Current mood:

sick

I have the flu but fic shall heal me.
Title: Souvenir (chapter 4)
Author: dream_aloud
Pairing: Jon Stewart/Stephen Colbert
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Oh hotel sex, you mainstay of fanfiction, my lions shall bring you down and tonight we feast on your tender flanks.
Warnings: D/s, um, not much else really.
Disclaimer: Its all fake.
Notes/That kind of thing: Drinking game! When I make a reference/metaphor to/about water, take a shot! (I didn't do it purposely, kinda just happened; don't drown.)
Beta: big T
Thank yous: My better half, T. The lovely VF. Marvin Gaye and all the musicians who can get me churning out of so much writers block. As always, my liquid creativity, Yerba Mate. Ginseng, performance and horny in one pill, a slashers friend.

One, not Neo.
Two, can be as sad as one.
Three, not at all a crowd.



Preparing for the DNC coverage is leeching the vitality out of Jon Stewart.

He's nothing short of cowering in the tiny bathroom that hugs his dressing room, door locked and checked twice so that he can shave in relative peace. The grind of his razor, one of those serious fuckers with about fifteen blades that is intent on frightening the hair right off your face, soothes his nerves. This is cozy and familiar, this is not twenty people, arms full of papers to be signed and ideas to be approved, barging in on him when he's trying to use the can.

Jon's got to be hallucinating, lack of rest, because in the mirror he sees the door creak open, seemingly of its own volition.

"What the fu-?" He recognizes Stephen's hand, curling around the wooden edge of the frame, seconds later the top of his slightly wavy, brown head pokes through. "C'mere." Jon softens and takes the man's fingers in his own, tugging him inside and toeing the door shut again; this visitor he will always permit.

Its been a week from some layer of hell too gruesome to even be described by Dante. At least the coming convention promises material they will barely have to work for, gobbling up crumbs of political humor that will be strewn about for any discerning comedic eyes to spy.

"I picked the lock." Stephen declares merrily, grinning like an accomplished child. "We need some time alone." Stewart rotates his eyes and nods gravely, doing his best to look as pained as he's frequently felt these last few days.

They can barely co-exist in this tight space, forced against each other; watch Jon complain. Brief and hyperactive moments of sexual collision these past few days will simply not scratch the itch; stolen make outs in the poorly lit sections of the office are snacks that do not pose as a meal.

Its also been impossible to deal with this plague of people infesting him all hours of the day. Sexual side effects may include: No time to corner each other and get naked before they pass out from the massive workload.

Stephen takes a half step, about all he can manage, and presses their bodies together, his left arm circles Jon and plants its hand to his lower back. Colbert guides him to the wall beside the sink, leans Jon against it.

Its a waltz, and these are distinct sides they take, places assumed when their music begins to play. No feet are tread on, and Stephen will confidently place a shoe forward, knowing Jon is on the move back to compensate. Stewart acts on instinct with Colbert, as he always has; Jon needs little time to shift or adjust into being under the man, his quick mind and willing body plead for the chance that every touch will turn possessive, each look with contain that change of eye he has learned to glean from Stephen, a squaring of shoulders and bearing of body he has no power to resist.
As if the thought ever entered his mind.

Stewart is still gripping his razor as its plucked from his fingers, brought to his neck and skillfully drawn down and over his jaw. Stephen quickly finishes what is left of his shave, displaying his usual physical control, ability and general authority. He turns to rinse the blades, leans all his weight onto Jon, plants a warm kiss on his forehead. Jon drops every bit of his guard and shuts his eyes, because the care and devotion Stephen shows from business right down to their physical needs weakens his joints.

"Did you think about what I said?" Colbert twists off the splashing water, drops the razor into the sink. Jon nods, the action rubbing his head into Stephen's strong neck, easily in the top five things he notices on a daily basis about the man's anatomy.

"Of course I want to stay with you, though we may never make it to the convention." Stephen chuckles, bowing his head and nudging Jon's to the side so he can access his throat, kiss a dotted line from his ear to his collar. Stewart imagines those spots could be seen if he turned to the mirror, saliva drying colorful and cool.

"I'm going to do terrible things to you." Colbert murmurs, pushing his hips into Jon's belly due to their height difference. "Anything I want."

Jon will fly from this room, bolt to the airport, somehow get them to Boston in the next ten minutes, lest he explode.

