Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2010-03-15 05:03 pm
ptahrrific) wrote2010-03-15 05:03 pm
Fake News: Clover and Shadows, chapter 5
Title: Clover and Shadows (5/5)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Trans issues, angst, character death, sex
Characters/pairings: "Stephen"/Jon, Gipper
Marvelous betas:stellar_dust and ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
balljointed
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference 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.
Now featuring one more illustration and a two-part soundtrack (all spoilerific). And I like to think trans!Stephen was the one who sent this tweet.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |Part 5 | Transverse
Clover and Shadows - Part 5
Jon had barely touched the bell when the door flew open and Stephen grabbed his hand.
"Come in!" he ordered, hauling Jon over the threshold. "Lock the door. There we go. Couch is through here. Sit down. Can I get you anything? Do you like Bud Light Lime? If you do, you're in luck. They send me a crate of the stuff every time I mention it on the show, and I'm not going to drink it."
"Well, uh—"
"Bud Light Lime it is!" exclaimed Stephen, pushing him across the room before fluttering off to the kitchen.
Jon took the last few steps to the couch, and nearly sat on what he thought was a lumpy black pillow until it tilted its head and appraised him with rheumy eyes. "Ah! Sorry!"
The old dog closed his eyes, to all appearances fast asleep again. He didn't move a muscle as Jon settled carefully onto the free cushion beside him.
"Ah, good, you've met Gipper!" said Stephen brightly, returning with a pale-green bottle and a glass of ice. "He's a good dog. You keep Jon company, okay, boy? I have to go, uh, double-check that all the shades are closed."
Jon left the unopened drink on the coffee table in favor of scratching Gipper's head, especially when he discovered that it set the long black tail into a rhythm of lazy thumping.
After a minute or so of this, he got up and went looking.
Jon hadn't gotten two steps into the hall when they nearly crashed into each other. "Ah! Sorry, didn't realize—" He caught himself. "Uh, you were about to come in, right?"
"Of course, Jon!" snapped Stephen. His glasses had gone missing somewhere, and he was wringing the neck of a half-empty bottle of his own. "I was getting there. Don't rush me."
"Sure, sure." Taking a half step back, Jon added, "Listen, if you're not up for this...."
He was cut off when Stephen shoved him against the wall, palms splayed across his chest, and stuck an expensive-wine-flavored tongue in his mouth.
After a moment of surprised writhing, Jon scraped together the presence of mind to tilt his head and meet Stephen's tongue with his own. His hands clawed at the air before settling on Stephen's hips, which responded by thrusting defiantly against his, while Stephen pawed at his chest with such eagerness that Jon couldn't understand why his sweatshirt was still on.
"Told you," panted Stephen hotly against Jon's cheek when at last they came up for air. "I'm up for it."
"Oh, good," gasped Jon, waggling his eyebrows in what he hoped was a passably suggestive manner. "'Cause you're not the only one."
Jon tumbled backwards onto the bed with Stephen on top of him, lips on his neck and fingers busily dispensing of his T-shirt. (The sweatshirt had been abandoned somewhere on the stairs.)
He had to hoist himself into a sitting position to let Stephen wrest the shirt over his head, and was shaking out his hair when Stephen pushed him back down. "Mine aren't coming off," he said sternly, straddling Jon's torso and running businesslike fingers through Jon's mussed curls. "Well, the sweater. And maybe the shirt. But not the undershirt."
Resting his palms on Stephen's Italian-wool-clad legs, Jon began massaging his thighs. "All right."
"It's not that I don't want to," added Stephen, the words starting to race. "But I can't. I still have the wrong parts and it hurts, Jon, it hurts to be seen like that, I know you would be sweet about it because you're sweet about everything but I can't!"
"Hey, hey, enough of that." Catching one of Stephen's hands, Jon untangled it from his hair and pulled it down to press a kiss to the wrist. "I said it was all right, and I meant it. I'm more worried about you — are you still going to get enough fun out of this with everything covered up?"
Stephen snorted. "If you ever paid a late-night visit to the truck stop just past exit 57 on the parkway going south, you wouldn't be asking that question."
