Chapter Text
“Knew you were - nothing but a whore. Why don't you - beg for it - bitch?”
“You know – ah – Glenn – if you have the breath – to, ah – emasculate me? You're not – fucking me hard enough.”
“Shut up!”
“And if – ooh – I can still – ah, yeah – use the word – ah – 'emasculate' – you're – yeah, there – doing it wr – oh, fuck yes!”
Beck was leaving Jon's office as Stephen was approaching with a look Stephen saw a lot of from conservative guests. Flushed scarlet, somewhere between post-orgasmic bliss and abject rage. Never failed to bring a smile to Stephen's face and seeing it on Beck – yeah, Stephen was okay with that. Only, it was odd because he was pretty sure – No chance to ask. Beck legged it before Stephen got in interrogation range. Oh, well.
He knocked briefly before opening the door and looking in. Jon was at his desk with a stack of paper in front of him, productivity personified if you ignored the smirk and the flush still staining his cheeks. Stephen never ignored them. Jon was rarely more attractive than when he'd just been fucked. Blue eyes drifted up to meet Stephen's and the smirk bloomed into a welcoming, if very smug, smile.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi. Bad time?”
Jon laughed. “Get in here.”
“Pushy,” Stephen observed and ever so casually tripped the lock on his way in. Jon's flush deepened and the brightness of his eyes turned to spark. “Was that Glenn Beck?” Stephen asked. “I didn't know he'd agreed to come on.”
Jon sat back in his chair, the image of self-satisfaction as he beamed up at Stephen, who came over to lean a hip into the side of the desk.
“He didn't,” Jon said. “Just stopped by to give me some feedback on my homage.”
“That was nice of him.”
“I thought so.”
“Was he helpful?”
Jon shrugged. “A good, hard fuck is always helpful,” he said.
Stephen snorted. “Should I be jealous?”
“It wasn't that good.”
Stephen grinned and leaned down. Jon watched with interest as his pants were unfastened. Again.
“Poor baby,” Stephen said. “Can't let you go back on the air with a substandard fuck behind you.”
“I didn't say substandard. I just said not as good as you. He did all right once I pointed out I could still use four-syllable words.”
That deserved a laugh. Jon lifted his hips and allowed his pants to be pulled down and off before reaching for Stephen's belt.
“Okay,” Stephen said. He batted Jon's hand away and undid the buckle himself. “We can't let you go on the air when the last cock you had in you was Glenn Beck's. No offense to his fucking prowess, but honestly. Even if you don't have standards, have some respect for your audience.”
“Okay,” Jon said, agreeable and slightly breathless. His legs were already spreading themselves and Stephen could see a shine of wetness in between. “That's reasoning I can get – ah!”
Stephen slipped two fingers up into him and casually twisted them around, pleased, as always, by the way Jon arched into the penetration, by the look of pure joy he fixed Stephen with.
“Always so happy,” he said, and brushed his thumb over Jon's clitoris.
“Mm, yeah, of course.” He spread his legs wider, rocked onto gently thrusting fingers. “Fuck, Stephen, you've got great hands, you – Oh, god!”
Stephen dropped to his knees and caught hold of Jon's hip, holding him still as he slipped in another finger and continued the slow petting of his slick inner walls. The delicate scrape of nail made Jon whimper.
Stephen said, “I haven't fucked you since Monday. Who've you had in the meantime? Other than our friend Glenn, I mean.”
“Mm, yeah, I, uh – Monday. Monday was you and John, on set, after filming, that was – Shit, yeah, right there.”
Stephen pressed down again. “There?” he asked, innocently.
Jon groaned and tried to thrust but Stephen kept holding him down.
“Ye – Yes, there, as, fuck – as you know d-damn we – ohh!”
“Where on set?”
“What?”
Jon was gasping, getting close and Stephen gave up on conversation in favor of getting him there as quickly as possible. He began teasing his clitoris in earnest and eased his grip so Jon could fuck himself onto his fingers. The only noise for the next few minutes was his rising moans, wet flesh sounds, the soft creak of his desk chair. Stephen's erection, burning his pants, seemed to throb in sympathy with the tense and flutter of Jon's insides as orgasm flowed through him.
Ignoring his own discomfort for the moment, Stephen freed his hand and licked it clean while his other thumb rubbed gentle circles on Jon's hip. Jon's eyes closed then fluttered open, met Stephen's with a smile. He reached out to grab Stephen by the shirt collar and pulled him in close enough to kiss. It was deep and dirty, Jon's tongue pushing it's way into Stephen's mouth then withdrawing. When Stephen gave chase he caught his tongue gently between his teeth and sucked hard. Stephen's shudder, deep and full-bodied, resurged when Jon's free hand made it into his pants and wrapped around his dick. He pulled back with a curse and stared through a haze of lust into Jon's diamond-bright eyes.
“Shit,” he said.
Jon's hand tightened around him. “You planning to put this inside me?” he asked. “Or should I call Glenn back in?”
“Tell me where John fucked you,” Stephen said. He flattened his hand over Jon's groin and brushed the flat of his thumb over his wet opening, earning a shiver.
“Chair,” Jon said. “Let him sit in my chair.” The smirk flickered back into being. “Rode him blind. You should've heard him.”
He tugged Stephen's cock just as Stephen was moving over his clit. They both shuddered.
“You should've invited me.” Stephen cupped his jaw in one hand and pulled Jon down to rest their foreheads together. He closed his eyes. “How about yesterday? Who'd you get then?”
