Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2013-08-01 07:29 pm
ptahrrific) wrote2013-08-01 07:29 pm
Entry tags:
Fake News | ensemble | R | Shout*For, chapter 18
Title: Shout*For, chapter 18: Two Hearts In True Waltz Time
Characters/Pairings: Jon/"Stephen", Olivia/Kristen, Jimmy, cameos, OCs.
Rating: Soft R
Contents: Teenage sexuality, trauma symptoms
Disclaimer: See series Table of Contents.
Our main couples make beautiful music together. Sometimes, that's even literal.
Musical accompaniments: Charlene (I'm Right Behind You); percussion on glass; Jimmy changes genres, rewrites lyrics (start at 1:45), and has a Presidents' Day song; Two Hearts.
Star Girl studio, one month later.
"Will says you're doing a lovely job with all the songs, so we're going to spend the morning trying to put the first one together with the dance routine," said Mac, tapping the corresponding bullet point on her whiteboard. "Right after lunch you're getting a ride to the KRCK FM studio to do that interview. It'll be fairly freeform, but I'd like to spend a few minutes going over the central questions just to...to...Olivia?"
"Hm?" said Olivia. She'd been listening; she just didn't usually get asked for her opinion at this stage. "All that sounds fine, sure."
"Yes, yes," said Mac distractedly. "About that bruise...on your neck...."
Uh-oh. Olivia had known she wouldn't be on film today, so she hadn't looked at herself in the mirror this morning. No makeup, just the false eyelashes she could practically put on in her sleep by now. "I...walked into a door. Neck-first."
"Oh. Well, I suppose that's..." Mac caught herself, frowning. "...wildly improbable, isn't it."
"Maggie did it last week," pointed out Olivia.
"Maggie has a condition," said Mac. "At least, we all assume she does. I suppose it's too much to hope for that this marking was the result of young Mr. Col-bert's attentions?"
Olivia tried to break into her most winning sheepish grin. "Will it make you feel better if I say yes?"
Her manager sighed. "You realize, of course, that if you were to be...spotted...in, shall we say, intimate circumstances with another person, it would be a severe blow to your career? The public is rather unforgiving of women who stray." A distracted shimmer appeared in her eyes. "Not without reason! It's one of the most cruel, unthinking mistakes one person can perpetrate on another, and it is entirely unfair to expect someone to forgive you for it, even at the expense of a harmonious working environment, even if it was three years ago and you're both supposedly in happy relationships with other people and...."
Sometimes Mac could keep this up for half an hour straight. If Olivia just let her talk, she'd probably fill enough time that they'd be behind schedule and have to rush to start working on non-hickey-related activities.
"...and that is not relevant right now!" exclaimed Mac suddenly, shaking herself. "Olivia, if there's anything going on that might become a serious situation, I need to know."
Olivia gaped. The one time Mac was able to put her romantic drama aside, and it had to be now?
Mac folded her arms. "I'm waiting. I can wait all day if necessary."
"It's no big deal!" groaned Olivia. "Look, you got a handle on things after Stephen got kissed in public, right? And let's face it, I'm way more discreet than he is. If somehow there does end up being a rumor or whatever, we've already got the fake Munnbert thing in full swing, so you can just have us heterosexual it up that much more and we'll be fine."
"I really don't think...." Mac paused again. "Olivia? Is the 'door' you 'walked into' by any chance another girl?"
Oops. Olivia sat up straighter and made her face professionally blank. "I have no comment on the gender identity of the alleged door."
"Not that there would be anything wrong with that!" her manager hastened to add, waving her hands. "On a personal level, I think it's wonderful! It's just that, well. Both of you? Really?"
"Mac. Calm down," said Olivia, uncharacteristically embarrassed. "I'm not gay. Okay?"
"Aren't you?" echoed Mac, looking relieved. "Well, good! That's lovely too."
"So if we could just move on? Because I see a couple more things on the whiteboard there."
"Yes, I suppose that would be best," said Mac at last. "Now, when you get back from the radio interview...."
~*~
Stephen poured out the last heartfelt syllable in one long note, clicked off at the final plosive with split-second timing, and waited, eyes closed, for confirmation.
"Beautiful!" exclaimed Charlene's voice in his ear. (Obviously the words were getting piped into all four sets of headphones, but as long as they were in the soundproof booths, Stephen could pretend their music producer's praise was just for him.) "I think this track's in the bag. And just in time for lunch, too. Come on out, boys."
They all ended up filing down the hall together. Stephen picked up Briar Rose and dropped back behind his bandmates to keep pace with Charlene. "Did you listen to the demo tape I made yet?"
"Haven't had a chance," said Charlene calmly. (Stephen pouted. What good was having a cousin of yours on the production team if she wouldn't give you special consideration?) "Maybe when this album is finished."
"But it could be on the album!" insisted Stephen. "Once I figure out the rest of the lyrics...and write the music for more than one instrument...and change your name to something else, I only sang it in there as a placeholder...although if you wanted to leave it in, I could always —"
Charlene patted him on the back. "No shop talk at lunch. Go sit with your friends."
Defeated, Stephen jogged to catch up with Jon and Jimmy. He looped Briar Rose's leash around a chair, told her to stay, promised to snag her some beef if she was a good girl, and fell into the sandwich line with the other two.
"When did you write a song?" asked Jon, snagging himself a turkey and pepper jack roll.
"Oh, here and there, now and then," said Stephen modestly.
"Mostly when it's just him and me hanging out," added Jimmy. "When you're busy, so he isn't distracted doing your particular friend stuff. I helped him work out the melody!"
"Jimmy helped a little bit," allowed Stephen, grabbing one snack-size bag of each flavor of Doritos. "Come on, Jon, you've never been content to just belt out whatever packaged songs the Man gives us! And by the Man, I mostly mean Charlene. How better to fix it than to write some of our own?"
"It's a cool idea," Jon assured him. "I'm just dubious about whether we'd actually be allowed to perform it."
"Jon!" Stephen brandished a Dorito bag at him. "How can you say that? You haven't even heard it yet!"
"Okay, okay! When do I get to hear it?"
"I thought you'd never ask."
They took their places at the table, where Stephen picked a couple shreds of roast beef out of his sandwich and fed them one by one to the puppy curled up under his chair. Jimmy used the time to pick up half a dozen glasses from the drinks line (and to appropriate Jon's and Stephen's), which he filled with varying levels of Sprite, testing the resulting tone with a fork tapped against the edge.
"I could wait till after lunch, you know," Jon assured them. "We could do it in the practice room, where you could play an actual instrument instead of the, uh, glass-and-soda xylophone."
