||[Feb. 9th, 2005|07:31 pm]
The Daily Show RPS
Title: Live Feed
Pairing: Stephen Colbert/Paul Dinello/Jon Stewart
Rating: Quite NC-17.
Disclaimer: MAKE BELIEVE, all of it. No offense intended, though it might be taken. My bad.
Summary: We sail on the good ship menage a trois. (Kinda--voyeurism.) Stephen is attending the Sundance Film Festival with Paul, Jon is lonely; I fix it and abuse technology simultaneously.
Awesome job of editing: VF - Thank you dear!
Dedicated lovingly to Tracey and mini, who requested/demanded this fic. Tracey had the bunny, I fed it carrots.
This buds for you.
He's tried to distract himself--Lord knows there is always plenty of work to be done--but he can't really deny the cause of his pensive and quiet demeanor. He'd call--Stephen wouldn't mind--but damn, if that isn't sad: the man has been gone for all of two days. He's read this bit he's holding so many times that it's lost all semblance of humor, so he crunches it up and throws it across his desk. Maybe that will help.
Now he's staring at the phone. Fuck.
Well, he never claimed he wasn't pathetic. In fact quite the opposite, many times a night, and on television no less. He dials slowly and confidently, if that counts for anything-- though it's from memory, so probably not. Stephen's pretty reliable about his cell phone, and its not quite late enough that he would be asleep.
It rings eight times. Jon is about to give up.
"Stephen? It's Jon, I can barely hear you." Either someone is trying to swallow the phone, or Colbert is wresting with his clothing; either way, there is a lot a rustling.
"Yeah, uhh, sorry, Jon, ow fuck, just a sec." Grunting, a few more expletives, and Stephen's hurried breath travels through the tiny speaker inside Jon's receiver.
"I can... call back. Are you ok?" Stewart is an overly curious man, protective of Stephen. It doesn't help that he also just heard a voice not belonging to his friend in the background; definitively male.
"Paul's there, isn't he?"
He remembers the awkward silence, days after he and Colbert had spent their first night together; when Stephen had informed him that Stephen and Paul's friendship has very kinky benefits. Stephen had been nervous--quite rare for him. Jon didn't expect anything exclusive, said so, and then made Stephen laugh low in his belly when he smiled and asked for lurid details.
He had been given some, then gotten hard and fucked Stephen over his desk; they broke a lamp.
"Yeah, he's here." It's little more than a whisper, meek and breathy.
"I'll go," Please don't make him hang up.
"No, you'll stay." Paul's gravel tones now travel over the phone, heavy with sex and command. Jon's spent time with the man on a few occasions, hang-outs at Stephen's house; the offer was there, lurking in Paul's eyes. Jon considered it.
He's certainly done mulling it over now.
"I have an idea," Dinello purrs, [vibrating] Jon's ear.
"Lay it on me," Stewart answers, conveying his confidence and comfort with the situation.
Paul grunts. "Stephen, set up a video conference on the laptop for Jon." Jon tries to bite back his hungry groan, but it doesn't slip past Paul. "Oh, do you like that idea?"
"Yeah, a fucking lot."
There is something about Paul, and it's not terribly obvious, but is more powerful for its clever concealment, once you catch wind of it. He's a born leader: influences the people around him without much effort or force. Most tend to fall in line behind him. In the bedroom, this translates into a rather dominant but enjoyable trait. Stephen speaks in hushed tones about his roughness, as if Paul might overhear from miles away.
"You know, I dropped you hints, Jon," Stewart hunches down in his leather chair and teases himself through his pants, fingernail scratches. "Anytime you want." Jon huffs into the phone, squashed between his head and shoulder, tries to fire up his software without taking his hand off his erection. "Don't go playing with yourself yet," Paul warns. More shuffling in the background; Jon sighs but stops himself, knowing that Paul is to be obeyed, and certainly doesn't mind it. "Stephen's almost done, then he's going to suck my dick."
"He's talented," Jon murmurs, shifting in his seat, pushing empty thrusts towards the ceiling. Memories of the last time he got head from Colbert rush his mind: it was cold in his office, dark, he was backed against his desk, moaning his loudest.
"Mmm, yes, he certainly is."
The exchange of information required to set up a web cam link has never been so arousing, and Stewart's windowed view suddenly snaps to life: missing a frame here and there, but in wonderful color. The picture is of a typical hotel recliner, turned at an angle so he can see almost all of whoever is seated in it. Stephen steps into range, naked and flushed, firm cock waving as he walks. He checks their view of Jon, smiles heatedly into the camera.
"Hello there," he mumbles, adjusting his glasses; his voice now speaking through the computer's speakers. Jon waves coyly, then drops his hand and squeezes himself through a pair of pants he needs to get the hell off of himself. Colbert's smile vanishes..
