Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2009-09-26 03:25 am
ptahrrific) wrote2009-09-26 03:25 am
Fake News: Five Versions Of The Limo Ride Home
Title: Five Versions Of The Limo Ride Home
Rating: G through NC-17
Characters/pairings: Jon/liberal!"Stephen", Joan/"Stephanie", Jon/r!Stephen (Sailor Jon version), Schmon Schmewart, Jon, "Stephen", Jon/happy!"Stephen"
Warnings: (1) character fatal disease (he's not dead yet); (2) character death (he gets better); (3) D/s, innuendo; (4) D/s, shameless lesbian smut; (5) may induce diabetes.
Disclaimer: Two.
For the Report characters: They and their universe are property of Stephen Colbert, the other Report writers, and of course Viacom. Not mine. Sue me not, please.
And for the real people, the poem:
Please, make no mistake:
these people aren't fake,
but what's said here is no more than fiction.
It only was writ
because we like their wit
and wisecracks, and pull-squints, and diction.
We don't mean to quibble,
but this can't be libel;
it's never implied to be real.
No disrespect's meant;
if you disapprove, then,
the back button's right up there. Deal.
Summary: After the Emmys snub various versions of Stephen (hypothetical cancer storyline,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sailorjon 'verse, Liberalverse, genderswapped version of sarcasticsra's Needverse, and happy!verse), Jon comforts him on the way back to the hotel.
Mostly written for The 9/20 Project, which called for post-Emmy comforting and/or sex. There are sequels to the Liberalverse segment found at that link. For those seeking more Joan/"Stephanie", there's a bit of it bydoctorv here, and I have some more here.
Five Versions Of The Limo Ride Home
One (Hypothetical cancer storyline)
"You can get back to the party if you want to. Don't feel like you have to keep an eye on me."
"Don't be silly, Jon," snapped Stephen, helping Jon into the car. "If I don't have an award to show off, there's no point. I don't need to stand around and feel all of them pitying me."
Jon knew the feeling. The staff at home had pretty much gotten over it, but he wasn't sure he could stomach the attention of everyone at the Comedy Central after party. He thought about saying this to Stephen, but the seat was so comfortable that he had to slump back into it and close his eyes.
"Jon." Stephen's sharp voice jabbed into him. "Jon! Wake up!"
"Lemme relax," mumbled Jon over the hum of the road. "It's been a long day. And this stupid thing itches." He shoved off the wig, eyes still shut, and gave a few halfhearted scratches to the bare skin.
"Lie down, then."
Belatedly realizing he had never buckled in, Jon slumped gratefully across the seats, cheek pressed against the other man's trousers. Stephen's fingernails went immediately to his scalp and set into a gentle rhythm, drawing from somewhere deep within Jon a sigh of long-awaited contentment.
"You shouldn't be traveling," muttered Stephen above him.
"Doctor wasn't happy about it," said Jon wryly.
"Then how come you came anyway? Don't you health-care-loving socialists believe in listening to your doctors?"
"Thought about it," admitted Jon. His whole body felt like a leaden weight, ridiculous though that sounded in light of all the pounds he had shed over the past two months. "But I wanted to congratulate you in person when you won."
Stephen kept up the gentle scratching well after Jon's breathing had gotten slow and even.
"Of course I didn't win," he groused to the empty cab. "The Academy isn't going to pass up a chance to reward a sick man. All you had to do was show up."
It wasn't working. He couldn't seem to get properly angry. Not even with Jon's mouth hanging slightly open and leaving a spot of drool on his designer pants.
"And not throw up on set," he added as an afterthought. "That probably would have grossed the judges out."
He slid his hand down to give Jon's shoulder a fortifying squeeze.
"Next year," he declared. "Next year I'll have the Iraq shows in the running, and you'll be so much better that you won't get any more pity votes, and I'll make you carry all my statues around. Just wait."
***
Two (Pretty Anchor Sailor Jon)
Jon felt strangely empty as he sat back in the limo, statuette in hand.
Okay, he had never put much value on these things in the first place; and there were, as John had said, far too many on his shelf already. But he normally enjoyed the parties, the celebrations, the joy in the faces of the writers at having their hard work recognized. Not this time.
It probably had something to do with the Foximamates. Sailor Angry Bill, Sailor Pompous Sean, and now Sailor Crazy Glenn were attacking all over the place in search of Sailor Crystals, with such ferocity that it was exhausting everyone. There had even been an incident on the red carpet before the show, though Sailor Oliver and Sailor Riggle had taken care of it without Jon needing to get involved.
For all that Jon was trying to be strong, he could see that his friends were worrying.
If only he could have accepted the statue for Stephen in absentia. With Stephen himself in Iraq, Demetri returned to the future, and so many of the other sailors busy with their own projects, it might have made him feel less alone.
Iraq....
Why hadn't Stephen called? Or emailed? Or done anything besides send cryptic postcards with no words?
Jon pressed his fingers to his temples. He felt a headache coming on.
"Schmon?"
The pounding in Jon's head subsided as he met his companion's eyes.
Schmon (dubbed after the only word he seemed to say) smiled hopefully and held out his arms for a hug.
"You always seem to know when I'm feeling down, don't you?" murmured Jon, as he put the statue aside and gathered the little boy into his lap.
"Schmon," agreed the kid, stretching his arms across Jon's chest.
With a sigh, Jon stroked Schmon's hair. "There's something I've forgotten," he murmured, mostly to himself. "I know it's there, I know it's important, but every time I try to think about it, it slips away...."
Schmon cuddled quietly against him, and Jon willed himself to relax. Things would work out. It looked bleak now, but teamwork, friendship, and love would win in the end. They had to. And this time next year Stephen would be back, and standing on the stage with a fresh golden statue of his own.
Jon held that image in his heart as the car sped on into the night.
***
Three (Liberalverse)
"Jon, I don't think I'm going to come back to the room right away."
It was said all in one breath, and at first Jon was relieved: it was the first thing Stephen had said since climbing into the car. Then he did a double-take. "Wait, why?"