"Hey, I have to get my glass xylophone practice in some time," said Jimmy reasonably. "Stephen, whenever you're ready."
Stephen straightened up, counted off, and began to sing.
"Every time I see you~ I think of you / Every time I'm near you~ I think of you / I think of you, when I dream of you, when I'm something something something~ / I think of you, when I'm something else, haven't worked this line here out yet...."
He went through the whole thing uninterrupted, eyes falling closed a couple of times, he was so moved. At last he trilled a quick "...copyright Stephen Col-bert 2011~!" and turned expectantly to Jon.
...who was hiding his smile behind a fist. "I'll give you one thing," he said, eyes sparkling, "that could definitely be one of our songs."
Stephen beamed. "You like it!" he said adoringly, then remembered he wasn't supposed to look so adoring in public, and re-appropriated one of Jimmy's cups to busy himself taking a hasty drink.
Jon shied away from the motion. "I'll...just go get a fresh one of those, if that's okay."
~*~
The space belowdecks on the Small Wonder was oppressively dark before Olivia's eyes adjusted, even with a few dim shafts of light falling through tinted windows. Kitchen, berths, bathroom, and seating area were crammed together in a compact, winding labyrinth. The staircase had LEDs running along each step, a safety necessity, especially with the treads themselves being so narrow they were basically a glorified ladder.
Olivia lowered herself out of reach of the sunlight, and let herself fall to a seat one of the cozy berths. Kristen followed right behind to straddle her thighs, blue eyes twinkling at her out of the darkness.
They got an introductory kiss out of the way, then Kristen said, "Can you come over and have dinner with my family some time soon?"
Olivia's ponytail swung against the back of her neck as she cocked her head. "What, like, down on the farm?"
"Aw, come on, you don't have to say it like that," complained Kristen. "It's a perfectly normal LA apartment. The building just happens to have an extra-large garden on the roof."
"Uh-huh. How large is large, again?"
Kristen shrugged. "Forty thousand square feet. But who's counting? So, what about dinner? It'll be delicious. We always have super fresh produce."
Olivia chewed on the side of her lip. "Your parents don't...know anything, do they? Or your brother?"
"Nope. Well, they know I'm into girls...although my dad seems to think it's an either-or thing and that has to mean I'm a lesbian...but nothing about you. Except...."
Uh-oh.
"Well, my mom sort of got the impression you're stringing me along," blurted Kristen. "And my parents are very protective so obviously they don't like that much. So I thought, hey, if you come over for dinner and they can see firsthand that we're hanging out like always and not having any problems, maybe they'll calm down! Right?"
Olivia slumped against Kristen's chest with a groan of relief. "That's so much better than what I was afraid of. Sure, I'll come down for dinner. As long as they're cool with Lonny hanging around."
"They'll probably set him an extra plate."
"But if it doesn't work..." prompted Olivia.
Kristen's chin rested against the top of her head. "If it doesn't work, it doesn't work. Torpedoing your career is not in the plan! Neither is risking the careers of any of our fabulous gay buddies. So don't worry, I've got your backs."
Olivia hummed in approval and kissed Kristen's neck. "You are the best girlfriend."
~*~
As of mid-afternoon, Stephen was still talking about all the songs he wanted to write. He had a whole album's worth of Christmas carols alone. Because what was more likely to keep paying out royalties year after year than if he could get a hit with a Christmas song?
The windows in his room were open, letting a nice sea breeze blow over them. Briar Rose was in his lap, getting brushed. Jon was in the chair over by his desk, spinning a bit from side to side and doodling on a scratchpad, while Jimmy was sprawled comfortably on the bed, chin resting on his folded arms and eyes closed, no doubt so that he could focus more intently on Stephen's words.
"So, Jimmy, do you have any music-writing plans?" asked Jon, when Stephen had reached a good breaking point. Well, sort of a good breaking point. Well, really, he just paused to take a breath.
Jimmy sat up a bit, opening his eyes and trying to push his hair out of them. (His professional "adorable" image required hair that was this-close to flopping across his eyes, which could be downright hazardous in the last few days before a haircut if he didn't gel properly.) "Not like Stephen does. I have more fun playing with other people's stuff."
He did mean playing with, not just playing. When there was downtime and he had a keyboard around, or even a guitar someone else would let him borrow, Stephen had heard plenty of his musical idlings turn into something with craft behind it: recasting a song in a different key, putting rap lyrics to a country tune, maybe throwing a dozen disparate tunes into a mashup.
"Oh!" added Jimmy. "I did write a song about Presidents' Day once."
"Sounds, um, unique," said Jon doubtfully.
"Yeah, I wasn't expecting it to be a yearly staple on the radio or anything."
"Although it should be!" put in Stephen. "Presidents' Day is a very important holiday! There would be hundreds of songs about it if everyone loved America as much as you do."
Jimmy grinned up at him. "Thanks, buddy."
Then he tipped his head meaningfully in Jon's direction.
It took a second, but suddenly Stephen caught the hint Jimmy was trying to drop. "So, Jon! Have you ever written any music?"
Jon shrugged. His pen couldn't really be drawing anything right now. It was just going in circles. "I'm not much in the song-writing department. More of a playing guy, really. Maybe I could write lyrics if I had a tune to start with...and if someone gave me a topic...."
Indignant, Stephen yanked on the brush so hard Briar Rose whined and wriggled out of his arms. "Oh, come on, it's not hard! You just have to find the right inspiration. There must be something that could inspire you to be musical." He arched his eyebrows meaningfully.
Jon completely failed to take the hint. "Not like that, no. If I tried, I'd probably just end up writing about Doom or something."
Well, that had potential, didn't it? "Whose doom? Yours? Someone else's? Or is this Mount Doom?"
"It's...the first-person shooter."
Stephen fell back against the headboard with a groan, brush-wielding hand flopping across his forehead in Southern-belle agitation. "Jon! This is supposed to be about the feelings in your soul."
"Hey, Doom gives me a lot of feelings!" protested Jon. Lowering his voice, he added, "I used to play all the time with Anthony. We were planning to coordinate some sessions after I got over here, but, um. It didn't work out."
"Anthony, your Jersey BFF?" asked Jimmy. "That's really sad."
"It was a bummer," agreed Jon, now stabbing little dots onto the paper. Maybe he was drawing somebody with freckles. "And you can get people online to do multiplayer mode with, but, like, what if somebody recognized my voice? What if they got a recording of some of the stuff I yell at those zombie Marines? It wouldn't end well."
By this point Stephen was moved. Deeply moved. Mostly moved to want to punch Jon's neglectful Jersey BFF. "Jon," he declared solemnly, straightening back up and placing his hand over his heart, "I will play Doom with you."
