Chapter Text
Jon was loose and warm on the way to his place – warm flush to his cheeks and lips, warmth in his eyes when he looked at Stephen from under his lashes; gut deep heat in the smiles he kept casting sidelong, smiles Stephen might not have caught if he hadn't been watching so closely. Stephen wondered how it was possible Jon could still be up for it, after the morning they had and the scene they'd just finished, but there it was in every line of his body. Satiation, obvious relaxation, but still that warmth: invitation in the curve of his mouth, the cant of his hips, the arc of his neck – in his hand (his hands, always so cold, but warm now, or is Stephen cold? it feels like Jon is the lone source of warmth in the world, all of Stephen's creeping out to reach him) when it tugs Stephen's wrist to get him moving again, and Stephen hadn't noticed the cab pulling up, hadn't even realized they were taking a cab.
He became aware that he didn't remember much of the minutes since they left Jon's office. He was too turned on, too distracted by the looks Jon was giving him, by the heat in his eyes and the awareness of how good this was going to be, how good it already was, how fucking lucky he was and how did he manage to get there at all? He'd been fucking Jon, watching Jon fuck, listening to those sounds and kissing those lips for years. Even when it was bad it was amazing. Stephen had never felt anything like it.
Stephen sat and watched Jon slide in beside him. He heard the driver being instructed without comprehending because Jon's mouth was moving and Stephen wasn't sure there was anything Jon's mouth could do that wasn't mesmeric. He wanted to kiss him, put his hands on him, but however open the secret was, Jon's sexual escapades were still secret and molesting him in a cab would not be conducive to secret-keeping.
Secret-keeping.
That thought caught in Stephen's head; Jon was where he kept all his secrets.
Right there, in that hollow under the corner of his jaw. How many times had Stephen put his mouth there and whispered words that would have been nonsense against any other skin? Any other skin save that at the backs of Jon's knees, where Stephen's lips would follow a swipe of his tongue; his belly, inner thighs, the small of Jon's back, they all kept Stephen's secrets, safe and warm, tucked away just under the surface. And his center, of course; Stephen was murmuring devotion against his clitoris, slipping the warm words down deep into his vagina – thank you and you're amazing and you inspire me – long before he dared say anything of the kind to Jon's face.
He wanted to say them – to say all sorts of things – I want you and you're beautiful and how can you not realize how amazing you are? – right there in the cab but he had no idea where to start and that might be more indiscreet than just jumping him. Which was –
Stephen wanted to fuck Jon in the sun. Just. Someday. It was an idea he'd had – he wasn't sure since when. Take him outside, somewhere; strip him bare. See all that skin, warm under natural light, gray hair turned to silver, wetness shining between his open legs. It wasn't exhibitionism, exactly. It was just –
Sunshine.
Jon deserved sunshine.
Fuck, Stephen was hard. He was so hard he wasn't even making sense to himself.
Like he could hear the bright storm raging in Stephen's head, Jon looked over with another heated smile, one eyebrow up, confidant like he almost never was. But this was one of the few things not even his reflexive insecurity could fuck up. It might have been a test for his neurosis – the day he doubted Stephen wanted him was the day they knew he'd lost it.
Stephen grinned back and these looks – obviously predatory on Jon's end and Stephen was never great at restraining his adoration – were not the soul of discretion. But fuck it. New York cab drivers did not care.
Jon's hand – felt cold, again, maybe because Stephen's body temperature had jumped about a hundred degrees – wrapped around his wrist, again, fingers at his pulse. Stephen could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, filling his throat, and Jon looked away and out the window, still smirking. Stephen felt his nipples tighten and the small hairs on the back of his neck rise and as he shivered he thought he would never want anything else the way he wanted Jon, every minute of every day - the way he wanted him then, in the darkened cab with the city lights flashing over his face.
“It's Thursday,” Stephen heard himself say.
Jon looked back, startled, eyes gone wide. Stephen smiled at him, tentative, hopeful. After a moment, comprehension dawned and Jon smiled back, a mirror image.
“Yes, it is,” he said. The smiled changed, once again, overlain with possession, and he tightened his grip on Stephen's wrist. “Excellent. I forgot about that.”
“Well, that's why I'm here,” Stephen said. It was a fight to keep his voice from going soft and breathless. He mostly won. “To remind you of these things.”