"Sounds like heaven." He slurs, mouthing the parts of Stephen's neck he can reach, which are not many; being short sucks. He huffs, frustrated, and Colbert takes the hint, tucks his hands under Jon's armpits, hauls him up the wall and mashes him into it, rendering them eye to eye. Jon's instinct is to draw his knees up and wrap Stephen's waist in legs, so he does, surfacing that leviathan of vulnerability that lurks under his waters, awaits Stephen's masculine call.

"Mmm." Colbert responds, pleasantly surprised and readjusting so his wakening erection can nudge Jon back behind his balls. "Like this?"

"Are you joking? Yes." Of course he god damn likes it, he's covered in Stephen, whose hands are now rounding his hips and cupping his ass, taking some of his weight into their palms.

"I want to fuck you." Stephen deadpans, holding the visual contact he's just made, scanning Jon's eyes for discomfort or apprehension. Its very Colbert, to sprinkle his desire on Jon's standing pool, wait for his fish to bite.

Jon has no idea if that appeals to him physically, can't actually imagine performing the act.

"I... " He suddenly laughs, inappropriate and mostly at himself. "You most certainly can, I just can't get my head around the notion." Stephen's eyes squint, an eyebrow is pushed down by his forehead muscles.

"I know I can, I wasn't asking." Humor has fled, tail between its pounding legs. Jon breathes out through his nose, snorts like an animal when Stephen thrusts up and grinds himself into his ass. "Funny now?" Colbert grumbles, teeth clenched, undulating their weight over his hips.

"No." Jon gasps, clinging to the man's back, fingers dug into his thin dress shirt, his mind screaming its approval. He might have been acting a little cheeky to lure this reaction out of Stephen, tempt the beast with himself as bait. A relentless portion of Jon is constantly deducing new ways to draw the alpha from him; Stephen knows his plans of course, which only turns his reactions sterner.

"I wanna fuck you through the wall." Colbert whines, urges caged for too long slipping through their bars. Something deep and rabid within Jon reacts to that idea violently, slamming his head back into the plaster behind him and moaning though a lump in his throat that threatens to chokes him. Stephen stops his body's motion, squashes them both against the support behind Jon, pants his next few breaths into Stewart's shoulder. "Can't keep doing this, people are waiting on you out in the hallway."

"I want to cry." Jon mutters dejectedly, dropping his legs under himself and yanking his pants down to their presentable place. Stephen embraces him with tenderness he abandoned just moments ago, hands smoothing Jon's back, adjusting his indecisive locks of hair.

"We leave tonight, not much longer to wait."




In his limo, on the way to the hotel, Jon spots a ying-yang.

Its simplistic graffiti, scrawled on a yield sign in purple paint marker. He presses his hand to the warm glass of the window, is taken by its particular meaning in his life, one he obviously never applied to it before now.

Strive for balance.

These words are written in delicate longhand beside the dark and light swirl. Inside this very second, snapshot in an unceasing flow of time, Jon has a bursting epiphany. They wait for traffic to grant them a space to merge and Stephen holds Jon's hand cupped within his own, resting on the center of the seat between them; every minuscule thing in their unique relationship dawns clear and sensible to Stewart.

He is one side of this circle, chasing the tail of his opposite and equal whilst being pursued himself.




"Put those down."

Jon is dislodging one of his suitcases from a tangle of straps in the trunk of the limousine when Stephen speaks. He is holding one large case that's over stuffed like a thanksgiving turkey, while yanking futilely on his overnight bag. Stewart drops his items into the street behind the car and steps back, folds his hands behind himself obediently.

They are in crowded public and reporters scale the walls, an invading insectoid force. There will be a lot of people here that know their faces and yet, Jon would carry out Stephen's wishes and whims in the hotel's lobby, feels he might even want to boldly flaunt his position.

Colbert wrenches Jon's heaviest cargo out in one massive pull, two bags per hand, hefts them up. A slight summer sweat is breaking on his face and Stephen's eye wear slips down his nose. Since he is helpless to do so Jon reaches to correct it for him, pushing them back up over Stephen's dark eyes that now bore heatedly into his own.

"Get inside before I make a scene." Colbert whispers, jerking his head in the direction of the main doors. Jon's barely heard such roughly contained emotion in the man's voice before, his body pounds it's response of quick circulation in a bloody rush. He twists on a heel and takes long strides into the building, Stephen stalking evenly behind him. Their driver trots around the other side and busies himself with Stephen's bags, assuring them he will find a hop to bring them up to his room.