"Knees," Jon hears from off-camera in Paul's demanding tone. Stephen turns away from the lens and sinks to a third of his height, head lowered. He arranges himself at the foot of the chair and Paul steps in front of him but does not sit. He pets his head lovingly. Dinello is fully dressed, but working the buttons of his shirt, glancing at the camera as he divests himself of it.
Jon's seen his body on Strangers With Candy, but with this new, very sexual tilt, he's stunned by the sight. Paul raises an eyebrow curiously at his reaction, bends a little at the waist in a natural show of his muscles, fists his hands and draws his arms taut. He's defined but nowhere near bulky-- round, slim packs of muscle under smooth flesh.
"You're beautiful," Jon blurts out, fumbling with the obstinate zip of his fly. Stephen hums a noise of approval, reaches slowly up, and fans his fingers over Paul's lean stomach. His other hand comes up and pops the button on the man's jeans, opens them and dips inside. Stewart pulls himself out at the same moment and moans at the sight of Colbert's mouth as it descends around Paul, who widens his stance and tosses his head back triumphantly.
"Fuck," Stewart spits, timing his strokes with the bob of Stephen's dark head, which Paul is now gripping--holding Stephen in place as he works his abs, flexes himself back and forth.
"Jon," Dinello pants, grunting between his words. "Record this, I want to watch myself fuck his mouth later." Stewart is melting, melding with his chair on a cellular level, but tosses his right arm towards the mouse and slaps the correct buttons.
"Jesus," Jon whispers as he pulls his cock away from his own body, corrects his angle and spectates. Stephen is gripping the backs of Paul's strong thighs, urging him on as he rolls his hips into Colbert's wide mouth. The muscles on his arms are taut as he presses his hands into the sides and back of Stephen's head. At length he slows his pace, draws out father and pushes in slowly, hissing his pleasure and staring powerfully into the camera.
"Slow down, Jon," he grinds out, holding a thrust into Stephen, who starts to move his own head, work his tongue around. Jon can see the oral muscle poke through the side of Colbert's cheek, slip out of his mouth. "This is just a warm up."
Stewart eases off the determined pace he's set without even noticing it and tucks his free hand under his shirt. He toys with his own chest, skims a nipple.
"Good," Paul praises, voice deep and lust rough. "You don't want to come too early and miss me bending Stephen over the chair." With that, Colbert clenches Dinello's legs hard, a muffled moan failing to leave his full mouth. Jon catches it anyway. "Yeah, I know you want it. Show me how much." Stephen sucks Paul into the back of his throat aggressively, head flush against his body; Paul loses his control for half a minute, head tipping back and hands lax as he lets Colbert arch. Enthusiastic whines and half grunts issue steadily from Stephen's chest.
"Eh, eh, easy, stop," Paul gasps, pulling out of his mouth. Stephen tries to crawl back with him, but Dinello fists his hair and yanks him off, shaking his head. "No," he says firmly, the way one might correct a dog. "That's not going to get you fucked, now stand up and get me the lube."
Colbert gets a leg under himself and stands, easily towering over the other man, who turns his attention to the camera and Jon. Stewart swallows and spreads his legs, feels the heat of the spotlight.
"Show off for me," Paul orders, leaning over the camera. Jon clamps his hand as low as he can manage around his cock and pulls out of his hand, then arches his body off the seat, pinches his chest, stares Dinello in the face. "Niiiice," Paul approves, taking the bottle Stephen is offering him, squeezing it into his palm. "Now, Jon, I don't want you coming without permission, understand?"
"Ohdamnit," Jon sighs out, frustratingly shifting his grip.
"Understand?" Paul repeats, stern, spreading his hand slick and glossy.
"Yes, please, just..." Stephen passes in the background, leans over a bit and places his hands on the back of the chair, offering himself. Paul turns and sees him, but doesn't move towards him.
"Please what? Go on."
"Please, go fuck Stephen." Dinello grins in victory, twists his head and looks Colbert over. He leaves the desk the laptop is on behind him. Jon would swear, with conviction, that the world is pancake flat, if it gets Paul inside Stephen faster.
"Gladly," he states, stalking up behind Colbert, who bends his head at his approach. He's bent slightly at the waist, hands deep in the cushion of the chair's headrest. Paul nudges his legs apart with a foot, lays his chest to Stephen's back and works one finger into him steadily; Jon sighs his relief.
"More," Stephen immediately moans quietly, but Jon can hear it. He falters and slams his hips up into his own fist.
"When I'm ready," Paul answers evenly, working his hand back and forth, watching its rise and fall. "I'd hurt you if I didn't take my time."