Jon was squirming, impatient. His hand had drifted up to the joint of Stephen's shoulder and neck and stayed there, flexing, while the other shuddered over his cock and that – that wasn't going to work. Jesus. Stephen released his jaw to catch him by the wrist and coaxed him to withdraw. Reluctant as he was to give up Stephen's cock once he had possession of it, Jon was even less willing to risk setting him off too early. Still teasing Jon's opening with feather-light brushes of his thumb, Stephen carefully released his erection. The ease of pressure was a relief, the naked hunger in Jon's face gratifying. His hips jerked against Stephen's hand and he made a sound somewhere between plea and complaint.
“You know we had Huckabee on?”
Stephen nodded.
“Still won't fuck me. The bastard.”
Stephen made an elaborate, mocking sound of sympathy. Jon made a face then hissed in a breath when Stephen lay his thumb across his wet slit and pressed a little more firmly. When he shifted down against it, Stephen withdrew, refusing penetration, and Jon moaned.
“Denis,” he gasped. “Came by. Late. And Larry. Almost forgot Larry. In the bathroom – Bathroom door, shit, Stephen. Stephen, please.”
His shuddered, spasmed, almost, his legs spreading further, whole body arching, presenting, and Stephen stared for a moment, entranced by wet, pink folds of flesh, the swollen bulge of clitoris, the flush in his face and the quiver of muscle under skin. Then he caught him by the hips and pulled him down out of his chair. Off balance, Jon landed with a whimper, grabbing the chair arms by instinct, then yelped as he was pulled again, this time up onto Stephen's lap.
“Oh, fuck - ”
His hands tightened, his hips arched, and finally, finally, finally Stephen pushed into him.
He thrust hard, burying himself deep, hot and slick – jesus fuck, so slick, so wet, so wide open for him; he felt Jon's muscles tense, close up around him, consume him, and he groaned.
“Fuck, Jon.” He thrust again, adjusting until he found the angle that got that noise – that choked off gasp with it's accompanying tremor and -
“Oh, yes.”
“Yeah?” Stephen asked, leaning over him, a hand at Jon's hip, the other under his arm, steadying him for his thrusts. Precarious as he was, clinging to the chair arms, Stephen supporting most of his weight, Jon didn't have much leverage to reciprocate, could only hold himself open and moan as Stephen filled him. Every pull back went just a little too far, cool air caressed the folds of his vagina and he whimpered, needy, every time, had a moment of half-formed fear Stephen might pull out completely and leave him hanging, only to be plunged back into bliss with the next hot, harsh push back in.
“Yes, oh, fuck, yes.”
Jon's fluids were sliding down Stephen's cock, building until the sounds of skin on skin were soaked through. It was – It felt – He whimpered, again, his second orgasm building, building, but not quite – needed – needed -
“Oh, fuck, fuck, yes, there, please, touch, there, Stephen, please”
“Jesus fuck.”
There it was, hell. Stephen didn't often get to hear Jon sincerely beg, not like this, writhing with Stephen's cock sliding inside him and if it weren't so hot, if he didn't already feel like he was about to lose it -
“Fuck, Jon.”
“Stephen, please, please”
Yeah, that was begging. Not demanding. Begging. He could hold it together for this.
“More,” Stephen ground out. “Tell me.”
A harsh gasp sent Jon's head back, baring his throat and that was temptation Stephen couldn't resist. As his mouth closed over vulnerable flesh, Jon was pleading, incoherent “Please, please, Stephen, more, need it, need, touch me, please, god, your cock, please, need, harder, please -”
And then he broke off with a near shriek as Stephen shifted a hand and one thumb rubbed across his clit – not too hard, just firm enough, just the right – Jon shuddered, his whole body arcing as orgasm rushed through him. Stephen held him through it, still touching, still rocking into him. His whole body felt tight and flushed and seeing Jon come again, feeling it from the inside, sent his need past burning into combustion – but he still wasn't there.
“Shit, Jon.”
“Mm, Stephen.” His eyes were bright and dazed and he squeezed near-liquified leg muscles around Stephen, nudging down onto the organ still throbbing inside him. “Stephen.” Breathless, excited, still. “Stephen. More?”
Like he had to fucking ask. Stephen let out a groan, more primal than human, and shoved him back, pressed their bodies tight, and the shift left Jon's legs free to wind tight around his waist as he began shoving into him, again, tight, close, brutal thrusts as he cursed and bit brands into the base of his neck.
“Stephen, fuck.”
Those noises couldn't have been sexy but Jon reacted like their frequency was tied into his vagina, suddenly clutching and groaning, shoving, riding his hard thrusts in earnest desperation.
“Yeah, yeah, fuck, yeah, make me, yes, fuck, yes, make me, make me come, make me come again, Stephen, oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!”
A last push in, deep and hard as Stephen could make it, muscles straining, flesh burning, and, as he felt Jon shudder, again, heard his orgasmic moans reach one last fever pitch, he came, at last, hard, deep inside.
A few long moments of clutching and gasping passed before Stephen disengaged with a grimace. He rose unsteadily, pulling Jon up with him and deposited him back in his chair as Stephen slumped against the desk. He fumbled his pants up and closed then looked back at Jon. They stared at each other, glassy eyed and panting, until Jon sucked in a deep, sudden breath and said, “You're so hot. Holy god.”
What breath Stephen had regained was gone, again, in sudden, wheezing giggles.
“Fuck,” he said. “Not so bad yourself.” He pulled together some composure and smiled. “Feel good?”
Jon beamed up at him, fucked out and so fucking happy about it. And happy looked so, so good on him. “Feel amazing,” he said. “Thanks.”
“Any time,” Stephen said. “Absolutely any time.”