scripted_sra: Mike, Sam, and Fi, in suits, standing and looking badass. (Default)
Sara ([personal profile] scripted_sra) wrote2009-03-04 03:35 am

Fake News (RPF) | Make Me | NC-17 | Jon/Stephen

Title: Make Me
Fandom: Fake News (RPF)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jon/Stephen
Warning: D/s; some tie!kink.
Summary: Stephen issues a challenge. Jon accepts.
Word Count: 1,489
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] fakenews_fanfic’s Secret Santa fic exchange. Thanks for the beta, Kelly.


It occurred to Jon that about the time he’d pressed Stephen up against that ridiculous C-shaped desk of his, things had gotten strange somewhere. He couldn’t even blame it on an altered state, since they hadn’t been drinking—just fucking around, like usual.

Their familiar game of give-and-take, back-and-forth had somehow resulted in Jon rolling his eyes and telling Stephen to shut the fuck up, in response to which Stephen had immediately smirked and replied, “Make me, Stewart.”

“Sometimes, Stephen,” Jon had answered, “I think you’re seriously a twelve-year-old.”

“Is that your way of saying you know you couldn’t if you tried?”

They’d been down this road before, of course: Stephen playing up the false-bravado as Jon mocked him for it, but something in Stephen’s tone was different this time, and without permission from his brain, Jon found himself replying, “Make that a bratty twelve-year-old.” The next thing he knew, he was taking a step forward, bringing them barely an inch apart. Out of reflex, it seemed, Stephen moved back, and Jon stepped forward again, watching the expression on Stephen’s face change from playfully arrogant to challenging as he stepped backward once again.

It eventually got to the point where Stephen couldn’t move anymore, backed against the desk as he was, and he said, “Is that the best you’ve got?” Even from his cornered position, Jon was struck by how he kept pushing, and he smirked at him.

“I thought I told you to shut the fuck up?” he asked, not giving Stephen a chance to respond. He tugged roughly on Stephen’s tie—he was never in as much of a hurry to change out of his suits like Jon was, because he wore them like he’d been born in them—bringing his head down so he could crush their lips together firmly.

Jon was less surprised than he felt he ought to have been about the eager way Stephen responded, enthusiastically deepening the kiss as he pressed closer. He returned in kind by pushing against Stephen a little more, to the point where the man was half-sitting on the desk as they kissed, his arms sliding around his waist and lower, giving his ass a firm grope. One of them groaned into the kiss, but fuck if Jon knew who it had been.

It wasn’t until they broke apart that Jon realized he was still holding tightly onto Stephen’s tie, and that Stephen didn’t seem to mind this one bit. Moving his hand up, he slid two fingers under the collar part of the tie and tugged lightly, smirking at the way Stephen’s eyes fell shut as he let Jon tug his head down again without complaint. Unbuttoning the first two buttons of Stephen’s shirt—but leaving the tie on, of course—Jon leaned in and sucked roughly on his Adam apple, smiling against his skin at the moan Stephen let out.

“Fuck, Jon, I—” Stephen started, but fell silent after a sharp tug on his tie.

“No talking, remember?” Jon said, pulling away from Stephen’s neck.

The look in Stephen’s eyes told Jon that yes, he remembered, and he was still debating what to make of that. After a few seconds of hesitation, he nodded slowly, and Jon grinned at him, pulling him in for another deep kiss. His free hand moved between them, working on Stephen’s belt and pants with practiced ease, slipping inside and finding his cock. This time he knew it was Stephen who had groaned into their kiss, perfectly in sync with Jon’s deliberate grope. He stroked expertly, teasingly, enjoying every noise that Stephen made.

“Fucking tease,” Stephen ground out in between their kisses and Jon purposely removed his hand, giving him an unimpressed look.

“Do I have to stuff your tie in your mouth to get you to be quiet?” he asked, satisfied by the way Stephen’s eyes widened just a little bit. He shook his head in response, and Jon answered by grasping his cock yet again, giving it a very purposeful squeeze. The surprised moan Stephen let out made his own cock harden even more.