Jon hesitated. "Stephen, I don't want to sound ungrateful, but...have you ever played before?"
"I should be a natural!" insisted Stephen. "I come from a strong Southern family with traditional values! Handling absurdly overpowered firearms is in my blood!"
"Uh-huh. Funny you should mention blood, because the thing is, the animation can get a bit graphic...."
"And you think I can't handle it?"
"Stephen...." put in Jimmy, in a tone that suggested he was not going to back Stephen up here. "I remember you crying on my shoulder when the Brave Little Toaster got crushed."
That started Jon giggling. It was very hard for Stephen to keep the righteous anger going when Jon insisted on being this adorable. "It was a moving scene," he sulked, trying to hold on to some kind of dignity. "That toaster was very brave."
~*~
Maybe ten minutes into the making out, Olivia remembered. "Oh, by the way, you gotta bite less. Mac's worried I have a feisty boyfriend on the side."
"Mmm." Kristen, now lying parallel to Olivia in the cramped booth with one leg slung over her thighs, nuzzled her neck. "Tell her you and Stephen..."
"Tried that. She didn't buy it."
"...you and Stephen's puppy were playing, and the poor thing didn't know its own strength," finished Kristen, caressing Olivia's bare back under her blouse. "Give me some credit."
Olivia stuck out her lower lip. "Just find somewhere less visible to chew on."
"Mmm." Kristen's lips curved into a devilish smile. The skirt of her striped sundress was all puddled around her hips, baring a long, tanned expanse of thigh. "You have any suggestions?"
Olivia considered. "...Can I take my shirt off?"
It was pretty disheartening when Kristen jumped, a startled expression wiping everything else from her face. "Seriously?"
"That was where this was going, right?" asked Olivia, suddenly afraid she'd been reading Kristen all wrong.
"No, I mean yes, it was," stammered Kristen. "I just wasn't expecting, if you would actually, omigod please take your shirt off."
The hands that had lingered on Olivia's torso pulled away, and in one wriggly motion Olivia stripped the loose navy blouse over her head.
She was second-guessing the whole idea almost the moment it was off. Kristen had seen her in a bikini a hundred times, couldn't have missed that her chest wasn't exactly the most expansive, but what if the sight was really underwhelming up close? Especially today had been one of the days she went without a bra, and even at her size those offered a certain amount of bounce. Olivia tossed the shirt aside, folded her arms loosely over her chest in a way that hopefully didn't reek of too much insecurity, and waited.
For a long moment Kristen didn't react.
Then she said, "I want to put my tongue on all of that."
Olivia couldn't help it. She cracked up.
"I'm not weird!" wailed Kristen. "You're very attractive! This is a perfectly natural reaction!"
"It's a little weird," giggled Olivia, now clutching her stomach against the laughter. "Good! Good weird. Sexy weird."
"I guess I can settle for sexy weird," said Kristen with a sigh. "But only because I really like you."
~*~
Jon had filled about five pages with terrible doodles by the time Jimmy and Stephen finally started saying their good-nights.
It was a three-person sleepover for misdirection's sake, but a de facto two-person sleepover by mutual agreement. And even knowing there was a long list of things Stephen had put off-limits, Jon had spent most of the evening thinking about everything that was left...which meant he kept needing the notepad over his lap as a bit of personal misdirection.
The pen he'd been using was starting to run dry. While Jimmy retired to the next room, Jon pulled open a couple of desk drawers to see if Stephen had any ink refills lying around.
When his hand landed on the bag between a tangle of extra headphones and the Return of the King post-it notes, he spent a couple of seconds staring in disbelief.
"I'm going to change in the bathroom," announced Stephen from the bureau, tossing pajamas over his arm. "And you change out here. Knock when it's safe for me to come out, okay?"
"Sure," said Jon. "Hey, listen, how long have you been holding out on us?"
"What?"
Jon held up the bag. "You've got this much weed lying around and you weren't going to share?"
"That's not a weed, Jon," said Stephen derisively. "It was a present. Obviously some kind of spice. I just haven't figured out what you're supposed to bake with it yet."
Jon smirked. "Yourself, mostly."
"Come again?"
"Stephen. It's marijuana."
Stephen frowned. "Are you sure?"
Jon unzipped the corner of the ziplock and sniffed, just to double check. "Yep. Positive."
"Oh." Stephen wound his way over to the desk, folded PJ's wrapped in his arms, and eyed the bag like it might bite. "Do...do you know what you're supposed to do with it?"
"I have a general idea," admitted Jon. "Kinda light on the practical experience, though. Do you wanna...see if we can figure it out?"
"Well, not now!" said Stephen. "If Papa found out, he'd dump all my fish in the ocean for sure." He swallowed. "Jon? Will you hang on to this for me? And then, later, we can get together at your place and...and either figure it out, or we can get a Guest Expert. I know Steve knows about these things."
Jon raised his eyebrows. "I thought Steve was Not Acceptable?"
"He is acceptable when he's not being a giant stupid jerkface," said Stephen primly. "Are you taking the weed or not?"
So Jon stuck the bag in the duffel he'd brought over, and threw his dirty clothes on top of it.
For sleepwear he'd brought a pair of grey plaid pajama shorts and an old faded T-shirt, souvenir of the music camp Mom had saved up to send him to when he was twelve. (He'd gotten a shirt from the latest session just a week ago, in gratitude for how, at the start of the summer, he'd written the program a check large enough to take a dozen kids on scholarship.) The puppy was already scratching impatiently at the door to the attached bathroom; Jon leaned over her and told Stephen he was decent, then retreated to the bed to wait.
It was at least three full minutes before Stephen finally came out. His blond-tipped dark hair was wet and combed back, he smelled like gardenias and sandalwood, and he was wearing a thin undershirt over a pair of black drawstring pants...patterned with the Shout*For logo and all the boys' autographs in silver.
"I really hope you don't always wear cologne to bed," said Jon, but he was grinning dizzily as he spread his legs so Stephen could kneel between them.
"Don't know what you're talking about." Stephen scooted in tantalizingly close. "This is my natural musk."
"Uh-huh. Sure." Jon looped his fingers around the drawstring. "Never realized we had a line of guys' PJs in adult sizes," he said, and tugged Stephen forward by the hips.
Stephen's hand hit the headboard over Jon's shoulder, saving him from falling on top of Jon completely. "Ah —!" he breathed, flushed face so close Jon could practically feel the heat. "We, um. We do not. Is that a problem?"
Jon took a second to process that. "Mmmnope," he decided, and went for the kiss.
