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They had done it there a few times before, since the Report started – post-Iraq, after the quickie Toss, among others. But not often. It was usually Stephen who came to Jon, rather than vice versa, and Jon always thought he should change that, get over there more often, both for nostalgia's sake – it was his, once – and because, well, Stephen. And Stephen's desk. The desk was kind of hot.
He went that day because Stephen called and asked. For the hell of it, he asked why before agreeing. Stephen was evasive but met him at the door with a long, thorough kiss, flushed and smiling through it.
Jon laughed and said, “Stephen, what the fuck?”
“Come on.” Stephen took his hand, and stepped back. “I've gotta show you something.”
“Okay?”
His immediate response – “I've seen your studio before, Stephen. I've even fucked in it.” – was waved and giggled down as Stephen pushed him up onto the desk. The chair had been rolled out of the way already, leaving space for Stephen to step between his legs and kiss him, while wrapping him in a hard, sincere hug. Jon sighed and hugged him back, sinking into his kiss and his embrace easily, comfortably. It was all warm and slow for the first few minutes, lips and tongues re-exploring each other, all the time in world before them, the only sounds the hum of the lights and their own soft sighs, happiness breathed into each other's mouths. Stephen's arms were content around his waist and Jon followed his lead, leaving one hand at Stephen's shoulder blade while the other buried itself in his hair, still damp from his post-taping shower. It was nice – close, intimate, and Jon remembered that this was one of the many reasons Stephen was his favorite: making out with him didn't necessarily feel like foreplay and foreplay didn't feel like a waste of time.
He moaned when Stephen bent him back a little, pushing his tongue deeper into Jon's mouth as their bodies made closer contact. He could feel Stephen hard between his legs and, yeah, it might not be a waste of time but they could maybe move things along little faster. Jon's fingers tightened in Stephen's hair as he hooked his feet around his legs and, hoping he'd get to the point, soon, arched closer.
But Stephen seemed in no hurry. He held Jon tight, one hand now cupping the back of his neck, breathing a little harder between kisses. His arousal was obvious and rising and Jon was having difficulty not grinding into the erection teasing him through too many layers of clothes. At last he drew away saying, “Stephen - ”
“Sh.” Stephen kissed him again, quick and firm. “Just wait for it,” he said.
“Wait for what?”
Stephen gave a pointed look down. Jon followed his gaze and -
“Oh.” He looked up and met Stephen's smirk with raised eyebrows. “Seriously?”
“Just trust me, okay?”
“Okay, dude. I just – oh!”
Stephen's eyes fell shut and his low moan drowned out Jon's gasp as the object insinuated itself between their groins. He watched, hands locking at Stephen's waist.
“Can't believe you have one of these,” he murmured as it undid Stephen's fly and slipped inside. Stephen moaned, hips pressing forward and then, suddenly, with a corresponding gasp, back. Jon leaned in and reached to run a hand over Stephen's ass and – Jesusfuck, he could feel another, pulsing and sliding beneath loose denim, penetrating – fucking him. Jon thrust forward, an automatic reaction to the bolt of breathless heat that went through him, and ground himself into the hard vine between them. Stephen was moaning and whimpering and Jon couldn't hear his own hiss when another slid up alongside the first, shifting cloth and pressure against his aroused clit as it passed. He watched, rapt, vaguely aware of his own panting, as his own cargoes were undone and whimpered as it slipped inside.
It was smooth, with none of the tiny suckers on the one that had gone for Stephen's dick. It felt slick and strangely cool as it wound in between his heated inner thighs, spreading fluid, pressing his clit as it sought his entrance. He moaned aloud and squeezed his eyes shut as he was entered, the cool, thin thing slipping impossibly deep and thickening within him. He spread his legs wider and dragged Stephen closer, clinging as his body was worked. He became aware Stephen was doing the same, gasping and clutching, hands knotting in his sweater at the shoulders. When Jon cracked open his eyes, he could see more of them, smaller, moving under Stephen's shirt. He began to groan then cut himself off when one slipped down the back of his pants, seeking.
“Oh, god!”
And more, slipping up his legs and shirt, teasing his nipples, and he was still moving, trying to thrust on the thing filling him so completely, and he could feel another slippery tendril teasing his other hole. The one in his vagina thrust sharply, twisting and pulsing just so, pressing on the outside just hard enough, and he groaned then screamed as his ass was penetrated and likewise filled.
“Oh, f – Stephen - ”
Stephen whimpered and tugged at him. Their mouths collided, again, messy and desperate, hands moving up to tangle in each other's hair as they gasped and writhed up against each other. Jon kept shifting, trying to get more, dammit, but more of what? The thing up his ass was pulsing and pressing, not utterly foreign but strange and exciting, while the other thrust firm and slow, keeping constant, wet contact with his clit on the outside. His nipples were being teased and the backs of his knees and his inner thighs, dozens of little fingers that knew exactly how he liked to be touched, and he was shaking, closing in, need clouding every part of him as he got closer and closer and Stephen was moaning so loud -
“Oh, fu - ”
Stephen's teeth closed on his neck, and Jon could feel him spasming, coming, could feel the caressing vines on both their bodies quiver with it, and then felt nothing but sudden onslaught as he was worked faster, harder, vines tightening and thickening, throbbing far up in him and he crushed his mouth down hard to Stephen's and screamed.
They were polite tentacles, putting the two of them carefully to rights afterward, so they needed do nothing but stay still and hold each other, Stephen's face buried in Jon's neck, Jon's fingers hooked over the back of Stephen's shirt collar because he wouldn't be able to hold up his hand, otherwise. The things slipped away, satisfied, and the mist began to dissipate.
Jon said, “Motherfucker. How long've you been holding out on me?”
“Mph,” Stephen said. “While.”
“Jackass.”
“Sorry.”
“Should be.”
Stephen turned his head and pressed his mouth to Jon's pulse; Jon brushed his hand though Stephen's hair.
“Forgive me?” Stephen asked, and looked at him with eyes so sleepy and sad Jon dropped his mouth onto Stephen's at once, slight forgotten.
“Mm,” Jon said. “Take me to your office.”
“Uh – why?”
“Cuddling,” he explained. “Now. Then take me home. Then we're probably fucking. If we can move.”
“. . .Might be a problem now.”
Jon hooked his chin over Stephen's shoulder and yawned.
“I have faith in your problem-solving abilities. Here's another one.”
“Yeah?”
“How do we get one of those in every room in the studios?”