Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2008-06-28 12:06 am
ptahrrific) wrote2008-06-28 12:06 am
Honey Mustard
Title: Honey Mustard (or, Is Bobby Delicious?)
Rating: PG
Pairing: "Stephen"/Bobby, Tad/Bobby
Disclaimer: These characters and their universe are property of Stephen Colbert, the other Report writers, and of course Viacom. Not mine. Sue me not, please.
Summary: Stephen Colbert eats his (former) stage manager. Tad is not happy about this.
Honey Mustard
Tad marched down the hall, resolutely ignoring the flag-draped pictures of his boss that he would usually stop every few feet to admire. He focused instead on making long, purposeful strides—not a familiar task, but he managed it.
Stephen Colbert, you've gone too far this time!
Suppressing a shudder, Tad threw open his boss' office—and gasped.
"Shh!" hissed a marvelously familiar voice. "Close the door!"
Openmouthed and speechless, the building manager hopped quickly across the threshhold and clicked it shut behind him.
"I meant you should close it with you on the other side," sighed Bobby, who was sitting on Stephen's chair with his elbows on the polished hardwood of the boss' desk. "Listen, Tad, you can't tell anyone about this, all right?"
"You—you—!" stammered Tad. "You're alive?"
"Yeah."
"You haven't been eaten?"
"Nope."
"Not even a little?" Tad took a nervous step forward, imagining the building manager's thigh with a bite-sized chunk taken out of it.
"Stay there!" squeaked Bobby, then swallowed and got his voice under control. "I'm fine. The whole cannibalism thing, it's a cover story. Don't repeat a word of this outside the office, okay?"
"Sure—fine—but why?"
"I'm going to be doing black ops for the Colmandos. Full time. Stephen thought this would be a good way to keep people from asking questions about my disappearance. The America's Next Top Stage Manager story wasn't going to hold forever."
"He thought pretending to be eaten would keep people from—"
"Just roll with it, okay?"
Tad nodded. Not like he wasn't used to doing that, after all. Still . . . .
"You couldn't have told me?" he blurted, sounding more plaintive than he wanted to.
Bobby looked cowed. "I wanted to. Believe me, Tad, if there's anyone I wanted to tell, it was you. But Stephen said no, and you know how he is."
"I sure do," muttered Tad under his breath. "Short-sighted, self-centered control fr—"
There was a muffled noise of protest from under the desk; Bobby twitched, and it cut off.
"Was that—"
"You know," repeated Bobby meaningfully, "how Stephen is."
Tad knew, all right. And he really, really did not want to think about it.
"Right," he stammered. "I'll . . . I'll just go, then."
"Tad?"
"Yeah?"
"Listen . . . I'll, uh, I'll send you postcards, okay?"
"What?"
"I mean, I won't be able to put my name on them. Because of the whole secret agent thing and all. But when you get a postcard with a weird postmark and no return address, those will be from me. If you don't mind."
"No!" exclaimed Tad. "Not at all. I'd like that."
With that he made for the hall before the crushing awkwardness could obliterate him completely.
Look on the bright side, he told himself, doing his best to ignore the voices coming through the door. ("Are you sure this is necessary?" "Oh, yes. Test of endurance. Absolutely required.") If you ever do get the balls to ask that man out, you can tell people you're dating a secret agent.
Well, you probably won't be able to tell them. But you'll know.
You'll know.
Rating: PG
Pairing: "Stephen"/Bobby, Tad/Bobby
Disclaimer: These characters and their universe are property of Stephen Colbert, the other Report writers, and of course Viacom. Not mine. Sue me not, please.
Summary: Stephen Colbert eats his (former) stage manager. Tad is not happy about this.
Honey Mustard
Tad marched down the hall, resolutely ignoring the flag-draped pictures of his boss that he would usually stop every few feet to admire. He focused instead on making long, purposeful strides—not a familiar task, but he managed it.
Stephen Colbert, you've gone too far this time!
Suppressing a shudder, Tad threw open his boss' office—and gasped.
"Shh!" hissed a marvelously familiar voice. "Close the door!"
Openmouthed and speechless, the building manager hopped quickly across the threshhold and clicked it shut behind him.
"I meant you should close it with you on the other side," sighed Bobby, who was sitting on Stephen's chair with his elbows on the polished hardwood of the boss' desk. "Listen, Tad, you can't tell anyone about this, all right?"
"You—you—!" stammered Tad. "You're alive?"
"Yeah."
"You haven't been eaten?"
"Nope."
"Not even a little?" Tad took a nervous step forward, imagining the building manager's thigh with a bite-sized chunk taken out of it.
"Stay there!" squeaked Bobby, then swallowed and got his voice under control. "I'm fine. The whole cannibalism thing, it's a cover story. Don't repeat a word of this outside the office, okay?"
"Sure—fine—but why?"
"I'm going to be doing black ops for the Colmandos. Full time. Stephen thought this would be a good way to keep people from asking questions about my disappearance. The America's Next Top Stage Manager story wasn't going to hold forever."
"He thought pretending to be eaten would keep people from—"
"Just roll with it, okay?"
Tad nodded. Not like he wasn't used to doing that, after all. Still . . . .
"You couldn't have told me?" he blurted, sounding more plaintive than he wanted to.
Bobby looked cowed. "I wanted to. Believe me, Tad, if there's anyone I wanted to tell, it was you. But Stephen said no, and you know how he is."
"I sure do," muttered Tad under his breath. "Short-sighted, self-centered control fr—"
There was a muffled noise of protest from under the desk; Bobby twitched, and it cut off.
"Was that—"
"You know," repeated Bobby meaningfully, "how Stephen is."
Tad knew, all right. And he really, really did not want to think about it.
"Right," he stammered. "I'll . . . I'll just go, then."
"Tad?"
"Yeah?"
"Listen . . . I'll, uh, I'll send you postcards, okay?"
"What?"
"I mean, I won't be able to put my name on them. Because of the whole secret agent thing and all. But when you get a postcard with a weird postmark and no return address, those will be from me. If you don't mind."
"No!" exclaimed Tad. "Not at all. I'd like that."
With that he made for the hall before the crushing awkwardness could obliterate him completely.
Look on the bright side, he told himself, doing his best to ignore the voices coming through the door. ("Are you sure this is necessary?" "Oh, yes. Test of endurance. Absolutely required.") If you ever do get the balls to ask that man out, you can tell people you're dating a secret agent.
Well, you probably won't be able to tell them. But you'll know.
You'll know.
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Also, Stephen was under the desk! 'Test of endurance' :-P
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I felt the same way - which is exactly why I wrote this =D
As endurance tests go, it's a very good one. Stephen has lots of practice.
Glad you like!
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