"God, I don't care," Colbert whimpers, arching his back and pushing onto Dinello's arm. Jon is familiar with Stephen's lack of patience. He once teased him to the point of coming all over himself without ever being touched.
Paul adds a finger, Stephen leans his strained body back onto it, drops a hand as if to touch himself. Dinello slaps it away.
Colbert growls in response, clamps onto the chair, glances over to the camera.
"You're bad tonight... do you like Jon watching us?"
"Yes," he answers quickly, back flexing, jaw clenching, "Please Paul, please." Paul strokes himself calmly, spreading lubricant. Stephen can just see it out of the corner of his eye, moans loudly then shifts to stare at Jon, because he's just muttered his name.
Paul grips Stephen by the base of the neck and strong-arms him into a ninety degree bend over the chair, Stephen's face against the headrest. Colbert tries to find a place for his arms and ends up folding them around his head, trying to back into Paul, who shoves him down with a hand between his shoulder blades.
"Stay," he warns, tapping Stephen's legs even farther apart, compensating for their height difference. This allows him to lean over Colbert's back, line up and flex his ass, nudge the head of his cock inside. Stephen groans his impatience, wants to just sit back onto Paul. Jon can see the shake of his muscles as he restrains himself.
Dinello doesn't inch forward so much as take centimeters with his chest heaving, one hand steady and holding the man before him down, the other knotted and held by his side, fist in a ball.
Jon twists just the right way and taps the bubble of his orgasm, immediately releases himself, gnashes his teeth.
"You remember what this feels like, Jon?" Paul asks, almost sunk fully into Stephen, rocking himself with slight bends at the knees that are surely going to kill Colbert with their subtlety.
"Oh yes," Stewart moans, afraid to bring his hands anywhere near his pulsing cock for fear of exploding. There is no forgetting such a thing.
"Does he beg for it from you, too?" Paul shoves forward, leans his weight into it, holds himself there; Stephen cries out, managing to almost back out of Paul's grasp. "No restraint," Dinello complains, laying his abdomen over the low portion of Colbert's back and hooking his right arm under and around Stephen's chest. He puts more weight into Stephen's neck, pinning him, and undulates his hips in deep grinds. "You need to learn."
"Paul," Jon pleads, ghosts a hand over his erection. It twitches against his fingers.
"No, Jon," Dinello gasps, dropping his forehead against the center of Stephen's back as he ups his thrusting, back bending and drawing straight again. Stewart is stuck on the hypnotic motion as it seemingly loops and replays.
Colbert is a mess, almost fighting Paul outright, hoarse moans fall out of a mouth that he seems powerless to close.
"Fuck, Paul, move," he pants out angrily. His glasses are still in place by some miracle, and Stephen glares from behind them, now fixed on Stewart. Paul rears up, slams harshly into Colbert, who lets one long moan fly, twisting the chair's fabric in strong hands. Jon knows Stephen's sounds: he's just about to come. Dinello reaches between Stephen's legs and takes him by the base, squeezes hard, clamping him back. Stephen almost roars, but ceases his complaining when Paul gives him everything, nudges the chair along the floor.
"After Stephen, you can come, Jon." He wheezes out, groaning brokenly and blurring his hips into the man. The thrusts are soon erratic and then he's coming deeply into Colbert, snapping his sharp pushes, wailing. Paul releases Stephen's erection and it immediately spills, jetting out over the cushions as he gasps for air.
Jon shoves his shirt aside and gets three hard pulls in before he's over, body clamping and shuddering up, splattering his clothing and fist and rolling liquid down his knuckles. His last clear vision is of Paul riding out the tail of his orgasm, arms wound around Stephen's stomach as he weakly rocks both of their bodies.
When he catches his runaway oxygen, stretches the tight muscles of his left forearm out straight, arches and twists like a well fed cat, Paul speaks.
"Hm, we got a little caught up and missed your moment there, Jon." He's splayed out in the recliner, Stephen across his lap; pale, long legs tangled with Paul's shorter ones.
"I hit record," Colbert mumbles, jamming his face into Dinello's moist neck and grunting. One hand wanders over Paul's chest. Jon almost laughs, snorting into the back of his clean fist.
"Did you really?"
Stephen nods, eyes closed, body limp.
"Do you care?" Paul asks, gathering Colbert's sliding form back onto the seat they share. He doesn't wait on Jon's response, but instead extends his neck and kisses Stephen hungrily. Stewart doesn't answer--ignores his fear of some freak happenstance of hacker luck stumbling upon a file of him beating off to his friends.
"No," he finally works out of his mouth, running his right hand through his sweaty hair.
"That's good, would have made it hard to do this again tomorrow."
Jon and Stephen groan together. Paul's devious grin flashes his white teeth.