That understood, Jon released his wrist and broke off eye contact, again, returning his gaze to the window. Stephen left his hand where it was for a moment, flat against the seat between them, fingers spread wide, starlike, eyes still on Jon.
“Thanks for coming with me,” Jon said, voice so casual, so normal, Stephen might have worried if he hadn't still been able to see the remnants of his smile.
“Thanks for having me along,” Stephen said, and, after a moment, he managed to regain enough muscle control to relax his hand and pull his eyes away. Mesmeric.
He thought of practical things to cool himself down and was just concluding that, yes, he had abandoned clothes at Jon's place and, no, he had never gotten them back, when the cab rolled to a stop at the curb and he was obliged to follow Jon out.
The urge – the need – for touch, for contact, connection, to press close and push deep, to offer and be claimed, rose with every step and if he weren't wearing his coat Stephen's erection would have presented a public safety hazard. Jon paid the driver and they went up the stoop and inside – entryway, elevator ride, and Stephen concentrated on his breathing and felt himself flushing ever deeper as Jon's eyes, blue like the preservation of a color just invented, drifted over him, casual but so very thorough. Jon was as relaxed as you'd expect of a man after a fuck like he'd already had twice that day and seemed to be enjoying the tension Stephen was building up in his honor.
Once they got into the apartment, Stephen gave Jon time to draw the chain on the door before stepping close and pinning him against it. His arms slipped around Jon's waist and he molded himself into his back, felt his body warm and round and real, pressed between Stephen and the door. Through their clothes, the delicious curve of Jon's ass was detectable and Stephen moaned once, very quietly, into the hair behind his ear.
“Want you,” he murmured. “So much.”
Jon turned his head and smiled.
“So I gathered,” he said, and pressed back into his erection.
With another moan, Stephen thrust hard against him and buried his face in his neck. Jon laughed and twisted in his arms, moving against his groin as he went and making Stephen gasp. His lips were still parted when Jon's hands caught his jaw and dragged him down into a deep, wet kiss. Stephen whimpered and pressed closer, craving contact. He allowed Jon to peel him out of his coat on the condition he be allowed to suck desperately on his tongue.
Jon had worked his shirt and pullover up to his armpits before Stephen quite realized what was happening. The sudden pinch of fingers at his nipples – god, tugging at his nipples – made him draw back with another gasp.
“Oh, god, Jon.”
“Off,” Jon said, abandoning his nipples to pluck at his shirt. “Come on, Stephen, strip.”
Stephen hastened to comply, fumbling off his layers as Jon shed his own coat then went for Stephen's belt. He hissed as it was yanked out through the loops and the heat of concentration in Jon's eyes, riveted on the aching bulge in Stephen's pants, moved him before he quite realized what he was doing to pin Jon again.
Jon went with it, meeting Stephen's fevered kisses with his mouth open and willing, taking his tongue to keep. His legs went tight around Stephen's hips as he lifted him, crushing him to the door with his body. Jon moaned, arms flying to fold fast around his neck while Stephen's hands dropped down to the perfect curve of his ass, lush and firm, and cradled it in his palms. Stephen bit at Jon's lips, dragging Jon down against him as he thrust up, grinding his cock against his groin. He could hear himself making a noise, low and rough, and when Jon wrenched his mouth away – a gasp, a thump, as the back of his head made contact with the door – Stephen went for his throat and bit down, still rocking hard against him.
“Oh, god – fuck! Stephen – Stephen – dammit, baby, if you come – Stephen, if you finish before you get inside me, you won't come again until Monday.”
Stephen forced himself to stop moving and moaned loudly into the crook of Jon's neck. He leaned more of his weight on him, burrowing into his warmth, still squeezing his ass, fascinated by the pliant heat of his body.
“Jon - ”
“Stephen – dammit – Stephen, put me down so I can take my clothes off.”
With a whimper and a final parting squeeze, Stephen obeyed, carefully lowering Jon onto his feet as he stepped away. He watched, fascinated, as Jon peeled out of his shirt and sweater then fixed him with a heated, if amused, glare.
“Stephen?”
Stephen's eyes were on Jon's bared torso – belly and chest, nipples half-obscured by graying hair. Maybe twelve hours ago, Stephen was licking those nipples, pushing his tongue into the wet folds between Jon's legs. Less than an hour ago, Stephen was cradling that body in his lap, feeling Jon orgasm with John Oliver's cock thrusting into him.
