Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2013-07-26 05:46 pm
ptahrrific) wrote2013-07-26 05:46 pm
Entry tags:
Fake News | ensemble | R | Shout*For, chapter 17
Title: Shout*For, chapter 17: My Best Was Never Good Enough
Characters/Pairings: Jon/"Stephen", Jimmy, Tina, Olivia/Kristen, Wyatt, Tucker, Brian, cameos, OCs.
Rating: R
Contents: Sexual predation (on-screen), fantasized violence
Disclaimer: See series Table of Contents.
Our heroes juggle their developing relationships, professional demands, private traumas, a less-than-ideal discovery, and, in Jon's case, some fake yogurt.
Jon S.
I don't believe this, Olivia!
Jon S.
I get keeping things under wraps for professional reasons but how could you not tell me this one?
Jon S.
Does our friendship mean nothing to you??
<3 Olivia <3
whoa there slow down boo
<3 Olivia <3
what r u talking about?
Jon S.
Your next album tracklist obvs!!!!
<3 Olivia <3
Ok slow down a second
<3 Olivia <3
U know Im not doin the ACTUAL Born To Run, y/y??
<3 Olivia <3
its just a completely diff song that is TITLED Born To Run
Jon S.
Wtf?
Jon S.
Is that even legal??
<3 Olivia <3
Yea boo Im pretty sure 3-word titles are not (c)able
<3 Olivia <3
Also me singing about how desperately I want 2 leave this toxic town while Im still young is pbly not good PR
<3 Olivia <3
Sry 2 burst ur bubble.
Jon S.
What's next?? a completely new song that just happens to be titled Dark Side of the Moon? or Bridge Over Troubled Water? or Don't Stop Believin'?
<3 Olivia <3
isnt Walking on Sunshine on ur tracklist?
Jon S.
Yes! because it's a cover of the ACTUAL Walking On Sunshine!
If Olivia texted a reply, Jon was called down to wardrobe before he could catch it. They were filming a commercial today: a loudly branded kind of yogurt that soon all the kids were going to be wanting in their school lunches. Apparently this required them all to be in color-coordinated shirts.
"Olivia's doing a song called Born To Run that isn't a cover of the real Born To Run," Jon informed the others when they were lined up in front of the mirrors, a makeup tech teasing his hair.
"Of course it isn't," said Stephen matter-of-factly. "She would've let you in on it if she was doing a Springsteen cover."
"That's what she told me," admitted Jon.
Tucker, eyes closed while his tech worked on the foundation around them, said, "Isn't Born To Run the one that's, like, half motorcycle sex metaphors?"
Jon groaned. "Okay, okay, you don't have to rub it in!"
At last they were ushered out to the set, a fake kitchen with surprisingly nice tan wood paneling. There was some kind of argument going on among the camera people, briefly leaving the band alone with the stack of yogurt cups. Jon picked one up to get a sense of the heft: they were filled with something more solid than actual yogurt (unless it had gone really disgusting), but about the same weight.
Stephen and Jimmy were into a deep discussion of something that by the sound of it was Pixar-related. Jon snagged two more of the fake yogurt cups and took their measure for a second, then tossed one, two, three into the air.
It had been a while since he'd practiced. There was a bag of hackey sacks somewhere in his room, untouched for months, probably long buried under other stuff by now. But it wasn't so hard to get back in the rhythm when you only had three. Throw over, pass under, throw/pass, throw/pass, throw/pass....
"Hey! You there!'
Jon flailed, caught one, missed the other two. They landed on the linoleum with soft thumps. "Sorry!" he said, trying not to panic. "Sorry, I didn't mean to...they're not gonna be broken, are they?"
"Forget the fake yogurts, kid! We've got a million of 'em," said the director, a sharp-faced woman in thick hipster glasses. "Could you do that again?"
"Sure," stammered Jon. "You mean, like, right now?"
"I mean when the cameras are rolling! How many can you handle at once?"
One thing led to another, and soon they were doing takes for a clip in which Jon juggled the fake cups while his bandmates looked on, grinning. It didn't have to last long; only a few seconds would end up in the montage, between shots of them messing with their instruments and shots of them enthusiastically dipping up spoonfuls of the product. Tucker's grin was kind of strained, and someone must have noticed: after the first take they angled him away from the camera for this bit. Jimmy had no problem looking excited.
And Stephen...he looked downright enraptured. "Why didn't you tell anyone you could do that?" he asked after take three, while a woman moved between the four of them dabbing sweat from strategic parts of their faces.
"I did!" protested Jon. "There was this big questionnaire thing about other skills I might have when the band first hired me, and I put it on there. Nobody ever asked about it, so I figured they'd decided it wasn't important."
"Uh-huh," said Stephen. "You probably wrote something like 'amateur juggling' or 'really terrible juggling', didn't you."
Jon honestly couldn't remember what he'd written at this point. He shrugged. "Barely keeping four things in the air is amateur juggling."
"It's still a skill I don't have!" said Stephen earnestly. "Don't you know how rare that is?"
"Oh dear god," muttered Tucker.
For once, it was a reasonable level of exasperation, so Jon resisted the twin impulses to defend his boyfriend and to snap at Tucker on general principle. "Hey, as long as you can turn that enthusiasm on Strawberry-Banana Swirl, we're good to go."
~*~
"Hey, Col-bert! Over here a second."
Stephen was already barefoot and shirtless, but he obligingly hung back with Tucker while Jimmy and Jon went for the showers. "What is it?"
Tucker waited until at least one of them had started the water running, then said, in a low voice, "What's the deal with you and Stewart?"
"D-deal?" stammered Stephen. Very convincingly, he thought.
"Yes, the deal. You keep staring at the guy like every stupid little thing he does is the equivalent of landing on the moon. And you're the one who picked out his ring, aren't you?"
"Jon is sadly deficient in fashion sense," said Stephen stiffly. "It was only natural for him to delegate. And you're just mutually biased against recognizing anything the other does as talented."