Stephen rested his clenched fists on his knees. Or maybe his hands were in some kind of lotus position. It was hard to tell. "Well, I...I have a little bit of anger and frustration to work through right now. So it would probably be best if I just let myself into the executive lounge and meditated for a while. Or did some yoga. Something to help me find my center again."
His articulation was hardly surprising, even after making the rounds on the party circuit: Stephen had the alcohol tolerance of a mule. Jon, who had a nice buzz going, settled back against the leather and remarked, "Or you could throw me down on the bed and fuck me into the mattress."
Stephen looked up at him with a start. "That wouldn't be a good idea," he breathed, streetlights glittering hungrily off his eyes. "The way I feel right now...you'd probably end up...bruised."
"Well, somebody oughta be, after the way tonight went down," said Jon philosophically. "Why not me?"
"You don't deserve that," insisted Stephen. "You shouldn't be punished just because somebody else voted to give you an award."
Jon considered this, then unbuckled his seatbelt.
After years of watching his words around Stephen, of always having to keep an eye on the limits because Stephen would never set any of his own, this private arrangement was taking some getting used to. But the more Stephen got comfortable with taking control, the more Jon liked it. It was deliciously freeing to be able to relax, to slide out of the boss role, even to let himself be a bit of a brat once in a while.
"Steeeephen," he wheedled, flopping down across the other man's startled lap. "Punish me. C'mon. You know you wa—"
He was cut off by a slightly panicky hand clamped over his mouth.
"—mmph," he finished, and concentrated on breathing through his nose as he looked placidly up at Stephen. Is that all you got?
Stephen swallowed, eyes still glittering, though Jon couldn't be sure if it was from the streetlights or their own internal fire. "Will you — beg for forgiveness?"
Arranging his face into his best 'helpless comedian' expression, Jon lifted one hand and reached plaintively towards Stephen's heart.
"Ohgod," gasped Stephen, a growl creeping into his voice as his hand tensed around Jon's jaw. "Oh, Jon, you're not going to be able to stand when I'm through with you."
***
Four (genderswapped Needverse)
"Come on, honey. Into the car."
"We can't leave now! That smug overachieving Sarah-Palin-disrespecting multiple-Emmy-winning woman needs to be taken down a notch!"
"Tina Fey is a very nice woman, and you are not starting another feud tonight. Come on."
"But Joan—!"
"Hey!" barked Joan, pinning Stephanie against the side of the limo so forcefully that the taller woman's three-inch heels skittered across the pavement. "No more complaining. You hear me?"
Stephanie squirmed halfheartedly — at half a head taller than Joan even without the heels, she could have broken free handily if she had put in the effort — then slumped. "Yes'm."
"That's better."
Joan held open the door while Stephanie gathered her skirts. In a slinky red strapless dress, which hugged her every curve for most of its length before flaring into a mass of flower-petal ruffles at the base, she looked stunning on flat ground but had a bit of a weakness for stairs. Or getting into cars.
For her own part, Joan had opted for a tailored pantsuit and modest silk shirt in dark greys and pale blues. She and Ellen had a longstanding rivalry over who wore the look best (and who was entertainment's most influential lesbian, though Joan would be the first to admit that she had also had plenty of excellent sex with men, thank you very much), but the whole thing was a good-natured contest between old friends. Stephanie's feuds, even the ones that nobody took seriously but Stephanie, were real.
By the time the car pulled away, Stephanie had kicked off her shoes and tucked most of her glittery ruby jewelry safely away in her purse, leaving nothing but the arc of a rhinestone-studded WristStrong bracelet curving down across the back of her right hand. Her bare feet twitched and flexed against the carpet.
"You want me to rub those for you?" offered Joan, nodding in the direction of Stephanie's newly freed toes.
"Why bother, Joan?" demanded Stephanie, gesticulating wildly, or as wildly as she could in the small space. "Why would they be sore? It's not like I had to walk anywhere tonight. Like, say, even one walk from a chair in the crowd all the way up to that nice tall faraway stage oh Joan why don't they like me?"
"Aw, Steph," breathed Joan. "Come here."
Stephanie launched herself into Joan's arms with such force that it nearly knocked the wind out of her, burying her face in Joan's cleavage. "What did I do wrong?" she wailed, between muffled but impeccably ladylike sniffles. "Why couldn't they — why didn't I — why am I not good enough?"
Joan stroked Stephanie's freshly permed curls in silence for a moment, letting the other woman quiver in her arms while she reached inside herself for the necessary vein of steel.
"Let go, Steph," she ordered.
Stephanie peered up in confusion over the smooth curves of Joan's shirt. "What...?"
"Let go," repeated Joan, in a tone that fell somewhere between the Boss Voice and the Mom Voice. "Hands behind your back. Now."
With one more lingering sniff, Stephanie pulled away and tucked her arms behind her, head demurely bowed.
There was a small part of Joan, the part that had idolized Simone de Beauvoir and Andrea Dworkin back in her college days, that still had reservations about this part of her relationship. She had spent more than a few conversations, especially early on, confirming and reconfirming that Stephanie didn't just feel pressured to surrender to her good-Southern-girl upbringing, as she had done in the past with more men than Joan cared to think about.
But when she ran a sure finger along the bared skin above Stephanie's neckline, and was rewarded with a soft gasp of anticipation, Joan started to feel a lot less reserved.
"Of course you're good enough," she murmured, sliding her palms along Stephanie's body, drinking in the feel of her skin. "Do you trust the Academy's taste more than mine?"
Stephanie gulped doubtfully. "Y-you do wear those ratty grey T-shirts."
In one sharp motion Joan shoved her backwards.
Stephanie squeaked in surprise as she found herself pinned to the leather, but dissolved into a moan when Joan cupped her breasts and kneaded the soft flesh with both hands, lips working her neck all the while. Not until her breath was coming in short, hot bursts did Joan back away and let her hands stray downwards.
Without having to be asked, Stephanie obediently lifted her hips. "It's okay, you know," she gasped, while Joan hiked up her skirt. "If — if I'm just an old T-shirt — I'll—"
"You're not a shirt, Steph," said Joan, hooking her fingers under the straps of Stephanie's lucky flag-patterned panties. "You're a sweet, brilliant, amazingly talented woman. You're my amazingly talented woman." She slid the underwear down over Stephanie's hips. "All mine."
