Title: The Drink
Author's Name: SilentAuror/silentauror
Pairing: Stephen Colbert/Jon Stewart
Rating: PG-13
Length: 4,501 words
Setting: Sometime in about 2004 on The Daily Show
Summary: There's a strange new constraint between them, and Stephen isn't sure why...

Disclaimer: Any similarity between the fictional version of the person portrayed here and the actual person is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. This is not an attempt to defame the character of said person on the basis of libel, as the work is FICTIONAL (and NOT an intently false statement created with the express purpose of misleading others about the actual character of said person).

Any mention of 'The Daily Show', 'Viacom', any associated entites, or any copywrited material pertaining therein is reasonably protected by the Fair Use Rule of the United States Copyright Act of 1976, and is not intended to infringe upon any copywrited material.

Also available on my journal and tds_rps


The Drink


Stephen rocked his chair back dangerously far, testing the limits of his balance.


“You’re going to tip over one of these days,” Steve said, without looking back at him. Their office was small enough that the desks had been arranged back to back when Stephen had first joined the cast, and he’d discovered early on that Steve seemed to have eyes in the back of his head.


“Am not,” he said, hooking a thumb into his pants pocket.


“Are too. It’s happened before.”


“Yes, when you pulled me over, you dink.”


Steve sporfled. “There’s no need to resort to childish insults,” he chided.


“Dickwad.”


“You’re treading on thin ice, Colbert.”


“You haven’t even seen thin ice, buttmunch.”


Steve sniggered. “Did you just call me ‘buttmunch’?” He craned his head around to peer at Stephen. “Oh God, I can’t take it when you have that smug look on your face. Stop it right now. That’s not fair.”


Stephen allowed the smug look to deepen and grinned obnoxiously at Steve. “I’m just trying to fit in. Be cool. You know.”


“What? What is that supposed to mean?” Steve’s brows came together.


“The ongoing gay jokes. Anyone who’s anyone around here makes gay jokes. That was my obligatory ass reference of the hour.”


“Ah. Gotcha.” Steve turned back to his computer. “Well, in that case, why don’t you tell me the name of the Governor of Lousiana, you pirate smoker.”


Stephen lost it. “Pirate smoker?”


“You heard me, Colbert. I’m not taking it back, either!”


“What’s this about a pirate smoker?”


The new voice stopped the laughter. The legs of Stephen’s chair hit the floor with a thud and he dropped his pen. Jon stood in the doorway, smiling nonchalantly enough. It should not have made Stephen nervous, but for some reason, it did today. The way it had been for the past three months, only on occasion.


Steve didn’t miss a beat. “Stephen says he’s a pirate smoker,” he said, utterly straight-faced. “He just told me.”


Jon’s brows arced. “Is that so?” he asked, looking from Steve to Stephen.


Stephen managed to locate his pen and put it back on his desk, out of harm’s way. He shrugged, far too casually. “If you’d like me to be,” he quipped, and Jon and Steve both laughed, though Stephen wasn’t paying any attention to the latter.


Jon grinned. “Why didn’t you tell me?”


Stephen didn’t know what to say. Something witty would be good, but nothing came to mind. He cocked an eyebrow. “Uh, new topic. How do you feel about me referring to you as ‘elfin’ for This Week in God tonight?”


“‘Elfin’?” Jon repeated, looking still more amused. “Uh, fine, I guess.” He looked at Steve. “Should I be insulted?”


“Not at all, Jon,” Steve said, turning back to his computer. “That just means he regards you as a bottom. Remember that.”


Stephen’s pulse rate doubled and again, he was struck with an extraordinary case of speechlessness. All he could do was blink, staring like a deer into headlights at Jon.


“Is that so?” Jon asked carefully, and fiddled with something in his shirt pocket. “Well. All I can say is that anyone who wants me to bottom had better give a damned good blow job before the fact. Look, guys, I’m hungry. Who wants to go and grab lunch?”


“No Italian,” Steve mumbled, scrolling rapidly down his monitor’s page.