Jon checks them both in, tries to mask his haste but fumbles with his wallet while requesting all the privacy options that probably everyone in the hotel is utilizing at this moment. Two young women titter by, red faced and moving too slowly to be purposeful, shyly but obviously staring at them, pawing each other excitedly. If he were alone, Jon would simply approach them, breech the awkward gap, but he looks to Stephen for his permission and Colbert grants it, turning one side of his mouth up amusedly and bowing his head.

Several giggly minutes, autographs and hugs later, they ride the elevator to Stephen's room, for which they requested an extra key. Jon is too close to Colbert, almost touching his side to the man's arm; Stephen is still holding his bags but its not Jon's place to help with them. Hands are inappropriate so he lays the side of his head gently on Stephen's shoulder, feels the hardened muscles underneath his light jacket as they rise many stories off the ground.

Among the many significant physical moments they have shared in these past few weeks, Jon recognizes this as one of the most.

Stephen's room is larger than Jon had expected, king size bed posing dramatically in the center. Stewart stands aside as Colbert enters, places his bags by the dressers.

"Shut the door and come here." Stephen orders evenly, rolling his shoulders and slipping his coat off. Jon does as he's told and steps before the man, glancing up at him though his chin is pinned to his chest, he's got a damn decent kicked puppy look when he's working his eyelashes, and he knows Stephen is weak for it. Sure enough Colbert bends, tie dangling, and rewards him with a touch of lips, searches the corners of Jon's mouth with a slick, hungry tongue. Jon can't remember the last time he honestly emitted a squeak but when it chirps out of his throat Stephen grunts; it seems to spring from the bottom of his chest, a deep response to Stewart's high.

"I upgraded to a suite." Colbert mutters against Jon's mouth, continuing their kiss between sentences. "Go look at the tub, we're going to take a bath." That sounds fucking amazing, enough to tempt Jon away from Stephen's limber oral gymnastics, drop his own jacket over a chair in his hustle to the bathroom.

The tub is more akin to a pool, jets like eye stalks of some bizarre porcelain creature, jabbing out of the sides at angles that make one's back warm, pondering the massage. Jon figures they have about an hour alone before everyone else arrives and until then, he wants to be owned so badly it aches, pulling at his chest. It would be faster to strip out of his suit but he stands at military ease next to the elevated platform the bathtub is on, stretching his lungs, overfilling himself with air and anticipation.

A deep breath before the plunge.

Colbert is most likely making him wait, dwell on his position, fade into the role that has solitary purpose and intent. Their sex is meditation, fervent prayer and devout abandon, one road to travel, black and white; such a uncommon thing for Jon that Stephen can breeze by him in a hall at work, squeeze his shoulder in passing, and Stewart is useless for at least a half an hour, contemplates quitting his job so he can follow wherever the man might lead.

Stephen is shirtless and working on his buckle and as he enters, slithering it out of its loops and as he catches sight of Jon he pauses, gives him a once over, belt dangling from one fisted hand. Stewart is caught staring at that strap of leather, swallowing and shuffling his footing nervously; there are so many possibilities there, binding his wrists or ankles, maybe, and he's surprised himself with the thought, striking his flesh. Colbert glances to his own hand, keeps his head down and rolls his eyes up to Jon's, shooting an eyebrow skyward.

"Mmm maybe later, we have time." He drawls, dropping the item to the ground. Jon's lungs shake and his breath is audibly excited, Stephen drops his pants to his ankles, steps out, has already lost his shoes somewhere in the bedroom.

How much could Colbert dish onto his plate before his sexual appetite for the man says "when"? He'd run through a checklist of things he finds off limits but Stephen is leaning contrapposto ala Michelangelo's David, quite naked, arms folded over his pale chest. You can't reason with that kind of visual temptation, ripe with so much promise for the days to come in your line of sight.

"Run the water, hot." Jon leaps to his given task, playing with the temperature until its just warmer than he is comfortable with, steaming the long mirror that jogs over the twin sinked counter.

When he turns back from his work Stephen is at his neck, picking buttons apart.

"You've behaved today, obedient in public." Jon hums a little airy noise of pleasure, shuts his eyes and laxes the muscles in his neck, head lolling as his slacks are worked down his legs. "Such lovely thighs." Colbert comments, adoration easily discernible as he rises from his knees; both hands wrap around Jon's left leg, travel up as he straightens to stand. When he pinches either side of Stewart's open collar, peels back his shirt and reveals his chest, they both openly examine the patchy purple and intended redness of his mark.