He didn't respond immediately when Jon said his name; the memories were too stark, too vivid, too recent to really feel past. Some part of him was still there. If he had to go back through time and find all the pieces of himself he'd left scattered in the last ten years, Jon would probably have most of them.
“Stephen?” Jon said, again. He leaned back on the door, pulling off his shoes and the move – though it made the muscles in his arms flex around his chest in the most distracting fashion – snapped Stephen out of his enchantment. “You still with me?”
Stephen laughed, breathless.
“When am I anywhere else?” he asked.
Jon smiled at him and Stephen was surprised to find his hands back at the front of his pants, undoing his fly.
“Uh, thanks,” he said, and hissed as jeans and boxers were pushed down, his aching erection freed to the cool apartment air.
“Mm,” Jon said. “Happy to see me.” He wrapped his hand around it and Stephen groaned. “Thought you might be.”
“D – Delighted.” Stephen whimpered as Jon gave his cock a slow, teasing stroke.
Then he was released and hands were on his shoulders, shifting him.
“Against the wall, Colbert,” Jon said. “Since you can't get your clothes off yourself.”
Stephen fell back into the wall, hands scrambling for purchase on the paint-smooth surface and choked on a stab at speech as Jon dropped to his knees in front of him.
“J – Jon?” he said.
Jon looked up at him from under his eyelashes, a faint smirk on his lips, and Stephen could remember the last time he'd seen him from this angle, could tell you the exact date because it was his birthday. He could feel his skin flushing, sweat breaking out at the back of his neck, spreading across his shoulders and chest, and then there were those eyes, dark and vivid, meeting his from under lowered lashes, so close he could feel Jon's exhale against his flushed, leaking cock –
Stephen shuddered and let his head fall back against the wall. He thought he might just come right there if he spent one more second looking at Jon on his knees in front of him.
He cooperated (awkwardly, as this full body arousal was not conducive to fine motor control or, in fact, to standing upright) as Jon got his shoes and socks off and was bracing to step out of his jeans without falling over when he became aware Jon had stopped moving, holding his waistband around his knees. He risked a glance down and saw Jon eying his erection with the most beautiful expression of contentment on his face. Contentment and lust, but mostly – mostly it was that joy Stephen had spent the last decade trying to coax out of him; that look of happiness Jon got in bed and when he knew he'd done good and when Stephen did good and when something in the world didn't let them down, for once, and at times like that the first person Jon looked to was Stephen, with this look on his face, very nearly this precise look, and it was like Stephen's erect penis, the physical manifestation of this desire that had been one of the few constants in their lives over the years, was somehow on the same level of Good Things as finally being able to say, 'President Elect Obama' and while Stephen never wondered and never regretted and never wanted anything else it was moments like this he could point to if anyone else ever started wondering. Stephen hadn't had sex without Jon in a couple of years, now; he didn't want to, didn't need to, hadn't needed anything but this for a long, long time.
He must have made some sound because Jon looked up and met his eyes, again. Whatever he saw made his expression change, go wide and breathless, then blossom again.
“You're too damn good to me,” he said and then, before Stephen could quite process the non sequitor, he added, “Remember you're not allowed to come, yet.”
“I – what – Jon – oh, fuck!”
Jon's mouth, steaming velvet, descended on Stephen's cock, sudden and deep. He felt the head hit the back of Jon's throat midshout, just as his head slammed back into the wall.
“Oh, fuck – fuck – Jon!”
Jon sucked hard and Stephen's worldview narrowed to wet, relentless suction for maybe ten seconds before he retreated, again, lips sliding tight along his shaft and pulling off the end with an obscene slurping sound Stephen barely heard over his own desperate keen.
Jon's hands were on his hips and Stephen might have pitched forward if they hadn't steadied him. He swayed, gasping, reeling, first from the sudden influx of sensation and then the cool, still air once again surrounding his cock.
“J – Jon – fuck – Jon.”
He looked down, saw Jon's wet, red lips, his wide, lust-black eyes and moaned aloud when he said, “Stephen, baby. You need to fuck me, now.”