"...Well, there you go." Jon tried to sound cheerful as he rubbed the heel of Stephen's hand with his thumb. "This should work along more or less the same lines, only with clean sheets and less venereal disease. So why all the fuss?"
"Because, Jon — much as it pains me to say this about someone whose idea of fancy dress is wearing a plain grey shirt with long sleeves instead of short ones — you're too classy for three-A.M. truck-stop-style sex!"
In the dark, Jon broke into a smile. "You love me, don't you?"
Stephen caught his breath. "D-didn't say that."
Rather than pressing further, Jon slid his palms up Stephen's sleeves, cupped the back of the other man's neck, and drew him down into a gentle, if awkwardly posed, kiss.
Stephen moaned as Jon continued pressing kisses to his jaw and neck, wriggling against Jon's bare stomach in a way that would have tickled if it hadn't been so tantalizing, soft plastic dick and all. Jon's heels dug into the sheets as he drew his knees up towards Stephen's back, thrusting for some much-needed friction on his own still-clothed erection; Stephen groaned more heartily, then broke off with an indignant squeak.
"You okay?" asked Jon quickly, as Stephen rolled onto the mattress and fumbled with fistfuls of his sweater.
"Fine," panted Stephen. "It's just — it got twisted, it pinches, it — Jon?"
"Yeah?"
Except for the rise and fall of his shoulders, Stephen had gone very still. "Turn over."
Jon rolled until he was on his side, facing the wall. No way was he going to pull off lying on his stomach at this point.
"And don't look," added Stephen. "Promise you won't look."
"I promise," echoed Jon. He didn't even complain when Stephen shoved a pillow over his head anyway.
Had there been championships for stripping, Stephen could have taken home the gold. Jon knew he was wearing at least three layers of clothing, but it took less than a minute of rustling fabric, including pauses to stretch and breathe, before the other side of the mattress creaked as he flopped back down beside Jon and brushed up to his back.
Jon let out a groan of anticipation as Stephen's tongue raked up his spine. "Ohhh. Welcome back."
"Mine," whispered Stephen, nibbling on his ear while arching cautiously against him. There was still a layer of cloth between Jon's shoulder blades and the swell of Stephen's chest, but it was a bare arm that wrapped around Jon's body and roamed downward. "Is this okay?"
"Fine," gasped Jon at the long-awaited undoing of his much-too-tight khakis. "Better than fine. It's — ooh. Uh. What was—?"
Stephen slipped into his sternest Newsman Voice. "That's called an erection, Jon," he announced, grinding once more against Jon's pelvis to drive the point home (as it were). "You run into them during gay sex. Try to keep up."
Jon's answering laugh turned into a squeak. Words seemed to be failing him; all he could manage was a ragged chant of Stephen's name, in time with the rhythm of the other man's pumping fist and thrusting hips.
At first Stephen was whispering something in his ear, but that soon trailed off in favor of mouthing Jon's neck, kissing and licking and running his teeth over the tender skin, until Jon's vision whited out with Stephen's name tearing itself from his throat.
As Jon came down, Stephen's hand moved to clutch at his chest. His mouth had gone still now, head pressed fiercely against Jon's neck, every ounce of energy poured into being wrapped around Jon as tightly as possible while his hips quickened their pace.
"Stephen—" stammered Jon, the sheets making a paltry substitute for Stephen's soft skin under his fingers. "Let me — do something for you — anything—"
"Love me," pleaded Stephen.
Before Jon could answer, Stephen's whole body shuddered, and with a cry he collapsed around Jon: limp as a popped balloon, if quite a bit heavier.
Tentatively, Jon cupped a hand over Stephen's, and was relieved when Stephen's trembling fingers laced through his.
"Love you," he whispered. "So much."
A sunbeam right across Stephen's eyes woke him up.
He started to stretch, then nearly jumped out of his skin (if only!) when he realized he wasn't alone. The mattress creaked with his startled bounce, rousing the man beside him, who stirred and blinked around the room in confusion. "Hnh?"
"Morning, Jon," breathed Stephen.
Jon squinted over at him, then broke into a sleepy smile. "You're wearing my shirt."
Instinctively Stephen crumpled the blanket over his chest, though he could only feel Jon's eyes running over the grey fabric, not stripping it off. "Grabbed the wrong one last night," he muttered.