He'd been half-hard already, and the taste of Stephen's mouth sealed the deal. He could keep his hands occupied by digging his fingers into the curves of Stephen's hips, but he couldn't completely stop his own pelvis from bucking and twisting here and there, desperate for more friction.
Then Stephen slung one leg over Jon's and thrust against the crook where Jon's thigh met his body, leaving Jon to grind directly against his other leg, and sweet mercy this was heaven. Jon wrenched his mouth away from Stephen's to get a visual, and his gut tightened: his own signature was stretched across Stephen's erection. "Jesus, Stephen...!"
"Jon," panted Stephen, nuzzling his jawline. "Jon, I —" He jerked their faces apart. "You have stubble."
An earthquake probably would have had a hard time getting Jon's attention right then...but he hadn't been waiting years for an earthquake to come in. His grinding dropped to a slow burn; he got one hand to his chin. "All right!" he exclaimed, finding a patch of fuzz on one side, then the other. "How does it look?"
"Terrible," said Stephen flatly. "You should shave."
Jon was in too good a mood to be put off. "Yeah, obviously it's gonna be scraggly for a while. Is it at least, like, symmetrical? We don't have any TV spots for at least a week. If I let it grow...?"
"Don't let it grow!" cried Stephen. "It is Not Acceptable. Disney princes never have beards!"
"Hah!" said Jon. "Do so! Rapunzel's guy did! Flynn. Eugene." He offered his best sexy grin. "Come on, I can totally pull off the lovable rogue thing."
Stephen pouted, eyes large and round, lower lip wobbling...but he couldn't fight Jon's unshakeable logic, and he wasn't going to earn any pity when Jon's fuzz situation was so obviously not that much of a turnoff.
"I swear I'll shave in a couple days if it's still terrible," said Jon anyway, then rocked the leg that was trapped between Stephen's thighs gently upward.
With a strangled groan Stephen fell forward, plastering his whole body against Jon's now, burying his face in the slope of Jon's shoulder and grinding needily against him.
Jon had just enough presence of mind to shove them down the mattress, so his head hit the bunched-up pillow and not the headboard as it fell back. The ceiling swam in front of his eyes anyway. Stephen's weight was only half on his knees now, the other half split between one precariously placed hand and Jon's whole body as it bucked up to meet him. The overwhelming scent now was gardenias and sweat, which you wouldn't think would be sexy, but.
Fisting one hand in Stephen's undershirt for stability, Jon got the other cupping Stephen's ass, moving with him, encouraging him to keep it up.
"I'm gonna," panted Jon, far too soon — his dick had grown out of the hair-trigger stage, but wasn't going to win any endurance prizes any time soon — "Stephen, can't, gotta let me up, I'll —"
Stephen just clung more tightly — "Stay."
"Stay?" echoed Jon, not believing his luck — dry-humping until they came all over each other had definitely not been on Stephen's list.
For answer, Stephen pressed him more heavily against the mattress.
Whatever holding-back Jon had been trying to do, it all fell away. He lost his sense of anything that wasn't his body or Stephen's; he nuzzled adoringly at Stephen's neck, raining down kisses, while his hips moved all on their own more furiously than anything he could have controlled —
A shudder made Stephen's back arch upward —
— then he tore out of Jon's arms after all, must've changed his mind —
— and Jon was too far gone to think about it, too gone to do anything but shove his hand down his shorts and pump and stroke and twist.
He lay boneless on Stephen's mattress, unfocused, tired, happy, still panting while little aftershocks ran up and down his skin.
Jon could have dropped off right there (mess in his shorts be damned), and slept like a baby through the night, if he hadn't noticed that the bathroom door was still hanging open. And that the sound from beyond it was decidedly less than sexy.
He withdrew his curled-up hand and went to see.
When he emerged onto the tiled floor, Jon sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Stay right there, I'll get you some water," he said, and scrubbed the come off his hands at the nearest sink before filling a glass and crouching at Stephen's side.
Stephen was bent over the toilet, still shaking. It didn't smell like gardenias at all over here.
"I didn't know you were sick," said Jon. "You should've said something. I would've tried to knock you around less."
"I'm not sick," said Stephen sullenly, accepting the water. "I'm allergic to your stubble."
Obviously that was nonsense, but Jon could make a few sacrifices if it would make his nausea-stricken boyfriend feel better. "Okay, okay. I'll get rid of it as soon as I get home."
"No." Stephen took a moment to hit the flush, then sat weakly back against the frosted-glass door of the shower. "Now. I have spare razors. Cabinet." He jabbed his finger in the right direction.
Jon raised his eyebrows. "Wait, you're not shaving yet. Are you?"
Stephen fixed him with a reassuringly cross look. "Well, not my face."
~*~
While Jon was experiencing the unique invigorating and moisturizing power of Prescott Pharmaceuticals' shaving cream, Stephen changed his pants. It was very unfair: he'd come, all right, but had been too busy losing track of where he was to enjoy it.
I'm with Jon, he told himself for the umpteenth time, swallowing his two Vaxasopor. And then — self-consciously, since he was no longer too filled with arousal for any Catholic guilt to pry its way in — I...wanted to do that with Jon.
(It couldn't be on the Lord's blacklist. They hadn't even gotten naked for it. Really, when you broke down the action, it had just been masturbation in very, very close proximity to each other...and God had also been known to side-eye masturbation, but not enough to stop everyone from doing it anyway.)
Now in (men's) pajama bottoms patterned with Mickey silhouettes, he was curled up in bed when Jon came out. If Jon had noticed the change before flipping off the lights, he didn't comment before joining Stephen. "You feel better?" he asked, smoothing back Stephen's tousled hair. "And...and before you, you know...was it good for you?"
Stephen tugged him down so they were lying parallel to each other. "It was good, with you," he said, running his fingers along Jon's smooth jawline. "Mmm. You smell like jasmine."
"Is that bad?" asked Jon, sounding nervous. "Should I be smelling like Aladdin?"
"No, no, I meant the flower. It's one of the heart notes in the aftershave Prescott keeps sending me."
And Ned never uses that stuff. So I'm with Jon. He smells like Jon. Feels like Jon. Sounds like....
"Sing me something," ordered Stephen drowsily, finding Jon's hand and lacing their fingers together.
"Sure," said Jon. "Any requests?"
Stephen shrugged. "You pick."
Jon hummed a couple of notes, experimenting, then settled into a gentle, slow take on what had started an up-tempo and guitar-heavy rock song. "I went out walking the other day~ / Seen a little girl crying along the wa~ay / She'd been hurt so bad said she'd never love again~ / Someday your crying, girl, will end / And you'll find once again: / Two hearts are better than one / Two hearts, girl, get the job done / Two hearts are better than one...."