"Please—" Stephanie's legs were writhing frantically, as if trying to cover for the stillness of her trapped arms, but she kept them pulled together as best she could. "Joan, please, I need—"
"Tell me," breathed Joan, fingertips tracing circles on the outside of Stephanie's thigh.
"Need you — with me," begged Stephanie, caressing Joan's cheek tremulously with one knee.
Smiling in the dark, Joan lowered herself onto Stephanie's disheveled form, gently this time. "You're a good girl, Steph," she whispered, drawing the other woman into a kiss before slipping two fingers into her.
Pressed this close together, Joan could feel every gasp, every spasm, every twist. Stephanie's racing heart seemed to be falling in step with the pulsing between her own legs, which in turn matched the rhythm of Stephanie gyrating against her, pleading with her hips for more stimulation. A third finger slid in, this one less easily; sparks flashed in Stephanie's eyes. "Please, Joan — take me—"
"Greedy, greedy!" chided Joan, stroking roughly and feeling Stephanie bite down on a squeal. Her voice was hitching too much to be really authoritative, but Stephanie was in no shape to notice. "You're wet, but not that wet. There's lube back in the room — and the vibrator, so you can thank me properly."
"Yes'm!" Stephanie arched her torso, catlike, as her muscles throbbed around Joan's hand. "I will — thank you — I — Joan!"
The last word was a cry of frustration as Joan pulled out, leaving a slick trail along Stephanie's already damp and heated thighs.
"We're going to pull into the hotel in a minute," she explained shakily, retrieving Stephanie's discarded panties from the floor and using them to wipe off her hand as best she could. "You have to be a little more composed before we walk in. You can move your arms now — but don't touch yourself," she warned as Stephanie began to rise up on her elbows, hips moving instinctively even against empty air. "Not until I let you."
Stephanie put out a hand for her underwear; Joan quickly tucked it in the inside pocket of her jacket. "No sense putting these on when they'd be coming right off again."
Chest still heaving, Stephanie gaped. "J-Joan!" she panted, voice ragged. "What if—" She clung to the edge of her skirt, shoving the ruffles down over her knees, but couldn't hide the thrill in her voice. "What if everyone knows?"
Joan smirked. "It's a floor-length dress. How are they going to tell?"
"I mean—" Stephanie worked the fabric down her legs, gasping as every inch unbunched itself from her waistline and slid tantalizingly across her. "What if — if they can tell that — that I'm yours?"
"Would that be so bad?" Joan smoothed back Stephanie's sweat-dampened curls, fighting the urge to just throw her down again as the limo curved into place. "Steph, my Stephanie, there's no trophy I would rather be seen with."
***
Five (Happy!verse)
Stephen fairly skipped up to the car, where Jon had been waiting with a fair amount of trepidation.
"I'm so happy for you!" he gushed, flinging his arms enthusiastically around Jon's shoulders. "Two new Emmys! You must be so proud! And letting one of the writers do the speech instead of you — oh, Jon, you are so classy."
"Couldn't do it without 'em," said Jon, rubbing his neck sheepishly as Stephen released him and smiled. "Hey, Stephen...are you okay?"
Stephen cocked his head in confusion as Jon opened the door and waved him in. "Why wouldn't I be?"
It was a fair question. In all the years Jon had known him, Stephen had never shown more than a glimmer of distress, always shallow and evaporating as quickly as a puddle after a rainstorm. Maybe it was just Jon's unquenchable pessimism, but he couldn't shake the feeling that, one of these days, Stephen was due to snap.
"Well, uh, your people have done great work this year too," he said carefully. "And, frankly, you deserve a lot more recognition than you're getting."
Was Stephen actually humming? "Oh, Jon, we don't do it for the recognition! It would be nice, of course, but the joy of the work is its own reward!"
Jon sighed, slumping against the leather and putting a hand over his eyes. Stephen was all sunshine and flowers, and experience told him there was no point in wading through it in search of something deeper. "Still, it would be all right if it started to get you down after a while."
He was expecting the other man to move cheerfully on, so Jon nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a touch on his thigh. Somehow Stephen had appeared right beside him, sudden and silent, looking fretfully up at him with those big round Disney-princess eyes.
"H-hey there," stammered Jon, gaze tracing the curve of Stephen's pout.
"Jon," said Stephen, managing to look remarkably solemn for a man wearing a white tuxedo and a sparkly pink tie, "why is it so hard for you to be happy?"
"Uh." Jon broke into his trademark self-effacing laugh. "Well, I am Jewish, you know."
Stephen pursed his lips as he took this in. "But still," he declared at last. "My team created a lot of great shows, and we had fun doing it, and sure, it would have been nice to get a shiny trophy, but there's always next year! And you — your people did get trophies, and after all the hard work you've done, all the joy you've brought into people's lives...." He squeezed Jon's leg for emphasis. "You deserved it. All of you. And you should be so proud of yourselves."
To his surprise, Jon realized the corners of his mouth were twitching. Not only that, the instant he decided to stop holding back, his face split all at once past the self-consciously closed-lipped smile he offered the cameras and into a broad, lopsided, ridiculously giddy grin.
"We did good," he admitted, face reddening at the sudden rush of emotion.
Stephen fairly bounced in his seat. "Yay!" he trilled, clapping his hands and pressing a chaste kiss to Jon's cheek. "It always makes me happy when you're happy, Jon!"
Taking a slow, steadying breath, Jon let himself bask in the unfamiliar glow. Joy. The good stuff, too: not soured by guilt, or a sense of unworthiness, or that self-preserving instinct that insisted he never get his hopes up too high.
It was kind of nice.
"We did good," he repeated quietly; and Stephen hugged him, and laughed, and bubbled on some more about how he was just so proud; and Jon thought that maybe, just maybe, he could let himself feel like this more often.
Rating: G through NC-17
Characters/pairings: Jon/liberal!"Stephen", Joan/"Stephanie", Jon/r!Stephen (Sailor Jon version), Schmon Schmewart, Jon, "Stephen", Jon/happy!"Stephen"
Warnings: (1) character fatal disease (he's not dead yet); (2) character death (he gets better); (3) D/s, innuendo; (4) D/s, shameless lesbian smut; (5) may induce diabetes.