"Mm." Jon closed his eyes again, still smiling.
I like him.
The thought drifted by so quietly that at first Stephen thought it was his own. A second later he sat bolt upright. "What's that, Sweetness?"
At the name, Jon too snapped awake. "Stephen! Where's the gun?"
"Oh, Jon, she was never the gun!" The blanket slid down into Stephen's lap as he scrambled forward. "Sweetness, please — I didn't catch that, please, say it again—"
Silence. Silence so profound that it seemed to eclipse the birdsong outside.
"You promised!" he shouted into the empty air. "You promised you wouldn't leave me alone!"
"She's dead, Stephen!"
Stephen turned so abruptly that the extra movement sent a chill through his skin. He finally made a grab for the blanket, and why wasn't she scolding him for taking so long?
"I'm sorry," added Jon softly. "She's been dead for a long time now."
"Shut up!" Stephen hunched into a protective ball, wrapping his arms around his chest. "You don't know anything about it!"
Jon's eyes glittered with one of those stupid unreadable expressions: more than sorrow, not quite pity, tinged with something too complicated to name.
"I know she loved you," he said. "I know you'll always love her, and no matter what happens, you're always going to miss her. And I know that nothing will ever replace what you two had."
Stephen blinked rapidly, swallowing around the lump in his throat.
"I also know that I love you," continued Jon after a beat. "And that if you want it — if you'll let me — I'll make sure you never have to be alone again."
He fell silent, waiting.
Outside the sun shone brighter than ever, and the birds began to sing.
And when Jon held open his arms, it suddenly seemed the easiest thing in the world for Stephen to fall into them, to nuzzle the other man's chest in an attempt to return the hug without actually letting go of himself, while Jon pulled him close and rubbed his shoulders and whispered soothing reassurances in his ear: Shh. It's okay. I love you.
I've got you.
It's checking his new mustache in the mirror one last time, just to enjoy how it looks when smoothed by his broader and rougher hands, before catching the bus downtown to the audition.
He signs in as Stephen Colbert and steps in front of the camera.
A week later he has the job, and a week after that WPTS News 7 at Noon gets a letter from his cousin Margo, who misses her long-lost baby brother. His first reply is brief. It won't be the last.
Stage presence doesn't translate into screen presence; his delivery is wooden at first, his relationship with the camera wide-eyed and standoffish. He knows there's an audience out there, but he hasn't figured out how to work them when he can't see them.
He'll get better.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Trans issues, angst, character death, sex
Characters/pairings: "Stephen"/Jon, Gipper
Marvelous betas:
stellar_dust and balljointedDisclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference 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.
Now featuring one more illustration and a two-part soundtrack (all spoilerific). And I like to think trans!Stephen was the one who sent this tweet.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |
Clover and Shadows - Part 5
Jon had barely touched the bell when the door flew open and Stephen grabbed his hand.
"Come in!" he ordered, hauling Jon over the threshold. "Lock the door. There we go. Couch is through here. Sit down. Can I get you anything? Do you like Bud Light Lime? If you do, you're in luck. They send me a crate of the stuff every time I mention it on the show, and I'm not going to drink it."
"Well, uh—"
"Bud Light Lime it is!" exclaimed Stephen, pushing him across the room before fluttering off to the kitchen.
Jon took the last few steps to the couch, and nearly sat on what he thought was a lumpy black pillow until it tilted its head and appraised him with rheumy eyes. "Ah! Sorry!"
The old dog closed his eyes, to all appearances fast asleep again. He didn't move a muscle as Jon settled carefully onto the free cushion beside him.
"Ah, good, you've met Gipper!" said Stephen brightly, returning with a pale-green bottle and a glass of ice. "He's a good dog. You keep Jon company, okay, boy? I have to go, uh, double-check that all the shades are closed."
Jon left the unopened drink on the coffee table in favor of scratching Gipper's head, especially when he discovered that it set the long black tail into a rhythm of lazy thumping.
After a minute or so of this, he got up and went looking.
Jon hadn't gotten two steps into the hall when they nearly crashed into each other. "Ah! Sorry, didn't realize—" He caught himself. "Uh, you were about to come in, right?"