Stephen fell asleep listening.
Characters/Pairings: Jon/"Stephen", Olivia/Kristen, Jimmy, cameos, OCs.
Rating: Soft R
Contents: Teenage sexuality, trauma symptoms
Disclaimer: See series Table of Contents.
Our main couples make beautiful music together. Sometimes, that's even literal.
Musical accompaniments: Charlene (I'm Right Behind You); percussion on glass; Jimmy changes genres, rewrites lyrics (start at 1:45), and has a Presidents' Day song; Two Hearts.
"Will says you're doing a lovely job with all the songs, so we're going to spend the morning trying to put the first one together with the dance routine," said Mac, tapping the corresponding bullet point on her whiteboard. "Right after lunch you're getting a ride to the KRCK FM studio to do that interview. It'll be fairly freeform, but I'd like to spend a few minutes going over the central questions just to...to...Olivia?"
"Hm?" said Olivia. She'd been listening; she just didn't usually get asked for her opinion at this stage. "All that sounds fine, sure."
"Yes, yes," said Mac distractedly. "About that bruise...on your neck...."
Uh-oh. Olivia had known she wouldn't be on film today, so she hadn't looked at herself in the mirror this morning. No makeup, just the false eyelashes she could practically put on in her sleep by now. "I...walked into a door. Neck-first."
"Oh. Well, I suppose that's..." Mac caught herself, frowning. "...wildly improbable, isn't it."
"Maggie did it last week," pointed out Olivia.
"Maggie has a condition," said Mac. "At least, we all assume she does. I suppose it's too much to hope for that this marking was the result of young Mr. Col-bert's attentions?"
Olivia tried to break into her most winning sheepish grin. "Will it make you feel better if I say yes?"
Her manager sighed. "You realize, of course, that if you were to be...spotted...in, shall we say, intimate circumstances with another person, it would be a severe blow to your career? The public is rather unforgiving of women who stray." A distracted shimmer appeared in her eyes. "Not without reason! It's one of the most cruel, unthinking mistakes one person can perpetrate on another, and it is entirely unfair to expect someone to forgive you for it, even at the expense of a harmonious working environment, even if it was three years ago and you're both supposedly in happy relationships with other people and...."
Sometimes Mac could keep this up for half an hour straight. If Olivia just let her talk, she'd probably fill enough time that they'd be behind schedule and have to rush to start working on non-hickey-related activities.
"...and that is not relevant right now!" exclaimed Mac suddenly, shaking herself. "Olivia, if there's anything going on that might become a serious situation, I need to know."
Olivia gaped. The one time Mac was able to put her romantic drama aside, and it had to be now?
Mac folded her arms. "I'm waiting. I can wait all day if necessary."
"It's no big deal!" groaned Olivia. "Look, you got a handle on things after Stephen got kissed in public, right? And let's face it, I'm way more discreet than he is. If somehow there does end up being a rumor or whatever, we've already got the fake Munnbert thing in full swing, so you can just have us heterosexual it up that much more and we'll be fine."
"I really don't think...." Mac paused again. "Olivia? Is the 'door' you 'walked into' by any chance another girl?"
Oops. Olivia sat up straighter and made her face professionally blank. "I have no comment on the gender identity of the alleged door."
"Not that there would be anything wrong with that!" her manager hastened to add, waving her hands. "On a personal level, I think it's wonderful! It's just that, well. Both of you? Really?"
"Mac. Calm down," said Olivia, uncharacteristically embarrassed. "I'm not gay. Okay?"
"Aren't you?" echoed Mac, looking relieved. "Well, good! That's lovely too."
"So if we could just move on? Because I see a couple more things on the whiteboard there."
"Yes, I suppose that would be best," said Mac at last. "Now, when you get back from the radio interview...."
~*~
Stephen poured out the last heartfelt syllable in one long note, clicked off at the final plosive with split-second timing, and waited, eyes closed, for confirmation.
"Beautiful!" exclaimed Charlene's voice in his ear. (Obviously the words were getting piped into all four sets of headphones, but as long as they were in the soundproof booths, Stephen could pretend their music producer's praise was just for him.) "I think this track's in the bag. And just in time for lunch, too. Come on out, boys."
They all ended up filing down the hall together. Stephen picked up Briar Rose and dropped back behind his bandmates to keep pace with Charlene. "Did you listen to the demo tape I made yet?"
"Haven't had a chance," said Charlene calmly. (Stephen pouted. What good was having a cousin of yours on the production team if she wouldn't give you special consideration?) "Maybe when this album is finished."
"But it could be on the album!" insisted Stephen. "Once I figure out the rest of the lyrics...and write the music for more than one instrument...and change your name to something else, I only sang it in there as a placeholder...although if you wanted to leave it in, I could always —"
Charlene patted him on the back. "No shop talk at lunch. Go sit with your friends."
Defeated, Stephen jogged to catch up with Jon and Jimmy. He looped Briar Rose's leash around a chair, told her to stay, promised to snag her some beef if she was a good girl, and fell into the sandwich line with the other two.
"When did you write a song?" asked Jon, snagging himself a turkey and pepper jack roll.
"Oh, here and there, now and then," said Stephen modestly.
"Mostly when it's just him and me hanging out," added Jimmy. "When you're busy, so he isn't distracted doing your particular friend stuff. I helped him work out the melody!"
"Jimmy helped a little bit," allowed Stephen, grabbing one snack-size bag of each flavor of Doritos. "Come on, Jon, you've never been content to just belt out whatever packaged songs the Man gives us! And by the Man, I mostly mean Charlene. How better to fix it than to write some of our own?"
"It's a cool idea," Jon assured him. "I'm just dubious about whether we'd actually be allowed to perform it."
"Jon!" Stephen brandished a Dorito bag at him. "How can you say that? You haven't even heard it yet!"
"Okay, okay! When do I get to hear it?"
"I thought you'd never ask."
They took their places at the table, where Stephen picked a couple shreds of roast beef out of his sandwich and fed them one by one to the puppy curled up under his chair. Jimmy used the time to pick up half a dozen glasses from the drinks line (and to appropriate Jon's and Stephen's), which he filled with varying levels of Sprite, testing the resulting tone with a fork tapped against the edge.
"I could wait till after lunch, you know," Jon assured them. "We could do it in the practice room, where you could play an actual instrument instead of the, uh, glass-and-soda xylophone."
"Hey, I have to get my glass xylophone practice in some time," said Jimmy reasonably. "Stephen, whenever you're ready."