Everyday since it was made, Colbert has checked on its progress in often subtle and at times maddeningly overt manners. There was a bothersome deice of imaginary lint on that particular spot yesterday and Stephen brushed it roughly off of Jon's chest in the presence of no less than three co-workers, Jon ground his teeth hard enough that he had a headache later. It might have been Tuesday, though he has no way of knowing for sure, that Stephen muscled him into a janitorial closet and used a flashlight to examine him, lick his tender, healing wound and then abandon him with a vicious hard on.

"I look good on you." Colbert states, palming the bite.

Stewart's attention wavers, head swims against their heavy water, he's been touching himself there all week, seeing just how fast he can make himself come while manipulating it. Its downright glorious when the soreness jabs out due to Stephen's pressing his weight into his body, mashing him against the frigid tiled wall; goosebumps break out over his skin.

"Cold?" He pushes harder, shoulders flexing; Stewart leans his hips out, giving his impulses their reign of his body as Stephen's heat boils him down to essence. His eyes slip down Jon's form, land on the curve of his back and needy position of his waist. "Is that for me?" Stephen's middle finger, just it's very end, begins at the root of Jon's now full erection and travels up the underside to the tip, circles idly.

Jon can't rip his eyes away but certainly can smack the back of his frustrated head into the wall, sharp pain stinging into his vision.

"Oh no, let me." Stephen coos, kissing Jon's head forcefully, knocking him back into the tiles again; Stewart's eyes are shut and a flash of red fireworks burst across the back of his lids. "Get in." Colbert relinquishes Jon's mouth and removes his already clouding glasses, places them on the counter. Jon loses his shirt and socks, swings a leg over the wall of the tub and slips beneath the over heated water. Stephen retrieves a small bag from the main room and drops it by the side of the bath, doesn't explain or make eye contact but scales the tub with ease, Jon enjoys the flex of his shoulders and chest from his peripheral vision.

Stephen has just a touch of healthy, additional weight around his middle, is not abundantly masculine in body but is lengthy in limb and torso. There are subtle groups of muscle bundled around his ribs and chest, power that lie in wait under a seemingly smooth outward appearance; Jon draws parallels, dotes on them.

The jacuzzi is large enough that there are shelves for seating on all four, rounded corners. Colbert claims one and drops into it, fixing a thick and serious expression on Jon. Stewart knows when he's been summoned, rises from his corner promptly and wades to the opposite, halting just short of touching Stephen, treading the water that conducts their electricity.

"Soon enough," Stephen muses. "I won't have to speak to command you." He pulls his dripping right hand up to cup Jon's cheek, slide down his throat, his eyes following the wet trails.

Jon could perish here, safe and sane under this thick blanket that traps their heat, fends off reality. Given enough time, Stewart would like to believe most things can be reasoned out, stretched, examined and classified, with even the most complex of subjects cracking eventually. With Stephen, the simplistic is what confounds Jon. His body understands the difference between an inadvertent brush of hand and a touch that is an extension of Stephen's desire for him, no matter how non-sexual it might appear to all present. The more he analyzes his reactions the less they seem to resemble sense, so he's stopped doing anything but wallowing in the experience.

Colbert takes him by the waist, lifts him easily with the aid of buoyancy and fits Jon's knees beside his hips on the slim seat, pressing down and resting Stewart's weight on his thighs. Their foreheads bump and Stephen holds them snug together, nudging, twisting his head to access Jon's mouth with his own and instead of urgency or force, Jon finds tender slipping, open-mouthed readjustments, hands ranging over his back. Without any thought behind it he similarly embraces Stephen, widens his fingers and takes in as much flesh as possible.

"I can't fucking wait to get inside you." Colbert gushes, so quiet that Jon almost misses it, perhaps a thought that eked out his mouth without his intending it. He tosses an arm back over the side, fumbles in his bag, kisses Jon again, and lays a small bottle of lubrication on the ledge next to them.

Its still a foreign concept to Stewart, but his trust is too expansive and deep for worry to overcome their seemingly boundless ocean of care for one another. He realizes Stephen's wandering row of wet pecks, now progressing down his chest, are an effort in relaxing him, and that its working well. When his left nipple is lapped and subsequently sucked he threads fingers into Stephen's short, soft hair, cradles his head.