He caught Jon's hands and dragged him up, off his knees, and into a fevered kiss. Jon wrapped his arms around his shoulders, moaning into Stephen's mouth as his pants were undone with shaking fingers and shoved down. They broke apart to kick off what remained of their clothes and Jon gave first a grunt of surprise, as he was twisted and pressed to the wall again, then something close to a scream as two of Stephen's fingers were introduced into his vagina. Stephen thrust them without ceremony into the velvety folds of flesh, hot and wetly aroused, and crushed his mouth to Jon's to take in his cries.
“Yes, fuck!”
Jon bucked immediately down onto them, his hands scrambling up Stephen's torso and catching at his upper arms. He pulled him closer, uncoordinated, as Stephen moved his fingers roughly inside him, then fell apart entirely when Stephen's thumb made contact with his swollen clit.
“Yes, fuck, f - ” He trailed into incoherence, thrusting down, hands still grasping and tugging, breath coming in broken pants. Stephen bit down on his neck and pressed closer, worrying the skin gently between his teeth and holding back the urge to fuck Jon through the wall. He was whining and writhing, hurtling towards orgasm, his skin hot and trembling under and around Stephen's hands. Stephen tried to remember, to calculate – in the last instant before Jon came he stopped and wrenched his hand out from the grasp of tensing interior muscles, pulling with them something close to a wail.
“Stephen!”
Jon's legs gave way and Stephen caught him into a controlled fall to the floor. There were frustrated tears in his bright blue eyes. His legs fell apart when he landed and Stephen went, once more, between them. His mouth sealed again to his clitoris, teasing hard with his tongue, tasting arousal so thick it nearly over-whelmed him as his fingers parted his labia, exposing his wet entrance to the air. Jon's hips moved erratically, breath coming in a needy, unsteady whine. Stephen left his clit, prompting another round of whimpers and shuddering, and blew gently into his opening before slipping his tongue inside. The hand he had at Jon's hip barely kept him from doing Stephen injury with in the ensuing thrust. His thumb went back to Jon's clit as he pressed his mouth deeper into hot flesh, attention consumed by the warm taste of his fluids, the heavy smell of sweat and desire. Muscles quivered under his over-heated skin, under Stephen's hand at his hip and in his thighs, shifting and heaving, spread around the center where Stephen worked. Jon's capacity for speech was gone, leaving him with cracked whimpers and shattered moans, rising to something close to the scream when his orgasm finally came.
Stephen kept him through it, not pulling away until the last tremor had passed and Jon was grabbing his shoulders and arms, again, dragging their mouths together. He wrapped his legs around Stephen and licked the wetness from his lips and chin, gasping words into his skin between laps.
“Now, dammit, please, fuck me Stephen, now - ”
Stephen took hold of his hips, again, and made the final awkward shift to enter him. The first touch of Jon's wet heat to the tip of his erection was almost painfully good, sending a bolt of long-frustrated lust through him and he might have frozen if Jon hadn't gasped and arched closer. Stephen was pushed further, just penetrating, and whimpered, tightening his grip on Jon before slamming in deep.
“Oh, god!”
He was engulfed, so easily, Jon's body not so much welcoming as assimilating his cock as it entered, slid in and was closed upon by wet, infinitely soft inner walls, clamping down on his aching flesh, a relief and a catalyst to raw need. It drew a groan out of Stephen and into Jon's mouth, sealed over his, taking his breath even as his vagina took his cock. Stephen pressed him down hard into the floor and wall, trying to hold him as he thrust but Jon refused to be stilled, hooking a leg and both arms around him, adding his own strength to every push, while the other foot braced on the floor. Stephen heard himself make a sound, something like a growl, as he abandoned self-control and began to rut against him, thrusts deep and hard. Their chests heaved against each other as Stephen pushed and pushed and tried like hell to get deeper into the impossible heat and pressure inside Jon, clinging to his hips and moaning into his open mouth.
Jon squirmed against him, meeting every thrust and matching it, their bodies colliding with a force that might have been painful if they hadn't needed it so bad. He was making sounds Stephen couldn't quite decipher, hungry, dictatorial sounds that, if words they were, took on shapes like 'more' and 'yes' and 'harder' and Stephen complied. He wrapped his arms tight around Jon's waist, drawing him closer against his own body, and shoved him back against the wall. Jon gasped and jerked his head back, banging into the plaster, again, and Stephen's panting bubbled into something like a laugh – he'd made contact with Jon's clit, stimulating it with every grinding thrust and Jon's movements became rougher, needier, and he was definitely talking, now, yes, ordering Stephen to do it harder, do it faster, do it, dammit, fuck him more, now and Stephen bit down on his shoulder and did.