Tucker crossed his arms. "Even if that's true, it doesn't mean you're not biased in favor of anything that might get you into his pants."
"I am not —!" yelped Stephen. He cut himself off when the noise started Briar Rose, who had been napping on her blanket where he'd tethered her during the shoot, and sat on the couch beside her to calm her with some skritching. To Tucker he hissed. "I don't know about you, but I take my purity ring very seriously."
"Would you stop evading me for a second and figure out that I'm on your side?"
Stephen blinked. He would've thought Tucker would be against anything that made Jon happy as a matter of course. "Really?"
"Yes! I want to make sure nothing gets the band in trouble. And that's what you want too, right? The last thing I want is for anyone in the press to get their claws into whatever," he made a face, "non-yogurt-related fruit-on-the-bottom activities you may or may not have going on. Ergo: your side."
"Okay, you have a point there," said Stephen. The puppy rolled languidly over, head bopping against his leg. He rewarded her cuteness with a belly rub.
"That's better." Tucker sank into the adjacent squishy armchair and started getting his shoes off. "So: You've decided you have...a crush, or something like that, on Stewart?"
"...Something like that."
"And have you mentioned this to him at all?"
"It may have come up."
"Uh-huh. And judging by the lack of dramatic sobbing around here lately, I take it he didn't turn you down. Is he stringing you along for the gifts and adoration, or are we talking mutual something-like-that territory?"
"Will you excuse me for a minute?" said Stephen in a high voice, and made a run for the showers.
Jon's towel and a grey T-shirt were tossed over the outer door of the leftmost stall. Stephen knocked on the frosted glass. "What is it?" called Jon over the water.
"Jon, can I talk to you?"
"Sure, go ahead."
"I mean without yelling!" yelled Stephen.
There was a rustling of plastic, and the latch on the door jiggled.
Stephen leaned through the door into the cubicle where Jon's clothes were piled, braced against the tile-and-cement frame. Across from him, Jon was holding the shower curtain in place so that only his hand and expectant face were visible. There was shampoo in his hair, and water running down his chin; thanks to the hues of the curtain and the checkerboarded tiles, his eyes shone very blue, even in the shadow.
"Tucker wants to know if you reciprocate my crush or if you're stringing me along," Stephen informed him.
Jon gaped. "He what?"
"It's okay!" said Stephen quickly, and laid out Tucker's the-band-comes-first policy.
"Well, that's something, at least," muttered Jon. "Listen, why don't you go ahead and blow his narrow little mind...."
So Stephen returned to the main dressing room, made himself comfortable next to his dog, and said, "Jon would like you to know that he's the one who came on to me first."
There was a gratifying pause while Tucker processed that one.
Eventually, though, he sighed and went back to unbuttoning his shirt. "Well, that just makes this all the more important: Don't go screwing this up, Col-bert."
Stephen couldn't believe this. "Are you...being protective? Of Jon?"
"I'm being aware that Jon is not the problem!" exclaimed Tucker. When Stephen stared blankly at him, he elaborated. "Look, Col-bert, I'm not saying this to be mean, but...you're a flake, all right? One day you think Stewart's a pretentious antisocial jerk, then he's one of your precious BFFs, then he's a traitor you're not speaking to, and now, what, you're in love with him? I mean, it's a miracle this band hasn't had more drama than it can handle already. Fling a couple of broken hearts into the mix, and we'll never get anything done again. So don't screw this up. When you feel the urge to dump him, clamp down on it until the rest of us have one foot safely out the door."
~*~
Jon rinsed out his hair and jumped still-drippy into his clothes as fast as he ever had.
Not quite fast enough, it turned out. Stephen was coming his way again as he got out, lips pressed into a tight line. "Is everything okay?" asked Jon in a hushed voice.
"Fine!" said Stephen, brushing past him. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to wash my hair."
Tucker was nearing the end of his methodical undressing when Jon faced him across the room. "Just so you know, if I find out you've said anything to upset him, I'm punching your lights out. The band's worth a hell of a lot less to me than he is."
"Uh-huh," said Tucker. "Is that supposed to scare me? You're about eight inches shorter than I am."
"You ever watch any nature documentaries, Carlson? The littlest one is always the meanest sunuvabitch," snapped Jon. "Besides, I came here from Jersey. You came here from KidzBop. Do the math."
The silence hung between them for an unsettlingly long moment. Jon's skin started to prickle as it dried.
"You really should've left the schoolyard threats back where you came from," said Tucker at last, casual as ever. "I know there are people out there who find gratuitous violence sexy, but somehow I don't think your boyfriend is one of them."
~*~
A later evening, in heavy LA traffic.
Stephen was having very vivid fantasies about car crashes.
It wasn't likely to happen, given the agonizing crawl they were moving at. It could be hours before he made it home. Ned had all the time he could possibly want to keep Stephen pinned against the window.
They were on the way back from an awards show — one that Stephen attended in the capacity of a guest presenter, not a nominee, which was his least favorite capacity to be in. He'd paid enough attention to get that all the categories were Internet-based, and had dutifully read his bit from the teleprompter before presenting Best Fan Blog to some site called Montana Nation. Very offensive, in his opinion. This was the America Nation, and with proper sponsorship he might make allowances for something like the Mazda Nation, but no individual state should be getting full of itself like that.
Also, no manager should be getting handsy with Stephen's thighs like this. Apparently it was just not Stephen's night.
Ned was mouthing at his neck again in the bargain, and not as gently as he'd done the last time they were alone together. If he left marks, Stephen was going to...okay, do nothing, but he was definitely going to fantasize even harder about the far window exploding inward from an impact and sending a dozen jagged shards into the man's back.
The image had the bonus of rewarding Stephen for not fighting, of making it a brilliant strategy to lie flat and do nothing with Ned practically on top of him. He'd be protected from the explosion. He wouldn't get a scratch.