"You're going to love this." Colbert informs him, words spaced by random outbursts of his tongue licking and sliding. "Put some of that on me." Stephen's apparently too engrossed in memorizing Jon's bite mark to open his eyes but extends two long fingers off his right palm. Stewart wraps them in his left hand, pops the tube with his right and slathers the both of them, stroking and spreading the sticky substance.

Colbert turns his head and eyes Jon's up and down motions, breathes through his dropped and open jaw for a few moments, then slips out of his hold and dunks his gooey hand. Stephen's next order is so husky its only barely recognizable as his voice. "Lean on me." Jon raises his body a fraction and falls forward onto him, their chests together, mouths against one another's ears.

It should feel more invasive, Jon supposes, to have the man's fingers searching the ridiculously sensitive skin that dips through the center of ass, circle his opening with deliberate intent. But honestly it filters through the passion haze as vaguely pleasant to have Stephen somewhere so beyond intimate, warm and arousing; he wraps his arms over Stephen's shoulders, turns his head towards the man's neck.

"I want to know what you think." Colbert whispers into the side of Jon's face, nuzzling skin, their damp hair mingling and clinging together. "Let me hear you." Stewart nods and cracks his mouth open, pants through it, doesn't need to be told to express himself where Stephen is concerned, cannot bear to censor anything he desires.

Just the tip of what Jon can only guess is an index finger presses forward and eases into him, its unfamiliar, causes his breath to catch. Stephen pauses, grunts as if he were ravenous and a favorite meal lie just out of reach, leaves Jon a few seconds to adjust.

"I'm fine." Stewart says softly, running his nose over the rim of Stephen's ear. He's impatient to fully know this new sensation, and while his body rebels his mind demands. Colbert is not about to be convinced to move past his own pace and stubbornly remains still. When Jon looses his patience and lowers himself onto Stephen's hand, urges him on, its as if the horse has been spurred, fight bell rung, because Stephen is alive with sudden action.

"Yeah?" He puffs out, sliding deeply into Jon, who whimpers and then gasps, clawing at Colbert's neck. "How is it now?"

"I... don't know." Stewart answers honestly, reasoning with this new animal of penetration, burn and a slight, albeit surprising, urge for more. "Its not painful." There is no where near enough friction for him to be feeling this internal warmth, he means to comment on it but is simply too busy breathing.

"Mmm good, it keeps getting better." After his encouragement Stephen flexes his finger, gently probing with restless but lazy swirls that have Jon get to thinking, within the space of a minute, that this was a damn fine idea. Something in motion inside of him is seriously off putting but not enough that it overcomes the heat radiating from the invasion, wafting through his body. Colbert keeps shifting and moving but not with any greater speed, the pleasing sensation amps up steadily and Jon's hips are already restless.

"Wow." He sighs, mouth seemingly tapped directly into his brain's bewildered impression. Stephen nods into Stewart's neck, kisses him gingerly where his throat and shoulder slope together. Any discomfort is melting back and away, being overrun by some alternative form of pleasure Jon had yet to experience. None of this is even approaching his expectations, there are seeming a ton of nerves where he's being stimulated because his body misses no minor move or twitch inside itself.

Colbert shifts his torso and insinuates his free hand between their stomachs, takes Stewart's erection and tugs weakly, adding gentle stimulation. Jon pushes his body forward instinctively and the action drags Stephen's finger partially out of him, then back in as he re seats himself. His shocked moan echoes and bounces off the walls, amplifies before it returns to their hearing, loud in the humid room where he is discovering something he has surely been wrong to discount.

Their next few minutes are constructed of Jon's labored breath and Colbert's deft motions, Stewart breaks a fresh sweat and internally wrestles his want for his climax and desire for this to never, ever, fucking end.

"Stephen..." He whines, the man's hand is working over his cock in a beat now, alternating with curls of the digit that slips back and forth. How can he possibly express this, some final barrier that stood between them is being raised to the ground and in these seconds Jon can't even fathom his life before Stephen pressed this far into his body and mind. He finds no way to summon the words, so he settles for huffing out his breath and moaning his partner's name again.

"Want more?" Colbert questions, voice dropping low. Jon can just about nod and grunt, need and want, cling to Stephen's body and try not to fly apart. When he reclaims his finger Jon feels very oddly empty but still tingles from the inside out, residual stretching. Stewart makes awfully hurried work of reapplying lubricant, which Stephen seems to find worthy of a satisfied grin, while rocking himself in and out of Colbert's left hand, slowing as he is re breached.