Stephen straightened up, counted off, and began to sing.
"Every time I see you~ I think of you / Every time I'm near you~ I think of you / I think of you, when I dream of you, when I'm something something something~ / I think of you, when I'm something else, haven't worked this line here out yet...."
He went through the whole thing uninterrupted, eyes falling closed a couple of times, he was so moved. At last he trilled a quick "...copyright Stephen Col-bert 2011~!" and turned expectantly to Jon.
...who was hiding his smile behind a fist. "I'll give you one thing," he said, eyes sparkling, "that could definitely be one of our songs."
Stephen beamed. "You like it!" he said adoringly, then remembered he wasn't supposed to look so adoring in public, and re-appropriated one of Jimmy's cups to busy himself taking a hasty drink.
Jon shied away from the motion. "I'll...just go get a fresh one of those, if that's okay."
~*~
The space belowdecks on the Small Wonder was oppressively dark before Olivia's eyes adjusted, even with a few dim shafts of light falling through tinted windows. Kitchen, berths, bathroom, and seating area were crammed together in a compact, winding labyrinth. The staircase had LEDs running along each step, a safety necessity, especially with the treads themselves being so narrow they were basically a glorified ladder.
Olivia lowered herself out of reach of the sunlight, and let herself fall to a seat one of the cozy berths. Kristen followed right behind to straddle her thighs, blue eyes twinkling at her out of the darkness.
They got an introductory kiss out of the way, then Kristen said, "Can you come over and have dinner with my family some time soon?"
Olivia's ponytail swung against the back of her neck as she cocked her head. "What, like, down on the farm?"
"Aw, come on, you don't have to say it like that," complained Kristen. "It's a perfectly normal LA apartment. The building just happens to have an extra-large garden on the roof."
"Uh-huh. How large is large, again?"
Kristen shrugged. "Forty thousand square feet. But who's counting? So, what about dinner? It'll be delicious. We always have super fresh produce."
Olivia chewed on the side of her lip. "Your parents don't...know anything, do they? Or your brother?"
"Nope. Well, they know I'm into girls...although my dad seems to think it's an either-or thing and that has to mean I'm a lesbian...but nothing about you. Except...."
Uh-oh.
"Well, my mom sort of got the impression you're stringing me along," blurted Kristen. "And my parents are very protective so obviously they don't like that much. So I thought, hey, if you come over for dinner and they can see firsthand that we're hanging out like always and not having any problems, maybe they'll calm down! Right?"
Olivia slumped against Kristen's chest with a groan of relief. "That's so much better than what I was afraid of. Sure, I'll come down for dinner. As long as they're cool with Lonny hanging around."
"They'll probably set him an extra plate."
"But if it doesn't work..." prompted Olivia.
Kristen's chin rested against the top of her head. "If it doesn't work, it doesn't work. Torpedoing your career is not in the plan! Neither is risking the careers of any of our fabulous gay buddies. So don't worry, I've got your backs."
Olivia hummed in approval and kissed Kristen's neck. "You are the best girlfriend."
~*~
As of mid-afternoon, Stephen was still talking about all the songs he wanted to write. He had a whole album's worth of Christmas carols alone. Because what was more likely to keep paying out royalties year after year than if he could get a hit with a Christmas song?
The windows in his room were open, letting a nice sea breeze blow over them. Briar Rose was in his lap, getting brushed. Jon was in the chair over by his desk, spinning a bit from side to side and doodling on a scratchpad, while Jimmy was sprawled comfortably on the bed, chin resting on his folded arms and eyes closed, no doubt so that he could focus more intently on Stephen's words.
"So, Jimmy, do you have any music-writing plans?" asked Jon, when Stephen had reached a good breaking point. Well, sort of a good breaking point. Well, really, he just paused to take a breath.
Jimmy sat up a bit, opening his eyes and trying to push his hair out of them. (His professional "adorable" image required hair that was this-close to flopping across his eyes, which could be downright hazardous in the last few days before a haircut if he didn't gel properly.) "Not like Stephen does. I have more fun playing with other people's stuff."
He did mean playing with, not just playing. When there was downtime and he had a keyboard around, or even a guitar someone else would let him borrow, Stephen had heard plenty of his musical idlings turn into something with craft behind it: recasting a song in a different key, putting rap lyrics to a country tune, maybe throwing a dozen disparate tunes into a mashup.
"Oh!" added Jimmy. "I did write a song about Presidents' Day once."
"Sounds, um, unique," said Jon doubtfully.
"Yeah, I wasn't expecting it to be a yearly staple on the radio or anything."
"Although it should be!" put in Stephen. "Presidents' Day is a very important holiday! There would be hundreds of songs about it if everyone loved America as much as you do."
Jimmy grinned up at him. "Thanks, buddy."
Then he tipped his head meaningfully in Jon's direction.
It took a second, but suddenly Stephen caught the hint Jimmy was trying to drop. "So, Jon! Have you ever written any music?"
Jon shrugged. His pen couldn't really be drawing anything right now. It was just going in circles. "I'm not much in the song-writing department. More of a playing guy, really. Maybe I could write lyrics if I had a tune to start with...and if someone gave me a topic...."
Indignant, Stephen yanked on the brush so hard Briar Rose whined and wriggled out of his arms. "Oh, come on, it's not hard! You just have to find the right inspiration. There must be something that could inspire you to be musical." He arched his eyebrows meaningfully.
Jon completely failed to take the hint. "Not like that, no. If I tried, I'd probably just end up writing about Doom or something."
Well, that had potential, didn't it? "Whose doom? Yours? Someone else's? Or is this Mount Doom?"
"It's...the first-person shooter."
Stephen fell back against the headboard with a groan, brush-wielding hand flopping across his forehead in Southern-belle agitation. "Jon! This is supposed to be about the feelings in your soul."
"Hey, Doom gives me a lot of feelings!" protested Jon. Lowering his voice, he added, "I used to play all the time with Anthony. We were planning to coordinate some sessions after I got over here, but, um. It didn't work out."
"Anthony, your Jersey BFF?" asked Jimmy. "That's really sad."
"It was a bummer," agreed Jon, now stabbing little dots onto the paper. Maybe he was drawing somebody with freckles. "And you can get people online to do multiplayer mode with, but, like, what if somebody recognized my voice? What if they got a recording of some of the stuff I yell at those zombie Marines? It wouldn't end well."
By this point Stephen was moved. Deeply moved. Mostly moved to want to punch Jon's neglectful Jersey BFF. "Jon," he declared solemnly, straightening back up and placing his hand over his heart, "I will play Doom with you."
Jon hesitated. "Stephen, I don't want to sound ungrateful, but...have you ever played before?"