“No Caribbean,” Stephen said, in character, sounding peeved. Ah, better. “I’m no pirate smoker.”


Jon laughed, and some of the awkwardness went away. “It’s all right, your reputation is safe. Where do you want to go?”


Stephen stood and, still in character, looked down at Jon and said, “My reputation? What, as the dommest dom that ever dommed?”


Jon blinked and swallowed. “Uh, I was going to say as straight, but… sure, we can go with that.” The corners of his mouth tucked in his familiar trademark grin and he thumped Stephen cautiously on the arm. “Come on.”


* * *


The sounds of the studio faded and Stephen loosened his tie, wandering aimlessly backstage. The door from the green room opened and Jon burst through it. “Stephen!”


It was as though he’d been expecting it. No. Just waiting for it. He squashed the thought. “Great show!” he said automatically, the grin already in place.


“Thanks to you,” Jon shot back, his fist playfully grazing Stephen in the gut. “This Week in God was great!”


Stephen’s grin grew. “Thanks!”


Jon pulled his tie loose. “You up for a beer?”


“Sure, why not?” Warmth glowed briefly. He didn’t say anything about the other correspondents and waited for Jon to.


He didn’t. “Great, I’ll just get this crap off my face and then we can go. I’ll come by your office.”


“If I don’t come by yours first,” Stephen said.


Stephen ducked into the hall bathroom to scrub his face and quickly pat it dry. To his private relief, Steve was on the phone with his wife in the office, so Stephen mouthed “See you tomorrow” and backed out the door.


Jon was just coming down the hall. “Set? Let’s blow this joint.”


The word blow caused something painful to occur in Stephen’s gut and he swallowed hard. “Yeah,” he said, his voice strange in his own ears.


Jon didn’t notice. “Rudy’s will be full of the post-show crowd. I just want a beer and to be left alone, you know?”


“Sounds good to me. Let’s put some distance between ourselves and this place,” Stephen said, opening the door leading to the rear exit. “Collins, on Eighth?” It was a familiar place, one they’d been to on other occasions. “Great,” Jon said at once. “After you.”


The night was cool and had been raining; rain still hung in the air like mist. “Great audience tonight,” Stephen said, sheerly for the sake of making small talk. He didn’t know where this strange constraint had come from, but it only seemed to really come out when they were on their own these days.


“Yeah, they were decent,” Jon said. He looked right, then started across Forty-Fourth. “Nice night. By the way, what did you think of the guest?”


“Oh, very interesting,” Stephen said. “Uh – was he gay?”


“Uh, yeah, I believe so,” Jon said, glancing at him. “Why?”


Stephen shrugged, far too deliberately. “Just curious.”


“Hottie,” Jon commented, elbowing him.


Stephen flinched. “Very funny.”


“I’d have done him.”


Stephen made himself laugh. The truth was, the mental image made it difficult to inhale. The guest had been extraordinarily attractive, if he was honest with himself – and it was growing increasingly difficult not to be – and the fact of the matter was that the joke made twinges of jealousy – which was not at all funny in the non-humour context – pang in his abdomen. “Would you,” he said tonelessly, not pausing at Forty-fifth.


“It was a joke,” Jon said, but it was awkward. “Lighten up.”


Stephen sighed, his breath fogging in the cool air. “Sorry. Guess I’m just tired. It is on Forty-Sixth, right?”


“Yep.” Jon touched his arm lightly, stopping him from stepping into a rather disgusting looking piece of trash. “Watch it.”


“Thanks.” Stephen shook off the touch, tried not to feel it. Damn it. It was worse than he realized.


“Have you ever been to Barrage?” The question was pitched innocently, but Stephen was not fooled.


He gave Jon a sharp look. “Isn’t that – ”


“Gay? Yeah.” Jon waited, eyes trained on him.


“No,” Stephen said forcefully. “Have you?”


“Yeah. Once or twice. Not a bad little joint,” Jon said, a little too easily.