When Ned's attentions worked up to his jawline, Stephen broke with the do-nothing strategy in favor of squirming just enough to get his mouth out of the way.
All he got for his trouble was a disappointed hiss. "Come on, buddy, lighten up. All I want is a kiss," admonished Ned...and one of his hands found the front of Stephen's pants, stroking him lightly through the fabric. For the first time in his life, Stephen wished he wasn't quite so ballsy.
The message was crystal clear. Give the man what he wants, or he'll take something else instead.
Stephen forced himself back to the more relaxed position...but Ned's posture didn't change. No scratchy goatee pressed against Stephen's mouth; the hand on his junk didn't retreat.
"Y-you can do what you want," said Stephen plaintively. "So do it."
"Told you I want a kiss," purred Ned. "So how about it, sweetheart? You going to give me one or not?"
Stephen nearly choked.
The fingers on his pants caressed a fraction more firmly.
Suck it up, Col-bert, Stephen ordered himself, and pressed a soft, quick, closedmouthed kiss to the corner of Ned's lips.
The man sighed, as if disappointed, but his hand arced its way back to the outside of Stephen's hip. "Such a sweet little thing you are sometimes, you know that?" he said fondly.
The words came on autopilot. "Yes, sir."
As Ned started grinding rhythmically against his leg, Stephen squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on the bright side: with his manager's pants still on, at least none of Stephen's clothes were going to get ruined tonight.
~*~
A later-still afternoon, at the Col-bert mansion.
"I got a feelin' that you could be feelin' / A whole lot better than you feel today," sang Tina, a bright, peppy tune that made Olivia sit up straighter and quit playing with Kristen's curls. "You say you got a problem...well, that's no problem! / It's super easy not to feel that way / When you start to get confused because of thoughts in your head / Don't feel those feelings — hold them in instead! / Turn 'em off! / Like a light switch — just go 'bap'! / Really, what's so hard about that? / Turn it off!"
Their little core team of six (plus the dog) had gathered at Stephen's house, lounging on the beanbags in the home theater and working through a musical-theater-off. Only Kristen had opted not to play, and spent the time chilling with her phone in hand and her head in Olivia's lap,
Of the rest of them, Olivia had already knocked Jimmy out. Jon was still in the game, but only because Stephen was blatantly going easy on him. And Tina had so far kept up with everything Jon threw at her, but since he was still kind of an amateur, Olivia hadn't figured her to be a heavyweight.
Until now.
"You swear that's a real thing?" demanded Olivia. "From an actual musical? Like, on stage and everything?"
Tina broke into a toothy grin. "Does that mean you don't know it?"
"I didn't say that! Sing it again."
Tina did. It didn't help. Olivia was drawing a complete blank.
"I give up," she said, more awed than disappointed. "You got me. I yield."
"I did it!" squealed Tina, clapping her hands. Jimmy gave her a high-five.
Olivia twirled a lock of Kristen's coppery hair around her fingers. "You better be looking that up."
"Already on it."
If Stephen was similarly baffled, he hid it quickly, giving Jon a stanza from Newsies that Jon guessed in seconds. Jon followed it up with Hairspray, which was similarly easy for Tina. And then it was Tina up against Stephen. "Same song. Do you want me to sing it again?"
"Of course! That's the rule!" snapped Stephen.
Tina did. The original earnestness of the lyrics was breaking down into hilarity with every repetition.
When she finished, Stephen stared at her in silence for a long moment, eyes wide and unnervingly dark.
"You don't know it either," realized Jon, breaking into a slow smile.
Stephen's lip started wobbling.
In a hushed voice, Kristen informed Olivia, "Google isn't finding the lyrics."
Picking up on the words, Stephen cried out, in a watery voice, "Cheating is not allowed, Tina Fey!"
"I am not either cheating, Stephen Col-bert!"
"I demand arbitration! Tell Jimmy what it is, and if he says it's legitimate, I will accept it!"
"Deal!"
So Tina disappeared with Jimmy into the hall for a couple of seconds. When they came back, Jimmy shot Stephen a look of pure apology. "Sorry, Stephen...she's got you here."
"No!" wailed Stephen, and with a sob buried his face in Jon's chest.
"Hey, shh, it's okay," said Jon awkwardly. He scanned the group as if waiting for someone to call them out, visibly realized that nobody was going to, and let himself start stroking his boyfriend's hair. "Oh, man, is it my turn? Is it down to just us?"
"Yep," said Olivia. "So good luck with that."
"Gee, thanks." Jon turned to Tina. "Listen, this is awkward, but...I'm hitting the limit of my song repertoire, here. Give me a minute to come up with something that isn't really obvious. Like, 'memories, all alone in the moonlight' levels of obvious."
"I see," said Tina, beaming and not even trying to tone it down. "What if we make a deal? You don't have to think up any more songs, you just have to guess mine. And if you get it, you win."
Stephen withdrew from hiding in Jon's shirt just enough to sniffle, "That is not in the rules."
"Sounds reasonable to me," said Kristen. "It's not like they couldn't do it under the regular rules anyway — Tina could just throw her next turn if Jon got it."
"Besides," added Olivia, "it's not really in the rules to keep your boyfriend in the game by softballing him every time, either."
With a harrumph, Stephen went back to hiding.
"You know what? I'll take this deal." Jon settled into rubbing Stephen's back. "You don't have to sing it again yet, just let me think it through, okay?"
"Sure thing."
And then they were all gazing expectantly at Jon. If the room hadn't been carpeted, you could've heard a pin drop.
"Olivia and Stephen don't know it by ear, and Kristen can't find it online," said Jon slowly. "That last one could just be because you misspoke the lyrics a little, but that doesn't explain the first two. It could be really obscure...but Jimmy knew it was legit right away, and, no offense, Jimmy, but for you to recognize something that neither of those two have heard of? Not likely."