Disclaimer: Two.
For the Report characters: They and their universe are property of Stephen Colbert, the other Report writers, and of course Viacom. Not mine. Sue me not, please.
And for the real people, the poem:
Please, make no mistake:
these people aren't fake,
but what's said here is no more than fiction.
It only was writ
because we like their wit
and wisecracks, and pull-squints, and diction.
We don't mean to quibble,
but this can't be libel;
it's never implied to be real.
No disrespect's meant;
if you disapprove, then,
the back button's right up there. Deal.
Summary: After the Emmys snub various versions of Stephen (hypothetical cancer storyline,
sailorjon 'verse, Liberalverse, genderswapped version of sarcasticsra's Needverse, and happy!verse), Jon comforts him on the way back to the hotel.Mostly written for The 9/20 Project, which called for post-Emmy comforting and/or sex. There are sequels to the Liberalverse segment found at that link. For those seeking more Joan/"Stephanie", there's a bit of it by
doctorv here, and I have some more here.Five Versions Of The Limo Ride Home
One (Hypothetical cancer storyline)
"You can get back to the party if you want to. Don't feel like you have to keep an eye on me."
"Don't be silly, Jon," snapped Stephen, helping Jon into the car. "If I don't have an award to show off, there's no point. I don't need to stand around and feel all of them pitying me."
Jon knew the feeling. The staff at home had pretty much gotten over it, but he wasn't sure he could stomach the attention of everyone at the Comedy Central after party. He thought about saying this to Stephen, but the seat was so comfortable that he had to slump back into it and close his eyes.
"Jon." Stephen's sharp voice jabbed into him. "Jon! Wake up!"
"Lemme relax," mumbled Jon over the hum of the road. "It's been a long day. And this stupid thing itches." He shoved off the wig, eyes still shut, and gave a few halfhearted scratches to the bare skin.
"Lie down, then."
Belatedly realizing he had never buckled in, Jon slumped gratefully across the seats, cheek pressed against the other man's trousers. Stephen's fingernails went immediately to his scalp and set into a gentle rhythm, drawing from somewhere deep within Jon a sigh of long-awaited contentment.
"You shouldn't be traveling," muttered Stephen above him.
"Doctor wasn't happy about it," said Jon wryly.
"Then how come you came anyway? Don't you health-care-loving socialists believe in listening to your doctors?"
"Thought about it," admitted Jon. His whole body felt like a leaden weight, ridiculous though that sounded in light of all the pounds he had shed over the past two months. "But I wanted to congratulate you in person when you won."
Stephen kept up the gentle scratching well after Jon's breathing had gotten slow and even.
"Of course I didn't win," he groused to the empty cab. "The Academy isn't going to pass up a chance to reward a sick man. All you had to do was show up."
It wasn't working. He couldn't seem to get properly angry. Not even with Jon's mouth hanging slightly open and leaving a spot of drool on his designer pants.
"And not throw up on set," he added as an afterthought. "That probably would have grossed the judges out."
He slid his hand down to give Jon's shoulder a fortifying squeeze.
"Next year," he declared. "Next year I'll have the Iraq shows in the running, and you'll be so much better that you won't get any more pity votes, and I'll make you carry all my statues around. Just wait."
Two (Pretty Anchor Sailor Jon)
Jon felt strangely empty as he sat back in the limo, statuette in hand.
Okay, he had never put much value on these things in the first place; and there were, as John had said, far too many on his shelf already. But he normally enjoyed the parties, the celebrations, the joy in the faces of the writers at having their hard work recognized. Not this time.
It probably had something to do with the Foximamates. Sailor Angry Bill, Sailor Pompous Sean, and now Sailor Crazy Glenn were attacking all over the place in search of Sailor Crystals, with such ferocity that it was exhausting everyone. There had even been an incident on the red carpet before the show, though Sailor Oliver and Sailor Riggle had taken care of it without Jon needing to get involved.
For all that Jon was trying to be strong, he could see that his friends were worrying.
If only he could have accepted the statue for Stephen in absentia. With Stephen himself in Iraq, Demetri returned to the future, and so many of the other sailors busy with their own projects, it might have made him feel less alone.
Iraq....
Why hadn't Stephen called? Or emailed? Or done anything besides send cryptic postcards with no words?
Jon pressed his fingers to his temples. He felt a headache coming on.
"Schmon?"
The pounding in Jon's head subsided as he met his companion's eyes.
Schmon (dubbed after the only word he seemed to say) smiled hopefully and held out his arms for a hug.
"You always seem to know when I'm feeling down, don't you?" murmured Jon, as he put the statue aside and gathered the little boy into his lap.
"Schmon," agreed the kid, stretching his arms across Jon's chest.
With a sigh, Jon stroked Schmon's hair. "There's something I've forgotten," he murmured, mostly to himself. "I know it's there, I know it's important, but every time I try to think about it, it slips away...."
Schmon cuddled quietly against him, and Jon willed himself to relax. Things would work out. It looked bleak now, but teamwork, friendship, and love would win in the end. They had to. And this time next year Stephen would be back, and standing on the stage with a fresh golden statue of his own.
Jon held that image in his heart as the car sped on into the night.
Three (Liberalverse)
"Jon, I don't think I'm going to come back to the room right away."
It was said all in one breath, and at first Jon was relieved: it was the first thing Stephen had said since climbing into the car. Then he did a double-take. "Wait, why?"
Stephen rested his clenched fists on his knees. Or maybe his hands were in some kind of lotus position. It was hard to tell. "Well, I...I have a little bit of anger and frustration to work through right now. So it would probably be best if I just let myself into the executive lounge and meditated for a while. Or did some yoga. Something to help me find my center again."
His articulation was hardly surprising, even after making the rounds on the party circuit: Stephen had the alcohol tolerance of a mule. Jon, who had a nice buzz going, settled back against the leather and remarked, "Or you could throw me down on the bed and fuck me into the mattress."
Stephen looked up at him with a start. "That wouldn't be a good idea," he breathed, streetlights glittering hungrily off his eyes. "The way I feel right now...you'd probably end up...bruised."