“What, ‘research’ for the show?” He did not like where this was going.


“No,” Jon said slowly. “I went because… I’d heard it was not a bad little joint.” His gaze was on Stephen, careful.


Stephen couldn’t answer; his mind was in turmoil.


Jon stopped walking, his hand coming toward him but not touching. “Stephen…”


“What are you doing?” Stephen kept his eyes on the pavement ahead of himself. “What are you trying to - what do you want me to say? What is this?” He couldn’t help being defensive; he was.


Jon’s gesture became one of surrender, hands up, palms outward in a conciliatory move. “Nothing – nothing, Stephen. Just… that if you ever… wanted to see it, since it’s close to the studios and all – we could go there for a drink some night, after the show. If you wanted. That’s all.”


Stephen could only stare at him, the rupturing panic still threatening to choke him. “I… still don’t know what you’re saying.”


“I don’t want to make assumptions,” Jon said uncertainly. “I’ve been trying to bring this up, but it’s… it’s hard to do it without turning it into a joke. I mean, that’s what I do. I do jokes. Or I talk seriously about gay rights on the show, although I’m sure people think I only do it to piss people off. Which isn’t true. But I… I don’t know how to talk about something like this seriously, off the air.”


“Like what, exactly?” He had to fight to get the words out.


“Like – attempt to – uh – I guess sort of ask you… out…” Jon said, eyes still locked on Stephen’s, voice trailing off. “… For a drink at a place we don’t usually go,” he tacked on, which changed the entire thing.


And Stephen still didn’t know what to think. He hedged and said, too casually, “If you want to go there, we can go there. Whatever.”


Jon met his gaze frankly, and there was no humour in his tone. “Stephen… I can’t see how it could be construed as just a drink between two friends who just happen to work together if it happened at, well, a place like that.”


Stephen blinked several times, trying to clear his head. “Is this a media thing? Are you trying to be seen as even more pro-gay?”


“Actually, I’d really rather avoid being seen,” Jon said, tugging at his collar. “I’m really fucking terrible at this. I’m trying to ask you out, Stephen. I – there are about a million things I don’t know, that I’m completely and utterly unsure about, but I’m pretty sure that I… uh, yeah. Want to.”


Shock. He’d thought Jon might be trying to force him to come out. Of a closet that might or might not actually even exist, but that wasn’t the point. Stephen reacted self-consciously, a hand going to adjust his glasses automatically, stalling for response time. He had no idea what to say. He was fairly much positive that this was not an elaborate joke. So what did he want to say? “Uh – Jon, I – I don’t know what to say.”


“No one would have to know.” Jon’s voice was low and intense, his eyes dark and riveting. “Only if you wanted it. I don’t know. That’s why I asked. I’ve been trying to figure out how to bring it up for awhile, and maybe all the gay stuff really is all just a joke to you. It’s not a joke for me. I don’t know what the fuck it is, but it’s not very funny.”


“This isn’t very funny to me, either,” Stephen said, trying not to make it sound like an accusation. “I’m married. I have kids.”


“I’m married and I have a kid, too,” Jon said, sounding a little pissed off. “That doesn’t changed a damned thing.”


“You’re gay.” He said it, said gay. It was blunt as hell, but it had to be said.


“I don’t know.” Jon shook his head and turned north, began to walk again, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his leather jacket. “It’s pretty confusing.”


“Has it ever – I mean, have you ever – ?” Stephen glanced at him, unable to hide his curiosity.


Jon’s mouth tightened, the lines around it deepening as he walked, eyes resolutely on the sidewalk just in front of himself. “Maybe,” he said evasively.


“Maybe?!”


“Sort of. I was high at the time. I don’t really remember. It was a long time ago. But I’m pretty sure something happened.” Jon shot him a quick look. “What about you? All that, on Strangers with Candy. I was sure you had something going on the side with Dinello.”


Stephen fidgeted with something in his pocket. He’d never talked about that. Never. “I… it could have, but never did.”