His dick had been hard for a long time and Jon's body, strong and insistent, so wet and deep, so warm wrapped around him, was the best thing he'd ever felt, every time. He pushed harder, pushed farther, fucked him like they both needed it, until his words cut off with a ragged gasp that jumped and multiplied and rose into a scream. Stephen heard him, felt him come, and shoved in deep, so deep, one last time, buried himself in hot, wet flesh and came.
The next thing Stephen was more than peripherally aware of was Jon's voice, calling him a slut. He was pretty much okay with that characterization and said so. Jon laughed.
“My slut,” he said, voice a low rumble, and nuzzled Stephen's temple. They were still on the floor. Not too much time had passed but they needed to get up, soon.
“Pretty much,” Stephen agreed. “I don't know why you still bother vibrators.”
“No refractory period,” Jon replied. “And you won't fit in my nightstand. Also, they vibrate.” He kissed Stephen's cheek then pushed him back. “Move your ass, Colbert. Before my joints seize.”
“Getting old, Jon,” he replied, and moved. Supporting each other, they rose and leaned together in the middle of the entryhall. “Maybe I should be more gentle,” he added, thoughtfully. “Wouldn't want to overwhelm you in your declining years.”
Jon laughed, again, into the next kiss.
“You're the one who can't keep up,” he said. He moved away and began to lead the way to his bedroom, pulling Stephen by the hand. “Come on,” he said. “We're on a schedule.”
“Are we?” Stephen asked.
“You are. Right now you're supposed to be cuddling me. In half an hour, you're going to make me a sandwich.” They had reached the bedroom and Jon pushed Stephen towards the bed. “You can make one for yourself, too.”
“Oh, thank you!”
Stephen dropped back into the pillows, giggling. Jon lay down beside him and Stephen gave a happy sigh as he was pulled into his arms. He snuggled closer and tangled his hands in with Jon's, saying, “This right?”
“Mm,” Jon said. “Satisfactory.”
“How about after the sandwich?” Stephen asked.
“After the sandwich,” Jon said, “you will wash the dishes. Then - ” He pulled one of his hands free as Stephen laughed. “Depends,” he said, and reached down gentle fingers to caress Stephen's limp, still tender, penis. Stephen shivered and squirmed, the sensation erotic and uncomfortably intense. Jon continued to play with him until Stephen let out a whimper, then relented and took his hand, again.
“Sorry,” Jon murmured, and pressed a kiss to Stephen's shoulder.
“S'all right,” he said. “What next?”
He felt Jon smile against his skin before his head lifted and lips brushed Stephen's good ear.
“Either,” he said, “I'm going to get on my hands and knees and you're going to fuck me from behind until I beg you to come in me - ” Stephen squeezed his eyes shut and moaned, turning his head, but Jon moved with him, not missing a beat “ - and I mean beg, Stephen. You've made me beg before. I want you to do it again.”
Breathless, Stephen said, “Might – might take a while.”
Jon giggled. Some of the sudden tension went out of the air. Stephen shifted onto his side to wind an arm around him.
“Good thing you've already come your brains out twice, today.”
Stephen nodded. He tucked himself into Jon's chest and ran a hand over his back and side, anchoring himself in the warm familiarity of Jon's skin.
“What's the other option?” he asked.
Another laugh. Stephen tilted his head so his good ear wasn't blocked by the pillow.
“If you still need some recovery time,” Jon said, “you'll entertain me with my vibrators for a while. Then we'll see how good you are.”
More tremors went through him. Stephen pressed closer and buried his face in Jon's chest. The wiry hair and the slight stickiness of sweat, with it's strong, salty scent, felt good against his cheek. He could feel the minor curve of Jon's belly, warm and solid, and the damp brush of his pubic hair against his stomach. He shivered, again, and felt Jon's fingers on his jaw, urging him up.
Jon kissed him, and, quietly and clearly against his lips, said, “Good plan?”
When Stephen opened his eyes, all he could see were Jon's, bright as the stars, gazing at him from inches away.
“Good plan,” he said.