"Well, somebody oughta be, after the way tonight went down," said Jon philosophically. "Why not me?"
"You don't deserve that," insisted Stephen. "You shouldn't be punished just because somebody else voted to give you an award."
Jon considered this, then unbuckled his seatbelt.
After years of watching his words around Stephen, of always having to keep an eye on the limits because Stephen would never set any of his own, this private arrangement was taking some getting used to. But the more Stephen got comfortable with taking control, the more Jon liked it. It was deliciously freeing to be able to relax, to slide out of the boss role, even to let himself be a bit of a brat once in a while.
"Steeeephen," he wheedled, flopping down across the other man's startled lap. "Punish me. C'mon. You know you wa—"
He was cut off by a slightly panicky hand clamped over his mouth.
"—mmph," he finished, and concentrated on breathing through his nose as he looked placidly up at Stephen. Is that all you got?
Stephen swallowed, eyes still glittering, though Jon couldn't be sure if it was from the streetlights or their own internal fire. "Will you — beg for forgiveness?"
Arranging his face into his best 'helpless comedian' expression, Jon lifted one hand and reached plaintively towards Stephen's heart.
"Ohgod," gasped Stephen, a growl creeping into his voice as his hand tensed around Jon's jaw. "Oh, Jon, you're not going to be able to stand when I'm through with you."
Four (genderswapped Needverse)
"Come on, honey. Into the car."
"We can't leave now! That smug overachieving Sarah-Palin-disrespecting multiple-Emmy-winning woman needs to be taken down a notch!"
"Tina Fey is a very nice woman, and you are not starting another feud tonight. Come on."
"But Joan—!"
"Hey!" barked Joan, pinning Stephanie against the side of the limo so forcefully that the taller woman's three-inch heels skittered across the pavement. "No more complaining. You hear me?"
Stephanie squirmed halfheartedly — at half a head taller than Joan even without the heels, she could have broken free handily if she had put in the effort — then slumped. "Yes'm."
"That's better."
Joan held open the door while Stephanie gathered her skirts. In a slinky red strapless dress, which hugged her every curve for most of its length before flaring into a mass of flower-petal ruffles at the base, she looked stunning on flat ground but had a bit of a weakness for stairs. Or getting into cars.
For her own part, Joan had opted for a tailored pantsuit and modest silk shirt in dark greys and pale blues. She and Ellen had a longstanding rivalry over who wore the look best (and who was entertainment's most influential lesbian, though Joan would be the first to admit that she had also had plenty of excellent sex with men, thank you very much), but the whole thing was a good-natured contest between old friends. Stephanie's feuds, even the ones that nobody took seriously but Stephanie, were real.
By the time the car pulled away, Stephanie had kicked off her shoes and tucked most of her glittery ruby jewelry safely away in her purse, leaving nothing but the arc of a rhinestone-studded WristStrong bracelet curving down across the back of her right hand. Her bare feet twitched and flexed against the carpet.
"You want me to rub those for you?" offered Joan, nodding in the direction of Stephanie's newly freed toes.
"Why bother, Joan?" demanded Stephanie, gesticulating wildly, or as wildly as she could in the small space. "Why would they be sore? It's not like I had to walk anywhere tonight. Like, say, even one walk from a chair in the crowd all the way up to that nice tall faraway stage oh Joan why don't they like me?"
"Aw, Steph," breathed Joan. "Come here."
Stephanie launched herself into Joan's arms with such force that it nearly knocked the wind out of her, burying her face in Joan's cleavage. "What did I do wrong?" she wailed, between muffled but impeccably ladylike sniffles. "Why couldn't they — why didn't I — why am I not good enough?"
Joan stroked Stephanie's freshly permed curls in silence for a moment, letting the other woman quiver in her arms while she reached inside herself for the necessary vein of steel.
"Let go, Steph," she ordered.
Stephanie peered up in confusion over the smooth curves of Joan's shirt. "What...?"
"Let go," repeated Joan, in a tone that fell somewhere between the Boss Voice and the Mom Voice. "Hands behind your back. Now."
With one more lingering sniff, Stephanie pulled away and tucked her arms behind her, head demurely bowed.
There was a small part of Joan, the part that had idolized Simone de Beauvoir and Andrea Dworkin back in her college days, that still had reservations about this part of her relationship. She had spent more than a few conversations, especially early on, confirming and reconfirming that Stephanie didn't just feel pressured to surrender to her good-Southern-girl upbringing, as she had done in the past with more men than Joan cared to think about.
But when she ran a sure finger along the bared skin above Stephanie's neckline, and was rewarded with a soft gasp of anticipation, Joan started to feel a lot less reserved.
"Of course you're good enough," she murmured, sliding her palms along Stephanie's body, drinking in the feel of her skin. "Do you trust the Academy's taste more than mine?"
Stephanie gulped doubtfully. "Y-you do wear those ratty grey T-shirts."
In one sharp motion Joan shoved her backwards.
Stephanie squeaked in surprise as she found herself pinned to the leather, but dissolved into a moan when Joan cupped her breasts and kneaded the soft flesh with both hands, lips working her neck all the while. Not until her breath was coming in short, hot bursts did Joan back away and let her hands stray downwards.
Without having to be asked, Stephanie obediently lifted her hips. "It's okay, you know," she gasped, while Joan hiked up her skirt. "If — if I'm just an old T-shirt — I'll—"
"You're not a shirt, Steph," said Joan, hooking her fingers under the straps of Stephanie's lucky flag-patterned panties. "You're a sweet, brilliant, amazingly talented woman. You're my amazingly talented woman." She slid the underwear down over Stephanie's hips. "All mine."
"Please—" Stephanie's legs were writhing frantically, as if trying to cover for the stillness of her trapped arms, but she kept them pulled together as best she could. "Joan, please, I need—"
"Tell me," breathed Joan, fingertips tracing circles on the outside of Stephanie's thigh.
"Need you — with me," begged Stephanie, caressing Joan's cheek tremulously with one knee.
Smiling in the dark, Joan lowered herself onto Stephanie's disheveled form, gently this time. "You're a good girl, Steph," she whispered, drawing the other woman into a kiss before slipping two fingers into her.