Jimmy shrugged, unbothered. Sometimes he was almost Wyatt-like in his zen. "That's fair."
"So, maybe it's some in-jokey thing you two both know from when you worked together," continued Jon. "Or maybe...it's something so new that the lyrics and music aren't out there yet. We could all have heard of it, but only people who've seen it onstage would know what it sounds like."
Olivia sucked in a breath. Now that he laid it out like that, it seemed so obvious. Why had she just given up after realizing the song wasn't in her memory banks, instead of stopping to think about it?
"It's a comedy." Jon's voice was gaining confidence. "I'd put money on it being a religious satire. Not to mention, the tone of it would fit right in on South Park. Is it The Book of Mormon?"
The second he said it, Jimmy started clapping. The room descended into chaos as everyone wanted to either yell at Jon or congratulate him or both, and Briar Rose got so overexcited she started barking and running in circle. Stephen just wrapped himself around Jon like a spider monkey and made little keening noises of desperation.
Olivia gave Jon a mostly-celebratory slap on the back, then ruffled Stephen's neatly-parted hair out of place. "Dude, you have to relax. I hate him a little too right now, but you can't win 'em all."
"I don't hate Jon at all!" wailed Stephen. "But Tina Fey is my new archnemesis!"
~*~
Kristen (•_•) ( •_•)>⌐■-■ (⌐■_■)
Hey bro! JSYK, there's officially a rumor now that we're dating. So if you ever want to officially fake date so we can go on fake double dates that are also real double dates, call me.
Jon S.
My head hurts a little now.
Kristen (•_•) ( •_•)>⌐■-■ (⌐■_■)
Yo dawg I herd u liek dates so I got a date with ur date's date so u can date while u date.
Jon S.
I was thinking more Dateception.
Jon S.
~We need to go deeper.~
Kristen (•_•) ( •_•)>⌐■-■ (⌐■_■)
Haha yes that too.
Jon S.
TY for the offer. If Stephen's ok with it I will keep it in mind :)
"Who are you texting?" asked Stephen as he came back from shooing Briar Rose downstairs. With the door shut behind him, it was just the two of them alone in Stephen's room. Good deal.
"Just Kristen." Jon put the phone aside, sat back against Stephen's headboard, and outlined the double-double-bearding suggestion. "I'm not wild about it, but maybe it's the most convenient way to handle things, and if you don't mind..." (Stephen made a pained face.) "You mind. Got it. Okay, we'll table that for now."
The phone buzzed again. Jon took one last look, and sent ok, will do as a reply.
"Also, we're supposed to stay out of your Tumblr tag for a while," he reported. "And to not ask why."
"Why?" said Stephen instantly.
In spite of his better judgment, Jon found himself getting walked through the steps of looking at a tag (all he'd ever tried to do on Tumblr was follow unicorngirl18's posts; this was unfamiliar territory), on the condition that Stephen promised not to look unless Jon told him it was okay. Soon he found himself scrolling past publicity shots of Stephen run through half a dozen Photoshop filters, a YouTube video of their RDMA performance earlier this year, a gifset compiling Stephen's various dance moves...
...and, oh. Oh dear.
"Well?" demanded Stephen.
Jon winced and scrolled faster. Yeah, there was another. And another. Different ones, too. Someone, or maybe multiple someones, had taken the infamously leaked banana photo and decided it would be hilarious to photoshop a wide variety of naked penises into the then-fifteen-year-old's mouth.
It wasn't fair. Jon backbuttoned hard out of the page, gritting his teeth. Even if they could keep Stephen from personally finding out about it, it wasn't fair that people were allowed to do this to him. And if it wasn't for my stupid mistake, they wouldn't be able to....
"Kristen's right," he told Stephen sharply. "Listen, don't worry about it, okay? Come over here and, ah," he flashed his best over-the-top seductive grin, "let me distract you."
He was rewarded with a really adorable blush, and Stephen paused only long enough to hide the gold ring in a jewelry box (Jon's hadn't even come with him) before cuddling up to his side. Jon tucked a lock of blond-streaked hair out of Stephen's face and was just going for the kiss when there was a scratching outside the door.
Well, if the dog had to go out, she had to go out. Jon was the superior being, here; he could wait a few minutes, secure in the knowledge that Stephen would be right back.
But when Stephen opened the door for her, Briar Rose trotted inside, and flopped down on Stephen's Lord of the Rings throw to make herself at home.
"C'mon, princess, this room is about to be no place for a dog your age," groaned Jon.
"I'm sure she'll be good!" countered Stephen, following the puppy over and rubbing her ears. "You'll be real quiet and well-behaved, won't you, sweetie?"
"She'll probably start barking at us," said Jon. "Or get bored and go try to eat one of your fish."
"She will not! She understands that fish are friends, not food," said Stephen solemnly. Before Jon could tweak him for quoting a non-Disney animated film, he added, "And if we shut her out and she's begging to come in, and Papa or Consuela notices...."
"...that would be bad," finished Jon. They'd have to work on conditioning the puppy out of it. Some other time, though. Right now Jon really, really wanted to get back to making out with Stephen. "Guess I'll just have to start learning how to work with an audience."
Stephen snuggled up to him again, one hand falling possessively over his chest. "It isn't hard once you get used to it!"
"Uh-huh," said Jon dryly. "Should I be jealous of how easily you kiss people?"
He was only teasing, but it must have hit a nerve. "No!" yelled Stephen, fists closing around handfuls of Jon's T-shirt. "No, you should not, because I love you!"
They both froze. Stephen's chin was trembling. Jon's heart had started to race.
"Hey," he said softly, tracing the curve of Stephen's cheek. "Hey, I was kidding, okay? I'm not jealous of anything. I don't have to be. I know."
"Well, good!" cried Stephen, and hauled him into a kiss.
