Down In the Bunker

Title: Down In the Bunker
Author: Minikitkatgirl
Pairing: Jon Stewart/Stephen Colbert
Rating: R/NC-17, for adult language and naughty punditry
Warnings: This is slash fiction; that is, it contains sexual/romantic situations between two members of the same sex. If this isn't your bag, don't read this. Otherwise, happy reading, and please do leave feedback!
Disclaimer: Not real, never happened (to my knowledge), 100% false. I do not know nor make no claims to the sexualities of the real Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert, and I own and make no profit from anything in this fic. So don't sue, cause I'm a broke grad student and I'd have to pay you in tiny little packets of Chinese mustard.

~*~

"Oh my God, Stephen! You look terrible! You really--ah, god damn it." Jon doubled over, hiding his face from the wire-suspended screen above, grinning into the microphone.

"I can see your pearly whites, Stewart."

Stephen stepping out of character was rare, yet there he was, standing in a set just below the recently constructed stage, fake-scolding his old friend.

"Don't. I won't--I'm not gonna be able to breathe," Jon wheezed hoarsely as he fought off a laughing fit.

"Come on. We've gotta get this down, or the masses'll be unruly."

"Stephen, the masses are already unruly. Remember, they watch our shows."

Jon was standing again, pacing back and forth across the stage, the collar of his windbreaker pulled up over his neck. He fumbled with a stack of blue notecards, rapidly reading each and shuffling them between his increasingly clammy palms.

"I think it's this part--something's off here," Jon muttered. He reached into his pocket, grabbing a pen jammed in deep and furiously scribbling out several parts of the script.

"Maybe it's your lines that are the problem. Telling me I look terrible. I think we could do with changing that."

Stephen rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet, sighing as he felt the rush of nervous energy winding its way through his body.

A wistful smile curled up the corner of Jon's mouth. He was relieved not to be the only nervous half of their duo, yet infinitely preferred Stephen's brand of anxiety. Beneath the fingernail chewing and brow furrowing was excitement, wide brown eyes gazing in wonder at everything around them, just as they always had.

Jon stole a glance back up at the screen, wishing for some of Stephen's boyishness as he bounced up and down like a child after too much Halloween candy. He wanted that feeling back; anything was better than the knot of insecurity that seemed to be permanently twisting his insides.

"All right, uh...let's talk about the changes I made. You wanna come back up here?" Jon asked.

"No, you come down. It's cold up there, damn it." Stephen jutted out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout, and Jon nearly squirmed from the sight.

"All right, I'm comin'. Keep your shirt on." Or don't...

Jon called over to Sam Bee and Jason Jones, who were rehearsing their own lines nearby while the crew set up the stage.

"Sam, Jas, I'm gonna head down to the bunker set to go over script changes with Colbert. Hold the fort down, will ya? Oh, and tell crew to kill the camera feed for now."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." they waved dismissively in his direction, and Jon grinned, knowing that meant everything was under control.

Knock...knock... Jon rapped a hand on the doorframe. Stephen was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey. Where are you, Stephen?" Jon called out.

"Sorry, sorry. Had to use the little pundits' room," Stephen breathlessly explained as he rushed back in then. He had hurried so fast that he was still fumbling with his pants, much to Jon's wide-eyed sense of panic.

He swallowed hard at the fabric peeking open just slightly, enticing him to what lie beneath.

Oh, God. Is he trying to kill me? Jon forced himself to look away, focusing on a now very interesting patch of dust in the corner of the room.

"So, whaddya got for me, Chief?"

"Well, uh..." Jon started, slowly losing his train of thought as he realized how close Stephen was standing.

Geez, he smells good... the observation idly passed through his head as he tried (and failed) to keep his eyes from Stephen's bare chest. He knew it was only part of the segment, but wondered if it was really a good idea for the younger man to be shirtless after all.

"Jon?"

"Right, um...'Stephen, you look terrible'...I didn't know if we should repeat that, or maybe switch it with 'Stephen, where are you?', have that first..." Jon stared at the notecard with a fixed intensity, willing it to keep him from looking at Stephen.

"Hmmm."

The sound came as a deep hum emanating from Stephen's throat, and Jon faltered, looking over and immediately regretting it. Stephen had one hand resting on his chin, stroking it thoughtfully, and--fuck, what am I doing! Jon chastised himself--the tip of his tongue was sticking out, resting against his lips.

Jon felt vulnerable then, unguarded, as if his own sanity now rested precariously on the edge of a cliff. Memories of past encounters, of nearly-torn shirts and ripped buttons flooded his mind.

And ties.

Stephen made a habit of keeping his tie on whenever they did whatever it was they did. He let it just hang around his neck; undone and messy, yet calm, anchoring them to the moment.

It was also unbearably sexy, Jon had long ago decided.

"S-Stephen?"

"Oh, sorry, Jon, you added an extra 's.' That means you owe me a quarter," Stephen tsk-ed playfully, reaching a hand over and shoving it into Jon's pocket.