"Of course, Jon!" snapped Stephen. His glasses had gone missing somewhere, and he was wringing the neck of a half-empty bottle of his own. "I was getting there. Don't rush me."
"Sure, sure." Taking a half step back, Jon added, "Listen, if you're not up for this...."
He was cut off when Stephen shoved him against the wall, palms splayed across his chest, and stuck an expensive-wine-flavored tongue in his mouth.
After a moment of surprised writhing, Jon scraped together the presence of mind to tilt his head and meet Stephen's tongue with his own. His hands clawed at the air before settling on Stephen's hips, which responded by thrusting defiantly against his, while Stephen pawed at his chest with such eagerness that Jon couldn't understand why his sweatshirt was still on.
"Told you," panted Stephen hotly against Jon's cheek when at last they came up for air. "I'm up for it."
"Oh, good," gasped Jon, waggling his eyebrows in what he hoped was a passably suggestive manner. "'Cause you're not the only one."
Jon tumbled backwards onto the bed with Stephen on top of him, lips on his neck and fingers busily dispensing of his T-shirt. (The sweatshirt had been abandoned somewhere on the stairs.)
He had to hoist himself into a sitting position to let Stephen wrest the shirt over his head, and was shaking out his hair when Stephen pushed him back down. "Mine aren't coming off," he said sternly, straddling Jon's torso and running businesslike fingers through Jon's mussed curls. "Well, the sweater. And maybe the shirt. But not the undershirt."
Resting his palms on Stephen's Italian-wool-clad legs, Jon began massaging his thighs. "All right."
"It's not that I don't want to," added Stephen, the words starting to race. "But I can't. I still have the wrong parts and it hurts, Jon, it hurts to be seen like that, I know you would be sweet about it because you're sweet about everything but I can't!"
"Hey, hey, enough of that." Catching one of Stephen's hands, Jon untangled it from his hair and pulled it down to press a kiss to the wrist. "I said it was all right, and I meant it. I'm more worried about you — are you still going to get enough fun out of this with everything covered up?"
Stephen snorted. "If you ever paid a late-night visit to the truck stop just past exit 57 on the parkway going south, you wouldn't be asking that question."
"...Well, there you go." Jon tried to sound cheerful as he rubbed the heel of Stephen's hand with his thumb. "This should work along more or less the same lines, only with clean sheets and less venereal disease. So why all the fuss?"
"Because, Jon — much as it pains me to say this about someone whose idea of fancy dress is wearing a plain grey shirt with long sleeves instead of short ones — you're too classy for three-A.M. truck-stop-style sex!"
In the dark, Jon broke into a smile. "You love me, don't you?"
Stephen caught his breath. "D-didn't say that."
Rather than pressing further, Jon slid his palms up Stephen's sleeves, cupped the back of the other man's neck, and drew him down into a gentle, if awkwardly posed, kiss.
Stephen moaned as Jon continued pressing kisses to his jaw and neck, wriggling against Jon's bare stomach in a way that would have tickled if it hadn't been so tantalizing, soft plastic dick and all. Jon's heels dug into the sheets as he drew his knees up towards Stephen's back, thrusting for some much-needed friction on his own still-clothed erection; Stephen groaned more heartily, then broke off with an indignant squeak.
"You okay?" asked Jon quickly, as Stephen rolled onto the mattress and fumbled with fistfuls of his sweater.
"Fine," panted Stephen. "It's just — it got twisted, it pinches, it — Jon?"
"Yeah?"
Except for the rise and fall of his shoulders, Stephen had gone very still. "Turn over."
Jon rolled until he was on his side, facing the wall. No way was he going to pull off lying on his stomach at this point.
"And don't look," added Stephen. "Promise you won't look."
"I promise," echoed Jon. He didn't even complain when Stephen shoved a pillow over his head anyway.
Had there been championships for stripping, Stephen could have taken home the gold. Jon knew he was wearing at least three layers of clothing, but it took less than a minute of rustling fabric, including pauses to stretch and breathe, before the other side of the mattress creaked as he flopped back down beside Jon and brushed up to his back.
Jon let out a groan of anticipation as Stephen's tongue raked up his spine. "Ohhh. Welcome back."