It was fierce, possessive, desperate — so Jon didn't try to be gentle in return, teeth sinking into Stephen's bottom lip, one hand twisting roughly in his hair. All questions of L-words aside, he wanted to shake into Stephen's bones the knowledge and security that Jon adored him, and believed in him, and wasn't about to give him up for anything.
Characters/Pairings: Jon/"Stephen", Jimmy, Tina, Olivia/Kristen, Wyatt, Tucker, Brian, cameos, OCs.
Rating: R
Contents: Sexual predation (on-screen), fantasized violence
Disclaimer: See series Table of Contents.
Our heroes juggle their developing relationships, professional demands, private traumas, a less-than-ideal discovery, and, in Jon's case, some fake yogurt.
Jon S.
I don't believe this, Olivia!
Jon S.
I get keeping things under wraps for professional reasons but how could you not tell me this one?
Jon S.
Does our friendship mean nothing to you??
<3 Olivia <3
whoa there slow down boo
<3 Olivia <3
what r u talking about?
Jon S.
Your next album tracklist obvs!!!!
<3 Olivia <3
Ok slow down a second
<3 Olivia <3
U know Im not doin the ACTUAL Born To Run, y/y??
<3 Olivia <3
its just a completely diff song that is TITLED Born To Run
Jon S.
Wtf?
Jon S.
Is that even legal??
<3 Olivia <3
Yea boo Im pretty sure 3-word titles are not (c)able
<3 Olivia <3
Also me singing about how desperately I want 2 leave this toxic town while Im still young is pbly not good PR
<3 Olivia <3
Sry 2 burst ur bubble.
Jon S.
What's next?? a completely new song that just happens to be titled Dark Side of the Moon? or Bridge Over Troubled Water? or Don't Stop Believin'?
<3 Olivia <3
isnt Walking on Sunshine on ur tracklist?
Jon S.
Yes! because it's a cover of the ACTUAL Walking On Sunshine!
If Olivia texted a reply, Jon was called down to wardrobe before he could catch it. They were filming a commercial today: a loudly branded kind of yogurt that soon all the kids were going to be wanting in their school lunches. Apparently this required them all to be in color-coordinated shirts.
"Olivia's doing a song called Born To Run that isn't a cover of the real Born To Run," Jon informed the others when they were lined up in front of the mirrors, a makeup tech teasing his hair.
"Of course it isn't," said Stephen matter-of-factly. "She would've let you in on it if she was doing a Springsteen cover."
"That's what she told me," admitted Jon.
Tucker, eyes closed while his tech worked on the foundation around them, said, "Isn't Born To Run the one that's, like, half motorcycle sex metaphors?"
Jon groaned. "Okay, okay, you don't have to rub it in!"
At last they were ushered out to the set, a fake kitchen with surprisingly nice tan wood paneling. There was some kind of argument going on among the camera people, briefly leaving the band alone with the stack of yogurt cups. Jon picked one up to get a sense of the heft: they were filled with something more solid than actual yogurt (unless it had gone really disgusting), but about the same weight.
Stephen and Jimmy were into a deep discussion of something that by the sound of it was Pixar-related. Jon snagged two more of the fake yogurt cups and took their measure for a second, then tossed one, two, three into the air.
It had been a while since he'd practiced. There was a bag of hackey sacks somewhere in his room, untouched for months, probably long buried under other stuff by now. But it wasn't so hard to get back in the rhythm when you only had three. Throw over, pass under, throw/pass, throw/pass, throw/pass....
"Hey! You there!'
Jon flailed, caught one, missed the other two. They landed on the linoleum with soft thumps. "Sorry!" he said, trying not to panic. "Sorry, I didn't mean to...they're not gonna be broken, are they?"
"Forget the fake yogurts, kid! We've got a million of 'em," said the director, a sharp-faced woman in thick hipster glasses. "Could you do that again?"
"Sure," stammered Jon. "You mean, like, right now?"
"I mean when the cameras are rolling! How many can you handle at once?"
One thing led to another, and soon they were doing takes for a clip in which Jon juggled the fake cups while his bandmates looked on, grinning. It didn't have to last long; only a few seconds would end up in the montage, between shots of them messing with their instruments and shots of them enthusiastically dipping up spoonfuls of the product. Tucker's grin was kind of strained, and someone must have noticed: after the first take they angled him away from the camera for this bit. Jimmy had no problem looking excited.
And Stephen...he looked downright enraptured. "Why didn't you tell anyone you could do that?" he asked after take three, while a woman moved between the four of them dabbing sweat from strategic parts of their faces.
"I did!" protested Jon. "There was this big questionnaire thing about other skills I might have when the band first hired me, and I put it on there. Nobody ever asked about it, so I figured they'd decided it wasn't important."
"Uh-huh," said Stephen. "You probably wrote something like 'amateur juggling' or 'really terrible juggling', didn't you."
Jon honestly couldn't remember what he'd written at this point. He shrugged. "Barely keeping four things in the air is amateur juggling."
"It's still a skill I don't have!" said Stephen earnestly. "Don't you know how rare that is?"
"Oh dear god," muttered Tucker.
For once, it was a reasonable level of exasperation, so Jon resisted the twin impulses to defend his boyfriend and to snap at Tucker on general principle. "Hey, as long as you can turn that enthusiasm on Strawberry-Banana Swirl, we're good to go."
~*~
"Hey, Col-bert! Over here a second."
Stephen was already barefoot and shirtless, but he obligingly hung back with Tucker while Jimmy and Jon went for the showers. "What is it?"
Tucker waited until at least one of them had started the water running, then said, in a low voice, "What's the deal with you and Stewart?"
"D-deal?" stammered Stephen. Very convincingly, he thought.
"Yes, the deal. You keep staring at the guy like every stupid little thing he does is the equivalent of landing on the moon. And you're the one who picked out his ring, aren't you?"
"Jon is sadly deficient in fashion sense," said Stephen stiffly. "It was only natural for him to delegate. And you're just mutually biased against recognizing anything the other does as talented."
