Ficlet: Damaged People
This is basically a contemplation of character Colbert, and it is very odd indeed. I blame it entirely on being forced (ooh, twist harder) to read the writings of J.G. Ballard. Oh, and possibly imagist poetry. But mostly Ballard. This is short enough to make no sense at all, but it's not quite a poem, either.

Title: Damaged People
Series: TDS/TCR
Pairing: character Colbert/Jon Stewart
Rating: R
Warnings: Odd, unpleasant, plotless and short - let's just say I had to get it out of my system.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.


Stephen Colbert does not do things by half - when he snaps, it will be spectacular.

He surrounds himself with damaged people because they remind him of and distract him from himself.

He wears his repression on his sleeve: magma threatening to overwhelm the gaping cracks in his veneer at any and every moment. At some level, he knows this. On a deeper, more obscure rung of his being he is perfectly aware of himself. Pity that this awareness is buried under landfills of hate, rage and plain and complex forms of confusion.

Some people he cannot help but be attracted to (especially the whole and sound ones), and the problem is, they’re usually attracted to him.

He takes very hot, soapy baths and sinks down. He drifts in contemplation of pleasures he will not allow himself. He pictures Jon Stewart’s naked chest, gloriously furred and flat. He thinks of devouring his red mouth and reminds himself not to think of it later.

What he does in the privacy of his own home is his business and his alone. Well, his and barebiter1963’s.

A shelf fell on him when he was four. It took a while before they let him out.
He used to read a book a day, read them and then burn them.
His parents would have disapproved, had they been there.

“Jon Jon Jon,”
he grunts as he comes, and his wife is either very good at ignoring things or will file it away for private pleasure. She leaves him at least once a year; she says it rejuvenates her. You can’t stay married to Stephen Colbert and remain entirely normal. His children take after her, but they usually come back faster after they’ve run away.

He is building a towering structure in his mind, something like a skyscraper made of pins held together by icing. He has been building it for years and does his best to inhabit it, but he keeps falling out.

Now that he sees him less, he thinks of him more. The sane part deep inside his mind has been telling him for years to stick close to Jon Stewart, and that is one of the few things that break the surface unfiltered. The times when he stood too close to him, or tickled him in the spirit of playful collegiality, placing his hands on the invitingly soft belly and sides, or when he kissed him roughly just before taping, may or may not have happened. Even in his most lucid, submerged moments, Stephen does not want to know for sure.

Stephen Colbert does not do things by half - when he snaps, it will be spectacular.

***


Cheers,

O