Perhaps he bit off more than he can chew because two seems like much more of an ordeal, he digs his fingers harshly into Stephen's shoulders, struggles to operate his lungs.

"Relax, you know its going to be good as soon as I'm in there." Colbert soothes, circling and prodding until he works back inside. Jon is singularly focused on his desire for this but can't seem to make his body agree, stop its clenching of involuntary muscles that should yield to Stephen in the manner his mind so adores. "Jon." He's about to pull rank and Stewart might require it, as his whole being responds to the man's authority. "Let me in."

Its a second before he's able to back down, then a surprisingly easy push and this time its certainly a amplification of the same, results not quantifiable, drawing him apart. Stephen re-maps Stewart's boundaries on each of their sexual expeditions, spreads them wider; he may have just uncovered a new continent. Colbert pauses and allows for Jon's accommodation, still traipsing his palm and at times just fingers around the head of his cock.

Speaking of.

"Stephen." His voice has never sounded so bassy or rasping in any recent memory, he is momentarily taken aback by himself. "Please can I...touch you?" Colbert arches his hips, pushing both of their bodies up in a physical affirmative. Jon finds a place for his arm and hand in their cramped space and fumbles to get a workable grip on the man in the hot water. Once he's satisfied he pulls along his whole length, lifts Stephen's body off the seat. Something, anything to show him how much he requires this form of possession he never knew existed.

"Oh, slow down Jon, you're first." Colbert sounds so lost and needy that the last thing he wishes to do is curb himself. But he throttles back his speed, near stops when Stephen slips up into him another inch, the stretching now suddenly so fucking positive he bucks into Colbert's hands and extends one long sound, he thinks it might have resembled a vowel. "Do you like this?" Stephen queries, rolling his fingers for emphasis, stroking Jon's dick purposefully.

"Fuuuck." Jon groans, ramming the heel of his unused hand into the tub's side, his orgasm is a storm front on the horizon, thunder announcing its tumultuous presence. He's trying to keep a semblance of even tempo on Stephen's erection but concentration is an impossibility.

"Thats not an answer." Colbert gripes. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No please." Just the mention turns him desperate, quivering. "Its so good, please Stephen, don't stop."

"That's a boy." He soothes, rewarding Jon with firmer pulls on his cock, water sloshes around them and escapes onto the floor. "You're going to come hard for me." Colbert gnaws his bottom lip after grating his sentence out, pulling back enough that they can take in each others eyes. "And the next time we're alone, I'm going to put this-" He yanks a tendon and his dick flexes into Jon's stroking hand. "inside you."

This time, Jon has a much firmer grasp on what that might feel like.

"God, I want it." Stewart answers without hesitation or doubt, because if Stephen's mere hand can render him so possessed he might not survive actual intercourse with a will of his own to speak of afterward. It had previously been an option, something they would get to in eventuality, but this demonstration has shifted Jon's perspective, kicked open an invisible door; he's going to count the minutes he and Colbert are separated.

Droplets of condensation pepper Stephen's face, leave trails in their wake as they roll down to plunk into the sea beneath them; his vision is dark and piercing into Jon's answering look. He approves of something he finds in Stewart's eyes because he pushes his motions into near frantic, drops his head down to meet his mouth and Jon's shoulder, nip his skin and hold it, raised in his teeth.

Jon expects to implode, any damn time now, but instead steadily builds and gathers mass, an incoming wave going tidal. When the fuck its going to roll back and let him breathe he can't even discern; the fire stabbing up his ass is befuddling his normally very readable reactions, scrambling the signals. Stephen curves at a slight angle, blunt fingers curling towards himself and Jon's low abdomen clenches angrily because the noise he's issuing as he climaxes is shy of a scream, but not by much.

Colbert slows as Jon's sensitivity increases and he rides up and over his first wrenching spasm, scraping and digging at Stephen's back with his free hand. The second is surprisingly just as forceful, and he must to be draining a gallon of himself into this water because his body refuses to stop pulsing and forcing out his fluids. At some point he pounds a fist into Stephen's shoulder, only dimly aware of what his limbs are up to. Finally it begins to taper off, ease his quaking muscles that are, even suspended in water, not up to holding him.

"Mmmffph." He groans into Stephen's wet and clammy neck, stilling himself as the man withdraws from his body cautiously, steady and slow. He's thinking in hues, blue and violet mingle on the back of his eyelids. His throat is near raw from the volume of the sounds he was just issuing.