Pressed this close together, Joan could feel every gasp, every spasm, every twist. Stephanie's racing heart seemed to be falling in step with the pulsing between her own legs, which in turn matched the rhythm of Stephanie gyrating against her, pleading with her hips for more stimulation. A third finger slid in, this one less easily; sparks flashed in Stephanie's eyes. "Please, Joan — take me—"
"Greedy, greedy!" chided Joan, stroking roughly and feeling Stephanie bite down on a squeal. Her voice was hitching too much to be really authoritative, but Stephanie was in no shape to notice. "You're wet, but not that wet. There's lube back in the room — and the vibrator, so you can thank me properly."
"Yes'm!" Stephanie arched her torso, catlike, as her muscles throbbed around Joan's hand. "I will — thank you — I — Joan!"
The last word was a cry of frustration as Joan pulled out, leaving a slick trail along Stephanie's already damp and heated thighs.
"We're going to pull into the hotel in a minute," she explained shakily, retrieving Stephanie's discarded panties from the floor and using them to wipe off her hand as best she could. "You have to be a little more composed before we walk in. You can move your arms now — but don't touch yourself," she warned as Stephanie began to rise up on her elbows, hips moving instinctively even against empty air. "Not until I let you."
Stephanie put out a hand for her underwear; Joan quickly tucked it in the inside pocket of her jacket. "No sense putting these on when they'd be coming right off again."
Chest still heaving, Stephanie gaped. "J-Joan!" she panted, voice ragged. "What if—" She clung to the edge of her skirt, shoving the ruffles down over her knees, but couldn't hide the thrill in her voice. "What if everyone knows?"
Joan smirked. "It's a floor-length dress. How are they going to tell?"
"I mean—" Stephanie worked the fabric down her legs, gasping as every inch unbunched itself from her waistline and slid tantalizingly across her. "What if — if they can tell that — that I'm yours?"
"Would that be so bad?" Joan smoothed back Stephanie's sweat-dampened curls, fighting the urge to just throw her down again as the limo curved into place. "Steph, my Stephanie, there's no trophy I would rather be seen with."
Five (Happy!verse)
Stephen fairly skipped up to the car, where Jon had been waiting with a fair amount of trepidation.
"I'm so happy for you!" he gushed, flinging his arms enthusiastically around Jon's shoulders. "Two new Emmys! You must be so proud! And letting one of the writers do the speech instead of you — oh, Jon, you are so classy."
"Couldn't do it without 'em," said Jon, rubbing his neck sheepishly as Stephen released him and smiled. "Hey, Stephen...are you okay?"
Stephen cocked his head in confusion as Jon opened the door and waved him in. "Why wouldn't I be?"
It was a fair question. In all the years Jon had known him, Stephen had never shown more than a glimmer of distress, always shallow and evaporating as quickly as a puddle after a rainstorm. Maybe it was just Jon's unquenchable pessimism, but he couldn't shake the feeling that, one of these days, Stephen was due to snap.
"Well, uh, your people have done great work this year too," he said carefully. "And, frankly, you deserve a lot more recognition than you're getting."
Was Stephen actually humming? "Oh, Jon, we don't do it for the recognition! It would be nice, of course, but the joy of the work is its own reward!"
Jon sighed, slumping against the leather and putting a hand over his eyes. Stephen was all sunshine and flowers, and experience told him there was no point in wading through it in search of something deeper. "Still, it would be all right if it started to get you down after a while."
He was expecting the other man to move cheerfully on, so Jon nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a touch on his thigh. Somehow Stephen had appeared right beside him, sudden and silent, looking fretfully up at him with those big round Disney-princess eyes.
"H-hey there," stammered Jon, gaze tracing the curve of Stephen's pout.
"Jon," said Stephen, managing to look remarkably solemn for a man wearing a white tuxedo and a sparkly pink tie, "why is it so hard for you to be happy?"
"Uh." Jon broke into his trademark self-effacing laugh. "Well, I am Jewish, you know."
Stephen pursed his lips as he took this in. "But still," he declared at last. "My team created a lot of great shows, and we had fun doing it, and sure, it would have been nice to get a shiny trophy, but there's always next year! And you — your people did get trophies, and after all the hard work you've done, all the joy you've brought into people's lives...." He squeezed Jon's leg for emphasis. "You deserved it. All of you. And you should be so proud of yourselves."
To his surprise, Jon realized the corners of his mouth were twitching. Not only that, the instant he decided to stop holding back, his face split all at once past the self-consciously closed-lipped smile he offered the cameras and into a broad, lopsided, ridiculously giddy grin.
"We did good," he admitted, face reddening at the sudden rush of emotion.
Stephen fairly bounced in his seat. "Yay!" he trilled, clapping his hands and pressing a chaste kiss to Jon's cheek. "It always makes me happy when you're happy, Jon!"
Taking a slow, steadying breath, Jon let himself bask in the unfamiliar glow. Joy. The good stuff, too: not soured by guilt, or a sense of unworthiness, or that self-preserving instinct that insisted he never get his hopes up too high.
It was kind of nice.
"We did good," he repeated quietly; and Stephen hugged him, and laughed, and bubbled on some more about how he was just so proud; and Jon thought that maybe, just maybe, he could let himself feel like this more often.
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..I do love the others, I just... I'll be in my bunk!!!
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(I also almost-ship Jon/Ellen - in a platonic-but-steamy, they-have-great-chemistry, if-only-she-weren't-gay sort of way - so there may end up being Joan/Ellen eventually.)
That was the only segment I hadn't already posted and gotten feedback on, so I'm glad it went over so well!
♥
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Fuuck. I love liberal!verse so much. :)
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And thanks!
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I love the genderswap Needverse one. For someone who says they can't write smut, you do it remarkably well! =P
The Liberalverse and Happyverse ones are awesome too.
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And there will definitely be more genderswap. Mmmm.
(Okay, so I can write smut. At least, f/f smut. It's difficult and frustrating and time-consuming, but I can do it =P)
♥
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Wow.
I...
Um. Wow.