"Mine," whispered Stephen, nibbling on his ear while arching cautiously against him. There was still a layer of cloth between Jon's shoulder blades and the swell of Stephen's chest, but it was a bare arm that wrapped around Jon's body and roamed downward. "Is this okay?"
"Fine," gasped Jon at the long-awaited undoing of his much-too-tight khakis. "Better than fine. It's — ooh. Uh. What was—?"
Stephen slipped into his sternest Newsman Voice. "That's called an erection, Jon," he announced, grinding once more against Jon's pelvis to drive the point home (as it were). "You run into them during gay sex. Try to keep up."
Jon's answering laugh turned into a squeak. Words seemed to be failing him; all he could manage was a ragged chant of Stephen's name, in time with the rhythm of the other man's pumping fist and thrusting hips.
At first Stephen was whispering something in his ear, but that soon trailed off in favor of mouthing Jon's neck, kissing and licking and running his teeth over the tender skin, until Jon's vision whited out with Stephen's name tearing itself from his throat.
As Jon came down, Stephen's hand moved to clutch at his chest. His mouth had gone still now, head pressed fiercely against Jon's neck, every ounce of energy poured into being wrapped around Jon as tightly as possible while his hips quickened their pace.
"Stephen—" stammered Jon, the sheets making a paltry substitute for Stephen's soft skin under his fingers. "Let me — do something for you — anything—"
"Love me," pleaded Stephen.
Before Jon could answer, Stephen's whole body shuddered, and with a cry he collapsed around Jon: limp as a popped balloon, if quite a bit heavier.
Tentatively, Jon cupped a hand over Stephen's, and was relieved when Stephen's trembling fingers laced through his.
"Love you," he whispered. "So much."
A sunbeam right across Stephen's eyes woke him up.
He started to stretch, then nearly jumped out of his skin (if only!) when he realized he wasn't alone. The mattress creaked with his startled bounce, rousing the man beside him, who stirred and blinked around the room in confusion. "Hnh?"
"Morning, Jon," breathed Stephen.
Jon squinted over at him, then broke into a sleepy smile. "You're wearing my shirt."
Instinctively Stephen crumpled the blanket over his chest, though he could only feel Jon's eyes running over the grey fabric, not stripping it off. "Grabbed the wrong one last night," he muttered.
"Mm." Jon closed his eyes again, still smiling.
I like him.
The thought drifted by so quietly that at first Stephen thought it was his own. A second later he sat bolt upright. "What's that, Sweetness?"
At the name, Jon too snapped awake. "Stephen! Where's the gun?"
"Oh, Jon, she was never the gun!" The blanket slid down into Stephen's lap as he scrambled forward. "Sweetness, please — I didn't catch that, please, say it again—"
Silence. Silence so profound that it seemed to eclipse the birdsong outside.
"You promised!" he shouted into the empty air. "You promised you wouldn't leave me alone!"
"She's dead, Stephen!"
Stephen turned so abruptly that the extra movement sent a chill through his skin. He finally made a grab for the blanket, and why wasn't she scolding him for taking so long?
"I'm sorry," added Jon softly. "She's been dead for a long time now."
"Shut up!" Stephen hunched into a protective ball, wrapping his arms around his chest. "You don't know anything about it!"
Jon's eyes glittered with one of those stupid unreadable expressions: more than sorrow, not quite pity, tinged with something too complicated to name.
"I know she loved you," he said. "I know you'll always love her, and no matter what happens, you're always going to miss her. And I know that nothing will ever replace what you two had."
Stephen blinked rapidly, swallowing around the lump in his throat.
"I also know that I love you," continued Jon after a beat. "And that if you want it — if you'll let me — I'll make sure you never have to be alone again."
He fell silent, waiting.
Outside the sun shone brighter than ever, and the birds began to sing.
And when Jon held open his arms, it suddenly seemed the easiest thing in the world for Stephen to fall into them, to nuzzle the other man's chest in an attempt to return the hug without actually letting go of himself, while Jon pulled him close and rubbed his shoulders and whispered soothing reassurances in his ear: Shh. It's okay. I love you.
I've got you.