Tucker crossed his arms. "Even if that's true, it doesn't mean you're not biased in favor of anything that might get you into his pants."
"I am not —!" yelped Stephen. He cut himself off when the noise started Briar Rose, who had been napping on her blanket where he'd tethered her during the shoot, and sat on the couch beside her to calm her with some skritching. To Tucker he hissed. "I don't know about you, but I take my purity ring very seriously."
"Would you stop evading me for a second and figure out that I'm on your side?"
Stephen blinked. He would've thought Tucker would be against anything that made Jon happy as a matter of course. "Really?"
"Yes! I want to make sure nothing gets the band in trouble. And that's what you want too, right? The last thing I want is for anyone in the press to get their claws into whatever," he made a face, "non-yogurt-related fruit-on-the-bottom activities you may or may not have going on. Ergo: your side."
"Okay, you have a point there," said Stephen. The puppy rolled languidly over, head bopping against his leg. He rewarded her cuteness with a belly rub.
"That's better." Tucker sank into the adjacent squishy armchair and started getting his shoes off. "So: You've decided you have...a crush, or something like that, on Stewart?"
"...Something like that."
"And have you mentioned this to him at all?"
"It may have come up."
"Uh-huh. And judging by the lack of dramatic sobbing around here lately, I take it he didn't turn you down. Is he stringing you along for the gifts and adoration, or are we talking mutual something-like-that territory?"
"Will you excuse me for a minute?" said Stephen in a high voice, and made a run for the showers.
Jon's towel and a grey T-shirt were tossed over the outer door of the leftmost stall. Stephen knocked on the frosted glass. "What is it?" called Jon over the water.
"Jon, can I talk to you?"
"Sure, go ahead."
"I mean without yelling!" yelled Stephen.
There was a rustling of plastic, and the latch on the door jiggled.
Stephen leaned through the door into the cubicle where Jon's clothes were piled, braced against the tile-and-cement frame. Across from him, Jon was holding the shower curtain in place so that only his hand and expectant face were visible. There was shampoo in his hair, and water running down his chin; thanks to the hues of the curtain and the checkerboarded tiles, his eyes shone very blue, even in the shadow.
"Tucker wants to know if you reciprocate my crush or if you're stringing me along," Stephen informed him.
Jon gaped. "He what?"
"It's okay!" said Stephen quickly, and laid out Tucker's the-band-comes-first policy.
"Well, that's something, at least," muttered Jon. "Listen, why don't you go ahead and blow his narrow little mind...."
So Stephen returned to the main dressing room, made himself comfortable next to his dog, and said, "Jon would like you to know that he's the one who came on to me first."
There was a gratifying pause while Tucker processed that one.
Eventually, though, he sighed and went back to unbuttoning his shirt. "Well, that just makes this all the more important: Don't go screwing this up, Col-bert."
Stephen couldn't believe this. "Are you...being protective? Of Jon?"
"I'm being aware that Jon is not the problem!" exclaimed Tucker. When Stephen stared blankly at him, he elaborated. "Look, Col-bert, I'm not saying this to be mean, but...you're a flake, all right? One day you think Stewart's a pretentious antisocial jerk, then he's one of your precious BFFs, then he's a traitor you're not speaking to, and now, what, you're in love with him? I mean, it's a miracle this band hasn't had more drama than it can handle already. Fling a couple of broken hearts into the mix, and we'll never get anything done again. So don't screw this up. When you feel the urge to dump him, clamp down on it until the rest of us have one foot safely out the door."
~*~
Jon rinsed out his hair and jumped still-drippy into his clothes as fast as he ever had.
Not quite fast enough, it turned out. Stephen was coming his way again as he got out, lips pressed into a tight line. "Is everything okay?" asked Jon in a hushed voice.
"Fine!" said Stephen, brushing past him. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to wash my hair."
Tucker was nearing the end of his methodical undressing when Jon faced him across the room. "Just so you know, if I find out you've said anything to upset him, I'm punching your lights out. The band's worth a hell of a lot less to me than he is."
"Uh-huh," said Tucker. "Is that supposed to scare me? You're about eight inches shorter than I am."
"You ever watch any nature documentaries, Carlson? The littlest one is always the meanest sunuvabitch," snapped Jon. "Besides, I came here from Jersey. You came here from KidzBop. Do the math."
The silence hung between them for an unsettlingly long moment. Jon's skin started to prickle as it dried.
"You really should've left the schoolyard threats back where you came from," said Tucker at last, casual as ever. "I know there are people out there who find gratuitous violence sexy, but somehow I don't think your boyfriend is one of them."
~*~
Stephen was having very vivid fantasies about car crashes.
It wasn't likely to happen, given the agonizing crawl they were moving at. It could be hours before he made it home. Ned had all the time he could possibly want to keep Stephen pinned against the window.
They were on the way back from an awards show — one that Stephen attended in the capacity of a guest presenter, not a nominee, which was his least favorite capacity to be in. He'd paid enough attention to get that all the categories were Internet-based, and had dutifully read his bit from the teleprompter before presenting Best Fan Blog to some site called Montana Nation. Very offensive, in his opinion. This was the America Nation, and with proper sponsorship he might make allowances for something like the Mazda Nation, but no individual state should be getting full of itself like that.
Also, no manager should be getting handsy with Stephen's thighs like this. Apparently it was just not Stephen's night.
Ned was mouthing at his neck again in the bargain, and not as gently as he'd done the last time they were alone together. If he left marks, Stephen was going to...okay, do nothing, but he was definitely going to fantasize even harder about the far window exploding inward from an impact and sending a dozen jagged shards into the man's back.
The image had the bonus of rewarding Stephen for not fighting, of making it a brilliant strategy to lie flat and do nothing with Ned practically on top of him. He'd be protected from the explosion. He wouldn't get a scratch.
When Ned's attentions worked up to his jawline, Stephen broke with the do-nothing strategy in favor of squirming just enough to get his mouth out of the way.