(Is there any more Joan/Stephanie in the world
because dear god that is the first femslash I have ever read that turned me on)no subject
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YOU LEGEND :D
(I can't believe I forgot that... I even commented on it when it was first posted *headdesk* you're a ninja)
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GONNA TAKE FORGOTTEN LINKS DOWN TO ZERO
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SHE'S OUR
PORNPOWERS MAGNIFIEDAND SHE'S FIGHTING ON THE FANDOM'S SIDE
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I should probably go drink some fortifying high-antioxidant tea now, or something.
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I'm not authorized to view this protected entry. Sadface.
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Access granted!
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Thankyouuu! That was gorgeous.
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♥
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THIS IS PURE GOLD.
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PFFFFFFFFFT WTF ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT YOUR SMUT IS FANTASTIC. <33333333333
She had spent more than a few conversations, especially early on, confirming and reconfirming that Stephanie didn't just feel pressured to surrender to her good-Southern-girl upbringing, as she had done in the past with more men than Joan cared to think about.
Oh, oh! See, that's just sad. ♥ Poor, poor bb girl.
Plus also the world needs more lesbian erotica (especially the kinky kind, I would argue, but lol then again I am SUPERBIASED lol in that i am kinky and a lesbian) created by women for an audience that is at least partially female.
ALSO, READING ALL THESE SEQUENTIALLY MADE ME REALIZE THAT JON AND HAPPY!STEPHEN MUST HAVE THE MOST BORINGLY VANILLA SACCHARINE SEX LIFE EVER, SO VANILLA THAT IT'S NOT EVEN LIKE, FRENCH VANILLA IT'S JUST THE REALLY WHITE KIND WITH THE LITTLE VANILLA BEAN FLECKS AND POSSIBLY LIKE, GARNISHED WITH RAINBOW SPRINKLES
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I have this twisted urge to write something about the "Stephanie"/BillO encounter. It goes basically like this (warning: porn as written by BillO), although it has not occurred to Bill that Steph might be faking all those orgasms.
The world needs a lot more decent lesbian erotica. Femslash is a tiny corner of LJ fandom when compared to slash, but even going percentage-wise, it has a lot less kink. (And, for that matter, a lot more "quietly tragic pining" as opposed to rollicking adventures, high drama, crashingly torrid romance, or basically any of the other things I would want to read.)
I'm torn about happy!Stephen's sex life. Here are the possibilities I've come up with so far:
1) So vanilla he's basically asexual - the Disney movie version of desire, where kissing is the pinnacle of romantic physical intimacy.
2) Something like this. (Warning: hardcore BDSM. With Care Bears.)
"Jon! Jon, look at this one! Isn't it adorable? Can I use it on you? Pretty please?"
"...Stephen, that thing is gigantic. I don't think I could get it in my mouth, let alone, uh, anywhere else."
"But it has rainbow swirls!"
Honestly, though...cracktastic as the second option would be, I think I'd rather play around with the first. Fandom is so focused on its shipping and its smut that asexuality is probably more unusual than any kink you can think of.
lol MOST teal deer sorry :|
DDDDDDDDDDDDD:
DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD:
THAT'S THE MOST HORRIFYING THING EVER I THINK I WOULD JUST CRY AND CRY AND CRY OVER THAT FOREVER. OH, STEPHANIE WHAT ARE YOU DOING DO NOT SLEEP WITH BILLO YOU ARE A STEPHANIE IT IS SILLY TO BE HAVING ICKY ABUSIVE SEX DO NOT DO THAT DDD:
Ugh, IKR? I think this is partially a larger symptom of Media Lacking Girls, but then, from what I hear, you still get that emo pining stuff in fandoms with a decent amount of female characters, so I don't really know. And then of course, even if a particular medium does have more than two recurring female characters, who knows if they will ever talk to each other/be important to the story at all/be well-written.
1) So vanilla he's basically asexual - the Disney movie version of desire, where kissing is the pinnacle of romantic physical intimacy.
that was actually the basis of my "enchanted" refrigerator moment DDDD:
Oh my gooood, what is that Care Bear fic I don't even. I think my face might be stuck like this for life and I didn't even look.
See, I'm of two minds also, because, oh dear, I really don't want happy!Stephen to be asexual because I feel like he would be too much of a, I dunno, whatever you want to call that stereotype of the "tee hee! I'm faaaaaaaaaaaaabulous!" flamboyant gay man who doesn't actually do any icky threatening mansex stuff, that's just gross.
Although obviously, he would be his own person as opposed to, IDK, Sam Bee's ultimate fashion accessory or whatever, so that's quite different. Also, asexual people, queer and otherwise, are FOR SURE in need of more visibility and intelligent portrayals and all that jazz, and there almost certainly are flamboyant gay men who actually are asexual, so (non-faily) representation is always a good thing.
Also, omg that sounds kind of adorable? Stephen would sigh and pout I am sure.
TL;DR: No one should ever have to see Billo's dick. I like girls and I'd like to see more of them in fandom. Asexuality definitely should be represented more in fic but I'm being hateful and paranoid anyways because I'm a wretched, hateful motherfucker .
Re: lol MOST teal deer sorry :|
I can't help it! It's canon for Stephen, therefore it needs to have some kind of Stephanie equivalent!
I think this is partially a larger symptom of Media Lacking Girls, but then, from what I hear, you still get that emo pining stuff in fandoms with a decent amount of female characters, so I don't really know.
It's a thing that people have noticed across fandoms. I haven't seen a lot of it in Doctor Who, which is where I read the most femslsah and which of course has awesome women coming out its ears. But, just as one example, in
I really don't want happy!Stephen to be asexual because I feel like he would be too much of a, I dunno, whatever you want to call that stereotype of the "tee hee! I'm faaaaaaaaaaaaabulous!" flamboyant gay man who doesn't actually do any icky threatening mansex stuff, that's just gross.
Hmmmm. To be honest, I hadn't even thought of that stereotype, because I'm so used to the fannish mindset where all the men (and more than a few of the ladies) have been written into mansex at some point or another. If he were the only gay character in the fandom, it would be pretty bad, but there are so many other gay/bi/queer/mansexin' guys - including half a dozen alternate versions of the same person! - that I think, in this context, having him represented as a fully sexual being is not the priority it would be in mainstream media.