"That was beautiful." Colbert states, coddling Jon in his arms, ranging kisses wherever his lips manage to reach. Stewart can feel the individual atoms that make up this water collide with his skin, low grade current buzzes in his veins, every portion of him hums and tingles.

He's in danger of losing his conscious mind until a shift in their weight taps Stephen's erection into his belly. His hand still curls around its shaft and he had, in his last few moments of having his mind bent, forgotten.

"Stephen." He whispers, pulling his fist up and down, the man's eyes roll back and focus again as he arches into Jon. "Would you..." He's lost the trick of forming complete sentences on the fly, this kind of sex is going to ruin his career.

"What?" Colbert sighs, distracted, thrusting into the hand that squeezes him.

"Come on me?"

The brand of look he just coaxed from Stephen puts lasers to shame for its intensity, might have burned the wall behind Jon's head.

It's a frequent visitor in Stewart's masturbatory fantasies, Stephen claiming him in yet another fashion, he finds something highly intimate about the secretions of the sexual act.

Colbert wraps Jon with his arms, lifts them both as he stands, turns, and sets Stewart down on the tub's side. Jon flatly refuses to stop pulling Stephen's dick, and the man almost looses his footing but remains upright and wobbling, dripping wet, water level at his knees. He lays a flat hand out on either side of where Jon is seated and looms over him, humping his grip.

Stephen bumps their foreheads, groans and bends repeatedly at the waist. While water might be the universal lubricant it sticks annoyingly to flesh, Jon snatches the tiny tube of liquid and drizzles it over his knuckles. It flows down, through and suddenly Colbert's pushes are fluid and slick, he tips his head and watches himself slip in and out of Jon's almost motionless hand.

Jon has seen the Grand Canyon and its view does not begin to oust his current one of Stephen's rough shoves that bring grunts of exertion and pleasure.

Colbert leans to one side, rests all the baggage of his upper body on his left arm and frees his right, lays it over Jon's and laces their fingers, pulls both of their hands to stroke himself. He gasps, clearly surprised at his own reaction, and arches to look Jon pointedly in the eyes.

"Mine." Stephen growls, body jerking violently, first powerful shot of come spurting up, arching and striping over Jon's chest. His gaze winces shut as he moans deeply, muscles his hips forward in two more even thrusts, dripping and dotting Stewart's abdomen with fluid. Colbert's arm begins to tremble and he sinks heavily to his knees in the water, bonking into the tub's hard enamel, head dangling between his outstretched limbs, which lay useless over Jon's thighs.

He should do something more than stare at the oozing puddles on himself, bask in their personal meaning while replaying his audio file of Stephen's orgasmic sounds, so he smears a bit of his warm come under two digits, finger paints himself. When he glances down to Colbert he finds a blackened, expressive set of eyes glued to his hand, flesh weak but spirit very willing.

They are so good together, he can see the unspoken declaration in Stephen's gasping face, amazement, rapture and a friendship that fits none of the conventional categories but instead spans all. Colbert seems to attempt speech but can manage only a dopey, sated and knowing grin, shaking his head and blinking rapidly, clearing the fog. He gathers himself, stands with a startling firmness, and extends his hand, helps Jon to his own feet.

"I know." Jon proclaims softly, straight faced, head turned up towards Stephen's higher one. Colbert beams a smile so genuine down on Stewart that he might forever doubt the intentions behind a show of teeth from others.

They have not ever before kissed as they are now, a luxury in such slow motion that at times they don't move as much as press and hold.

"Let me wash you." Stephen rumbles, half circling the shower knobs, flicking the tub latch with his largest toe. Jon whimpers his displeasure, presses both hands possessively to his gooey torso. Colbert grips his wrists, firmly squeezes, blood pounds to pass through the blocking of its roadways. "As much as the idea may appeal, you can't go downstairs covered in come." Stewart is forced to agree, sigh and drop his arms, reach for a complimentary, teeny bar of soap and nestle it into Stephen's slightly larger palm.

Colbert herds Jon beneath the spray of water and works a lather out of the sliver in his hands.




"Do you moonlight as a stylist?" Jon asks, picking and fluffing his near perfect hair, defying the proper amount of gravity in its front, covering as much of his balding back as possible.

"I watch your hairdresser do it every afternoon while trying to contain my wild jealousy, I picked up a few things."