The sudden contact jolted Jon out of his thoughts, and without thinking, he grabbed onto Stephen's arm, pulling him close.

"Whoa, what the--I know you like my shoes, but technically I don't think you can wear them while they're still on my feet," Stephen said, with a laugh that was more nervous than he expected it to be.

"I'm glad you're here," Jon spoke quietly, loosening his grip on Stephen's arm. "This rally...it's not mine, you know. It's ours."

A small smile came over Stephen's face then, and he slid his hand out of Jon's pocket, placing it on the older man's bicep and stroking it gently with his thumb.

"It's been a long time since we had anything that was...y'know...ours. Do you remember what the last thing was?"

Jon looked away for a moment, his brow furrowed as he thought.

"I seem to vaguely remember a paperweight in the shape of Groucho Marx, but--"

And then there weren't words, but Stephen's mouth was moving, and it was firmly attached to Jon's as it did.

Holy shit... Jon thought, and it was the only thought in his head. He couldn't breathe, couldn't remember what to do until almost a few seconds later, when he finally kissed Stephen back.

They broke the kiss a moment later, pulling back, brown eyes staring into cool, blue ones. Neither man spoke, each quietly regarding the other, almost shyly.

Arousal flooded Stephen's senses as he unabashedly let his gaze rake down over Jon's body, his rapidly-hardening cock bulging against the fabric of his pants. And with a simple sentence, he was the first to speak:

"Actually, I was thinking of something more like that."

Hearing the lust in Stephen's voice, Jon grew bolder, pressing a hand to the taller man's chest, caressing the smooth skin beneath his fingers.

"Guess it's cold down here, too," Jon smirked, pointedly glancing down to indicate Stephen's now-hard nipples.

Stephen's cheeks flushed red at this, much to Jon's surprise.

"Didn't think there was anything below a Level Fonda that could make you blush that hard."

"Shut up and kiss me."

Jon was in no position to argue, and he did as he was told, slamming his lips against Stephen's in a fierce kiss. Both men groaned, and Stephen's hands pawed restlessly at Jon's shirt, pulling the hem from his pants. Jon broke the kiss only long enough to yank the shirt over his head, tossing it off to the side.

Stephen's arms encircled Jon's waist, pulling the shorter man's body flush against his. He was pleased to find that Jon's hardness matched his own, and he thrust his hips forward, grinding their covered erections together.

"Fuck..." Jon hissed, eyelids fluttering as what felt like every blood cell in his body rushed into his cock.

"Floor," Stephen ordered, his voice raspy and low.

Jon nodded, bracing one arm around Stephen's shoulders while the other lifted one of his legs, wrapping it around his hips.

"Hold on," he said, and Stephen's muscles clenched, gripping Jon tightly as he knelt, lowering the two of them to the cool concrete below.

They began to rut against each other in earnest, guttural groans and grunts the only sounds in the room. Stephen dragged his nails down Jon's chest through the soft patch of greying hair there, and around to Jon's back, leaving a trail of faint scratch marks along the way.

"Oohh..." Jon growled, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

Wanting to return the favor, Jon leaned up, pressing his cheek to the side of Stephen's face. Slowly, he dragged his tongue up the outer shell of Stephen's ear, taking the just-slightly-bent tip between his teeth and nibbling on it.

"Jesus, Jon!" Stephen cried out. His entire body hummed with stimulation, his dick now pressing uncomfortably against his pants, and he arched up against the older man, aching for relief.

"Now, now..." Jon scolded lightly, entirely happy with how rapidly Stephen was coming unglued. "My people killed him, remember?"

A loud, snorting laugh from Stephen soon became a groan of delight as Jon reached below the waistband of his pants, teasingly stroking the throbbing hard-on he'd found there.

"So this is make-up sex, then," Stephen countered, wriggling impatiently, and Jon took the hint, yanking the pants down to mid-thigh. The cool air did little to relieve the heat from Jon's hand, and Stephen bucked his hips, eager for more.

"In more ways than one," Jon grinned, pressing his lips to Stephen's in a gentle kiss.

Stephen used that moment to grip either side of his pants, pulling them down and exposing Jon's own prominent erection. Jon hissed into Stephen's mouth as their bare skin made contact, then moaned, feeling the younger man's hand wrap around both of their cocks.

"Ungghh, that feels fucking good..." Jon groaned as Stephen began to stroke them together. The friction was beyond delicious, every flick of Stephen's wrist further inflaming Jon's arousal.

Not wanting things to be over quite so soon, and even though it felt entirely too good to stop, Jon slowed his movements. Stephen glanced up at him through lust-clouded eyes, wondering what was happening.

"Jon?" he panted, pressing a hand to the side of his face. Jon turned his head, keeping his eyes on Stephen as he took the tips of his fingers into his mouth, sucking softly.

Stephen's cock twitched at the sensation, and he suddenly wished Jon's far-too-talented mouth was on other parts of his anatomy. He debated broaching the subject, but Jon cut him off before he had a chance:

"Turn over."