"I should be a natural!" insisted Stephen. "I come from a strong Southern family with traditional values! Handling absurdly overpowered firearms is in my blood!"
"Uh-huh. Funny you should mention blood, because the thing is, the animation can get a bit graphic...."
"And you think I can't handle it?"
"Stephen...." put in Jimmy, in a tone that suggested he was not going to back Stephen up here. "I remember you crying on my shoulder when the Brave Little Toaster got crushed."
That started Jon giggling. It was very hard for Stephen to keep the righteous anger going when Jon insisted on being this adorable. "It was a moving scene," he sulked, trying to hold on to some kind of dignity. "That toaster was very brave."
~*~
Maybe ten minutes into the making out, Olivia remembered. "Oh, by the way, you gotta bite less. Mac's worried I have a feisty boyfriend on the side."
"Mmm." Kristen, now lying parallel to Olivia in the cramped booth with one leg slung over her thighs, nuzzled her neck. "Tell her you and Stephen..."
"Tried that. She didn't buy it."
"...you and Stephen's puppy were playing, and the poor thing didn't know its own strength," finished Kristen, caressing Olivia's bare back under her blouse. "Give me some credit."
Olivia stuck out her lower lip. "Just find somewhere less visible to chew on."
"Mmm." Kristen's lips curved into a devilish smile. The skirt of her striped sundress was all puddled around her hips, baring a long, tanned expanse of thigh. "You have any suggestions?"
Olivia considered. "...Can I take my shirt off?"
It was pretty disheartening when Kristen jumped, a startled expression wiping everything else from her face. "Seriously?"
"That was where this was going, right?" asked Olivia, suddenly afraid she'd been reading Kristen all wrong.
"No, I mean yes, it was," stammered Kristen. "I just wasn't expecting, if you would actually, omigod please take your shirt off."
The hands that had lingered on Olivia's torso pulled away, and in one wriggly motion Olivia stripped the loose navy blouse over her head.
She was second-guessing the whole idea almost the moment it was off. Kristen had seen her in a bikini a hundred times, couldn't have missed that her chest wasn't exactly the most expansive, but what if the sight was really underwhelming up close? Especially today had been one of the days she went without a bra, and even at her size those offered a certain amount of bounce. Olivia tossed the shirt aside, folded her arms loosely over her chest in a way that hopefully didn't reek of too much insecurity, and waited.
For a long moment Kristen didn't react.
Then she said, "I want to put my tongue on all of that."
Olivia couldn't help it. She cracked up.
"I'm not weird!" wailed Kristen. "You're very attractive! This is a perfectly natural reaction!"
"It's a little weird," giggled Olivia, now clutching her stomach against the laughter. "Good! Good weird. Sexy weird."
"I guess I can settle for sexy weird," said Kristen with a sigh. "But only because I really like you."
~*~
Jon had filled about five pages with terrible doodles by the time Jimmy and Stephen finally started saying their good-nights.
It was a three-person sleepover for misdirection's sake, but a de facto two-person sleepover by mutual agreement. And even knowing there was a long list of things Stephen had put off-limits, Jon had spent most of the evening thinking about everything that was left...which meant he kept needing the notepad over his lap as a bit of personal misdirection.
The pen he'd been using was starting to run dry. While Jimmy retired to the next room, Jon pulled open a couple of desk drawers to see if Stephen had any ink refills lying around.
When his hand landed on the bag between a tangle of extra headphones and the Return of the King post-it notes, he spent a couple of seconds staring in disbelief.
"I'm going to change in the bathroom," announced Stephen from the bureau, tossing pajamas over his arm. "And you change out here. Knock when it's safe for me to come out, okay?"
"Sure," said Jon. "Hey, listen, how long have you been holding out on us?"
"What?"
Jon held up the bag. "You've got this much weed lying around and you weren't going to share?"
"That's not a weed, Jon," said Stephen derisively. "It was a present. Obviously some kind of spice. I just haven't figured out what you're supposed to bake with it yet."
Jon smirked. "Yourself, mostly."
"Come again?"
"Stephen. It's marijuana."
Stephen frowned. "Are you sure?"
Jon unzipped the corner of the ziplock and sniffed, just to double check. "Yep. Positive."
"Oh." Stephen wound his way over to the desk, folded PJ's wrapped in his arms, and eyed the bag like it might bite. "Do...do you know what you're supposed to do with it?"
"I have a general idea," admitted Jon. "Kinda light on the practical experience, though. Do you wanna...see if we can figure it out?"
"Well, not now!" said Stephen. "If Papa found out, he'd dump all my fish in the ocean for sure." He swallowed. "Jon? Will you hang on to this for me? And then, later, we can get together at your place and...and either figure it out, or we can get a Guest Expert. I know Steve knows about these things."
Jon raised his eyebrows. "I thought Steve was Not Acceptable?"
"He is acceptable when he's not being a giant stupid jerkface," said Stephen primly. "Are you taking the weed or not?"
So Jon stuck the bag in the duffel he'd brought over, and threw his dirty clothes on top of it.
For sleepwear he'd brought a pair of grey plaid pajama shorts and an old faded T-shirt, souvenir of the music camp Mom had saved up to send him to when he was twelve. (He'd gotten a shirt from the latest session just a week ago, in gratitude for how, at the start of the summer, he'd written the program a check large enough to take a dozen kids on scholarship.) The puppy was already scratching impatiently at the door to the attached bathroom; Jon leaned over her and told Stephen he was decent, then retreated to the bed to wait.
It was at least three full minutes before Stephen finally came out. His blond-tipped dark hair was wet and combed back, he smelled like gardenias and sandalwood, and he was wearing a thin undershirt over a pair of black drawstring pants...patterned with the Shout*For logo and all the boys' autographs in silver.
"I really hope you don't always wear cologne to bed," said Jon, but he was grinning dizzily as he spread his legs so Stephen could kneel between them.
"Don't know what you're talking about." Stephen scooted in tantalizingly close. "This is my natural musk."
"Uh-huh. Sure." Jon looped his fingers around the drawstring. "Never realized we had a line of guys' PJs in adult sizes," he said, and tugged Stephen forward by the hips.
Stephen's hand hit the headboard over Jon's shoulder, saving him from falling on top of Jon completely. "Ah —!" he breathed, flushed face so close Jon could practically feel the heat. "We, um. We do not. Is that a problem?"
Jon took a second to process that. "Mmmnope," he decided, and went for the kiss.
He'd been half-hard already, and the taste of Stephen's mouth sealed the deal. He could keep his hands occupied by digging his fingers into the curves of Stephen's hips, but he couldn't completely stop his own pelvis from bucking and twisting here and there, desperate for more friction.