“But as far as you were concerned, it could have?”


“Maybe,” Stephen said. He reached for the door to the bar and held it open silently, followed Jon into the dim room. Predictably, Jon managed to locate about the last corner table, as poorly lit as possible. Which wasn’t difficult for a bar in Hell’s Kitchen, but Jon had a knack for it. “It’s hard to say. I mean, I never really thought about it,” he said, dropping into the chair across from Jon’s. The table was small, too small for this, he thought; it brought them too close together for his comfort.


Jon leaned in and Stephen stiffened. “How can you just refuse to think about something like that?” he asked, his voice low and angry. “You can’t just pretend it’s not there, if it is.”


Stephen looked at the surface of the table. There were wet rings and dirty glasses and bottles strewn over its nearly empty surface. He clamped his palms together between his knees. Talking about this was going to be hard. He hadn’t even fully acknowledged it to himself, never mind figured out how to talk about it with someone else. “I don’t know if it’s there,” he said, feeling the lines between his eyes deepen, refusing to meet Jon’s eyes.


Jon’s elbows were on the table, his shoulders hunched, forearms resting on the very edge of the table. “If you’re asking the questions, I think you’ve got your answer,” he said. There was a short pause, then he changed his tone. “Look, I’m not trying to pressure you into anything. I was just trying to… stop dancing around this thing. Just talk about it already and see if you… I don’t know. Either go for it or tell me why you don’t want to go for it or sue me for employer harassment or whatever.”


Stephen glanced at him. The left corner of Jon’s mouth was tight, ready to smirk or frown at will. “I have no intention of suing you,” he said, entirely serious.


The smirk materialized. “Good to know,” Jon said, but his shoulders didn’t relax at all. He was waiting for the rest.


Stephen let out his breath slowly, trying to keep it steady. “Shit. I don’t know. Tell me something. Were you trying to drop hints, or was that me trying to read stuff into whatever you were saying?”


“Hard to tell the difference, isn’t it?” Jon shook his head. “I’m like the classic example of the funny clown who’s really sad inside. Or gay inside. Yeah, I was trying to sound you out. You were always hard to read on the gay thing if it wasn’t an outright joke, though. And lately… there’s been – well, could you feel it? There’s weird stuff with us.”


He couldn’t deny it. “I know,” Stephen said. Someone came by the table and gathered up the detritus, took their drink orders. He waited until the aging waitress was out of earshot before going on. “It’s hard for me to tell when you just really like someone and when you… when it’s more than that.”


“Was it more than that with you and Dinello?” Jon’s voice was cool, but his eyes were intense.


Stephen’s face grew heated. “I don’t know,” he said again. “I just – I think about it, okay. I do. I’ve been trying not to for years, but it’s there. I have to admit that.”


Jon just watched him, waiting for more.


Stephen breathed deeply, and the beer arrived. He took a long drink from the bottle and surreptitiously watched Jon drain half his own bottle at the same time. Deliberately, Stephen set his down on the table. “Okay, I’ve thought about you that way, too,” he said, determined to get it out, just admit it already.


For a moment, Jon didn’t say anything at all. Then he leaned over the table, shoulders hunched near his ears and smiled. “That’s what I was waiting for.”


The tension didn’t exactly leave, but suddenly it was bearable. Stephen shook his head. “I mean, how do you know? How can you tell when you just really respect and admire and genuinely like someone to knowing that you want more than even that – and it doesn’t seem to have anything to do with your wife or family, it just sort of exists in a separate part of your brain completely.”


“I know,” Jon said, both sympathy and irony in his eyes. “Trust me, Stephen, I know.” He turned the beer bottle in place on the table with one hand and watched it as he spoke. “I don’t even remember when it first occurred to me that I might be interested in, uh, well, dick. It was sort of like this guilty admission I had in the back of my head, that in no way gets in the way of what I feel for Tracey, either emotionally or sexually, but… there it is. And I’ve had this thing for you for a good while now.”


Stephen met his eyes. “How long?”