It's checking his new mustache in the mirror one last time, just to enjoy how it looks when smoothed by his broader and rougher hands, before catching the bus downtown to the audition.
He signs in as Stephen Colbert and steps in front of the camera.
A week later he has the job, and a week after that WPTS News 7 at Noon gets a letter from his cousin Margo, who misses her long-lost baby brother. His first reply is brief. It won't be the last.
Stage presence doesn't translate into screen presence; his delivery is wooden at first, his relationship with the camera wide-eyed and standoffish. He knows there's an audience out there, but he hasn't figured out how to work them when he can't see them.
He'll get better.
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And, lady, the T sex was HOT. Sexiest non-sex scene ever. Hats off.
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And, pfft, what do you mean "non-sex"? Granted, it was manual rather than, uh, orifice-based, but there was approach with intent to orgasm (successfully, even). It counts!
...also, thank you!
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And yes, my slash sex definition is limited. :D I'm a dirty, dirty girl.
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And that tweet is great.
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And thanks!
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your baby brother was your baby sister
and now she is dead ;_; that is your cousin
Even though my heart is still in sadness, I am glad Charphen got his happy ending. Hopefully as their relationship evolves he will be more comfortable with Jon/ willing to be vulernable/whathave you. I mean I am sure what they have is nice but I am sure Jon would rather take a more active role.
Also LOL forever at "approach with intent to orgasm." I'm not even certain what that sounds like. A legal term? IDK.
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Not sure if he'll ever be terribly comfortable shirtless, but he'll get better at slow/tender/not-slightly-drunk sex as things go along. The future is sunny.
I think I stole that term from Dan Savage =3
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He gets through it, though! There is healing at the end of the road!
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lol at Stephen's terrified and awkward rushing of Jon into his apartment, and needing to go get drunk alone before joining him. That felt..very right, for the difficulty of the moment. Honestly, I'm surprised Stephen didn't change his packer right away, but I guess he wasn't thinking that clearly since he was still basically psyching himself up.
Stephen snorted. "If you ever paid a late-night visit to the truck stop just past exit 57 on the parkway going south, you wouldn't be asking that question."
"...Well, there you go." Jon tried to sound cheerful as he rubbed the heel of Stephen's hand with his thumb.
::cringes:: Oh Stephen. Jon handled that pretty smoothly ::sighs::.
much as it pains me to say this about someone whose idea of fancy dress is wearing a plain grey shirt with long sleeves instead of short ones — you're too classy for three-A.M. truck-stop-style sex!"
XD excellent line.
wriggling against Jon's bare stomach in a way that would have tickled if it hadn't been so tantalizing, soft plastic dick and all. Hmm. That kind of took me out of the scene for a moment, partially because I'm never sure if we're supposed to be seeing this from "Stephen's" POV or Jon's. Stephen definitely wouldn't describe himself that way; Jon might if only in his head as he's still getting used to things. As a third party observation it ruins the moment a little. (further side note... Stephen's been doing this for a while...well sort of. Not in the healthiest manner. I don't know if he would refer to his dick as "it", even if he hasn't had bottom surgery. Honestly I don't know since he's been doing this mostly on his own).
Mmm, lovely way to rejoin the party, Stephen <3 I like the continuation of the licking for possession :D
Stephen slipped into his sternest Newsman Voice. "That's called an erection, Jon," he announced, grinding once more against Jon's pelvis to drive the point home (as it were). "You run into them during gay sex. Try to keep up." I love that so much ♥
For a messy first time, that was pretty damn hot :D
And as heartbreaking as this second-to-last scene is, it's my favorite. As painful as it is for Stephen to lose that bit of Sweetness he was holding on to, I love the last "I like him", and being replaced by Jon's whisper in his ear as he holds him.
\o/ triumphant flashback! Well sort of. The part about reconnecting with family is very interesting... Stephen is remarkably strong to put up with that sort of constant stabbing reminder. I'd be interested to see the kinds of letters that get exchanged. Did he invent a happy life for this imaginary "Charlene"?