Then Stephen slung one leg over Jon's and thrust against the crook where Jon's thigh met his body, leaving Jon to grind directly against his other leg, and sweet mercy this was heaven. Jon wrenched his mouth away from Stephen's to get a visual, and his gut tightened: his own signature was stretched across Stephen's erection. "Jesus, Stephen...!"
"Jon," panted Stephen, nuzzling his jawline. "Jon, I —" He jerked their faces apart. "You have stubble."
An earthquake probably would have had a hard time getting Jon's attention right then...but he hadn't been waiting years for an earthquake to come in. His grinding dropped to a slow burn; he got one hand to his chin. "All right!" he exclaimed, finding a patch of fuzz on one side, then the other. "How does it look?"
"Terrible," said Stephen flatly. "You should shave."
Jon was in too good a mood to be put off. "Yeah, obviously it's gonna be scraggly for a while. Is it at least, like, symmetrical? We don't have any TV spots for at least a week. If I let it grow...?"
"Don't let it grow!" cried Stephen. "It is Not Acceptable. Disney princes never have beards!"
"Hah!" said Jon. "Do so! Rapunzel's guy did! Flynn. Eugene." He offered his best sexy grin. "Come on, I can totally pull off the lovable rogue thing."
Stephen pouted, eyes large and round, lower lip wobbling...but he couldn't fight Jon's unshakeable logic, and he wasn't going to earn any pity when Jon's fuzz situation was so obviously not that much of a turnoff.
"I swear I'll shave in a couple days if it's still terrible," said Jon anyway, then rocked the leg that was trapped between Stephen's thighs gently upward.
With a strangled groan Stephen fell forward, plastering his whole body against Jon's now, burying his face in the slope of Jon's shoulder and grinding needily against him.
Jon had just enough presence of mind to shove them down the mattress, so his head hit the bunched-up pillow and not the headboard as it fell back. The ceiling swam in front of his eyes anyway. Stephen's weight was only half on his knees now, the other half split between one precariously placed hand and Jon's whole body as it bucked up to meet him. The overwhelming scent now was gardenias and sweat, which you wouldn't think would be sexy, but.
Fisting one hand in Stephen's undershirt for stability, Jon got the other cupping Stephen's ass, moving with him, encouraging him to keep it up.
"I'm gonna," panted Jon, far too soon — his dick had grown out of the hair-trigger stage, but wasn't going to win any endurance prizes any time soon — "Stephen, can't, gotta let me up, I'll —"
Stephen just clung more tightly — "Stay."
"Stay?" echoed Jon, not believing his luck — dry-humping until they came all over each other had definitely not been on Stephen's list.
For answer, Stephen pressed him more heavily against the mattress.
Whatever holding-back Jon had been trying to do, it all fell away. He lost his sense of anything that wasn't his body or Stephen's; he nuzzled adoringly at Stephen's neck, raining down kisses, while his hips moved all on their own more furiously than anything he could have controlled —
A shudder made Stephen's back arch upward —
— then he tore out of Jon's arms after all, must've changed his mind —
— and Jon was too far gone to think about it, too gone to do anything but shove his hand down his shorts and pump and stroke and twist.
He lay boneless on Stephen's mattress, unfocused, tired, happy, still panting while little aftershocks ran up and down his skin.
Jon could have dropped off right there (mess in his shorts be damned), and slept like a baby through the night, if he hadn't noticed that the bathroom door was still hanging open. And that the sound from beyond it was decidedly less than sexy.
He withdrew his curled-up hand and went to see.
When he emerged onto the tiled floor, Jon sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Stay right there, I'll get you some water," he said, and scrubbed the come off his hands at the nearest sink before filling a glass and crouching at Stephen's side.
Stephen was bent over the toilet, still shaking. It didn't smell like gardenias at all over here.
"I didn't know you were sick," said Jon. "You should've said something. I would've tried to knock you around less."
"I'm not sick," said Stephen sullenly, accepting the water. "I'm allergic to your stubble."
Obviously that was nonsense, but Jon could make a few sacrifices if it would make his nausea-stricken boyfriend feel better. "Okay, okay. I'll get rid of it as soon as I get home."
"No." Stephen took a moment to hit the flush, then sat weakly back against the frosted-glass door of the shower. "Now. I have spare razors. Cabinet." He jabbed his finger in the right direction.
Jon raised his eyebrows. "Wait, you're not shaving yet. Are you?"
Stephen fixed him with a reassuringly cross look. "Well, not my face."
~*~
While Jon was experiencing the unique invigorating and moisturizing power of Prescott Pharmaceuticals' shaving cream, Stephen changed his pants. It was very unfair: he'd come, all right, but had been too busy losing track of where he was to enjoy it.
I'm with Jon, he told himself for the umpteenth time, swallowing his two Vaxasopor. And then — self-consciously, since he was no longer too filled with arousal for any Catholic guilt to pry its way in — I...wanted to do that with Jon.
(It couldn't be on the Lord's blacklist. They hadn't even gotten naked for it. Really, when you broke down the action, it had just been masturbation in very, very close proximity to each other...and God had also been known to side-eye masturbation, but not enough to stop everyone from doing it anyway.)
Now in (men's) pajama bottoms patterned with Mickey silhouettes, he was curled up in bed when Jon came out. If Jon had noticed the change before flipping off the lights, he didn't comment before joining Stephen. "You feel better?" he asked, smoothing back Stephen's tousled hair. "And...and before you, you know...was it good for you?"
Stephen tugged him down so they were lying parallel to each other. "It was good, with you," he said, running his fingers along Jon's smooth jawline. "Mmm. You smell like jasmine."
"Is that bad?" asked Jon, sounding nervous. "Should I be smelling like Aladdin?"
"No, no, I meant the flower. It's one of the heart notes in the aftershave Prescott keeps sending me."
And Ned never uses that stuff. So I'm with Jon. He smells like Jon. Feels like Jon. Sounds like....
"Sing me something," ordered Stephen drowsily, finding Jon's hand and lacing their fingers together.
"Sure," said Jon. "Any requests?"
Stephen shrugged. "You pick."
Jon hummed a couple of notes, experimenting, then settled into a gentle, slow take on what had started an up-tempo and guitar-heavy rock song. "I went out walking the other day~ / Seen a little girl crying along the wa~ay / She'd been hurt so bad said she'd never love again~ / Someday your crying, girl, will end / And you'll find once again: / Two hearts are better than one / Two hearts, girl, get the job done / Two hearts are better than one...."
Stephen fell asleep listening.