “Maybe I thought it was a little bit hot,” he admitted then, and Jon chuckled breathlessly. “Maybe it made me want you to bend me over our couch and fuck me so hard I forget my own name, too.”
At that, Jon gave up on trying to catch his breath.
Fandom: Fake News (FPF)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jon/"Stephen"
Summary: Stephen's reaction to Jon's interview about health insurance.
Word Count: 590
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 a
fakenews_fanfic Open Thread.“I just wanted to say, that even though you're a tax-and-spend, bleeding-heart liberal, and you're in favor of socialism,” Stephen started, climbing into the car that would take them back their apartment, “that was so awesome.”
Jon quirked an eyebrow. “You watched it?”
“Only by chance,” Stephen said nonchalantly. “I just so happened to be online, and I accidentally typed The Daily Show's website into my address bar, and then I inadvertently clicked on the full interview. I didn’t mean to watch the whole thing.”
“Ah, I see,” Jon said, trying to hide his amusement. “That’s a lucky coincidence.”
“Normally you’re so polite,” continued Stephen obliviously, sliding closer to Jon and toying with the buttons on his shirt, “but you really nailed that lady. I told you being respectful of the other person is no way to win an argument. It’s about time you finally listened to me.”
“I was trying to be polite,” Jon protested. “She just—she kept talking to me like I was five. It got annoying.”
“You didn’t beat her over her stupid head with her giant binder,” Stephen pointed out. “That’s something.” His hands drifted over Jon’s chest, steadily moving lower. “I bet some people found the whole thing really hot.”
Jon smirked at Stephen. “Were you one of them?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jon,” he said imperiously, sliding off the seat and kneeling on the floor of the car in front of him. His hands worked at Jon’s pants’ button and fly even as he was saying, “I’m used to seeing people nailed. I do it almost every day.”
“Right,” said Jon, though it was more like a moan, because Stephen took that opportunity to snake a hand inside his pants, squeezing his cock expertly.
“Even if it was masterful,” Stephen added, freeing Jon’s rapidly-hardening cock, his eyes obviously asking permission. Jon nodded, almost imperceptibly, and Stephen leaned down, pressing his lips to the head, abruptly taking it into his mouth. Jon groaned, bringing a hand to Stephen’s hair—noting, briefly, that it had grown back to the point where he could get a good grip on it again. He rested his other arm along the seat he was on, squeezing at the cushion and throwing his head back as Stephen bobbed up and down on his cock, working him frantically. When his hips lifted, almost involuntarily, Stephen took it in stride, deep-throating Jon with apparent ease.
“Fuck, Stephen,” Jon groaned, lifting his head to watch him, grip on his hair tightening when Stephen moaned around his cock. He cried out at the sensation, nails biting into the seat cushion, and then there was humming, and Jon knew he was done for. Stephen was too good at this. “So fucking good,” he gasped, fighting a losing battle to hold onto his control, just as Stephen sped up his movements, the intensity of the vibrations through his cock increasing, and his hips jerked once, twice more and he came hard, muffling his cry of Stephen’s name with his fist.
Stephen licked him clean, pulling off and wiping his mouth before tucking him away and sitting back down next to him on the seat. Jon wrapped a lazy arm around him, and Stephen nuzzled against his neck. “Maybe I thought it was a little bit hot,” he admitted then, and Jon chuckled breathlessly. “Maybe it made me want you to bend me over our couch and fuck me so hard I forget my own name, too.”
At that, Jon gave up on trying to catch his breath.