Excellent, excellent story, thanks so much for writing this ♥
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OMG ;_________________________;
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i only wish I hadno subject
...but Jon is there to back him up, so he'll make it through in the end =)
The whole sex scene is Jon's POV, and, yeah, that part is in his head. (Random sidenote: when I'm writing them, Jon's POV uses "dick" and Stephen's uses "cock".) The point being that Stephen doesn't have the Insistently Throbbing ErectionTM so common in such sex scenes, and that absence is something Jon registers - not in a "this is less hot" sense, or a "oh, I'd better switch my pronouns" sense, just in a "huh, so this is part of the experience" sense. Not sure how to soften that (lol) in the text...
I'm confused about which "it" you mean - the only one in the line you quoted refers to Stephen's wriggling, not any part of his anatomy. (Either way, uh, how do guys - trans or no - refer to their penises? I wouldn't have guessed there was cognitive dissonance around the pronoun in the first place.)
You know Stephen's getting his confidence back up when he starts snarking :D
It wasn't all about strength at the time. Remember, Charphen had been actively hallucinating Stephness' voice for a while by that point - he would probably say that Sweetness dictated her letters to him, and he just wrote them down and mailed them. They're like Peter and Valentine Wiggin, except for the whole "one of them is dead" part. So he managed to kick a lot of the grief and heartache down the road a few years, and then a few more, holding it off until he was fortified enough to deal with it.
All of which ends up making the romance arc inextricably intertwined with the arc of Stephen's struggle to reach that point of strength, so that everything comes together at once. *jazz hands* Synergy!
Believe me, this was my pleasure :)
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Huh, that's an interesting distinction between dick and cock, but yeah, I see that too. Not sure how to soften that (lol) in the text... :D no worries, it's not the kind of thing that's supposed to go smoothly or without confusion anyway.
Oh sorry, the "it" I meant was in "Fine," panted Stephen. "It's just — it got twisted, it pinches, it — Jon?" Especially the repitition of "it" three times, made me think "why is he referring to part of himself as 'it'?" Maybe Stephen would get hung up on thinking of that part of himself as 'not real' and 'not good enough', but I think his character is more likely to go into pride overdrive and refer to that part of himself (detachable or not) in a more personal matter.
LoL sorry, that just reminded me... Ah, as for how guys refer to their penises... either "I" as if they were referring to their entire being, or "he" - which reminded me of seeing Rory Albanese do standup and joke about the really confident guys being the ones who give their dicks girl's names - "Me and Gretchen here would like to show you a good time"
Eep :(
:D
*hugs*
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LOL@"Gretchen". Now I'm trying to think what kinds of names Stephen would give to his various, ah, tools. (Maybe he and cis!Stephen and Stephanie should all get their collections together and compare notes...)
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Why didn't Stephen have top surgery, though? It's not as if he can't afford it at this point.
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Top surgery doesn't just take money; it takes recovery time, and support for the duration. Stephen can't take a couple months off from the show without an explanation, and up until this point he hasn't had anyone who could live with him and change the bandages and reach for things on high shelves while his chest healed. (I'm sure could hire someone for the latter, but Stephen's not the kind of person who would be comfortable being that dependent on someone he didn't already know and trust.)
This is kind of a prequel to "Binding", in which Stephen floats the idea and Jon offers support. So it'll come together eventually.
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(Anonymous) 2010-03-19 09:43 pm (UTC)(link)I've just started making the vaguest of gestures in the direction of a transition, and having this story... it's silly how much it helps me. But, to have trans-ness included in something that was part of my life before I realised what was wrong, rather than having to seek it out specifically-- it's comforting. It makes it feel a little less like I'm going to have to totally kill girl-me in order to find room for not-girl-me to breathe. (Plus, as long as I make it through better than Stephen and Charlene, I'm OK!)
Anyway, I just wanted to say, thank you. Thank you for writing this, and thank you for writing it so well.
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Not silly at all. I remember how amazing it was to find out that The Guy Who Did The Lion King Songs was gay - that sense of connection is really important. And with trans-ness being so much less visible, it's that much harder to fill the need.
So I'm honored that this fic worked for you, and I wish you the best of luck!
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Multifandom trans!fic link list. Browse for series you know, or just click at random and see what you get =D
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(Anonymous) 2010-05-08 08:36 am (UTC)(link):o
Amazing! Thanks so much! I WILL NEVER SLEEP AGAIN.