“God, I want to fuck you,” he said suddenly, almost without realizing it, since he’d been sure he’d only thought it, not spoken the sentiment out loud. Stephen’s sharp intake of breath and the eager way he pressed into Jon’s hand told him otherwise. “Guess you like that idea, huh?”

Stephen nodded, but didn’t say a word, and Jon smirked approvingly. “Over your desk?”

Stephen’s eyes widened and he nodded again. He opened his mouth to say something but seemed to think better of it, gesturing behind the desk. Curious, Jon leaned over far enough to see a bottle of hand lotion sitting on one of the shelves. He couldn’t help but let out a giggle. “Is this why your hands are always so soft?” he wondered, and laughed harder at the look Stephen shot him. He stopped laughing once the man grinded their hips together impatiently, kissing him roughly.

“Don’t push it,” Jon warned, tugging forcefully on his tie, and Stephen stopped the movement of his hips, letting out a groan of frustration. “Turn around.”

Stephen did as he was told, and Jon had to press in close—very close—in order to grab the lotion that was behind the desk. He groaned softly when Stephen pressed his ass firmly against his erection, gripping the other man’s hip tightly as he resisted the urge to rub against him. “Bend over,” he told Stephen as he pulled down his pants and boxers, watching in fascination as Stephen listened, leaning over the desk and gripping the edge.

He took his time opening the bottle of lotion, spreading it onto his fingers, all the while smirking at every impatient noise Stephen made. When he was ready, he pressed on finger inside him, saying, “This happens when I want it to happen.”

Stephen whimpered, and soon Jon added another finger, stretching and preparing him deliberately, teasingly. As the whimpers increased in frequency, Jon couldn’t help but get more urgent, loving the way Stephen looked and sounded like this. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he groaned, removing his fingers so he could unbutton and unzip his own pants before pushing them down. Slicking up his cock, he pushed inside Stephen in one swift movement, groaning loudly both at the gasp Stephen let out and how tight and fucking perfect he felt. “Jesus fuck,” he moaned as he started thrusting—slowly. “You feel fucking good.”

Stephen let out a low moan, deep in his throat, fingers scratching at the desk. He pushed back against Jon, panting desperately as he fucked him. “I want to hear you for this, Stephen,” Jon choked out, trying to hold onto his control, but it was getting increasingly difficult. “Talk.”

Fucking tease,” Stephen managed, as Jon chose that moment to thrust particularly forcefully. “Harder, yes, god—”

“Beg for it,” Jon demanded, purposely keeping his thrusts as slow as possible, grunting with the effort it took to keep from simply pounding into Stephen.

“Oh fuck,” Stephen moaned. “Please, Jon, fuck, I need it—please, harder,” he begged, shameless, and that was just about all it took for Jon’s control to snap. His thrusts quickly increased in speed and force—he gripped Stephen’s hips so hard he was sure he was leaving marks. Something about that thought just turned him on further.

They were vocalizing continuously now, growing louder and louder with each thrust. Stephen kept begging, asking for it, and Jon kept giving it to him, their words quickly turning into gibberish and undecipherable syllables only able to convey a desperate want and need.

Stephen came first, holding onto the desk so hard his knuckles had turned white; he cried out, something that might’ve been Jon’s name, and Jon continued thrusting—once, twice, three times more—and with a final forceful thrust he came hard himself, much more vocal than he usually was during orgasm.

They came down from their orgasmic bliss slowly, dazedly, and Jon pulled out and panted, leaning against the desk so as not to fall over. Stephen seemed to be doing the same. “Jesus Christ,” he groaned, and Jon giggled again.

“Yeah,” he said. “We’re often confused.”

“Fuck you,” Stephen said lazily, still using his desk as a major means of support.

“Maybe next time, if I let you,” Jon returned, and Stephen snorted. “Of course, next time I might actually stuff your tie in your mouth.”

“So that’s what this is about? Finding various ways to shut me up?” Stephen asked, lifting his head to look at Jon.

Jon smirked. “Sometimes you need a good shutting up, Stephen.”

“Yeah,” Stephen said thoughtfully, absently toying with his now-loosened tie. “Maybe I do.” He looked at Jon, giving him a half-smirk, half-smile. “Good thing you can make me.”

Jon just grinned back at him, and soon, both of them had dissolved into laughter.