Feeling a thrill go through him at the mere suggestion, Stephen obeyed, releasing his grip on their still-pulsing erections and moving onto his side. He sighed as Jon pressed up behind him and curled an arm around his chest.

Thin beads of sweat began to form on Jon's brow then. It had been a while since they'd done this, and he worried about hurting Stephen.

"I'll be fine," Stephen suddenly said aloud, and Jon smiled, knowing Stephen knew just what he was thinking about. He looked around for a lubricant of some sort, not wanting to penetrate his lover without the proper preparations.

"My pocket," Stephen murmured. Jon reached down to the rumpled fabric, and grinned when he produced a small tub of Vaseline moments later.

"Were you planning on something?" he asked, unable to hide the amusement in his voice as he unscrewed the cap.

"It's for the jumpsuit. It'll be easier to get into the more I'm greased up like a holiday ham," Stephen replied, completely deadpan.

Jon buried his face in the crook of Stephen's neck, suppressing yet another giggle fit.

"Stop that, or I won't be able to fuck you."

Stephen opened his mouth to retort and gasped as Jon slid one, then two lubed fingers into his opening, stretching him.

"Christ..." he groaned, eyes watering and heart pounding uncontrollably with anticipation.

"Ready for me?" Jon whispered.

"That's my deaf ear, Jon, or did you--unnggh, SHIT!" Stephen gasped as something much larger pushed into his ass now, breaching the tight ring of muscle.

"Ah, God...fuck..." Jon was sweating just from the effort of staying still, making sure to slide into Stephen carefully, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt. "You're so tight...ah!...tighter than I remember..."

"Please..." Stephen whimpered, and it was all the prompting Jon needed as he pulled out and slammed in again.

He set a rough pace, grunting at the incredible heat and tightness that surrounded his cock with every thrust. Stephen arched his back to meet Jon's movements, a startled yelp issuing from his lips when Jon suddenly hit his prostate gland.

"Keep doing that...ohhh, shit...please..." he pleaded, and Jon obliged, shifting the angle of his thrusts so he brushed that magic spot on every thrust.

Stephen craned his neck to face Jon, reaching a hand back and gripping a fistful of silvery hair as he kissed him hard. Tongues dueled together in a rhythm not-too-dissimilar from what was going on below, and Stephen's head spun with lust as he released his moans into Jon's mouth.

The feeling of a hand wrapping around his erection stole Stephen's focus away a moment later, and he broke the kiss, all his energy now focused on the glorious sensations coming from behind and in front of him.

"Ngnhh, gonna come...please make me come," and before the sentence had finished, Jon sped up his hand, feverishly jerking Stephen off while racing towards his own climax.

"Fuck...that's it...oohh, shit!" Jon grunted, feeling the familiar tightening in his balls. A thin sheen of sweat covered his chest, both from their exertions and the heat of Stephen's body pressed tightly against his.

"Ohh--ohgod--FUCK!" Stephen's orgasm tore through him then, his eyes squeezing shut as white-hot pleasure flashed like lightning from his toes to his hair follicles.

Jon stilled his hand around Stephen's cock, groaning as jets of hot cum shot out and coated his hand and Stephen's stomach.

Stephen's muscles clenching around him was the final push Jon needed. He thrust erratically into the vibrant body in front of him, once, twice, three times more, biting down hard on Stephen's shoulder to keep from screaming out as he came.

Jon pressed his nose against the back of Stephen's neck, inhaling the fragrant musk that was so wonderfully rich, so sweet, so...Stephen.

They stayed like that for a few moments, chests heaving as they waited for the world to come back into focus. Neither man dared to move, afraid to break the spell that fallen over both of them.

"That was--"

"Wow."

"Unbelievable."

"Limburger."

"What?" Jon sat up slightly, one eyebrow raised quizzically.

"I can smell it outside. I think it's lunchtime."

"I guess we better get back up there, then," Jon replied, trying to keep the disappointment from his voice.

"Hey," Stephen turned around, still in Jon's arms. "It's not like I want to get out of here. There's just this little business of a rally to attend to. Our rally."

"Our rally," Jon repeated, smiling as he realized how nice it was to hear those words. He could feel something vaguely resembling tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. He quickly wiped them away.

"I'll still be here later, you know," Stephen looked purposefully at Jon, whose eyes had faded to a glassy shade of blue.

Sensing the uncertainty that still plagued Jon's thoughts, Stephen kissed him. It wasn't a demanding kiss; he wasn't asking for a thing, wasn't searching...but finding. Finding that place that they'd both left years ago and didn't think they'd return.

I'll always be here... the thought was passed from Stephen to Jon without ever being spoken.

They continued kissing, arms wrapped around each other in a warm embrace, and for that moment, nothing else existed outside of that room, there below the stage and verdant landscape of the bustling capital above.

---

Meanwhile, back on stage...

"Um, Sam?" the words came out of Jason's throat as barely a squeak.

"What?

"Think we should tell Jon the feed didn't get cut off?"

"Remind me again why I married you."

"No pre-nup?"

"That's right. Now shut up and let me watch."

"Yes, ma'am."