Plus, the context would not be "Sam hangs out with her nonthreatening pink-clad guy and they pick out clothing" so much as "after fifteen minutes of enjoyable but vanilla foreplay on the couch, Jon starts to wonder if he's lost his edge."
The problem I was worrying about -- see, I just reread half of AVEN's FAQ, and while it points out that some asexuals perticipate in sex with their non-asexual partners, the stereotype/misconception it keeps coming back to is the idea that a person needs to be sexual in order to be happy/healthy/fulfilled. And that's definitely an idea that often comes hand-in-hand with fandom's (otherwise generally awesome) sex-positive vibe. So I was worried that writing asexual!happy!Stephen into a relationship with sex involved would fall into that misconception.
...Maybe every once in a while c!Stephen and l!Stephen (with or without their respective Jons) will have to catch the interdimensional train into town and give happyverse!Jon a weekend of utter carnality. And h!Stephen can be the one who drives to the store when they run low on lube.
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I think, in this context, having him represented as a fully sexual being is not the priority it would be in mainstream media.
I totally feel that.
"after fifteen minutes of enjoyable but vanilla foreplay on the couch, Jon starts to wonder if he's lost his edge."
Oh, Jon! :( Poor dear.
Yeah, after deliberating and eating some birthday cake, I've decided that pretty much any way is good, you'd do it properly I am sure.
...Maybe every once in a while c!Stephen and l!Stephen (with or without their respective Jons) will have to catch the interdimensional train into town and give happyverse!Jon a weekend of utter carnality. And h!Stephen can be the one who drives to the store when they run low on lube.
See that's kind of ;_; in a way though because it's like "lol hey guess what you're not enough for me srry2say" and whatever omg IGNORE ME
I'M JUST TRYING TO RUIN EVERYTHING AGAIN
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it's like "lol hey guess what you're not enough for me srry2say"
Not at all! There are some couples where only one person is into sci-fi, so they don't drag their partner to sci-fi movies; they do that with other friends. There are some couples where one person is vegetarian, so the other partner doesn't drag them to Outback Steakhouse; they find someone else to accompany them. In this couple, h!Stephen doesn't have a sex drive, so Jon participates in that with other people. It doesn't change the primacy of their relationship, or affect their commitment to each other.
(Happy!Stephen is perfectly content with the whole arrangement; he doesn't have a jealous bone in his body. Meanwhile, l!Stephen is a firm believer in the value of polyamory, and c!Stephen gets off on being [consensually] lent out to friends for sexual use. So I think this is a win-win-win-win.)
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(Anonymous) 2009-09-27 10:58 pm (UTC)(link)Stephanie showed up at Joan's door in tears. Joan quickly let her in. She could see that what Stephanie needed was a stiff drink and the listening ear of a friend -- in that order -- so she led her to the couch and went to fix something strong.
Once her tears had dried and after downing the drink, Stephanie was ready to tell Joan what had happened. She started to tell her how well her interview with Bill O'Reilly had gone. Joan had to suppress the weird vibe she got from Stephanie's tone when she referred to him as "Papa Bear". It seemed almost... incestuous.
"And then he, he--" she started to cry again.
"Oh God, Steph, did he... rape you?"
"No! No. But he, he hit me, Joan. He called me names. Papa Bear, he was my hero, Joan! I would've done anthing for me. He shouldn't have..." she trailed off. "I just feel used, Joan. Violated."
"Oh, honey." Joan pulled Stephanie to her, resting her head on Joan's bosom. She stroked her hair. "It's gonna be all right," she murmured occasionally.
Stephanie felt so much better in Joan's embrace. Joan, who was always her support, through big problems and small. Joan, who was so beautiful and kind. Joan, whose breasts were right within reach...
Joan started at the decidedly non-platonic action. She sprang from the couch and stood before Stephanie, eyes wide with shock. "No, Steph... no."
Stephanie looked at her with wounded eyes beginning to re-fill with tears.
"You don't want me. No one will want me now. I'm damaged." Tears fell silently from her eyes.
"No!" said Joan emphatically, sitting beside her friend. She took the younger woman's face in her hands. "This is not about me not wanting you, okay?" She gave her a soft peck on the lips and wiped a tear off her face with her thumb. "You're hurt, confused, vulnerable. And I will not take advantage of you like this. You need time to sort things out, to think. And to forget. You need me to be a friend right now. And when you're better, then, if you still want me, we'll see. ...Okay?"
The grateful look the Stephanie gave her was worth the world.
~A. Fann
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(Anonymous) 2009-09-28 01:11 am (UTC)(link)~A. F.
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And number 5 - anytime Stephen convinces Jon to just be happy, I get all melty. ♥!
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I can tell you're gonna be a happy!Stephen fan, then X3
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I mean, I'm sure I'll love it! :D
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(This is the one place where I resolutely clamp down on my predilection for ninja!angst. I will defend the sanctity of the happyverse!)
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Joan/Ellen. Now, plzkthx. Plotbunny from heaven.
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Joan/Ellen...yeah, I'm not sure I'll be able to resist :3
Thanks!
Joan/Stephanie delurked me
(Anonymous) 2009-09-29 03:35 am (UTC)(link)Several times while reading it I glitched and visually summoned Joan Holloway from Mad Men (due to the name, and the description of Stephanie's dress) and Rachel Maddow (because my brain think that she is what a younger, circa 1990s Joan would look like, sorta). BEST GLITCHES EVER!
But seriously Ptah, these were all (with the exception of the Sailor Jon one only because I am a stranger in that 'verse; however, I feel safe in assuming its worthiness) great, fun reads that also totally fight the good fight (non-pining femmeslash for AMERICA!). Thanks again. :D
I also liked The Thing With Feathers!
Re: Joan/Stephanie delurked me
I think there's a comm in the works for fakenews genderswap, and I will totally be plugging it when it shows up :3
Pining is okay in small doses, but I'm glad I'm not the only one who wants the pine-free variety of femslash! And
And, wow, that title brings back memories. Thank you!
Re: Joan/Stephanie delurked me
(Anonymous) 2009-10-04 12:58 am (UTC)(link)Re: Joan/Stephanie delurked me
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