“Since at least 2001,” Jon admitted. “If not before that.”


Stephen exhaled. “Holy shit.”


Jon winced. “I know. It’s terrible isn’t it.”


“No! I mean – well – I guess it’s been about that long for me, too,” Stephen said, not sure whether he hated the fact that he was actually saying it or if it was just a relief. He looked at Jon and Jon smiled in a resigned sort of way.


“It’s hard, isn’t it,” he said, and the understanding was there in his voice. “I would never have told anyone else. I never have.”


The tension turned into something else entirely, something that wanted to overwhelm him, and Stephen knew that he wasn’t sorry this conversation was happening and could not make himself be if he wanted to. “Really?”


That smile again, the one that was probably responsible for this whole thing in the first place. “Honestly,” Jon said. “Not a soul.”


Stephen smiled and silently acknowledged that he had ceded the fight. “Good.”


“So, what about you and Dinello?” Jon pressed, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Did you ever talk about it at all?”


“Seriously? No.” Stephen picked at the corner of the label on his bottle. “I don’t think that would have been a good idea. I think it was all just the comedic aspect of it for him.”


“There is plenty of grist, as you and I both know,” Jon said. “Was that… I don’t want to pry. I’m just curious.”


“It wasn’t a big deal,” Stephen said quickly. “In the end, I was glad it never came up as a serious subject, because it was just a lot easier that way.” He saw Jon’s expression change and realized he’d put his foot in it. “Sometimes the easier thing isn’t the best thing, though. Maybe I’m just as happy to have it out in the open. Between you and me, at least.”


Jon’s smile had turned tense. “It doesn’t mean we have to do anything about it,” he pointed out. “It’s just nice to acknowledge things, sometimes.”


He was giving him an out. Stephen recognized the fact, and was grateful. “True,” he said. “I… yeah. I’m not sure what to say.”


“You say, thanks for the beer, see you tomorrow,” Jon said, forcing a laugh. He drained his bottle and laid a twenty on the table. “Come on.”


Stephen hesitated. “Wait. Jon – ”


Jon was buttoning his jacket. “Mmm?” He didn’t look up.


Stephen waited for eye contact.


He got a glance. “What?”


“You cabbing it?”


Jon shrugged. “I could always walk.”


“You could, but you never do,” Stephen pointed out.


“True. Yeah, I guess I am. You?”


“Same. You want to walk around a bit first?” Stephen abandoned his half-empty beer and got to his feet.


Jon waited a second, then shrugged. “Sure. Why not.” He got up and slid out around the table, an act that definitely warranted too much attention on Stephen’s part. It was always going to be this way, he realized, now that he knew that it was a very real option. He cleared his throat and headed for the door.


Outside, Jon started walking in the direction of the river. Stephen fell into step beside him and tried to figure out what he wanted to say. They walked in silence for awhile. Finally, Stephen said, “It’s not that I don’t want to.”


Jon’s breath was foggy in the cool night as he sighed. “It’s good to know. It really is. It makes it easier, believe it or not.”


“Makes what easier?” Stephen’s elbow brushed Jon’s arm and he pulled it quickly out of range.


Jon gave a half-smile, but kept his gaze ahead. “Look, I’ve dealt with a lot of rejections before, okay? It’s just harder when it’s a friend. A very good friend. It’s okay. We don’t need to do this. I just wanted to put it out there, see how the land lay. I understand. It’s fine.”


Across Forty-Sixth, a homeless man was mumbling nonsense to himself. It was still misting, just enough to make Stephen take his glasses off. He put them in his coat pocket and rubbed his eyes. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to try this.”


“You didn’t have to,” Jon said tightly. “It’s okay. I know it’s weird.”


“It just takes awhile to process,” Stephen said, as they crossed Tenth. “I – ”


“Don’t,” Jon said sharply. “Don’t start rationalizing it and trying to make me feel better. That’s not going to work. Let’s just carry on as we have, only now we’ll know for sure instead of just suspecting it and trying to guess and whatever else. Or trying to deny, or whatever it is that we both do to cope with it. It’s going to be fine.”