All he got for his trouble was a disappointed hiss. "Come on, buddy, lighten up. All I want is a kiss," admonished Ned...and one of his hands found the front of Stephen's pants, stroking him lightly through the fabric. For the first time in his life, Stephen wished he wasn't quite so ballsy.
The message was crystal clear. Give the man what he wants, or he'll take something else instead.
Stephen forced himself back to the more relaxed position...but Ned's posture didn't change. No scratchy goatee pressed against Stephen's mouth; the hand on his junk didn't retreat.
"Y-you can do what you want," said Stephen plaintively. "So do it."
"Told you I want a kiss," purred Ned. "So how about it, sweetheart? You going to give me one or not?"
Stephen nearly choked.
The fingers on his pants caressed a fraction more firmly.
Suck it up, Col-bert, Stephen ordered himself, and pressed a soft, quick, closedmouthed kiss to the corner of Ned's lips.
The man sighed, as if disappointed, but his hand arced its way back to the outside of Stephen's hip. "Such a sweet little thing you are sometimes, you know that?" he said fondly.
The words came on autopilot. "Yes, sir."
As Ned started grinding rhythmically against his leg, Stephen squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on the bright side: with his manager's pants still on, at least none of Stephen's clothes were going to get ruined tonight.
~*~
"I got a feelin' that you could be feelin' / A whole lot better than you feel today," sang Tina, a bright, peppy tune that made Olivia sit up straighter and quit playing with Kristen's curls. "You say you got a problem...well, that's no problem! / It's super easy not to feel that way / When you start to get confused because of thoughts in your head / Don't feel those feelings — hold them in instead! / Turn 'em off! / Like a light switch — just go 'bap'! / Really, what's so hard about that? / Turn it off!"
Their little core team of six (plus the dog) had gathered at Stephen's house, lounging on the beanbags in the home theater and working through a musical-theater-off. Only Kristen had opted not to play, and spent the time chilling with her phone in hand and her head in Olivia's lap,
Of the rest of them, Olivia had already knocked Jimmy out. Jon was still in the game, but only because Stephen was blatantly going easy on him. And Tina had so far kept up with everything Jon threw at her, but since he was still kind of an amateur, Olivia hadn't figured her to be a heavyweight.
Until now.
"You swear that's a real thing?" demanded Olivia. "From an actual musical? Like, on stage and everything?"
Tina broke into a toothy grin. "Does that mean you don't know it?"
"I didn't say that! Sing it again."
Tina did. It didn't help. Olivia was drawing a complete blank.
"I give up," she said, more awed than disappointed. "You got me. I yield."
"I did it!" squealed Tina, clapping her hands. Jimmy gave her a high-five.
Olivia twirled a lock of Kristen's coppery hair around her fingers. "You better be looking that up."
"Already on it."
If Stephen was similarly baffled, he hid it quickly, giving Jon a stanza from Newsies that Jon guessed in seconds. Jon followed it up with Hairspray, which was similarly easy for Tina. And then it was Tina up against Stephen. "Same song. Do you want me to sing it again?"
"Of course! That's the rule!" snapped Stephen.
Tina did. The original earnestness of the lyrics was breaking down into hilarity with every repetition.
When she finished, Stephen stared at her in silence for a long moment, eyes wide and unnervingly dark.
"You don't know it either," realized Jon, breaking into a slow smile.
Stephen's lip started wobbling.
In a hushed voice, Kristen informed Olivia, "Google isn't finding the lyrics."
Picking up on the words, Stephen cried out, in a watery voice, "Cheating is not allowed, Tina Fey!"
"I am not either cheating, Stephen Col-bert!"
"I demand arbitration! Tell Jimmy what it is, and if he says it's legitimate, I will accept it!"
"Deal!"
So Tina disappeared with Jimmy into the hall for a couple of seconds. When they came back, Jimmy shot Stephen a look of pure apology. "Sorry, Stephen...she's got you here."
"No!" wailed Stephen, and with a sob buried his face in Jon's chest.
"Hey, shh, it's okay," said Jon awkwardly. He scanned the group as if waiting for someone to call them out, visibly realized that nobody was going to, and let himself start stroking his boyfriend's hair. "Oh, man, is it my turn? Is it down to just us?"
"Yep," said Olivia. "So good luck with that."
"Gee, thanks." Jon turned to Tina. "Listen, this is awkward, but...I'm hitting the limit of my song repertoire, here. Give me a minute to come up with something that isn't really obvious. Like, 'memories, all alone in the moonlight' levels of obvious."
"I see," said Tina, beaming and not even trying to tone it down. "What if we make a deal? You don't have to think up any more songs, you just have to guess mine. And if you get it, you win."
Stephen withdrew from hiding in Jon's shirt just enough to sniffle, "That is not in the rules."
"Sounds reasonable to me," said Kristen. "It's not like they couldn't do it under the regular rules anyway — Tina could just throw her next turn if Jon got it."
"Besides," added Olivia, "it's not really in the rules to keep your boyfriend in the game by softballing him every time, either."
With a harrumph, Stephen went back to hiding.
"You know what? I'll take this deal." Jon settled into rubbing Stephen's back. "You don't have to sing it again yet, just let me think it through, okay?"
"Sure thing."
And then they were all gazing expectantly at Jon. If the room hadn't been carpeted, you could've heard a pin drop.
"Olivia and Stephen don't know it by ear, and Kristen can't find it online," said Jon slowly. "That last one could just be because you misspoke the lyrics a little, but that doesn't explain the first two. It could be really obscure...but Jimmy knew it was legit right away, and, no offense, Jimmy, but for you to recognize something that neither of those two have heard of? Not likely."
Jimmy shrugged, unbothered. Sometimes he was almost Wyatt-like in his zen. "That's fair."