Stephen is still starkly naked, propped against the counter in front of the man he has just scrubbed clean and dressed from hair to shoes. Jon yanks the lapels of his suit jacket, smooths the strip of memories and fabric he calls "our tie" and smiles warmly at Colbert.

"I have something else for you to wear tonight." Stephen has left his playful grin behind and adopted an even and serious expression; Jon straightens and ceases fidgeting with his clothing, stands at attention. Colbert is gone momentarily, long enough for Jon to look himself over in the mirror, decide he appears sleepier than usual, if thats really possible. His right eye is lazy, and when he's just had an orgasm that will make it challenging to walk for a few hours, its lagging is obvious every time he blinks.

Stephen returns holding a small box clasped in between his wide hands, clearly come from a jewelry shop; Jon's curiosity positively itches. Colbert's bare feet pad under him as he walks towards Stewart, slipping the top from the square container. Its all Jon can do not to peek, fixing his eyes on one of Stephen's knees as it bends and locks, distracting himself.

Colbert places the box in clear sight, giving Jon his permission to look as he removes his coat from his left side, begins to roll back his shirt. There is a thin, bright, metal torque, meant for the upper arm of a man, resting in a wad of cotton; it twists and swirls, two balls capping its ends. Even from this distance, it seems heavy and solid for its size; the inside is flattened so the wearer won't have ridges digging into their flesh.

Stephen has bared Jon's left arm, turns to pick up the over sized bracelet, pull either side of it slightly apart and work it over the slimmest portion of his limb. Once its fitted he slides it up until its pinching tight enough to hold itself in place, hugging around the space where Jon's bicep ends and shoulder begins. He turns Stewart's arm over to test the snugness, seems satisfied, and guides his bunched shirt back down, concealing the silver circle.

Jon was playing host to a sexual satisfaction sunk deeply to his bones only moments ago, but as he tests this new statement of Colbert's presence with a clench of his triceps, rubs it against his shifting muscles, his desire rekindles, snaps into fiery life. Perhaps Stephen is simply guessing, or can so effortlessly interpret Jon's face, because he dips his head to intercept Stewart's eyes, holds their contact and rubs his right index finger against the crotch of Jon's pants, finds half an erection held within.

"I'm glad you like it." He whispers, removing his searching hand, folding his arms and leaning smugly against the counter. "We will be busy these next few days, separated frequently, I thought you might like a... reminder."

Jon comes very near to sinking to floor before the man, nuzzling his head into a thigh, crawling behind him when he leaves the room. At length Stephen sighs, runs a hand over his face and breaks his role. "I want you again, but there's no time, come and help me get presentable."

Colbert's suits are an easier affair, already planned out behind their plastic covers, hanging outside in the hallway, many brethren on the pole of a rolling cart that the bellhop must have deposited. Jon wheels it inside and selects a charcoal gray coat and pants, egg shell white shirt and coppery orange tie, holds the items displayed out over his arms for Stephen's approval.

The man emerges from the bathroom, boxer clad, combing his hair from his part out and over his head. Stewart is at his service, stepping forward with his offering. Colbert lifts the outfit, kisses Jon his thanks, full on the lips, and lays it on the bed, jerking the dry cleaning wraps off. He dresses quickly and efficiently, ignoring the chirping of his cell phone after checking the caller ID and mouthing "Rob" to Jon, who is gathering himself for public consumption, resurfacing from this dark and quiet sea where he and Stephen float in lunar tides.

"Are you ok?" Colbert asks, soft spoken and intelligent, his normal, social self. "Ready to see everyone?" Jon is arriving but slower to come back up than usual, has to pack his obedience into a tightly lidded box, lest he slip up and cling to Stephen in a manner unbecoming of his boss. Stewart takes a moment of miniature meditation, nothing more than air flowing in and back out of his lungs, aligns himself to center.

"Yeah, yeah I'm ready." He primps nervously, over adjusts his clothing, falls back into habits he's able to shuck when he's low. Stephen pats him on the back, nods approvingly and gives him some space, sits and finishes lacing his shoes.

"Its not too much for you is it?" He asks quietly, pinching his glasses between forefinger and thumb, widening his eyes and working the lenses back up his face. He glances down to Jon's arm, seeming as if he can see through the clothing; Stewart calls those muscles into motion again, sighing as the clamp like tightness embraces him.

"Hell no, I love it." He's vehement, protects his gift with his right hand curved over its hardness. Stephen blinks his lowered eyelids slowly, side of his mouth turning up. "Thank you." Jon adds.

"My pleasure."