Stephen gave him a strange look. “Well, I guess, relatively speaking,” he said. “I’m not happy with this.”


Beyond Eleventh, the river gleamed. Jon made for Twelfth and turned toward downtown. “That makes two of us, then,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting anything else. I just wanted to know, after however many years of wondering.”


Stephen nodded, knowing as he did so that Jon wasn’t looking at him. “But now we know,” he said. “How do we just ignore it?”


“The same way we always have,” Jon said. “It’s really very simple. Except either the gay jokes are much funnier or much less funny. One or the other.”


There was a railing along the sidewalk with openings for the various docks. It was probably unspeakably filthy, but Stephen stopped and leaned against it, trying to think despite the melee in his head. “I don’t want to do that.”


Jon sounded impatient and made an exasperated gesture with his hands. “Then what do you want? You don’t want to live with it, but there it is. Would you prefer I had never mentioned it, that we keep on just working with this weird dynamic because neither of us is man enough to admit the truth? I don’t want that! What I want is for you to – ”


Halfway through his words, something in Stephen’s mind made itself up. He reached out without conscious volition, put a hand on Jon’s shoulder, moved in, his other hand coming to grip the back of his head and kissed him. Deeply. He had never before kissed another man, unless you counted various silly clips from Exit 57 and Strangers with Candy – all right, so he had never kissed another man off screen. Or with tongue. Jon was giving as good as he got, holding nothing back, his fists clenched in the back of Stephen’s coat. A small voice in the back of his head mentioned that it sure hoped that no one would recognize them. There were virtually no other pedestrians out, but there were apartment blocks everywhere. It wouldn’t have changed anything, because he couldn’t have stopped for anything. It wasn’t even about sexuality – it was about Jon. And he knew without a doubt that he had wanted this for a very, very long time.


After several long moments, Jon let go of him and they separated, breathing hard, staring at each other. “Is this what you wanted?” Stephen demanded hoarsely.


Jon’s face was pained, but he didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”


“Good.” Stephen cut off any further dialogue by kissing him again. It felt good, so good, to finally be giving into this thing that he had been yearning for, whether he’d acknowledged it or not. He didn’t want to think about it.


Finally, they parted for breath again and Jon gently pushed himself back. “We shouldn’t be doing this out here,” he said. “Neither of us can afford to be seen.”


He didn’t say the obvious, We shouldn’t be doing this at all, and Stephen was silently thankful. He turned to face the river, heart pounding. “I know.”


“If you’re up for it, we’ll find places,” he said. “We’ll make it work. Somehow.”


Stephen nodded again, and tried to figure out how that would work. He wasn’t sure how it would, but then, it was Jon, and Jon had a way of making things work out. “Okay.”


“Trust me,” Jon said. “I don’t know if I do. But I want you to.”


“I do.”


Jon smiled. “You want to share the cab?”


“Sure. Let’s get back to where one might actually come. Ninth, maybe.”


“You’re okay?” Jon asked carefully, touching his arm.


Stephen thought about it, and nodded. “I think so. Yeah.”


“If you ever change your mind – ”


“I won’t,” Stephen said. It was short, but it was the best he could do.


Jon smiled, as though to himself. A cab came trundling along down Forty-Sixth and he stuck out a hand to hail it. The cab stopped and they went to it. Jon gave his address and explained the part about New Jersey, and they were set. It was a short ride to Jon’s. When they got there, Jon paid and said, “So – ”


“Thanks for the beer, and see you tomorrow,” Stephen said, holding his gaze for a second.


Jon grinned. “Yeah. We’ll have to do it again sometime.” He closed the door to the cab and headed for the door to his building, not looking back.


Stephen gave a direction or two and slumped back against the seat. He was tired and it was time to go home. But it took him a good few minutes to realize that his face was getting sore from smiling that hard.


-fin-


A/N: I'd love to know what people thought! :)