"So, maybe it's some in-jokey thing you two both know from when you worked together," continued Jon. "Or maybe...it's something so new that the lyrics and music aren't out there yet. We could all have heard of it, but only people who've seen it onstage would know what it sounds like."
Olivia sucked in a breath. Now that he laid it out like that, it seemed so obvious. Why had she just given up after realizing the song wasn't in her memory banks, instead of stopping to think about it?
"It's a comedy." Jon's voice was gaining confidence. "I'd put money on it being a religious satire. Not to mention, the tone of it would fit right in on South Park. Is it The Book of Mormon?"
The second he said it, Jimmy started clapping. The room descended into chaos as everyone wanted to either yell at Jon or congratulate him or both, and Briar Rose got so overexcited she started barking and running in circle. Stephen just wrapped himself around Jon like a spider monkey and made little keening noises of desperation.
Olivia gave Jon a mostly-celebratory slap on the back, then ruffled Stephen's neatly-parted hair out of place. "Dude, you have to relax. I hate him a little too right now, but you can't win 'em all."
"I don't hate Jon at all!" wailed Stephen. "But Tina Fey is my new archnemesis!"
~*~
Kristen (•_•) ( •_•)>⌐■-■ (⌐■_■)
Hey bro! JSYK, there's officially a rumor now that we're dating. So if you ever want to officially fake date so we can go on fake double dates that are also real double dates, call me.
Jon S.
My head hurts a little now.
Kristen (•_•) ( •_•)>⌐■-■ (⌐■_■)
Yo dawg I herd u liek dates so I got a date with ur date's date so u can date while u date.
Jon S.
I was thinking more Dateception.
Jon S.
~We need to go deeper.~
Kristen (•_•) ( •_•)>⌐■-■ (⌐■_■)
Haha yes that too.
Jon S.
TY for the offer. If Stephen's ok with it I will keep it in mind :)
"Who are you texting?" asked Stephen as he came back from shooing Briar Rose downstairs. With the door shut behind him, it was just the two of them alone in Stephen's room. Good deal.
"Just Kristen." Jon put the phone aside, sat back against Stephen's headboard, and outlined the double-double-bearding suggestion. "I'm not wild about it, but maybe it's the most convenient way to handle things, and if you don't mind..." (Stephen made a pained face.) "You mind. Got it. Okay, we'll table that for now."
The phone buzzed again. Jon took one last look, and sent ok, will do as a reply.
"Also, we're supposed to stay out of your Tumblr tag for a while," he reported. "And to not ask why."
"Why?" said Stephen instantly.
In spite of his better judgment, Jon found himself getting walked through the steps of looking at a tag (all he'd ever tried to do on Tumblr was follow unicorngirl18's posts; this was unfamiliar territory), on the condition that Stephen promised not to look unless Jon told him it was okay. Soon he found himself scrolling past publicity shots of Stephen run through half a dozen Photoshop filters, a YouTube video of their RDMA performance earlier this year, a gifset compiling Stephen's various dance moves...
...and, oh. Oh dear.
"Well?" demanded Stephen.
Jon winced and scrolled faster. Yeah, there was another. And another. Different ones, too. Someone, or maybe multiple someones, had taken the infamously leaked banana photo and decided it would be hilarious to photoshop a wide variety of naked penises into the then-fifteen-year-old's mouth.
It wasn't fair. Jon backbuttoned hard out of the page, gritting his teeth. Even if they could keep Stephen from personally finding out about it, it wasn't fair that people were allowed to do this to him. And if it wasn't for my stupid mistake, they wouldn't be able to....
"Kristen's right," he told Stephen sharply. "Listen, don't worry about it, okay? Come over here and, ah," he flashed his best over-the-top seductive grin, "let me distract you."
He was rewarded with a really adorable blush, and Stephen paused only long enough to hide the gold ring in a jewelry box (Jon's hadn't even come with him) before cuddling up to his side. Jon tucked a lock of blond-streaked hair out of Stephen's face and was just going for the kiss when there was a scratching outside the door.
Well, if the dog had to go out, she had to go out. Jon was the superior being, here; he could wait a few minutes, secure in the knowledge that Stephen would be right back.
But when Stephen opened the door for her, Briar Rose trotted inside, and flopped down on Stephen's Lord of the Rings throw to make herself at home.
"C'mon, princess, this room is about to be no place for a dog your age," groaned Jon.
"I'm sure she'll be good!" countered Stephen, following the puppy over and rubbing her ears. "You'll be real quiet and well-behaved, won't you, sweetie?"
"She'll probably start barking at us," said Jon. "Or get bored and go try to eat one of your fish."
"She will not! She understands that fish are friends, not food," said Stephen solemnly. Before Jon could tweak him for quoting a non-Disney animated film, he added, "And if we shut her out and she's begging to come in, and Papa or Consuela notices...."
"...that would be bad," finished Jon. They'd have to work on conditioning the puppy out of it. Some other time, though. Right now Jon really, really wanted to get back to making out with Stephen. "Guess I'll just have to start learning how to work with an audience."
Stephen snuggled up to him again, one hand falling possessively over his chest. "It isn't hard once you get used to it!"
"Uh-huh," said Jon dryly. "Should I be jealous of how easily you kiss people?"
He was only teasing, but it must have hit a nerve. "No!" yelled Stephen, fists closing around handfuls of Jon's T-shirt. "No, you should not, because I love you!"
They both froze. Stephen's chin was trembling. Jon's heart had started to race.
"Hey," he said softly, tracing the curve of Stephen's cheek. "Hey, I was kidding, okay? I'm not jealous of anything. I don't have to be. I know."
"Well, good!" cried Stephen, and hauled him into a kiss.
It was fierce, possessive, desperate — so Jon didn't try to be gentle in return, teeth sinking into Stephen's bottom lip, one hand twisting roughly in his hair. All questions of L-words aside, he wanted to shake into Stephen's bones the knowledge and security that Jon adored him, and believed in him, and wasn't about to give him up for anything.